The Windsors find themselves in a mess. Again. When will they learn to observe the environment and avoid these reputational catastrophes?
The first calamitous crash was the result of our inattentive King thinking no one should mind about his hideously entitled life. We do mind – as reactions to a recent Guardian investigation proves.
The paper reminded us that the Royal Family can requisition assets of any commoner who dies intestate in the duchies of Cornwall and Lancaster. This inalienable birthright, known as bona vacantia, goes back to the 13th century. King Charles already gets more than £20m per year from properties and businesses in Lancaster. Prince William is about to get the same in Cornwall. Young Prince George will get this loot, too. It’s tradition.
The palace response was, as ever, defensive and unconvincing. Spokespeople claimed most of the money collected goes to charity. Ahem. In fact, a good amount goes into improving the King’s properties and estates. It is, as one Guardian source put it, “free money”, a “slush fund”.
Now I know this is sacrilege, but the Queen, never a reformist, pocketed this money unabashedly. To millions of Britons she could do no wrong. She’s gone now. And times are changing.
Channel 4 is reshowing documentaries about Prince Andrew and that Newsnight interview. You get to see how spoiled he was by his doting parents. When only six, he was given a replica James Bond car worth £4,000. You see the medals he wears – some for his role in the Falklands, others pressies from his mum, including one bestowed after the Epstein story broke. Now, he is being quietly rehabilitated by Charles. Why?
This April, a survey by the National Centre for Social Research found that only three in 10 Britons gave full backing to the monarchy, the lowest proportion on record. Forty-five per cent of respondents said either it should be abolished, was not at all important or not very important. Membership of the campaign group Republic has risen significantly since the extravagant, absurdly vainglorious Coronation in May. A recent YouGov poll found only 37 per cent of 18-24 year olds support our unfair, outmoded monarchical system. The Royals and their officials are getting jittery.
Among those for whom the royals were either harmless or part of Britishness, there is residual anger about how Diana was treated by the Firm. The Crown on Netflix reawakened those feelings.
Sure, ardent royalists still blather about the incomparable qualities of William and Kate, King Charles, his sister Anne and Camilla, who now assiduously networks with key media players, and literary, showbiz and artistic celebs. I wonder what the luvvies make of the latest scandals.
British monarchs have long looked down from great heights, waved and smiled at, occasionally shaken hands with or bestowed honours on the grateful, rapturous populace. That deference is waning. Charles and his clan have been raised to believe they have God-given rights to rule over us and do as they wish. How can they understand the modern world with all its pesky rules, insubordinate intrusions, and insolent, democratic expectations?
Now Endgame, a book by journalist Omid Scobie, has hit them. Scobie alleges that William, bigged up as a perfect son and heir (unlike rebellious Harry) does not have “confidence in the King” and that Camilla is an ally of Meghan’s public enemies and that Kate – the great white hope with the nice frocks and big smile – can be cold.
Scobie revisits Meghan Markle’s claim that two royals had wondered aloud about the skin colour of the child she was carrying but does not identify them. Now Piers Morgan has identified the two names said to have been mistakenly included in the Dutch edition on his TV programme. Another emergency. The Windsors will again flap around and be unable to do the right thing. Living in palaces full of secrets and lies takes its toll.
They are hopeless and useless and cannot reform. The scandals and crises will keep on coming. Britain will give up on the antiquated, undemocratic institution one day. Not in my lifetime, but that day will come, must come.
Labour’s Rupa Huq and I had set up a meeting in the Commons to discuss a report written by six Muslim women, including me, on young Muslims. The date was fixed way back. I thought of cancelling because feelings about Gaza were running high and Muslims were once again feeling judged and alienated.
So glad we went ahead. Around 180 people of all backgrounds turned up. We talked about problems and also the aspirations and accomplishments of British Muslims, many of whom are now in positions unimaginable after 9/11. Several people agreed that although racism often blocks us, Britain is a good place to be. In the midst of hopelessness, we rediscovered hope and joy. Messages from many who attended say it was an unforgettable evening. It was.
I met an asylum seeker from my old country Uganda recently, a young environmentalist who made me promise I would write about a new tragedy about to hit the country. Oil has been found there. International companies have rushed in. Profits will go to them, not the people. The President’s approval is bought with big cash.
The passionate and brave resistor said I should watch Al Jazeera’s two-part investigation into this controversial oil development. It threatens some of the most beautiful, biodiverse, environmentally-fragile areas, such as Lake Albert and the breathtakingly beautiful Murchison Falls National Park, which I visited just before Covid. Hippos and crocs swim or lie quietly in the waters; lions, giraffes and other wildlife wander undisturbed.
All that will go unless the West intervenes and stops the profiteers. It won’t do that. He can’t talk publicly about this because of his vulnerable status. I promised him I would, knowing these are just words, powerless before big money.
Watermans Arts Centre by the river in Brentford showcases art, stages plays, shows films and has Guru, one of my fave Indian restaurants where you can eat, for absurdly low prices, food that tastes as if it’s been made by our mums and grans.
On Wednesday we saw a brilliant, sexy, feminist Indian film there, Lipstick Under My Burkha. Look it up. It was the best evening ever.
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