Diana, Earl Spencer and Piers Morgan: What happens when the person telling the story becomes the story?

What interests me most about the reaction to Earl Spencer’s book is the certainty.

People who were not on those telephone calls, did not witness those conversations and have not necessarily read the book are reaching very firm conclusions about what happened almost 30 years ago. Some believe Spencer completely. Others are convinced Charles would never have behaved as his former brother-in-law describes. And now Piers Morgan has entered the argument with something more concrete than an opinion: an error that Spencer has acknowledged.

The result is an increasingly hostile online dispute in which the same development means entirely different things to different people. For one reader, the correction is a reason to question everything in the book. For another, the attention being paid to it is evidence that people were looking for an excuse to dismiss Spencer all along.

From a PR perspective, this is fascinating. A factual correction should help narrow a disagreement. Here, it has also given opposing sides another reason to feel certain they were right.

I recently spoke with the i Paper about the reputational implications of Swan Song: Diana, My Sister. The allegations themselves are extraordinary, but the reaction deserves just as much attention. It reveals how a public image can become a substitute for evidence, how an unpopular person can make an effective argument, and why correcting a mistake does not necessarily correct the story people tell themselves.

The comment sections are having several arguments at once

The divide is visible in public discussions. In one Reddit thread about Morgan and Spencer, a commenter wrote:

“Don’t care for Piers, but the apology questions the credibility of the entire book.” Read the discussion.

In a different discussion, a commenter took almost the opposite position:

“They would have discredited him anyway. Piers is just a convenient excuse.” Read the discussion.

Meanwhile, a Mumsnet discussion began with the straightforward declaration, “I believe Charles Spencer.” Replies included support, scepticism about his motives and objections to publishing the allegations regardless of whether they were true. The thread illustrates those competing responses.

These are examples of reaction, not a representative measure of public opinion. But they reveal something more useful than a simple count of who supports whom.

People are arguing about the accuracy of the book, the character of its author, the reputation of the King, the conduct of the press and whether Diana’s private life should still be discussed at all. Those questions keep being folded into one another.

Someone who thinks Spencer should have stayed silent may sound as though they believe he is lying. Someone who dislikes Morgan may dismiss a valid correction. Someone who sympathises with Diana may feel that questioning her brother amounts to taking the Palace’s side.

Once those positions become entangled, providing more information does not necessarily bring the conversation closer to agreement. People can read the same correction and use it to support completely different conclusions.

What Piers Morgan has actually established

The factual issue needs to be clear.

Spencer’s book connected Morgan to intrusive photographs of Diana exercising in a gym in 1993. The statement issued on Spencer’s behalf subsequently clarified that the photographs appeared in the Sunday Mirror on 7 November 1993, while Morgan did not join the Daily Mirror until October 1995. Spencer apologised for the incorrect assumption, while maintaining his account of Morgan’s manner during a later telephone conversation about attending Diana’s funeral. Morgan disputes that account too. ITV published the correction and response.

That is a meaningful error. It associates a named individual with responsibility for an invasion of privacy that occurred before he held the relevant job. Describing it purely as a date mistake understates why the person concerned would object.

But the correction establishes a specific problem in a specific account. It does not establish that Spencer deliberately lied, that his entire book is false or that Charles could not have said the words attributed to him.

Those distinctions are essential to a fair reading. They are also exactly the distinctions most likely to disappear in an online argument.

Morgan’s communications advantage is that his objection can be explained in a sentence. The book links him to something that happened before he became editor. An ordinary reader can understand that immediately.

Evaluating an alleged private conversation from 1997 is much harder. It requires considering recollection, context, interpretation and any supporting evidence. The simple, verifiable point therefore risks becoming the means by which people judge the much more complicated material.

For some readers, Piers offers a way out

This is where I think the argument becomes particularly revealing.

For somebody who already finds the allegations about Charles difficult to accept, Morgan’s correction offers a concrete reason to step away from them. They no longer have to rely on a feeling that the King would never behave like that. They can point to something Spencer demonstrably got wrong.

That is a stronger position publicly, even if it does not resolve the allegation they originally found uncomfortable.

Psychologist Ziva Kunda’s work on motivated reasoning offers a useful way of understanding this possibility. Her research examined how wanting to reach a particular conclusion can influence the evidence people select and evaluate, while still needing a justification that feels reasonable to them. Her paper explains the distinction between seeking accuracy and seeking a preferred conclusion.

Applied here, my interpretation is that the correction may serve two functions. It can make an undecided reader reasonably more cautious. It can also give a committed defender of Charles a persuasive explanation for a rejection they had already made emotionally.

We cannot tell which is happening in every individual comment. Scepticism is not automatically denial, and believing an allegation is not automatically insight. But the distinction matters when assessing how much Morgan has actually changed people’s minds.

He may be persuading some readers. He may be reinforcing others.

For a reader whose view of Charles centres on duty, service and a familiar public presence, Spencer’s account asks them to entertain something deeply at odds with that picture. The instinctive response may be that it simply does not sound like him.

Yet a public image, however sincerely held, cannot establish what someone said privately. Nor does an unflattering image establish that the worst account must be true. Reputation shapes our expectations; it cannot witness a telephone call.

Why “I believe Earl” can survive the correction

Spencer’s supporters have an equally powerful starting point: he is Diana’s brother.

That relationship carries emotional authority. He knew her before she became a public figure, shared a family history with her and experienced her death as a personal loss. For some readers, that makes him feel closer to the truth than an institution speaking through a spokesperson.

Others begin with an existing belief that Diana was treated badly. An account that fits that understanding may feel credible before its individual claims have been examined.

That helps explain why the Morgan correction need not have the same effect on everyone. A sympathetic reader may regard it as a bounded mistake in an otherwise valuable account. A more committed supporter may interpret the focus on it as an attempt to avoid discussing the allegations about Charles.

There is relevant history here that prevents an easy dismissal of Spencer’s credibility. In the Dyson investigation into Diana’s Panorama interview, Lord Dyson accepted Spencer’s account of a disputed meeting with Martin Bashir. The investigation also found that Bashir had used fake bank statements to deceive Spencer and obtain an introduction to Diana. Those findings are set out in the Dyson report.

That does not authenticate the new book. It does mean there has been a significant instance in which Spencer’s account of events surrounding Diana stood up to independent scrutiny.

A fair assessment has to hold both facts: his account was accepted in that investigation, and he has acknowledged an error in this book. Neither gives us a shortcut to resolving every other claim.

The more interesting question is whether supporters can accept that scrutiny is necessary without feeling they are abandoning Diana, just as defenders of Charles need to be able to consider an allegation without feeling they are betraying the monarchy.

Morgan’s reputation helps and hurts his argument

Morgan has a particular advantage in this dispute: people do not have to admire him to recognise that his factual objection is valid.

That is why the comment beginning “Don’t care for Piers” is so revealing. It signals that the reader considers the correction strong enough to overcome their dislike of the person making it.

But Morgan’s involvement also gives Spencer’s supporters someone familiar to oppose. Their attention can move away from the error and towards their view of Morgan’s motives, personality or relationship with the Royal Family.

Morgan himself has made the wider stakes explicit. In his interview with The News Agents, he connected his challenge to the King’s reputation and questioned Spencer’s reliability more generally. The interview sets out that broader argument.

That may make his intervention more appealing to Charles’s supporters. It also makes it easier for opponents to interpret him as taking a side in the royal dispute, rather than simply correcting a passage about himself.

His strongest argument remains the narrowest one. The employment dates can be checked. The further the debate moves into whether Spencer should be believed about anything at all, the more it depends on judgements that the correction alone cannot support.

This is an important PR lesson. A person can be highly effective at attracting attention to evidence while making some audiences less willing to engage with it. The reach of the message and its persuasive effect are not necessarily the same thing.

Why the alleged tone is so difficult to undo

The most damaging allegations in Swan Song concern Charles’s response to Diana’s death. Spencer claims that he sounded “giddily elated” and later said, during an argument about funeral arrangements, “Rest assured, we’ll forget her soon enough.” The Palace has challenged Spencer’s account. AP summarises the allegations and response.

When I spoke with the i Paper, I explained why the description of tone could be particularly difficult reputationally:

“A disputed sentence can be denied. Describing someone’s tone creates an impression of their emotional state, and that is much harder to unpick once it is in somebody’s head.”

The allegation invites a reader to imagine a scene. They hear the voice, picture the reaction and attach an emotional meaning to it. That can happen before they have consciously considered how the account is supported.

There are several layers here: what was said, how the speaker sounded, how the listener interpreted it and what the speaker actually felt. Those layers should not be treated as identical.

Spencer can describe his perception. That perception does not give an outside reader direct access to Charles’s emotional state. Equally, someone’s disbelief that Charles could have sounded that way does not refute Spencer’s recollection.

The danger is that the emotional image outlives the qualifications. A person may forget where they read the allegation or how strongly it was disputed while retaining the impression of Charles reacting coldly.

The Morgan correction creates doubt about the narrator. It cannot guarantee that the original image disappears.

The Palace’s polished wording was more personal than it looked

The Palace’s statement said that grief could “cloud reason, affect judgment and colour memory”. Although widely described as a denial or rebuttal, the published wording did not directly deny the alleged words. Instead, it questioned Spencer’s recollection by invoking the possible effects of bereavement. Sky News reproduced the statement.

I understand why the Palace felt a response was necessary. These are allegations about the King’s character during an extraordinarily traumatic period. But I question how it responded.

Underneath the measured language is a personal suggestion: that Diana’s brother may not be remembering clearly because of his grief. To a reader already sympathetic to Spencer, that can sound patronising. To someone defending Charles, it may seem like a restrained explanation for a disputed account.

The same statement therefore serves two very different stories.

Spencer subsequently characterised it as “gaslighting” and reiterated that he stood by his account. That is his interpretation, but the wording gave him an opportunity to challenge the Palace’s treatment of him as well as defend what he had written. ITV reported his response.

If the King’s position is that the conversation did not happen as described, I would have preferred a direct statement to that effect. It would not settle the disagreement, but it would avoid making somebody else’s grief part of the rebuttal.

This matters particularly with Diana because perceptions of emotional distance are already central to the public story. A response that appears dismissive can reinforce the very impression the Palace wants to challenge.

When every response becomes evidence for the other side

There is another problem visible in the online reaction: the dispute can become impossible to disprove within a committed supporter’s interpretation.

A forceful response may be read as evidence that the allegation has struck a nerve. Silence may be read as an inability to deny it. A challenge to one passage may be interpreted as an effort to distract from the rest.

The same pattern can operate against Spencer. If he defends himself, critics may call him obstinate. If he corrects something, they may treat that as evidence that nothing he says is trustworthy.

Under those conditions, each side can feel that every development confirms its existing position.

That is why I would be cautious about describing either side as having won the communications battle. A statement can reassure an existing audience while hardening the opposition. An interview can generate enthusiastic comments without persuading anyone who was previously undecided.

For the people advising those involved, the more useful question is which uncertainty needs to be addressed. An undecided reader wondering how a factual error survived publication needs an explanation of the checking process. Another person troubled by the Palace’s wording needs a clearer understanding of what exactly is being disputed.

Neither question is answered by another round of mutual indignation.

Some people believe him and still wish he had stayed silent

One of the most revealing aspects of the discussion is that objections to the book are not all objections to its truthfulness.

In the Mumsnet thread, some contributors questioned whether Spencer should have published the claims even if they were accurate. Others raised the potential effect on Diana’s sons or the decision to revisit the events so many years later. Those arguments appear alongside the debate about credibility.

That creates a different challenge for Spencer. Evidence may answer an accusation of inaccuracy. It cannot, on its own, persuade someone that publication was kind, necessary or appropriate.

Spencer has explained the timing by referring to the approaching 30th anniversary of Diana’s death and his awareness of his own mortality. He discussed those reasons with ABC’s 7.30.

Readers are entitled to assess that explanation. But asking why he published now should not quietly become proof that the account is invented. A commercial motive, even if one believes it exists, would not establish that a particular claim was false. A loving motive would not establish that it was true.

There is also a tension in the way people discuss protecting Diana. Some feel her memory is honoured by hearing her brother’s account. Others feel it is protected by leaving private matters alone. Both can sincerely believe they are acting out of respect for her.

Diana cannot choose between those competing uses of her memory. That makes certainty about what she would have wanted particularly uncomfortable.

The historian now has to show his working

Spencer’s position as a brother explains his access. His position as an author and historian creates an expectation of care.

Penguin’s presentation of the book draws on both: it offers an intimate portrait while emphasising his experience and historical credentials. The publisher’s description makes that combination clear.

The Morgan error creates a legitimate question about how readily checkable material was verified. It would be wrong to assume that no checking took place. It is reasonable to ask how this mistake survived it.

The distinction between memory and inference is especially important. The correction referred to an incorrect assumption about Morgan. That is different from simply forgetting a date: an assumption helped explain another person’s behaviour, and the explanation turned out to rest on a factual mistake.

Readers now have a reason to ask where else the book moves from what Spencer directly experienced to what he concluded about it.

That is not an unreasonable demand. A memoir can be valuable while remaining partial, and a witness can be sincere while being mistaken. The credibility of a serious account improves when those limits are made clear.

As I told the i Paper: “If people start asking, ‘How could he possibly prove that?’, they may start asking the same question about everything else in the book.”

The sensible response is to help readers answer that question, rather than insist that asking it is itself an attack.

More attention does not necessarily mean more trust

The controversy may encourage people to buy the book. It may also make some readers more doubtful about it. Those outcomes can happen at the same time.

A person can buy a memoir because they believe its author, because they want to investigate a controversy or because they suspect the coverage has distorted it. Sales alone would not distinguish those motives.

Similarly, the intensity of the online argument does not tell us how widely the allegations are believed. A busy discussion may reveal a highly engaged community more than it reveals the wider public.

The longer reputational effect may be much less precise than the current debate. Some people could retain the alleged remark about Diana while forgetting the response. Others could remember only that Spencer’s book contained a mistake. Another group may associate the entire episode with Morgan and a legal threat, without knowing what the correction concerned.

That is the difficulty with reputation: the lasting impression can be much simpler than the evidence that produced it.

What a smart response would look like now

For Spencer and Penguin, I would focus on making the correction useful to readers. Explain precisely what was wrong, how it happened, what is being amended and what has been done to check comparable material.

ABC reported that the ebook and future printed editions would be corrected, while Spencer did not intend to withdraw the first edition. That makes the visibility of the correction important for people who already have the book. ABC’s report sets out that position.

I would also avoid minimising the issue. What feels like a small part of a long book to its author may feel significant to the person wrongly associated with the conduct. Acknowledging that consequence does not require abandoning unrelated claims.

For the Palace, I would resist the temptation to treat Morgan’s objection as a complete vindication. It has introduced a legitimate accuracy problem, but it does not answer the disputed allegations about Charles. Publicly stretching it beyond what it proves could create another avoidable argument.

The Palace should also recognise that a prolonged dispute with Diana’s brother is unlikely to resolve decades of feeling about Diana. Every further intervention needs a clear purpose beyond answering the latest criticism.

For Morgan, the strongest position is still the specific correction. The more he can keep the focus on what is demonstrably wrong about the passage concerning him, the less room there is for the discussion to become another referendum on whether people like Piers Morgan.

Will people still believe Earl Spencer?

Some clearly will. Some now have a stronger reason to doubt him. Others may accept parts of the book while questioning its most serious or least verifiable claims.

My view is that Morgan’s intervention has made it easier to reject Spencer’s account, but it has not made rejection