The well-worn refrain about the Australian republic is that it is off limits until Her Majesty the Queen shuffles off the mortal coil. She is such a respected monarch that it would be offensive to get out from under her influence while there are still freshly laundered clothes to comfort Australia. Apart from that she is, apparently, such a constitutional adornment that it would be impossible to carry a referendum to change the head of state while she was still on the throne.
Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull was at it again just before Christmas at the dinner in Sydney to mark the 25th anniversary of the founding of the Australian Republican Movement, now subtly rebadged as the Australian Republic Movement: The vast majority of Australians have known no other head of state than the Queen. She is so admired and respected that few of us can say — whether monarchists or republicans — that we are not Elizabethans.
I do not believe Australians would welcome, let alone support, another republic referendum during her reign. And as you know I have held this view for some time. It might then be just as cogently argued that the Prince of Wales has waited so long to be crowned that it would be impolite for us to decamp the moment the poor fellow got the job.
Then there’s Wills and Kate and adorable little George and Charlotte — they are all so lovely and popular that it could not possibly be in our hearts to constitutionally disown them. Yet, this notion that the royal line is some benign, bedazzling outfit that binds our polity in certainty, charisma and continuance needs to be addressed and a few unpleasant truths remembered. One certainty is that the main job of the House of Windsor is to keep themselves in business, to protect their jobs, station and privileges — and that requires a ruthless determination. Australians may be sentimental about the monarchy, but “the firm”, as the royal family is popularly known, itself is utterly unsentimental (this is not to be confused with “the firm”, a criminal gang operated by the Kray brothers).
A good example of that ruthless self-interest was the decision by the reigning dullard King George V to oppose his cousin Tsar Nicholas II of Russia’s plea, after his abdication in 1917, to be allowed asylum in Britain. The request had been supported by Lloyd George’s government but the monarch was opposed, believing it might inspire socialist unrest in the country and be a threat to his line of succession. The result was that Nicholas and his entire family were imprisoned and executed in 1918 by the Bolsheviks. Off with their heads — the firm comes first, first cousins come nowhere.
The pitiless determination to keep business ticking over could also be seen in the abdication of Kind Edward VIII after he married Wallis Simpson — keeping him at a safe distance out of the country so that his love affair didn’t besmirch the royals’ brand of self-basted rectitude. Poor Princess Margaret didn’t marry the divorced man she loved because she would have been required to surrender her royal titles and quite of bit of cash - at least that’s the conventional explanation. The blaze of glory that keeps Australians in thrall to royal people is a curious thing.
After all, most of them are a pretty uninspiring — interested in horses, a bit of shooting and breeding more royals. You’d want to stick forks in your eyes before being stranded on a desert island with Prince Andrew or Prince Edward. The only one who seems engaging is Charles, with his love of gardens, trees, organic vegetables and biscuits, his war against modern architecture and an ability to turn out a decent Christmas message .
The Netflix series The Crown is a drama, not a documentary — nonetheless it doesn’t stray too far from the truth. There was a marvellous scene when a scratchy and unhappy Prince Philip, played by Matt Smith, is being outfitted in another ridiculous military uniform before being dispatched on a royal tour of the Commonwealth in 1954. The prince says: Nobody wants to face it or deal with it, so they send us out on the Commonwealth roadshow. If the costumes are grand enough, if the tiaras sparkle enough, if the titles are preposterous enough, the mythology incomprehensible enough, then we’ll still be fine.
And like a bunch of easily hoodwinked suckers, sufficient numbers of us do swallow it. Maybe, we haven’t come all that far since the time monarchs believed they were chosen by a supreme power and everyone had to walk backwards as they walked forward. In truth, the House of Windsor might need us more that we need them. If Australia became a republic, then Canada and New Zealand would be at risk also of peeling off.
What’s left to reign over: Jamaica, Barbados, the Bahamas, Grenada, Papua New Guinea, the Solomon Islands, Tuvalu, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Belize, Antigua and Barbuda, and Saint Kitts and Nevis. Then the UK may find that Scotland has left the union and things could unravel quickly. What the royals need is stability. Once one jewel is dislodged the entire tiara would lose a lot of its sparkle. The reasons in favour of an Australian republic are well-rehearsed — essentially we need to grow up and be a serious country and an Australian as head of state who is not 17,000km away would help provide us with a truer sense of ourselves. But there is a less-discussed reason why the imperial head of state is objectionable, and it has to do with the concept of the divisible crown. The divisible crown is an organising principle of imperialism which sees HM the Queen as head of state of over 20 dominions, including the states of Australia. At its heart this arrangement reduces Australia to being a bit player among many far-flung component parts.
Contrary to the fervent belief of monarchists, Australia doesn’t have a special relationship with the crown because if that were permitted it would bring disquiet elsewhere. None of which is to say that converting to a republic does not present a range of hurdles. Quite apart from the selection model, what happens to issues such as the reserve powers in the constitution? Surely reserved monarchial powers could be a dangerous thing in the hands of someone who is, as Turnbull put it, “a potential alternate centre of political power to the prime minister and the parliament”. In fact, a president would be the only directly elected government official in Australia. Constitutional change is glacial, and no more so than on the foundation issue and binding principle of who should be the head of state.
— Guardian News & Media Ltd
Richard Ackland publishes the law journals Justinian and Gazette of Law and Journalism.
