The Curious Case of Royal Rejection: Why Monarchies Are Suddenly So Quick to Disown Their Own
There’s a fascinating paradox at play when a monarchy starts stripping titles from its own members. On the surface, it looks like a moral cleansing—a way to uphold dignity and tradition. But dig deeper, and you realize it’s less about ethics and more about survival. The recent decision by Brunei’s Sultan to revoke all titles from Pengiran Raabi’atul Adawiyyah, his son’s wife, isn’t just a dramatic family feud. It’s a window into how modern monarchies cling to relevance by weaponizing shame.
The Unspoken Rules of Royal Survival
Let’s start with the obvious: Pengiran’s alleged “unbecoming” behavior was never publicly specified. And that secrecy is telling. By keeping the details vague, the Brunei royal family ensures two things—first, that the monarchy remains an impenetrable black box to outsiders, and second, that any criticism gets drowned out by speculation. Why admit fault when you can let rumors fester? Personally, I think this opacity is a calculated move. It’s not about protecting the family’s reputation; it’s about preserving the mystique that gives monarchies their lingering power. Without mystery, what’s left? Just people wearing expensive hats.
Compare this to the UK’s handling of Prince Andrew and Sarah Ferguson. Their title stripping followed a very public scandal involving Jeffrey Epstein—a case where silence wasn’t an option. The British monarchy chose transparency as damage control, publishing a formal Letters Patent to frame the decision as “the King’s pleasure.” But was this really about accountability? Or was it a performance for a public that’s grown increasingly skeptical of royal entitlement? What many people don’t realize is that both approaches—Brunei’s secrecy and Britain’s proceduralism—are designed to avoid one dangerous outcome: looking human.
A Global Pattern of Power and Punishment
Monarchies today face an existential dilemma. They’re relics of a pre-democratic era, yet they persist by reinventing themselves as “modern.” The stripping of titles has become their go-to tool for this balancing act. In Scandinavia, royals without direct succession claims lose their titles to “help them live normal lives.” That’s the official line, anyway. But isn’t this just a polite way of saying, “You’re not useful to us anymore”? From my perspective, these decisions aren’t charitable—they’re transactional. Titles are currency, and if you can’t generate PR value or produce heirs, your account gets frozen.
What’s striking is how consistently monarchies treat family members like disposable assets. Pengiran, Andrew, Sarah—none were exiled for crimes, but for behaviors that “tarnished” the brand. This raises a deeper question: When did the right to personal failure become a privilege only commoners enjoy? The irony is palpable. Royals are expected to be flawless icons, yet they’re rarely held to the same ethical standards as elected officials. A politician resigns for a scandal; a royal just loses their HRH and quietly fades into obscurity. One wonders if this isn’t the ultimate perk of birthright: the ability to mess up spectacularly while still keeping your palace.
The Children: Innocent Victims or Collateral Damage?
Here’s a detail that deserves more scrutiny: In every case cited, the children of disgraced royals retain their titles. On the surface, this seems compassionate. But let’s not mistake optics for morality. By sparing the kids, monarchies ensure continuity while discarding inconvenient adults—a neat way to have their cake and eat it too. However, this creates a psychological landmine for the next generation. Imagine growing up as Princess Eugenie or one of Pengiran’s daughters, knowing your parent was deemed unworthy of the family business. Does this not breed resentment? Or worse, a desperate need to overcompensate by becoming the “perfect” royal? A system that treats adults as expendable can’t produce healthy heirs. It’s a cycle of trauma dressed up as tradition.
What This Really Reveals About Power
The bigger story here isn’t about any individual scandal—it’s about how institutions cling to control when their legitimacy is crumbling. Monarchies operate on a simple formula: mystique + pageantry = public compliance. But in the age of social media, where every misstep trends within minutes, that formula is breaking down. Stripping titles is their panicked response: a way to signal moral authority without addressing systemic irrelevance. What this suggests is that monarchies now exist primarily as content factories, churning out weddings, babies, and scandals to justify their existence. The Sultan of Brunei isn’t preserving dignity; he’s managing a brand. And like any brand in crisis, he’s outsourcing accountability to the most vulnerable link—his daughter-in-law.
The Future of Royalty: Irrelevance or Reinvention?
So where does this end? If history teaches us anything, it’s that monarchies survive by adapting—or forcing others to adapt around them. But the 21st century offers fewer places to hide. Will we see more “reforms” like Scandinavia’s, where titles are casually revoked to seem progressive? Or more Brunei-style purges, where power is consolidated through fear? Personally, I suspect the next generation of royals will face an impossible choice: become reality TV stars (à la Beatrice and Eugenie’s podcast ventures) or risk irrelevance as younger generations reject inherited privilege entirely. Either way, the era of the untouchable monarchy is over. What’s left is a group of wealthy families desperately trying to stay interesting—and willing to throw their own under the bus to do it.
