New Englia

[myungpartikrasi]

The Luthorian monarchy should not be a source of New Englia’s pride
A column by Declan Cormac Doherty
Published 17 April 5704

---

Emperor William XI left New Englia this week, having done something his predecessors rarely managed: he listened. At the New Englian Civil War Memorial in Bridgemont, stripped of ceremonial bombast and insulated advisers, he stood in silence before a wall of names that testify to a conflict in which Luthorian power was not an abstract force but a material one. His words there were careful, subdued, and—by the standards of modern monarchy—unusually honest.

And yet, that moment of dignity should not distract us from a more uncomfortable truth. The Luthorian monarchy, whatever its present temperament, should not be a source of New Englia’s pride. At best, it is a historical fact with which we must reckon. At worst, it remains a polished symbol of domination that some in this country are still too eager to romanticise.

Much of the visit followed a predictable arc. The arrival in Lonmouth, the warm reception at Old Lonmouth City Hall, the stately procession through Bridgemont, the applause from the Reform Coalition for Inglians and the Conservative People’s Party—these were the familiar gestures of continuity. The attempted singing of the Luthorian national anthem in the House of Delegates, despite the Speaker’s repeated objections, was not merely a breach of decorum; it was an act of political nostalgia. It suggested that for some, imperial association is still something to be celebrated rather than interrogated.

This nostalgia is selective. It recalls railways and institutions, cricket grounds and colleges, but not the structures of extraction and hierarchy that made them possible. It praises “shared history” without acknowledging how unevenly that history was lived. For Kilani and Esisundu communities, Luthorian rule was not a civilising anecdote but an experience of dispossession, violence and enforced silence. That both groups suffered under colonial administration is not an ideological claim; it is a matter of record.

To his credit, Emperor William did not entirely evade this reality. In his addresses, particularly at the Civil War Memorial, he acknowledged that Luthorian soldiers and Luthorian decisions formed part of New Englia’s modern tragedies. “Memory is not an accusation—it is an obligation,” he said. That line deserves to be remembered, not because it absolves anything, but because it recognises that history imposes duties on the living.

But obligations cut both ways. For New Englia, the obligation is not to translate moments of imperial restraint into pride. Pride implies ownership and endorsement. It implies that the monarchy’s presence here enhances our national story. It does not. Our story is one of survival, compromise, and hard-won self-government in the aftermath of colonial partition and civil war. It is a story that centres on New Englian agency, not Luthorian benevolence.

Some senior figures in government appeared to understand this distinction. Justice Minister Eóin Ó Slatara described the memorial address as “sincere” but was careful to frame it as a starting point rather than a resolution. Civil society leaders were blunter. Dr Abena Mensah of the Kulanga Memory and Justice Collective noted that listening, while welcome, “does not substitute for accountability”. Máire Ní Chonghaile, speaking for Kilani cultural organisations, observed that “friendship without truth is just ceremony”.

These responses matter more than the applause in Parliament. They remind us that dignity from a monarch, however genuine, does not rebalance a history shaped by power. Nor does it erase the fact that the Luthorian state—of which the monarchy is the most visible symbol—presided over systems that harmed entire peoples on this continent.

None of this requires hostility, and it certainly does not require performative outrage. It requires clarity. New Englia can conduct mature diplomacy with Luthori, welcome its head of state, and acknowledge moments of moral seriousness without confusing any of that with pride. We do not need to borrow legitimacy from a crown whose authority once rested on our subjugation.

If Emperor William’s visit achieved anything of lasting value, it was the demonstration that restraint and honesty are possible, even within an institution built on inheritance rather than consent. That is to his credit. But the task of meaning-making belongs to us. New Englia’s pride should rest in its people, its hard compromises, and its ongoing struggle to tell the truth about itself, unlike in the softened image of an empire that once ruled it as imagined by Emma Ritchie and the Reform Coalitionists.

History can be faced without being embraced. The monarchy can be acknowledged without being admired. That distinction, more than any wreath or procession, is the mark of a confident post-colonial state.

Declan Cormac Doherty is a prominent writer and a Professor of History, Philosophy, and Social Sciences at the Imperial University of Lonmouth.

---

Drumkeel Spanner is New Englia’s weekly magazine for politics, culture and ideas, delivering sharp reporting, bold opinion and long-form analysis from across the confederation. Published in Drumkeel and paired with the Bridgemont Bulletin, it is known for questioning power, amplifying new voices and setting the agenda on history, society and public life.