We can't crowdsource the right to free speech

The BBFC's plan to put content flags on online video could work – but crowd-sourcing censorship isn't the right way to do it.

The debate over protecting children from unsuitable web content has given rise to a novel proposal for content to be rated by users, with the resulting votes going to determine the suitability of the content. Plans are reported to be underway for a traffic light age rating system for user generated videos, on which the British Board of Film Classification and its Dutch equivalent are working with service providers and government. How this will work in practice has not yet been announced but dangers for freedom of expression lurk in relying too heavily on the wisdom of the crowd.

The timing suggests that the idea may be related to the Prime Minster's proposal that households should be able to control their access to adult content online by switching on a simple filter. One of the criticisms levelled at filtering is that to be effective it will have to be a relatively blunt instrument and block both the inoffensive and the inappropriate, with a potential impact on freedom of expression. Crowd-sourced age rating of content is at first sight both appealingly simple and potentially better, allowing greater discernment between content which really is adult and that which a machine might consider so. Red, amber and green ratings will reportedly be arrived at through a combination of the rating applied by the work's contributor and how the audience reacts.

The web inevitably makes available some content which is unsuitable or inappropriate for children to access. Some of this will be illegal, but much more will not, or may be suitable say for over 13s or over 16s only. A traffic light system may therefore struggle to distinguish between these and runs the risk of imposing the strictest warning on masses of content by default.

A greater concern however, is how the new system will guard against becoming a tool to enable prejudices of one kind or another to be played out. The system can only operate if it is the crowd's decision which counts - the reason this is even being considered is because there is too much content for a regulator or platform to consider. Relying on the crowd assumes that a collective consciousness emerges from the great mass of web users and their shared values, rather than a set of subjective reactions. This is a dangerous assumption. As a recent MIT study reported in Science suggests, the "wisdom" of the crowd may be a myth, its mentality more akin to that of a mob or herd. 

A huge amount of content which some viewers may be strongly, even violently, opposed to can be found online. However, such content may well not be illegal, or even be the sort of content that a body such as the BBFC would normally feel the need to apply adult age ratings to - religious teachings for example. Once crowd or mob has control, how will the system ensure it cannot be hijacked to serve the values of one interest group over another? Very few votes may be enough for any piece of video content to be tagged as unsuitable. 

Even then, merely adding a red traffic light rating to a piece of content may not by itself do much harm. But what if the ratings are not a simple visual warning but information which determines whether that piece of content is made available or not?

In controlling what content is made available, European governments' room for manoeuvre is limited. EU law enshrines protection for freedom of expression. Where Member States take measures which affect users' access to and use of services and applications over electronic networks, they have to respect fundamental human rights and freedoms. Any restrictions need to satisfy tests of being appropriate, proportionate and necessary in a democratic society. Determining the suitability of content has, until now, been the preserve of carefully chosen, neutral regulators, applying a set of agreed principles. Would mandating a system of crowd-sourced suitability ratings from anonymous web users around the world satisfy these tests? Without being able to ensure that the system could not be hijacked, it may struggle to do so.

So, encouraging ISPs to take voluntary steps may assist governments in assuaging the most vocal demands for action, while avoiding a difficult debate over internet regulation. But any approved scheme will need safeguards over whether the traffic lights become the basis for automated blocking of content which a household or ISP can apply at the flick of a switch. Once an appealingly simple idea like this takes hold, it may not be readily dropped and may go on to have profound effects on what content is made available in the majority of households in this country.

The BBFC.

Mark Owen is a partner at international law firm Taylor Wessing. He writes here in a personal capacity.

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In every beach bar on the planet, there’s a lone man watching the Prem

In the four different places I stayed, on Saturdays and Sundays, I was able to walk to a sports bar and watch a live game, any live Prem game of my choice.

One of the things that the Prem is always boasting about is how many trillions it makes, from Sky and BT rights, shirt sponsorship from betting and financial firms with funny initials, selling repro tops, allowing lavatory paper companies to claim that they are official partners, and flogging coverage of games to every country on the globe. I groan and sigh when I read about the latest deal: why doesn’t it help the poor fans, eh, by lowering ticket prices or satellite subscription fees?

During my three weeks abroad, trying to escape the horrors of probate, I failed to buy a British newspaper, though I did watch the BBC World Service in one of the apartments I rented. The TV was stuck in a corner on top of a wardrobe and when I did climb up to see anything, it was total rubbish. I think the BBC World Service must be the most annoying channel in the world. It just repeats adverts for itself, all day long.

At one posh hotel, Cobblers Cove in Barbados, I got a four-page digest of the British news at breakfast, which was quaint. The football reports had obviously been sub-edited by some West Indian fan brought up on 1950s English football comics, for in every line there was a reference to the Toffees, the Irons, the Magpies, the Baggies, nicknames we fans still know but nobody ever uses.

In the four different places I stayed, on Saturdays and Sundays, I was able to walk to a sports bar and watch a live game, any live Prem game of my choice. They seemed to have access to every one, unlike back home, where you have to watch what you are given.

So, hurrah for the Prem, or whoever sells its wares round every corner of the globe. On the other hand, in every bar, there were never more than two people watching the game, including me. So the vast figures for the Prem’s global reach may be true but I doubt that the actual audiences are all that impressive.

In Speightstown, Barbados, I watched football at the Fisherman’s Pub – where 20 years ago the other person watching it with me was Mick McCarthy, who had just become manager of Ireland. “I wasn’t a good player,” he told me at half-time, “but I knew how to stop good players playing.”

On Bequia in the Grenadines, I watched games at Papa’s in Port Elizabeth and at La Plage in Lower Bay, which is right on the beach. At half-time, I swam in the Caribbean, then came back for another rum punch.

I may have been on my own, crouching in a corner watching English soccer, but the bars were generally full of local people, shouting and laughing, pushing and shoving, banging their dominoes. Whenever the game started dragging, I found myself listening to their chat, to the pretend rows, the colourful stories, the studied insults.

In the streets in the English-speaking West Indies, you never hear swear words, as you never did in Carlisle in the 1950s, but in pubs, it is f***ing this and f***ing that, just like at cabinet meetings or among any other enclosed group of English speakers. “She read the Bible as if she f***ing wrote it,” said one to another, clearly having just come from church.

Some other local phrases I found hard, if not impossible, to translate. For instance: “Easy squeeze, make no riot.” What did that mean? Compliant victims do not complain?

“If better can’t be done, let worse continue.” I overheard this in St Vincent, where people were arguing about local politics, which is in the usual awful mess, but it might have been a cynical statement about the general human condition. If so, it could be seen as a vaguely positive observation – don’t commit suicide, just carry on.

I started writing down all of these overheard remarks, thinking I’ll amuse my wife with them when I get home, forgetting for a moment – which, alas, I still do all the time – that she is dead. But they proved a good distraction in foreign fields, along with watching English football. 

Hunter Davies’s memoir “The Co-op’s Got Bananas!” is published by Simon & Schuster on 7 April

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 31 March 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The terror trail