After the fourth airport in consecutive Scandinavian countries shunted me through a door labelled Nothing to Declare, I decided I couldn’t stay silent any longer, as I do, in fact, have something to declare about these countries with their free passageways. And, yeah, before anybody else points it out, I know I have the privilege to make such trips, can choose to stay childless when others are denied choice, use that time and energy and money to see cultures and countries my grandparents would have been challenged to point out on a map, even if their ancestors came across that ocean decades before. I’ve visited castles and palaces in each country’s capital, and I can’t tell the difference between a castle and a palace; like some of the royalty who once lived there, I got in by marriage, not interest—my wife’s the one who wants to see such sites, as she’s intrigued by the pomp and circumstance of monarchies we don’t have to fund. What I saw in all of the locations and countries, no matter what they called themselves—a castle or a palace—were the remaining crumbs of colonisation and capitalism: gold that made crowns heavy for the head that wears them, but not as heavy as the mining equipment still buried on top of untold bodies; elephants with small drivers painted a black that adheres to stereotypes—not true skin tones—to mirror the hearts of those who wanted such decorations; elephants carved out of their own ivory and given as honours to dishonourable leaders from countries congruent to their own, but to few commoners—only those that distinguish themselves, the placard says—not like my ancestors whom Ancestry.com says came from these countries, the ones who ended up as coal miners and Coke truck drivers in a country who pretends caste ceased to exist. In one of the castles or palaces, I can’t remember which, a sign said, This door is alarmed; I don’t blame it, given how America wants to follow in the feudal footsteps and declare allegiance to their liege, their king. I’m alarmed, too. At least monarchies don’t pretend their lives are like ours, save for the princess who moved to the hipster area of Oslo. No wonder they have claustrophobic hallways in their airports that tell people they have nothing to declare.
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