Sally Bercow aptly demonstrates that media laws are designed for a different century

"Don't break this law which we can't tell you."

So Sally Bercow appears to have quit the Twitters for good. She already was on thin ice following the legal threats from Lord McAlpine, who was understandably miffed that she named him on Twitter during speculation following a Newsnight report; but she plummeted straight through it when she was accused of breaching a section 39 order, under the Children and Young Persons Act 1933, for naming a schoolgirl who allegedly ran away with her teacher.

A parenthetical, here: a lot of people, on Twitter and elsewhere, are angry that Bercow is in trouble for this, because they rightly point out that the girl had previously been named.

Section 39 orders are used to protect the identity of children who appear, or are likely to appear, in court as witnesses, victims or suspects. They are discretionary, and so can be placed by the courts when they think appropriate. Typically, this is as soon as a court case looks on the cards, which is why the vast majority of children involved in such cases are never named. Occasionally, however, it is in the child's interest to allow their name to be publicised; maybe to encourage witnesses to come forward, to appeal to the public for help, or to track down a missing person. When that need has passed, the section 39 order can be placed as normal.

But what is important is that this is done in the child's interest. Being a witness, victim, or suspect as a young person can be traumatising, and the system is set up to allow those people to not have their name forever linked with a bad period in their early lives. Yes, it is hard to make the internet forget anything, and the Streisand effect is probably, unfortunately, going to be invoked by people. But this isn't the state crushing free speech to protect the interests of the rich and powerful; it is the state attempting to protect a vulnerable child. So please, don't start spreading that child's identity around as a knee-jerk response to Bercow's troubles.

Parenthetical over. The problem raised by Bercow's reported breaching of the order is that, as mentioned, section 39 orders are discretionary. While, as a lay person with a good knowledge of media law, it's possible to guess that whether such an order has been placed by looking at whether a child's name suddenly disappears from the press, the only way to know for sure is to be a journalist at a newspaper which gets sent the orders.

This is, frankly, a system which isn't fit for purpose in an age when nearly everyone in the country regularly uses tools which are capable of breaching those orders. The same is true of other media blackouts, like injunctions: the press is told of them, but they apply to the public as well. It has rightly never been a defence that one didn't know the law they were breaking – but when it isn't even possible to know the law you are breaking, you can perhaps feel slightly annoyed if you then accidentally get in trouble.

It's hard to know what would be better, of course. Publishing a list of the identities which can't be published is clearly counterproductive; yet we don't want to abandon the system altogether. It may be that the best option really is that mooted by Keir Starmer: an agreement that twitterers with few followers won't be prosecuted. That still leaves those who have ended up with thousands of followers facing the full wrath of the law – or, like Bercow, quitting until they take a course in media law – but it would at least minimise harm done to the vast majority of people using social networks.

In one final twist to the tale, just before Bercow's account was deleted, she appears to have been hacked. This tweet was posted late last night:

So it may not be the case that Bercow herself even deleted her account. We'll see.

As this piece involves multiple ongoing and potential court cases, comments are disabled.

Sally Bercow's former twitter page.

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

Getty.
Show Hide image

Hannan Fodder: This week, Daniel Hannan gets his excuses in early

I didn't do it. 

Since Daniel Hannan, a formerly obscure MEP, has emerged as the anointed intellectual of the Brexit elite, The Staggers is charting his ascendancy...

When I started this column, there were some nay-sayers talking Britain down by doubting that I was seriously going to write about Daniel Hannan every week. Surely no one could be that obsessed with the activities of one obscure MEP? And surely no politician could say enough ludicrous things to be worthy of such an obsession?

They were wrong, on both counts. Daniel and I are as one on this: Leave and Remain, working hand in glove to deliver on our shared national mission. There’s a lesson there for my fellow Remoaners, I’m sure.

Anyway. It’s week three, and just as I was worrying what I might write this week, Dan has ridden to the rescue by writing not one but two columns making the same argument – using, indeed, many of the exact same phrases (“not a club, but a protection racket”). Like all the most effective political campaigns, Dan has a message of the week.

First up, on Monday, there was this headline, in the conservative American journal, the Washington Examiner:

“Why Brexit should work out for everyone”

And yesterday, there was his column on Conservative Home:

“We will get a good deal – because rational self-interest will overcome the Eurocrats’ fury”

The message of the two columns is straightforward: cooler heads will prevail. Britain wants an amicable separation. The EU needs Britain’s military strength and budget contributions, and both sides want to keep the single market intact.

The Con Home piece makes the further argument that it’s only the Eurocrats who want to be hardline about this. National governments – who have to answer to actual electorates – will be more willing to negotiate.

And so, for all the bluster now, Theresa May and Donald Tusk will be skipping through a meadow, arm in arm, before the year is out.

Before we go any further, I have a confession: I found myself nodding along with some of this. Yes, of course it’s in nobody’s interests to create unnecessary enmity between Britain and the continent. Of course no one will want to crash the economy. Of course.

I’ve been told by friends on the centre-right that Hannan has a compelling, faintly hypnotic quality when he speaks and, in retrospect, this brief moment of finding myself half-agreeing with him scares the living shit out of me. So from this point on, I’d like everyone to keep an eye on me in case I start going weird, and to give me a sharp whack round the back of the head if you ever catch me starting a tweet with the word, “Friends-”.

Anyway. Shortly after reading things, reality began to dawn for me in a way it apparently hasn’t for Daniel Hannan, and I began cataloguing the ways in which his argument is stupid.

Problem number one: Remarkably for a man who’s been in the European Parliament for nearly two decades, he’s misunderstood the EU. He notes that “deeper integration can be more like a religious dogma than a political creed”, but entirely misses the reason for this. For many Europeans, especially those from countries which didn’t have as much fun in the Second World War as Britain did, the EU, for all its myriad flaws, is something to which they feel an emotional attachment: not their country, but not something entirely separate from it either.

Consequently, it’s neither a club, nor a “protection racket”: it’s more akin to a family. A rational and sensible Brexit will be difficult for the exact same reasons that so few divorcing couples rationally agree not to bother wasting money on lawyers: because the very act of leaving feels like a betrayal.

Or, to put it more concisely, courtesy of Buzzfeed’s Marie Le Conte:

Problem number two: even if everyone was to negotiate purely in terms of rational interest, our interests are not the same. The over-riding goal of German policy for decades has been to hold the EU together, even if that creates other problems. (Exhibit A: Greece.) So there’s at least a chance that the German leadership will genuinely see deterring more departures as more important than mutual prosperity or a good relationship with Britain.

And France, whose presidential candidates are lining up to give Britain a kicking, is mysteriously not mentioned anywhere in either of Daniel’s columns, presumably because doing so would undermine his argument.

So – the list of priorities Hannan describes may look rational from a British perspective. Unfortunately, though, the people on the other side of the negotiating table won’t have a British perspective.

Problem number three is this line from the Con Home piece:

“Might it truly be more interested in deterring states from leaving than in promoting the welfare of its peoples? If so, there surely can be no further doubt that we were right to opt out.”

If there any rhetorical technique more skin-crawlingly horrible, than, “Your response to my behaviour justifies my behaviour”?

I could go on, about how there’s no reason to think that Daniel’s relatively gentle vision of Brexit is shared by Nigel Farage, UKIP, or a significant number of those who voted Leave. Or about the polls which show that, far from the EU’s response to the referendum pushing more European nations towards the door, support for the union has actually spiked since the referendum – that Britain has become not a beacon of hope but a cautionary tale.

But I’m running out of words, and there’ll be other chances to explore such things. So instead I’m going to end on this:

Hannan’s argument – that only an irrational Europe would not deliver a good Brexit – is remarkably, parodically self-serving. It allows him to believe that, if Brexit goes horribly wrong, well, it must all be the fault of those inflexible Eurocrats, mustn’t it? It can’t possibly be because Brexit was a bad idea in the first place, or because liberal Leavers used nasty, populist ones to achieve their goals.

Read today, there are elements of Hannan’s columns that are compelling, even persuasive. From the perspective of 2020, I fear, they might simply read like one long explanation of why nothing that has happened since will have been his fault.

Jonn Elledge is the editor of the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric. He is on Twitter, far too much, as @JonnElledge.