he televised funeral of Iran’s supreme leader remained in global spotlight last week. Millions of people attended the event that transcended personal and territorial limits. This procession had political as well as ideological connotations. Such ceremonies are designed to communicate messages of unity and strength.

Long before political theorists expounded the ideas of nationalism and collective memory, poets and dramatists understood the value of mourning as a social catalyst. Literature made the lives of national figures more popular than anything else. It gave their lives a sense of meaning and permanence.

Shakespeare’s timeless representation of the funeral of Julius Caesar may be considered one of the greatest political acts of bereavement. Standing beside Caesar’s body, Mark Antony avers with deceptive modesty: “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.” Besides a eulogy, the audience hear one of the greatest political persuasions in history. Despite Antony’s assurance to the assembly that “Brutus is an honourable man,” Brutus’s credibility is diminished with each repetition. Antony turns sadness into rage and sorrow into rebellion by appealing to emotion rather than reason. Romans switch sides before the speech ends. In death, Caesar’s body gains greater political clout than it had during his lifetime. Shakespeare shows that a funeral may topple regimes more successfully than a coup.

Shakespeare made the political symbolism of death fairly concrete elsewhere as well. In Richard II, the king reflects that “for within the hollow crown; that rounds the mortal temples of a king; keeps Death his court.” Death enhances political standing. Living rulers are criticised, but death may sometimes turn them into symbols of political permanence. Through their funerals, countries may rewrite history, promoting ideals and erasing failures.

In The Iliad, Homer depicts the death of Patroclus as a major milestone of the Trojan War. Achilles, struck by grief, returns to the battlefield not only to avenge his friend but to inspire the demoralised army. The funeral games that follow are not only athletic contests; they pave the way for greater solidarity. Mourning makes way for unity and acts as a tool for mobilisation.

In The Persians, Aeschylus pulls off an incredible dramatic reversal. The drama forces its audience to acknowledge the common humanity of people who have experienced loss, rather than merely rejoicing in victory. Rulers frequently continue to influence political imagination even after they pass away, as evidenced by the presence of Darius I’s ghost, who emerges from the grave to advise the Persian court. Darius maintains symbolic power even in defeat. His voice serves as a reminder to the living that the dead can continue to participate in public life, using memory as a tool for political power.

Throughout history, state funerals have been used to assert political power and retrench national unity. The state funeral of Winston Churchill in 1965 reaffirmed the British identity in a period ofpost-imperial uncertainty. Millions of people flocked to Cairo’s streets for Gamal Abdel Nasser’s burial. That turned personal sorrow into a reaffirmation of Arab nationalism.

Historically, Pericles’ famous funeral oration, as recorded by historians, appears to honour fallen soldiers. However, it also seems to give more credence to Athens than to the dead. He proudly praises the city’s courage and civic responsibility and re-injects in his demoralised army the spirit of courage and national purpose through his celebration of the deaths of the fallen soldiers. The funeral becomes an act of national union and national inspiration.

Modern history is also full of similar examples. The state funeral of Winston Churchill in 1965 reaffirmed the British identity in a period of post-imperial uncertainty and reminded citizens of a heroic past. Queen Elizabeth II’s 2022 burial presented constitutional continuity to a worldwide audience. The main point was clear: the crown endures even as monarchs pass away.

In 1970, millions of people flocked to Cairo’s streets for Gamal Abdel Nasser’s burial, which turned personal sorrow into a reaffirmation of Arab nationalism. Even after death, the emotional connection between the leader and the populace was affirmed by the sheer volume of public involvement. The funeral turned into a political statement.

Similar scenes have been witnessed in Pakistan. The political landscape of the nation was significantly changed by Benazir Bhutto’s assassination in December 2007. Her funeral at Garhi Khuda Bakhsh saw an outpouring of popular grief. She was seen by millions as a martyr whose passing represented the fight for democracy. The Pakistan Peoples Party’s victory in 2008 was greatly aided by the enormous popular compassion that the burial rites produced.

One may remember the statement that is frequently credited to Ernest Renan: “Nations are built upon shared acts of remembrance as well as shared memories.” This approach is embodied in public funerals. They turn personal loss into a shared identity. They reassure nervous communities that despite tragedy, history goes on. They transform sorrow into unity.

A famous quote from the English poet John Donne reads, “Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.” Political groups have always taken this idea and turned it into something more than loss. A nation uses the passing of a national leader as a mirror to reflect on its own future. Funerals inquire not just about the deceased but also about our current selves.

The writer, a post-doctoral fellow at the Islamic Research Institute, International Islamic University, Islamabad, is the Head of the Department of English Language and Literature at the University of Lahore.