The 20th century came to an end on Thursday of this week. Queen Elizabeth II is dead – and with her a Western world is being buried that we believed would continue, but which reality has broken down. A world confident in its economic and moral superiority, buoyed by the promise that the best is yet to come. The Cold War – over. Territorial Conquest Battles – Past. The European Union – a growth success. The Queen – forever.
Elizabeth II was the last anchor in this time, which is actually only a memory. A woman who could not shape anything politically and yet was formative. And who nevertheless, or perhaps because of this, became a figure of longing. “A memento of institutional permanence, in which the country felt secure,” as my colleague Thomas Kielinger wrote in his obituary of the Queen.
Times of crisis are always times of fear, and often the companion of uncertainty is the need for simple answers. This is the hour of the populists.
But it was also the time of the Queen, not only as an official, but also as a person: she experienced the abysses of time, from war to economic slumps and social upheavals, and also looked into the abysses of family relationships. She held out. Crises came and went, but Elizabeth II stayed. She was the constant in the impermanent.
Now it’s different: The Queen has gone, the crisis has remained. That too is a turning point.
