It was Alex Beresford, the quiet, clear-eyed presenter who told Morgan, live on-air, “You continue to trash her.” He spoke as a man of color, as a colleague, and as someone who had witnessed firsthand how differently the media treated Meghan.

When Meghan Markle sent a jar of raspberry jam and a soft toy to ITV presenter Alex Beresford and his newborn daughter, it wasn’t just a kind gesture. According to some British tabloids, it was a “savage swing” at Piers Morgan. But to understand why such a quiet, thoughtful act could be spun into an international incident, we have to understand what’s really on trial: not jam, not Alex, not even Piers—but Meghan’s refusal to be silent.

The Duchess of Sussex’s new lifestyle line debuted with a modest Instagram post and a few well-placed jars of jam. Among the recipients was Alex Beresford, best known to the public for calmly and publicly challenging Piers Morgan on Good Morning Britain in March 2021 after Morgan dismissed Meghan’s account of suicidal thoughts. The moment went viral. Piers walked off set. Hours later, he quit the show.

Fast forward to 2025. Meghan sends Alex a jar of jam and a Jelly Cat octopus plushie for his infant daughter Camille. The press immediately recasts this as a calculated move to “reignite a feud.” But is it?

The mainstream framing invites us to assume Meghan had one goal in mind: revenge. This narrative, though tired, still dominates. A woman cannot be gracious without an ulterior motive. A mother cannot send a baby gift without being labeled “savage.” Even jam, when sent by Meghan Markle, is assumed to carry political undertones. It’s never just jam.

What’s missing from the media’s analysis is the full context of Meghan’s decision to send this gift to Alex Beresford, not to Piers Morgan. Unlike Piers, who spent years targeting Meghan with relentless commentary, Alex Beresford did something simple but rare: he told the truth.

In March 2021, when Meghan’s interview with Oprah aired, she described her mental health struggles and the racist remarks made about her son’s skin color. Piers Morgan’s response was swift and dismissive. He declared on air, “I don’t believe a word she says.” More than 41,000 people filed complaints with Ofcom, including one from Meghan herself. The following day, Alex Beresford—then a weather presenter—challenged him live on television. “You continue to trash her,” Alex said, “which is absolutely diabolical.” Piers got up and walked out.

That moment wasn’t just about egos. It was about power, truth, and consequences. Piers Morgan had grown used to delivering his opinions unchallenged. Meghan, by refusing to engage with him or respond to his taunts, stripped him of the feedback loop he craved. Alex Beresford, by confronting him directly, completed the rupture. Meghan didn’t have to say a word.

Sending Alex a jar of jam four years later doesn’t “reignite” anything. If anything, it quietly affirms what has always been true: Meghan rewards kindness, not fealty. And the people who defend her not for profit or status, but out of principle, are the ones she remembers. In today’s polarized media ecosystem, where gestures are constantly mined for subtext, this one remains rooted in something rare—appreciation.

What makes the backlash especially cynical is the double standard it reveals. Piers Morgan is allowed to rant, mock, insult, and accuse with impunity. He can call Meghan’s Netflix show a “vanity project” after watching three minutes. He can compare her unfavorably to Prince Andrew—an accused sex offender—and still be granted legitimacy as a commentator. But Meghan, by sending a small gift, is accused of throwing shade and “taking a swing.”

This is not about etiquette. It’s about misogyny. More specifically, it’s about what happens when a woman—especially a Black woman—refuses to perform contrition. Meghan Markle never begged for acceptance. She never crawled back to the UK press. Instead, she built a new life, started new ventures, and turned down the bait every time someone tried to drag her into another tabloid war. Her silence was never weakness. It was strategy.

The British press, and particularly commentators like Piers Morgan, rely on a performance of outrage to stay relevant. Meghan’s refusal to engage leaves them shouting into the void. So when she does something as ordinary as sending a gift, they pounce—not because the gesture was outrageous, but because it was gracious.

In the end, the jam isn’t a jab. It’s a bookmark. A reminder that some people walk away from toxic dynamics, choose softness, and still win. Meghan didn’t “reignite” anything. She simply made sure Alex Beresford knew that kindness, especially when it’s hard, is never forgotten.