Part of the counter-narrative around the Duke and Duchess of Sussex necessarily grapples with the idea that Meghan in particular has become off-limits for criticism. Not because of fandom or because anyone thinks she’s perfect - we know she’s not, because no one is. But because ten years of targeted racism has ended the luxury of pretending that this is all just “commentary” or “celebrity drama.” It isn’t. It never was. It’s a case study in how Britain treats certain women, certain families, and certain truths.
This isn't an argument that Meghan is beyond criticism because she is a mixed-heritage Black woman. There are things Meghan could say and do that I would criticise (though obviously she’s very unlikely to ever do them). It’s an argument that criticism of Meghan can’t honestly be separated from the racialised hostility that has surrounded her since she entered British public life. And bearing in mind the decade of racialised attacks, what purpose does it serve to “criticise” her for, say, posting a photo of her with her children?
The story begins with a polite British fiction. For years, people have been encouraged to believe that Meghan is “unpopular,” as though public dislike were a natural weather pattern rather than something manufactured by the press. But anyone who studies media, sociology, or race in Britain knows that dislike doesn’t fall from the sky. It’s built. It’s fed. It’s repeated until it feels like common sense. And when the target is a Black or mixed‑race woman, the hostility follows familiar historical lines: suspicion, resentment, dehumanisation, and the old British favourite - “Who does she think she is?”
The evidence is overwhelming. Coverage of Meghan was disproportionately negative, racialised, and framed through stereotypes that have followed Black women for centuries. Academics in race studies have pointed out how the press used racialised stereotypes, including the familiar “angry Black woman,” the “ungrateful outsider,” and the “threat to tradition.” Psychologists have noted how repeated exposure to such narratives shapes public attitudes, even when people believe they’re “just reading the news.” And sociologists have shown how institutions, including the monarchy, rely on silence, denial, and tradition to avoid confronting racism directly.
This is why “neutrality” in mine - or anyone’s - commentary is impossible. Neutrality assumes equal power, equal treatment, equal harm. But Meghan was never treated equally. She was treated as a cultural warning: a reminder of what happens when a Black woman enters a space Britain still imagines as white. The hostility wasn’t accidental. It was patterned, predictable. It was racialised. And it’s lasted for a decade. The hostility wasn’t confined to headlines or social-media arguments: Britain's former counter-terrorism chief said Meghan had faced multiple credible threats to her life, some of which resulted in prosecutions.
The same pattern appears in other cases. Britain often celebrates Black achievement only until the moment Black people have any power or influence, or try to change anything. Marcus Rashford was widely celebrated for his football and philanthropy, yet his intervention in the politics of child poverty also brought fierce political criticism and racist abuse. Stormzy's experience illustrates the conditional nature of celebrity approval: he was celebrated as a cultural success while his interventions on racism, Grenfell and Boris Johnson generated sharp political and media backlash.
History tells us this isn’t new. From the Bristol bus boycott to the treatment of Black MPs, from Windrush to the policing of Black joy, Britain has long struggled with the idea that racism is not just an American problem. The press has played a central role in shaping public imagination - deciding who’s “British,” who’s “difficult,” who’s “dangerous,” and who’s allowed to be human. When Meghan arrived, she collided with centuries of racial scripts. When she spoke, she broke them. And when she refused to apologise for existing, she became a threat.
This is why criticising or mocking Meghan isn’t a neutral act. It’s participation in a system that has already done more than enough harm. It’s siding with the loudest, nastiest voices rather than the truest ones. It’s ignoring the evidence of racism because acknowledging it would require moral courage. And anti‑racism, at its core, is courage. The willingness to see what’s actually happening, not what tradition or tabloids insist is happening.
There are those who say, “I’m not racist; I just don’t like her.” But dislike shaped by racist narratives isn’t neutral; dislike amplified by powerful institutions isn’t neutral; and dislike that ignores the documented hostility she faced isn’t neutral. Anti‑racism requires context, and the context here is clear: Meghan has endured a decade of racialised abuse that’s reached an audience of millions and measurably affected perceptions of Britain, particularly in the United States. That’s not just my opinion. It’s a matter of record.
And so the argument becomes simple: when someone has been treated unfairly because of racism, you don’t join in. You don’t pile on. You don’t pretend it’s harmless. You don’t attack them and call it “just an opinion.” You stand with them. You protect them. You listen. You learn. First and foremost, you refuse to repeat the harm.
This isn’t about liking Meghan, it’s about recognising what she’s lived through. It’s about understanding how racism works in Britain - quietly, politely, through headlines and jokes and “concerns” that always seem to point in the same direction. It’s about refusing to let a decade of hostility be rewritten as “just criticism.” It’s about choosing fairness over white comfort.
No anti-racist takes a swing at Meghan. Not because she’s perfect, and not because being a Black woman places her beyond criticism. It’s because of what has already been done to her: years of racialised hostility, abuse and dehumanisation. You don’t have to believe Meghan is beyond criticism to recognise that adding to that particular pile-on is neither necessary nor neutral.
Ten years of targeted racism has ended the luxury of neutrality. And choosing not to attack Meghan isn’t fandom. It’s ethics. Clarity. It’s the simplest, easiest form of solidarity: refusing to add your voice to a chorus that should never have begun.