It was a phone call that promised to unlock a story. An unfamiliar voice told me that a man related to an underworld dispute I was investigating had just been released from prison. He was willing to meet me. Five minutes later, I was in a taxi to the edge of town.

It was the mid-90s, I was nearly 30 and could not quite believe that I was reporting for a national newspaper.

As soon as I walked into the bar, though, I sensed my mistake. The cheerless estate pub was in darkness, and empty, save for a gaggle men surrounding my putative subject. They exuded menace, he looked ill at ease. I was invited to conduct my interview by a leather-coated man whose voice I recognised from the phone. Who he was, or how he related to the story, I never learned. I should have walked out, but hunger to understand a criminal turf war clouded my judgement.

As my questions were parried or ignored, I began to realise that my subject was not there of his own volition.

Cigarette smoke and dread hung in the air. After half an hour, my hosts announced that I was ‘a time waster’. As it had cost them dear to facilitate this opportunity, I would now have to pay them. They demanded a sum equivalent to a week’s wages. I had no cash. I started to stand, but was pushed back onto my stool. A second later, a knife was at my throat.

The blade remained there for a seeming eternity. Eventually a man appeared with whom I had some trifling previous encounter. He ordered my release and waved me off.

As soon as I had recovered my composure, I called my news editor. “Oh, you should never meet these people in unfamiliar places”, he intoned. No more was said on the subject. Reporting it to the police, I assumed, would cost me my few contacts. I eventually decided that as I had survived, I was tougher for the experience. Soon I wore the encounter as a badge of pride.

On mature reflection, I realise this was my second irresponsible mistake. No one should suffer such behaviour at work – nor online bullying, name calling, offensive language, violent threats, attacks, stalking or the many other harassments that journalists face daily. Unless we record and report issues, they will likely get worse.

Nick Watt’s pursuit across Whitehall by anti-lockdown protesters might be the emblematic incident of contemporary journalist harassment – but the thousands of offensive social media posts and menacing messages are no less important.

Had I made more fuss I might have prevented others from suffering similar – or at very least made my news editor’s advice better known. An unreported offender, of any kind, is a danger to every other journalist pursuing stories.

So I welcome the launch of the NUJ’s Journalists’ Safety Tracker – an online portal facilitating recording and tracking of all abuse and intimidation aimed at media workers. It is one strand of the work of the Government’s National Committee for the Safety of Journalists, and is open to all journalists to submit.  It should allow industry, government and police to understand the scale of problems and unpick trends.

[Read more: News industry urges police to ‘break cycle of abuse’ against women in journalism]

NUJ general secretary Michelle Stanistreet called the launch “a landmark moment”. “Tracking trends of the unacceptable abuse too often encountered by journalists is vital. Sexist and racist language targeted at women journalists and those from minority ethnic backgrounds, physical attacks and online harassment can now be systematically captured alongside the state-sponsored threats we know to exist.”

The tool is supported by employer groups such as the Society of Editors. It will only work, though, if journalists actually record incidents.

Although initiated during the last Parliament, it has the wholehearted support of the new incumbents at DCMS. Media Minister Stephanie Peacock MP said: “A free press depends on journalists’ ability to do their job without abuse, attack or intimidation. The Safety Tracker will help us gain a real time understanding of the frequency and type of abuse news gatherers face in the UK, particularly after journalists experienced harassment while covering this summer’s riots.”

I got plenty of copy out of the underworld feud, although I never got to the bottom of why they were at each other’s throats. On balance, I was lucky indeed to get away with my own neck intact. Had I made more of the incident then, it might have prevented others getting in the way of potential harms.

My hope in relaying the story now is that it persuades other journalists to record abuse – physical or digital – on the Tracker, and thereby contributing to making the world safer for us all.

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A glamorous woman poses in a swimsuit on a £7m super yacht, apparently named in her honour. She has captioned the photo herself: “Business isn’t easy. But it is rewarding.”

Today we know that her bank accounts are frozen, she is being investigated by the National Crime Agency, and is fighting a £133m legal action brought against her by the UK government. She admitted recently in a BBC interview to repeatedly lying about her connections to the business under investigation, and by extension issuing legal threats against journalists based on lies.

It is easy to see how Michelle Mone’s deployment of SLAPPs has crystallised the concept in the public imagination as oligarchs, footballers, and cheating politicians never have. For the uninitiated, SLAPP is an acronym standing for strategic lawsuits against public participation. It is a recent coinage describing an age-old phenomenon: the powerful and the wealthy using a barrage of legal process to bully journalists and thereby hide the truth.

SLAPPs threat bigger than Michelle Mone

In recent years, the danger posed by SLAPPs has been recognised as never before. In December a learned conference of KCs, broadcasters, and politicians spent three days in London’s West End debating how they can be combatted. The UK Government has recently passed legislation intended to clamp down on SLAPPs. A European Union directive on the phenomenon has recently been agreed.

Mone’s metamorphosis from plucky lingerie innovator to sleazy pandemic profiteer has made her the SLAPP poster girl. Little wonder. As a terrifying medical emergency brought the county to its knees, and chaos engulfed our government, Mone and her husband jumped on to the ‘VIP lane’ to mega profits. If it comes as a surprise to the couple that they are figures of distaste, it demonstrates how detached from reality they have become. 

Allowing Mone to become the embodiment of SLAPPs poses a danger for which the venal Baroness cannot be blamed, however. Those whose thirst for lifestyle obscures their moral compass might make headlines, but there are far, far more dangerous instances of SLAPPs grinding through the British legal system. At least one has potential consequences that go far beyond private jets and tasteless mansions.

Assange case poses ‘most significant’ press freedom threat

The most significant is that of Julian Assange, whose final appeal to stay in the UK will be heard by a court in London at the end of February. So long has his incarceration dragged on, and so multitudinous are the issues that appear to surround his case, that he has faded from the public’s imagination. This is hardly surprising. His greatest revelation – the ‘collateral murder’ video – took place 17 years ago. He has not been at liberty for 12 years and has been in HMP Belmarsh for nearly five.

Nonetheless, the nub of the US demand to bring him to book is to prosecute him for activities that many journalists engage in daily. He sought out a contact who had evidence of wrongdoing; he coached that contact to discreetly pass over that information; and he encouraged his contact to seek out further evidence of criminality.

If he is prosecuted, Assange faces a jail sentence of 175 years – a bizarre and horrific prospect that tells its own story about US justice. Of far greater import than Assange’s personal welfare, however, would be the impact this would have on journalism. It would extend the reach of US law enforcement around the world, and allow Washington’s Department of Justice to pursue anyone who was handed classified information and treat them as an enemy spy.

Even the prospect of this would make many journalists think twice about accepting material from confidential sources. How big would a story have to be to risk a lifetime in jail? Indeed, even stories such as that of Baroness Mone would be less likely to come to light. Her undoing, it is believed, came about because an employee became so disgusted with her lies that they leaked information to a newspaper. Assange facing a lifetime in solitary confinement will act as a potent discouragement to whistleblowers in every realm.

The Wikileaks founder’s case begs questions of several institutions that now proclaim themselves to be opponents of SLAPPs. But what can they do?

The answers are simple. There is ample scope for the UK court to uphold Assange’s appeal against extradition to the US. Previous hearings have dismissed strong concerns raised by his legal team about the legality of the US/UK Extradition Treaty, about whether a fair trail is possible after meetings with his legal team were bugged, and over the compatibility of US justice with respect for human rights. A change of mind on any of these is possible.

There are plenty of grounds on which UK ministers could reject his extradition – not least the devastating impact his incarceration would have on free speech. And President Biden could drop the prosecution – avoiding a court case that would shine a light anew on unsavoury episodes in US military history.

Ending the farrago of Assange’s prosecution would be the single biggest step anyone could take to banishing SLAPPs from the public sphere. It would also be the most effective blow against those who try to use the law to keep their sleaze, greed and immorality from public view.

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Yesterday morning, I signed off the International Federation of Journalists’ ‘killed list’ – our annual tally of journalists who have lost their lives while doing their jobs. We have published this index for 30 years, highlighting the terrible risks that reporters and camera operators take to bring home the news.

For months, it seemed as though 2023 would be a good year – perhaps even a record low. Then, on Saturday 7 October, Hamas insurgents murdered four Israeli journalists – as well as over 1,200 other victims – and the world changed beyond recognition.

So ferocious has been Israel’s response, that the subsequent tally of Gaza’s dead journalists has exceeded one fatality a day. Estimates put the overall loss of life in Gaza at close to 16,000 – a tragedy so vast that it is hard to comprehend. But the enclave’s media workers have lost their lives at six times the rate of the general population. At the start of October, Gaza had approximately 1,000 working journalists – 68 our now dead according to the IFJ’s estimate.

Amazingly, whenever I speak with journalists in Gaza, they seem extraordinarily resilient. Food and water is scarce, they need safety equipment and the usual necessities of reporting. But all express a deep commitment to documenting what is happening around them.

Nonetheless, observing the conflict from a distance, it is hard to see how life is going to improve any time soon for those living in either Gaza or Israel.

Last week, however, I detected the faintest glimmer of hope in the form of an unplanned meeting in Ramallah, on the West Bank.

International Criminal Court could look at journalist’s killing

Karim Khan is the chief prosecutor of the International Criminal Court in the Hague. Part of his job is to oversee investigations that could lead to criminal prosecutions for war crimes. He has previously worked as a prosecutor in the International Criminal Tribunals for Rwanda and Former Yugoslavia.

Khan was in the West Bank capital to meet with officials from the Palestinian Authority that governs that territory. During the course of these meetings, he happened upon Nasser Abu Baker, the president of the Palestinian Journalists’ Syndicate, the union that represents the vast majority of Gaza’s journalists.

It was a fortuitous meeting. For over a year Abu Baker has, with the backing of the IFJ, been petitioning Khan to investigate the death of Shireen Abu Akleh, the Al Jazeera reporter who was shot and killed by Israeli soldiers in 2022.

Against the unbelievable bloodshed of the past two months, her fatality seems an almost distant memory. The approach that the ICC takes to investigating her killing, however, could now take on a far broader significance.

Among the Palestinians’ most persistent grievances is Israel’s apparent impunity from international law. They document acts that they consider unreasonable, unjust and illegal, but nothing appears to happen. Abu Akleh’s case makes this case in volumes.

It was exhaustively reported around the world. It has been the subject of some extraordinary civilian forensics, and a meticulous UN report into the killing ends with these words: “the Commission concludes on reasonable grounds that the Israeli security forces used lethal force without justification under international human rights law and intentionally or recklessly violated the right to life of Shireen Abu Akleh.”

It is a damning assessment, but it has not been tested in court. Perhaps there is evidence that was missed. Maybe the testimony of the Israeli soldiers who were patrolling that day would lead to a different view. Or could the case simply be so confusing, that a verdict that is beyond all reasonable doubt is impossible? We will never know, unless a court considers the case.

Until now, Khan, who was born in Scotland and grew up Yorkshire, has sat on Abu Akleh’s case. Since the war started in Ukraine, for example, he has found time for at least four official visits to the country and has directed heavily-resourced investigations. About Palestine, he has appeared notably less interested – until now.

When they met, Khan told Abu Baker that his investigation into the Al Jazeera journalist’s death was underway – albeit with limited servicing. The Palestinian journalists’ leader was able to make the case for increased resources and an accelerated timetable.

If Khan is good to his word, then Abu Akleh’s case could provide a model that could create a framework whose application could have a much wider resonance.

At the moment, supporters of both sides in this conflict speak of war crimes unfolding. Rhetoric aside, however, there is only one place that a war crime can be determined, and that is in the court of Karim Khan. The example he sets in this case, will set the mood for the resolution of much that has taken place in the past two months.

The sight of the law being applied, thoroughly, scrupulously and impartially, will do much to reassure the great mass of Palestinians and Israelis that there are universal international values whose application has the capacity to deliver justice, decency and dignity for all. Those conditions contain the potential to lay foundations for lasting peace. Without them, Israel and Gaza will struggle to achieve a happy future, however the current round of this conflict ends.

Is that too much hope to balance on the outcome of a chance encounter and a prosecution that has not yet begun? Let’s see.

For my part, after a morning checking the details of so many dead journalists, the chance to fan a hopeful flame, however modest, allows me a flicker of hope that next year will be a better one.

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The streets of Khan Younis look much the same as those in Mediterranean cities – lined with modern, seven-storey flats, shops trading and cars parked by the kerbs. Less usual, in the south Gazan city, is the backdrop of artillery fire and the tang of high explosives that hang heavy in the air.

Until a week ago, Khan Younis had a population of 350,000. Today, its streets are far busier, as Gaza’s population has streamed south in anticipation of an Israeli land invasion.

Among those living in a displacement centre is Dr Tahseen Al Asttal, vice-president of the Palestinian Journalists Syndicate (PJS) and the union’s leader in Gaza.

The 52-year-old spent the weekend visiting journalists as they await developments. Around 1,000 are currently at work in Gaza, most camped close to the Nasser hospital in Khan Younis where emergency wound treatment kits, provided by the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ), are being distributed.

“Journalists are afraid about the anticipated scale of the bombing, as well as the likely impact of the expected occupation to come”, he told me over Whatsapp.

“Communication networks are not working well, so staying in touch is difficult. We also don’t have enough protective equipment and helmets.”

12 journalists killed in first week of conflict – ten in Gaza

These fears are well-founded. Ten journalists have died in Gaza in the last week, as well as one in Lebanon. An Israeli photographer died during the Hamas invasion.

No foreign journalists remain in Gaza, the Foreign Press Association in Jerusalem has confirmed. What information we have from the 141 square mile territory is coming from Gazan reporters and camera operators.

The level of fear among these already battle-hardened journalists, however, is unusually high.

“The usual instinct of reporters is to go to where the shelling is happening, but the danger here today is extreme,” says Al Asttal, whose day job is as a journalist and TV director. “PJS is advising camera crews to stay in the south of Gaza for their own safety.”

‘Food and water are very scarce, the electricity keeps cutting out’

Life here is still tough, Asttal says: “Food and water are very scarce, the electricity keeps cutting out and we struggle to connect to the internet. I’m here with my extended family, living in a single room. All of our children are clearly very, very afraid.”

Al Asttal is deeply grateful for the help that Gazan journalists have already received but says that much more is still needed – particularly safety equipment and battery power packs.

The wound treatment kits that were distributed were sourced in the West Bank and paid for, in part, by a £20,000 donation to the IFJ’s International Safety Fund, sent by the UK and Ireland’s National Union of Journalists at the end of last week.

Nasser Abu Baker, the president of the PJS who is based in the West Bank, told me: “We fear that a humanitarian catastrophe is about to unfold, and Palestinian journalists will be on the frontline.

“Our determination is to ensure that, whatever happens in the next days and weeks, the world has a clear, unvarnished picture of what happens. Impartial, accurate ethical reporting is paramount.

“I fear that many more will pay with their lives, and I appeal to journalists [over] the world to find ways to lend their support in this darkest hour.”

The post How Gaza’s estimated 1,000 journalists are preparing for an onslaught appeared first on Press Gazette.

Do journalists deserve legal protection beyond that granted to the general population? For many of us, the instinctive answer is “no”. It is a matter of professional pride and identification with our audience that we do our work by graft and guile, not privileges withheld from others.

There are aspects of reporting, however, that make it wholly unlike other occupations. Plenty of jobs involve exposure to accidental injury – in many cases, unacceptably so. Journalism, however, is the only civilian occupation where significant numbers lose their lives as a result of systematic and deliberate acts.

Around the world, 68 journalists were killed in 2022 – down from the all-time high of 155 in 2016. Assault and imprisonment are even more prevalent.

I reflected on this as I listened to Sir William Patey opine on Radio Four’s Today programme on 17 August. He was discussing the desirability of a state visit to the UK by Mohammed Bin Salman (MBS), the de facto ruler of Saudi Arabia.

Sir William is a career diplomat who, before retirement, served as UK ambassador to such hot spots as Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, Iraq and Sudan. Bluff operators of his stripe instinctively express a “Foreign Office view”, honed over decades representing the state’s interests overseas.

Nick Robinson put it to the erstwhile diplomat that MBS was widely thought to have ordered the hit on Wall Street Journal columnist Jamal Khashoggi. Surely no British minister would wish to shake such an irredeemably blood-stained hand? Patey’s next two sentences sent a shiver down my spine.

“Saudi Arabia is not the only country that has a track record of killing journalists; they’re amateurs compared with the Turks, the Philippines and others,” he said. “It’s a sad fact that journalists who uncover, who expose, regimes and are critical of regimes are vulnerable.” 

There is much in this statement that is troubling – I can’t, for example, recall a state-sanctioned murder like that of Khashoggi’s in either Turkey or the Philippines. It is the underlying attitude that frightens me most, however.

In a few words, the former ambassador reveals a belief in realpolitik that relegates the lives of journalists to expendable currency.

Troublesome reporters are an accepted collateral loss, Patey implies. So long as the bloodshed is not too outlandish, embassy staff will proffer the perpetrators firm handshakes, even if in private they hold their noses. If the media will put themselves in the way of danger, he suggests, they can’t be too surprised if they end up paying a steep price.

‘We should turn up the volume of outrage’

This attitude, unashamedly described by a former senior diplomat, representing a liberal democracy, persuades me of two things.

The first is that as journalists we should turn up the volume of outrage at the prospect of our government rolling out the red carpet for those who murder or are complicit in the murder of our colleagues.

If MBS does come to the UK, no one should be allowed to forget what happened in the Saudi embassy in Istanbul. Likewise, if Israeli politicians visit these shores, then the questions surrounding the death of Shireen Abu Akleh, and other Palestinian journalists, must be sounded with equal volume. Chinese, Iranian and Russian ministers – should they visit – deserve the same noisy disdain.

No less important, we should redouble efforts to pressure the United Nations to adopt a convention to protect journalists. 

Such a convention – which my organisation, the International Federation of Journalists, has championed for some years – would spell out what is already implicit in UN Conventions: the right to life, the right to free expression, the right to live by the rule of law and the applicability of law to all. As well as explicitly asserting these rights applicability to journalists, it would irrevocably guarantee civilian protections to journalists in conflict situations. 

‘Crucial reminder’ democracy depends on journalists

Asserting rights in this way, explicitly tied to the importance of journalists and journalism, would make it easier to chase down through international institutions those regimes who consider unvetted reporting to be an extinguishable inconvenience.

No less important, such a convention would provide a crucial reminder for the benefit of Sir William Patey and his ilk. Democracy depends on the media every bit as much as it does upon mandarins. Unless state institutions put their full weight behind the rights of journalists to live and work, the edifice of liberal freedoms will crumble.

Would such a convention grant privilege to journalists denied to others? I don’t think so.

Its effect would be to make inalienable rights that are frequently denied. Doing this would recognise that those who expose themselves to the greatest risks deserve an explicit means to hold to account the states that should be the guarantors of their safety. If that ruffles a few diplomatic feathers, so be it.

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Until two years ago, the news media in Afghanistan thrived. There were 160 television stations, 311 radio stations, 90 print newspapers and 26 news agencies jostling for attention. Nearly 12,000 people, most of them journalists, worked to create content. In a country of many tongues, it seemed there was space for everyone to make their voice heard.

The contrast today is stark; nearly 100 television stations have closed, a third of radio stations no longer broadcast, only 11 newspapers remain and half the news agencies have shut up shop. The fate of the journalists themselves is more troubling still.

A small proportion have found their way to Western countries – usually when sponsored by Western news platforms – and are busy making new lives for themselves.

A much larger group of exiled journalists exist precariously in countries neighbouring Afghanistan. The greatest number are in Pakistan, where several hundred former reporters survive, many in near destitution.

The depth of their needs is evident from the announcement earlier this month that Unesco is funding two hostels for homeless Afghan journalists in Islamabad that will be run by the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ) and the Pakistani Federal Journalists Union.

Of course, some journalists have remained in Afghanistan – doing so has required fortitude and bravery, according to a new report from the Afghan National Journalists Union.

It paints a bleak picture. Fewer than 3,000 journalists remain in the country. And whereas two years ago, 27% of journalists were women, today they make up only 13% of a much-reduced profession.

‘A pattern of arrest, harassment and much worse’

A brief survey of recent headlines from Afghanistan gives a strong impression of what life is like for news gatherers in that country.

Just last week, the Afghan Independent Journalists Union reported the arrest of four reporters. It follows a pattern of arrest, harassment and much worse. The IFJ’s report finds 19 journalists have lost their lives, 21 have been injured and at least 26 have been arrested since 2021.

The apparent collusion of Afghanistan’s government with attacks on the media is evident from the testimony of Mohammad Ismail Azad, who was reporting the funeral of a religious scholar for the Solh TV network when he was attacked.

“I had adhered to all the religious laws and principles in my coverage, but I faced physical assault and intimidation in the presence of the public. The violence was inflicted by the Head of Information and Culture in Herat, along with his guards.”

The perpetrator of the violence is not the only thing that Azad reveals, of course. Constraints on free reporting also ring out.

A couple of weeks ago I spoke with Ahmad Shoaib Fanaa, chief executive of the Afghan National Journalists Union. “Censorship and self-censorship have become rampant, with journalists navigating the perilous territory of permissible content,” he told me. “Access to unbiased information has dwindled, leaving citizens ill-informed.”

He told me also that the absence of comprehensive legal frameworks has exacerbated challenges. “Collaborative efforts between the Islamic Emirate, the international community and media support organisations are essential to prevent the collapse of Afghanistan’s media landscape.”

Three steps to speed recovery of Afghanistan’s media

All of this begs the question, what can we in the West do to help our Afghan colleagues?

The answer is three-fold. Some Western governments have shown great generosity to Afghan journalists – others less so.

There are still plenty who have worked for major news platforms, such as the BBC, who have not been allowed into the UK. Britain is not alone in this. Nonetheless, even a few of us urging our MPs to put humanity first could change minds in Whitehall.

Second, we must keep the pressure on the government in Kabul to create an environment where media can once again thrive.

Despite appearances, the Taliban administration is neither monolithic nor without those who recognise the benefits of a plural, liberal society. They acknowledge that new media law is vital.

Western powers may not much like the new regime but that should not stop them from applying pressure to rescue Afghanistan’s civic institutions and proffering help when asked.

Finally, we should step up the humanitarian aid for Afghan journalists themselves.

Two years ago, the response to the regime change was profound, heartfelt and generous. The IFJ’s safety fund received individual donations at rates it had never seen before – nearly all of which were given in grants averaging £350 to individual journalists to help with food, shelter and medicines.

Since then, other crises have understandably grabbed our attention.

For most Afghan journalists over this period, particularly for women, life has simply got worse and worse.

Even a modest contribution is enough to provide a bed in place of a street corner. I implore everyone to think how grateful they would be for help were they facing a similar situation.

Afghan journalists have endured much but have also demonstrated remarkable resilience. I am sure, eventually, Afghanistan’s media will recover its vitality. It is in all our gift to help speed that process.

The post Catastrophe for Afghanistan’s media but we could speed recovery appeared first on Press Gazette.

Around the world, hundreds of journalists are in jail for doing their jobs. Quite how many hundreds is a matter of conjecture.

The Committee to Protect Journalists has a tally of nearly 400, while Reporters Without Borders (RSF) lists more than 500 behind bars. The differences can be explained by imperfect information and methodological differences, but what is most striking is the sheer number.

Compared with other occupational groups, journalism is a tiny profession. My organisation, the International Federation of Journalists, represents journalists’ unions in 146 countries, with 600,000 members. At most, I estimate the world sustains a million journalists. By contrast, there are estimated to be 85 million teachers.

But, search as I might, I can find no organisations dedicated to keeping count of the doctors, teachers, engineers or farmers who have been imprisoned simply for doing their jobs. By contrast, several NGOs document journalists in jail and campaign for their release.

Threat of detention hangs over journalists in certain countries

So, you can see that going to prison for doing your job is a real issue for journalists. And of course, for every journalist who is in prison, there will be ten who have been to prison in the past or have been threatened with prison, or for whom the threat of incarceration hangs over them like a cloud.

It would be encouraging to think that they are all the bravest of souls, determined to speak truth unto power whatever the personal consequences, but in our hearts, we know that can’t be true in every case.

If you are a reporter in China, Myanmar or Iran – three of the worst offenders for locking up media workers – I find it hard to believe that the threat of detention does not seep into every aspect of your work.

When I last visited Turkey, I met the editor of a daily newspaper who showed me the army boots that he wears to work each day. “They are more practical when they drag me off to prison,” he told me. A friend with whom I had a drink on that same trip, has since served four months in jail for working on a newspaper considered sympathetic to Kurdish causes.

So this threat of prison does not only affect journalists personally as individuals, it has the capacity to change the news itself. The judge’s gavel and the jailer’s key have the power to force self-censorship, to drive editorial content – not, as it should be, the independent judgement of journalists.

Why Julian Assange case is so important for journalists

It is because of this that the case of Julian Assange is so important.

The argument has been made many times about how his conviction would create a new legislative threat to journalists, of course.

The charges for which Assange is sought relate to the WikiLeaks founder’s handling of the Afghan and Iraqi war logs. Assange met a confidential source who believed he had witnessed significant criminality – now known to be the then-US soldier Chelsea Manning. He advised Manning on discreetly transferring the information and seeking out fresh evidence.

These are, of course, the kind of actions that investigative journalists carry out every day of their working lives. Prosecute Assange and any other reporters who handle classified documents will be subject to the same threat.

But for so long as the US pursues Assange – aided and abetted by the UK government – it creates an even more immediate jeopardy for journalists. While this process is underway, and should Assange be convicted, it renders utterly hollow any protests raised by Joe Biden and Rishi Sunak about the treatment of journalists elsewhere in the world.

Assange imprisonment provides ‘carte blanche’ to others

Recently, Evan Gershkovich of the Wall Street Journal was arrested in Russia and is currently in pre-trial detention, charged with spying. The US State Department and the UK’s foreign secretary may huff and puff about this injustice, but we all know what Putin is saying behind his hand: “We all lock up journalists when their stories discomfort us – look at what you are doing to Julian Assange.”

These are not sentiments about which the Russian authorities are secretive. When Assange was arrested, Russian Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Maria Zakharova said: “The hand of ‘democracy’ squeezes the throat of freedom.” When pressed by a Western ambassador about the detention of Gershkovich, Zakharova parried, essentially asking “Why don’t you demonstrate your commitment to media freedom by releasing Julian Assange?”

Nor should you imagine that repressive regimes are simply hot-headed and impulsive in their treatment of journalists. Look for example at the murder of Jamal Khashoggi. His fiance’s phone was bugged to track his movements, he was lured to the Saudi embassy in Istanbul and a hit squad was dispatched from the gulf.

But the most troubling element of the planning was that the plotter thought they could get away with it. They weighed up the moral standing of their likely critics and decided that whatever would be the reaction, this despicable act could be shrugged off.

And for so long as Julian Assange is in Belmarsh, or worse still, in a US jail, he provides a carte blanche for all those other regimes that would lock up journalists, and worse.

Now there are lots of good reasons why Assange should be released, but none are more important than the collective damage to journalists that is done each and every day that he is behind bars.

If the UK government is sincere about promoting media freedom around the world, it should rule out Assange’s extradition. If the US wants to regain its moral force when protecting free expression, it should drop the charges.

Until that happens, whenever the jailers of journalists are called out, the response will be the same: a shrug of the shoulders and a one-word excuse, “Assange!”

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I spent a day this month with Trevor Birney and Barry McCaffrey, two Northern Irish journalists currently on police bail as a result of their work.

At the end of August last year, armed police officers swooped on their homes to confiscate computers and arrest the pair.

Their case is deeply concerning and I made a short film to highlight their plight and its implications for press freedom.

In it, McCaffrey says: “Unless there is protection for press freedom, they will come for other people, they will come for other journalists”.

Using the vague metrics of shares, retweets and favourable comments, I felt satisfied that I had done my bit to bring their case to wider attention.

One friend left an interesting comment on social media, however. “It’s all very Northern Irish, isn’t it?”

I was pondering this when I received word that my Turkish friend, Ayşe Düzkan is starting an 18-month jail sentence as a result of her journalism.

It is a chilling reminder that there is a continuum that starts with denigrating journalists and abusing authority to hinder their reporting and ends with Jamal Khashoggi’s grotesque, extra-judicial execution in his own country’s embassy.

I met Ayşe when I delivered collective bargaining training for journalists’ unions in the Balkans. We struck up a friendship and have met since when work has taken me to Istanbul where she lives.

During a long career in journalism, she has covered conflict zones as well as fashion and culture, written for feminist magazines and worked as an editor.

We have a mutual interest in music, although I don’t share her penchant for heavy metal.

She is also on the left of Turkish politics and is a member of the executive of the most radical journalists’ union in that country DISK Press-Work.

Turkey is a country that is as bitterly divided as it can be baffling. As well as right and left, there is a chasm between secularists and various shades of Islamists. A significant separatist movement exists among Kurds, elements of which are militarised.

And there are the shifting sands of alliances between groups. Turkey’s President Erdoğan has made alliances with moderate Islamists and Kurdish groups early in his administration. Both are today his bitter enemies.

What has been constant, certainly since the attempted coup of 2016, is Erdoğan’s antipathy to a free press. His campaign to control the media has taken various forms.

Some critical media groups have been economically targeted so that, as they started to struggle financially, government allies could take them over at knock-down prices.

Around 180 journalists have been jailed and a raft of newspapers have been declared “illegal” and banned. There are also severe restrictions on the internet in Turkey. At a basic level, Wikipedia is inaccessible.

Against this backdrop, Ayşe and her union colleagues decided that they had to take a stand. For one day, five of them announced on the masthead that they were executive editors of Özgür Gündem (Free Agenda).

The paper’s editorial stance is pro-Kurdish rights. It has also been quick to try and accurately report insurgent military action – something that Turkey’s official media has downplayed.

The paper has been the object of Government harassment since its inception – despite loud protests from international groups such as the Committee To Protect Journalists and Reporters Without Borders.

Reaction to Ayşe and her colleagues’ solidarity appearance on the masthead was swift and, from a UK perspective at least, shocking.

The five were arrested and then subjected to a grinding legal process, the result of which is a three-years-and-nine-months sentence for one of them and 18 months behind bars for the rest. The paper itself has subsequently been declared illegal.

Such a treatment of journalists would shame a Latin American Junta. Turkey, however, is a prosperous modern country, a democracy and a candidate for EU membership. That media workers are subjected to such a regime of judicial aggression is chilling.

Nor does it take much effort to draw a line between the treatment meted out to Trevor Birney and Barry McCaffrey (pictured, centre right and centre left).

I doubt if they will ever be charged with offences at all. Everything about their case looks like an elaborate and very expensive theatrical exercise. But it is a continuum.

That an English police force, Durham, is willing to be complicit in such a bizarre performance shows how uncomfortable authority can be when it is the subject of criticism and how easily irritation spills over into abuse of power.

I salute Ayşe for her bravery as much as I fear for her welfare. My only experience of Turkish jails comes from the cinema. I can only hope that things have improved since Midnight Express (Alan Parker’s 1978 film).

But to find that someone who, by chance, I am friends with is about to start a draconian jail sentence for such a ridiculous non-offence, makes me think that my efforts on behalf of my Northern Irish colleagues are insufficient.

Edmund Burke’s famous dictum about evil flourishing when good men do nothing has never seemed more true.

Picture: Seamus Dooley

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Last summer I met with Matt Hancock MP, then a junior minister at Digital, Culture, Media and Sport, as part of a National Union of Journalists’ delegation.

The case we made was simple: The newspaper industry is in dire straits – a lack of quality reporting is damaging our democracy and communities are being eroded from lack of information.

The NUJ suggested a short, sharp Government enquiry, to turn up some good ideas, and hopefully knock together a few heads among the big regional publishers.

Hancock was immediately enthusiastic.

He agreed with much of our diagnosis and during the course of our meeting let his civil servants know that he wanted some thought given to how such a review might be initiated.

I was not entirely surprised when nothing happened. It is easy for such an initiative to be thwarted – by civil service opposition, kick back from party bosses and more apparently pressing priorities, for example.

In January, Hancock was appointed Secretary of State, thereby giving far more heft to his elbow.

Shortly afterwards, he announced just such an enquiry, and last week unveiled the panel who will help Frances Cairncross – formerly a senior editor at The Economist – with its compilation.

Here, however, he was to disappoint.

There are plenty of interesting names on his panel – a major newspaper publisher, an eminent former editor, an online newspaper editor and a ‘brand strategist’ among them.

What the panel lacks, extraordinarily, is anyone representing journalists themselves.

I hope to persuade Secretary of State Hancock to change his mind and to find another seat at the table – because if he does not, he risks the credibility of the entire exercise.

Of course big publishers have something to contribute. Navigating their business towards sustainable business models without abandoning their core products is key.

But the Newsquests, Trinity Mirrors and Johnston Presses of this world are also part of the problem. Their addiction to outlandish profits and greedy protection of both local brands and monopolies has laid waste to hundreds of titles already.

Editors too, are an important voice. They give shape to the multitude of unruly voices that work for them, and fashion papers that readers reach to buy every day. But they are also the ones that order ceaseless squeezing of newsroom budgets and who jump to the bean-counters commands.

Digital entrepreneurs have much to contribute too. None, however, know the challenge of knocking on the door of an accident victim’s family to seek out memories and pictures.

Nor have they sifted interesting stories from tedious council meetings, or sat through endless magistrates court hearings to ensure that readers have some idea of the justice enacted in their names.

A deep understanding of that kind of reporting is vital because those are the stories that provide vital binding for our communities. With no local papers, few ever learn who their MP is, or which party controls the local council.

The brief packages of regional broadcast news are certainly not sufficient to unravel important planning applications or to report on the work of our legal system.

The internet and digital publishing has provided us with countless niches of narrow interest, but it has failed at the basic level of connecting localities. This matters because localities remain the root of health, education, civil administration, political power and justice.

Unless information about those institutions is shared, then our connection to vital elements of society grows weaker. What the Cairncross review requires is someone for whom that connection is first instinct, not afterthought.

Journalism in this country has, for the most part, been provided by companies dedicated to making profit – even if surpluses have been in short supply in recent years. Fixing that model should be the urgent business of this review.

The journalists who fill those papers, however, are rarely motived by financial gain – outside the national media, the pay is terrible.

Retaining the talent, commitment and motivation of those who take pleasure in providing society’s connective tissue is as important as newspaper business models, if not more so.

I hope against hope that Hancock finds an extra seat at the table, either for someone from the NUJ, or for an individual who obviously represents the interests of ordinary journalists.

If he doesn’t, he risks both the efficacy of the review itself, but also the reception it receives.

After all, when it comes to reviewing Frances Cairncross’s conclusions, whatever they are, it is journalists who have the first say. A review of their industry on which they were denied a voice might struggle for a positive reaction.

Tim Dawson is the president of the National Union of Journalists.

Picture: Pixabay

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As journalists we enjoy no professional privileges.  The application of graft and guile are all that our work requires. Our relationship with the public, however, rests on two vital foundations – that we tell the truth and that we protect our sources.

In defence of the latter, numerous colleagues have gone to prison.

Happily this risk has substantially abated in the UK since Bill Goodwin’s 1996 victory in the European Court of Human Rights.  The judges in that case ruled that “the watchdog role of the press is vital to a democratic society” and, as a consequence, the judge who threatened Goodwin with incarceration for refusing to reveal a confidential source was deemed to have acted illegally.

Journalists’ ability to guarantee discretion, however, will soon be fatally undermined with the passing of legislation allowing the police and public authorities, without notice, to seize journalists’ phone data.  If precedent is any guide, we can expect this power to be used to hunt down whistleblowers, pursue personal feuds and to throw a cloak over wrongdoing.

The Investigatory Powers Bill has been grinding through Parliament since Theresa May’s tenure at the Home Office.  It is the successor to the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act  under which, over three years, 19 Police forces seized 608 separate phone records – including such notorious cases as that of the Sun’s political editor Tom Newton Dunn, whose records were secretly searched in an attempt to find the source of the Plebgate story.

The IPB will codify police powers to seize our phone records.  Such data provides a trove for those interested to uncover a journalist’s work.

Phone numbers dialled are all logged, as are websites browsed, photos taken, and emails sent.

More chilling, however, the ‘metadata’ generated by smartphones effortlessly reveals a GPS trail, showing where a phone has been and what other devices have been in its proximity.

And who needs an old-fashioned bugging device when the state can simply remotely activate a smartphone’s microphone to listen in on conversations a journalist and a source should rightfully assume are private and confidential?

You can see why some national newspapers have issued reporters with mini Faraday cages in which to keep their phones but how effective these are is unclear and ultimately better tradecraft is all we will have in our armoury.

The NUJ – working alongside the Bar Council, the Law Society, the Society of Editors and the News Media Association – has been lobbying legislators over the provision of this Bill since its inception.

Improvements have been achieved through our collective effort, but one key central threat remains. Seizing the telephone records of journalists is possible without notice or the opportunity to oppose an application.  This is entirely contrary to principles enshrined elsewhere in our law.

The Police and Criminal Evidence Act, for example, makes specific provision of the seizure of journalistic material.  Where the police or courts seek access to notebooks, photographs or video, they must go before a judge and make their case.  The NUJ has represented numerous members in such cases and while there have been cases where the the courts have ultimately required a hand-over of material, the union has always managed to restrict its extent.

Applying a similar principal to telephone records would at least place sources on notice of possible disclosure. As it stands, we face the prospect of the trust between journalists and sources being fatally undermined.

It is already a relationship that has been under great strain in recent years, particularly in the wake of the cynical and contemptible decision of News Corp to willingly hand over tranches of data and documentation to the Metropolitan Police in the wake of the hacking scandal – a deliberate trade motivated by corporate greed and self preservation, without the knowledge or agreement of the reporters and their sources. A betrayal that has led, as we now know, to the conviction of 34 sources who offered those stories on the basis that their confidentiality would be protected.

The IPB is now at its eleventh hour – and yet none of our political parties have distinguished themselves over this issue.

If journalists, and those who care about journalism, make a cogent case to their MPs in the next days, however, it could still make a difference. The same is true of a few papers making this an issue in their pages.

In a week where journalism itself seems under assault, this is by no means the only legal threat we face.

A clause in the Digital Economy Bill will make it a criminal offence to pass on information that has not been “authorised for sharing”. Which of us has not been given internal documents by a whistleblower to provide the basis for a story about corruption, bad employment practices or wasted public money?  In future, both journalist and whistleblower will risk criminal prosecution.

And finally there is the Police and Crime Bill, intended to make possible the prosecution of stalkers.  But its implications for journalism – particularly photography – are chilling. It would criminalise taking multiple images of a person without their permission.

There is a public interest defence but, as the amendment is currently framed, an individual photographer might potentially be arrested and thrown in the cells before they were given a chance to make the case that their work was legitimate.  If the subject of the photography was wealthy and powerful, a photographer could find themselves making their case from behind bars, in the face of expensive lawyers trying to ensure that they remained locked up.

The price of press freedom is eternal vigilance– to recycle a well-worn saw.  Unless journalists are willing to rise up and to at least give voice to our concerns, then that freedom will receive a body blow.  It would be tragic, against this perilous backdrop, if, for the minutes it takes to pen an email or letter, any of us fails to issue a protest.

Tim Dawson is president of the National Union of Journalists

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