The Royal Charter has killed the Fourth Estate

It is said that in 1787, the polemicist and prominent Whig Edmund Burke first made reference to the "illustrious nativity of the Fourth Estate" in a speech to the House of Commons. Though in context to our debates surrounding the place of journalism in British society, it is perhaps best to turn to Burke's contemporary Thomas Macaulay, who in reviewing Hallam's Constitutional History first made the case for the press as a system of accountability, stating: "The gallery in which the reporters sit has become a fourth estate of the realm."

Fast forward to 2013, and we have seen the most remarkable of transformations, as an institution whose modus operandi rests on independence becomes further compromised by the power of politics. As the Privy Council grants its royal charter on press regulation, accompanied by the Queen's seal of approval, the press will now have to face new obstacles when going about reporting.

The Sun's political columnist Trevor Kavanaugh has said of the new regulatory system: "If you put lipstick on a pig, it's still a pig", illustrating quite voraciously the difference in narrative between politicians and newspaper journalists. The former describe the Royal Charter as the 'best possible outcome' in abiding by Lord Leveson's recommendations which followed the Leveson Inquiry. The latter see it as sneaking statute, designed to give the political class more influence over the press, as Toby Young blogs on the Telegraph.

Both claims are exaggerated, but there still exists a potent danger. Indeed, the new system of regulation remains voluntary, but the fangs of the new regulatory model lie in the detail- in particular, the methods in which media organisations would be coerced into signing up to the Charter. In particular, this relates to the Crime and Courts act 2013 , which stipulates different treatments of media outlets depending on an 'approved regulator'. The snippet can be found in section 42, but I've posted the relevant segment here:

(3)For the purposes of subsection (2), a body is “recognised” as a regulator of relevant publishers if it is so recognised by any body established by Royal Charter (whether established before or after the coming into force of this section) with the purpose of carrying on activities relating to the recognition of independent regulators of relevant publishers.

(4)“Relevant claim” means a civil claim made in respect of any of the following—
(a)libel;
(b)slander;
(c)breach of confidence;
(d)misuse of private information;
(e)malicious falsehood;
(f)harassment.

The press have also suggested the charter is coercive on the basis that those who do not wish to join, such as Private Eye magazine, risk higher legal costs and exemplary pay-outs to claimants in the event that they are taken to court.

At the same time, the creeping authority of the charter is embedded in more discreet ways. Consider section 17 of schedule 3 under the stipulations of the charter:

17. The Board should not have the power to prevent publication of any material, by anyone, at any time although (in its discretion) it should be able to offer a service of advice to editors of subscribing publications relating to code compliance.

And when we consider in recent days that a number of high profile politicians, including the Prime Minister in which he posed a thinly vieled threat to The Guardian over it's NSA surveillance reporting, there is definitely a legitimate fear that politicians- and their interested affiliates, will be able to steer journalism at their own will.

A first reading of the charter illustrates not only the diminishing of the 'fourth estate' in its present state, but also the re-definition of journalism itself. What started as a legitimate inquiry into phone hacking and unethical practice- as well as legitimate debates regarding the strength of the Editor's code has instead become a battleground in which journalism is defined by the most powerful in society. Whether the press play by these new rules, or abstain completely is something we'll see in the coming few months, but I fear if they that satirical cover of Private Eye may instead become a haunting reality.

ULU were right to ban officials from remembrance day ceremonies

stephen_gunby via flickr.com

There's one image that remains prevalent from the now 'infamous' student riots of 2011.  
Charlie Gilmour, a Cambridge history undergraduate was snapped swinging from the Cenotaph-an act deemed of such disrespect that he was given a jail sentence of 16 months. Yet the message that the photograph conveyed was not simply a student's disregard for 'the glorious dead', but rather the underlining irreverence that student unions supposedly harbour toward Britain's military history.
 
The news that University of London Union (ULU) senate have voted to ban any staff attending remembrance day in their 'official capacity' has brought this sentiment up once more. Already, members of the Twitterati have resurrected Mcarthyist claims of universities controlled by Marxists. Even London MP Stella Creasy has got involved in the issue, tweeting: “As a former student, this decision by ULU to ban officers from participating in Remembrance Sunday makes me ashamed.”

Firstly, its important to note that the tweet significantly misrepresents the actuality of the situation; Officers of the ULU are allowed to attend ceremonies as individuals, but not in their official roles. Certainly, this is far from a blanket ban, never mind an exertion of hostility toward the armed forces. With that in mind, we should really be focusing on actual issue- whether it was right for ULU to ban any official representation. 

By and large, I feel that ULU got it right. 

As one of the largest unions in the country representing over 120,000 students, ULU has a unique pressure to reflect the vicarious diversity of its organisation. With that remit comes responsibilities, especially in decisions that assume collective representation. For the most part, such actions are implemented when the welfare or rights of students are under direct threat, a principle that forms the framework of the controversial 'No Platform' policy, as well as other initiatives designed to represent minority groups such as LGBT networks. In such situations, unions like ULU are justified in taking stances, particularly as they are bound to them by constitutional mandates and democratic accountability.

The obligation of collective representation cannot be said about events like remembrance day, especially if we are to accept ULU's duty as a democratically elected body. After all, considering the diversity of opinion surrounding war, the armed forces and memorialising across the country, should ULU be taking a stance in ample disregard of important- albeit smaller- clusters of student opinion? And if this is a valid precedent, then would we similarly support ULU if it claimed to represent its entire student body on national issues relating to Royal ceremonies, or the death of former Prime Ministers?
 
Here lies the real dilemma: While it's all well and good for self-aggrandised 'patriots' tacitly telling students that they should be forced to participate, collective representation actually dilutes the value of commemoration itself. Whether one chooses to commemorate in an official ceremony, a secular gathering or to abstain, acknowledging history should be left as an individual enterprise, instead of a predetermined action. If ULU president Michael Chessum wants to commemorate this weekend by “fighting for peace and challenging the policies of governments” he has every right to do so, in the same way that others can attend a memorial service, observe a two minute silence or not do anything at all.

Why ULU's decision- which strikes me as refreshingly democratic, has come under such intense scrutiny is quite confusing. Far from all the sensationalism and rhetoric, the vote conveys enacts the principle that no union staff member has the right to represent London's entire student body on issues where there are clear divides of opinion across the spectrum. In that case we should see ULU's decision not as deliberate way to antagonise, but rather a positive step forward in allowing students to choose how they remember the nation's darkest moments.