by Alex Massie
The scandal swirling through Fleet Street and Westminster is increasingly an Iran-Iraq War type of battle: it's a pity they can't all lose. The press, cynical, contemptible, callous and all the rest of it scarcely deserves to prevail; nor, of course, do the politicians. Gordon Brown's interview with the BBC is strong stuff but, understandably, prefers not to dwell too much on Labour's own record with the press (especially, though far from exclusively, with the Murdoch press).
As Andrew Neil, himself formerly the editor of the Sunday Times (and now, I should acknowledge, publisher of the Spectator where I blog) tweeted this morning: Labour conference 2009. Brown calls Murdoch to stop Sun deserting to the Tories. Fails. "I will destroy you," growls Brown. Slams down phone.
Again, the dance between press and politicians is a complicated one in which each party takes turns to lead. They are both dependent upon one another and, at the higher levels, members of the same establishment (despite Rupert's quaint belief he's still one of the outsiders). Peter Mandelson says Labour, like its successors in government, was simply too afraid to tackle the press. This is true but each party also uses the other for its own ends, manipulating and bullying each other. Little of this is especially edifying either.
But because of this scandal any number of crackpot ideas are surfacing. Unsurprisingly, George Monbiot is peddling one such nonsense:
So what can be done? Because of the peculiar threat they present to democracy there's a case to be made for breaking up all majority interests in media companies, and for a board of governors, appointed perhaps by Commons committee, to act as a counterweight to the shareholders' business interests.
Good grief. Granted, this won't happen but asking parliament to play this kind of role is a dreadful notion. Monbiot, like many on the left, takes the view that the media has been too much in thrall to corporate interests. Perhaps so, but one thing to be said for Murdoch's empire is that it acts as a useful counterweight to the BBC whose outsized influence would be even greater if the competition is put out of business. That's not the kind of media plurality sensible people – as opposed to partisan hacks – should welcome.
Nor, and again this needs to be stressed, is it only the Murdoch press that has behaved in this fashion. Ethics are for university philosophy departments; they've never been popular on Fleet Street and no newspaper group is innocent.
Even the Guardian is happy to use methods that some might consider unethical. When it brought down the former Tory minister Jonathan Aitken it did so, at least in part, by forging correspondence on House of Commons notepaper. This may have been worth it because it was in the public interest that Aitken be exposed. That's fine. But it merely reminds one that the public interest is a slippery beast and that methods considered a gross outrage in relation to one story may be thought fine and dandy when chasing another. (In the present case: acquiring Gordon Brown's son's medical records may be a step too far; investigating, albeit by questionable means, whether or not he acquired an apartment from former Daily Mirror owner – and certified crook – Robert Maxwell at a steeply-discounted price quite another.)
Meanwhile, David Carr produces a leading contender for the most absurdly sanctimonious take on the whole affair:
In truth, a kind of British Spring is under way, now that the News Corporation’s tidy system of punishment and reward has crumbled. Members of Parliament, no longer fearful of retribution in Mr. Murdoch’s tabloids, are speaking their minds and giving voice to the anger of their constituents. Meanwhile, social media has roamed wild and free across the story, punching a hole in the tiny clubhouse that had been running the country. Democracy, aided by sunlight, has broken out in Britain.
Oh really? At the very least may we have a moratorium on X or Y or A or B or C being considered any kind of "Spring"? As Macauley noted long ago "We know of spectacle so ridiculous as the British public in one of its periodical fits of morality." He might have added that this stricture also applies to the press itself.
The aftermath of Princess Diana's death was perhaps the last time such an outbreak was focused on the press. That outrage passed in time, however, largely because the public's expectations for the press were already so very low. There must be some prospect that the present frenzy will fizzle out in time too even though the stakes – and the consequences – are rather higher on this occasion.
The press is revolting but 'twas ever thus and will most likely remain so for as long as the London papers are locked in deadly competition. As every novel ever set in Fleet Street reminds you, newspapering is not an edifying business and, moreover, never has been. The wonder is that this elementary fact still seems to shock so many people. The press is disgusting? Well you don't need to hold the front page for that.
Perhaps this is a scandal that will run and run but I hazard the public anger will eventually subside and be replaced by a weary shrug of the shoulders and a reluctant recognition that They're all at it so what can you expect, mate? It probably should not be like that but there must be some chance it will be. There will be casualties but not, perhaps, as many as you might expect. And life will go on and the papers will remain beastly and no-one will be very happy but that's the way of the world, innit?
The Dish 