Alicia Liberty and the Royal Christmas Betrayal
Columnist Tells Beatrice and Eugenie to Disown Mum by Dinner
LONDON, England — Christmas has traditionally been a time for families to come together, forgive old grievances and remember that however embarrassing your relatives may be, at least you didn't marry them for their money.
But Daily Express commentator Alicia Liberty has proposed a remarkable new tradition. Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie should publicly distance themselves from their mother, Sarah Ferguson, and prove their family values by treating family membership as a potentially fatal career mistake.
In her October 30 opinion column, Liberty argued that the sisters should publicly separate themselves from their mother while continuing to love her privately.
It's a fascinating distinction. You may love your mother, provided nobody catches you doing it. You may telephone her, but preferably from an undisclosed location. And should you accidentally embrace her in public, a Palace spokesman will explain that the princess was merely checking the woman's pockets for Russian listening devices.
Why Beatrice and Eugenie Are Being Told to Disown Their Mother
The immediate controversy concerns Sarah Ferguson's past association with convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, a genuinely serious subject deserving proper scrutiny. But somewhere between discussing accountability and planning the royal Christmas seating arrangements, Liberty's argument takes an extraordinary turn.
Beatrice and Eugenie, who are not accused of participating in Epstein's crimes, should publicly demonstrate their independence from their mother. Apparently having an embarrassing parent is now a hereditary offence requiring a public demonstration of loyalty to the Crown.
British constitutional scholars may wish to examine this new legal principle. Under ordinary law, children aren't responsible for their parents' decisions. Under the Liberty Christmas Doctrine, however, daughters can achieve reputational purity only by publicly washing their hands of the woman who washed their nappies. It is an unusual definition of gratitude.
Dr. Hilary Pemberton-Judd, a senior fellow at the Cheltenham Institute for Applied Etiquette, said she had never encountered anything like it in thirty-one years of studying royal protocol. "You can't put a mother back in the box with a gift receipt," she said. "And you certainly can't do it before the sprouts."
Imagine the conversation.
"Mother, you've always been there for us."
"How lovely, darling."
"You raised us, cared for us and helped us through difficult times."
"That's very sweet."
"Unfortunately, our advisers believe you now constitute an unacceptable reputational association, so we shall be publicly terminating our relationship effective Monday."
"Before or after lunch?"
"Before. The photographers arrive at two."
It's Christmas with the emotional warmth of a redundancy notice.
Liberty's argument allows the daughters to maintain private affection, which is presented as a rather compassionate concession. But what exactly does that mean? Can Eugenie visit her mother on a Tuesday? Must Beatrice wear sunglasses when collecting her from the airport? Would an accidental photograph of the three women shopping together require a formal Palace investigation?
Perhaps the princesses could adopt a recognition system. One handshake means "I love you." Two handshakes mean "I love you, but my publicist is watching." Three handshakes mean "Mother, please climb into the boot before the photographers arrive." The whole arrangement resembles witness protection for people whose principal offence is being related to somebody inconvenient.
A grandmother in Swindon, who declined to give her name because her daughter reads the Express, offered a more traditional interpretation. "If my daughter tried that with me, she'd still be welcome for Christmas," she said. "But she'd be peeling every bloody potato."
There speaks the authentic British constitutional tradition.
Betray Your Mother, Get a Palace Invitation
Under the proposed Christmas etiquette, Beatrice and Eugenie would receive a wonderful opportunity to demonstrate their independence by doing exactly what royal commentators tell them. Nothing says "strong independent woman" like requiring approval from a newspaper before deciding whether to visit your mother.
This newsroom has reconstructed the festivities at Sandringham according to the principles of modern royal reputation management. King Charles is seated at the head of the table. Prince William is checking whether any relatives have become embarrassing overnight. An adviser is standing beside the Christmas tree with a shredder. Two Palace invitations have been placed beneath the branches.
The first reads: PRINCESS BEATRICE: ADMISSION SUBJECT TO ACCEPTABLE MATERNAL DISTANCE.
The second reads: PRINCESS EUGENIE: PLEASE DECLARE ALL EMBARRASSING RELATIVES BEFORE ENTERING.
The turkey has already signed a confidentiality agreement.
"Where is your mother?" William asks.
"We left her at home."
"Splendid. Have some sprouts."
"She sends her love."
"Good heavens. Must we acknowledge it?"
King Charles sighs. "Can't we have one Christmas where nobody issues a statement?"
A courtier informs His Majesty that Christmas without a statement would violate seventeen Palace communications protocols. A circular from the Royal Reputation Exchange, dated October 24 and headed "Seasonal Guidance: Relatives," backs him up. It sorts acceptable mothers into three categories, Deceased, Abroad and Unmentioned, and adds at paragraph four that any affection which cannot be avoided "should be conducted off camera and preferably in the car."
Meanwhile, Sarah Ferguson sits beside an empty Christmas tree, wondering whether motherhood comes with a returns policy. She remembers birthdays, school runs, scraped knees and years of family celebrations. Unfortunately, none of those experiences are recognised as valid currency by the Royal Reputation Exchange.
At the palace, loyalty is reportedly measured in column inches. If your popularity rises, you may join the family photograph. If it falls, you become a distant acquaintance who once attended a garden party. The whole institution increasingly resembles an exceptionally expensive homeowners' association.
Beatrice and Eugenie are adults. They are perfectly entitled to decide how to respond to their mother's conduct, including whether public distance is appropriate. What's remarkable is the arrogance of assuming their decision should follow a columnist's preferred timetable. The sisters are not children waiting for permission to cross the road, and Sarah Ferguson is not an unpaid parking fine that must be cleared before entering Sandringham.
Of course, the monarchy has a considerable talent for turning private relationships into public administrative proceedings. Prince Harry has demonstrated what happens when family disagreements become a publishing industry. Now Beatrice and Eugenie are being encouraged to try the opposite manoeuvre: publicly disassociate rather than publicly complain. One royal relative gets criticised for revealing too much. Two others are encouraged to announce considerably more. The only consistent principle appears to be that royal commentators must never be deprived of material.
A survey of three Christmas dinner guests, conducted outside a Waitrose in Guildford, produced an overwhelming result. All three agreed that daughters should be allowed to love their mothers. Two wanted more gravy. The third wanted the commentator removed from the seating plan.
MI6 Checks Whether the Kremlin Opened a Royal Advice Column
The emotional chill of the proposal has prompted a Whitehall inquiry into whether the Kremlin has found a cheaper method of undermining British family life. Previously, Russian intelligence required highly trained operatives, sophisticated surveillance equipment and enormous budgets. Now, according to one bemused intelligence chief, they could accomplish their objectives by persuading British newspaper commentators to recommend publicly abandoning one's relatives.
The inquiry has been given the codename Operation Frozen Pudding. At a secure government building near the MI6 headquarters, an officer places Liberty's column before a panel of analysts.
"Gentlemen, what do we know?"
"The advice concerns a mother and her two daughters, sir."
"Anything else?"
"The daughters are being encouraged to demonstrate their independence by publicly distancing themselves from their mother."
"Good Lord. That's colder than a Moscow bus stop in February."
The intelligence chief removes his spectacles. "Have we considered whether British newspapers are now receiving their Christmas etiquette from the KGB?"
"Sir, the KGB ceased operating under that name decades ago."
"Then whoever replaced them has apparently developed a particularly unpleasant Christmas card."
The room falls silent. One officer asks whether the security services should investigate the advice itself. Another suggests leaving the matter to the country's grandmothers. "They're considerably more frightening than Russian intelligence, sir."
The minutes record that nothing in the column suggests Liberty has any connection to Russian intelligence, and the panel moved on to the biscuits. One analyst did note that the advice seems almost scientifically designed to turn family affection into a security problem.
At a separate meeting in Moscow, a Soviet-era strategist examines the proposal and shakes his head in admiration. "For decades," he says, "we attempted to undermine Britain's institutions. We spent billions on propaganda and espionage. Nobody suggested we could simply persuade daughters that being photographed with their mother was professionally dangerous."
His subordinate points out that a British newspaper columnist is not an intelligence operation.
"Of course not," replies the general. "But the result is terribly efficient."
The department then proposes expanding the strategy. First, encourage families to issue statements distancing themselves from embarrassing grandparents. Next, introduce Christmas dinner security clearances. Finally, require children to undergo reputational screening before accepting birthday money. Within ten years, nobody in Britain will be speaking to anybody. The family Christmas gathering will consist of twelve empty chairs and a public relations consultant. And the consultant will still send an invoice.
A Christmas Betrayal With No Winners
There is one important distinction the proposed Christmas purge overlooks.
Loving a mother is not the same as endorsing every decision that mother has ever made.
You can condemn serious wrongdoing and still keep the relationship. Adult daughters can set their own boundaries without being told by strangers to issue public statements. And you can believe that Sarah Ferguson's past decisions deserve scrutiny without demanding that her children perform an elaborate Christmas ritual of maternal rejection.
The royal family already has enough problems without introducing newspaper-approved affection. Think through the constitutional implications. Before marrying, every royal must certify that nobody in their extended family has ever behaved embarrassingly. Before Christmas, every guest must complete a parental-risk questionnaire. And before hugging Mum, each princess must obtain written confirmation that the embrace does not constitute approval of her entire life history.
This would require a new government department, the Ministry of Approved Maternal Relationships. Its annual budget would be £400 million. Its principal achievement would be preventing one woman from receiving a Christmas card. The British taxpayer would, naturally, pay for the stationery.
Meanwhile, the public is left wondering when family loyalty became such a fashionable vice. The most sensible Christmas present Beatrice and Eugenie could give themselves is the freedom to make their own decisions. They may choose closeness, distance, forgiveness or boundaries. None of those choices needs to be dictated by a columnist.
As for the suggestion that publicly rejecting one's mother is a necessary demonstration of personal independence, Britain might consider applying a little common sense. Christmas is difficult enough without requiring everyone to decide whether Mum meets the latest Palace reputation standards. The turkey is already dead. There's no need to kill the family conversation as well.
And somewhere at MI6, an exhausted intelligence officer closes the file on Operation Frozen Pudding.
"Threat assessment, sir?"
"Severe emotional frostbite."
"Recommended action?"
"Give the princesses a Christmas holiday, keep the family decisions in the family and tell the newspaper commentators to mind their own bloody business."
The officer pauses. "Will that restore peace to the monarchy?"
"Of course not. But it might save Christmas."
And that's the trouble with Alicia Liberty's proposed royal Christmas: by the time everyone has proved their loyalty to the family by publicly distancing themselves from it, there won't be a family left to celebrate.
There will just be a Palace, two invitations, an abandoned Christmas pudding and a newspaper columnist explaining why everybody should be grateful.
Fifteen Observations on the Royal Family's New Christmas Values
- Christmas is built on the Holy Family, and now a royal commentator wants this family dissolved before the starters. Mary and Joseph got a manger. These two get a press release.
- Beatrice and Eugenie can still love their mother privately. Oh, how generous. Most daughters can do that without a press licence.
- The perfect Christmas present used to be perfume or jewellery. Now it's a public statement explaining why Mum is a reputational liability. Gift receipt not included.
- Sarah Ferguson gave birth to two daughters, and the Daily Express thinks she should get two press releases in return. That's the worst returns policy in the history of retail.
- The royal family tree is now the only tree in Britain where the ornaments are encouraged to cut off their own branches. Even the fairy on top is reading her contract.
- At Sandringham the crackers will soon contain a paper crown, a terrible joke and a legally binding maternal disassociation agreement. You'll still get the terrible joke, though. That's the one thing nobody can disown.
- Family loyalty is sacred right up until the PR department spots you in a photo with the wrong relative. Then it's "Who? Never met her. Just a woman who's been standing near my face for thirty years."
- Beatrice and Eugenie are innocent of their mother's decisions, which is exactly why commentators say they must publicly prove it. Innocent people proving they're innocent. That's not a legal system, that's a school canteen.
- Christmas is the season of goodwill to all men, except your own mother if she's become unpopular with the Palace. Goodwill to all men. Terms and conditions apply to mothers.
- The monarchy believes in tradition, specifically the tradition of treating inconvenient relatives as if they've died while still sending them a birthday card. That's not a family. That's a subscription.
- King Charles gets a peaceful Christmas, William gets a publicity victory and Sarah gets the emotional equivalent of a parking ticket on her own driveway.
- Harry spent years being criticised for attacking his family in public. Now two women are being told to distance themselves from theirs in public. Apparently betrayal has different rules depending on who's writing the column. It's like a pub quiz where the answers change by table.
- British intelligence used to worry about Soviet agents infiltrating the establishment. Now the threat is somebody infiltrating Christmas dinner with a seating chart. And I've seen the seating chart. It's worse.
- MI6's Cold War department reportedly describes the advice as so emotionally freezing that Russian submarines could use it for refrigeration. They'd save a fortune on ice.
- The real Christmas miracle would be two grown women deciding their relationship with their mother is none of a newspaper columnist's business. Frankly, I'd take that over the star in the East.
Source: Alicia Liberty's October 30 opinion column, Daily Express. https://prat.uk/alicia-liberty-and-the-royal-christmas/
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