Tabloids and the abuse of power

Why there should be a full judicial inquiry into phone hacking.

Anyone caught up in a significant news story from the advent of mobile telephones in the late 1990s to the arrest of Clive Goodman in 2006, and perhaps for some time afterwards, may well have had their phone messages hacked into by tabloid journalists or those working on their behalf. This is because the tabloids had the power to do this, and it is clear this power was widely abused

It would also appear that political pressure was applied to ensure that this activity was never properly investigated. For some unknown reason the Metropolitan Police narrowed and then closed down any competent investigation of this activity when it first came to light. Had the scandal not involved members of the Royal Household, there may have been no prosecutions at all. It is a curious thing - and not, in this instance, an unwelcome one - that the monarchy still has some practical use in public life. It is difficult to bully the Crown.

Power always tends to get abused, and those with absolute power will (logically) face no checks on their abuses. In the view of many people, the trade unions abused their power in the 1960s and 1970s. Others would say that the police have also long abused powers, especially in Northern Ireland in the 1970s, the inner cities and on picket lines in the 1980s, and in respect of public order and "anti-terrorism" matters since 9/11. And there are many other examples, from bankers to libel litigants. Those who have power - especially absolute power in a given situation - will tend to abuse it for the same reason dogs lick themselves: simply because they can.

And because any person can abuse power, there always needs to be checks. The partisan will want the checks only to be for the "other side". Indeed, one good test of partisanship is whether it is openly accepted "your side" can also abuse power, and that it is crucially important to deal with this. The genius of George Orwell and others is their candour that even progressive and well-meaning people need to be held accountable too, whatever the slogans or legitimising constituencies invoked.

There are those who believe the police can do no wrong, or that trade unions can never be faulted. There are even those who will contend that bankers are simply misunderstood. Often this selective blindness comes from some ideological fixation: "they protect the public", "they represent their members", or "the market cannot be bucked". For defenders of the tabloids it will be "freedom of the press" or "giving the public what they want". There is almost always some greater good which is supposedly being served when someone is abusing their power. It is rare, and somehow more frightening, when a figure like Orwell's O'Brien expressly abuses power for its own sake.

Bullying is when the abuse of power is accompanied - or even made possible - by fear. The fear then prevents checks being used, or created to begin with. This fear may be a selfish and personal one: what can the bully do to me? Or it may be a perfectly understandable fear of what would happen to others, whether it be one's family or one's fellow citizens.

What seems to have happened over the last week or two is that some of the fear of tabloids has gone from more politicans. That is good and refreshing, and it is certainly a start. We may have even tipped off that very point where others will now break cover. But such a welcome change of mood may not last, and it actually achieves nothing by itself. What needs to be looked at are effective checks so as to prevent abuses ever happening again.

There needs to be a full and independent judicial inquiry into the whole sordid and sorry mess of tabloid phone hacking, and this inquiry should be open with the evidence (as far as it can be) placed in the public domain. Witnesses should be on oath, and there should be the power to compel evidence. As long as it is managed carefully by a senior judge, there is no necessary reason why it cannot start before the end of any criminal proceedings. We should not have to wait nearly two years or so.

Abuses of power and bullying by any person will corrupt any liberal democracy. But there is an opportunity now to bring one form of bullying to an end, and to seek to prevent the privacy abuses of the tabloids recurring. So please do support the new campaign for a full judicial inquiry, and sign the petition here.

 

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman

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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France is changing: an army stalks the streets and Boris Johnson wanders the Tuileries

Will Self on the militarisation of France, and Boris Johnson at the Foreign Office.

At the corner of the rue D’Hauteville and the rue de Paradis in the tenth arrondissement of Paris is a retro-video-games-themed bar, Le Fantôme, which is frequented by some not-so-jeunes gens – the kind of thirtysomethings nostalgic for an era when you had to go to an actual place if you wanted to enter virtual space. They sit placidly behind the plate-glass windows zapping Pac-Men and Space Invaders, while outside another – and rather more lethal – sort of phantom stalks the sunlit streets.

I often go to Paris for work, and so have been able to register the incremental militarisation of its streets since President Hollande first declared a state of emergency after last November’s terrorist attacks. In general the French seem more comfortable about this prêt-à-porter khaki than we’d probably be; the army-nation concept is, after all, encrypted deep in their collective psyche. The army was constituted as a revolutionary instrument. France was the first modern nation to introduce universal male conscription – and it continued in one form or another right up until the mid-1990s.

Even so, it was surprising to witness the sang-froid with which Parisians regarded the camouflaged phantoms wandering among them: a patrol numbering eight ­infantrymen and women moved up the roadway, scoping out doorways, nosing into passages – but when one peered into Le Fantôme, his assault rifle levelled, none of the boozing gamers paid the least attention. I witnessed this scene the Saturday after Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel ran amok on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice – it was a little preview of the new state of emergency.

On Monday 18 July the French premier, Manuel Valls, was booed at a memorial service for the victims of the Nice attacks – while Marine Le Pen has been making all the populist running, whipping up anxieties about the enemy within. For many French, the events of the past week – including the failed Turkish coup – are steps along the way limned by Michel Houellebecq in his bestselling novel Submission; a via dolorosa that ends with La Marianne wearing the hijab and France itself annexed by a new caliphate.

Into this febrile drama comes a new player: Boris Johnson, the British Foreign Secretary. What can we expect from this freshly minted statesman when it comes to our relations with our closest neighbour? There is no doubt that Johnson is a Francophile – I’ve run into him and his family at the Tuileries, and he made much of his own francophone status during the referendum campaign. In Paris last winter to launch the French edition of his Churchill biography, Johnson wowed a publication dinner by speaking French for the entire evening. He was sufficiently fluent to bumble, waffle and generally avoid saying anything serious at all.

Last Sunday I attended the Lambeth Country Show, an oxymoronic event for which the diverse inhabitants of my home borough gather in Brockwell Park, south London, for jerked and halal chicken, funfair rides, Quidditch-watching, and “country-style” activities, such as looking at farm animals and buying their products. Wandering among ancient Rastafarians with huge shocks of dreadlocks, British Muslims wearing immaculate white kurtas blazoned with “ASK ME ABOUT ISLAM” and crusty old Brixton punks, I found it quite impossible to rid my mind of the Nice carnage – or stop wondering how they would react if armed soldiers were patrolling, instead of tit-helmeted, emphatically unarmed police.

I stepped into the Royal Horticultural Society marquee, and there they were: the entire cast of our end-of-the-pier-show politics, in vegetable-sculpture form and arrayed for judging. There was Jeremy Corbyn (or “Cornbin”) made out of corncobs – and Boris Johnson in the form of a beetroot, being stabbed in the back by a beetroot Michael Gove. And over there was Johnson again, this time rendered in cabbage. The veggie politicians were the big draw, Brixtonians standing six-deep around them, iPhones aloft.

The animal (as opposed to the vegetable) Johnson has begun his diplomatic rounds this week, his first démarches as tasteless and anodyne as cucumber. No British abandonment of friends after Brexit . . . Coordinated response to terror threat . . . Call for Erdogan to be restrained in response to failed coup . . . Blah-blah, whiff-whaff-waffle . . . Even someone as gaffe-prone as he can manage these simple lines, but I very much doubt he will be able to produce rhetorical flourishes as powerful as his hero’s. In The Churchill Factor: How One Man Made History, Johnson writes of Winnie overcoming “his stammer and his depression and his ­appalling father to become the greatest living Englishman”. Well, I’ve no idea if Bojo suffers from depression now but he soon will if he cleaves to this role model. His Churchill-worship (like so many others’) hinges on his belief that, without Churchill as war leader, Britain would have been ground beneath the Nazi jackboot. It may well be that, with his contribution to the Brexit campaign, Johnson now feels he, too, has wrested our national destiny from the slavering jaws of contingency.

Of course the differences between the two politicians are far more significant: Johnson’s genius – such as it is – lies in his intuitive understanding that politics, in our intensely mediatised and entirely commoditised era, is best conceived of as a series of spectacles or stunts: nowadays you can fool most of the people, most of the time. This is not a view you can imagine associating with Churchill, who, when his Gallipoli stratagem went disastrously wrong, exiled himself, rifle in hand, to the trenches. No, the French people Johnson both resembles and has an affinity for are the ones caught up in the virtual reality of Le Fantôme – rather than those patrolling the real and increasingly mean streets without. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt