William of Orange (bonus content)

William of Orange
(November 6, 2024)

The monarch butterfly gets its name from 17th century English King William III, whose father came from Orange in Southern France. On November 6th 2024, an orange and black monarch butterfly danced a tango in the woods of Medford, Massachusetts. It was the day after the world’s oldest Democracy elected an orange-colored 78-year old convicted felon to be its new president.

The elderly new ruler would go on to post “Long Live the King,” along with a photo of himself wearing a crown. But the little butterfly knew nothing of the new self-styled monarch when it fluttered around fallen oak leaves, on the Hemlock Pool Path in the Middlesex Fells. Nor did it seem clued in to the migration timeline: by November, autumn monarchs have usually begun (or completed) their journey to the Mexican mountains of Michoacán,  to winter in the warm branches of Oyamel firs. But it had been unseasonably warm in New England. So the normal migratory triggers of shorter days and cooler temperatures hadn’t cued this little orange butterfly, lingering around a pile of leaves in the woods.

In order for migratory butterflies to survive, the super generation (those born by September) makes the trek to Mexico. Travelling in large groups, small clusters, and even independently, those monarchs travel almost 3,000 miles where they roost with millions of other fellows in the Oyamel branches. In the Spring a new generation makes the trip back north. It’s a mass migration effort for the butterflies. Even though they were named for the Orange English king, there are no Mónos árkhēs—no sole leaders in the kaleidoscope: the butterfly collective survives by collaborating and passing the torch.

William and his cousin/wife Mary were not keen on collaborating with English citizens, or with Parliament. During their reign, they wanted more influence. And they wanted religion to play a central role for their kingdom.

Strong leaders and a religious or moral framework can have great appeal when citizens are divided, isolated, and riddled with social strife. But in the late 1600s, during William and Mary’s time, people were connecting They were learning about science and philosophy. Sir Isaac Newton was inspiring curiosity in public health and medical discoveries. People were meeting in coffeehouses (AKA penny universities) to discuss and debate news, to read poetry, to stage plays.

The coffeehouse scene was mostly men. Mary urged women to stay home and defer to their husbands. At least that’s what she said publicly, around her older husband who was irritable, and to whom she was wed when she was 15. But her position as co-monarch challenged traditional notions of gender roles, nonetheless. And her support for learning and literacy paved the way for more educational opportunities and empowerment for women.

Those 17th century English citizens shared information. They also spread misinformation. The term ‘rumor’ meant the same thing then: Gossip. Hearsay. Personal reports and opinions without foundation. Every era throws around conspiracy theories. But when William and Mary ruled, there was enough intellectual curiosity to dispel most of the really wild slander. People were interested in economic theory, medical news, and foreign policy. They wanted boring legislation. They understood that collective laws would give people more power.

If William and Mary’s subjects been more isolated or ignorant, casual coffeehouse rumors could have been distorted. Maybe that’s all it would have taken to hand the monarchs more power. If the coffee drinkers had been less inquisitive, maybe Parliament’s proposed Bill of Rights (establishing terms and conditions of a constitution) would have been less popular than petty arguments. Or than royal costumes, gilded bibles, orbs, and scepters.

After their coronation, the orange king and his pious wife read the room. They approved the Bill of Rights, limiting their own royal power and defining basic civil rights for English people.

They also expanded royal control and limits on American colonists, and they slaughtered thousands in Ireland who called for land ownership, and basic religious and civic rights. And they cut down huge portions of the Irish forest to deny Irish forces cover, to build their own ships, and to deprive Irish people of resources.

There’s a new orange leader ready to decimate groves of trees and groups of people—a U.S. politician with skin tinted by tanning beds and makeup, promising to kill public health and science programs, and deport millions of people, and  to “once and for all” destroy the Department of Education. (Thomas Jefferson noted, “only educated people can accurately evaluate the government that will truly benefit them.”)

The newly crowned U.S. leader also pledged to erase the Environmental Protection Agency saying, “The oceans will rise and who the hell cares. Climate change is a hoax.” Prioritizing clean air and water, he said, would mean giving up on the country and its jobs. (Even though the current “climate” bill has employed many of his supporters, and even though giving up on clean air and water will probably also mean giving up on the pollinators.)

With fewer pollinators, there will be less food, less shade, less flood absorption, fewer homes for animals; hotter days, more wild critters looking for food and shelter, more wildfires, and stronger hurricanes. This will mean the modern orange man and his successors (and his constituents) will be weathering stormy challenges.

For his part, the tan man will be hunkering down in his Washington shelter with less company than William of Orange did, as his third wife will not be taking regular residence in the presidential palace with him.  This doesn’t seem to be bringing him down the way Mary II’s parting did for William III. Just one year before English penal laws restricted Irish people from speaking their language and playing music, William’s beloved Mary died of smallpox. Though he’d been unfaithful to Mary, he grieved her death deeply. For nearly eight years he was sad and suffered from fever, shingles, and stomach pains. In 1702 William was thrown off his horse when it stumbled on a molehill. He broke his collarbone, developed pneumonia, and died a couple of months later.

William III’s colorful reign is remembered in the regal design of black and orange butterfly wings. But a little monarch in the Middlesex Fells Reservation on November 6th is unlikely to spend any time in palaces. It’s also unlikely at this point that it will make it to the Mexican fir forest. A woodland pile of leaves in Medford, Massachusetts may be the last golden refuge this little flier sees. Good thing it’s so beautiful.