The Dutch royal family has just pulled off something rather remarkable. In a single day, they celebrated not one but two World Cup victories: the women's football team and the men's hockey team. It is a display of national sporting prowess that would make any monarchy proud. Yet for British observers, the event invites a more uncomfortable comparison.
Consider the contrast. The House of Orange, led by King Willem-Alexander, remains a symbol of national unity and quiet dignity. They are not merely ceremonial figureheads but active participants in the life of the nation. When the Dutch women's football team won the World Cup, the King and Queen were there, genuinely celebrating. When the hockey team followed suit, they were there again. It is a monarchy that understands its role: to reflect and amplify the achievements of its people.
Now turn to our own constitutional monarchy. The British royal family, for all its pomp and circumstance, has become a source of division rather than unity. The endless soap opera of royal feuds, the relentless focus on celebrity rather than service, the constitutional debates over funding and relevance. It is a institution adrift, unsure of its purpose in a modern democracy.
The Dutch monarchy offers a corrective. It is minimal in its demands on the public purse, modest in its public appearances, and maximal in its symbolic power. The Dutch royals do not pretend to rule; they simply represent. And in representing, they give the nation a focus for its collective pride.
This is not to argue for the abolition of the British monarchy. Far from it. A constitutional monarchy, properly understood, is a bulwark against populist excess and a repository of national continuity. But it requires a monarchy that earns its keep, that is seen to be worth the cost and the constitutional baggage.
The Dutch model suggests that relevance is not a birthright but a performance. It is earned through visible, genuine engagement with the national life. The British royals would do well to study their Dutch cousins. Instead of retreating behind palace walls or pursuing private feuds, they might step out and remember what they are for: to be the face of a nation's successes, not the source of its distractions.
As the Dutch celebrate their double victory, we might ask ourselves: when was the last time the British monarchy gave us such unambiguous cause for celebration? When did they last embody the simple pride of a nation united in triumph? The answer, I fear, is telling. And it is a warning of what happens when a monarchy forgets its purpose.
