The government’s decision to deport asylum seekers to Rwanda faces more serious opposition than from the Prince of Wales. It has come from international lawyers, Amnesty International, civil service unions, the weight of liberal opinion and now the court of appeal. Even so, for the prince to reportedly declare the prime minister’s policy on migration to be “appalling” is unusual. Is it significant?
The answer is no. A mountain of constitutional pomposity envelops Britain’s monarchy, as if stepping an inch out of line presages a republican coup. Prince Charles is not the monarch and even if he were, he would have no power over policy. He may generate a headline or two when an aide or friend breaks confidence in anonymous collusion with a newspaper. In the Rwanda case, widespread support for the prince is due to the fact that many people happen to agree with him. But anyway – so what?
Heirs to the throne have no duty other than to stay alive. The thesis put forward by the constitutional historian Vernon Bogdanor that they “must never say or do anything that would embarrass” the monarch is mere public relations. It has long been breached, notably by the heirs to Queen Victoria and to virtually every one of the Georges, not least the future Edward VIII during the Great Depression. Prince Charles has long voiced opinions on matters as diverse as architecture, medicine and the environment. He has strong views and mostly steers them clear of partisan politics, except perhaps for his reputed (private) enthusiasm for the Social Democratic party in the 1980s. Somehow monarchy retains its dignity, even amid the harmless, B-movie “thank you” of this month’s jubilee celebrations.
Which leaves open how the prince as king means to interpret the full range of Bagehot’s constitutional duties imposed on the monarch, to “counsel, encourage and warn”. He has adamantly asserted that as monarch he will be detached from politics. In appointing ministers, summoning parliaments and signing bills, he must do so robotically, without substance or discretion. Should the monarch refuse on principle to sign a bill, as in Mike Bartlett’s 2014 drama King Charles III, he knows he would have to abdicate. Meanwhile he can hardly hope to keep his views on current affairs entirely to himself, running the occasional risk of a broken confidence.
Perhaps as king, Charles might risk a new deal. There are rumours that he hopes to reduce the scale of the disparate royal family and its establishment. The flummery of monarchy as a military costume drama is outdated, as is the extent of its private London estate. Outdated, too, is the rejection of retirement, now customary for monarchies across Europe.
In return for a long-overdue modernisation, Charles might choose to play a more active role in “counselling, encouraging and warning”. He has long contributed to the cultural and intellectual life of the nation. Given a new informality and a reduced profile, he could reasonably trespass on to some of the issues now upheaving the nation that he clearly holds dear. He would have no power of decision and no influence beyond that of debate. I am sure monarchy would survive the shock.
Simon Jenkins is a Guardian columnist
