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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but we ran out of time, and next thing we had arrived and he was asking me if I would pose for a photo with him, "not for publication, just for the wall of the pub".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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Why don’t we learn from our mistakes – even when it matters most?

Juan Rivera served ten years of prison time until DNA evidence overturned his sentence. But even now, some maintain his guilt.

On the afternoon of 17 August 1992, an 11-year-old girl called Holly Staker walked from her home to a neighbour’s apartment in Waukegan, a small town in Illinois. She had been asked to babysit two children, a girl aged two and a boy of five. By 8pm Holly was dead. An unidentified intruder had broken into the apartment, violently raped her, and stabbed her 27 times. The local police force pursued 600 leads and interviewed 200 people, but within a few weeks the trail had run cold.

Then, through the testimony of a jailhouse informant, police happened upon a new suspect: Juan Rivera, a 19-year-old man who lived a few miles south of the murder scene. Over four days, Rivera, who had a history of psychological problems, was subjected to a gruelling examination by the Lake County Task Force. At one point it seemed to get too much for Rivera. Officers saw him pulling out a clump of hair and banging his head on the wall.

On the third day, as the interviewers’ tone became aggressive, Rivera finally nodded his head when asked if he had committed the crime. By this time, his hands and feet were tied together, and he was confined to a padded cell. On the basis of his confession, police prepared a statement for Rivera to sign.

There were no witnesses to the crime. There was no physical evidence. But there was a brutally murdered young girl, a community still in mourning, and that signed confession. The jury didn’t take long to make up their minds. Rivera was convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison.

Many journalists who covered the case were uneasy. They could see that the case hinged on the confession of a disturbed young man, who had retracted hours after signing it. But the police and prosecutors felt vindicated. It had been a troubling crime. A man had been sentenced. Holly’s family could find closure.

Or could they?


Eight years earlier, in 1984, Alec Jeffreys, a British scientist, had the insight that would lead to DNA fingerprinting – a technique that would transform the criminal justice system. In the absence of contamination, and provided the test is administered correctly, the odds of two unrelated people having matching DNA is roughly one in a billion. In certain cases, such as rape, it would in time be possible to identify the attacker conclusively, based on DNA extracted from the crime scene. After all, if the police swabbed the sperm found in the victim, they could narrow the number of potential suspects to just one. This is why DNA fingerprinting has helped to secure thousands of convictions – it has a unique power in establishing guilt.

But it also has implications for cases that have already been tried: the power to exonerate. If the DNA from the sperm in a rape victim has been stored, and if it does not match that of the person serving time in prison, the conclusion is difficult to deny: it came from a different man, the real criminal.

In August 1989, just months after DNA fingerprinting technology became advanced enough for use in the criminal justice system, Gary Dotson, who had been convicted of a 1977 rape in Chicago, was released from jail, having consistently proclaimed his innocence. Underwear worn by the victim had been sent for DNA testing, which showed that the semen belonged to a different man. Dotson had served more than ten years in jail.

The first DNA exoneration in the UK involved Michael Shirley, a young sailor who had been convicted of the rape and murder of Linda Cook, a barmaid working in Portsmouth, in December 1986. A simple DNA test performed in 2001, after police finally admitted they had stored swabs from the crime, proved that the semen found in the victim did not belong to Shirley. He had served 16 years at the time of his release.

By 2005, in the United States alone, the convictions of more than 300 people had been overturned following DNA tests. It seemed that the criminal justice system was getting it wrong repeatedly. In situations where evidence had been kept, clients of the Innocence Project, an American charity that helps prisoners who say they were wrongfully convicted, were exonerated in almost half the cases. A study led by Samuel R Gross, a professor at the University of Michigan Law School, concluded: “If we reviewed prison sentences with the same level of care that we devote to death sentences, there would have been over 28,500 non-death-row exonerations [in the US] in the past 15 years rather than the 255 that have in fact occurred.”

At that point, Juan Rivera, the man convicted of killing Holly Staker, had been in jail for almost 13 years. His lawyers decided to apply for a DNA test. It hadn’t been performed at the trial because techniques were not, at that time, sufficiently advanced to analyse very small samples of tissue. When the results came back they were conclusive: the semen found inside Holly Staker did not belong to Rivera.

He was yet another victim of wrongful conviction.


When a system produces an error, it is a tragedy for the person on the wrong side of the mistake. But it is also a precious learning opportunity, a chance to figure out what went wrong, and make reforms to the system to ensure that the same mistakes don’t happen again.

Aviation is a powerful model in this respect. Every plane is equipped with two black boxes, which record vital information. If an accident occurs, these boxes are recovered, the failure analysed, and reforms implemented. Pilots report near-miss events, too, which are statistically analysed in order to help prevent accidents.

In 1912, eight of the 14 qualified US army pilots died in crashes. In 2014, the accident rate for major airlines had dropped to just one crash for every 8.3 million take-offs. That’s the power of learning from mistakes.

Broadly speaking, this is how science works. Scientists make testable predictions; when these fail, the theories are reformed. As the philosopher Karl Popper put it: “The history of science . . . is a history . . . of error. But science is one of the very few human activities – perhaps the only one – in which errors are systematically criticised and fairly often, in time, corrected. This is why . . . we can speak clearly and sensibly about making progress there.”

But there is a practical problem with adopting this model of progress. Many people don’t like to admit to their mistakes. They do not meet their failures with intellectual honesty and a willingness to understand what went wrong, but with back covering and defensiveness. This has a simple consequence: if mistakes are not learned from, they will be made again and again. And again.

In his famous studies of “cognitive dissonance” in the 1950s, the sociologist Leon Festinger discovered the array of tactics used by people to spin, reframe and cover up their mistakes. A classic example involved a small group of cult members. They had left their families to live with a housewife called “Marian Keech” (real name: Dorothy Martin), who had predicted the world would end before dawn on 21 December 1954. She had also prophesied that the members of the cult would be saved from the looming apocalypse by a spaceship that would land at Keech’s small house in suburban Minnesota at midnight.

Neither the apocalypse nor the spaceship materialised (Keech’s husband, who was a non-believer, had gone to his bedroom and slept through the whole thing). This was an unambiguous failure. Keech had said the world would end, and that a spaceship would save true believers. Neither had happened. The cult members could have responded by altering their beliefs about Keech’s supernatural insights.

Instead, they altered the “evidence”. At first, the cult members kept checking outside to see if the spaceship had landed. Then, as the clock ticked past midnight, they became sullen and bemused. Ultimately, however, they became defiant. Just as Festinger had predicted before he infiltrated the cult, the faith of hardcore members was unaffected by what should have been a crushing disappointment. In fact, their faith seemed to grow stronger.

How is this possible? As Festinger recounted in his book When Prophecy Fails, first published in 1956, they simply redefined the failure. “The godlike figure is so impressed with our faith that he has decided to give the planet a second chance,” they proclaimed (I am paraphrasing only a little). “We saved the world!” Far from abandoning the cult, members went out on a recruitment drive. As Festinger put it: “The little group, sitting all night long, had spread so much light that God had saved the world from destruction.” They were “jubilant”.

This may sound bizarre, but it is, in fact, commonplace. Festinger showed that this behaviour, though seemingly extreme, provides an insight into psychological mechanisms that are universal. When we are confronted with evidence that challenges our deeply held beliefs we are more likely to reframe the evidence than we are to alter our beliefs. We simply invent new reasons, new justifications, new explanations. Sometimes we ignore the evidence altogether.

Think, for example, of health care. In her book After Harm, published in 2005, the American researcher Nancy Berlinger investigated how doctors reframe their mistakes. “Observing more senior physicians, students learn that their mentors and supervisors believe in, practise and reward the concealment of errors,” she wrote. “They learn how to talk about unanticipated outcomes until a ‘mistake’ morphs into a ‘complication’. Above all, they learn not to tell the patient anything.”

This is partly about fear of litigation, but also about the protecting ego. Think of the language associated with senior physicians. Surgeons work in a “theatre”. This is the stage where they “perform”. How dare they fluff their lines? As the safety expert James Reason put it: “After a long education, you are expected to get it right. The consequence is that medical errors are marginalised and stigmatised.”

But if doctors do not learn from their mistakes, they are destined to repeat them. A report by the UK National Audit Office in 2005 estimated that up to 34,000 people are killed each year as a result of human error in the health-care system. It put the overall number of patient incidents (fatal and non-fatal) at 974,000. In the US, annually, 400,000 people die because of preventable error in hospitals alone. That is the equivalent of two jumbo jets crashing every day.

Another example is economics. In 2010, a group of influential thinkers, including Michael J Boskin, a former chairman of the US president’s Council of Economic Advisers, and the historian Niall Ferguson, wrote an open letter to the chairman of the Federal Reserve. The signatories were worried that a second tranche of quantitative easing would “risk currency debasement and inflation” and “distort financial markets”. The letter was published in the Wall Street Journal and New York Times.

At the time, inflation was running at 1.5 per cent, but what happened in the aftermath? Did inflation soar? In fact, by December 2014, inflation had not merely stayed at historically low levels, but had fallen to 0.8 per cent (soon after that, it fell into negative territory). The US economy was creating jobs at a fast rate, too, while unemployment had dropped and companies were reporting record profits.

This was a stark error in prediction, an opportunity to revise theoretical assumptions (just as mistakes in medicine provide an opportunity to revise procedures). But the signatories saw it differently. David Malpass, a deputy assistant secretary to the Treasury under Ronald Reagan, said “the letter was correct as stated”. John Taylor, an economics professor, said: “The letter mentioned many things – the risk of inflation . . . to employment . . . – and all have happened.”

Again, like revered clinicians, these prestigious thinkers could not bear that they had got things wrong. So, instead of learning from their mistake, they spun it. Some of the signatories came up with detailed graphs and tables to show that they were right all along.

Consider that if inflation had soared, they would have claimed this as a vindication for their prediction (as the cult members would have said the apocalypse had materialised). Yet these eminent thinkers also claimed vindication when inflation fell (just like the cult members when the spaceship didn’t turn up). Heads I win; tails I don’t lose.

And this is why it is the social pundits with the most prestigious reputations – as measured by how often they tour the television studios – who often make the worst predictions. They have the most to lose from mistakes and are therefore the most likely to come up with ex post explanations for why they were right all along. And because these pundits are clever, their rationalisations sound plausible.

But it is also why they don’t learn from their mistakes. After all, if you can’t admit when you are wrong, how can you ever put things right?


This brings us back to the criminal justice system. Many of these DNA cases show unequivocal failures. They demonstrate almost beyond doubt that mistakes were made by the police, prosecution and courts. This should have led to an acknowledgement of error, and meaningful reform. In fact, the astonishing thing is not that the system – or at least the people behind it – learned, but the extent to which it continued to evade and deny.

When the DNA results came back for Juan Rivera, state prosecutors offered a new story to account for the evidence – a very different story from the one that they had presented at the original trial. Holly, an 11-year-old child, had had consensual sex with a lover a few hours before the attack, prosecutors claimed. This accounted for the semen. And Rivera? He had happened upon Holly after intercourse had taken place, and murdered her.

“It was a grotesque way of squaring the new evidence with their unshakeable belief that Rivera was guilty,” Steven Art, one of the jailed man’s lawyers, told me. “But it was also totally inconsistent with the overwhelming evidence that Holly had been raped, quite brutally. There were signs of vaginal and anal trauma and stab wounds in her genitals.”

The prosecutor’s new story may have seemed outlandish, but the consequences were very real. Rivera was not released from prison for another six years. “I got stabbed twice and endured three attempted rapes,” he told me during a phone interview last year. “People wanted to hurt me; they thought that I was a child rapist. But perhaps the toughest thing of all was knowing that I was innocent.”

Rivera’s experience was far from unusual. The vast majority of exonerations through DNA evidence were met with breathtaking obstruction. Nothing seemed to budge prosecutors from their conviction that the man who had been sent to prison was guilty. Even after the test had been performed. Even after the conviction had been overturned. Even after the prisoner had been released from jail.

The problem was not the strength of the evidence, which was often overwhelming; it was the psychological difficulty in accepting it.

The process often took a distinctive path. First the prosecutors would try to deny access to DNA evidence. When that strategy was batted away, and the test excluded the convict as the source of the DNA, they would claim that it had not been carried out correctly. This didn’t last long, either, because when the test was redone it would invariably come back with the same result. The next stage in rape cases was for the prosecutor to argue that the semen belonged to a different man who was not the murderer. In other words, the victim had consensual sex with another man, but was subsequently raped by the prisoner, who used a condom.

The presence of an entirely new man, not mentioned at the initial trial, for whom there were no eyewitnesses, and who the victim often couldn’t remember having sex with, may seem like a desperate ploy to evade the evidence. But it has been used so often that it has been given a name by defence lawyers: “the unindicted co-ejaculator”.

In an adversarial system you would expect any new evidence secured by the defence to be looked at with healthy scepticism by prosecutors. You would expect them to give it scrutiny and to look at the wider context to be sure it stacks up. But in case after case, the sense of denial from prosecutors and police went a lot further.

And this explains, in turn, why the system was making so many mistakes. Proper investigation into wrongful convictions by the Innocence Project in recent years has discovered profound weaknesses in forensic science, police detection methods, eyewitness testimony and more. If these investigations had taken place earlier, and reforms been introduced, untold suffering could have been averted. But these opportunities were missed repeatedly, on both sides of the Atlantic.

This is why legal campaigners argue that the most robust way to improve the system, so as to reduce wrongful convictions and simultaneously increase rightful convictions, is to establish innocence commissions. These are independent bodies, mandated to investigate wrongful convictions and to recommend reforms, along the lines of air accident investigation teams. As of publication, only 11 states in the US had such commissions.

In the UK, a reform commission of sorts was set up in 1995 after a series of spectacular miscarriages of justice, including the Birmingham Six and the Guildford Four. The Criminal Cases Review Commission, an independent body, has the authority to refer questionable verdicts to the Court of Appeal. Between 1997 and the end of October 2013 it referred 538 cases in total.

Of these, 70 per cent succeeded at appeal.


More than 20 years after Juan Rivera was sentenced, a DNA test was conducted on a bloodstained piece of timber that had been used in a different murder. In January 2000, a man called Delwin Foxworth, who also lived in Lake County, was beaten savagely with a plank, doused with gasoline and set on fire. He died of his injuries, having suffered burns over 80 per cent of his body.

The DNA of the blood found on the wood matched that of the semen found in Holly Staker. Police are now almost certain that the man who got away with the rape and murder of an 11-year-old girl in 1992 went on to commit another murder eight years later. Foxworth may be yet another victim of the wrongful conviction of Juan Rivera; it allowed the real culprit to get away with it, and kill again. (The murderer has never been found.)

But what about those who were responsible for sending Rivera to jail? How do they feel about it today? Perhaps it should come as no surprise that even now many remain convinced of his guilt. In October 2014, Charles Fagan, an investigator who helped obtain Rivera’s confessions, was asked if he still believed that he committed the murder. “I think so,” he told a local newspaper.

And what of the prosecutors? Even after Rivera was released, Lake County lawyers wanted to put him back on trial. Only with a further conviction would they be able to say that they had been right all along. Only with a conviction could they quell their dissonance. Rivera walking around free was like an accusation against their competence.

It was left to the Illinois Appellate Court to take what might otherwise seem to be an astonishing step: it barred Lake County from ever prosecuting Juan Rivera for the murder of Holly Staker again.

Matthew Syed’s latest book is “Black Box Thinking: the Surprising Truth About Success” (John Murray)

This article first appeared in the 12 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the threat to Britain