Following the Template of a Very British Scandal

It is unprecedented. In a matter of days, all normal political discussion was suspended. Even the most dreary newspapers became sex-obsessed. It did not matter that the central act was committed by two adults, willingly (indeed, enthusiastically) behind closed doors. We all convinced ourselves this was a matter of public interest. He denied everything, of course, but he would, wouldn’t he? All that matters is that he eventually confesses the truth, resigns, and devotes his life to charity in the East End.

The East End of London, that is. In 1963, John Profumo was forced to resign as Britain’s minister of defense in a scandal that set the basic rules for what might be called “Tabloid Trivial Pursuit,” a game that finally arrived in the United States 10 days ago. Profumo had an affair with a young girl-about-town, Christine Keeler. At first, Fleet Street treated Profumo gently. But soon the hunt was on, with newspapers falling over each other to provide juicier details of upper-class hanky-panky (there was a particular focus on a masked man, supposedly a judge, who wandered around a party with a sign saying “Beat me”). This prurience was justified on two grounds: First, Keeler also had a Russian lover (so there was a question of national security); and, second, Profumo had denied having the affair to the House of Commons (so he had misled “the House,” an impeachable mistake).

Since Profumo, this farce has been repeated countless times in Britain and the rules have been fairly constant. There must be a politician with a guilty secret (usually one from the Conservative Party, an organization with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of normal-looking people with abnormal private habits); there must be some reason to justify public interest (encouraging a young woman to commit perjury is ideal), and there must be a steady stream of increasingly tawdry sexual revelations.

A typical recent victim was David Mellor, a Tory minster, who had an affair with an actress. Mellor may have broken some vague parliamentary rule in his dealing with a friend of the actress, but the tabloids focused on the pudgy Mellor’s obsession with having his toes sucked and his alleged penchant for making love in the team outfit of the Chelsea Football Club--he received a standing ovation when he went to the next home match.

In its intensity and prurience, this current Clinton scandal is the first American affair to have the feel of a proper British sex scandal. Gennifer Flowers never really got going; Gary Hart and Dick Morris left the scene before the farce had begun, and Bob Packwood was a within-the-Beltway affair. Now, respectable septuagenarians can be heard in smart New York restaurants talking about stained dresses and arguing about whether oral sex constitutes immoral behavior. The American press has not only been hunting in a pack, but is also so caught up in the chase, it has let its normal standards slip. Last week, for example, the New York Times casually listed George Bush, alongside John F. Kennedy, in a list of presidents whow have had their sex lives questioned--without an “alleged” in sight.

But why now? It is tempting to argue that this is all just a function of Bill Clinton, and his innocence or obstinacy. But it also has a lot to do with a subtle change in the nature of America’s media.

Contrary to most Americans’ suspicions, British politicians are not necessarily more perverted than their U.S. peers. But they do face a far more vicious press. In Britain, a politician with a dirty secret wakes up to find a half-dozen tabloid reporters howling at his door, with almost as many Sunday papers not far behind. Driven on by proprietors such as Rupert Murdoch, dubbed the “Dirty Digger” in London, the tabloids are highly competitive, witty, widely read and not especially fussy about facts. At their worst, they trample over the private lives of normal people--hence Earl Spencer’s attempts to take them to the European court. But the tabloids are also every lying politician’s nightmare: a prosecutor, judge and jury that is as unscrupulous as he is--and usually more powerful.

By contrast, America does not have a tabloid culture. Even in New York, its most vicious media market, there are really only two Rottweilers lurking at the breakfast table, the Post and the Daily News. In most American cities, there are no tabloids at all. Supermarket magazines such as the National Enquirer and shows such as “Hard Copy” add some bite, but they are hardly credible as political commentators and do not appear every day. The point of tabloid trivial pursuit is that the persecution is unceasing.

Despite Hillary Rodham Clinton’s assertion that there is a conspiracy against her husband, the most notable thing about the American press has been its restraint. In 1992, the journalistic establishment in Washington took the attitude that it was fine that they all knew Flowers was telling the truth; they just didn’t need to tell the people.

The difference, this time, is the Internet--and particularly Matt Drudge, whose Web site has become a sort of virtual American version of El Vino’s bar, the legendary Fleet Street haunt where British hacks used to trade stories. Newsweek had the scandal story but was nervous about publishing it; the Drudge Report, which likes to insist its stories are 80% true, had no such compunction--and the chase began. It remains to be seen whether Drudge has ushered in a more democratic age in which the great American public gets to read what its reporters say in private, as well as what they write; or whether he has just dragged down standards--as Murdoch did in Britain.

In Britain, the few politicians who have survived a tabloid pursuit have tended to be those that admitted straight away that they were guilty of an indiscretion; they have been the subject of ribald cartoons but have generally kept their jobs. Last week by (eventually) asserting his innocence so forcefully, Clinton threw down a gauntlet to the press, a little like Profumo did. That may be because the president is innocent. But, if any journalist, no matter how sleazy, manages to prove him wrong, America will have embraced Britain’s tabloid culture.

“From Toe Job to No Job,” one British tabloid crowed after Mellor’s dismissal. One does not need a particularly filthy mind to think of a similar obituary for Clinton’s political career, should it come to that.