There is no shame in admitting that I feel uncomfortable over the issue of monarchy, and not only because that issue always shoots me dirty looks at royal tea parties when I lick cream off my plate.
No, I have slightly darker concerns too. For instance, there is the fact that simply by existing monarchies encourage us forelock-tuggers to believe magical blood is a thing, or at least that bloodlines exist and some of them have some inherent specialness, from where it’s a hop, skip and sieg heil to some properly nasty stuff.
I also suspect the modern vestiges of ancient royalty offer ambitious sociopaths something to shoot for, giving them ample evidence that if you just squash enough of the competition for long enough your descendants will be admired as the keepers of the soul of your nation, and all the places where you flayed your enemies will be beloved landmarks reproduced on bestselling merch.
I must also admit that some of the world’s current monarchies, sequestered away in glass tanks where they have their venom milked once a week, do offer some benefits.
For example, say what you like about Prince Andrew and his ex-wife Sarah Ferguson, you have to concede that nobody is working harder or doing more to keep Jeffrey Epstein in the news, despite the best efforts of the Trump administration and, presumably, a fair number of Democrats, minor European aristocrats and other members of the indebted, island-hopping class.
It’s also said that monarchies keep nations in touch with their heritage and in SA this is definitely true. I often reflect that the money we taxpayers give to our various kings connects me directly to my own ancestors, who also handed over some of their earnings to monarchs for absolutely nothing in return.
In the US though, the relationship with monarchy seems to be far more febrile and perhaps a little less informed, as we saw over the weekend as millions of marchers held up placards reading “No kings!” in the misguided belief that their republic is about to be seized by a nascent monarchy.
It’s also said that monarchies keep nations in touch with their heritage and in SA this is definitely true. I often reflect that the money we taxpayers give to our various kings connects me directly to my own ancestors, who also handed over some of their earnings to monarchs for absolutely nothing in return.
This isn’t going to happen, of course, because their republic has already been seized by something far more powerful than a mere king: Donald Trump might enjoy the gilded trappings of royalty, but he is less Doge than Dauphin, a 79-year-old child who holds court at the pleasure of the council of oligarchs who installed him and can snuff him out whenever they need to.
In fairness, given how thoroughly Americans’ popular culture has taught them that true villainy wears a powdered wig and drinks its tea with a raised pinky, one can’t really blame the marchers for focusing on kingly phantoms while more or less ignoring the power behind the imaginary throne: Mel Gibson fought an English king in Braveheart and a British one in The Patriot, but we shouldn’t hold our breath for a third outing in which he fights a London-based multinational planning to privatise oxygen and then launch a subscription service for breathing.
And this isn’t all on Maga either: the fruit of this particular poisoned tree comes from seeds planted years ago by the so-called liberal rules-based order, which replaced democracy with corporatism and entrenched vested interests in full knowledge that the next, and perhaps inevitable, step was oligarchy.
Still, one can’t blame the marchers for their anxiety. Perhaps next year they’ll be less distracted by cabbages and kings, or cabbages who want to be kings, and start following the money – wherever it leads.
• Eaton is an Arena Holdings columnist.
