The Times settles Nightjack claim for £42,500 plus costs

Why there should now be a "Nightjack" test for proposals for press regulation.

The New Statesman can reveal that the Times has settled the civil claim brought by "Nightjack" blogger Richard Horton for £42,500 plus legal costs. 

Horton brought his civil claim for breach of confidentiality, misuse of private information and deceit after it emerged that his identity had not been uncovered by some brilliant piece of detective work by a staff journalist, as was maintained by the newspaper at the time, but had been established instead by unauthorised access to the blogger's email account.

There will now be a statement in open court by the Times before the end of this month.

As there is now a criminal investigation related to this matter - a journalist has been been arrested and a former in-house lawyer has been interviewed under caution - not a great deal more can be said about the circumstances of the unauthorised access.  It is a matter entirely  for the criminal courts to determine whether there is any criminal liability arising - a settlement of a civil claim does not and should not prejudice any criminal investigation.  Certainly nothing in this post should be taken to suggest any criminal liability of any person or entity connected with the case.

And given the criminal investigation, there is little which those involved can currently say about this particular case.  Horton's lawyer Mark Lewis tells me only that whilst he is delighted that his client has won substantial compensation, nothing can put Horton back in the position that his identity was secret. 

And Horton says, "I am happy to have settled with the Times and I can now put that incident behind me and get on with my life".

 

A "Nightjack test" for press regulation?

However, there is perhaps a wider issue about the case apart from the now settled civil claim and the current criminal investigation. 

The Nightjack case raises a general point relevant to the debate on press regulation which will follow publication of the recommnedations of the Leveson Inquiry.

Quite simply, without the Leveson Inquiry's effective use of statutory powers, the Nightjack incident would never have come to light.  It is thereby a perfect example of what remains hidden with "self-regulation", still the the preferred model of many in the newspaper industry.

Here it is important to note that the story only emerged when the New Statesman analysed witness statements submitted by various figures from News International in response to formal (and legally backed) requests for evidence (the full account is set out here). 

Even then, News International was initially reluctant to give a full account, and it was only when both the editor and the former legal manager of the Times were summoned to give oral evidence to the Leveson Inquiry on the incident that the fuller picture emerged of what had actually happened.

As Prof Brian Cathcart, director of Hacked Off, told me earlier today:

The Nightjack affair is a clear case of a newspaper behaving unjustly and  it would never have come to light but for the scrutiny of the Leveson Inquiry, a body with real legal clout.

No voluntary, self-regulatory regime would ever have unearthed the facts.

This is further proof that we need an effective press regulator that has teeth and is genuinely independent the press industry as well as of government.

Tom Watson MP agrees:

I hope the Prime Minister and other members of the cabinet now realise that without the statutory powers of the Leveson Inquiry none of this whole sorry saga involving Times Newspapers and News International would ever have seen the light of day.

One test - which perhaps should be called the "Nightjack test" - of any non-statutory proposals for press regulation will be how an envisaged regulator can obtain relevant documentary and witness evidence from an unwilling news title. 

Would some non-statutory regulator really be able to obtain information from a title akin to that which the Leveson Inquiry was able to prise from News International in respect of the Nightjack incident?

For many it is difficult to see how any contractual or voluntary basis for press regulation could pass this important "Nightjack test" - it would merely (again) be regulation at the fiat of the regulated.

And unless any post-Leveson press regime can pass such a "Nightjack test" then the old pre-Leveson abuses could well continue.

 

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman

 

POSTSCRIPT

Richard Horton has now made the following comment below the line:

None of the above would have happened without the patient, detailed forensic dissection of the facts by David Allen Green at the New Statesman. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my life and after 3 years of not writing anything worth a damn, I am back writing for pleasure again. Leveson was undoubtedly the lever but without David's work at the fulcrum, I would still be sat here 3 years later strongly suspecting wrongdoing but entirely without evidence.

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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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism