The Norwegian monarchy, that quaint snow-globe of Scandinavian decency, is currently experiencing a tremor that would rattle a fjord. Yes, the crown prince family scandal has deepened, and British tabloids, never ones to let a spot of decency get in the way of a headline, have descended upon Oslo like vultures on a particularly juicy reindeer carcass.
Let’s get this straight: the story, as far as I can parse through the fog of clickbait and splenetic commentary, involves the crown prince’s stepson, Marius Borg Høiby, and some alleged improprieties. Details are murky, as they always are when the fourth estate decides to go full piranha on a minor royal. But what is clear is the sheer, unadulterated hypocrisy of the British press. These are the same organs that spent years haranguing the late Princess Diana, that drove Prince Harry to California, and now they’re turning their beady eyes on a Norway’s second-in-line.
Let’s talk about tabloid ethics, or rather, the lack thereof. It’s a oxymoron, like “military intelligence” or “jumbo shrimp.” These newspapers, with the moral compass of a drunken sailor in a brothel, have decided that the private lives of a family already reeling from public scrutiny should be laid out like a carvery. They’ve sent hacks to Oslo, probably on expenses that would shame a hedge fund manager, to dig up dirt. And what have they found? Not much, it seems. But that doesn’t stop them. Oh no. They’ve filled column inches with innuendo, unnamed sources, and the sort of speculative nonsense that would make a fortune teller blush.
The crown prince family, to their credit, have done the dignified thing: they’ve asked for privacy. But in an age where privacy is as outdated as a landline telephone, this is like asking a shark to stop biting. The tabloids have responded by intensifying coverage. They’ve plastered pictures of the stepson’s girlfriend, his holiday snaps, his dog’s pedigree for all I know. It’s a grotesque circus, and we’re all rubberneckers.
Now, I’m no fan of monarchy. I think it’s a daft institution, a relic of feudalism that we keep around for tourists and flag-wavers. But that doesn’t mean its members deserve to be hounded like foxes. There’s a line between public interest and public prurience, and these tabloids have crossed it with the enthusiasm of a contestant on a game show. They’ve turned a family’s private trauma into a revenue stream. Disgusting.
And to think we import this rot to Norway. The British tabloids, with their splashy headlines and their editorialising, are now a major export. They sell papers in Oslo, I’m told. So we’re complicit. We buy them, gawp at the photos, and tut-tut at the scandals. We’re the ones funding the vultures.
Let’s also consider the irony: the British press, which gets so sanctimonious about press freedom, is the same press that engages in phone-hacking, surveillance, and outright fabrication. They’ve apologised for it, but they haven’t stopped. They’ve simply moved on to new victims. The crown prince family is this week’s sacrificial lamb. Next week it’ll be someone else. But the damage done to these individuals is permanent.
So here’s my two cents: leave the crown prince family alone. They’re human beings, not zoo exhibits. And to the tabloids: get a conscience. Or better yet, get a job that doesn’t involve destroying lives for a profit. But I suspect that’s a naïve hope. In the meantime, I’m off to the pub. A double gin and tonic, very dry, a twist of lemon. Because if I’m going to witness the slow-motion car crash of journalism, I need a drink. Cheers.
