Distant Voices (12 page)

Reed was taken aback: it had hired Thornton on the implicit understanding that he would ‘cut the unions down to size' and instead he was winning them over. He found the unions co-operative and the real canker in the management. He also proposed that the company launch a ‘serious left-wing tabloid' in addition to the
Mirror
, with a second London evening paper. For all of this, he was criticised as ‘naive' by managers and journalists alike. When Reed chairman Alex Jarratt broke his public pledge not to sell to ‘a single individual' and looked like selling to Maxwell, the unions, including the journalists, gave Thornton a pledge of industrial peace for a year: a commitment unprecedented in newspapers.

I well remember the passion expressed at the
Mirror
chapel meeting at which we voted for Thornton. A red-faced Joe Haines said he would have to be ‘dragged through the door to work for a crook and a monster like Robert Maxwell'. Indeed, Haines was one of those who all that week had been warning us that Maxwell might plunder the pension fund. Within 48 hours, Thornton was virtually thrown out of the
Mirror
building by Maxwell, and Haines was Maxwell's man.

One year later the leader of the Labour Party was guest of honour at a lavish party which Maxwell held to celebrate the first anniversary of his takeover of the
Mirror.
Neil Kinnock, it was said, did not approve of Maxwell, but Roy Hattersley ensured they kept smiling. Of those who now
controlled Britain's press, Maxwell was all they had. Seen from the point of view of
Mirror
readers and Labour voters, the scale of the tragedy became clear. And if the journalists could not spot the con man, the readers could. They resented their paper being turned into a Maxwell family album; and they stopped buying it in their droves. In June 1984 the
Mirror
under Thornton was selling 3,487,721 copies daily. After eighteen months under Maxwell, this had dropped to an all-time low of 2,900,000 and falling.
²⁴
Calculating readership figures, at least a million people stopped reading the
Daily Mirror
in the wake of Maxwell's takeover. ‘It takes something close to genius', according to an observer quoted by
Marketing Week,
‘to lose so much circulation so quickly.'
²⁵

The Murdoch press have had wonderful sport at the expense of the
Mirror,
and who can blame them? But surely we can now expect the Insight team of the
Sunday Times
to dig into Murdoch's own, huge indebtedness and the allegations regarding his business practices made by Christopher Hird in his book on Murdoch and his Channel 4 investigation?
²⁶
And will they now ask how Murdoch ended up controlling 70 per cent of the press in his native Australia when the Foreign Investment Review Board opposed his acquisition of the
Herald
and
Weekly Times
empire?

In Britain, the Murdoch and Maxwell papers between them have the biggest single share of the daily tabloid market. On Sundays, their papers are the majority. Such is the influence of Murdoch that a whole generation of journalists have come to the craft believing that Murdochism is an immutable tabloid tradition: that sexism, racism, voyeurism, the pillorying of people and fabrications are ‘what the British public wants'. This means, at best, patronising the readers. For journalists on the
Mirror
it meant – and still means – a breathless wait on the editorial floor for the arrival of the first edition of the
Sun.
It means a vocabulary of justification and self-deceit. ‘The readers', that strange amorphous body, are constantly evoked. ‘The readers' are no longer interested in real news and serious issues; ‘the readers' are interested
mainly in royalty scrapings, and handouts from those who hustle television soaps and pop music business.

In last week's
Sunday Mirror
, under a front-page headline ‘Bedded and Fired', a secretary claiming to have been ‘seduced' by Maxwell, a man she found ‘repulsive', complained that he ‘made' her go home on a bus and did not keep a ‘promise' to give her a flat and a car. As part of the
Mirror
's current spasm of contrition, the aim of this story was no doubt to show what a rat Maxwell was. It didn't work. Instead, it provided yet another example of how deep the rot in popular journalism is. Over the page was some self-serving nonsense about how the paper had had ‘an awful week' and it promised ‘at all costs, to continue to expose corruption WHEREVER we find it . . .' The reference to ‘continue' will puzzle those
Mirror
pensioners embezzled by the publisher of the
Mirror
. The rest was oddly familiar. ‘Our rivals in Fleet Street', it complained, ‘are trying to talk us down because they can't beat us down. Jackals and reptiles in harness!' Did Cap'n Bob dictate this from the grave? ‘Our heart', it finished up, ‘beats strongly because we and you, our readers, care for each other . . .'
²⁷

The last line has become something of a refrain lately as the rudderless
Mirror
papers lay claim to a legacy that is no longer theirs. The years of Murdoch and of Maxwell show. The obsequiousness of yesterday has been replaced by abuse of Maxwell that abuses too much and protests too much. Meanwhile, the newspapers of the ordinary man and woman are, on many days, hardly newspapers at all. It is almost as if there is a missing generation of journalists. As young journalists are often told that the standards of Hugh Cudlipp's
Mirror
are ‘not what the readers want', many are unaware that a popular tabloid, the
Mirror
, brought the world to a quarter of the British people every day, and did so with humanity, intelligence and a flair that never patronised readers; and that such a paper encouraged its writers to abandon what Dr Johnson called ‘the tyranny of the stock response' and, above all, to warn their readers when they were conned – conned by governments or by vested interests
or by powerful individuals. Mawkish tracts about ‘caring for each other' were never necessary; care was evident.

Since popular journalism was redefined by the
Sun
, the effect on young journalists has, in my observation, been phenomenal. Denied a popular paper that allows them to express their natural idealism and curiosity, many instead affect a mock cynicism that they believe ordains them as journalists. And what they gain in cynicism they lose in heart by having to pursue a debased version of their craft. This applies to the young both on tabloids and the ‘quality' papers.

This need no longer be so. The demise of Maxwell offers an opportunity to journalists to confront not only the truth of proprietorial crookedness but the corruption of journalism itself and to purge it with a paper that is truly on the side of its readers. The
Mirror
could be this paper again – as long as the residue of Maxwell's influence is cleared away completely. Or another could take its place.

It is significant that, of all the discussion about Europe, none has been about the press. In France, anti-trust media laws prohibit any individual or group from owning newspapers with more than 30 per cent of combined national and regional sales. In Germany, a cartel office sees that minority shareholders in newspapers have rights to veto the decision of a block majority. In Sweden, a Press Support Board ensures, independent of government, the health of a wide range of papers. In none of these countries does the existence of specific legislation restrict the freedom of the press. Rather, freedom and independence are enhanced.

My source for this is a Labour Party discussion document, ‘Freeing the Press', published in 1988. It proposed a Media Enterprise Board similar to the Swedish board that provides ‘seed' funds for new newspapers. It calls for a right of reply and legal aid on libel cases. It recommends a Right to Distribution, similar to that in France which allows small imprints to reach the bookstalls; and, most important, it says it is time for an anti-trust legislation and a legally binding obligation on owners to ensure editorial independence.

Are Labour still serious about this? If they are, they should say so now before their enemies catch them for having consorted with Maxwell. Of course, there is much to add to these reforms, notably that aspiring young journalists are taught and encouraged to believe that achievement of that ‘noblest purpose' is indeed possible, and that in the end it depends on them.

December 13, 1991

THE NATIONAL FILM
Theatre is to hold a series of debates and films about censorship. I hope the discussions about television are not too late to galvanise real opposition to one of the most blatant, audacious attempts to impose direct state censorship on our most popular medium.

The arts minister, David Mellor, has described a proposed amendment to clause six of the Broadcasting Bill – due to be published this week – as ‘British and sensible'. Mellor is a lawyer; he will understand that the corruption of language is the starting point. Indeed, there is something exquisitely specious about the conduct of this affair. Censorship is never mentioned. The code words are ‘impartiality' and ‘balance'; words sacred in the wordstock of British broadcasting, resonant with fair play and moderation: words long abused. Now they are to provide a gloss of respectability to an amended bill that is a political censor's mandate and dream.

Until recently, lobbyists within the industry believed they had secured from David Mellor ‘safeguards' to protect quality programming from commercial domination as ITV was ‘de-regulated'. Mellor was duly anointed ‘civilised'; and the lobbyists did not watch their backs, or the House of Lords.

In July, the home office minister in the Lords, Earl Ferrers, announced that the Government wanted to amend the Broadcasting Bill with, in effect, a code of ‘impartiality' that would legally require the television companies to ‘balance' programmes deemed ‘one-sided'. Moreover, the amendment
would ‘include the ways in which impartiality could be achieved within a specific context . . .'

The point about this amendment is that it has nothing to do with truth and fairness. Charlatans and child abusers, Saddam Hussein and Pol Pot, all will have the legal right to airtime should they be the objects of ‘one-sided' journalistic scrutiny. But control is the real aim. The amended bill will tame and, where possible, prevent the type of current affairs and documentary programmes that have exposed the secret pressures and corruption of establishment vested interests, the lies and duplicity of Government ministers and officials.

Thames TV's
Death on the Rock
exemplified such a programme. Unable to lie its way to political safety, the government tried unsuccessfully to smear both the producers of
Death on the Rock
and the former Tory minister whose inquiry vindicated them.
²⁸
The amendment is designed to stop such programmes being made.

All this has clearly come from Thatcher herself, who, the record is clear, has done more than any modern British leader to use the law to limit basic freedoms, notably freedom and diversity of expression. She achieved this distinction (the Official Secrets Act, the Interception of Communications Act, the Contempt of Court Act, the Criminal Justice Act, etc.) while protecting and honouring those who have done most to damage and devalue modern journalism.

It is hardly surprising that a Government majority in the Lords saw off a very different kind of amendment to the Broadcasting Bill. This would have forced Rupert Murdoch to have relinquished control of Sky Television in 1992. It would have brought him into line with proposed rules that prevent any national newspaper owner from taking more than a 20 per cent stake in Sky's rival, BSB, and in any new domestic satellite broadcasting service.

A skilful political game has been played. Thatcher's stalking horse in the Lords has been Woodrow Wyatt, whose brief career on BBC's
Panorama
was marked by his obsequious interviews with Government ministers. Mostly, he is remembered for his red-baiting in the electricians' union. His
prejudices are now published in Murdoch's
News of the World
and
The Times
.

Wyatt's refrain has been that broadcasting in Britain is a quivering red plot: ‘left-wing bias' he calls it. In the Lords, he tabled an amendment to the Broadcasting Bill that would ‘define impartiality'. He and Thatcher agreed this at a meeting in Downing Street. When Earl Ferrers picked up the scent and replied that the Government would table its own amendment, Wyatt and his backers withdrew theirs.

At last month's Royal Television Society dinner David Mellor went out of his way to describe the Wyatt proposal as ‘unworkable'.
²⁹
For this he received appreciative applause from television's liberal establishment. However, the publication last week of the amendment shows that Mellor's speech was massage and misleading.

The amendment gives Thatcher and Wyatt much of what they want, and is to be rushed through Parliament. The haste is likely to intimidate broadcasters in time for the next election; or that is the hope. Such obsession with political control stems mainly from a significant shift in how the establishment and the public regard the media. In many eyes television has replaced the press as a ‘fourth estate' in Britain. This alarms those who believe television is there to present them, their ideology and their manipulations in the best possible light.

In contrast, much of the public now looks to television current affairs, documentaries and drama documentaries to probe the secrets of an increasingly unaccountable state. Every survey shows public approval of television current affairs, and offers not the slightest justification for new restrictions. Television's successes have been notable. The Guildford Four might not be free now had Yorkshire Television's
First Tuesday
not mounted its original investigation. For more than a quarter of a century Granada's
World in Action
has exposed injustices, great and small, and made the sort of enemies of whom serious journalists ought to be proud.