Is Labour preparing to compromise over Leveson?

State-backed regulation would be much the best outcome. But Oliver Letwin's proposal of a Royal Charter might just be acceptable.

It’s taken a while, but this may be the week in which we get to see the government’s proposals for implementing the Leveson report.

Labour, which had been harrying for action, has let the first month of 2013 pass, a show of patience that may be significant. Late last year Ed Miliband was warning that if David Cameron didn’t come forward with satisfactory proposals by Christmas, Labour would force a Commons vote in January on its own draft bill.

The principal clause of that bill is that a new independent regulator should be underpinned by parliamentary statute, in line with Leveson’s key recommendation. That of course the Prime Minister has explicitly rejected, thereby opening up an apparently unbridgeable gap between the Conservatives and Labour. But at IPPR’s recent Oxford Media Convention, the shadow culture secretary, Harriet Harman, softened Labour’s hard deadline and more intriguingly appeared to throw a rope across the chasm that divides the parties.

It came in response to Oliver Letwin’s idea of a Royal Charter. This plan, reflecting Letwin’s reputation for feline cleverness, would provide legal underpinning for a recognition body for the new press regulator, not via a single statute, but rather through a combination of Royal Charter and accompanying statute. It may require legislation, but perhaps of a limited nature, reducing the involvement of parliament in deciding on press regulation – a notion offensive to some critics. On the other hand, the nature of a charter is that it would mean the press couldn’t change the oversight arrangements for its own regulatory body without government approval. All in all, it would provide what might be described as underhand statutory underpinning.

For many this suggestion is way too slippery. The campaign group Hacked Off has called it "overcomplicated and undemocratic" and the Media Reform Coalition has also highlighted its dangers. But what is Labour’s view? On the face of it, Harman rejected the idea at Oxford. Labour was "unpersuaded" of the Letwin plan, she said, and given a choice between Dolly the sheep and a sheep – why not stick with the sheep. So: rejection out of hand? Perhaps not. After all, being unpersuaded is not quite the same as being unpersuadable and if the clone can be engineered to be almost indistinguishable from the real thing, maybe it will suffice.

IPPR is most uneasy about shifting on this totemic issue. In our Life after Leveson report we called for full statutory underpinning, anticipating Leveson’s recommendation, right down to suggesting that Ofcom should be the back stop regulator. We still think that this is the best arrangement and are wary of the motivations of those who oppose full legal backing for future press regulation.

On the other hand, sometimes deals have to be done in politics in order to escape from an impasse. So although any move to towards the Letwin plan in some form will inevitably get one c-word thrown at it – climbdown - it might that another is more appropriate – compromise. After all, in floating the idea of a Royal Charter, the Conservatives have shifted their position somewhat, albeit to get themselves off a hook. And let’s not forget that the BBC – generally a repository of public trust because of its high journalistic standards - is established under Royal Charter. Similar regulatory arrangements for the press fall short of the ideal, but might do the job nonetheless.

Most important, though, is that whatever system of regulation is finally established commands the widest possible public confidence. Not the least of the virtues of the Leveson inquiry was that it all took place out in the open. The public could have its say and the powerful were called to account. This full airing was vital to bring about a much needed institutional deep clean of the most stinking chambers of the press. So it is a shame, if perhaps inevitable, that the process of implementing Leveson has been characterised by closed cross-party negotiations, secret talks among editors and the discredited PCC, in zombie form, taking unto itself the task of establishing a successor body. We, the public, have been locked out again.

That needs to change. Harman’s new red line on Leveson was that the government publish the Royal Charter proposals by the end of January. A few days have already passed, but if publication is imminent we can forgive that. Thereafter, we need to see a proper process of public consultation take place. The government and indeed opposition should take full account of whether public opinion is prepared to accept anything short of Leveson in toto. Maybe it will, but the alternative needs to be explained fully and openly, and even if they are not strictly needed, a whole panoply of public forums, select committee hearings, and parliamentary votes should take place before the idea is confirmed. While we should have a hayfever sufferer’s dread of the long grass, we should also have a claustrophobic aversion to everything happening behind closed doors. Leveson in full would be much the best outcome. Something close might just be acceptable. But we should certainly resist a quick stitch-up.

Tim Finch is director of communications at IPPR

IPPR's report Life after Leveson: The challenge to strengthen Britain’s diverse and vibrant media can be read here

A protest group stages a mock burning of the Leveson Report outside the Queen Elizabeth II centre in London. Photograph: Getty Images.

Tim Finch is director of communications for IPPR

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Donald Trump's rise is a reaction to Obama's two terms as president

This week, from Barack Obama’s legacy to memories of Angela Carter.

My children can’t believe that I grew up in a racially segregated Alabama, or that I reported on the election of Nelson Mandela in South Africa (for this magazine). One of their earliest memories is of helping a family friend sell coffee and hot chocolate in sub-zero temperatures to the crowds celebrating the inauguration of Bar­ack Obama in Washington in January 2009.

My past is ancient history to them. I strongly recommend that anybody who still feels that way watches In the Good Ol’ Days, the YouTube trailer for a documentary called 13th by Ava DuVernay, the director of Selma. It splices physical abuse of black people at Donald Trump’s rallies (and his taunts about how they would have been “carried out on a stretcher” in the past) with documentary footage from the 1960s. It’s chilling.

When Obama won the Democratic nomination for president, I went back to my old school in Montgomery to see how attitudes had changed. It was no longer segregated, of course, but it was still predominantly white. A former classmate told me that when he was five, the family handyman got chucked over a bridge and left for dead by the Ku Klux Klan. We never heard these stories in school. Then I met the progressive headmaster, who assured me that everything was non-discriminatory now. But, as I left, I was escorted to my car by the school bursar, who told me he didn’t trust Obama because he was a “Muslim”. The way he said it made it sound like the N-word to me.


Going South

There has been surprisingly little discussion about the extent to which the rise of Trump has been specifically a reaction to Obama’s two-term presidency. Yes, we have heard how Obama’s legitimacy has been questioned by the “birther” movement and we have listened to Trump crow about forcing the first African-American president to produce his papers (or rather his birth certificate). But when even a former grand wizard of the KKK – an absurd title – says that Trump talks “a lot more radically” than he does, it is impossible to ignore the racial dimension to this election.

The two big states that Trump still hopes to swing his way are Pennsylvania – memorably described by the Clinton adviser James Carville as Philadelphia and Pittsburgh with “Alabama in between” – and Ohio, where my mother was born. She is from the northern Democratic stronghold of Cleveland; Cincinnati, she used to sniff, was the South. She didn’t mean geographically.


Bill and Hill

There are many good reasons to be wary of Trump but I have never felt comfortable with Hillary Clinton. The governor of Alabama in my day was Lurleen Wallace, who was in office because her notoriously racist husband was ineligible to run for a consecutive term. She didn’t even bother to disguise that she was a proxy candidate and ran as Mrs George C Wallace, while he became known as “the first gentleman of Alabama”.

Admittedly, Hillary Clinton is far more her own woman than Lurleen ever was but Bill Clinton, remember, is a former Southern governor, of Arkansas. Bill and Hill had the idea long ago of a “twofer” run at the White House – and they’ll definitely have known about the Wallaces’ example. Alas, it’s too late to dwell on how much better it would be if the first female president of the United States hadn’t already been its first lady and Bill Clinton hadn’t set his sights on returning as first gentleman. But it’s Trump v Clinton and, thus, no contest.


Granny knew best

Enough about the US elections, hard though it is to tear our eyes away from the car crash. Last week, I went to the launch party at Daunt Books of Edmund Gordon’s wonderful biography of Angela Carter, a literary heroine of mine. I was a young publicist at Virago in the late 1980s when I visited Carter at home in Clapham, south London, where she was living with her much younger husband, Mark, a potter, and their little boy. She looked like a magnificently eccentric granny to me, with her shock of thick, wavy, grey hair. I thought that she was ancient because she’d had a baby at 42 but, as ever, she was just ahead of her time.


Partial eclipse

I’d no idea until I read The Invention of Angela Carter just how many Virago novelists she had nurtured. Pat Barker, for instance, the author of the Regeneration trilogy about the First World War, was one of her protégées. The photographs, though, show Carter with the young men who eventually eclipsed her: Salman Rushdie and Kazuo Ishiguro. She taught Ishiguro creative writing at the University of East Anglia and introduced him to
her agent, Deborah Rogers. He told me at the party that there were only half a dozen students on the course with him and the university couldn’t be bothered to find enough people to fill the places the following year. Yet it has since become the stuff of legend.


Lost treasure

Carmen Callil, Carter’s great friend and the founder of Virago, was also at the party. She told me that her joy in publishing faded when Carter was offered only £60,000 for her last novel before she died of lung cancer in 1992. By then, the men – Rushdie, McEwan, Amis, et al – were getting far bigger advances of several hundred thousand pounds, even though she was every bit as good as them (or better).

At the end of her life, her thoughts were on money and how her “two boys” – her husband and son – would manage without her. She told her literary executor, Susannah Clapp, to give permission to everything and anyone who wanted to use her work for commercial purposes, however naff or vulgar. Her last book, by the way, was to have been a fictional life of Adèle Varens, the vivacious young ward of Mr Rochester in Jane Eyre. How I would have loved to read it.

Sarah Baxter is a former political editor of the New Statesman and the deputy editor of the Sunday Times

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood