Is WikiLeaks grinding to a halt?

It's hard to undock Assange from WikiLeaks. And that's a problem.

Who wasn't secretive enough in their mission to make secretive things less secretive? The accusations are flying between Wikileaks and its former partners, and Julian Assange is getting dragged into the whole mess, once again hitting the headlines; but now, the organisation of which he has become the public face seems to be getting more attention for his rows and behaviour rather than the news it's breaking.

I suppose the problem with the Assange/WikiLeaks thing is that Assange isn't WikiLeaks, but at the same time he is. His glowering face looks down at you from the Cablegate and Wikileaks pages, reminding you of who is at the centre of this all. Never knowingly troubled by a tremendously self-effacing nature, WikiLeaks proclaims "HELP WIKILEAKS KEEP GOVERNMENTS OPEN". That's some claim.

The banner is a bit of a nod to Jimmy Wales's ubiquitous appearances on Wikipedia's pages a while ago, where the founder would regularly pop up and plead for a bit of cash to keep things ticking over. Which is fair enough, of course. But does WikiLeaks really help keep governments open? Or is the grand project beginning to go off the rails?

Part of the personalisation of WikiLeaks into Assange comes from the media, and from us, the way we seek to understand culturally complex movements and forces by turning them into the actions of men and women; but the other part - perhaps the greatest part - comes from Assange himself.

That's not to say that the whole project, the whole movement, is a vast self-aggrandising ego trip, because that's almost certainly not the case; but that doesn't mean that things couldn't have been done differently, because they in all likelihood could have been done differently. It's hard to undock Assange from WikiLeaks, and perhaps that's deliberate.

The problem with this highly centralised, highly personalised approach is that when Assange the man comes up against the kind of personal criminal allegations he has faced; or has been alleged to make the kind of statements about "Jewish journalists" he apparently did to Ian Hislop, the Private Eye editor, that cannot be untangled from the WikiLeaks brand.

The latest dump of WikiLeaks revelations and cables appears not to have attracted the same mainstream interest as previous ones. There is one cable in particular, about the alleged execution of children - youngsters handcuffed and then shot in the head by US forces - which seems, at first glance, to be an astonishing and shocking story.

So why aren't the mainstream picking it up and running with it? Are there doubts about the veracity of the information, or is further digging and checking taking place to ensure that it's correct before the larger news outlets will publish? Or is it just that an unverifiable allegation from five years ago about a few dead Iraqi kids isn't a 'good tale'?

It's easy to turn up at this point with a conspiracy theory or two, to suggest that the mainstream have been waved away from exposing such revelations, to imagine that this is the kind of story that doesn't fit in with our news agenda, and therefore won't be considered worthy of national and international exposure.

I don't think that's the case, though, and I am loath to believe conspiracy theories of any kind unless there's a pretty substantial amount of compelling evidence behind them - so what's going on here?

The concern is that the whole WikiLeaks project is grinding to a halt, that the revelations of unredacted private information -- regardless of whose fault it is -- will dissuade further whistleblowers from coming forward, to WikiLeaks or any other organisation.

Will WikiLeaks really help keep governments open? Or will they struggle to keep themselves open?

Patrolling the murkier waters of the mainstream media
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Must I unremember the day I wept over the long, slow suicide of a 27-year-old man?

At that time we did talk about the occupation of Ireland. Now we have to pretend we didn’t and it’s all the jolly UK and thank you, England for the peace process.

The misremembering of history interrupts these tales of my own squalid past. Very often I find myself wishing my memories were wrong, or that I’d forgotten more than I have. This would certainly be the case were I to be a politician, albeit a small-time one in big-time government. In the era of renunciations and sincere apologies, I would have to say sorry most of the time.

But I can’t. I can’t get past that clear day in May 1981, when the tangy cold spring air of a New York day got right inside me. Ambling home from another long, messy night in the Village, I was near 52nd when I saw people carrying a coffin.

“It’s not him, of course. It’s a fake coffin,” said a woman who saw the shock on my face. Maybe I was already crying. I knew and didn’t know but asked anyway.

“Yes. Bobby.”

Bobby Sands had died. Crowds were gathering with banners about Smashing Long Kesh and Smashing Thatcher.

The shock of it has never left me and God knows “martyrs” come two a penny now. Yet the idea that someone can starve themselves slowly to death for an idea is shocking. The idea that someone can let them do it, either “for” a United Ireland or “for” a United Kingdom, remains profoundly disturbing to me.

I need no lectures about what vile and murderous bastards the IRA were, or the numbers of innocents they killed. Nor about the smeary sentimentality of martyrdom itself. All I can say is that I had little idea of what “we” did in Ireland as long as I lived in England. A boy at school had run off to join the IRA. My mum said, “Well, he’s always been tapped, that one.”

We were kept ignorant. For some stupid reason, I did not think that Thatcher would let the hunger strikers die.

Their demands, remember, were the right not to wear prison uniform or to do prison work, rights to free association and education within the prison, one visit, one parcel, one letter a week. They wanted to be treated as political prisoners. Thatcher said Sands had no mandate. He was actually an MP, with more votes than she ever won in Finchley.

In New York that day, when we got to Third Avenue, there was anger and then solemnity. There were mumblings about what a death like that entailed . . . Mandela then instigated a hunger strike on Robben Island. There were protests in Milan and Ghent. French towns would name streets after Sands.

At that time, though, yes, we did talk about the occupation of Ireland. Now we have to pretend we didn’t and it’s all the jolly UK and thank you, England for the peace process.

So, must I unremember that day when I sat down on the pavement and wept over the long, slow suicide of a 27-year-old man? Let me know how to uncry all those tears shed for that terrible, terrible waste.

Suzanne Moore is a writer for the Guardian and the New Statesman. She writes the weekly “Telling Tales” column in the NS.

This article first appeared in the 01 October 2015 issue of the New Statesman, The Tory tide