Media myths about royal mourning

Decca Aitkenhead, Guardian News Service, London

There is only one really good argument against abolishing the monarchy, and it is that doing so might be more trouble than it was worth. Republicanism as a practical ambition, rather than a principle, will always be open to the charge of time-wasting -- because there will always be more important things to worry about.

In much the same way, the coverage of the Queen Mother's death seemed hardly worth getting worked up about. The commotion over the shade of a newsreader's tie 10 days ago was faintly surreal, but to counter the full force of Daily Mail fury would have involved rallying more passion than the quiet death of an elderly woman seemed to call for. Not wishing to appear insensitive, wise souls left the affair alone.

But however wise, the effect of this decision has been to give free rein to all those who wanted to use the royal death for their own purposes. In simple terms, the newspapers were able to make things up. They told fibs about non-existent queues forming to sign condolence books, they fabricated "palace fury" over BBC newsreader Peter Sissons only wearing a somber colored tie, and they kept making more things up until the nation had been persuaded that a momentous event was taking place -- and then, of course, it was.

Hundreds of thousands turned out for Friday's procession, and it was a remarkable spectacle. But media reports described "tears coursing" down Prince Charles's cheeks, and policemen "sobbing", and a silence so complete you could "hear a pin drop". If you weren't at the procession, you might assume this was an accurate version of what happened. If you were, you might think it an accurate description only of what reporters wanted desperately to see.

What would a truthful account of the weekend sound like? There was genuine sadness for a deeply popular royal. It was also the final few days of the school holidays, though, and the first sunshine of summer. Parents were overjoyed to find a day out for their kids, and tourists in London for Easter wouldn't have missed it for the world. And then, naturally, there was the queue.

When it was possible to pay respects without having to wait -- by nipping along and signing a condolence book -- there wasn't a great deal of interest. Only as the queues lengthened, and the prospect of having to wait an hour lengthened into four, and then six, and then 10, did the appeal of paying respects become a magnetic attraction.

Photographs of the human river along the River Thames haven't acted as a deterrent but an incentive, and so the growth of the queues has been decidedly exponential. In other words, the longer people think they'll have to wait, the more they want to come.

When Diana died, there was an idea that to examine the stated motives of the queues was the same thing as sneering at them. This was a mad idea then, and it's just as untrue now; there is nothing offensive about suggesting that what most people want is the shared experience of a giant queue. Collective moments come all too infrequently, and should be there for the taking.

But there has been something hysterical about the insistence that these people are royalists in mourning. "Look!" exclaim reporters. "Here is someone under the age of 80, who looks sad." An amazing amount of energy has gone into presenting a version of events that "proves the cynics wrong", "confounds expectations", "shows how much the nation loved the Queen Mum".

Not just the Daily Mail but practically every paper has invested in the idea that the great British public has silenced the media carpers who didn't take this death seriously enough at first.

How can their account of today's funeral be trusted, when their need to say I-told-you-so eclipses everything else? Royal skeptics have been accused of pursuing their own agenda, but what has been the torrent of wild exaggeration from the pro-royal press, except a shrewd -- and largely successful -- attempt to whip up a sense of occasion, and then pass it off as an expression of royalism? The royal family is good for circulation, and so tabloid editors adore and need it much more than their readers do. Their coverage of the last week has been, therefore, inextricably linked to commercial interest.

It's rather rich for them to accuse others of disrespect, when on the very pages that are supposed to be in mourning, they run stories about how soon Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles can wed, now that the obstacle to matrimony is dead. They literally can't wait for the next big event to boost sales.

Like Enron shares, the royal family's stock has been falsely inflated to increase its value -- only, unlike Enron executives, it looks like the press have got away with it. Turning a sunny day out for families into a political argument for keeping the crown, just because it sells advertising space, is a tawdry way to "show respect".