When I imagined London before arriving, I pictured history frozen in stone: Buckingham Palace standing proudly behind its gates, Parliament overlooking the Thames, Westminster Abbey preserving centuries of monarchs beneath its vaulted ceilings. I expected these places to feel like relics of the past. Instead, they felt surprisingly alive.
Civil servants hurried past Westminster carrying coffee cups. Tourists crowded around the palace gates waiting for the Changing of the Guard. Politicians walked into Parliament as casually as office workers beginning another Saturday morning. The same institutions that have existed for centuries continue to shape Britain today, not as museums, but as living centers of power.
That realization stayed with me through our first class and exploration, where we were introduced to a question that seems simple until you begin walking through London itself: Why wasn’t there a revolution in England like there was in France?
As we walked from Piccadilly through St. James towards Buckingham Palace and Westminster, I noticed how closely Britain’s symbol of power exists beside one another. The monarchy, the Parliament, the Prime Minister’s residence, and Westminster Abbey are all within walking distance. Each represents a different form of authority – royal, political, and religious – but together they reveal how closely intertwined Britain's institutions remain. Coming from the United States where political institutions are relatively young, I couldn’t fathom how old these buildings are. Westminster Abbey has hosted coronations for nearly one thousand years. Parliament still meets by the same river where generations before debated Britain's future. Rather than replacing its institutions through revolution, England seems to have attempted to reshape them over centuries.
The Palace of Westminster, where centuries of British political tradition continue to shape government today.
Standing inside Westminster Abbey, I found myself imagining the centuries of people who had stood in the very same place before me.
During our seminar, Professor Chater introduced a Victor Hugo quote, “the feudal illusion”, which is the idea that England preserved many aspects of its aristocratic traditions instead of violently rejecting them. Before arriving in London, I assumed England had simply escaped revolution altogether. Our seminar complicated that assumption. England experienced its own political upheaval in the seventeenth century when King Charles I was executed after the English Civil War, and Oliver Cromwell then abolished the monarchy and ruled as Lord Protector, so for a brief period England became a republic. Yet unlike France, where revolution permanently transformed the political landscape, England eventually restored its monarchy. Rather than dismantling its political system entirely, it absorbed that period of upheaval into its history. Walking through Westminster, the monarchy no longer felt like a relic of the past but instead it felt like an institution that had repeatedly adapted in order to survive. The grandeur of these buildings makes power seem timeless, even natural. Standing before Buckingham Palace, it becomes easy to forget that monarchies are human institutions created, challenged, and reformed over time. Their beauty almost disguises the inequalities they once represented.
Throughout the week, we discussed how Britain and France developed two very different historical identities. Britain came to represent continuity: loyalty to institutions, constitutional monarchy, and gradual political change. France, particularly in Dickens' imagination, became associated with revolution, equality, rebellion, and the violent rejection of the old order. Of course, history is never that simple. These are broad narratives rather than absolute truths. But walking through London helped me understand why those stories continue to resonate. The city's landmarks celebrate endurance. They tell the story of institutions that have adapted instead of disappeared.
Charles Dickens understood this contradiction well. Although A Tale of Two Cities focuses on the French Revolution, it is told through English eyes. Dickens condemns the cruelty of the French aristocracy while simultaneously warning readers about the dangers of revolutionary violence. He portrays London as deeply flawed, yet capable of reform without complete destruction. Visiting London's political heart helped me understand why Dickens viewed the French Revolution from such a distinctly English perspective. Suddenly, his England wasn’t simply a setting on a page – it was standing right in front of me.
Certainly, London isn’t only a city of palaces and parliaments. A few days later, we visited Newgate Prison, the Old Bailey, and the neighborhoods that shaped Dickens himself. These places reminded me that England was hardly free of injustice. Poverty, overcrowding, and inequality existed here too. Dickens devoted much of his writing to exposing those realities. The difference wasn’t that England had solved these problems – it hadn’t – but that its path toward change looked different.
The Old Bailey, London's historic criminal court and the site of Charles Darnay's trial in A Tale of Two Cities. Standing here, Dickens' fiction felt inseparable from the city's history.
A peaceful demonstration near Russell Square, where centuries-old traditions meet modern political expression.
Later in the week, I was walking back to my accommodation near Russell Square Gardens when I heard chanting echoing through the streets. Curious, I followed the sound until I reached the edge of a massive demonstration. Thousands of protesters carrying Palestinian flags filled the roads surrounding the square. People of all ages held handmade signs while speakers addressed the crowd, and police calmly redirected traffic as the march passed through central London. I stopped for several minutes, simply watching the crowd move through the streets.
While observing the protest, I found myself thinking back to our very first seminar.
Only days earlier, we had spent the afternoon exploring Westminster and discussing why England had never experienced a revolution like France's. Here I was again, watching ordinary people gather to demand justice – not for Britain, but for people thousands of miles away. It struck me that although England preserved institutions like the monarchy, it has also developed a long tradition of public protest and political expression. The monarchy remained in Buckingham Palace, Parliament continued its business, and yet the streets belonged to the people.
That contrast fascinated me. A country can preserve centuries old traditions while still making space for citizens to challenge those in power. Perhaps England's history isn't defined by the absence of political passion, but by the different ways that passion has been expressed. Dickens constantly asks what happens when injustice is ignored. In A Tale of Two Cities, France reaches a breaking point because generations of suffering eventually erupt into revolution. Walking through London made me wonder whether England's answer has often been something else – not silence, but conversation. Protest instead of insurrection. Reform instead of rupture.
I still don't know why England never experienced a revolution quite like France's. But after spending this week walking its streets, I no longer think that's the most interesting question. The more interesting question is how a nation manages to preserve institutions that are centuries old while making room for new voices demanding change. And in London, I realized those two stories are unfolding at the very same time.