by Quentin Crisp
As you may know, the Queen of England addresses her
subjects every year on the afternoon of Christmas Day in a
broadcast on BBC television and radio. In her speech she
reviews the year and invites viewers and listeners to be part
of the history of Britain, to be proud of being British, and
to journey onwards together.
Sometime in 1993, a television executive called Mr.
Michael Jones came from England to America to meet with
me. When we met he asked me, “Have you one final
speech, one final message, to dehver to the people of
Britain?”
And flippantly I said, “Yes, I have. Tell them to pack
tonight and to leave for America tomorrow.”
He seemed rather pleased by that. He told me that
Channel 4 were contemplating an annual alternative to the
Queen’s Christmas Message.
“Win you make the inaugural alternative speech for
us?”
And in typical fashion I said, “Ye-e-e-e-s-s-s-s.”
Then, of course, I began to worry about it. Principally I
was worried about whether or not I would have to
memorize the speech. My worries were soon soothed. The
producers told me I could either read it from a script or a
teleprompter. This made me considerably happier about
the whole thing.
So, without further ado, here is what I told the British
that night, as broadcast on Britain’s Channel 4 on
Christmas Day in 1993;
As Mr. Dickens‘ would have said, 1993 has been the
best of times and it has been the worst of times. A reginal
theme has permeated my year. 1 have had, as some of you
may know, the novel experience of appearing as a queen of
England in a film adaptation of Mrs. Woolfs novel
Orlando. The film connects the many moments of English
history with what I believe is called ‘gender-bending’.
Having worn reginal gowns, I begin to understand why
Queen Elizabeth I was not always in the best of moods.
She was much troubled by relatives and in-laws, often
Scottish, many of whom she axed from life and even more
seriously from the social register.
Continuing my honest masquerade, I appear thus to
address the entire British nation on Christmas day. I am, of
course, in mufti. But departing from tradition, I will not
speak mainly of myself, Britain, or the strangely misnamed
Commonwealth. Instead, I will speak of America. I do this
because America is the land where I think, despite its faults,
the best of you should be.
Mr. Bush, still president in early 1993, being an elder
statesman wanted everything to stay the same, the same as
it had been in the Hollywood sunshine of Mr. Reagan’s day.
Now Mr. and Mrs. Clinton have entered the White House,
and by political standards they are a young couple.
They watched many episodes of Sesame Sfreef and they
wish for change. For one thing, they want to transform
America into a welfare state. They want everyone, however
poor, however foreign, however idle, to be eligible for
healthcare. The trouble with this grand notion is that it will
cost money. A lot of it.
Americans believe in money. The dollar is not just a
currency, it is a passion. This being so, it is difficult to find
out how they lost so much of it, especially as they did not
have Mr. Lamon to guide them.
In the early 1960s, when the Kennedys reigned from
the brittle splendor of their fireproof castle in Camelot,
almost every country in the world owed money to the
United States. In the thirty years since, this situation has
been allowed to become reversed.
Just as the country in general is falling part, so is New
York in particular. Viewed from a distance it looms up as a
magnificent citadel of steel and glass. The Emerald City
come to life. But when you live in it, it turns out to be a
wreck. If you take a swift taxi drive down Fifth Avenue,
your head hits the roof of the taxi cab several times. If
Audrey Hepburn today wanted to enjoy breakfast at
Tiffany’s, she would not choose to arrive at that Mecca of
diamonds by taxi cab.
In the early 1960s, not only aU the money but also aU
the power in the world was in the hands of the United
States. They could have bombed everybody, so that there
was only America or ashes. There would have been no
more trouble, no more anti-Americanism. The bombing
hasn't been done, because American politicians were afraid
of what the neighbors would say. They want to rule the
world and be loved. It can’t be done.
What made Mrs., I beg your pardon. Lady Thatcher so
great was that she didn’t give a damn whether anybody
loved her or not. That was how she became the greatest
political star since Mr. Churchill. Like that great figure, she
wept only for herself.
Now America is not in a sufficiently secure position to
bomb the world, so it has decided to save it, which may
prove to be just as expensive and will certainly take much
longer.
Adding to the violence of life in general, women have
now decided to become people. This is a change for the
worse. Women were nicer than people. If our cities are to
be populated entirely by people, life will become faster,
louder and harsher. The loudness is already here. No one
seems to mind.
The American young are violent because they have no
inner hfe; they have no inner life because they have no
thoughts; they have no thoughts because they know no
words; and they know no words because they never
converse. They would not be heard above the din that
rocks the dim cellars where they gibber and twitch.
They have one word a year which means “I don’t like
this” and another which says “I do like this”. One season
you can be bad, another you can be neat, and yet another
you can be cool. When you ask the young in what sense
their little friends are cool, they say nothing. They cannot
embellish their judgment.
Now, all our heroes are either sportsmen, whose
profession obliges them to charge one another like buffalos
until their injuries compel them to retire, or movie stars.
who pretend to hit, kick or shoot one another or to blow
up entire cities.
Though I regret all this, it does not in any way lessen
my love for America. So far, I have only once been
threatened in the streets of Manhattan, whereas in England
I never felt safe for a moment. Indeed, it is my impression
that everybody in the United States is a friend. In England,
nobody is a friend.
I left England’s lonely streets over ten years ago. Here
there are no nice people from Tunbridge Wells eager to
chill what is left of my marrow with iceberg stares. There
are no royal appointments and disappointments. This city'
instantly embraced me, and I it. I became a naked film
critic and, dream of dreams, almost, almost a celebrity.
I have also come to believe wholeheartedly in Mrs.
Lazarus’ verse inscribed on the base of the Statue of
Liberty. If ever there was a huddled mass, it has to be me.
Everyone can see at a glance what a huddled mass I am.
No one draws attention to the fact. Indeed, on occasion, I
am permitted to appear in the guise of a VIP.
Recendy I attended a secret screening of a movie called
Zelda. After the film, the entire audience went to the
Algonquin Hotel. There I managed to be photographed
with Mr. Fairbanks and later with Ms. Warrick. Neither of
these two luminaries had the faintest idea who I was, but
neither refused for a moment to raise me to their rarefied
level of royal visibility.
This is only one sign of American generosity. They are a
truly openhanded people, free with their time, their money
and their availability. My advice to the British is pack
tonight, set out tomorrow like the Portuguese explorers of
old for the land of the blessed. We are waiting for you.
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