There is a familiar pattern to recent British political scandals stretching back some six years. A politician does something he shouldn't (and, thus far, the habit has been restricted to men). The press, a terrifying multi-headed beast, charges into action and rakes the muck for days on end.
The politician responds by attacking the press for intrusion into privacy. Editors hit back, citing the public interest. Other politicians call for restrictions on newspapers. Editors wave the banner of freedom. Then the row dies as the offending politician vanishes from public view. Life goes on.
Give or take a twist or two, the latest saga is following the course set in the downfall of almost a dozen Tory MPs, such as David Mellor and Jerry Hayes. The Ron Davies saga is the Labour government's second brush with such problems, having previously dealt rather successfully with Robin Cook's marital difficulties. This time, though, swift and ruthless action did not work. Like its Conservative predecessor, it found it impossible to tame the tabloid beasts.
Mr Davies was Welsh Secretary until 10 days ago. He resigned after telling Tony Blair about a bizarre incident in which he was robbed at knifepoint of his car, wallet and mobile phone in a south London estate. This occurred, so he said, after taking a walk on Clapham Common, meeting a man and then giving him a lift in his car with two others.
Davies later issued a statement referring to this as a lapse of judgment. And what was this lapse? Davies's only explanation was: I put myself in a position where I was a victim of crime. He denied it had anything to do with drugs or sex.
With Blair and his aides letting it be known to journalists they were none the wiser either, editors unleashed their hounds. Where there is mystery there will always be curiosity.
With so many unanswered questions, every paper, tabloid and broadsheet, set about discovering what had really happened.
If no crime had been committed, what lapse merited instant resignation? Had Blair treated Davies unfairly by forcing him to go? Had Labour reacted too quickly in order to stifle press interest? These were legitimate questions, reflecting on the conduct of the prime minister. It was also reasonable for the people, especially those in Wales, to know if Davies had taken advantage of his position to escape prosecution. Had he been guilty of a crime? The public had a right to know.
In theory, then, a high-minded agenda. In practice, of course, an altogether sleazier business. From the moment the story broke, the tabloids, briefed by police contacts, ignored Davies's denial that sex was involved and seized on the homosexual angle with headlines such as Gay Riddle (Daily Mail), Gay Sex Scandal (Sun) and Shame of Gay Sex Cabinet Minister (Mirror).
Over the following days the rumour mill worked overtime as papers grew more confident that they were on the right track. The Sun lampooned Davies with the headline "Just what DID you do Ron Ron?" and the Mail, quoting Downing Street sources, revealed that Blair shared doubts on Davies's robbery story. At this point Davies announced he would also give up his Labour candidacy for Welsh First Minister. His political career was over. But that did nothing to halt the sleuths.
The Sunday tabloids weighed in with lurid tales of MI5 having spied on Davies, anonymous "witnesses" making allegations about his supposedly gay double life, and revelations about him by a former wife. Though the broadsheets largely ignored such material, their pages were full of speculation too. As the London Independent pointed out, Davies's economy with the facts leaves all the important questions unanswered. No one has suggested that being a crime victim alone merits losing one's job.
On Monday, Davies launched his counterattack. In a personal statement to the Commons he spoke bitterly of media intrusion. He still threw no light on his now notorious lapse, but hit out at the papers, claiming: "Rumour and lies have been asserted as truth . . . Ultimately, this arbitrary abuse of power is not just an attack on me, but on our rights. The right to privacy belongs to all citizens." Even the Daily Telegraph, no supporter of tabloid tittle-tattle, thought Davies's speech unedifying and unenlightening.
In fact, as Davies spoke, the Guardian was putting together a credible report which came closest to offering a reason for Davies's resignation: it had, after all, been a sexual encounter with a man who, hours later, tried to blackmail him. Why then did Davies have to resign? Today's society is surely more tolerant of gays, isn't it?
The problem hinges on the fact that he is married and was therefore engaging in an extra-marital sexual act. At present in Britain, most heterosexual married MPs would find themselves in the headlines in such circumstances, though it might not end their careers. Alan Clark, Steven Norris and Cecil Parkinson have survived similar publicity though they had to wait for forgiveness.
To complicate matters for Labour, another cabinet minister, the Trade and Industry Secretary, Peter Mandelson, was caught in the backlash of the Davies drama. During a TV discussion on the subject, Mandelson was "outed" as gay by a journalist, Matthew Parris, a former Tory MP who writes regularly about his own homosexuality. Though there have been hints in the past about Blair's close colleague, these have passed in a moment. This time, the story took off and it suddenly changed the nature of the debate.
Most commentators, from both left and right, were angry with Parris but, in being so, they spread still wider comment about Mandelson's sexuality. No one knew how to deal with it. The Times alone ignored it but the BBC's hamfisted decision to ban any reference to the Parris interview backfired. The "Mandelson is gay" story was, for the first time, known to most of the nation. That the "outing" was a disgrace is not in doubt. If Mandleson wished to remain silent about a private matter which, in the eyes of all but Norman Tebbit and an unreconstructed Daily Telegraph feature-writer, was his affair, then he should have been left in peace.
But Mandelson found one unexpected ally. The Sun, long regarded as the most homophobic of tabloids, offered him unqualified support. "Times have changed," said the paper. "The British people will not turn on Mandelson because he is gay." So, we thought for a moment, good comes from bad? Not quite. On Wednesday, the Sun returned to the Davies story with another lurid splash alleging that he indulged in "gay sex acts" with two men before he met the man who robbed him. This salacious story, published in detail on three pages, played in every way to prejudices the Sun claimed to have put behind it. It commented: "The trouble with Ron Davies is not that he is a homosexual. It is that he is a hypocrite and a liar. What he was really up to was illegal and sick." Illegal? Well, up to a point, because the alleged acts took part in a public place. Sick? That's the giveaway. The Sun's tolerance of homosexuality is skin deep. It is happy about the existence of gays but not happy about what they do. Davies's reluctance to tell the whole truth about his lapse of judgment is entirely due to his instinctive understanding of this double standard.
Roy Greenslade, a former editor of the Mirror, is a media commentator with the Guardian.
