What is Prince Harry’s problem, anyway? To understand Harry, you must understand inter-elite struggle in the West. There are two elite factions in the West; although specific details vary from country to country, the functional reality is the same. In Britain the “new” faction can be characterised as all those middle and upper-middle-class people who work for the post-war welfare state: senior civil servants, BBC executives, university administrators, social workers, teachers, and so on. This group subscribes to an inorganic coordination that is ideological. The coordination points include: the EU, liberalism, the NHS, empathy, science, LGBT, psychology, cosmopolitanism, and immigration.
This group self-conceptualises themselves as rational, scientific, individualistic, and meritocratic; they think that these qualities make them morally superior to the organic society that preceded them, and they are viciously envious as regards “the toffs at the top”—although they are rarely from disadvantaged families themselves. The managerialists are intensely annoying because despite their immense power—their control over the education system and the BBC—they maintain that they are utterly marginalised. They enjoy a sentimental relationship with ethnic minorities, whom they idolise as exotic and morally pure—particularly black Africans. This does not necessarily mean that they interact with ethnic minorities, except outside music festivals and with vetted black intellectuals.
A typical example of this type of elite is the writer Will Self: born in affluent managerial Hampstead, Self’s father was an architect of the welfare state. Self was in psychoanalysis by teenagehood; your first therapy session is, for the managerial elite, the equivalent to Christian confirmation. Managerialists remain “in therapy” for their “childhood trauma” permanently, because to be in pseudo-therapy is just like going to church on Sunday.
Self went on to have a heroin addiction; a suitably bohemian affectation for the managerial class, who think they are bohemian outsiders—even when they run the country. Naturally, this did not impede his stellar career at the BBC. His job: to be a propagandist who sneers and degrades anything organically British, Christian, or natural.
The older elite is represented by organic ties, ultimately to the Royal Family—the national family. Although Christianity has collapsed, it residually values Christianity. It is for the free market, tradition, and so on. It is for the family; for the mangerialists the family must be broken up and degraded—anything against the nuclear family must be promoted, from LGBT to certain therapeutic modalities. The organic side has almost been extirpated by the managerial state; however, according to all official propaganda it reigns supreme.
Prince Harry has been poached by the inorganic side in a move to degrade a central organic institution in Britain. Perhaps his parents’ divorce left him vulnerable to this approach; certainly, the loss of a father can lead a man to search for strange sources of authority—from street gangs to Marxism to Oprah. Harry’s public psychotherapy is a sham: a religious ritual for the managerial state, where certain expected phrases—“trauma”, “empathy”—are paraded. The message: straight white men have been abused and are abusers; they must confess their abuse, and destroy the repressive family and so end the cycle. In particular, since British masculinity is defined by the “stiff upper lip”, the move is designed to undermine how British men successfully conceptualise themselves.
What Harry does with Oprah is not real psychotherapy. Real therapy is meant to lead to an honest engagement with the world, whereas Harry sells an ideological hard luck story designed to destroy his country and the wider West. His own family may well be liars, but all he gives us now is new bullshit; a new appeal to be high status in the managerial elite—though traitors never prosper. Therapy supposedly stops grievance mongering; his interviews create it. If we actually heard what Harry really thought and felt—instead of yet another phoney act—it could very well blow our tops off and provide a man fit to rule and restore: at the moment we are a long way from that.