Miliband's Leveson strategy looks crazy. It might just work

The Labour leader has made enemies of the British press. Now he has to present himself as the outsider taking on tabloid bullies.

The path that Ed Miliband has chosen in response to Lord Justice Leveson’s proposals – demanding that they be implemented in law – is not, to put it mildly, risk free. As I noted yesterday, Miliband’s position became much tougher as soon as it became clear that Leveson was not going to land David Cameron or Jeremy Hunt with any substantial charges of malfeasance in their relations with News International.

The report notes the intimacy of politicians with the Murdoch empire, accepts that there was influence and concedes that the public might reasonably come away from the episode with a perception of impropriety. But there is no tangible evidence of an explicit deal in which commercial interests where procured with favourable political coverage. (The anti-Murdoch stalwarts will insist that, like any Mafioso relationship, explicit deals didn’t need to be spelled out because everyone understood the rules of the game – but for corruption allegations to stick in a way that would have seriously damaged the Prime Minister you need something more than a few cosy canters over the Cotswolds.)

So when Cameron stood up in the Commons yesterday he had a little knoll of moral high ground to climb on to. He can’t get too sanctimonious about Leveson’s verdict on his relations with News Corp because Rebekah Brooks and Andy Coulson are still facing serious criminal charges. There is ample potential embarrassment for Number 10 there. In the event of convictions – and they must of course be presumed innocent – Cameron’s judgement would be shredded.

Still, Leveson deposited a bit of political capital in the Bank of Cameron and the PM clearly decided to spend it all at once – rejecting the Lord Justice’s central premise that any new regulatory arrangements need to be underpinned by law. That puts Cameron on the side of the newspapers (a pretty good place to be in politics) but on the wrong side of hacking victims who, reasonably enough, wonder what the point in asking Leveson to come up with a plan was if the plan wasn’t going to be implemented (not such a good place to be).

As a liberal-minded Tory, Cameron’s resistance to “crossing the Rubicon” of statutory involvement in press regulation is doubtless sincere. That taking such a position was sure to make him the toast of newspaper editorial meetings was also no doubt a significant factor in his considerations. If Cameron can hold his current line – and a parliamentary vote would be close given that the Lib Dems look ready to side with Labour – the next election will be fought with the Tories as the party that saved the press from an Ofcom-style regulator.

It doesn’t take a great leap to imagine how tricky that campaign could get for Miliband, and how hard newspaper endorsements will be to secure, if he has a manifesto promising to do to editors the horrible things that Cameron wouldn’t.

In a crude cost-benefit analysis, I’d imagine the anguished cries of hacking victims are worth withstanding for the PM if it procures him a favourable press wind, especially since wider public interest in the whole Leveson issue is low. By 2015 it will be very old news.

So has Miliband blundered or been wrong-footed? Not quite. I don’t think he had much choice but to back Leveson’s plan. To the non-journalist’s eye it is pretty reasonable. There are important arguments as to why any statute that covers newspaper behaviour is morally odious, intrinsically undemocratic, unworkable or all three. As a journalist, I instinctively gravitate towards that view, which has been made well enough elsewhere for me not to have to repeat it here.

It is also worth nothing that Leveson was at great pains to pre-empt those arguments, that other perfectly functional democracies have laws that cover media practice and that, quite obviously, there is no danger of what Miliband is advocating turning into a regime of regulation under which militias of jackbooted Ofcom thugs confiscate presses and lock up columnists. Journalists love to feel like dissidents, especially very well-paid journalists who are really part of the Establishment but want to retain the frisson of being subversive. And no industry ever gladly embraced more regulation.

In other words, Miliband is not setting himself against press freedom, he is setting himself against British newspapers. And while they are powerful, they are not as powerful as they used to be. They might give him a rough ride, but most of them were almost certainly going to do that in the run up to the next election anyway.

British newspaper journalists are also not the most popular bunch of people in the land, rubbing shoulders with politicians down at the bottom of the league of public confidence. Miliband’s whole project is based on the hope that he might position himself as an outsider, a ripper-up-of-rules, a breaker of cosy consensuses etc. It is all pretty fanciful given his Westminster pedigree but it is the best plan he’s got so he has to at least be consistent with it. That means, in this case, being on the side of the victims of appalling intrusion and malpractice. It means framing the forthcoming battle as one in which the leader of the opposition is taking on the tabloid bullies and the Prime Minister is sticking to the old rules, defending his friends and looking out for the powerful few. It’s a long shot. It could work. Rubicon crossed. Alea iacta est.

One final thought. British newspapers have worked themselves up into a right lather over Leveson and his purported threat to press freedom – and not without reason. It is hard to avoid the feeling that some of that froth is displaced anxiety about the obsolescence of the whole newspaper business model. Leveson barely touched on the internet, blogs, Twitter etc. Yet no-one currently working in print media can be confident that ink-on-paper will still be part of their lives in 10 years, let alone 20 or 30. So to a considerable extent the whole Leveson debate feels like a row about how to tidy up the mess in a museum that fewer and fewer people want to visit.

Print journalism is pathologically insecure at the moment; no wonder it doesn’t like the prospect of being restrained further. Ultimately, the questions of whether there are limits to free speech, where they are, and what responsibilities fall on those who publish are all going to have to be decided with reference to what goes on online. Leveson is destined to be remembered as an important chapter in the politics of this parliament, an epitaph for a particularly raucous phase in the life of British newspapers and a mere footnote in the story of 21st Century media.

Ed Miliband with actor Hugh Grant, who has been campaigning for stricter press regulation. Photograph: Getty Images.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

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Is defeat in Stoke the beginning of the end for Paul Nuttall?

The Ukip leader was his party's unity candidate. But after his defeat in Stoke, the old divisions are beginning to show again

In a speech to Ukip’s spring conference in Bolton on February 17, the party’s once and probably future leader Nigel Farage laid down the gauntlet for his successor, Paul Nuttall. Stoke’s by-election was “fundamental” to the future of the party – and Nuttall had to win.
 
One week on, Nuttall has failed that test miserably and thrown the fundamental questions hanging over Ukip’s future into harsh relief. 

For all his bullish talk of supplanting Labour in its industrial heartlands, the Ukip leader only managed to increase the party’s vote share by 2.2 percentage points on 2015. This paltry increase came despite Stoke’s 70 per cent Brexit majority, and a media narrative that was, until the revelations around Nuttall and Hillsborough, talking the party’s chances up.
 
So what now for Nuttall? There is, for the time being, little chance of him resigning – and, in truth, few inside Ukip expected him to win. Nuttall was relying on two well-rehearsed lines as get-out-of-jail free cards very early on in the campaign. 

The first was that the seat was a lowly 72 on Ukip’s target list. The second was that he had been leader of party whose image had been tarnished by infighting both figurative and literal for all of 12 weeks – the real work of his project had yet to begin. 

The chances of that project ever succeeding were modest at the very best. After yesterday’s defeat, it looks even more unlikely. Nuttall had originally stated his intention to run in the likely by-election in Leigh, Greater Manchester, when Andy Burnham wins the Greater Manchester metro mayoralty as is expected in May (Wigan, the borough of which Leigh is part, voted 64 per cent for Brexit).

If he goes ahead and stands – which he may well do – he will have to overturn a Labour majority of over 14,000. That, even before the unedifying row over the veracity of his Hillsborough recollections, was always going to be a big challenge. If he goes for it and loses, his leadership – predicated as it is on his supposed ability to win votes in the north - will be dead in the water. 

Nuttall is not entirely to blame, but he is a big part of Ukip’s problem. I visited Stoke the day before The Guardian published its initial report on Nuttall’s Hillsborough claims, and even then Nuttall’s campaign manager admitted that he was unlikely to convince the “hard core” of Conservative voters to back him. 

There are manifold reasons for this, but chief among them is that Nuttall, despite his newfound love of tweed, is no Nigel Farage. Not only does he lack his name recognition and box office appeal, but the sad truth is that the Tory voters Ukip need to attract are much less likely to vote for a party led by a Scouser whose platform consists of reassuring working-class voters their NHS and benefits are safe.
 
It is Farage and his allies – most notably the party’s main donor Arron Banks – who hold the most power over Nuttall’s future. Banks, who Nuttall publicly disowned as a non-member after he said he was “sick to death” of people “milking” the Hillsborough disaster, said on the eve of the Stoke poll that Ukip had to “remain radical” if it wanted to keep receiving his money. Farage himself has said the party’s campaign ought to have been “clearer” on immigration. 

Senior party figures are already briefing against Nuttall and his team in the Telegraph, whose proprietors are chummy with the beer-swilling Farage-Banks axis. They deride him for his efforts to turn Ukip into “NiceKip” or “Nukip” in order to appeal to more women voters, and for the heavy-handedness of his pitch to Labour voters (“There were times when I wondered whether I’ve got a purple rosette or a red one on”, one told the paper). 

It is Nuttall’s policy advisers - the anti-Farage awkward squad of Suzanne Evans, MEP Patrick O’Flynn (who famously branded Farage "snarling, thin-skinned and aggressive") and former leadership candidate Lisa Duffy – come in for the harshest criticism. Herein lies the leader's almost impossible task. Despite having pitched to members as a unity candidate, the two sides’ visions for Ukip are irreconcilable – one urges him to emulate Trump (who Nuttall says he would not have voted for), and the other urges a more moderate tack. 

Endorsing his leader on Question Time last night, Ukip’s sole MP Douglas Carswell blamed the legacy of the party’s Tea Party-inspired 2015 general election campaign, which saw Farage complain about foreigners with HIV using the NHS in ITV’s leaders debate, for the party’s poor performance in Stoke. Others, such as MEP Bill Etheridge, say precisely the opposite – that Nuttall must be more like Farage. 

Neither side has yet called for Nuttall’s head. He insists he is “not going anywhere”. With his febrile party no stranger to abortive coup and counter-coup, he is unlikely to be the one who has the final say.