Here’s something to bear in mind over the next few years. Be wary of taking advice on social justice from someone whose wedding dress cost 200,000 quid. Marks & Spencer does one for £69, off the peg. Meghan could have donated the remaining £199,931 to Generating Genius, the charity set up by the brilliant educationalist Tony Sewell which tries, with huge success, to get inner-city black kids into our top universities by instilling in them a respect for academic excellence, hard work and discipline. Instead of encouraging them to languish in a state of victimhood, which is the white liberal approach.
For sure, Meghan looked lovely and the wedding undoubtedly made a lot of people very happy, and one wishes her and Prince Harry nothing but the best for the future. But I’m not sure it was quite, in the words of our newly enrolled village idiot David Lammy, Britain’s ‘Obama moment’. Our Obama moments, if you must, came with Clyde Best scampering down the wing for West Ham in the late 1960s, or Trevor McDonald reading the news. I have yet to meet anyone, anywhere, who gave a monkey’s that Meghan Markle was of mixed race, or black. (You choose. And be careful about it, or they’ll get you.) The only people obsessed with Meghan’s race were the BBC and the Guardian, the usual self-flagellating, middle-class white liberals shackled to a weird obsession and forever rattling their chains.
If it was an Obama moment, mind, I assume we are now in for eight years of incompetence, ineffectuality and national decline, after which Harry will dump Meghan and marry someone very right-wing, with strange blonde hair and
a penchant for injudicious tweets. ‘Do you, Ginger Harry, take this woman, Katie Hopkins, to be your lawful wedded wife?’ etc. That will be the anti-Obama moment, then.
In many ways the wedding was the perfect expression of the very well-heeled liberal elite, given that its entire text seemed to be taken from a particularly stupid and vacuous John Lennon song, not to mention the inevitable presence of the bloody Clooneys and Elton’n’ David. Establishments change hands once every 40 or 50 years and the capture of the young royals may be the very last hurrah of our liberal elite, given that it already has the judiciary, the education system, the broadcast media, two-thirds of the Tory party, and the Church of England within its grasp.
Both Harry and Meghan seem personable young people but the role of a royal is not, as they and many commentators seem to believe, to ‘change the world’. It is to carry out duties with fortitude and discretion, much as Liz and Phil have done for 70 years, and keep your own fatuous opinions to yourself. But there’s not much chance of that, I fear. We are in for a tsunami of vapid emoting from two people who, however pleasant they might be — and they do seem to be pleasant — are not necessarily the best equipped to pontificate about the many real or imagined injustices in the world and what to do about them. It’s probably just a fantasy of mine but I could swear that, during the service, Princess Anne was thinking much the same thing. Whenever the camera panned across to her she had a look on her face that suggested a corgi was attached to her lower leg and vigorously expressing itself. Except that there are no more corgis, of course.
The paucity of the philosophy behind this liberal love-in was exemplified by the guest speaker — a man who was, once again, very charming and likeable. Bishop Michael Curry, from North Carolina, was presumably plucked from the ether by Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury, for I suspect Hazza and Megs hitherto didn’t have a clue that he existed. If Justin were determined to have a black American speak at the wedding, I’d much preferred it to have been Candace Owens, but never mind — Curry had chutzpah and power, and he was the hit of the service.
And yet what he actually said was banal to the point of imbecility. OK, he may have mentioned ‘the balm of Gilead’ a couple of times, which always cheers me up because it reminds me of Monty Python. But the rest of his address was the usual mindless pap about love being the only thing that matters. The whole world can be reformed simply by love! And wouldn’t that be lovely! It was like listening to an address by a whacked-out Yoko Ono: ‘Love is thing, hate isn’t,’ as Private Eye once paraphrased her.
And it is a very au courant thesis, if you can call it a thesis. ‘All you need is love, dooby, dooby doo.’ What kind of love? The love of a suicide bomber for his explosive belt? The love of an oligarch for his money and power? The love of a third-world despot for his death squads? The love of Harry, somewhere down the line, for someone who isn’t Meghan? Are all these loves OK?
And what possible answers do they give us? In political terms it is the usual left-liberal delusion of failing firstly to see the world as it is, and secondly, assuming we all have a common interpretation of what love is, what it should be. It is a kind of cultural arrogance, then, or at best an evasion.
But there is also an ecumenical reason to doubt Bishop Curry’s wisdom. As the former chaplain to the Queen, Gavin Ashenden, put it: ‘Curry’s Jesus is preoccupied with social justice and the celebration of romance and sexual love wherever it finds you. The real Jesus warned that social justice would never happen in this world, that heterosexual marriage was to be between a man and a woman, and that equality had nothing to do with the Kingdom of Heaven.’ It’s no good, then, cherry-picking Jesus.
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