Just Business as Usual

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According to the official constitution (to the extent that such a thing exists) the monarch’s line of descent was chosen by the will of god to rule over us. The historical reality is that the divine will has often been given more than a little human assistance in the form of patricide, fratricide and even infanticide, without an unhealthy dose of all of which the current monarch would not be occupying the throne. Had it not been so his offspring might not be pushing each other onto dog bowls, or, if they did, would attract rather less attention for doing so as members of some minor and largely forgotten branch of the family tree. Avoiding the potentially circular argument about whether killing off family members was actually god’s mysterious way of implementing his will to guide the current monarch into his elevated position, the reality is that the occupant of the throne at any time owes more to the nefarious activities of his or her ancestors than to the divine. History indicates that, by and large, the English monarchical system has a Darwinian propensity to select for murder, treachery and betrayal.

Throughout history, royal personages have attempted to put a positive light on some of their number and a negative light on others; much of what we learn about the history of the kings and queens of England – a history traditionally inflicted upon pupils in Wales as well as in England – is based as much on spin as on historically provable fact (such as Richard III’s hunchback). Modern technology didn’t invent spin or briefing; it merely facilitated and accelerated them. Shakespeare makes Alastair Cambell look like a novice, and King John with a Twitter account would probably have made Trump look like a rank amateur.

That all provides some context for the ‘revelations’ in Harry Windsor’s little tome, to be published next week. (Interestingly, one question which the media seem not to have pursued with any vigour is how the country which gave the world the very concept of mañana managed to steal a march on everyone else and publish the book early.) Listening to Harry’s long list of gripes, it seems that he doesn’t understand that what he is describing when he talks about betrayal, disrespect, and unfavourable briefings is what history tells us is Standard Operating Procedure for his whole family. In fact, being pushed around a bit by a brother who later apologised means that, in terms of his family’s normal approach to business over the preceding centuries, he’s got off rather lightly and made his brother look like a bit of a wimp. Most of William's predecessors would have had the axeman standing by. It makes me wonder what passes for English history on the curriculum at Eton. Or maybe they simply assumed, wrongly, that a living part of that history would already understand it.

Mine's smaller than yours

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In scenes vaguely reminiscent of the Four Yorkshiremen, it seems that the so-called ‘leaders’ of the UK and Canada got themselves into a debate in Germany over who had arrived in the smallest private jet. At a mere 45 metres long, Johnson’s A321 Airbus beat Trudeau’s 47 metre Airbus CC-150 in the aircraft poverty stakes. How many people were in Johnson’s retinue is not recorded, but it’s doubtful whether it was anywhere near the 170 – 220 which an A321 is normally capable of carrying.

Johnson did, however, cheat in order to win the game. (Nothing new there of course.) It seems that he only won because he was in the backup aircraft, rather than his usual transport, which is a 60 metre long Voyager variant of the Airbus A330 (normally configured, in civilian use, for anything up to 406 passengers). That, however, was unavailable, because the monarchy have first call on its use, and Charles Windsor had exercised his royal privilege to bag the plane for himself. Presumably to make sure that there was adequate space for his official toilet seat, and enough cupboards to hold carrier bags full of cash should he happen, in the course of his travels, to bump into any rich sheiks looking to relieve themselves of a spare few million quid.

Johnson’s victory over Trudeau because of the use of the royal trump card does, however, bring us to the question that no-one seems to have asked. Both Johnson and Windsor travelled from the same starting point (London) to the same destination (Rwanda) to attend the same meeting, and each used a separate enormous aircraft to do so. And while Johnson then travelled on to Germany leaving the heir to the throne in Kigale, the bigger plane continued to sit on the runway at Kigale until such time as its passenger returns home. Whilst we know that the two men are not exactly the best of bosom buddies at the moment, they both claim to be strong supporters of action on climate change, something which is not exactly easy to square with use of large private jets. Surely either one of the planes would have been quite large enough for them to sit far enough apart that they didn’t even need to acknowledge each other. One each side of the cash cupboards perhaps. Is it really beyond the wit of those purporting to run the UK to organise itineraries such that one plane would have sufficed?

Narrowing the gap

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Yesterday’s Sunday Times reported that the English royal family is worried that actions by politicians are going to lose Scotland from their realm, and is consequently deploying William and Kate to visit Scotland more often in an attempt to woo the Scots away from independence. The first part of that seems to be an eminently sensible conclusion to draw. Whilst the PM has announced that ‘the union’ is to be at the heart of everything the government does, the interpretation placed on that by some, which is that Johnson is looking for ways to persuade the Scots and the Welsh that they are better off in the union, is way off beam. In practice it just seems to mean looking at every policy to determine whether it offers another opportunity for undoing the devolution settlement and/or for plastering union flags around the place. Scottish and Welsh sentiments are not to be accommodated or assuaged, but overridden and rejected. The conclusion reached by the royals – that this is likely to be counter-productive – is an obvious one to just about everybody except the PM and his coterie.

The second part of their plan, however, is much more problematic. “I used to support independence because of the way the government treats Scotland, but now that our kids have been given more opportunities to wave little plastic union flags at some younger members of a posh English family” is a thought voiced by no-one, ever. And the mindset behind believing that more royal visits would have such an effect whilst the government continues to trash the devolution settlement is a very strange one indeed. Given that it is perfectly possible (and is the policy of Scottish independentistas for the initial phase of independence at least) to retain the union of crowns whilst ending the union of parliaments, the royal family associating itself with the overtly political aim of maintaining both unions is more akin to lashing themselves to the mast to make sure that they go down with the ship than avoiding the shipwreck.

Whilst opinion polls tell us that the Windsors are considerably more popular in Scotland than Johnson, that is a very low bar to set. It’s entirely possible that a royal charm offensive (which may or may not be an oxymoron) in support of the union will indeed reduce the popularity gap between the Windsors and the Tory leader. Just not necessarily in the way they expect.

Keeping it a secret

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On Monday, the Western Mail published an English version of an article previously written for Barn by Professor Richard Wyn Jones, in which he called for Plaid Cymru to embrace republicanism in the light of the debacle over the renaming on the Second Severn Crossing. 

One of the points that he made was that “Plaid Cymru may not be a republican party but it is a party of republicans”.  In my own experience, that’s entirely true; Plaid’s members are overwhelmingly of a republican bent.  It’s not unanimous though; there are some who, for various reasons other than short term pragmatism support the continuation of the current monarchy, and a few who want the restoration of a Welsh monarchy.  Prof. Jones’ basic point, though, is sound.  Despite the lack of complete unanimity on the question, the logic of seeking independence under a system which continues to locate sovereignty, even symbolically, in the capital of another country has always escaped me.

And a second point which he makes, which is that “…it’s more than likely that most of the Welsh electorate (mistakenly) think that this [republicanism] is already the party’s stance” is also probably true, although I’m not completely convinced that many electors (other than those already persuaded one way or the other about republicanism) have given enough thought to the question for me to be as certain about this second point.

Let’s accept, however, that both points are valid, the question that obviously arises is ‘why be so shy on the issue?’  I can think of two apparently good reasons, and they are reasons which led me over many years to be equally shy on the issue; the question now is whether, as Prof. Jones suggests, the time has come to be less shy. 

The first reason is that whilst Plaid’s membership may be, by and large, instinctively republican, the same is not true for those electors who support the party in elections, let alone for the wider electorate as a whole.  And given that retaining the English monarch as head of state has not significantly restricted the independence of countries such as Canada, why conflate the two issues of independence and republicanism?  It’s easy to dismiss the replacement of the monarch by an elected head of state as an unnecessary complication of an argument for autonomy, when it is the autonomy which matters more. 

And the second reason is the way in which the UK establishment and media have managed to attach the word ‘republican’ so firmly to Sinn Féin and the IRA.  It gives the word a connotation which I can easily understand any constitutional party wanting to avoid.  Whether independentistas should allow words to be defined for them in such a fashion is an interesting question in itself; but it’s easier to debate than to change. 

Prof. Jones sees the bridge renaming fiasco as being a catalyst which could enable a committed party of independentistas to challenge what is, as he identifies, a clear attempt by the state to promote a particular view of the world, and to present a clear alternative.  I agree with the need to present a clear alternative vision, and with the reign of the current monarch inevitably drawing towards a conclusion, I suspect that support for republicanism is likely to grow across the UK, not just in Wales.  The time to make the case for the current monarch to be the last is now, not after the next one has been installed.  It would be a curious situation were the argument for republicanism to make greater progress outside the independence movement than inside it. 

I wonder, though, and not for the first time, whether the problem is not that Plaid, as a movement of independentistas, is failing to adopt republicanism as a clear and stated goal, but that it isn’t really a party of independentistas; because if it isn’t, then the expectation is wholly unrealistic.  It’s a point which has struck me more than once listening to people talking about the name of a bridge – much of the criticism has been on the lack of consultation over the naming, rather than over the role of the person selected as a basis for the new name.  It has often sounded as though people are trying to make a point without actually making it.  Reinforcing the idea that people might be secret republicans who are afraid to come out and say it is probably the worst of all worlds.

A rock and a hard place

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The anger of many over the re-naming of the Severn Crossing is understandable, and was entirely predictable.  And the disappointment with the First Minister in ‘raising no objections’ is equally unsurprising.  I do though, almost feel a little sorry for him – he was caught between a rock and a hard place.  If he raised no objections, then he was obviously going to get the criticism now being hurled at him by some politicians and through social media.  But, had he raised an objection, I think we can be certain that the Secretary of State would not simply have forgotten the idea and gone away; royal sycophancy is his natural state.  And any objection raised by Carwyn Jones would certainly have become known to the media (anyone really see Cairns missing an open goal like that?), as a result of which he would have been pilloried by the tabloids for a snub to His Royal Charliness and family.  So, weighing up the options – a storm of protest from the usual suspects on social media or a front page tirade in the most widely-read newspapers in Wales - which would you choose?

But that brings me back to the ‘almost’ a few sentences ago.  He either weighed it up in the calculated fashion I’ve suggested above and opted for the quiet(er) life, or he gave it no real thought and went for Labour’s traditional deferential approach to the monarchy.  In neither case does he actually deserve much sympathy; but the latter case looks the likelier, and getting off (comparatively) lightly is just a bonus for him.  The biggest mistake is being made by anyone who ever thought that his response would be made on the basis of any thought about what’s best for Wales.

Shoddily built

Tweet Listening to the radio in the car yesterday, I heard an item about the planned refurbishment of Buckingham Palace.  An enthusiastic spokesman for one organisation – didn’t catch which – told listeners that it was essential that the work should be done, because the palace is a vital part of British heritage.  In almost the next breath, he said that part of the problem was that the palace had been thrown up using shoddy materials in the first place.  I couldn’t help but see in that juxtapositioning a wider analogy about the way that ‘our’ heritage has developed.

The £150 million cost of refurbishing the royal palace is small beer, of course, compared to the estimates for refurbishing the Palace of Westminster which were floated last week, but there is nevertheless a common thread.  In both cases, it is proposed to spend large sums of money on repairing and patching up old buildings which are not suitable for purpose now and will still not be suitable for purpose when the work is completed.  Doing them up a bit as tourist attractions is one thing, but pretending that the result will be buildings which are fit for the 21^st century is simply delusional.

But, in another analogy with ‘our’ heritage, pretending that delusion is reality seems to be mainstream accepted consensus.  It never ceases to amaze me how quickly people who walk in through the doors of the Palace of Westminster become wedded to the place with all its peculiar foibles and arcane practices, and end up believing that it’s the only possible way of doing things.

In any rational world, the fact that Parliament is falling apart would be seen as an opportunity to find or design a building which actually had enough seats and office space for all the members, and which enabled them to vote in seconds at their seats rather then spending hours walking in circles so that they can be counted like a farmer counts his sheep.  (And a building fit for purpose would raise an awful lot of questions about other processes and procedures as well.)

A crumbling royal palace should be a good opportunity to ask whether a family which actually lives in a nine-room apartment really needs a 775 room palace (to say nothing of the other palaces).  Or why a largely ceremonial monarchy with no real power over anything needs so many staff and offices.

It is, though, in the nature of ‘our’ heritage, jerry-built with shoddy materials as it is, to never ask such impertinent questions, let alone expect our rulers to answer them.  Clinging on to the past is all they seem to know, even when it’s literally collapsing around them.

An idea whose time has gone

Tweet The spat between Cameron and the President of Sri Lanka drew more attention to the meeting of the Commonwealth Heads of Government than it would normally merit.  Such attention would normally be more focused on the visit by the hereditary head (or in this case deputy head) of the ex-colonial power.  For what it’s worth (and despite my instinctive understanding of the reaction of the President to being lectured by former colonialists), on the substantive issue of an enquiry into alleged war crimes, I’m with Cameron.  (Although he seems to have taken his time about noticing the issue.)

That isn’t the subject of this post, however.  What exactly is the Commonwealth for?  It’s a curious organisation, which has attempted to redefine itself a few times over the decades to become more modern and relevant; but at root, it is about maintaining links between the UK and its former colonies.  As the charter puts it, it’s for those countries which have “a shared inheritance in language, culture and the rule of law”, and are “bound together by shared history and tradition”. That would be the shared experience of conquest and an imposed language, in most cases.

Two of the main criteria for membership are acceptance of the monarch of the UK (or rather the “monarch of the Commonwealth realms” as they would prefer to put it, using a formula which allows even republics to accept a residual role for the monarch), and the use of the English language.  It’s open to countries which were part of the Empire or which have some sort of constitutional relationship with countries which were part of the Empire (colonies of colonies, and dependencies of dependencies).  This is a rule which may only be waived in exceptional circumstances – in the interests, presumably, of apparent non-exclusiveness.

From the point of view of the London establishment, the attraction of an organisation which allows them to live in the past and pretend that they still have some sort of empire, dispensing their largesse (in terms of aid and trade) more favourably to former colonies than to others is perhaps understandable.  It also gives the Windsors opportunities to visit exotic places (and in the case of one of them, insult the local natives).

From the point of view of the other members, it’s either the fact that Her Maj is still their head of state, or else the expectation of favourable terms for aid and trade that encourages them to see some value in the organisation.  But in the twenty-first century, is there really still an argument for retaining a pretend empire like this?  Whether it’s dreams of the past, or even possibly a feeling of guilt for past misdemeanours, is there really any justification for differentiating amongst those who need aid and trade to favour those who ‘we’ used to rule?

It’s an idea whose time has long gone; it belongs, like the empire, to the past.  It may be an academic question though.  Accepting Elizabeth II as head of the Commonwealth for as long as she lives is comparatively easy; she was, after all, on the throne when most of the members gained their independence.  I somehow doubt that the idea of a hereditary head of the organisation will survive the death of the current monarch.

The problem isn't with one man

Tweet Harry Windsor came in for some criticism last week for the terms in which he described his role in hunting down and killing members of the Taliban in Afghanistan.  He made it all sound like a bit of a game.  I’m not normally one for defending members of that wealthy and privileged family, but it did seem to me that personalising the criticism in this way was more than a little unfair.

Is his attitude really any different from that of the rest of the military?  I doubt it – it’s simply that, because of his family background, he’s the one who got interviewed.  Much of the terminology used is in widespread use in the military; euphemisms such as “taking out” are the norm not the exception.  Why pick on one man for that?

Use of euphemism isn’t really surprising anyway.  Seeing the whole war thing as some sort of game – with its red team, its blue team, and its green team – is simply a way of translating theory into practice.  It makes the actual killing more similar to the exercises and war games.  And depersonalising it – dehumanising it even – makes it easier for people to kill each other without too much moralising or hesitation.

The problem is not that one individual – whoever he may be – displays that attitude openly or honestly, nor even that it is widespread in the military.  The problem is that “we”, as a society, allow, and acquiesce in, a world order which makes the training of young men to kill or be killed “normal”.  As long as we allow that, then the military will inevitably seek out ways of making the task an easier one to perform – an army whose members stopped to moralise before pulling the trigger would hardly be an effective one.

For sure there are “bad guys” out there, but the one lesson of human history that we seem unable as a species to learn is that war rarely solves anything.  Short-term victories merely sow the seeds of subsequent conflicts, and until we collectively break the cycle, we are merely perpetuating the behaviour of the past.  If we are seriously concerned – and we should be – about what Mister Windsor said last week, we need to address the causes, not attack the individual.

Battenberg and symbolism

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I’ve met very few politicians over the years who are either able or willing to defend and justify the principle of an hereditary head of state.  For sure, there are plenty who will defend the institution on more pragmatic grounds – “it works” or “the people are happy with it” being far and away the most common; but that isn’t the same as supporting the underlying principle.

It would be a mistake to underestimate the power of those arguments – particularly the first one, especially for those of us who are happy to argue in other contexts that “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”.  However, that isn’t the same as saying that anyone would actually propose heredity as the method of choosing the head of state if presented with a blank sheet of paper.

Republicanism isn’t limited to the ranks of nationalists in Wales, although one might think that from reading some reports in recent days.  Nor is it a particularly ‘Welsh’ issue.  In my experience, many, many members of the Labour Party are also natural republicans; and – whisper this quietly - there are more than a few Tories who take a similar view, although they’re the most reluctant to come out and say so.

I wouldn't be at all surprised to discover that at least some of those who have chosen to attack the four Plaid AMs who want nothing to do with the royal opening of the Assembly are themselves closet republicans; they have simply chosen to adopt what they assume to be a populist position for a bit of point-scoring.  It’s all part of the game, I suppose.

At one level, one can argue that much of what the monarch does is more about symbolism than about practical issues; as long as the Queen never actually refuses to sign into law an Act passed by a parliament at any level, then real power lies with the elected bodies, no matter what the constitution says.  And the exercise of that real power to bring about change is what practical politics is about.

The symbolism is powerful, though.  The royal opening – which even some 'nationalists' pushed for in the early days of the Assembly because they saw it as conferring status and legitimacy on the institution – actually symbolises that power devolved is power retained.  Such powers as the Assembly possesses are by consent of the monarch-in-parliament.  In that sense, it is a symbol not of the power and status of the Assembly, but of the fact that that power and status is only on loan.

The oath of allegiance that AMs have to take is another symbol.  It’s something that they all have to do to take their seats, but I’m certain that the ranks of those who take it with a complete lack of sincerity are not limited to the Plaid AMs.  The idea of swearing loyalty to the head of state (and heirs), rather than to the people represented, is an anachronism from days long gone and should be abolished, and the sooner the better.  (The same applies to the UK Parliament – this isn’t a nationalist issue).

Failing to attend today’s event is another form of symbolism.  It will achieve little, but I’m sure that the four AMs fully realise that.  It symbolises the fact that the AMs concerned see their first loyalty as being to the people they represent, and not to someone who only occupies her position by dint of heredity.

So, I support the Plaid 4 in the symbolic stance they have taken against the royal symbolism.  My only real problem with it is that it draws attention to the fact that only four AMs are prepared to take such a stance.