Hunt and News International: a market abuse angle

Was there a wrongful disclosure of price sensitive information?

One potential issue for Culture Secretary Jeremy Hunt and his former special adviser Adam Smith in the developing scandal of how the News International bid for the remaining shares of BSkyB was handled is the possible application of the law relating to the unauthorised disclosure of market sensitive information.

As the BBC’s Business Editor Robert Peston blogged this morning
 
Many of the emails by News Corp's director of public affairs, Fred Michel - which were published yesterday - speak to this point. But I will simply look at the one sent to James Murdoch on 24 January which contains the resonant phrase (in bold), "managed to get some infos on the plans for tomorrow (although absolutely illegal..>!)."
 
This discloses to James Murdoch that Mr Hunt would make a press statement at 7.30am and a statement to parliament at 9.30am.
 
This statement would confirm that Ofcom felt the BSkyB takeover would harm plurality and should be passed to the Competition Commission - but would also say that News Corp would be given an opportunity to come up with remedies (or undertakings in lieu, to use the jargon), to prevent the Commission investigation.
 
Now Mr Hunt's planned statements to the press and parliament were confidential and price sensitive (with a bearing on the share prices of BSkyB and of News Corp). I know this because the DCMS said this to me, explicitly, at the time.
 
But Mr Michel had learned what Mr Hunt would say, from Mr Smith (or so Mr Michel says). And Mr Michel was discussing Mr Hunt's planned statement with Mr Murdoch at 3.21pm, the time of the email, or while markets were still open. 
 
So, on the face of it, Mr Michel and Mr Murdoch should not have been given this information, or at least not without signing a formal confidentiality agreement.
 
Mr Michel implied, with his "absolutely illegal" comment, that no confidentiality agreement had been signed.
 
Now it may be that the transmission of this information was covered by some general duty of confidentiality. But it does all look a bit odd.
 
The wrongful disclosure of market sensitive information can come under the prohibition on various market abuses in the Financial Services and Markets Act 2000 (FSMA), which in turn can lead to rigorous enforcement action by the Financial Services Authority (FSA).
 
The FSA refused to comment on any particular case, and it also would not confirm whether any complaint about Hunt or Smith has been made.
 
Today Hunt told parliament that he is looking forward to giving his side of what happened to the Leveson Inquiry.  It may well be that concerns of an unauthorised disclosure are baseless. 
 
But given the robust policy of the FSA in respect of possible market abuses, Hunt may need to explain exactly how the information Michel was providing to James Murdoch  was not gained through an unauthorised disclosure contrary to the FSMA.
 
David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman
 
Many thanks to Patrick Osgood.
Is the sun still shining for Jeremy Hunt? Photograph: Getty Images

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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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear