Reclaiming the right to privacy

Two studies into the nature of privacy form part of the London International Documentary Festival's

If you walk through the Barbican main entrance and follow the steps down to the mezzanine floor in one of the corners of the room you'll see against the venue's sparse interior architecture an incongruous sight - three walls made up to resemble a typical family home. Whilst only two of the walls have fake doors all three of them are adorned in framed images. There are also two green cushioned chairs and a coffee table with a book that has a plain black cover. Open it on the first page you will see hand-written the words "WHAT IS PRIVACY?" If you continue over the next few pages you'll find a range of answers written down by visitors to the exhibition.

That there is a plurality of definitions of this concept is the inescapable conclusion one gets after visiting this exhibition and watching the film Article 12, which together made up a special focus on the nature of privacy as part of the London International Documentary Festival's opening weekend.

The exhibition described above is called Privacy, but from the images on the walls its creator Juan Manuel Biain doesn't answer the question he set the viewers in the black book. Instead, he shows how privacy can be lost. The majority of images in the frames on the exhibition walls are, for example, pictures of tools that are used in to erode our privacy such as CCTV cameras.

That the pictures appear in an exhibition space designed to look like the one place people feel their privacy should be preserved - the home - gives them veritas. Even more effective, however, is that the images are chosen to alter the role of the viewer. At one point, looking at the framed picture of a camera, the device was staring straight back at me. I was being watched. In the next I was viewing at an image of female figure silhouetted against a dimly lit bedroom window curtain. I was now the watcher. In today's increasingly digital world the transformation between these roles is that easy.

The exhibition's accompanying piece -a documentary exploring the erosion of privacy enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948 - is also created by Biain. Similarly, it portrays the negative and oppressive forces that intrude on our privacy. In attempting to understand what privacy is and how it is encroached upon the documentary links the erosion of article 12 to the growth of laws that have promoted national state security over individual rights since the 9/11 attacks and 7/7 bombings. Ironically, it is London which is held up in the film as being the most intrusive city in the world.

Formed against a backdrop of decades of turmoil caused by totalitarian regimes, article 12 created a legal notion of privacy that is based on opposition to totalitarianism. As if to assuage any doubts that it is this notion of privacy that is the director's focus the penultimate scene of the documentary blazes the words "REMEMBER ARTICLE 12" across the cinema screen.

But this is only part of the story. During the Q&A session that followed the film many more complex issues surrounding the concept were discussed. The fact, for example, that privacy is now not only a real world phenomenon but also a digital one. So too the role of corporations and their unprecedented ability to collate, share and use data about our private lives. But most importantly perhaps, is the role of ourselves not just as complicit in this process but as over eager to partake in the real and especially digital world that come into direct conflict with traditional definitions of privacy as defined in article 12.

Ticket and program information for the London International Documentary Festival can be found at: http://www.lidf.co.uk/

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Anti-Semitism is a right-wing problem

The spiritual home of Jewish persecution is not on the left.

We have been conned into believing that anti-Semitism is now a disease of the left. In reality, it is still found mostly in racism’s historic home: on the right. But right-wingers use coded language for it.

In the 1930s, campaigners for a deal with Hitler started by arguing that Britain should not fight the “Jews’ war”. Then they got cleverer. My father was one of them, and Richard Griffiths, an expert on the far right, writes that John Beckett and others used the terms “usury”, “money power”, “alien” and “cosmopolitan” as coded references to Jews.

Today, one code is “north London metropolitan elite”. Danny Cohen, until 2015 the BBC’s director of television, was furiously attacked by newspapers for firing Jeremy Clarkson, and the Times called Cohen a “fixture of the north London metropolitan elite”. The comedian David Baddiel tweeted: “Surprised Times subclause doesn’t add, ‘and y’know: a rootless cosmopolitan of east European stock’.” Dave Cohen, the author of Horrible Histories, tweeted: “Times calls Danny Cohen ‘part of north London metropolitan elite’. We hear what you’re saying, guys.”

The tradition is that of Dornford Yates and Bulldog Drummond, memorably satirised by Alan Bennett in Forty Years On: “. . . that bunch of rootless intellectuals, alien Jews and international pederasts who call themselves the Labour Party”. Clarkson is a perfect opponent for a member of the north London metropolitan elite – a privately educated, British Bulldog Drummond figure for our age.

Another fully paid-up member of the north London metropolitan elite is Ed Miliband, and the attacks on him before the 2015 general election had an unmistakably anti-Semitic edge. Colin Holmes, the author of Anti-Semitism in British Society, points to the Daily Mail’s
attack on Miliband’s academic father, Ralph.

“The word ‘Jew’ doesn’t have to be mentioned,” says Holmes. “All you have to do is make it clear that Ralph Miliband was a refugee from Nazism, and then suggest he has no loyalty to the hand that succoured him. His allegiance was to Moscow. He was one of those rootless cosmopolitans. That theme of Jews owing no allegiance can be found throughout the history of British anti-Semitism. The depiction of Miliband drew strength from the prehistory
of such sentiments linked to Jews, treason and Bolshevism.”

So the Mail article tells us, correctly, that Ralph Miliband was an immigrant Jew who fled Nazi persecution. A couple of paragraphs further on, in case we have forgotten that he wasn’t really English, we read about “the immigrant boy whose first act in Britain was to discard his name, Adolphe, because of its associations with Hitler, and become Ralph”.

It follows Miliband to Cambridge, where he was no doubt taught by several tutors, but only one of them is mentioned: the Jewish Harold Laski, “whom some Tories considered to be a dangerous Marxist revolutionary . . . One is entitled to wonder whether Ralph Miliband’s Marxism was actually fuelled by a giant-sized social chip on his shoulder as he lived in his adoptive country.” What exactly is the purpose of the last seven words of that sentence?

Calling Ed Miliband “weird” was another code, and the argument that we should have had David Miliband, not Ed, because he looked and sounded better was a coded way of saying that he looked and sounded less Jewish.

Yet when, come the 2015 general election, I worked for the Labour candidate in my north London constituency, Finchley and Golders Green (which has a higher proportion of Jewish voters than any other), I found not anger at anti-Semitic attacks on Labour’s leader but a belief that anti-Semitism was Labour’s virus. In vain, I pointed out that we were offering not just the first Jewish prime minister since Disraeli but a Jewish MP in Sarah Sackman.

The constituency was awash with rumours – none of which have ever been substantiated – of Labour canvassers saying anti-Semitic things on the doorstep.

On voting day, I did the early morning shift at my polling station. The first words that my Conservative counterpart said to me were: “I hope you’re ashamed of the way your party has campaigned.” It turned out that the tabloid press had run a story that morning to the effect that Labour canvassers had telephoned Orthodox Jews to tell them that they should not vote for the local Tory MP, Mike Freer, because he was gay.

He is gay, but no evidence has been offered to back up  the story. I have written to Freer (still, alas, my MP), asking for chapter and verse. He has not replied.

Labour isn’t guiltless. Shami Chakrabarti’s widely attacked report last summer made that clear, and the home affairs select committee found disturbing instances. Part of the reason why Labour gets more than its fair share of the odium is the eagerness with which its warring factions use the charge of anti-Semitism to smear their rivals.

But, as no less an authority than Deborah Lipstadt, the pre-eminent historian on Holocaust denial, has said, “It has been so convenient for people to beat up on the left, but you can’t ignore what’s coming from the right.”

My foolish father started out as a left-wing Labour MP in the 1920s. But once he embraced anti-Semitism, he quickly moved to the right in all of his other opinions as well. For then, as now, the spiritual home of anti-Semitism, as with any form of racism, is on the right, not on the left.

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's revenge