In Britain, Churchill Out, Badgers In, When Wildlife Replaces Historical Figures on Banknotes
There is something deeply apt, almost poetic, about the suggestion that a badger might one day displace Winston Churchill from Britain’s banknotes. The Bank of England’s proposed shift from featuring historical figures to showcasing wildlife in their next series of banknotes has been officially framed as a design refresh, a nod to biodiversity, and a modernisation exercise against the threat of counterfeiting. Yet, beneath this pragmatic language, it can also be read as something far more significant: a quiet but profound cultural recalibration. It is a moment that forces a reckoning with the way nations remember, the way they choose their heroes, and the way they grapple with the complexities of a past that can no longer be neatly packaged into a gallery of saints.
For decades, British banknotes have served as a miniature national gallery, a curated pantheon of greatness. The faces on these notes have been the faces of the nation’s self-image: the Duke of Wellington, Florence Nightingale, Charles Dickens, Isaac Newton, and, most prominently, Winston Churchill. The selection was never random; it was an act of cultural canonisation, a decision about which lives and legacies were worthy of daily circulation in the wallets of citizens. But this pantheon has not been without its critics. For years, observers have pointed out the narrowness of the selection: the conspicuous absence of racial and ethnic minorities, the glaring paucity of women (Queen Elizabeth II and Jane Austen notwithstanding), and the overwhelming dominance of a particular kind of Britishness, centred on empire, military prowess, and literary prestige. The choice of a kingfisher, a salmon, or a badger may seem whimsical, but what it might force is a reckoning with all that is lost, all that is excluded, through a myopic and static engagement with history.
Historical figures, once enshrined, have in recent years come under a far more exacting and uncomfortable gaze. The certainties that once surrounded them have been eroded by deeper, more critical scrutiny. Winston Churchill remains the most notable example of this shift. For generations, he was the unassailable hero of the Second World War, the man who stood alone against the Nazi tide. His image was synonymous with British resolve and national salvation. But that singular narrative of greatness has been complicated by a growing awareness of his racial attitudes and the broader ramifications of the British Empire he so fiercely defended. His government’s role in the Bengal Famine of 1943, in which nearly three million people perished, has come under increasing and devastating historical scrutiny. For many, especially in the former colonies, Churchill is not a hero but a figure of profound tragedy and culpability. The man who saved Britain is also the man whose policies exacerbated one of the worst famines of the 20th century. The banknote that carried his face carried these dual, irreconcilable legacies.
Elsewhere in the world, the afterlife of the British Empire has become increasingly harder to ignore. In 2015, a powerful student-led movement in South Africa, known as Rhodes Must Fall, led to the removal of a statue of British mining magnate and politician Cecil Rhodes from the University of Cape Town campus. Rhodes, a figure of immense wealth and power in the 19th century, was an ardent imperialist whose legacy is inextricably tied to the dispossession and exploitation of African people. The movement’s demand was not simply about removing a statue; it was about challenging a version of history that had been imposed, a canon of “great men” whose greatness was defined in terms that excluded and dehumanised the colonised. The removal of Rhodes’s statue was a symbolic act, but it was also a demand for a more honest, more inclusive reckoning with the past.
These episodes, from Cape Town to Calcutta, highlight a fundamental truth: history is not static. It is not a fixed collection of facts to be memorised. It is a dynamic, living field of study, one that requires the continuous accommodation of new evidence, new perspectives, and the long-marginalised voices of those who were never meant to be heard. The history that was taught in British schools a generation ago is not the history being taught today, because our understanding has deepened, our sources have expanded, and our questions have changed. A nation that cannot revise its understanding of its own past is a nation that is trapped by it.
It is against this backdrop of contested histories, of statues falling and pantheons being questioned, that the Bank of England’s move towards wildlife becomes so intriguing. A badger does not have a colonial record. A kingfisher did not preside over a famine. A salmon does not embody the contradictions of empire. These creatures offer a different kind of inheritance, one that is less contested, more capacious, and shared across all divisions of class, race, and political allegiance. They belong to a natural heritage that is, in its own way, just as British as Churchill, but without the weight of empire. To place a kingfisher on a banknote is not to deny the importance of history; it is to acknowledge that a nation’s identity can be expressed through other registers, through the beauty of its landscapes and the richness of its biodiversity, as well as through the deeds of its most famous (and infamous) men.
There is, of course, a risk in this shift. It could be seen as a retreat, a sanitisation, a way of avoiding the difficult conversations that the nation needs to have about its past. To replace Churchill with a badger could be interpreted as a cop-out, a refusal to engage with the complexities of history by simply removing the figures that have become uncomfortable. But it could also be seen as a necessary step, a moment to pause and breathe before a more honest engagement can begin. Even the grandest narrative, after all, benefits from a little space to breathe. The banknote is a small space, but it is a significant one. For years, it has carried the weight of a particular version of British history. To lighten that load, to make room for other stories, other symbols, is not an erasure; it is an expansion.
The move from Churchill to badgers is not a rejection of history, but a reflection of a more mature relationship with it. It acknowledges that the nation’s story is more complex than any single figure can represent, that the heroes of one generation may be the villains of another, and that a nation’s identity can be found not only in its monuments to greatness, but also in its commitment to the natural world it shares. The badger, after all, is a resilient creature, deeply rooted in the British landscape, a survivor. In that sense, it may be a more fitting symbol for a nation grappling with its past and uncertain about its future than a cigar-chomping prime minister whose legacy is now a battlefield. The Bank of England’s proposed shift is a small change, but in its smallness, it reveals a great deal about how Britain is reimagining itself for a new century.
Questions and Answers
Q1: What is the official reason given by the Bank of England for replacing historical figures with wildlife on banknotes?
A1: The official reason is a combination of design refresh, a nod to biodiversity, and a modernisation exercise aimed at making the notes harder to counterfeit. However, the article argues that the move also represents a deeper cultural recalibration.
Q2: Why has Winston Churchill’s place in the British national pantheon become contested in recent years?
A2: Churchill’s legacy has been complicated by increased scrutiny of his racial attitudes and the broader implications of the British Empire he defended. Specifically, his government’s role in the Bengal Famine of 1943, which killed nearly three million people, has been a major point of criticism. The singular narrative of wartime heroism has had to accommodate a more complex and darker history.
Q3: What does the article cite as an example of a similar reckoning with imperial history outside Britain?
A3: The article cites the 2015 “Rhodes Must Fall” movement in South Africa, which led to the removal of a statue of Cecil Rhodes from the University of Cape Town campus. Rhodes was an ardent imperialist whose legacy is tied to the dispossession and exploitation of African people. The movement was a demand for a more honest and inclusive version of history.
Q4: How does the article frame the shift from historical figures to wildlife as a positive development?
A4: The article suggests that wildlife—badgers, kingfishers, salmon—offer a shared, less contested inheritance. They do not carry the weight of colonial or political controversy. Placing them on banknotes allows the nation to express its identity through natural heritage and beauty, offering “space to breathe” before a more honest engagement with contested history can occur.
Q5: What is the article’s conclusion about what this shift reveals about Britain’s self-image?
A5: The article concludes that the shift is not a rejection of history, but a sign of a more mature relationship with it. It acknowledges that national identity can be found not only in monuments to “great men” but also in the natural world. The move reflects a Britain that is reimagining itself, acknowledging that its story is more complex than any single figure can represent.
