A hand that feeds

Like much of the world, Britain is in high season for government intervention. The past two years have witnessed a number of banks, strained beyond their usual limits by a fierce economic crisis, urgently seek public assistance. Having waded in to shoulder much of the brunt of the crisis so far, the government is now contemplating ways in which to protect the banks and, more significantly, the country’s finances, from future upheavals, by involving itself more robustly than before in the financial system and the course of its post-recession reincarnation.

As an example of government intervention in national affairs, the case of the banks stands alone, but only in terms of magnitude. Intervention, in addition to the usual wrangling of laws and deployment of certain services, is customary, if not always obvious, and at that a necessary function of government in times of need. During a recession, need is rife, with more to protect than vulnerable banks. In the private sector, small companies, their larger relatives and even whole industries must be propped up or even saved from collapse outright, while the public sector will likely be painfully cut to reduce public deficit created by a slew of economic rescue efforts. If, as many expect, the reins of government do change hands at the next ballot in 2010, intervention could be even more widespread, as new leaders attempt to reshape things in their ideological image.

Yet intervention can be unwelcome, even within the government’s traditional jurisdiction of law and policy. Fresh news this week on the progress of the controversial ID cards scheme pioneered by Labour follows years of resistance to what was, and is, heavily opposed by many as an affront to civil liberties. Similarly, the government attracted stinging controversy recently over its reassessment of drug policy when it clashed with an adviser over the classification of certain narcotics, with the altercation leading to his dismissal. And following this summer’s explosive MP’s expenses scandal , the ongoing process of recriminating offenders and navigating systemic reforms, arguably a vital step towards rehabilitating the reputation of British democracy and its politicians amongst the public, has faced intense criticism from disgruntled MP’s.

Government intervention can be arduous, time-consuming and unpopular, but also necessary and worth a struggle. Bailing out banks may cause pain financially, but the alternatives could be catastrophic. And politicians may resent their colleagues being cast into the darkness as their privileges are dismantled, but a parliament lacking credibility, something these measures hope to restore, could prove impotent. Not all intervention, however, is wise or for the greater good. Some is superfluous, overly politicised or simply ill-conceived. Distinguishing good from bad here is useful, but tricky.

In the midst of its own crisis, one candidate that David Cameron, potentially the leader of the next government, has marked for reform is the British media. This industry, sabotaged by tumbling newspaper sales and a slump in advertising revenue, an important form of subsidisation for publishers and broadcasters, is in dire need of intervention, be it from public or private bodies. Though initially in the form of miscellaneous proposals, Cameron’s party, the Conservatives, have presented a wide ranging portfolio for British media reform over the past few months. This in itself is encouraging, but the deployment and wisdom of some of these ideas may deserve scrutiny.

A number of the measures proposed appear bold but not impractical. The call for restructuring of the British media landscape, expected in Shadow culture secretary Jeremy Hunt’s (pictured) speech tomorrow at the Manchester Media Festival sets a promising tone; as Hunt correctly argues, current rules preventing any single media group owning newspapers, radio stations and television channels in the same geographical area are counter productive in the internet age; media groups need to consolidate their resources and produce multimedia output in order to attract a more technocratic audience and stay competitive. As Hunt notes, media operators need greater flexibility to survive. Granting this flexibility would be sensible and justified.

Other suggestions for reform, at least broadly speaking, seem somewhat level-headed, if also divisive. Cameron may be right in both attacking communications regulator Ofcom’s role as a policy-maker and calling for big change at the “bloated” BBC, including a rolling back of unnecessary commercial expansion, something the BBC Trust appeared to favour just this week. His critique of the top tier salaries paid by these two bodies is sound, at least on first inspection. In principal, these reforms would be wise.

Yet any media intervention by an admittedly hypothetical Conservative government would require greater thought, as a number of flaws lurk in the current strategy. Stars and top earners at the BBC, some of whom, as a handful of newspapers were keen to point out, in fact manage to dwarf the prime minister’s salary with their own, do serve as evidence that the corporation’s inflated pay system could be in need of downsizing. Nevertheless, without establishing a better perspective of the situation by first analysing top pay levels at other broadcasters and media groups, who influence existing salary norms as much as their public-funded rival, preemptively neutering the BBC’s salary power would be misguided. Similarly Ofcom is not chosen by an electorate and may have too much influence on policy in view of this fact, but many argue that it is otherwise an effective replacement of a former regulatory system consisting of five different bodies, and furthermore costs the taxpayer little directly, making Cameron’s plans to slash it down a few sizes seem almost unfounded. Though none of the arguments surrounding such reforms are definitive or indisputable, they do highlight the care that must be taken when planning major reform, and that reform is by no means a perfected art.

The most worrying kind of reform, and one that a Conservative government would be wise to avoid, is one based purely on political maneuvering. Some already point suspiciously to the correspondence between Conservative proposals regarding Ofcom and BBC, and James Murdoch’s less than favourable, even hostile, views on the two, claiming the existence of some pact between Cameron and James’ father Rupert, the media mogul. This argument, though supported in the eyes of some by Murdoch-owned, News International newspaper The Sun’s recent disavowal of Labour after 12 years of (at times unenthusiastic) loyalty, is riddled with discrepancies, such as Cameron’s apparent failure to convincingly woo the older Murdoch on his own. Though if real, reforms led by political strategy could be a danger.

General political tinkering seems a more tangible concern, however, following Jeremy Hunt’s claim that the left-leaning bias of the BBC, a phenomenon partly verified by reports and journalists’ anecdotal evidence, should be remedied by actively hunting Conservatives to join the corporation’s news team. This is both ill-advised and worrying; the innate political bias of the BBC, though detrimental to objectivity, seems predominantly, as Andrew Marr commented, “cultural and not party political.”, and seemingly so pervasive as to render political balancing acts useless. More importantly, were Hunt to place Conservatives at the BBC for the sake of party politics, such a political coup in the media could set a dangerous precedent.

For a struggling industry, intervention is a pressing issue, but not one to be rushed. Any intervention must be measured, considered, and unpolitical, be it by a government or the media itself.

Love, war, and partisanship

With the inevitability of a general election next year and its effect on the mindset of the British media, David Cameron, leader of the Conservative party and the consistently favoured contender in such a vote according to a swathe of polls, has little difficulty snatching newspaper headlines. Such was the case today with his widely-reported attack on tomorrow’s Queen’s speech.

Cameron’s article, which derides the speech as “little more than a Labour press release on palace parchment” and an example of political point-scoring to the detriment of any genuine debate or reform, does evoke a valid argument about the sacrifice made by many politicians of real progress for political hegemony. It also provides a clear outline of what genuine reform could be in Cameron’s eyes and how it could be achieved, with an explanation of what he perceives as the most pressing national issues to be raised and the relevant courses of action. And, of course, the media’s reception of the article once more demonstrates Cameron’s increasing ability to dictate the headlines for the day, a useful skill for someone regarded by many as the incoming prime minister.

Cameron may have, and the incumbent prime minister most certainly already has, learned, however, that greater exposure, along with its fanfare and media coverage, also attracts greater scrutiny. He has arguably done well to out his rivals in “playing politics”, but in the process of doing so has committed the same sin.

His argument is, admittedly, of some merit. If, as a Cabinet minister allegedly boasted, Gordon Brown’s 2009 Queen’s speech is the “most political […] for 12 years”, and does focus more on appealing to the electorate with populist gestures and tarnishing the image of Labour’s biggest rivals than setting out solid proposals for dealing with the country’s social and economic crises, then this is petty, dire and self-serving. An earlier outcry argued against the speech to a greater extent, though from a different perspective; as Liberal Democrats leader Nick Clegg noted on Monday, only 70 days of parliament will remain until its dissolution for the next election, which is a small window for reform, considering the average law takes 240 days to be processed. Similarly, a Guardian article today points to criticism of the expected measures to be proposed in tomorrow’s speech as being both limited and lacking in important details, such as the true extent of what they could cost. The speech’s contents could be excessively political and superficial. So near to an election, a speech lacking in proper substance could achieve little bar a few political points for its authors.

Yet Cameron has also exposed his own politicking. As assertively as he states his plans for reform in the article, the nature and timing of the piece itself are by far its most striking aspects; knowing that the Queen’s speech may outline the pre-election agenda on terms advantageous to Labour (and that the Liberal Democrats have already taken the initiative by attacking this), he seeks to regain the political momentum for his party before it, and the chances of a Conservative election victory, have chance to slip away. In the act of preemptively decrying a significant parliamentary occasion in order to score or regain political capital, the Conservative leader is himself playing politics.

Unfortunately he is no exception, with real debate often giving way to opportunism and fierce partisanship. A conspicuous characteristic of political news articles is that they often begin with the description of one party’s new plan or initiative, and end with a string of knee-jerk denouncements of this from their political rivals. This highlights a “tit-for-tat” culture of criticism and counter-criticism between opposing officials and organisations, placing competition over discussion; Clegg’s Monday contribution to the Queen’s speech debate was dismissed as “posturing” by Labour’s deputy leader just today.

Nor is this a phenomenon limited exclusively to politicians themselves; many for example were uncomfortable at newspaper The Sun’s recent attempt to discredit Gordon Brown’s policy on the Afghanistan war based on his misspelling of a dead soldier’s name in a letter to his grieving mother, feeling it had reached the limits of both decency and credibility. Particularly in politics and journalism, real discussion, and the expansion of ideas which can lead to solutions, is disrupted by an instinctive clash between allegiances.

Unfortunately there is no obvious end to this; an election may bring a new government, but the partisan culture will likely remain. Lively debate, robust encounters between conflicting sides and a strong opposition are necessary for a working democracy and to be praised. This conflict, however, must not become all-consuming.

What to do with the BNP?

Never shy of controversy, the BBC has once again stoked the fires of public outrage by defending its invitation of British National Party (BNP) leader Nick Griffin to political panel show Question Time.

The decision to allow the leader of the right-wing BNP, a party that uses a strong anti-foreigner rhetoric (its website robustly asks “Have you had enough of watching foreigners come here and take our jobs and housing?”), regarded by many as a threat to the ethnic elements of a tolerant society, as well as to the idea of tolerance itself, to take a seat on a show as esteemed as Question Time is seen by some as lending it an undue sense of legitimacy. Welsh secretary Peter Hain, who led calls for Griffin to be axed from the show, called this “the BBC seal of approval on the BNP”.

And this fear is not completely unfounded. As an academic noted today, French far-right leader Jean-Marie Le Pen’s popularity roughly doubled overnight following his prime-time TV debut in the 1980s on a similar type of show.

Yet as significant as tomorrow evening’s Question Time appearance may be, it is still just one case study for a much bigger issue: should the BNP, with its “abhorrent” (Hain again) views, be allowed a political platform, or is it better to exclude it from mainstream discourse and thus protect the public?

This issue, long the focus of furious, passionate discussion in political circles, has suddenly grown in importance following the party’s modest, but nevertheless tangible, victory in the June 2009 European elections. Now the BNP has two elected MEP’s, and in that sense is a legitimate political force.

Many appear to believe that the BNP must be banned, heckled or, in some cases, pelted from the political platform. A press conference Griffin planned to hold in London this summer was stormed by protestors, who forced his departure with a barrage of eggs. Unite Against Fascism (UAF), a pressure group trying to combat BNP influence, was behind this and a number of other initiatives. During the European elections, UAF activists took to the streets to dissuade the public, disillusioned with mainstream parties following the MP’s expenses scandal , from voting BNP. Tonight and tomorrow, UAF-led marches and pickets against Griffin’s appearance will take place in London. It is also likely that the 200-strong Question Time audience, which is being politically weighted to represent a whole spectrum of views and allegiances, will see BNP supporters countered by followers of UAF and other left-wing organisations.

Some anti-BNP measures reach greater extremes than hostile opposition. Though now rejected, the attempt was made to prevent Griffin appearing on the show altogether, on the grounds that, with legal action being taken against the BNP over its all-white membership rule, it can no longer be seen as legitimate. Similarly, a law has just been passed denying MEP’s-thus the two BNP members-easy access to parliament.

Griffin, once convicted for incitement to racial hatred by denying the Holocaust, sets a bad tone. His thinly-veiled rhetoric plays on hatred towards ethnic minorities in Britain, and as such could inflame tensions in a mixed society. More disturbing, however, is the damage his opponents are willing to do to democracy. Opposition in itself is fine, but only within democratic realms. The UAF has argued that the BNP only received its share of the June vote in protest against mainstream politics, and therefore deserves no further attention as a party. This argument may or may not be well-reasoned, but nevertheless shows disregard for the voters’ democratic expression. For whatever reason, the BNP now has two elected officials, and as such, they deserve a political platform. Censorship, suppression and plain bullying of these officials is both underhand and deeply undemocratic.

It is also an underestimation of British democracy to assume that the BNP will hold such sway once given an audience. That the British public is so impressionable, and so incapable of resisting BNP charm, is yet to be proven. Anti-BNP sentiment is already rife; UAF action, statements of disapproval from institutions including the army and the church, disgust in the realms of politics and journalism, and most importantly amongst everyday people, are all encouraging examples. Some may agree with what the BNP says, but many clearly do not.

It is also important to note that many of the BNP’s publicity nightmares are of their own making. Just this week, in response to the criticism from army generals mentioned earlier, Griffin compared his detractors to Nazis at the Nuremberg trials. As some commentators are already predicting, Griffin and such statements may come apart under the scrutiny of a public debate. Publicity may well be the BNP’s undoing.

The best way to deal with the BNP is to allow them a platform, but to challenge them at the same time. Griffin will not have an easy ride with the BBC; though Question Time host David Dimbleby is gentle compared to, say, Jeremy Paxman, in his interrogative style, he is merely a moderator for proceedings. The MEP will face mainstream politicians Jack Straw, Baroness Warsi, Chris Huhne, (black) critic Bonnie Greer and, most importantly, the audience.

To pay or not to pay…

We have entered a troubling age for journalism. With the financial crisis ever present, companies are forced to slash budgets in order to save money. This means cash spent on advertising, a major source of income for newspapers, is dramatically reduced, with the result that many media titles, no longer subsidised by this revenue, begin to hemorrhage money and make losses. Thus, when we speak of the “financial crisis” that began in 2007, we can also talk of a consequent “media crisis”.

Titles are forced to cut back on staff and expenses, or worse. The Observer, for example, the world’s oldest Sunday newspaper, was considered for closure by its owners, Guardian Media Group (GMG), just this summer. Titles must now fight even harder to build up and sustain readerships in order to make money and survive, which in a sense is positive; they must become more innovative and dynamic, potentially resulting in a better, or at least more original, distinctive media, as opposed to a group of competing titles rehashing the same content in subtly different ways. Just as important, however, as a strong brand and readership, is learning to make money from these things. The media must somehow become profitable in order to survive.

So far, we have seen two innovative (there’s that word again) and highly ambitious proposals. This August, media tycoon Rupert Murdoch, on seeing his media organisation News Corporation suffer a financial beating at the hands of the recession, pledged to start charging for content on all of his title websites (including the News of the World, the Sun and the Times) by summer 2010. Murdoch hopes to make online news profitable by relying on the allure of the titles themselves (the Sun, for example, which sells better than any of its national rivals, is a formidable brand name) and the strength of originality; granting access to celebrity exclusives, reporters’ scoops and popular columnists could persuade readers to pay extra for “premium content” not provided by other sources.

The other approach, announced at the end of last week, is as far removed from Murdoch’s strategy as he, or anyone else, could imagine. The London Evening Standard, owned by another business mogul of a different mould, Russian Alexander Lebedev, will soon ditch its 50p cover price altogether, distributing the newspaper for free, but with an increased circulation, thus potentially a greater readership and increased appeal for advertisers. With two opposing strategies at hand, is there a clear way to revive the media’s fortunes?

Unfortunately, though both are somewhat radical, they are also both gambles. Lebedev’s method is promising; from 12th October, his well-established London newspaper will not only be completely free for all, but also have a bolstered circulation, from roughly 250, 000 to 600, 000. It is probable-and presumably Lebedev’s ultimate aim-that the “Standard” will see a large increase in readers, and advertisers will respond accordingly, investing much precious revenue into the title once it has a bigger audience, and thus more influence on consumers.

Yet there are also pitfalls here. The newspaper no longer has paying customers, and thus the £15m it used to gain from these each year will instantly vanish. Furthermore, its reputation may suffer once it switches to “freesheet” status, being these are often associated with low quality journalism by the public. This could repel some of its traditional readership and even lose readers. What makes Lebedev’s move such a gamble, however, is that advertising is still in a slump, offering slim pickings; a bolstered readership may look attractive to advertisers, but whether they want to, or can afford to, invest more is uncertain. The newspaper is losing one source of revenue, may not definitely attract more readers, and advertising revenue as a form of funding may be something of the past.

Murdoch and News Corporation also have an uphill struggle on their hands; merely perusing comments on newspaper websites leaves the impression that a large proportion of consumers balk at the idea of paying for online news, and it may be the case that, rather than paying for exclusive content at say, the Sun, readers will simply seek their news, gossip, or comment elsewhere.Yet if Murdoch did persuade readers to pay online, and other media outfits followed suit in charging for content, a valuable new form of revenue would be established.

These two experiments may or may not succeed. More importantly, they will give an insight into whether paying readers or non-paying consumers (of advertising) are more valuable, and how to draw them in. We may find that Advertising vs. Payment is too narrow an argument; a variety of methods, used simultaneously, could be more effective.