High life
Self-satisfied hyenas
Taki
When Aristotle Onassis won a civil suit brought against him by the fellow Greek ship-owner Panaghis Vergotis — the case was front-page stuff, especially when Maria Callas gave evidence — he emerged from court to face the scrum looking glum. 'I take no pleasure in winning against a fel- low Greek,' said the tycoon.
This was back in the Sixties. The words charity, humanity and compassion still had a meaning. Now, please don't get me wrong. I am not comparing the low-lifes of the Guardian and Granada Television to Ari Onassis. (That would be like compar- ing Clinton to Teddy Roosevelt.) I am sim- ply pointing out how a decent person behaved as opposed to the triumphalist scenes outside the High Court last week after Jonathan Aitken's case against them bit the dust.
It was Somerset Maugham who said, `There's not much kicks in the milk of human kindness.' The self-satisfied hyenas of the press seem to have taken his bon mot as the be all and end all of their existence. Haven't these jackals ever heard of magna- nimity in victory? Don't they realise what the man they defeated in court must be going through? Aitken has lost his fortune, his wife, his good name, his political career, and still the hacks bay for more. They want to see him in jail. Pol Pot has nothing on Aitken if judged by the British press.
But why am I surprised? A hack's idea of being forced to commit an unnatural act is to act like a gentleman. Kicking a man when he's down comes as naturally to a hack as submitting inflated expenses. Their malice amounts to a deformity. If this is freedom of the press, I'm Pamela Harri- man. The Guardian and the Evening Stan- dard even had a go at me. The former ranked me as one of Aitken's closest friends. Some ignorant low-lifer in the Standard wrote that I jumped ship as soon as he fell from grace.
If anyone is interested, here are the facts: I have laid eyes on Jonathan Aitken six times. Not seven, not eight, but six times. Twice I've gone to his house for din- ner with another 40-odd people. Once for a pre-Christmas drink. Once for dinner chez the editor of the Sunday Times, John With- erow, once at a round-table discussion, and once at Sir James Goldsmith's party for John Aspinall's 70th birthday last year. C'est tout. But because I've written nice things about him, the hacks put two and two together and — as usual — got five. If he writes good things, he must be his clos- est friend. Well, not quite. After all, my father never met General Patton, yet named a ship after him.
Jonathan Aitken was never popular with the hacks. He was too good looking, came from the wrong (right) background, went to Eton and so on. And he made moolah through his Arab connections. Envy is to hacks what subhuman grunts are to rap artists.
Worse, he sued after the Guardian and Granada called him a pimp and in the pocket of Arab princes. Which brings me to the point I wish to make. The Guardian withdrew two of the falsehoods it had printed against him during the trial. That means much of the cackles outside the court meant 'we got away with lynching him'. It looks, and I repeat, it looks as if they have him cold on the who-paid-for- his-stay-in-Paris charge.
But did the hacks ever ask themselves, what if Aitken had been misled by his wife, a lady whom I will charitably call slightly bonkers. Which means he was an innocent man let down by his wife, or a man defend- ing his wife. And even if he did lie trying to cover up the fact that an Arab friend paid something like a thousand quid for his stay in Paris, does he deserve to be destroyed in the way the press have destroyed him? Do his children deserve to see their father called 'Liar, Liar, Liar' in cheap headlines after his ruin? I don't expect the hyenas of the press to see the unfairness of it all. To them he is a liar who dared to sue them. Off with his head.
In ever-mounting spirals of hysteria unparalleled since the fall of Milton's angels — the assorted body snatchers, lunch-bucket pilferers and bald-faced phonies that make up the Guardian are luxuriating in triumph for having ruined a family. Shame on them.
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