The Queen’s undelivered nuclear-war speech in 1983 is a reminder of a still uncertain future while weapons stocks last, argues Alan Shipman.
There’s been an oddly dismissive reaction to the Queen’s speech on the outbreak of nuclear war, drafted in 1983 and released in July under the 30-year rule.
Some have found it comical because of the archaic tone and 'Beyond the Fringe' phrases. Others are horrified that Her Majesty chose to focus on abstract national virtues and family values rather than suggesting something practical, like opening up the Buckingham Palace wine-cellars as shelters, or sending Prince Andrew up in his helicopter to clog up the enemy’s radar.
Most found greater amusement elsewhere in the archive, such as the prime minister’s refusal to let 21-year-old William Hague take control of the economy.
Very much the same mixture of indifference, hilarity and horror greeted another nuclear-related statement of the time: the Protect and Survive nuclear preparation programme. This tried to explain how a Cold War-weary nation could best preserve itself if the bomb should actually drop. Unlike the 1965 War Game, which governments suppressed in case it undermined public confidence in the UK’s resilience to nuclear attack, this official civil-defence guidance was intended for a wide audience. That’s partly because it dispensed with any suggestion of disorderly or ineffective reaction, showing how the nation could dust itself down and start again once the radioactive dust had settled. And partly because, whereas the War Game focused on national solidarity and self-sacrifice, Protect and Survive left individuals, families and localities to stockpile their own bean-tins and fend for themselves.
With its stern commentary, chilling soundtracks and warnings of dictatorial force against those who stray from the bunker, Protect and Survive was sometimes depicted as scarier than the blasts it was meant to prepare against. If still around, its production team could well be in demand if the government goes ahead with its planned campaign to make the UK less attractive to would-be migrants. But when they appeared, the films struck others as terrifying in their optimism. They seemed to imply that the average (conveniently nuclear) family could, if not immediately in the missile’s path, expect to emerge safely after a few days under their sand-bagged kitchen table (especially if the fall-out kept up those useful squeaky noises to advertise its presence). Nuclear disarmament campaigners quickly launched their counterblast Protest and Survive, to draw attention to the far greater havoc that the stronger warheads of the 1980s were likely to wreak.
The same balance of forces, making it impossible to unleash a nuclear weapon without incurring comparably ruinous return fire, is held to keep today’s wars at sub-nuclear level. That’s why the Cabinet’s ‘Secret Nuclear Bunker’ is now a widely-advertised Essex tourist attraction. And it’s why the Coalition is preparing to renew the Trident submarine fleet, even if Liberal Democrat partners succeed in scaling it down.
In 1983, had she delivered the nuclear speech, the Queen would have addressing a nation whose citizens over 40 had mostly experienced a world war. Scientists and film-makers who addressed the likely consequences of thermonuclear explosion could still draw on first-hand evidence, from survivors of Hiroshima, Nagasaki and the comparably destructive conventional fire-bombing of Dresden.
Today’s audience, whose knowledge of war comes mostly from video screens and paintball halls, is probably more remote from the reality of nuclear weapons than any previous generation. None more so than 28-year-old Kim Jong-un, for whom they may be the only escape from a difficult dynastic inheritance in North Korea.
More countries have staged successful test explosions and missile launches since the Queen’s unused nuclear speech was drafted. The latest Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty still leaves the Cold War powers with scope to annihilate themselves many times over. It may take more than MAD faith to ensure that today’s precautionary speeches can be released for mid-summer entertainment in 2043.
Alan Shipman 21 August 2013
Alan Shipman is a lecturer in Economics at the Open University. He is responsible for the modules You and your money:personal finance in context and Personal investment in an uncertain world, part of the foundation degree in Financial Services.
The views expressed in this post, as in all posts on Society Matters, are the views of the author, not The Open University.
Cartoon by Catherine Pain