Commentary/ T V R Shenoy
Prince Charles was damned as an adulterer. What of Diana?
Have you heard of Caroline of Brunswick? If not, she was the adulterous
wife of King George IV who absolutely hated her. So
much so that at his coronation, the monarch ordered the doors
of Westminister Abbey shut in her face!
Caroline, however, had a talent -- almost a genius -- for ingratiating
herself with commoners. And the citizens of London were determined
to avenge the insult to their favourite. They wandered around
forcing the great peers to hail her. One of their targets was
the Duke of Wellington.
"Well gentlemen," said the victor of Waterloo, "if you
insist, God save the Queen -- and may He grant you all wives like
her!"
One hundred and seventyfive years later, people are kicking out
in the name of another beloved princess -- Diana, princess of
Wales. They are all but forcing the media to bend its knee. And
the press is doing so, but without Wellington's irony or sense
of proportion.
"Vultures chase Diana to death" screamed a headline.
And the public boos the press as vehemently as it mourns the Queen
of Hearts. Is the media really to blame?
Was it the press that chose a drunken driver, who had the equivalent
of one and a half bottles of wine in his veins? Was it the press
that told the people in the car not to use seat-belts? Was
it the press that ordered the driver to speed through Paris at 196 kilometres an hour?
The French authorities certainly don't think so. True, they arrested
seven photographers with great flourish. But what are the charges?
That in France it is a crime not to help accident victims!
If the victim weren't Diana, princess of Wales, would they have
bothered to do even that?
But the media aren't asking such questions right now. The focus
is on the best way to rein in the dreaded paparazzi -- those freelance
photographers who specialise in embarrassing and/or revealing
snaps of celebrities.
Diana's brother has gone one step farther. "They have blood
on their hands," was his measured judgement on the editors who
bought those pictures.
Oh really? Tabloids happen to be a business like any other. They
published those snaps of Diana because the readers -- the same
ones howling against the press -- loved seeing Diana frolic. If
they thought it immoral, they didn't have to buy the papers. And
the paparazzi would have trained their telephoto lenses elsewhere.
If, that is, the Queen of Hearts had allowed them
to do so. Let us be honest, the late princess of Wales assiduously
cultivated the media. And it paid off in her squabbles with her
husband.
Prince Charles was damned as an adulterer because he loved another
woman. What of Diana?
Poor Dodi Al-Fayed wasn't exactly the first man in her life. She
was responsible for breaking up the marriage of former English
rugby captain Will Carling. There was a cavalry officer (who
kissed and told). There was supposed to be a Pakistani doctor...
But the media continued to hail her as a younger, better-looking
version of Mother Teresa. They spoke only of her patronage of
various charities, her campaign against land-mines, and so on.
All that was possible because of just one thing -- her marriage
into the British royal family. There are hundreds of women who
are better looking, thousands who work harder for good causes.
What set Diana apart was marriage to Charles. How did she repay
him?
With a messy and expensive divorce. Her booty included a rent-free
palace in London and the cash equivalent of over Rs 500 million. Through all this, the media backed her. How could it not with those lovely photo-opportunities? (Remember that 'poor
little me' photo at the Taj Mahal, after she refused to accompany
her husband elsewhere?)
But media-attention can't be switched on and off like a tap. After
cultivating publicity, Diana couldn't suddenly demand privacy
to cultivate her own affairs.
The press should go in for introspection. But a postmortem on
Diana isn't required. Rather, journalists need to ask themselves
how they allowed themselves to be so effortlessly manipulated
yesterday, and why they are kicking themselves so hard today.
Wealth, beauty, and royalty are a rare and heady cocktail. But
rarer still is a Mother Teresa. Can we get over the obsession
with the Queen of Hearts and concentrate on the ladies
at Nirmal Hriday?
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