Monarchies can be forces for good, sources of national unity but only, argues Jim Duffy, if they remain above politics
In the United Kingdom, 20,000 people crammed into the small streets of Windsor to cheer Queen Elizabeth II, with children chanting "two, four, six, eight. Who do we appreciate? The Queen". Across the world in Nepal, the "God-King" Gyanendra in a royal family once hero-worshipped, faces tens of thousands demanding the abolition of the monarchy. Royal rule in the 21st century is a quirk of history.
The idea that by right of birth someone can become king or queen conflicts in theory with the idea of democracy. In reality, the alternative, elected presidents, are only marginally more democratic. Few are elected by the people, and all those elected are from a narrow group: middle-class, middle-aged, well-connected in the law or politics.
A working-class person from Tallaght has no more chance of becoming Irish president than a working-class person in the east end of London has of becoming British monarch.
In a curious way, monarchy is able to add a personal touch to a state in a way few presidents can achieve. (Think for a moment: how many European crowned heads can you name? How many European presidents? The odds are you can think of more monarchs and their spouses.) Part of the appeal of monarchy is that it is a life role.
The success or failure of a monarchy rests largely on how monarchs behave. In that way, the survival of the British monarchy is no big surprise.
Since Queen Victoria, it has had a succession of genuinely good people on the throne. Even the worst, Edward VIII, abdicated finally rather than split the country politically over his marriage.
Hitler famously called the Queen Mother the "most dangerous woman in Europe" because during the war, and especially the blitz of London, she embodied for ordinary people the one thing he needed Britain to lose: its spirit and self-belief.
But just as good monarchs can become focal points for a nation, bad or incompetent ones can become a force of destruction. Constantine Karamanlis called Greece's King Constantine II " Paul's naughty little boy".
Constantine's political meddling undermined national unity and helped bring about a coup. His experience taught a fundamental lesson: monarchs should keep far away from politics.
Gyanendra in Nepal showed himself to be every bit as meddlesome and naive as Constantine. The Maoist rebels battling his regime had little chance of toppling his throne, as long as he kept two groups onside: the political elite and the public. All he had to do was remain above the fray as a national source of unity. But by abolishing parliament he put himself and his judgment central, and displayed autocratic ideas that are incompatible with a constitutional monarchy.
Being above politics doesn't mean being outside politics. It means that political interventions must be non-party political and unifying, as with George V's 1914 peace conference on Ireland, a concept replicated (bringing the unionists and nationalists together to agree a settlement) at Sunningdale and in the Belfast Agreement. Then there was his crucial call for reconciliation in 1921.
Ultimately, the difference rests in the people and their royal families. Which is why, in 2006, less than one in 10 in Britain want a republic, while in Nepal, the once-adored monarchy is discredited. Elizabeth embodies the best in monarchy and its future. Gyanendra embodies its worst, and the biggest threat to its own survival.
Jim Duffy worked as an international advisor of Australia's Republic Advisory Committee in the 1990s