In defence of Meghan, the demonised duchess

The words pouring on Meghan’s head are written for a witch, because that is the natural progress of the story. The royal family are our national myth and sacrifice: our small flesh gods, without whom we would have to have a serious political system requiring serious engagement, instead of which we have this. Interlopers are sanctified if they comply and demonised if they don’t. It is a sort of trial by ordeal, it’s-a-royal-knockout — how much can you take? All interlopers get it — Prince Philip was once considered a dangerous moderniser — but the women have it worse. Sir Timothy Laurence might wonder where his made-up feud with his brother-in-law is. I have worked on a tabloid and I can tell you: he isn’t pretty enough.

Harry is called ungrateful for the interview with Oprah, but not much worse. His small personal failings — teenage drug use, Nazi uniforms — are not dwelled on because he’s one of us. The woman is the true cause of evil, and she must be punished: this witch who stole our prince. This narrative is repulsive because it assumes ownership of a person. Weren’t we there for him when his mother died? Oh yes, and how he wished we hadn’t been. Even so, pretending to be Harry’s mum while really being a middle-aged female journalist for the purposes of chiding him is an evergreen, and gruesome, genre. Now they have Meghan to feast on, and the generic complaint was always: she looks very pleased with herself, the woman who stole our prince! That a professional soldier with access to the loveliest possible women is unlikely to be kidnapped by a former actress and sometimes calligrapher — what, did she drug him? — has escaped them.