All the World's Birds

On 17 August 2012 the Huffington Post published an article recording what had taken place in the UK in connection with a sealed letter said to have been handed by ‘moors murderer’ Ian Brady to his legal advocate, Jackie Powell. If you’re not familiar with this story, you can read it here: http://huff.to/OY4R1v.

What the Huffington Post article doesn’t record is that the police raided the home of Brady’s advocate only after an outcry in the UK national press.

In an interview published in the Sunday Times a few days ago, Powell claimed that the whole affair might have been instigated by broadcaster Channel 4 to promote its documentary about Ian Brady, scheduled for screening this week. Powell said that she told police about the sealed letter two weeks prior to their raid on her home. Her implication is that the police only reacted in the way they did because of the national outrage conjured up by the media. The idea that the letter might reveal the location of the remains of Ian Brady’s one remaining undiscovered child victim was suggested by the broadcaster, then repeated by the tabloids. It resulted in a public cry for action: “Why hadn’t the police done something about it?”

As Powell underlined, Ian Brady is a highly intelligent, manipulative character. She told the Sunday Times that in her view, as a trained clinical psychologist, it was likely that the letter was a ruse by Brady to focus attention  onto his request to be moved away from the institution where he has been incarcerated for many years. As his legal advocate, Powell was unable to open the letter, since Ian Brady had specified that it should only be opened after his death. However, if she believed the letter could contain information pertaining to a crime, she was legally obliged to reveal its existence. So Powell told the police about it; and she told Channel 4 about it in the documentary.

Because of supposition, rumour and half-truths, Powell was subsequently hounded by the media, subjected to a humiliating police search in her own home in front of her teenage son, and allegedly verbally abused by a police officer during the search. Powell claimed to be so upset by the whole affair, and so rigorously pursued by the press, that she was forced to go into hiding. Once again, the media had dictated events. They decided that: “Something has to be done.” So it was, with a vengeance, and with scant regard for first establishing the facts.

It is tempting for writers to be pleased when real-world events mirror their own fiction. On the day I launched my novel ‘Web of Deceit’ last week, a woman was trapped overnight on cliffs near Porth Dinllaen in North Wales. This happens in my own story! But more sinister is that in the novel the main character is portrayed in the UK national press as a despicable figure who has to hide away. Further, a heavy-handed police raid is carried out on the home of an innocent woman. These coincidences are by no means happy.

I set my novel in 1999. Now, here we are, 13 years on, with the Leveson enquiry continuing its investigation into the UK press phone-hacking scandal, still permitting the media to tell us what to think and how to react. And the fact that the UK police is not immune from outbreaks of national paranoia must surely be a cause of concern for every citizen.

I woke up this morning with a vision of the future in my brain. I had been dreaming about a news programme on TV. But it was totally unlike any news channels that are currently broadcast … or was it?

The format was unusual, for two reasons. First, there was a studio audience. Second, the news was read out as headlines. Each time a headline was read out, the audience would react.

As is the nature of dreams, I can’t remember the detail (except for the final news item, which woke me up). But the format went something like this:

Male newsreader (I remember, this was an American news show):

‘Michael Phelps, the US swimmer, has become the first sportsman in Olympic history to win 19 gold medals.’

Enthusiastic cheering, whistling and hooting from the studio audience.

Female newsreader:

‘The court-martial of the muslim accused of killing 13 people is postponed while an appeals court decides whether he can be forcibly shaved.’

Studio audience: ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ ‘Outrage!’

Male newsreader:

‘Julian Assange, the WikiLeaks founder, has been granted asylum by Ecuador.’

Cries of ‘No’ and ‘Shame!’ from the audience. Along with: ‘Where the **** is Ecuador?’

You get the picture. The last news item by the way (the one that woke me up) was about a device used in the US to verify that a message from the president is actually from the president. [Don’t ask me how it works. It looked like a reading light attached to a briefcase!] Anyway, the news was that the UK government had asked if it could borrow it. The audience reaction was similar to the second news item.

So, why have I bothered to record all this? Well, you might have noticed that each item was broadcast in 140 characters or fewer. And the audience reaction was instant, passionate and full of righteous indignation, expressing an opinion based on very little factual input. Does this remind you of anything?

The hundreds of Irish people clustered in front of giant Screen 4 at BT Live in Hyde Park were anticipating a golden moment. Thanks to the generosity of telecommunications provider BT and its co-sponsors, they had together just witnessed boxer Katie Taylor win Ireland’s first, and perhaps only gold medal of the London 2012 Olympic Games. It was late afternoon on Thursday 9 August, Day 13 of the games. Now, clutching their Irish flags and basking in the warm early evening sunshine, the crowd waited eagerly for the medal ceremony. This was going to be their “I was there” moment of the Olympics. They would stand proudly, sing along to the Republic of Ireland’s national anthem, and celebrate with their fellow countrymen.

The crowd wait expectantly to celebrate the medal ceremony for their golden girl Katie Taylor

I imagine, as they waited patiently for that medal ceremony, that most gathered in front of Screen 4 were feeling pretty good about BT: for organising this wonderful outdoor show and providing the opportunity, not only for tourists from Ireland but also Irish people from across London and other parts of the country, to come here for free and celebrate together.

The medal ceremony for the women’s lightweight boxing was announced. The podium was clearly visible in the centre of the ring. Twenty minutes or so earlier the crowd had watched the ceremony for the British gold medal winner of the women’s flyweight competition, and had applauded and cheered her. But this was going to be different. This was going to be their own girl, their own Katie Taylor from Ireland. The excitement was palpable.

Then, just as the medallists were about to emerge and take their positions in the ring, the screen changed to the London 2012 logo, followed by a succession of advertisements for BT and its sponsors. The crowd couldn’t believe it. Surely this must be a mistake. Heads turned towards the BT Live media control centre over on the far side of the arena. Boos rang out. “Give us back our live feed. Let us see Katie get her gold medal. We want to sing our national anthem.” It was like we’d all been invited to a fantastic New Year’s Eve party, and then someone had switched off the music at five minutes to midnight and told everyone to go home.*

Personally I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. A feeling of helplessness overwhelmed us all. Some faceless apparatchik in the Media Control Centre had decided we shouldn’t have our “I was there” moment. More boos rang out across the park. One man threw an empty plastic glass at the screen in sheer frustration. It was inevitable that comparisons would be made. It was fine to show the Team GB girl being awarded her gold medal, but not the girl from Ireland. Now the Irish people felt hostile. They, like me, probably left the BT Live arena thinking ill of BT and its co-sponsors.

Trying to analyse what happened dispassionately, I would say that at first a fear, and then a dawning realisation came upon us all that there was nothing we could do about the situation. There was no one to complain to, nobody to reason with. As the seconds ticked by and advert after advert appeared on the screen, we felt powerless to change what was happening. All we could do was boo. We couldn’t grab the remote control from whoever was denying us our moment of supreme London 2012 delight. There was no ‘rewind’ button. This moment was passing and there was nothing more we could do. The Media Control Centre was indeed in control, deciding what we should and shouldn’t see, and what we should and shouldn’t celebrate. In the electronic, highly connected world that we now inhabit, this was an apt and strangely troubling metaphor for our everyday lives. Although the internet and social networking tools are enabling us, to some extent, to bypass traditional methods of media control, we are still dependent for much of our ‘raw data’ and day-to-day experiences on whatever the media choose to deliver to us.

* The reason for BT Live’s action was almost certainly because Team GB’s Victoria Pendleton was being brought onto the main stage. But the timing was unfortunate, to say the least. It resulted in Victoria being greeted by raucous booing from one quarter of the arena. Not the BT Live organisers’ finest hour.