Ian Bell's column seemed to be suggesting that there is some reluctance for the media to give us the full perspective about the risks of disaster from AIDs or Bird Flu. I couldn't read between the
lines well enough to understand the form that political pressure was taking though. Perhaps the column has been censored. Anyway the article also has some interesting snippets about suggestions of past bouts of press censorship.
Based on an article by Ian Bell from The Sunday Herald
Years ago, I had my one and only brush with the D-notice system, that informal arrangement by which the government persuaded the media to
censor themselves. A reporter in my charge with a well-developed suspicious streak had been spotted crawling through the undergrowth near a Scottish military installation. Now, here was a retired admiral on the line asking if I would mind terribly
advising the chap on the fine print in the Official Secrets Act.
My then-editor was on the D-notice committee and had already been nobbled, so there wasn’t much point in arguing. The story hadn’t come to much in any case, and all I had to show
for it was my own souvenir folder of D-notices dealing with old and very dull news. Over the years, though, I’ve wondered about the incident.
Our intrepid hack hadn’t found anything sensational, yet why had a very posh retired admiral warned us
off? Had we missed something, or was the old boy simply following the habits of a lifetime, and of British officialdom down the decades? Was he merely justifying his wages or acting in the country’s best interests? And what would we have done if we’d
discovered fishy goings-on?
Editors face these questions more often than the public probably realises. To some, in certain circumstances, a duty to the truth can seem like an excuse for irresponsibility. Another case in point: back in the 1980s,
riots were sweeping England. Officially, nothing much was happening in Scotland. Unofficially, some of us knew that there had been serious trouble on some Scottish housing schemes. The papers wouldn’t touch the story. The authorities had decided that
coverage might lead to “copy-cat violence” – an odd point of view, since the violence was already happening – and editors had agreed with them.
You could have called it a cover-up; you might equally have called it common sense. One truth was that
Scotland had not been immune to the trouble; another was that editors did not want to give young people ideas and add to the trouble.
The tale of Scotland’s struggle with sectarianism followed a similar pattern for a long time. Why was it a
“secret shame”? In part because editors believed that if they gave prominence to the issue of bigotry there was a risk, a real one they thought, of importing Northern Ireland’s troubles to the central belt. Given that this often-feared development never
occurred in any serious way, credit could be claimed for self-censorship. It remains the case, nevertheless, that Scotland shied away from the problem of religious hatred for years, in part because some people chose to be “responsible”.
It cuts
both ways. A large part of Africa’s population is being destroyed by HIV/Aids because the story has been told too slowly and too late. Why so? Because the victims are black, poor, far away and suffering from a complex of diseases misrepresented for two
decades by a press keener to talk about gay plagues than about poverty and education.
The media, obviously enough, cannot tell every story. It is a fact of life, equally, that all governments try to hide the truth from their populations,
sometimes for good reasons, sometimes for bad, and sometimes because they see no other choice. People know as much, and expect nothing else. A government without secrets would, in all probability, be governing badly. So we make a judgement. Was it
necessary to deceive us over the Iraq war? Not in any rational sense. In fact, if Bush and Blair had simply said that removing genocidal monsters is always a just cause, a few more people might have supported them.
In a small way, I’ve just
tested the proposition. Epidemiologists have been predicting a devastating influenza outbreak for some time. The 1918 onslaught of Spanish flu may be a dimming folk memory, but it killed perhaps 50 million people. The pandemics of 1957 and 1967 were
slight by comparison, but many still died. According to some scientists, unstoppable outbreaks of flu occur on average every 30 years. We’re due, and “bird flu” – the avian influenza virus known as H5N1 – looks like a candidate.
So far, only 50
people have died in southeast Asia and there is no evidence that the virus can be transmitted from one person to another. Equally, there is no evidence that the nature of the virus will not change, making a pandemic affecting perhaps 20% of the world’s
population inevitable. This is a flu against which our bodies have, as yet, no immunity, and against which we have no vaccines. According to expert articles published in last week’s edition of the journal Nature, official planning is inadequate while
actual preparations are patchy. The threat is of a global nature and will need a global response. That isn’t happening.
If the experts are to be believed, in any case, this may be the time to panic somewhat. Professor Albert Osterhaus, the Dutch
virologist who contributed to Nature, is in no doubt: where the pandemic is concerned it is a matter of when, not if. He is desperate to force governments to understand the nature of the threat. If H5N1 is mutating now, he claims, we are in big trouble.
He also describes the prediction that 7.5 million could die as “optimistic”.
You can’t make rules about the truth, least of all in the media. If we were facing what the biologists call an extinction event, foreknowledge would be irrelevant. What
could you do other than pull the blankets over your head? In the case of avian flu, according to those who understand it best, the first problem is one of political will. Even at the risk of panic, people need information if they are to put pressure on
their leaders.
It won’t help the cornflakes go down more easily. It won’t help the sun shine more brightly. For those of us who remember the great nuclear stand-off of the cold war, it might mean a return to wondering idly what, if anything, we
might do if the worst did happen. But the greatest glory of journalism is its ability to get politicians off their backsides. That seems the obvious course now. Where H5NI is concerned, publish and damn them.