26 Mar 2024 | News and features, United Kingdom, United States, Volume 53.01 Spring 2024
I first met Julian Assange before he was Julian Assange. Or rather, when he was just becoming Julian Assange. For a few short months our fates were intertwined. And it all started with Index on Censorship.
In 2008, when I was political editor of the New Statesman, I was asked to collect an Index on Censorship New Media award on behalf of WikiLeaks, the organisation Assange founded two years earlier. I duly turned up for the event and was told the man himself had appeared at the caterers’ entrance at the last-minute and my services would not be required. Secretive and not a little melodramatic, I soon discovered this was the way Assange liked to do business. The speech was impressive, expressing how much Assange valued solidarity and his admiration for “syndicalism”, the belief that direct action can drive political change.
I wrote about that evening in my New Statesman blog and Assange noticed another item, where I discussed the newly aggressive approach the law firm Carter Ruck was taking with one of its clients, Nadhmi Auchi, an Iraqi billionaire convicted of fraud in France as part of the giant Elf-Aquitaine scandal. Mr Auchi continues to deny the charges. Newspapers who had written about Auchi’s business dealings were being threatened with legal action if they didn’t remove articles from their websites. Most of them eventually complied rather than face steep legal bills. Assange acted quickly to hoover up everything he could about Auchi and published it on WikiLeaks. It was a bold move because Carter Ruck were playing hardball. When I published a link to the Auchi files on my blog, the law firm threatened to sue the New Statesman.
I recently came across an email from Assange which he sent in November 2008, when he found out the New Statesman was planning to cave. He condemned the magazine for removing the original blogpost and objected to plans to issue a statement saying the articles collected by WikiLeaks (and published by respected journalists in national newspapers) contained significant inaccuracies. He pointed out that this action would in itself be defamatory.
This was solidarity and syndicalism, Assange-style. The New Statesman decided to settle with the billionaire, and I soon parted company with the magazine.
A few months later, a WikiLeaks emissary walked into the offices of a charity I had set up to help young people break into the creative industries on London’s Southbank. He showed me footage of the 12 July 2007 Baghdad airstrike in which two Reuters journalists and several civilians were killed by a missile from a US helicopter. After a few further discussions, I advised him to talk to major news outlets about this extraordinary story. Shortly after this, WikiLeaks (in collaboration with The Guardian, The New York Times, Le Monde, Der Spiegel and El Pais) began publishing the US diplomatic cables that made Assange’s reputation. It was a new, collaborative way of doing journalism that challenged the way the United States conducted foreign policy. Solidarity and syndicalism in action, perhaps.
We live in different times and Julian Assange finds himself in Belmarsh high-security prison awaiting the result of his final appeal against extradition to the United States, where he faces trial under the Espionage Act. In the interim, he has become a highly divisive figure and much of the solidarity from his former journalistic collaborators has evaporated. He has made serious errors of judgment and attracted some unfortunate allies. His radar for what constitutes genuine dissent has always been questionable. As former Index journalist Padraig Reidy pointed out in an important piece on Assange in BuzzFeed News in 2019: “Assange’s definition of ‘power’ and ‘elite’ often stretched only as far as Western governments and their allies.” Over the years, it has sometimes seemed that the principles of solidarity only worked in one direction. With each new twist in the story, a new layer of support dropped away. When Assange jumped bail and found refuge in London’s Ecuadorian embassy, when he published hacked emails from Hilary Clinton’s 2016 election campaign, when he suggested he was the victim of a conspiracy of Jewish journalists and was found to have employed a Holocaust denier, this all contributed to the picture of Assange as a narcissistic, paranoid self-publicist whose path was littered with the collateral damage of his overblown ego.
The question is whether it is possible to set all this aside and look at the bigger picture or if Assange’s flaws and failings are an integral part of the bigger picture. Meanwhile, those journalists who have worked with him over the years need to ask themselves if his present predicament as a prisoner in the UK’s highest security prison is just desserts or a travesty of justice.
The French free expression organisation, Reporters Without Borders, which has been consistent in its support for Assange, published a useful list of common misconceptions in the Assange case: that he is a traitor to the United States (he is Australian), that he leaked classified information (he published it), that he knowingly put people at risk (the prosecution has struggled to prove harm). But most powerful is the misconception that if he is convicted this will have no wider effect. There is already ample evidence that governments are determined to deter journalists from ever working with the likes of Assange again. The new UK National Security Act has specific measures to increase sentences for journalists working on data leak stories involving official secrets. Add to this the use of the US Espionage Act. Assange would be the first publisher tried under this act and if convicted he might not be the last.
Julian Assange is so wrong about so much. He has made many terrible mistakes. He is, in some ways, the agent of his own misfortune. But he taught journalists that some stories are so important that they need international collaboration to put them into the public domain. He was not wrong about the importance of solidarity.
22 Mar 2024 | News and features, United Kingdom, Volume 52.04 Winter 2023
Ok Rosie. It’s been almost three months since The Sunday Times and Dispatches published allegations of rape and sexual abuse against the comedian Russell Brand. Once again, we’re hearing talk of an “open secret”. I think the question our readers will want to know is - did you ever hear rumblings of sexual misconduct about Brand on the comedy circuit?
Actually, don’t answer that question. Let me try again. Forget Russell Brand. Let’s say, hypothetically, you heard rumblings of sexual misconduct about a comedian on the circuit. Let’s say, hypothetically, it was an open secret that this comedian had engaged in sexual misconduct. How does that open secret survive?
Well, to take Russell Brand as an example…
No Rosie, we can’t afford to talk about Russell Brand. The man uses seriously aggressive lawyers.
Comedians have been whispering about Russell Brand for years, from the nasty and gross to the downright illegal. About six or seven years ago at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, two friends of mine talked on stage about Russell Brand being a ████…
…being an alleged ████ as part of their comedy show. Or they suggested it. I’m not sure. I remember both of them telling me they had been threatened by Russell Brand’s manager. Or maybe it was his agent. I can’t recall. Anyway-
I’m going to stop you there, Rosie. Do you have written evidence of this?
Charlie, obviously you don’t write things down when you are on your third glass of wine in a crowded Scottish outside bar with no seating room left.
I’m not saying these two comedians had personal knowledge of misconduct. I’m just giving an example of how ubiquitous these rumours were on the circuit and how aggressive his lawyers were in response. Or whoever it was on his team who threatened them - do I need to remember all these details correctly?
Let’s stick to the hypothetical, Rosie. You have two comedians who have received legal threats from a well-known comedian. Let’s say you name this comedian and he sues you for damages, claiming it’s a fabrication. It’s a stupid case - the very fact that he’s suing you actually vindicates the claim that he’s a legal bully - but to get to the point where a judge says “this is a stupid case” would take a year of legal argumentation and hundreds of thousands of pounds in legal costs. Would you take that risk? Can you take that risk?
Charlie, I’ve told you, comedians don’t have any money. Why do you think I always “forget” my card when we go out to dinner? Unless they are, you know, really famous. Like Russell Brand.
Ok, so let’s try again. This time with some sensitivity towards legal risks, please.
I don’t get it. How are we meant to talk about the silencing of sexual abuse survivors while being “sensitive” to their aggressively litigious abusers?
Oh come on, it’s not that hard to talk about a subject like this in the abstract.
Have you ever tried to perform a standup routine in the abstract?
Well, it would make for really rubbish comedy. It’s a bit like when a politician answers a specific question with a vague platitude. It sounds feeble and weak. But while with a politician it might momentarily undermine their credibility, with a comedian it is fatal. All the best comedy is either unfiltered or appears unfiltered. This is why those in power fear it so much. As soon as comedy feels controlled, forced or affected it loses its power.
Oh come on, you can’t say a few legal threats can kill a whole standup routine.
Thing is, it’s not just about those specific legal threats. Intimidation is like poison to comedy. That’s why a persistent heckler can derail a comedy set: once fear creeps in, the whole facade of authenticity collapses. It takes only a single legal threat for a comedian to second-guess their material, soften their punches and sidestep the truth. And when the audience senses that this is what you are doing they will switch off. This applies to any sort of intimidation - it’s the same reason why online social media mobs can throttle comedy - but legal threats are particularly insidious. You never see them, the public never knows about them and yet few threats are as powerful as the threat of losing all your money in a lawsuit.
I know I was the one banging on about hypotheticals before, but I’m starting to think all of this is a little bit too reliant on hypotheticals.
Then let me give you a concrete example. In December 2018 the Guardian published a story: “Standup comedian’s husband drops defamation case”. The story was about an award-winning comedian, Louise Reay, whose husband had sued her for defamation, breach of privacy and data protection. Louise had mentioned him (though not, I understand by name) in a show, can you believe it, on free speech and censorship. He had money (because he wasn’t a comedian, Charlie) and sued her for £30,000 in damages plus legal costs and sought an injuction to stop her speaking about their relationship. Louise had to GoFundMe her legal costs and, every comedian’s nightmare, had to pre-submit her Edinburgh show to lawyers, and as any comedian knows, you are constantly changing your show to the last minute and in the moment depending on audience reaction. Her ex-husband didn’t just hurt her financially; he ruined her comedy. The idea of having lawyers pre-approve my jokes is making me break out in a cold sweat.
That’s awful. But one person’s experience is hardly evidence of a systemic problem is it?
But it’s not just Russell Brand. When rumours started circulating that an “open secret” about a predatory comedian was about to be exposed, the reaction of most comedians on the circuit was - which one? No one really doubts there is a problem, much as no one really doubts the causes. I could give you numerous other examples I know of where comedians have had to remove whole passages from standup acts, articles or books about celebrity misconduct, but these are allegations that have remained unpublished, such as -
Oh what a shame, it seems we’ve reached our word limit. Any final words, Rosie?
Yes: ████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████Please get in touch at [email protected] if you’ve been impacted by SLAPPs or would like to get involved in the UK Anti-SLAPP Coalition, and visit our website at antislapp.uk/contact/ to sign up to our newsletter.
You’re going to delete that and replace it with your own campaign promotion aren’t you?
15 Mar 2024 | News and features, Opinion, Ruth's blog, United Kingdom
For those of us in the British Labour movement this month has been a period of reflection - on the pain, anger and pride associated with an industrial action which became intrinsically linked with people’s sense of place, community and politics in the post war period.
In the heart of South Yorkshire, at the Cortonwood colliery, a new page of history was written. On 6 March 1984, the first sparks of the miners' strike were ignited when miners at the colliery, which had been established in 1873, withdrew their labour in protest at plans announced by the National Coal Board to close the pit.
For British miners and their trade union, the NUM, this was the first act of a plan to start systematically closing UK coal mines. The closures were a direct threat to people’s livelihoods and the very essence of their communities.
This isn’t just a pivotal moment in British industrial history but was also a defining moment for the development of my social value system. My grandfather was a striking miner at the Bilston Glen pit in Scotland and one of my earliest memories is collecting food in the East End of London to send to striking miners.
Forty years on from the miners’ strike it’s important that we remember not just the damage done to people and families, but how powerful interests can combine to subjugate and silence those standing up for their rights.
While some may not immediately recognise industrial action as a form of freedom of expression, I would argue that withdrawal of labour is the ultimate expression of your freedom. At its core, industrial action embodies the collective voice of workers asserting their rights and advocating for their economic interests. Whether through strikes, protests, or other forms of organised resistance, workers exercise their agency to challenge unjust conditions, demand fair treatment, and negotiate for better terms of employment. This expression is not merely confined to vocal dissent but extends to the very actions that disrupt the status quo, thereby amplifying the voice of the marginalised and empowering individuals to challenge entrenched power structures. In this light, industrial action emerges as a potent manifestation of freedom of expression, serving as a vital instrument for social change and democratic participation in shaping the contours of labour relations.
All that was put at risk in 1984 when senior government ministers and certain sections of the media conspired to paint those taking industrial action as “the enemy within”. A view perpetuated by the Prime Minister of the time, Margaret Thatcher. Handwritten notes from the Margaret Thatcher archives show her thinking:
“Since Office. Enemy without – beaten [Galtieri] & resolute strong in defence. Enemy within – Miners’ leaders… Liverpool and some local authorities – just as dangerous… in a way more difficult to fight… just as dangerous to liberty.”
The damaging effects of this rhetoric can still be seen and felt today.
The miners’ strike lasted for 11 months, 3 weeks and 4 days. 11,291 miners and allies were arrested on pickets and at demos. Communities were devastated, families went hungry and proud men lost their livelihoods forever.
There are many chapters in the story of the Miners’ strike, but the one where there are still more questions than answers is the Battle of Orgreave. The events at Orgreave on 18 June 1984 mark the lowest and most violent point in British industrial relations, where the principle of policing by consent nearly collapsed and the police were arguably used as a tool by the state to squash dissent. The media adopted a one-dimensional narrative on events which framed the striking miners and picketers as the aggressors and the police as the innocents. This portrayal is increasingly being challenged as a more comprehensive narrative emerges, prompting critical reflection on the broader implications of industrial disputes and the state response.
For me the miners' strike of 1984 stands as a poignant reminder of the enduring struggle for freedom of expression and the pivotal role it plays in safeguarding democratic values. By reflecting on the strike and the power imbalance typically deployed, we must remember the sacrifices made by those who fought tirelessly for their rights in the face of formidable opposition. It serves as a sobering lesson on the dangers posed by governments and vested interests seeking to undermine this fundamental freedom.
As custodians of democracy, we are duty-bound to uphold and defend the right to express dissent, knowing that its suppression can lead to the erosion of civil liberties and the consolidation of power in the hands of the few. Thus, the miners' strike of 1984 stands not only as a testament to past struggles but also as a call to vigilance in protecting the freedoms that form the bedrock of our society.
11 Mar 2024 | News and features, United Kingdom, United States
As Julian Assange awaits the verdict of his final court appeal against his extradition to the USA, where he faces a maximum sentence of 175 years in prison under the Espionage Act for publishing classified information, those on the outside are determined not to give up the fight to free him.
The Trust Fall: Julian Assange – which will be released at cinemas this Friday – follows the Australian publisher and activist through his lifelong pursuit of truth. The film explores Assange's life through archive footage and recollections of those who know him, focussing on his work on WikiLeaks and the years he has spent in isolation both in London’s Ecuadorian embassy and Belmarsh Prison. Director Kym Staton told Index that although his initial mission was to raise awareness of Assange’s plight through the documentary, the reception it has garnered during early screenings has made him optimistic that real weight can be added to the campaign for his freedom.
“We worked really hard to make something that was emotional and powerful and that would help people make sense of [Assange’s] situation. It’s going so well and getting such a great reception, fantastic ratings,” said Staton. “It’s given me a lot of hope that perhaps we can do more than we thought and it might even be a part of this battle to secure Assange’s freedom.”
In the documentary’s most harrowing scene, the infamous Collateral Murder video published by Assange on his WikiLeaks site is played out in full. The footage shows a helicopter attack by the US military in Iraq in 2007, in which 11 civilians, including two Reuters journalists, were shot and killed. Soldiers can be heard laughing in the background of the video as bullets rain down on those on the ground. It’s a difficult watch, but Staton says it was essential for the footage to be included in the documentary in order to drive home Assange’s motivations.
“It’s such a powerful video and there’s nothing else that has ever been seen like it. The impact of that footage is so great it just had to be part of the film,” he said. “To show it to people for the first time on the big screen is such a great opportunity.”
“To witness people’s reaction in cinemas, to look down the aisle and see people crying watching it, it just shows us that it was a good choice,” Staton continued. “I really feel that we can’t achieve change unless people feel something on a hard level. If they don’t feel upset or cry, they may not be compelled to do anything.”
The director also notes that although the Iraq War Logs, of which the Collateral Murder video is part, is the basis of the case against Assange, the US government failed to include this particular video in their indictment, which Staton says is due to it being ”embarrassing” for the state.
The documentary drives home the importance of Assange’s case, which will have huge implications for the future of journalism. One particular concern for Staton is that these charges are being levelled at a journalist for his work in a country purporting to have a free press, which is indicative of the way in which western states tend to fly under the radar when it comes to eroding media freedom due to their reputation for liberal democracy.
“World leaders in the west – in America, Australia, the UK and other countries – they love to give these gallant speeches about free speech and about protecting journalists while on the other hand they’re bringing in all kinds of scary laws,” he said.
“It’s not so much about hate speech, it's about clamping down on the dissemination of truth.”
The director also said the mere existence of Assange’s case was setting a “shocking and scary” precedent.
“To have an Australian journalist charged under a US law for journalistic work is just a huge injustice, a huge travesty. It’s absolutely obscene,” he said. “If things worsen and he’s put on trial in America and tortured over there, goodness knows what’s in the future for everybody. How are we ever going to have access to truthful information?”
Assange is yet to learn his fate following his appeal, but most routes to freedom have already been exhausted. Because of this, Staton said it was more important than ever to spread awareness about his cause. The director said the film only spent three months in the festival circuit as he wanted to make sure the documentary could be seen by more people as soon as it was ready.
“It just would’ve taken too long and it just wasn’t appropriate when we had a largely crowd-funded documentary to slow down the process to win awards,” he explained.
He is also conscious of the desperation of Assange's situation on a personal level. During the production stage, Staton read Nils Melzer’s book The Trial of Julian Assange, which included some shocking details that are recreated in the documentary using animation.
“During a prison cell search they discovered [Assange] had hidden a razor blade in his cell so that if he was extradited he could take control of the situation and take his own life. When I read that I was floored. I put the book down and I just sat there,” he said.
Such details humanise the story of Assange, who can often be overlooked due to the wider importance of his case. The documentary shows that not only does this case matter due to the implications it has on the future of media freedom, but that Assange is a real person who has been imprisoned for journalistic work. He deserves to be freed.
The Trust Fall: Julian Assange is released in UK cinemas on 15 March
