Public Property
Simon Mundy
To father two children within weeks of each other, while conducting simultaneous affairs with three different women, might strike many as impressively energetic for a man of advancing years. If Ken Livingstone is to be believed, however, these exploits should have no bearing on his professional standing as the build-up to the London mayoral election gathers pace. Contrasting his habitual silence on personal matters with Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg’s eagerness to share the details of his thirty bedpost-notches, Livingstone claimed: “Voters are not interested in who I slept with years ago...it's only the media that is interested in my private life.”
The problem with Livingstone’s argument, of course, is that this media interest in the private affairs of public figures is contagious. Two thousand years after Plato declared that justice means minding one’s own business, the notion that those in positions of authority should be held accountable for every aspect of their behaviour has become a cornerstone of modern media ethics – feeding a ravenous public appetite for the salacious details of the lives of society’s most eminent individuals.
This is something that Max Mosley, president of the Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile, would have done well to remember before embarking on a sadomasochistic, allegedly Nazi-inspired sex session with five prostitutes. Unmasked, so to speak, and utterly humiliated by a News of the World exposé, Mosley was in defiant form this month as he insisted that the scandal was “not relevant to my work”. Granted, the furore should not affect Mosley’s ability to turn in a decent day at the office; but as the leading figure in international motor racing, his indiscretion has gravely tarnished the image of his sport. Sir Jackie Stewart has warned of the danger of sponsors deserting motorsport as a result, and Porsche has already cited Mosley’s disgrace as the key reason for its decision not to enter Formula One.
The crucial importance of image extends far beyond the world of corporate sponsorship to the very highest echelons of politics: despite widespread approval of her conspicuous political aptitude, Hillary Clinton’s run for the Democratic presidential nomination has been dogged by what has been termed her “likeability problem”. The watershed in this field could perhaps be placed at 1984: the year that saw the courageous, fantastically unsuccessful bid for the US presidency of Walter Mondale, described by his biographer as the last major political figure to have resisted television. His campaign team desperately tried to persuade him to spruce up his public image, but Mondale held firm. “I didn’t like it, and I told them so,” he recalled in a recent interview. “I said, ‘Look, I’m all I’ve got. I can’t be someone I’m not.’” A thumping 49-state defeat later, one can only hope that Mondale had learned his lesson. For today’s most prominent people, simply doing a good job is no longer enough.
Simon Mundy is the Comment Editor of The Journal.
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