Why lefties don't buy newspapers

The tech savvy left don't buy papers.

Ever since Rupert Murdoch ousted the saintly Harold Evans from the editorship of The Times in defiance of his own pledges to safeguard the title's editorial independence 30 years ago - the Australian media magnate has been a bogeyman for the British left.

But while the left-wing media - led by The Guardian - has won a series of historic battles with the News Corp empire, it will lose the long war because young, tech-savvy lefties on the whole don't buy newspapers.

Lefties' hatred of Rupe was fuelled by his cheerleading support for Margaret Thatcher through the eighties, his brutal suppression of the unions when he moved News International to Wapping in 1986 and his continuing apparent use of media power to further his own political objectives.

Revenge has been sweet since The Guardian's Nick Davies and Amelia Hill lobbed the journalistic equivalent of a hand grenade into the boardroom of News International by breaking the news in July last year that the News of the World had hacked the mobile phone of a missing schoolgirl who was later found murdered.

Since then many on the left have rejoiced at each new woe to face Murdoch and the News Corp family:

The closure of Murdoch's market leading Sunday daily, the News of the World. The collapse of Murdoch's bid to cement his hold on the UK media by taking over BSkyB. The decapitation of his newspaper interests on both sides of the atlantic with the resignations of  Rebekah Wade and Les Hinton (with the former facing criminal charges). Dozens of former Sun and News of the World journalists arrested and facing possible trial over allegations of bribery and phone-hacking Rupert's own heir-apparent James, stepping down from his role as News Corp Europe and Asia boss, sent back to the US with his tail between his legs.

Rupert himself subject to lengthy public interrogations - first from MPs on the Culture Committee (remember the custard pie) and then by the Leveson Inquiry.

Murdoch's political power in the UK forever neutered. Just a year ago, James Murdoch exchanged matey text messages with an eager to please UK Culture Secretary. Today, I suspect most UK MPs would rather pick up a rabid squirrel then a mobile phone with text messages  which have emanated from News Corp.

The Guardian phone-hacking investigation was on the whole a journalistic tour de force. But unlike the Telegraph's MPs' Expenses investigation of 2009, there has been no corresponding uplift in sales. Whereas the Telegraph kept its MPs' Expenses scoops for print, The Guardian released all its biggest hacking scoops online at around 4pm on the eve of print publication in line with its digital-first strategy.

The Guardian's web traffic has continued to go through the roof over the last year. But like everyone else, The Guardian is largely so far replacing print pounds with online pennies.

The left-of-centre press has always been in a minority in the UK - but it is becoming even more so, possibly because young lefties are less like to buy a paper than older, more conservative readers.

Looking at the three left of centre dailies: The Guardian sold 367,000 copies a day five years ago, it now stands at 214,128; The Independent 249,536 versus 98,636 today; the Daily Mirror 1,537,243 versus 1,084,355.

Collectively that is a sales decline of 35 per cent.

Looking at the main right of centre dailies, the Daily Mail was selling 2,300,420 copies a day five years ago versus 1,991,275 today; the Daily Express 760,086 versus 568,628; the Daily Telegraph 898,817 versus 576,790; The Times 629,157 versus 393, 187 and The Sun 3,047,527 versus 2,624,008.

That's collectively a drop of 19.4 per cent. Even if you lump the 200,000 odd daily sales of politically neutral ‘i’ in with the left-wing press it doesn't move the dial much. You are looking at around 1.5m daily sales for left-wing papers versus more than four times that for the right-wing dailies.

And don't forget paid-for digital subscriptions to The Times and Sunday Times now stand at around 250,000.

On the left only The Guardian has journalistic fire power to match the Mail and assembled forces of News International. But its trust-fund millions (in the form of holdings in the likes of Emap and Autotrader) won’t last forever.

So the message for left-wingers who care about the media is this. Enjoy your moment of schadenfreude by all means and cheer on The Guardian and Nick Davies from the sidelines. But if you want to support the sort of campaigning journalism which brought this historic realignment of media power about - you need to take your smug grin down to the newsagents and buy a newspaper (or a magazine for that matter!).

Photograph: Getty Images

Dominic Ponsford is editor of Press Gazette

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war