The Duke and Duchess of Sussex in Cape Town, South Africa on September 23, 2019. Photo / Getty Images
The Duke and Duchess of Sussex in Cape Town, South Africa on September 23, 2019. Photo / Getty Images
Opinion
OPINION:
I am not a monarchist. I see the profundity of monarchy – I feel its ancient power to comfort and inspire, it is the old way – but I resist it, largely because of its power.
For me, there are more sensible ways to rule a modern democracy in an age of mass media than a monarchy that segues into a class system which is destructive and unfair.
We have been lucky with Elizabeth II, a woman so skilled that even republicans admire her. I was moved by her standing for hours in the rain for the Diamond Jubilee at 86, dressed in silver like a tiny icon. It was a tribute us, and we would not have asked it – or expected it – of anyone else.
But she, I suspect, is an exception. I wonder how happy they are; if the contortions required of monarchy – silence, good humour, gratitude in the face of nonsense and often cruelty – harm them, too. There are just too many casualties of modern monarchy to ignore.
There was Margaret, whose heartbreak we sentimentalised when she was denied marriage to Peter Townsend, the man she loved, but we could not stop it. Then there was Diana, Sarah – and now Harry.
I am a British subject and I felt bright shame at the way he was compelled, at 12, to walk behind his mother's coffin in front of the whole world. I wondered if it was done, consciously or not, to protect his father? Either way, it harmed the young prince; he has said so. The clicking of the shutters terrified him, and he later went "off the rails", which is in children a euphemism for grief.
When he married, he vowed to protect his wife as he could not protect his mother. So, he left the old world for the new. I wished him well, and I still do. But I now think he has exchanged one kind of unelected power for another, and that makes him both a poor critic of monarchy and a poor advocate for progressive politics.
Prince Harry in the UK on July 1 after unveiling a statue of his mother Diana, Princess of Wales, in the Sunken Garden at Kensington Palace. Photo / Getty Images
A new chapter in the paperback version of Finding Freedom, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex's unauthorised biography, contains a trickle of new grievances.
It suggests a Remembrance Sunday wreath sent by Prince Harry to be laid on his behalf at the Cenotaph last November "remained in its box"; that they considered identifying the so-called "royal racist" who wondered what colour their unborn baby Archie would be, but chose not to; that some members of the royal family were "understood to have been 'quietly pleased'" that Meghan did not attend the Duke of Edinburgh's funeral, weeks after the couple's interview with Oprah Winfrey, as they didn't want "the Duchess creating a spectacle".
I don't know if this is true; but it is obvious that, despite "finding freedom", Prince Harry is, one way or the other, in monarchy's thrall. The Duke of Windsor was the same, though he did not call himself a feminist. That would have been ridiculous.
Monarchy is a narcotic, for those within it and without. It tells the subjects they are safe – life goes calmly on – and the objects that they are important. (If you believe this, and I do, it is Elizabeth II's very humility that keeps her sane.)
Harry and Meghan's California home. Photo / santabarbarasluxuryhomes.com
I suspect that if you grow up inside it and you are not peculiarly tough, as she is, you trap yourself. Harry knows this well enough to call his brother William "trapped", which, true or not, is a cruel thing to say in a television interview across the world. It lacked compassion; the very compassion he asks for himself and tries to project.
Harry thinks he is not trapped now. WH Auden wrote: "Who can live for long in a euphoric dream?" True again – but who can live outside it, if it is the British monarchy?
Increasingly, I think Harry can't. Rather, he has exchanged his role in the British monarchy for another in international celebrity and its favourite pastime: bogus and self-serving philanthropy. If you are a republican, there is not a hair between them. They are the same bitter, useless thing.
For some people, progressive causes are urgent. They are doughty, bloody and, at heart, they are about fairness, about sharing the trappings. They do not need compassion – compassion is cheap – but the ideal result of that compassion: money. They need seriousness.
And when celebrities of great wealth adopt these causes, they cease to be serious and become spurious. They become a stage set for other people's vanity; something beginning and ending with them. It feels to me very much like greed.
I cannot forget the year of #MeToo, when every red-carpet beauty had an activist in tow like a toy, and yet, now, just a few years later, where are they when women's rights – not their own; low wages, childcare and reproductive rights are not issues for them – are so threatened? They are, by their own existence, an oblivious argument against them. They are a tinny elite.
Harry struggles to free himself, but only so much. He is a critic of monarchy, but he still yearns for its trappings: a glorious home; great wealth; praise and attention without end. He is still a prince. It is a ludicrous thing to read pleas for progressive causes signed "the Duke of Sussex". It is pitiable.
If you are for inherited status, say so. If you are for equality, reject your title and work as a normal human being. If you are progressive, it is no loss at all. But he won't. The desire for undeserved power still haunts him. It will end badly.
