Who is using whom?

How social media can be exploited by mainstream media.

Back in October 2010, the Guardian website published a rather curious and precisely worded post stating it had been gagged from publishing a parliamentary question. Within minutes, Twitter users had decoded this cryptic piece and identified one of the parties involved as Trafigura.

What was perhaps most significant about this episode was not so much the industry and ingenuity of Twitter, but the lingering suspicion that the Guardian knew full well that this would happen. It appeared to me that the Guardian was having its cake and eating it: abiding by the terms of the injunction (as at least as contended by Trafigura's lawyers) but also ensuring that the information got out there all the same.

The publication of "superinjunction" tweets last week may be a similar sort of exercise. Of course, it may be possible that the tweets were put together by some media law enthusiast, based on public domain information, guesswork, and rumour. However, what is more likely is that they were published by someone within the mainstream media with the intention of the tweets "going viral" on Twitter.

If so, then it may not so much be an example of social media circumventing the jurisdiction of the courts as the mainstream media doing so at arm's length.

For all its merits, social media remains largely parasitical in its relationship with mainstream media, especially in respect of emerging legal news. In this case, it is difficult to conceive how Twitter users could have come across any of the alleged "superinjuctions" without someone in mainstream media first feeding in the required information.

It may well be that Twitter and other social media provide fundamental challenges to privacy and similar injunctions. That is certainly how some in both social media users and mainstream media would like it to be.

But it may also be the case that the mainstream media are just seeking to exploit social media in trying to defeat properly obtained injunctions protecting sensitive and private information. And, if so, the feeling of being used for such commercial ends is not a pleasant one.


David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman and a media lawyer.

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman and author of the Jack of Kent blog.

His legal journalism has included popularising the Simon Singh libel case and discrediting the Julian Assange myths about his extradition case.  His uncovering of the Nightjack email hack by the Times was described as "masterly analysis" by Lord Justice Leveson.

David is also a solicitor and was successful in the "Twitterjoketrial" appeal at the High Court.

(Nothing on this blog constitutes legal advice.)

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood