On Sunday, in the social media frenzy of anticipation surrounding Meghan Markle and Prince Harry's interview with Oprah Winfrey, former England goalkeeper Peter Shilton tweeted: "I think Harry & Meghan are about to feel the wrath of our nation. Many Brits and our British press will want to defend and protect our Queen, I think thousands will stand behind our sovereign."
No stranger to a quintessentially British fable (see his insistence that he and the rest of the England football team were robbed by Diego Maradona in the 1986 World Cup), Shilton's tweet embodies a deeply resilient and utterly bizarre subservience towards his country's monarchy. The militancy of Shilton's two pence on the matter echo the permanent fixation with war which is instilled in the British psyche, as showcased by the government's continuous use of war time rhetoric throughout the handling of the Covid 19 pandemic. This strange attitude to conflict can be understood as British identity's adaption to the post-World War Two world. By 1945, for the first time in it's history, Britain had had to rely on the help of the increasingly powerful USA to repel the Nazi's advances, whilst hoping for a change in fortunes for the USSR to the east. In the decades following the war, the British empire, central to the nation's image of itself, crumbled, as independence movements around the world took advantage of the financial devastation that had been dealt to the colonial power. To add to the humiliation, it was the USA, the former colonial territory of Britain, which overtook them on the world stage.
What emerged in the national psyche in the wake of the empire's demise was, along with a now widely held belief that they were the driving force behind winning the war, a certain insularity. Britain grew increasingly suspicious of the indigenous people across the globe who dismantled her empire, while jealously watching the United States grow to become the dominant world power. Since the end of the war, the UK has fostered an identity which looks back nostalgically upon the days of the British empire, from it's songs which laud it's former naval prowess, to the numerous celebrations and relics of the empire which still reside in British society.
The foremost of which is the royal family.
The symbolic importance of this family of Anglo-Norman descendants explains, to some degree, the fanatics who surround Buckingham palace, draped in Union jack apparel, upon every royal engagement or birthday. To many in this country who value their national identity, the royals symbolise a continuation of this colonial power in all it's perceived glory. There is still a commonwealth, there is still a financial empire and there is still a monarchy.
Indeed, to the likes of Peter Shilton the idea of the nation uniting to "defend and protect our queen" from Meghan Markle, exhibits this fantasy of Britishness and British history: a brave and defiant island nation which will resolutely fight off any enemies, from it's lowly native subjects to it's rival empires. Markle, as both an American and a mixed race woman, embodies both of these historical dangers to the empire. While the suspicion of America exists as a rather harmless, surface level phenomenon in British culture, the media's reaction to Markle, and the royals lack of action in response, reveal the depth to which racist hostilities still exist in a country which still largely celebrates it's brutal subjugation of people of colour around the world.
Markle herself appears to have been blissfully unaware of this layer of British society before her marriage to Prince Harry. In this way, she has fallen victim to another, distinctly American mythology: that of marrying a prince and living happily ever after. It is this perception of the royal family as a celebrity adaptation of a fairy-tale which informs the adoration of the thousands who throng city centres all over the world to see them upon every state visit. As an actor who inhabited the fringes of the celebrity world, Meghan Markle's marriage with Harry can be viewed as an event which took place within the realm of celebrity culture. The events which have transpired following the union, however, are the consequences of two mythologies colliding dramatically.
Relentless and increasingly ludicrous attacks from the press were the fallout from this clash. Largely confined to palace grounds for the first year of their marriage, the former Suits actor endured attacks as absurd as accusations of funding Mexican cartels by eating avocadoes, while her sister in law, Kate Middleton was praised for enjoying the same breakfast by the same publications. Upon requesting increased protection from the family, she was turned down. When the couple's first child was conceived, it was announced that he would not have security or a royal title provided for him. The family's stance was clear.
Evidently, the royals are not an inoffensive celebrity family or a benign advert for British tourism. They are the hangover from the dark colonial past which the very concept of the United Kingdom is rooted in. The reaction to Meghan and Harry's mistreatment do not, however, represent a great awakening of the public to the inherent flaws of this institution. They merely demonstrate that the worship of a fantastical celebrity culture is now a more powerful force than this symbol of Britain's slowly decaying decaying pride and identity.