22 Apr 15 | mobile, News and features, United Kingdom
On 27 March 2015, a group of claimants in the United Kingdom, including myself, won what is being called a “landmark victory” against Google Inc. It handles three billion searches a day globally, exercises a virtual monopoly and is valued at around £250 billion. It is also among the world’s biggest advertising agencies with revenue in 2013 of some £49 billion.
After fighting the claim for over two years, Google has been ordered to appear in court in the UK to answer the charges of invasion of privacy by the tracking and collation of browser generated information (BGI) via Apple’s Safari browser. In other words, “hacking” computer searches by getting behind the protections built into Safari on Apple devices – iPhone, iPad and Mac computers – in order to track the user’s browsing preferences. Google is thereby able to determine private information such as age, health issues, gender, sexual interests and preferences, and to sell this information to advertisers who can target the users. This is no different from what is commonly called “stalking”, only on a global scale.
But let’s begin at the beginning. In 2012, Simon Davies, one of the UK’s leading voices on the virtues of privacy, contacted me about the possibility of suing the internet search giant for the invasion of privacy. Three years later, after much to-ing and fro-ing in the British courts, what began as a speculative long-shot has taken wing in the legal imagination, becoming an important test case for the boundaries of privacy law in the UK and, by extension, the EU. This concerns not only the nature of privacy as understood in the context of Article 8 of the European Convention on Human Rights, but the definition of the term “damages’ in the context of the Data Protection Act (DPA) of 1988. For many in the legal profession, the chief significance of the case is in the possibility it opens up of suing non-resident companies and individuals in English courts on privacy-related grounds. This is a game changer and could set a precedent in UK law.
“You have a Mac, don’t you?” said Simon. “Yes, and an iPhone,” I replied. “Have you done much searching on Safari recently?” “More than usual as it happens. My car insurance, driving license and road tax were all up for renewal in November. And I’ve been shopping online, not something I usually do, but with grandchildren’s very specific Christmas demands only available there, I’ve been more active than usual in territory I don’t normally venture into.” All this in addition to my standard use of the internet in pursuit of facts, figures and data-checking familiar to any journalist or editor.
He went on to ask if I’d had been receiving an unusual amount of targeted advertising. Indeed I had! Given that Apple boasts of the superior security of its Safari browser, this was not only unusual, it was alarming. What had been going on? It seemed that Google had circumvented Safari’s default setting whereby cookies – small chunks of text with unique information such as the time of a user’s visit to a site – are accepted only if they come directly from the sites that users are browsing.
According to The Guardian, “Google wanted to use its DoubleClick and other ad systems to track where people go online, so that it can serve ‘relevant’ ads. It also wanted to be able to integrate its Google+ data into that information.” As the US-based Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF) noted: “That had the side effect of completely undoing all of Safari’s protections against doubleclick.net.” It was, it added, “Like a balloon popped with a pinprick, all of Safari’s protections against DoubleClick were gone.”
Playing catch-up
The thought of making a claim, any claim, against Google was laughable. This was several years before Edward Snowden’s revelations of the NSA and GCHQ snooping activities in June 2013 raised privacy issues to a new level and put them squarely on the public agenda. It also preceded Google’s subsequent settlement with the US Federal Trade Commission (FTC) for the same offence. But it coincided with the revelation of News International’s massive phone hacking of celebrities, politicians, the Royal Family and, above all, of the murdered schoolgirl Millie Dowler. It was this that excited the public imagination and raised the matter of privacy to a new level. Suddenly it mattered in a different way; more personal, more threatening to the ordinary person in the street. The Leveson Inquiry kept the issue on the front pages through much of 2011 and 2012.
What is at stake here? How should we understand privacy in the different contexts in which we live and interact online? What powers should consumers have over their data? How can the power of corporations and advertisers be reined in? We are urgently in need of new definitions and concepts; those that served us even a decade ago are no longer adequate given the exponential advance of digital technology. What does “territoriality” or “residence” mean when Google can stretch out its hand from California and rifle through our data as we sit at our computers thousands of miles away? How can “jurisdiction” be confined to a geographical entity in the age of cyber crime and the global reach of search engines and browsers? What do we mean by “privacy” online when people are giving it away freely, not to say promiscuously, on social networking sites such as Facebook, Instagram and YouTube? And finally, though the case was not brought with this in mind, can “damages” be limited to pecuniary loss alone as apparently determined by the DPA?
The case against Google is not only about holding Google to account, but about beginning to clarify and modernise rules and definitions. Most important, it is about creating the laws needed to hold Google et. al. to account. As Guy Aitchison wrote in Open Democracy: “We are to a great extent playing catch-up. The rapidity of technological change has vastly outpaced the development of our laws, institutions and regulatory systems, along with the articulation of the ethical categories and principles with which to understand and evaluate them.”
Or, as Tim Berners Lee, inventor of the World Wide Web, put it: we need an “online Magna Carta” to protect the web. His “Web We Want” campaign was launched on UN Human Rights Day last year and calls on “ordinary people” to take control of the web and challenge “those who seek to control [it] for their own purposes”. It is within that context that we decided to pursue the present case.
A landmark judgment
It was not until June 2013 that we were allowed to serve our claim on Google to appear in a UK court to answer our accusations. Google was quick to point out that since it was not domiciled in the UK and did not pay taxes here, the courts had no authority to try the case and it would not answer our summons. We were, it said dismissively, entirely welcome to confront them on its home ground in California and set about getting this decision reversed. It did not deny the charges; on the contrary, Google admitted in February 2012 in the US that it had done precisely what we claimed. For this it had been fined by the FTC a record 22.5 million dollars for breaching the privacy of US users. In 2013, it paid a further 17m dollars to 37 US states plus the District of Columbia for the same offence. Following these judgements, Google promised not to repeat the activity and said it was taking all necessary measures to put right the damage it had caused.
In August 2013, Google was granted permission to challenge the decision and in January 2014 appeared before London’s High Court. Mr Justice Tugendhat rejected all Google’s arguments, namely that:
1. the cause of action was not a “tort” (see below);
2. there was no serious issue to be tried in relation to the claim in misuse of private information/breach of confidence;
3. there was no serious issue to be tried in relation to the claim for breach of the Data Protection Act 1998;
4. the claimants had not shown that England was clearly the most appropriate forum for the trial of the claims;
5. “damage’ means significant physical or economic harm and no such damage was alleged by the claimants.
Under the UK’s complex legal system, Google was able up the stakes and go one higher in its effort to evade UK justice. In the hope that it would reverse Tugendhat’s ruling, it went to the Court of Appeal.
And, for almost a year we waited; the courts of England are second only to the “mills of God” in the speed of their actions. Finally, in December 2014, we returned to court, but the single day allowed for the hearing proved inadequate and again we waited. It was not until March 2015 that the Appeal hearing was concluded over a further two days. Listening to the legal jargon, the citation of innumerable precedents and the complexities of the technical issues involved was mind-numbing: a six-hour-long address by the counsel for Google on the definition of the word “tort” came close to watching the proverbial paint dry. On later investigation, this word so crucial to the case turned out to mean a civil wrong causing damage to the persons involved and demanding redress in court. Because the invasion of privacy had previously never been considered a tort, Google argued that it could not be tried as a civil offence in a UK court.
Once again, the judge dismissed all Google’s claims, leaving us open to pursue the case. Announced on 27 March, it was a famous victory or, in the words of the lawyers involved, “a landmark judgment”. The Master of the Rolls, the Right Honourable Lord Dyson concluded in brief that:
On the face of it, these claims raise serious issues which merit a trial. They concern what is alleged to have been the secret and blanket tracking and collation of information, often of an extremely private nature, as specified in the confidential schedules, about and associated with the claimants’ internet use, and the subsequent use of that information for about nine months. The case relates to the anxiety and distress this intrusion upon autonomy has caused.
In addition to determining the matter of “serving out” on non-residents, it clarifies some important issues – the nature of privacy and its definition in law, the definition of damages – and prepares the ground for the determination of future law in this area, a change that reflects the changing nature of “privacy” in the world of global information technology.
What next?
Yet the so-called “landmark judgment” aroused little excitement in the UK media. Could it be that everyone is simply waiting for the next chapter? Or do the suspicions in some quarters that even the media is running scared of Google have some traction?
Much depends on what Google does next. Will it choose to up the ante once more by going to the Supreme Court? Or will it acknowledge the error of its ways and face trial? In the event that the Supreme Court refuses an appeal, will it settle out of court to avoid a potentially damaging judgement?
We shall see. Meanwhile, it’s only fair to acknowledge that Google is not entirely the monster this case presents it as. Not only does it provide a service without which most of us would be ineptly fumbling our way around the web, it is an employer of 50,000. Their terms and condition of employment are such as to foster the envy of their peers. But the utopian dystopia of Dave Eggers 2013 novel The Circle, whose inhabitants lead an isolated cult-like existence reminiscent of some of the more bizarre sects in the US might be nearer the mark.
And it can acknowledge fault, even though it has defended its record on privacy by claiming that much of its illicit information gathering was “by mistake”. As Google’s head of “people operations”, aka human resources, Lazlo Bock admitted in an interview in The Guardian: “There’s a lot of responsibility that comes with having a global brand and the kind of footprint we have and the kind of impact we have and we need to live up to that.”
Corporate responsibility is one thing, however, and abiding by the law another. The days when Google was free to roam the unregulated territories of the internet are slowly, but surely, coming to an end.
A full account of the appeal judgement in Vidal-Hall et al. v Google, including technical and legal terms and definitions, plus details of the claim are available at: www.bailii.org/ew/cases/EWCA/Civ/2015/311.html
Editor’s Note: Google is a funder of Index on Censorship
This article was originally posted at Eurozine
20 Nov 14 | Media Freedom, Press Releases, Statements
November 2014 (PDF)
As a UK-based organisation dedicated to the promotion of free speech and elimination of censorship worldwide, Index on Censorship is pleased to have the opportunity to provide feedback on the documents that proposed press regulator IMPRESS has drawn up ahead of its formal launch. Index also made written and oral representations to The Leveson Inquiry on the culture, practice and ethics of the press.
IMPRESS asked specific questions, to which Index has responded below. Our comments should be in no way seen as an endorsement – or indeed – a rejection of IMPRESS.
1. Do these documents meet the criteria set out in the Leveson Report, as distilled in the Royal Charter on Self-Regulation of the Press, for an independent and effective regulator? How might they be improved in this respect?
These documents reflect in large part the criteria set out in the Leveson Report and even more closely the requirements outlined in the Royal Charter on Self-Regulation of the Press, particularly on the important question of redress through swift and transparent complaints and arbitration procedures.
However, Index remains concerned that the independence and efficacy of a regulator will not be guaranteed by seeking recognition from an oversight body established by Royal Charter. A Royal Charter – though arcane – remains a political instrument. Royal Charters are established by Her Majesty’s Most Honourable Privy Council, the bulk of whom are politicians, including serving members of government. Though we accept that the Recognition Panel is conceived in a way that is intended to demonstrate absolute independence from government control, the establishment of an oversight
body through such an obscure piece of political machinery is not a mechanism likely to inspire the public trust and confidence required by the public. The whiff of undemocratic, non-transparent political involvement in the creation of the regulatory body has tainted it from the outset.
As the Privy Council says on its own website: “…once incorporated by Royal Charter a body surrenders significant aspects of the control of its internal affairs to the Privy Council. Amendments to charters can be made only with the agreement of the Queen in Council, and amendments to the body’s by-laws require the approval of the Council (though not normally of Her Majesty). This effectively means a significant degree of Government regulation of the affairs of the body, and the Privy Council will therefore wish to be satisfied that such regulation accords with public policy.” (our italics)
There is little clear evidence that the Recognition Panel, as currently conceived, would restore public trust in the British press, or indeed behave in a way that would hold a regulator successfully to account, as scandals involving the oversight of other independent regulators, such as the Care Quality Commission, have shown. A study by the Media Standards Trust has shown that more than 70% of the public believe that it is important that a new system of press self-regulation is periodically reviewed by an independent commission, but it is by far from clear that the public believes that this should be a Recognition Panel established by Royal Charter. An opinion poll conducted by Survation in April 2013 found that 67% of those surveyed concurred with a statement that any regulatory system should be set up ‘in a way that does not give politicians the final say if and when changes need to be made’.
In addition, Index remains concerned that, aside from the Royal Charter, other elements of legislation introduced in the wake of the Leveson Report represent a threat to media freedom. One of the most worrying of these is section 42 (3) of the Crime and Courts Act 2013, which sets out that an organisation which does not join a recognised regulator but falls under its remit (through being considered a “relevant publisher”) will potentially become subject to exemplary damages should they end up in court, and could also be forced to pay the costs of their opponents.
There are two principles here that threaten a free press. Firstly, that in effect joining a regulator becomes less than voluntary if you have the threat of punitive damages hanging over your head. Secondly, that those who do not join and therefore feel under threat of exemplary damages will skirt away from controversial subjects and investigative journalism, and opt instead for “safe” stories.
Such measures could be especially punitive for small publishers and news organisations with limited financial means. This has a damaging effect on free expression.
Supporters of this aspect of the act argue that exemplary damages would only apply to “reckless” action by journalists, but it is possible that a court could find that a breach of Article 8 rights to privacy and reputation was by definition “reckless” even when a journalist was pursuing an investigative news story in the public interest.
2. Do these documents (in particular the ‘sunset clause’ in the Mem & Arts) serve to protect the regulator’s independence from potential interference by politicians or civil servants? How might they be improved in this respect?
The memorandum and articles skirt around the issue of whether IMPRESS would seek recognition under the charter although it is made clear in other documents that IMPRESS would seek recognition. For the reasons outlined above, Index believes that IMPRESS should not seek recognition under the Royal Charter and that a robust ethics code, financial independence, and demonstrations of efficacy (i.e. participants shown to be held to account; swift and cheap arbitration) are the only ways in which the independence of the regulator will be truly demonstrated.
3. Do these documents serve to protect the regulator’s independence from potential interference by subscribing publishers? How might they be improved in this respect?
It is unclear from the documents supplied by IMPRESS what precisely the relationship would be between the funding mechanisms for IMPRESS and the regulator itself. The implication of the documents is that the regulator would be funded by participants (as with IPSO) but (unlike IPSO as currently envisaged) these participants would have no further role in setting the agenda for IMPRESS or carrying out its duties.
Complete transparency over the regulator’s funding is vital for its success. The agreement between participants and regulators should state explicitly that the funders can have no role whatsoever in the operations of IMPRESS or in its decision-making. Clear and total separation between the funding of the regulator and the regulator itself is vital to ensure press freedom.
The IMPRESS website identifies a number of current funders of IMPRESS but no details are given outlining the expected cost of running the regulator or the regulator’s financial plans. This raises the question of how the body can ensure it will be adequately funded — and therefore its long-term sustainability — should participants decide, for whatever reason, that they are no longer happy with the decisions being taken by IMPRESS. This should be clarified, along with greater detail on the projected cost of the regulator and its intended sources of income.
One mechanism that could help improve public confidence in the industry as a whole might be to make subscription open to individual journalists. This would mean the public could be assured that the body represents the press as a whole and would help IMPRESS to cover a fuller range of publishers who might be covered by the Crime and Courts Act.
4. At the same time, do these documents serve to give subscribing publishers confidence in the regulator’s operations? How might they be
improved in this respect, without compromising the regulator’s independence from the news industry?
It is unclear from the documents provided by IMPRESS whom it considers to be a likely member. The Crime and Courts Act sets out four cumulative criteria which must be met by a publisher to satisfy the definition of relevant. A publisher must:
. Publish “news-related material” (see below)
. Publish “in the course of a business” (whether or not carried on with a view to profit)
. [Produce material] “written by different authors”, and
. [which is] “subject to editorial control” (over the content of material, presentation
and the decision to publish).
Schedule 15 of the Act exempts publishers including broadcasters, public bodies, charities, micro businesses, and those who publish special interest titles, scientific and academic journals, company news publications, and books. But as English PEN has shown (‘Who joins the regulator: A report on the Crime and Courts Act on publishers’), a number of small publishers may nevertheless be caught in the net and there remains a “dangerous” level of uncertainty about the definition of “relevant”. Index has serious concerns that the implication of this, as detailed above, is a restriction on
investigative and challenging journalism.
5. Do these documents provide clarity about the regulator’s procedures? How might they be improved in this respect?
More clarity in the Procedures document regarding; the internal ombudsman; the complaints handling procedure; and conditions of joining, would be welcome. In its prospectus, IMPRESS states: “The regulator will not receive complaints directly unless or until the internal complaints system has been engaged without the complaint being resolved in an appropriate time.”
6. Do the IMPRESS/CIArb Arbitration Rules serve to give potential litigants in a relevant action confidence in the scheme’s capacity to provide access to justice? How might they be improved in this respect?
Index would suggest that IMPRESS consider the Alternative Dispute Resolution mechanisms outlined in the submission by the Alternative Libel Project, a collaboration between Index on Censorship and English PEN, which include suggestions on Early Neutral Evaluation. Details can be found here.
—
In conclusion, Index welcomes attempts by all the sides of the press to better self-regulate in ways that both protect the independence of the media and the free speech rights of the broader public. However, we remain opposed to the Recognition Panel as established by Royal Charter as the mechanism through which oversight of any regulator should be achieved, and deeply concerned that punitive measures such as exemplary damages negate any notion of a recognised regulator being voluntary.
—
This material can also be found in PDF here.
08 Sep 14 | About Index, Campaigns, Statements
The Independent Press Standards Organisation (Ipso) does not yet meet all the requirements for an effective, voluntary self-regulator. But we should not let flaws in its current design be used as an excuse to turn to state regulation of the press – or to introduce a system that effectively makes press regulation compulsory, and which punishes the poorest.
Index on Censorship welcomes the establishment of the new press regulator Ipso, but calls for further work to be done to ensure it is both clearly accountable and genuinely independent in providing an effective means of dispute resolution. As we said in our submission to the Leveson Inquiry in 2012, the range of inappropriate, unethical and illegal behaviour by some journalists and media organisations that the inquiry exposed demonstrated a clear need for “a better and tougher approach to press regulation” and that a new and more effective approach to self-regulation of the press was vital if statutory regulation was to be avoided.
Index does not support the Royal Charter, an ill-conceived political fudge that indicates the beginnings of creeping state interference in an industry that must remain entirely free of political and governmental involvement, and does not believe that any regulator should seek recognition under the Royal Charter.
As we wrote in 2012: “A new regulatory body, set up on a self-regulating basis, must push for a high standard of corporate governance and accountability. And it must have a wide-ranging remit to monitor and address issues of journalistic standards including ethical standards. It must offer a straightforward, effective and fair approach for dealing with individual complaints [and]… must be able both to defend privacy and to be clear about where, when and why a public interest defence can override privacy.”
Though we believe the new regulator goes some of the way to meeting these demands, it is of concern that despite the length of time Ipso has had to consider the matter, the regulator launched today offers no effective means for swift, low-cost dispute resolution and complaint handling. Rapid, cheap arbitration will be a key element for any successful press regulator and comments from Sir Alan Moses this morning indicate that Ipso is still a long way from a decision on how such a scheme should be run. Ipso must institute an easy, fast and fair way of resolving defamation claims and other disputes as a matter of urgency.
We are also worried about the level of genuine accountability of the new regulator, and the potential for the wealthiest news organisations to exert undue influence over the workings of Ipso through its current funding mechanism, not least through a current proposed veto that the funding body would have over any changes to the regulator’s code of conduct. Sir Alan Moses will need to ensure there is clear separation between the workings of the regulator and the newspaper members that fund it. He will also have to do more to demonstrate how Ipso will be publicly accountable.
There is a risk that without a clear indication of how the independence and efficacy of Ipso’s work will be assessed and verified, other proposed press regulators may seek to gain public trust by seeking recognition under the Royal Charter. This could unleash exemplary damages and costs for Ipso members and any other publishers, including potentially individual bloggers and small websites, who choose – for whatever reason – not to be part of a recognised regulator. Such actions would undermine the very notion of a voluntary system of regulation, and therefore of a free press.
17 Jul 14 | News and features, Politics and Society, Religion and Culture, United Kingdom
Three years ago this week, David Cameron announced that a public inquiry into phone hacking would be set up, under the guidance of Lord Justice Leveson.
It may be difficult to imagine now, given how acrimonious the fallout has been, but this was generally seen as a positive step. Something had gone very wrong, it seemed, in public life. Hacking was merely the embodiment of a secretive threeway between politicians, the Metropolitan Police and News International. A judge-led inquiry would clear the air, we hoped. No one, not even the people behind Hacked Off, (which, after all, was not set up to lobby for a new state-backed regulator, or for enhanced privacy, but merely for an inquiry) could have foreseen the impasse we are now at, with a ludicrous Royal Charter for press regulation, punitive press laws on the statute books, two proposed regulators (the industry’s IPSO and the pro-Royal Charter IMPRESS), and at least one paper, the Financial Times, deciding to opt out of the argument entirely – while the police and politicians have walked away from the inquiry unscathed.
Richard Bean’s new play Great Britain, currently showing at the National Theatre, could be seen as the first artistic response to the phone-hacking scandal and the fallout from it.
It was reportedly developed and auditioned under wraps as the hacking trial was under way at the Old Bailey, and opened shortly after Andy Coulson was found guilty and Rebekah Brooks acquitted.
But there is more to this than just phone hacking. As the title suggests, Great Britain sets out to be a state-of-the-nation address, examining the interconnections and relations between the press, police and politicians. It is the Leveson Inquiry on stage (as if the Leveson Inquiry were not theatrical enough). And as with the Leveson Inquiry, it is the press who come out worst. The police are incompetent, the politicians are pathetic, but the journalists are venal.
The plot centres on Paige Britain (geddit??!!??) a young news editor on a tabloid called the Free Press (geddit??!!??), who discovers how to hack phones and hence supplies her paper with a series of scoops.
Britain, played by Billie Piper, at first seems sort of composite of Rebekah Brooks and Andy Coulson. Except she’s not, because a Brooks character is introduced into the plot and kept entirely ignorant of Britain’s voicemail shenanigans (Brooks was, after all, found innocent of conspiracy to hack phones).
Robert Glenister plays Free Press editor Wilson Tikkel, who may be Andy Coulson or may be Kelvin Mackenzie. Tikkel is the classic tabloid geezer of the popular imagination, and by classic I mean archaic. He swears and cajoles and judges stories at morning conference on whether they give him a “hard-on” or not (though this does lead to one of the play’s funnier lines — “no one ever got a hard on from assonance”). Though Private Eye likes to remind readers of Daily Mail editor Paul Dacre’s frequent “Vagina Monologues,” the stereotype still feels worn.
Then there is a driven Irish proprietor who made his money from advertising the, er, adult industry and has his eye on the broadcast market.
The play is riddled with these portmanteau characters and scenarios. A thick Lancashire cricketer is framed as an adulterer after Free Press reporters misinterpret a message left on his phone suggesting he had slept with a person who was not his partner, which turned out to be thanks for support at a funeral. This scenario was in fact what happened to Gordon Taylor, head of the Professional Footballers’ Association. There is also a rough assemblage of several child murder stories and anti-paedophile campaigns.
This might not seem important – after all, it’s not one of those David Hare verbatim plays, but it becomes troubling when stories and scenarios are thrown together to create a broad mush of bad stuff. The satire feels too broad, too generalised. Just as Leveson expanded from being a “hacking inquiry” to an investigation of every single aspect of the press, so Great Britain chucks everything in together. And as with Leveson, the whole press is punished for the crimes of a few.
Meanwhile, in its attempt to parody the cynicism of the tabloid world, Great Britain becomes quite nasty itself. There’s a thin line between mocking un-PC attitudes and actually laughing along with them, and Great Britain gallumphs across it carelessly. A gay half-Welsh, half-Chinese police officer is called Bryn Wong. Hilarious apparently. The security guard at the newspaper is Lithuanian. Got to be a gag in that. A black police officer is called Sergeant Ojo; the audience sniggers, and then properly guffaws when his superior calls him a “daft African twat”. The Irish character is, inevitably, a former IRA terrorist.
And then there’s the misogyny: major female characters are inevitably scheming, using their, er, feminine charms to get what they want. In one particularly nasty joke, Piper explains the origin of the term “Brazilian” for pubic hair pruning, before going on to wink that if she named her newly-trimmed area after where she went to get the trimming done, her underwear-area would be known as the Isle of Dogs.
That’s the level Great Britain operates at. Unsubtle and unpretty. At the start of the second act, Piper emerges dressed in Margaret Thatcher blue, complete with handbag, and delivers a clunky lecture on how things really work in the corridors of power. At the end, we get another lecture, “provocatively” pointing out the apparent complicity of the audience in the Free Press’s crimes, and in doing so equating the expenses expose with phone hacking (both being founded in illegality) and effectively showing utter contempt for the idea of public interest.
But the archaicness of it all is simply a reflection of the way the entire true story, from initial phone-hacking allegations to the government’s Royal Charter on press regulation, proceeded.
A criminal problem became a political issue; actions at one newspaper became the fault of the whole press; and ultimately, the issue became about the wars that started in the mid 80s, when Thatcher and Rupert Murdoch took on the miners and the printers, events long predating the hacking scandal that first broke in the mid-2000s.
The arguments are from the 80s, the jokes are from the 80s. There is barely a nod to the press and the web of today, apart from the aping of the autotuned “Leveson The Musical” video everyone loved in 2012.
In spite of the relative recency of the Leveson Inquiry and the hacking trial, Great Britain largely fails to address the present and the future. It contributes little apart from cheap laughs to the ongoing discussions on how our media should run itself, or be run by others. But this playwright Bean is not operating in a vacuum. Perhaps we’ll get the play about the press we need when we get the debate about the press we need. Much of that debate so far, much like Great Britain, has been rushed, crude, and played to stereotype.
This article was posted on July 17, 2014 at indexoncensorship.org
