Rupert Murdoch betrayed him nevertheless, just as he betrayed Hartley, and dozens of other journalists, who had loyally worked for him, and dozens of other sources, who had naively trusted him. To save his own skin after the hacking scandal, Murdoch opened up his company's electronic archives and allowed the police to haul in anyone who might or might not have behaved badly, however inconsequential the alleged offence. The police did not need warrants or reasonable suspicion. Murdoch and his henchmen gave them everything they could want gratis.
Partly because of contempt of court laws and partly because of the cultural contempt for Sun journalists and those who deal with them, the enormity of one of the largest media organisations in Europe inviting the state to arrest more than 100 of its journalists and sources has barely registered.
The trials of the men and women Murdoch betrayed will end eventually. I cannot comment on them, but it is a matter of public record that many other journalists will present public interest defences to juries. We will then see if the vast police operation against them was justified. I — and I hope many others — will hammer the Met and Crown Prosecution Service if it is not. But even when the assault is over, the pressure on free journalism in Britain will not abate. The Leveson Inquiry told a receptive bureaucracy that no civil servant was ever justified in leaking to the media. The police have taken the advice to heart and have been using powers politicians swore would only be used against terrorists and organised crime to spy on the media.
They covertly accessed the phone records of Tom Newton Dunn, the political editor who made Clodagh Hartley's life a misery, to find out who had been talking to him about the Plebgate affair. They downloaded all the records of conversations from phones from the Mail on Sunday newsdesk simply to discover who was helping the paper find stories about the disgraced cabinet minister Chris Huhne. They have placed left-wing figures, including the comedian Mark Thomas, on a database that monitors "domestic extremism". As with the Sun journalists the justifications for police action were trivial. "Plebgate" was about whether a cabinet minister insulted a police officer. The Huhne affair began with a minor violation of traffic law.
I never like people who compare Britain to a dictatorship — it diminishes the suffering of the subjects of tyrannical regimes. That said, you can say without hyperbole that the police have been behaving as if they were the servants of a dictatorship.
Two consequences follow. First, every journalist, broadcaster and campaigner dealing with sensitive information must assume the police are spying on them. They should not endanger sources by using traceable phones and email addresses. Second, the Home Secretary, police and intelligence services are asking for more surveillance powers. Once again they are promising that these powers will only be used against potential terrorists. Journalists know this is a lie. But will they act on what they know? Will right-wing papers, in particular, abandon their dogged support for the state and say what they have learned from harsh experience: you cannot trust the British police?
Partly because of contempt of court laws and partly because of the cultural contempt for Sun journalists and those who deal with them, the enormity of one of the largest media organisations in Europe inviting the state to arrest more than 100 of its journalists and sources has barely registered.
The trials of the men and women Murdoch betrayed will end eventually. I cannot comment on them, but it is a matter of public record that many other journalists will present public interest defences to juries. We will then see if the vast police operation against them was justified. I — and I hope many others — will hammer the Met and Crown Prosecution Service if it is not. But even when the assault is over, the pressure on free journalism in Britain will not abate. The Leveson Inquiry told a receptive bureaucracy that no civil servant was ever justified in leaking to the media. The police have taken the advice to heart and have been using powers politicians swore would only be used against terrorists and organised crime to spy on the media.
They covertly accessed the phone records of Tom Newton Dunn, the political editor who made Clodagh Hartley's life a misery, to find out who had been talking to him about the Plebgate affair. They downloaded all the records of conversations from phones from the Mail on Sunday newsdesk simply to discover who was helping the paper find stories about the disgraced cabinet minister Chris Huhne. They have placed left-wing figures, including the comedian Mark Thomas, on a database that monitors "domestic extremism". As with the Sun journalists the justifications for police action were trivial. "Plebgate" was about whether a cabinet minister insulted a police officer. The Huhne affair began with a minor violation of traffic law.
I never like people who compare Britain to a dictatorship — it diminishes the suffering of the subjects of tyrannical regimes. That said, you can say without hyperbole that the police have been behaving as if they were the servants of a dictatorship.
Two consequences follow. First, every journalist, broadcaster and campaigner dealing with sensitive information must assume the police are spying on them. They should not endanger sources by using traceable phones and email addresses. Second, the Home Secretary, police and intelligence services are asking for more surveillance powers. Once again they are promising that these powers will only be used against potential terrorists. Journalists know this is a lie. But will they act on what they know? Will right-wing papers, in particular, abandon their dogged support for the state and say what they have learned from harsh experience: you cannot trust the British police?
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