What do you do when an entire system fails?

The Leveson inquiry is revealing a problem for which there may not be a solution.

The evidence continues to accumulate at the Leveson inquiry as to the sheer scope of British media malpractice in the first decade of the 21st century. The inquiry is not only there to investigate what went wrong, but also to suggest proposals for reform and improvement. In the words of its detailed terms of reference, the inquiry is to make recommendations:

a. for a new more effective policy and regulatory regime which supports the integrity and freedom of the press, the plurality of the media, and its independence, including from Government, while encouraging the highest ethical and professional standards;
b. for how future concerns about press behaviour, media policy, regulation and cross-media ownership should be dealt with by all the relevant authorities, including Parliament, Government, the prosecuting authorities and the police;
c. the future conduct of relations between politicians and the press; and
d. the future conduct of relations between the police and the press.

However, what went wrong occurred when there was -- on the face of it -- the laws and the enforcement bodies already in place. The misconduct happened anyway.

In terms of law, there was the Data Protection Act, the Computer Misuse Act, and the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act. These statutes provided clear prohibitions in respect of almost all the "dark arts" of which we have heard; it was just that the legislation was not enforced. The PCC "Editors' Code of Practice" has -- on the face of it -- a sensible regime for guiding press behaviour. And, as with the black letter law, that also was not properly enforced.

One by one the enforcement bodies -- the Metropolitan Police, the Information Commissioner's Office, and the Press Complaints Commission -- had the opportunity to act, and, for whatever reasons, chose not to do so. Had only one of these entities discharged its obligations properly, then the illegal and immoral behaviour of the tabloids would have been significantly checked. Had all three done so, then the scandals may not have even occurred at all on any great scale.

Words on paper -- however well-intended and comprehensive -- have no greater meaning than enchantments in a book of spells unless they are translated into real-world action. Whatever are the recommendations of the Leveson inquiry, yet more words on paper will not be enough.

Perhaps there is nothing the Leveson inquiry can usefully recommend. As one eminent Victorian politician said in rebuke to another: problems may not actually have solutions. In the face of a general systemic failure of compliance and enforcement, then, the mere positing of a new system is futile.

Furthermore, the commercial and operational pressures of the tabloids over the last decade may now be changing. There is less scope for "celebrity exclusives" where the splashes are on the internet and communications between stars and those who follow them can be done directly, and not through a Show Business column. There are now different ways for tabloids to buy in their stories which are more cost effective.

The Leveson inquiry came about because a system failed comprehensively. And we may never have known, had it not been for the Royal Household complaining of hacking in a manner which could not be ignored (leading to the arrest of Clive Goodman and the seizure of Glen Mulcaire's notebooks), the investigative journalism of the Guardian and the New York Times, and the brilliant lawyering of Mark Lewis and Charlotte Harris. Between them, they were able to force results where the Metropolitan Police, the Information Commissioner, and the Press Complaints Commission all failed.

The value of the Leveson inquiry may therefore be in the accumulation of evidence and its documented exposure of routine illegal and unethical activity, rather than in any particular recommendations. The Leveson inquiry is simply telling us the story of what happens when an entire system fails.

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of 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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The struggles of Huma Abedin

On the behind-the-scenes story of Hillary Clinton’s closest aide.

In a dreary campaign, it was a moment that shone: Hillary Clinton, on the road to the caucus in Iowa, stopping at a Mexican fast-food restaurant to eat and somehow passing unrecognised. Americans of all political persuasions gleefully speculated over what her order – a chicken burrito bowl with guacamole – revealed about her frame of mind, while supporters gloated that the grainy security-camera footage seemed to show Clinton with her wallet out, paying for her own lunch. Here was not the former first lady, senator and secretary of state, known to people all over the world. This was someone’s unassuming grandmother, getting some food with her colleagues.

It might be unheard of for Clinton to go unrecognised but, for the woman next to her at the till, blending into the background is part of the job. Huma Abedin, often referred to as Clinton’s “shadow” by the US media, is now the vice-chair of her presidential campaign. She was Clinton’s deputy chief of staff at the state department and has been a personal aide since the late 1990s.

Abedin first met Clinton in 1996 when she was 19 and an intern at the White House, assigned to the first lady’s office. She was born in Michigan in 1976 to an Indian father and a Pakistani mother. When Abedin was two, they moved from the US to Saudi Arabia. She returned when she was 18 to study at George Washington University in Washington, DC. Her father was an Islamic scholar who specialised in interfaith reconciliation – he died when she was 17 – and her mother is a professor of sociology.

While the role of “political body woman” may once have been a kind of modern maid, there to provide a close physical presence and to juggle the luggage and logistics, this is no longer the case. During almost 20 years at Clinton’s side, Abedin has advised her boss on everything from how to set up a fax machine – “Just pick up the phone and hang it up. And leave it hung up” – to policy on the Middle East. When thousands of Clinton’s emails were made public (because she had used a private, rather than a government, server for official communication), we glimpsed just how close they are. In an email from 2009, Clinton tells her aide: “Just knock on the door to the bedroom if it’s closed.”

Abedin shares something else with Clinton, outside of their professional ties. They are both political wives who have weathered their husbands’ scandals. In what felt like a Lewinsky affair for the digital age, in 2011, Abedin’s congressman husband, Anthony Weiner, resigned from office after it emerged that he had shared pictures of his genitals with strangers on social media. A second similar scandal then destroyed his attempt to be elected mayor of New York in 2013. In an ironic twist, it was Bill Clinton who officiated at Abedin’s and Weiner’s wedding in 2010. At the time, Hillary is reported to have said: “I have one daughter. But if I had a second daughter, it would [be] Huma.” Like her boss, Abedin stood by her husband and now Weiner is a house husband, caring for their four-year-old son, Jordan, while his wife is on the road.

Ellie Foreman-Peck

A documentary filmed during Weiner’s abortive mayoral campaign has just been released in the US. Weiner shows Abedin at her husband’s side, curtailing his more chaotic tendencies, always flawless with her red lipstick in place. Speaking to the New York Observer in 2007, three years before their marriage, Weiner said of his future wife: “This notion that Senator Clinton is a cool customer – I mean, I don’t dispute it, but the coolest customer in that whole operation is Huma . . . In fact, I think there’s some dispute as to whether Huma’s actually human.” In the film, watching her preternatural calm under extraordinary pressure, you can see what he means.

In recent months, Abedin’s role has changed. She is still to be found at Clinton’s side – as the burrito photo showed – but she is gradually taking a more visible role in the organisation overall, as they pivot away from the primaries to focus on the national race. She meets with potential donors and endorsers on Clinton’s behalf and sets strategy. When a running mate is chosen, you can be sure that Abedin will have had her say on who it is. There’s a grim symmetry to the way politics looks in the US now: on one side, the Republican candidate Donald Trump is calling for a ban on Muslims entering the country; on the other, the presumptive Democratic nominee Hillary Clinton relies ever more on her long-time Muslim-American staffer.

Years before Trump, notable Republicans were trying to make unpleasant capital out of Abedin’s background. In 2012, Tea Party supporters alleged that she was linked to the Muslim Brotherhood and its attempt to gain access “to top Obama officials”. In her rare interviews, Abedin has spoken of how hurtful these baseless statements were to her family – her mother still lives in Saudi Arabia. Later, the senator and former Republican presidential candidate John McCain spoke up for her, saying that Abedin represented “what is best about America”.

Whether senior figures in his party would do the same now remains to be seen.

Caroline Crampton is web editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad