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The bugger, bugged

After a chance meeting with a former News of the World executive who told him his phone had been hacked, Hugh Grant couldn’t resist going back to him – with a hidden tape recorder – to find out if there was more to the story. . .

When I broke down in my midlife crisis car in remotest Kent just before Christmas, a battered white van pulled up on the far carriageway. To help, I thought. But when the driver got out he started taking pictures with a long-lens camera. He came closer to get better shots and I swore at him. Then he offered me a lift the last few miles to my destination. I suspected his motives and swore at him some more. (I'm not entirely sympathetic towards paparazzi.) Then I realised I couldn't get a taxi and was late. So I had to accept the lift.

He turned out to be an ex-News of the World investigative journalist and paparazzo, now running a pub in Dover. He still kept his camera in the car's glove box for just this kind of happy accident.

More than that, he was Paul McMullan, one of two ex-NoW hacks who had blown the whistle (in the Guardian and on Channel 4's Dispatches) on the full extent of phone-hacking at the paper, particularly under its former editor Andy Coulson. This was interesting, as I had been a victim - a fact he confirmed as we drove along. He also had an unusual defence of the practice: that phone-hacking was a price you had to pay for living in a free society. I asked how that worked exactly, but we ran out of time, and next thing we had arrived and he was asking me if I would pose for a photo with him, "not for publication, just for the wall of the pub".

I agreed and the picture duly appeared in the Mail on Sunday that weekend with his creative version of the encounter. He had asked me to drop into his pub some time. So when, some months later, Jemima asked me to write a piece for this paper, it occurred to me it might be interesting to take him up on his invitation.

I wanted to hear more about phone-hacking and the whole business of tabloid journalism. It occurred to me just to interview him straight, as he has, after all, been a whistleblower. But then I thought I might possibly get more, and it might be more fun, if I secretly taped him, The bugger bugged, as it were. Here are some excerpts from our conversation.

Me So, how's the whistleblowing going?
Him I'm trying to get a book published. I sent it off to a publisher who immediately accepted it and then it got legal and they said, "This is never going to get published."
Me Why? Because it accuses too many people of crime?
Him Yes, as I said to the parliamentary commission, Coulson knew all about it and regularly ordered it . . . He [Coulson] rose quickly to the top; he wanted to cover his tracks all the time. So he wouldn't just write a story about a celeb who'd done something. He'd want to make sure they could never sue, so he wanted us to hear the celeb like you on tape saying, "Hello, darling, we had lovely sex last night." So that's on tape - OK, we've got that and so we can publish . . . Historically, the way it went was, in the early days of mobiles, we all had analogue mobiles and that was an absolute joy. You know, you just . . . sat outside Buckingham Palace with a £59 scanner you bought at Argos and get Prince Charles and everything he said.
Me Is that how the Squidgy tapes [of Diana's phone conversations] came out? Which was put down to radio hams, but was in fact . . .
Him Paps in the back of a van, yes . . . I mean, politicians were dropping like flies in the Nineties because it was so easy to get stuff on them. And, obviously, less easy to justify is celebrities. But yes.
Me And . . . it wasn't just the News of the World. It was , you know - the Mail?
Him Oh absolutely, yeah. When I went freelance in 2004 the biggest payers - you'd have thought it would be the NoW, but actually it was the Daily Mail. If I take a good picture, the first person I go to is - such as in your case - the Mail on Sunday. Did you see that story? The picture of you, breaking down . . . I ought to thank you for that. I got £3,000. Whooo!
Me But would they [the Mail] buy a phone-hacked story?
Him For about four or five years they've absolutely been cleaner than clean. And before that they weren't. They were as dirty as anyone . . . They had the most money.
Me So everyone knew? I mean, would Rebekah Wade have known all this stuff was going on?
Him Good question. You're not taping, are you?
Me [slightly shrill voice] No.
Him Well, yeah. Clearly she . . . took over the job of [a journalist] who had a scanner who was trying to sell it to members of his own department. But it wasn't a big crime. [NB: Rebekah Brooks has always denied any knowledge of phone-hacking. The current police investigation is into events that took place after her editorship of the News of the World.]
It started off as fun - you know, it wasn't against the law, so why wouldn't you? And it was only because the MPs who were fiddling their expenses and being generally corrupt kept getting caught so much they changed the law in 2001 to make it illegal to buy and sell a digital scanner. So all we were left with was - you know - finding a blag to get your mobile [records] out of someone at Vodafone. Or, when someone's got it, other people swap things for it.
Me So they all knew? Wade probably knew all about it all?
Him [...] Cameron must have known - that's the bigger scandal. He had to jump into bed with Murdoch as everyone had, starting with Thatcher in the Seventies . . . Tony Blair . . . [tape is hard to hear here] Maggie openly courted Murdoch, saying, you know, "Please support me." So when Cameron, when it came his turn to go to Murdoch via Rebekah Wade . . . Cameron went horse riding regularly with Rebekah. I know, because as well as doorstepping celebrities, I've also doorstepped my ex-boss by hiding in the bushes, waiting for her to come past with Cameron on a horse . . . before the election to show that - you know - Murdoch was backing Cameron.
Me What happened to that story?
Him The Guardian paid for me to do it and I stepped in it and missed them, basically. They'd gone past - not as good as having a picture.
Me Do you think Murdoch knew about phone-hacking?
Him Errr, possibly not. He's a funny bloke given that he owns the Sun and the Screws . . . quite puritanical. Sorry to talk about Divine Brown, but when that came out . . . Murdoch was furious: "What are you putting that on our front page for? You're bringing down the tone of our papers." [Indicating himself] That's what we do over here.
Me Well, it's also because it was his film I was about to come out in.
Him Oh. I see.
Me Yeah. It was a Fox film.
[A pause here while we chat to other customers, and then - ]
Him So anyway, let me finish my story.
Me Murdoch, yes . . .
Him So I was sent to do a feature on Moulin Rouge! at Cannes, which was a great send anyway. Basically my brief was to see who Nicole Kidman was shagging - what she was doing, poking through her bins and get some stuff on her. So Murdoch's paying her five million quid to big up the French and at the same time paying me £5.50 to fuck her up . . . So all hail the master. We're just pawns in his game. How perverse is that?
Me Wow. You reckon he never knew about it?
Him [pause] I don't even think he really worried himself too much about it.
Me What's his son called?
Him James. They're all mates together. They all go horse riding. You've got Jeremy Clarkson lives here [in Oxfordshire]. Cameron lives here, and Rebekah Wade is married to Brooks's son [the former racehorse trainer Charlie Brooks]. Cameron gets dressed up as the Stig to go to Clarkson's 50th birthday party [NB: it was actually to record a video message for the party]. Is that demeaning for a prime minister? It should be the other way round, shouldn't it? So basically, Cameron is very much in debt to Rebekah Wade for helping him not quite win the election . . . So that was my submission to parliament - that Cameron's either a liar or an idiot.
Me But don't you think that all these prime ministers deliberately try to get the police to drag their feet about investigating the whole [phone-hacking] thing because they don't want to upset Murdoch?
Him Yeah. There's that . . . You also work a lot with policemen as well . . . One of the early stories was [and here he names a much-loved TV actress in her sixties] used to be a street walker - whether or not she was, but that's the tip.
Me and Chum MLTVA?!
Me I can't believe it. Oh no!
Chum Really??
Him Yeah. Well, not now . . .
Chum Oh, it'd be so much better if it was now.
Him So I asked a copper to get his hands on the phone files, but because it's only a caution it's not there any more. So that's the tip . . . it's a policeman ringing up a tabloid reporter and asking him for ten grand because this girl had been cautioned right at the start of his career. And then I ask another policemen to go and check the records . . . So that's happening regularly. So the police don't particularly want to investigate.
Me But do you think they're going to have to now?
Him I mean - 20 per cent of the Met has taken backhanders from tabloid hacks. So why would they want to open up that can of worms? . . . And what's wrong with that, anyway? It doesn't hurt anyone particularly. I mean, it could hurt someone's career - but isn't that the dance with the devil you have to play?
Me Well, I suppose the fact that they're dragging their feet while investigating a mass of phone-hacking - which is a crime - some people would think is a bit depressing about the police.
Him But then - should it be a crime? I mean, scanning never used to be a crime. Why should it be? You're transmitting your thoughts and your voice over the airwaves. How can you not expect someone to just stick up an aerial and listen in?
Me So if someone was on a landline and you had a way of tapping in . . .
Him Much harder to do.
Me But if you could, would you think that was illegal? Do you think that should be illegal?
Him I'd have to say quite possibly, yeah. I'd say that should be illegal.
Me But a mobile phone - a digital phone . . . you'd say it'd be all right to tap that?
Him I'm not sure about that. So we went from a point where anyone could listen in to anything. Like you, me, journalists could listen in to corrupt politicians, and this is why we have a reasonably fair society and a not particularly corrupt or criminal prime minister, whereas other countries have Gaddafi. Do you think it's right the only person with a decent digital scanner these days is the government? Whereas 20 years ago we all had a go? Are you comfortable that the only people who can listen in to you now are - is it MI5 or MI6?
Me I'd rather no one listened in, to be honest. And I might not be alone there. You probably wouldn't want people listening to your conversations.
Him I'm not interesting enough for anyone to want to listen in.
Me Ah . . . I think that was one of the questions asked last week at one of the parliamentary committees. They asked Yates [John Yates, acting deputy commissioner of the Metropolitan Police] if it was true that he thought that the NoW had been hacking the phones of friends and family of those girls who were murdered . . . the Soham murder and the Milly girl [Milly Dowler].
Him Yeah. Yeah. It's more than likely. Yeah . . . It was quite routine. Yeah - friends and family is something that's not as easy to justify as the other things.
Me But celebrities you would justify because they're rich?
Him Yeah. I mean, if you don't like it, you've just got to get off the stage. It'll do wonders.
Me So I should have given up acting?
Him If you live off your image, you can't really complain about someone . . .
Me I live off my acting. Which is different to living off your image.
Him Yeah, but you're still presenting yourself to the public. And if the public didn't know you -
Me They don't give a shit. I got arrested with a hooker and they still came to my films. They don't give a fuck about your public image. They just care about whether you're in an entertaining film or not.
Him That's true . . . I have terrible difficulty with him [points to pap shot of Johnny Depp]. He's really difficult. You know, I was in Venice and he was a nightmare to do because he walks around looking like Michael Jackson. And the punchline was . . . after leading everyone a merry dance the film was shot on an open balcony - I mean, it was like - he was standing there in public.
Me And you don't see the difference between the two situations?
Chum He was actually working at this time? As opposed to having his own private time?
Him You can't hide all the time.
Me So you're saying, if you're Johnny Depp or me, you don't deserve to have a private life?
Him You make so much more money. You know, most people in Dover take home about £200 and struggle.
Me So how much do you think the families of the Milly and Soham girls make?
Him OK, so there are examples that are poor and you can't justify - and that's clearly one of them.
Me I tell you the thing I still don't get - if you think it was all right to do all that stuff, why blow the whistle on it?
Him Errm . . . Right. That's interesting. I actually blew the whistle when a friend of mine at the Guardian kept hassling me for an interview. I said, "Well if you put the name of the Castle [his pub] on the front page of the Guardian, I'll do anything you like." So that's how it started.
Me So, have you been leant on by the NoW, News International, since you blew the whistle?
Him No, they've kept their distance. I mean, there's people who have much better records - my records are non-existent. There are people who actually have tapes and transcripts they did for Andy Coulson.
Me And where are these tapes and transcripts? Do you think they've been destroyed?
Him No, I'm sure they're saving them till they retire.
Me So did you personally ever listen to my voice messages?
Him No, I didn't personally ever listen to your voice messages. I did quite a lot of stories on you, though. You were a very good earner at times.

Those are the highlights. As I drove home past the white cliffs, I thought it was interesting - apart from the fact that Paul hates people like me, and I hate people like him, we got on quite well. And, absurdly, I felt a bit guilty for recording him.

And he does have a very nice pub. The Castle Inn, Dover, for the record. There are rooms available, too. He asked me if I'd like to sample the honeymoon suite some time: "I can guarantee your privacy."

-- Listen to the audio now --

This article first appeared in the 11 April 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Jemima Khan guest edit

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Extreme Scottish unionists: how the hard right has muscled into the independence debate

During the last Scottish referendum, pro-union campaigners tried to ignore the most extreme members of their own side. But can they afford to do so again? 

This is one of a two-part series. For the article on extreme Scottish nationalists, click here.

Robert Somynne is a London-born Scot of African-Caribbean heritage. When the Scottish referendum was announced, he was inspired by the civic nationalism of the pro-independence campaign. But when he shared his support online, he found it came at a cost.

“The comments ranged from being called 'filthy Aids wog' to 'fuck off what you doing in Scotland anyway?’” he remembers. “These were usually comments from people who prior to the statements would talk about union and British unity.”

Another time, he was canvassing in the bustling Edinburgh neighbourhood of Leith, when three members of the Orange Order, a Protestant organisation viewed by many as sectarian, surrounded the stall.

“That was the first instance of physical confrontation,” he says. “They spat on the floor close to us, but walked away grumbling.”

With most newspapers focused on the online “cybernats” and pro-independence thugs, Somynne felt ignored. “As a BME pro-Indy person you had to sit and listen to the narrative about Indy people being abusive wondering if you were invisible,” he says. 

Read more: The extreme Scottish nationalists

With a second independence referendum looking increasingly likely, Somynne fears that the pro-union parties warning about “division” are creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

“As for physical confrontation,” he says. “I'm honestly worried about certain sections of the No-supporting extremes, who see the independence movement as some kind of 'Jacobite plot' to destroy their British identity.”

In 2014, pro-union parties fought under a banner of economic realism, with the additional message that it was OK to be “Scottish and British”. After the experience of the EU referendum, though, there are murmurings that a second pro-union campaign would have to be fought on more emotional turf. 

So what is behind what Somynne calls “the dark underbelly” of the pro-union campaign? And how likely is it to rear its head again? 

One night in George Square

For many independence supporters, suspicions that the pro-union campaign had resonated with the far right were confirmed on the evening after the referendum. A group of crestfallen, mainly young independence supporters turned up at Glasgow’s George Square, where they were confronted by a group of union supporters waving Union Jacks, singing Rule Britannia and giving Nazi salutes. 

Glasgow SNP councillor Austin Sheridan, who is gay, was at the City Chambers that day, an imperial building on George Square. He left the building to see what was going on. “All of a sudden a guy came up and shouted at me,” he remembers. A video he made on his phone shows middle-aged men calling him “fucking poofter” and “nationalist scum”. 

Sheridan believes the homophobic attack was “clearly organised”. He says: “The group of people arrived at the square all at the same time.” 

In 2014, mainstream political parties succeeded in the most part in distancing themselves from the far-right unionists. 

Scots were treated to the rare sight of the Liberal Democrats, Labour and Conservative leaders agreeing on the need to stay in the UK. 

This cross-party unity did not, however, extend to some of the other groups opposing independence – the British National Party, the UK Independence Party and the Scottish Defence League (which shares anti-SNP posts alongside warnings of a Muslim “invasion”). 

While the fringes continue to share both far-right and an anti-independence messages, Facebook groups purely focused on a passionate defence of unionism have also flourished. Here, the First Minister Nicola Sturgeon is mocked as the TV comedy character "Wee Jimmie Krankie", or the "ginger poison dwarf". 

One of the grassroots groups most consistently pushing the pro-union message is A Force For Good (its Facebook page has more than 4,000 followers). During the 2014 referendum it was not affiliated with the Better Together campaign and describes itself as providing “a historical and cultural background to the Union and the British identity”. 

Its posts mainly thank Theresa May for objecting to a second Scottish independence referendum. However, the founder of the site, Alastair McConnachie, was forced out of Ukip after questioning aspects of the Holocaust (when I asked McConnachie if he still held these views, he referred me to a 2007 blog post in which he acknowledges the Holocaust but adds: "I've questioned and doubt, from a historically-interested point of view, some aspects, specifically with regard to the existence of execution gas chambers.") 

Unionism... and Unionism

There was a second undercurrent to that appearance in George Square. “The violence in George Square was sectarian,” says Dave Scott of anti-sectarian organisation Nil By Mouth, who wrote about the incident at the time. (You can read about sectarianism and the pro-independence campaign here).

While there is no direct link between the pro-union campaign and Protestantism (Jim Murphy, a prominent Better Together supporter, is a practising Roman Catholic), some of the most passionate supporters of the UK are from Protestant groups.

The Orange Order is a controversial Protestant brotherhood that dates back more than 200 years. It is based in Northern Ireland, but has other branches around the world, the largest of which is in Scotland. Orangemen traditionally march on 12 July to celebrate the triumph of the Protestant monarchy over the Catholic King James II. Critics accuse the Orangemen of stirring up sectarian hatred and bringing unrest to the streets (in 2016, 13 people were arrested for minor offences during an Orange march in Glasgow). 

In 2014, the Orange Order campaigned on behalf of remaining in the UK. Roughly 15,000 supporters from both Scotland and Northern Ireland turned up in Edinburgh on the weekend before the referendum for a march through the Scottish capital.

The organisation continues to comment on Scottish politics. The front page of the March 2017 edition of the house journal, The Orange Torch, was dedicated to the prospect of a second referendum. When I speak to Robert McLean, the executive officer of the Grand Orange Lodge of Scotland, he confirms that if there is another referendum, his organisation will get involved again. 

I put to him the complaints of independence campaigners that the Orangemen were a divisive presence. He responds: "If anything, the referendum caused division. If anyone's causing division, it's Nicola Sturgeon." The Orange Order have been in Scotland for 300 years, he adds.

What next for the pro-union campaign?

Orange Order marches – and their sister activity, flute bands – have traditionally been abhorred by what Kevin McKenna, a Scottish columnist, calls the “liberal, godless, political classes” in Holyrood. The Better Together campaign was visibly embarrassed by its orange friends. But that was before Brexit. 

While pro-union political parties in Scotland are still working out their plans, organisers must grapple with the fact that “Project Fear” failed to win the EU referendum. Better Together's victorious campaign in 2014 was similarly pragmatic, with messages of economic stability and - crucially - the promise of staying in the EU. 

In the patriotic fervour of Facebook groups like “Do Not Break Our Unity”, there is a different kind of unionism. It waves the Union Jack with pride, wears the poppy, celebrates the monarchy, approves of Theresa May and voted Brexit. As McKenna wrote in the summer of 2014:

The people who will decide the referendum will not be those in the chattering, political classes but the tens of thousands in the housing schemes across the country… both sides had better start properly to understand their language and their curious ways.

The question for mainstream politicians in Scotland – as in England – is what to do about this well of passionate, patriotic unionism. Can they channel it into an emotional case for unity? And would doing so come at a price? 

Somynne, the independence campaigner and freelance journalist who has written about the referendum campaign, wants to see “calm and constructive” debate on both sides. But he worries it won’t turn out that way. “You're asking fundamental questions about the way we define ourselves and challenging political realities,” he says. “It's never going to be clean when that happens.”

Read more: The extreme Scottish nationalists

Julia Rampen is the digital news editor of the New Statesman (previously editor of The Staggers, The New Statesman's online rolling politics blog). She has also been deputy editor at Mirror Money Online and has worked as a financial journalist for several trade magazines. 

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