An Affair of State: The Profumo Case and the Framing of Stephen Ward

I made the mistake of beginning this book after 9:00 P.M. I was still reading tenaciously when dawn broke, and I reluctantly had to put it down from sheer exhaustion. Faster paced than any novel, this gripping story, ripped from the headlines of the 1960s, tells how an affable, gregarious, handsome, and unconventional man, who was both a gifted osteopath and a talented artist, and who had many friends in London society (and one in the Soviet Embassy), became swept up in the tumultuous events of history only to be sucked down into the vortiginous sinkhole of politics. Knightley and Kennedy not only narrate the tragic life and death of Stephen Ward, but they also relate the history of the rise of tabloid journalism, which--with tales of women wielding whips, naked masked men waiting tables, orgies in Stately Homes and other titillating tidbits of gossip--is ever ready to sustain the public's prurient and seemingly insatiable appetites for such trash. (The combination of sex and politics in this book makes one wonder whether that marvelously wicked British DVD "House of Cards" might not be a forerunner to reality TV!) "An Affair of State" is also the heartbreaking story of a rather naive man who put his faith in his friends, in his country, and in the British system of jurisprudence. In the end, he was abandoned by all but a few of his friends and betrayed by both country and British justice. In other words, he was made a scapegoat, according to Knightley and Kennedy, to the interests of the Conservative party and the hypocrisy of the establishment after the resignation in disgrace of John Profumo, Britain's dapper and dandy Minister of War. As one who read those headines and stories avidly in 1963, and could not wait for the next sensational revelation of Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice-Davies, I am sufficiently chastened to discover that Stephen Ward's conviction was based upon what proved to be perjured evidence and an outrageous frameup that led to his suicide. Perhaps, at the time, as far as the public was concerned, the scandal represented an antidote to the Cuban missile crisis of 1962 (one of the most frightening times through which I have ever lived, wondering whether there would be a tomorrow), but while the attention of the world was being diverted by the sexual antics of the rich and powerful (the salacious details of which were meticulously reported in a U.K. government report), other more sinister events were unfolding, which came to their climax on November 22, 1963, when President Kennedy was assassinated. One might draw a parallel with a similar obsession with sex and politics, fueled by the media, that not only produced another lengthy official x-rated report but also occupied the public and diverted the attention of Congress in the months preceding 9/11. Is there, perhaps, a lesson to be learned here?