Security-consumed Prince Harry chooses war-torn Ukraine as latest backdrop

Prince Harry’s clandestine dash to Ukraine this week, trailing last year’s faux royal tours to Colombia and Nigeria, lays bare a brazen hypocrisy. He bangs on about the UK being too perilous for his family, waging legal crusades over security provisions, yet here he is, swanning into war zones and countries with travel warnings, trading on his fading royal luster to clutch at relevance – all while dodging the duties he willingly jettisoned. Bereft of official standing in America or Britain, his quest to play maverick royal smacks of pantomime, one that jeers at his claims of craving a secluded, secure existence.

Take his Ukraine jaunt to Lviv’s Superhumans Center, where he mingled with wounded soldiers and civilians. On paper, it’s a nod to his soldierly past – two Afghan tours, a decade in uniform, and his laudable project, the Invictus Games, which has championed veterans since 2014. Ukraine’s been in the Games’ orbit for years, so a visit might seem a natural fit. But let’s not kid ourselves: a non-working royal, untethered from any state mandate, strutting into a city scarred by Russian missiles isn’t just bold – it’s a calculated spectacle. If London’s too dicey for Meghan and the children, as he pleads in courtrooms, how does he square that with a trip to a region where air-raid sirens are grim background music? The contradiction is glaring.

This isn’t a solo caper. Last year’s Colombia and Nigeria jaunts, invited by their governments, follow the same script: choreographed appearances, earnest chats with local bigwigs and cultural immersion, glossed like royal tours but lacking the Crown’s writ. In Colombia, hosted by Vice President Francia Márquez, he and Meghan sashayed through salsa schools and stumped for mental health, their grins caught in slick clips. Nigeria, post-Invictus Games, saw them cheer veterans’ volleyball and school projects, acting as freelance do-gooders. These trips mimic diplomatic agendas – yet Harry’s no envoy. He’s a prince adrift, wielding his title’s sheen to keep cameras rolling while skirting the accountability of a proper brief.

Why, then, did he bolt from royal life in 2020, yammering about media hounds and safety fears? He’s raged at the press’s savagery and the Palace’s stifling pecking order, which he reckoned clipped their wings. His tell-all tome bared a chap desperate to ditch protocol and flashbulbs. Yet his post-royal antics tell another tale. Far from skulking into obscurity, he’s built a career on exposure – lucrative media contracts, a confessional book and stage-managed tours that hold him in the public’s gaze. If he yearned for quiet, why hog the limelight?

Clearly, Harry wants royalty’s clout without its chains. His Ukraine visit, like Colombia and Nigeria, boosts causes – veterans, mental health – but might also prop a brand ever at risk of fading. The camera-ready sheen, with Colombia’s footage fit for streaming, hints at promotional hustle. The Sussexes’ media program, from navel-gazing documentaries to eye-rolling celeb lifestyle ventures, thrives on their headline act status.

And those bodyguards? Who foots the bill for Harry’s security in these hotspots hangs like a bad smell. No longer privy to state-funded protection, he likely dips into coffers swollen by book deals and screen projects – Colombia’s trip was mostly self-funded, locals said – or possibly taps hosts’ support. The murk fuels speculations and distrust. If he can bankroll muscle for Lviv, why the endless whingeing about UK security, where threats pale beside Ukraine’s bombs? It smacks of peril cherry-picked to suit his script.

Some – stateside cheerleaders, mostly – insist he’s forging a fresh path, shining a torch on worthy causes. Ukraine’s veterans gained from his spotlight; Colombia and Nigeria’s projects got a lift. His Invictus Games and Archewell do tangible good, from rehab to schooling. Yet sincerity curdles when cameras shadow every gesture. The Sussexes are not serving – they are performing to the camera, and the world’s their stage.

The gall lies in how this undercuts his exit story. Privacy? He’s swapped royal pressers for streaming confessionals. Safety? He braves war zones but not Blighty. Freedom? He’s traded Palace chains for a media beast craving fresh content. His alternative royal act isn’t emancipation – it’s a rebrand, plucking the juicy bits of his old life while shirking its responsibilities.

In the end, Harry’s antics bare a man who can’t quit the spotlight. His Ukraine dash and faux tours – however much good they do – smell of keeping the show afloat, a prince posturing for relevance. If he truly wanted out, he’d skip the faux court circular. Instead, he and his wife rewrite the script, casting themselves as heroes, martyrs and star attractions, grinning for the global gallery.