The bullies, bullied

News International is today the victim of events, not the master.

Yesterday was rather frantic for News International: Rebekah Brooks's email, Glenn Mulcaire's apology, and Ford pulling its advertising from the News of the World for the time being. Who knows what was happening away from the public view.

Today may well see further significant developments, perhaps even sackings or resignations. But in all this extraordinary activity it is useful to pause and think about how the current scandal came into being, and what it may indicate.

First, there is the question of timing. The news about Milly Dowler's phone being hacked came almost from nowhere. There was no objective event, such as an arrest or a charge, to explain why this story was published at this time.

As it has turned out, the Dowler revelation is just one of a number of alleged examples where the phones of those simply caught up in a news story have been hacked: victims, friends, and families. These were not members of the Royal Household, as were those in the first phase of revelations; nor were they the celebrities and media people who constituted the second phase of revelations.

These are ordinary people without any public profile other than the unfortunate events which were inflicted upon them.

And out of all these many cases, someone, somewhere chose the Milly Dowler story as the first one to now get into the public domain. The person that made that decision is a practical genius. That Milly Dowler's phone was hacked when she was missing was simply disgusting, and its disclosure was inevitably going to be newsworthy.

But why was that hacking disclosed now?

It may well be that it was sensible to wait to the end of the recent murder trial. It may be that this was the optimal week for disrupting the proposed full acquisition by News Corporation of BSkyB.

Whatever explains the timing, the choice of the Milly Dowler case as the first one of the "ordinary people" cases to lead on was made -- consciously or not -- during a perfect storm combining the renewed awareness of the awful facts of her disappearance and death with the commercial vulnerability of the Murdoch empire.

The second interesting feature of the developing scandal is the weakness of the News International response.

For a media organisation who deals with those engaged in reputation management on a daily basis, the reaction of News International was unimpressive. Yesterday's email from Rebekah Brooks was barely even literate, with "allegeds" and "allegations" inserted so as to render propositions and sentences almost meaningless. The unfortunate spokesperson put up for interviews on the evening news came across as evasive and hapless.

However, this flat-footedness should not be any surprise.

The tactic of News International at each phase of the scandal is to try and close the matter down by explaining away the available facts. Hence we have had the "lone rogue reporter" theory for the Royal Household hackings; and the dismissive "just media tittle-tattle" excuses for the celebrity hackings. That the hacking have now moved on to ordinary people caught up in events has exposed the limitations of previous narratives.

As it stands, News International clearly cannot decide whether to claim it has all the necessary facts (so that it can say that the problem has been dealt with) or that it has not got the necessary facts (so that it cannot comment on what it does not know).

And News International also seems not to know what to say or do about Glenn Mulcaire. On one hand, it is has been very convenient for Mulcaire to be caught by the confidentiality provisions of a settlement agreement, but such a settlement agreement only makes legal sense if he indeed had any employment claims against News International: that he was an employee.

Now, on the other hand, News International is now desperate to distance him as a "freelance inquiry agent". If that is correct, then the settlement agreement binding him to confidentiality would appear to be consistent with it being merely a useful device so as to prevent unwelcome disclosures. They cannot have it both ways.

The stories so far put out by News International are now unravelling. It is early to tell what actually did happen. But it is certain that the "lone rogue reporter" and "freelance inquiry agent" explanatory tactics may be of limited value, if they are of any value at all. However, it must be remembered: the "lone rogue reporter" excuse was the one which Murdoch, Coulson, and Brooks have wanted us -- and Parliament -- to believe all along.

Also for some time, politicians and other journalists have -- as has been pointed out repeatedly by Tom Watson MP -- been too scared to take on News International. But News International surely cannot bully its way out of this scandal as it is today. Whatever damage limitation exercise they mount in the coming hours, their intimidatory bluff has now been called. It is now News International that is having pressure applied upon it so as to force involuntary outcomes.

News International is currently the victim of events, not the master.

If Hugh Grant was able to show a bugger bugged, today we may be seeing what happens when a bully is bullied .

 

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of New Statesman and was shortlisted the George Orwell blogging prize in 2010.

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.)

Reuters/New Statesman composite.
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When it comes to social media, we all have a responsibility to avoid sharing upsetting images

If Twitter is the new journalism, we are all editors – and responsible for treating our fellow humans with dignity.

“I wish I hadn’t seen that”, my colleague says from across the desk. It’s been an hour since the first reports came in of a shooting outside Parliament, and the news agency Reuters has started posting photographs of injured people, knocked down by the terrorist as he drove across Westminster Bridge.

In one, a brunette woman leans over a victim whose blood is beginning to stain the wet pavement. Lying on her back, she is framed by scattered postcards sold for tourists which have been knocked to the floor. She is clutching the arm of the woman helping her, but her eyes are staring dead into the photographer’s lens.

Another photograph – the one that my colleague is referring to – disturbs me even more: a man who has fallen (or been pushed?) off the bridge onto a stairwell. He is face down in a pool of blood, his left leg at an unnatural angle. It is impossible to tell if he is alive or not.

Briefly, before I scroll past, I wonder if someone, somewhere is seeing the same picture and experiencing a shock of recognition as they recognise their friend’s clothes.

And then there is one picture which I now cannot find on Twitter, but which, lying in bed last night, I could not stop thinking of: a woman’s legs extended from under the wheel of a bus, her skirt hiked up to show her underwear, her shoes missing.

We are a desk of journalists covering an attack on the Houses of Parliament, so I keep scrolling. It is only later, in an article by the Telegraph, that I learn a junior doctor has declared the woman dead.

Of course, the shock of seeing images like these is nothing compared to what war reporters, doctors or police go through on a regular basis. But a 2015 study at the University of Toronto found that extended exposure to violent or disturbing material can have a severe effect on journalists’ mental health.

The impact can be particularly confusing when one does not anticipate seeing violence.On social media, we increasingly encounter images this way: without warning and without a chance to steel ourselves. This is particularly a problem when it comes to members of the public, whose jobs don’t require them to look at shocking material but who can nevertheless be exposed to it just by virtue of using a social media network.

It is for this reason that, shortly after Reuters published their photographs of the Westminster victims, prominent journalists began posting asking their colleagues not to retweet them. Some protested the fact that Reuters had published them at all.

In today’s media landscape, news moves fast and social media faster. Where a picture editor would have previously had until their print deadline to decide which images to run, now photographers are able to send their work back to the office almost instantaneously, and editors must make a snap decision about what to release.

Deciding what images to use can be a difficult call – especially under pressure. On the one hand, there is the urge to not turn away, to bear witness to the full magnitude of what has happened, even if it is shocking and upsetting. On the other, there is the need to treat fellow human beings with dignity, and particularly to avoid, where possible, showing images of victims whose families have not yet been informed.

Social media makes this process even more difficult. Once released online, photographs of the Westminster attack were quickly saved and re-posted by private individuals, stripped of context or warning. One can choose not to follow the Reuters Pictures account, but one cannot necessarily avoid seeing an image once it is being retweeted, reposted and recycled by private accounts.

As the line between traditional news and social media blurs and we increasingly become participants in the news, as well as consumers of it, our sense of responsibility also shifts. On Twitter, we are our own editors, each charged with making sure we extend dignity to our fellow humans, even – especially – when the news is dramatic and fast-moving.

I was glad, this morning, to encounter fewer and fewer photographs – to not see the girl lying under the bus again. But at 3am last night, I thought about her, and about her family; about them knowing that journalists on desks across Britain had seen up their loved one’s skirt during the last moments of her life. It was, without putting too fine a point on it, no way to encounter a fellow human being.

Over the next few days, we will find out more about who the victims were. The media will release images of them in happier times, tell us about their jobs and careers and children – as is already happening with Keith Palmer, the policeman who we now know died on the Parliamentary Estate.

It is those images which I hope will be shared: not just as a way to resist fear, but as a way of acknowledging them as more than victims – of forging a different connection, based not in horror and voyeurism, but in a small moment of shared humanity.

There is no shame in being affected by graphic images, however removed one “ought” to feel. If you would like someone to talk to, Mind can provide details of local services.

The BBC also provides advice for those upset by the news.

Find out how to turn off Twitter image previews here.

Stephanie Boland is digital assistant at the New Statesman. She tweets at @stephanieboland