THERE is a lot about the monarchy to embarrass a supposedly forward-looking nation like Britain: its massive unearned wealth; its position at the pinnacle of an outdated but stubborn and pernicious class system; Prince Andrew. The monarchy has never looked progressive; not in my lifetime or, at least, not until now.

After the spectacle of the US presidential election, the Windsors suddenly look like a steadfast bulwark against dangerous demagoguery. With the White House soon to be in the possession of a Twitter-happy Islamophobe and misogynist, a morally rudderless opportunist who ridicules the disabled and demonises immigrants, presidential elections have started to look like risky affairs.

That impression is not diminished by the emergence of Marine Le Pen of the Front National as the candidate to beat in next year’s French presidential election. The direction of travel in the United States and France, as in the UK, may have been broadly progressive for decades but those gains feel under threat. Heed the call of ardent republicans and dump our constitutional monarchy for a “benign” figurehead president? Er, actually, on second thoughts, no thanks.

The monarchy is inherently ridiculous in the 21st century. We retain it: why? Because it allows us to keep a tenuous link to our superpower past in the face of diminishing relevance in the modern world? For its much vaunted tourist appeal? For the weddings? Any sensible person of liberal leanings would surely support its abolition – humanely of course – in favour of some sort of elected person.

Yet the question of what we would replace it with isn’t as straightforward as it might once have seemed. The obvious answer of a directly elected president to assume the Queen’s constitutional functions is perfectly reasonable in theory. The election could attract freewheeling cynics but, on paper at least, they wouldn’t be able to cause harm. Any UK president would have a largely ceremonial role, like the presidents of Ireland, Italy or Germany, and who fears them (or even knows who they are)?

But it is perhaps a little naive to imagine that the non-executive status of any UK president would gag the incumbent and restrict their influence, so that they performed their role as meekly as the Queen. If the trend persisted of creeping extremism, coupled with public disaffection with professional politicians, unscrupulous candidates could all too easily turn a presidential election into a rallying point for the prejudiced and the disgruntled. Imagine for a moment that Britain were to dismantle the monarchy and introduce a figurehead president, elected by popular vote.

It would be a personality contest, with the right-wing tabloid press and cowboys of the Wild Net playing a key role in determining the outcome, just as we have seen in America. Just as we have seen there, a candidate posing as the refreshing outsider, eschewing the language of tolerance and equality to “tell it like it is”, can be an attractive choice for voters disenchanted with the establishment. Long-held assumptions about the self-moderating nature of democratic institutions seem hopelessly complacent. Those assumptions belong to the analogue age. Donald Trump’s capacity to communicate directly with voters via Twitter and his followers’ capacity to disseminate lies and propaganda online, bypassing the much derided “experts” and the mediating, contextualising voices of at least some of the mainstream media, shows that a wily populist can run away with the big prize more easily than ever.

It is not a ceremonial president’s powers that pose the problem, although so-called figurehead presidents do have discretionary executive powers that could in theory be misused. (The German president can in theory veto legislation by refusing to sign it.)

The danger would be use of the office as a platform to build influence. Presidents seen as plain-talking tribunes could exert enormous influence through the media, a humiliating and destabilising scenario for any prime minister. Convention, not the law, dictates that figurehead presidents keep shtum on political matters; a boundary that could be pushed. It would be impossible to legislate against anonymous briefings by the president’s office. If he did meddle, an incumbent with strong popular support might be politically difficult for parliament to remove.

An election of any sort could fall prey to unscrupulous populists. Surely that is the bigger worry: our own version of Mr Trump in Downing Street, exercising real power? That scenario can’t be ruled out but the UK’s parliamentary system does make it less likely than the US presidential system. Mr Trump was elected despite opposition from large swathes of his party. At least the British Prime Minister has to be a party leader and command the support of his MPs and prospective MPs to campaign effectively enough to win the top job; he must also have the confidence of Parliament to win and hold on to the keys to Number 10.

One could have a figurehead president and frame the terms of nomination for candidates to stymie self-serving megalomaniacs. In Italy, parliamentary delegates and regional representatives elect the president by secret ballot; a two-thirds majority is needed to win. A similar system exists in Germany. This ensures that candidates are elected who have cross-party appeal and can reassure its parliament that they will abide by protocol, upholding the constitution and remaining above politics.

But in an age when the political establishment is widely despised and we voters have a direct say on everything from the naming of bridges and the winner of Strictly Come Dancing to membership of the EU, it is hard to foresee a scenario in which this would win broad support. In Australia, the 1999 referendum on abolishing the monarchy is judged to have failed in part because many republicans wanted a directly elected president and opposed the proposal for an appointed one. Clearly the royal family itself could throw up an unpalatable head of state. Without the legitimacy of elected office, an interfering royal would be risking the future of the monarchy, which has been enough so far to keep its members in their gilded box.

Polling shows that the British public is broadly in favour of retaining the monarchy, for now, albeit with less enthusiasm than was shown 30 years ago. The Queen in particular is held in affection and respect, but it remains to be seen if a future King Charles can sustain that popularity.

Perhaps by the time any serious resurgence of republican sentiment takes hold, the anti-establishment spirit sweeping the industrialised world will have burned itself out and all this will seem unduly cautious. But at present, after a bruising year for British moderates of all parties and none, perhaps we should be secretly glad we still have a monarchy.