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

Photo: Getty
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UnHerd's rejection of the new isn't as groundbreaking as it seems to think

Tim Montgomerie's new venture has some promise, but it's trying to solve an old problem.

Information overload is oft-cited as one of the main drawbacks of the modern age. There is simply too much to take in, especially when it comes to news. Hourly radio bulletins, rolling news channels and the constant stream of updates available from the internet – there is just more than any one person can consume. 

Luckily Tim Montgomerie, the founder of ConservativeHome and former Times comment editor, is here to help. Montgomerie is launching UnHerd, a new media venture that promises to pull back and focus on "the important things rather than the latest things". 

According to Montgomerie the site has a "package of investment", at least some of which comes from Paul Marshall. He is co-founder of one of Europe's largest hedge funds, Marshall Wace, formerly a longstanding Lib Dem, and also one of the main backers and chair of Ark Schools, an academy chain. The money behind the project is on display in UnHerd's swish (if slightly overwhelming) site, Google ads promoting the homepage, and article commissions worth up to $5,000. The selection of articles at launch includes an entertaining piece by Lionel Shriver on being a "news-aholic", though currently most of the bylines belong to Montgomerie himself. 

Guidelines for contributors, also meant to reflect the site's "values", contain some sensible advice. This includes breaking down ideas into bullet points, thinking about who is likely to read and promote articles, and footnoting facts. 

The guidelines also suggest focusing on what people will "still want to read in six, 12 or 24 months" and that will "be of interest to someone in Cincinnati or Perth as well as Vancouver or St Petersburg and Cape Town and Edinburgh" – though it's not quite clear how one of Montgomerie's early contributions, a defence of George Osborne's editorship of the Evening Standard, quite fits that global criteria. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the full page comment piece Montgomerie got in Osborne's paper to bemoan the deficiencies of modern media on the day UnHerd launched. 

UnHerd's mascot  – a cow – has also created some confusion, compounded by another line in the writing tips describing it as "a cow, who like our target readers, tends to avoid herds and behave in unmissable ways as a result". At least Montgomerie only picked the second-most famous poster animal for herding behaviour. It could have been a sheep. In any case, the line has since disappeared from the post – suggesting the zoological inadequacy of the metaphor may have been recognised. 

There is one way in which UnHerd perfectly embodies its stated aim of avoiding the new – the idea that we need to address the frenetic nature of modern news has been around for years.

"Slow news" – a more considered approach to what's going on in the world that takes in the bigger picture – has been talked about since at least the beginning of this decade.

In fact, it's been around so long that it has become positively mainstream. That pusher of rolling coverage the BBC has been talking about using slow news to counteract fake news, and Montgomerie's old employers, the Times decided last year to move to publishing digital editions at set points during the day, rather than constantly updating as stories break. Even the Guardian – which has most enthusiastically embraced the crack-cocaine of rolling web coverage, the live blog – also publishes regular long reads taking a deep dive into a weighty subject. 

UnHerd may well find an audience particularly attuned to its approach and values. It intends to introduce paid services – an especially good idea given the perverse incentives to chase traffic that come with relying on digital advertising. The ethos it is pitching may well help persuade people to pay, and I don't doubt Montgomerie will be able to find good writers who will deal with big ideas in interesting ways. 

But the idea UnHerd is offering a groundbreaking solution to information overload is faintly ludicrous. There are plenty of ways for people to disengage from the news cycle – and plenty of sources of information and good writing that allow people to do it while staying informed. It's just that given so many opportunities to stay up to date with what has just happened, few people decide they would rather not know.