The press
'Tiny' rocks the boat
Paul Johnson
I have always thought that that remark about 'the unacceptable face of capitalism' told us more about Edward Heath than Tiny Rowland; such as, for instance, that Heath did not know what capitalism was all about and that he was not a suitable person to run a Conservative government. The essence of capitalism is the highlyCompetitive pursuit of self-interest (from Which the communal interest ultimately benefits), and it is the persistent British belief that the system can be run in a genteel manner which has put us near the bottom of the economic league. Rowland has created a successful international business in the face of sneering obstruction from wet City People and Tory pseudo-squires. The economy needs more, not fewer, Tinys; and that may well go for Fleet Street, too. Last week, the Observer establishment learnt the hard way that there is no such thing as a free lunch. When Kenneth Harris first silkily introduced Robert Anderson, boss of Atlantic-Richfield, into the Observer sheepfold, everyone there thought that the newspaper's troubles were over — especially as most of them got a rise, David Astor, who inherited an innocent streak from his mother — when she called on Stalin, she asked him to help her find suitable Russian chambermaids— was fond Of referring to Anderson as a `Renaissance prince', forgetting that the Medicis did not play cricket. In fact Anderson is a capitalist like any other: he wants something for his money. Being wheeled in to see the Prime Minister from time to time was not enough. When the Observer board refused to appoint his good friend Mr Harris as its deputy-chairman, he decided to pull out of the enterprise. As Roy Thomson used to say, the question that Counts is: 'Who owns the equity?' Anderson did, and exercised his rights. It was just a matter of a few telephone calls, leaving Mr Harris the dubious pleasure of making the final one to tell the Observer what had happened. Tiny, who also favours speed and secrecy, helped to make the deal one of the neatest in Fleet Street history. To be sure, one of Tiny's co-directors did not quite 'twig', as he would put it. Old Sir George Bolton, aroused by importunate reporters, said some rum things; but at least that gave a Lonrho colleague the chance to deliver the one good line in the show: 'If you are 82 years old and in bed, you can make mistakes.'
It is no bad practice for newspapers to change hands from time to time. When it happens, it is best done quickly and without public argument. The Observer coup d'6tat was an impressive contrast to the noisy, protracted and inevitably damaging dispute over Times Newspapers. No doubt the journalists, who can never be persuaded that it is in their best interests to keep clear of management affairs, will be disgruntled to begin with. But if Tiny wants to cheer them up, he can always throw Mr Harris to the wolves.
As for editorial freedom, I can well believe that the Observer will now hesitate before attacking Lonrho. But when, in the last few years, has it attacked Atlantic' Richfield? No amount of moral exegesis, of which Observer writers are skilful practitioners, will persuade me that there is any essential difference between being owned by an international oil company and being owned by Tiny. There is no such thing as total editorial freedom. Until quite recently, most Fleet Street newspapers had standing instructions that any mention of another paper's proprietor, let alone their own, had to be cleared at top level. The old Daily Herald used to have endless trouble with TUC and Labour Party bosses, and the current row between Labour Weekly and the shadow cabinet over attacks on the Royal Family indicates that if the unions ever do launch their daily, they will face exactly the same sort of problem.
The best guarantee of editorial freedom rests in competition, and in mutual distrust or hatred between proprietors, of which there is plenty in Fleet Street at present. In newspapers, professional aggression is the father of truth. When I was in Washington last year I noticed that neither the Washington Post nor the New York Times were keen on the Billy Carter-Libyan story to begin with; it was the 'determination of the non-establishment Washington Star, to give it everything, which forced the other two to follow suit.
In Britain we are fortunate in having so many fiercely competitive national papers. Obviously the Observer is not going to pioneer an exposé of Lonrho. That can safely be left to the Sunday Times and the Sunday Telegraph. If Murdoch's airline gets into trouble, the Observer will he eager to reciprocate the compliment. The Daily Express may not tell us about Trafalgar House. But the Daily Mail and the Daily Mirror will. If Lord Rothermere needs kicking, the Daily Express and others will he happy to oblige. We are not going to read juicy bits about Cavenham in Now! But the rest of Fleet Street will take good care we are kept informed. If there is a boardroom row in Peterborough Court or Holborn Circus or Bracken House, we may not turn first to the Daily Telegraph or the Daily Mirror or the Financial Times. But there are half a dozen neighbourly sheets which will be only too happy to tell us all about it. Truth lies in a multiplicity of voices, and the freedom of the press rests on a variety of employers.
The Outrams-Observer merger completes the reshuffling of Fleet Street into five major groups, the others being 'IPC, Associated, Murdoch and ExpressTrafalgar House. But the national pattern of power is changing, principally because the provincial groups are becoming bolder. They are getting advanced technology much faster than Fleet Street and thus improving their profitability. Outrams' new Glasgow plant is a case in point. The new processes are a tremendous temptation to daring men to found newspapers, and that is why competition is increasing. Wailings about the dangers of monopoly are thus wide of the mark. Or rather, there is a monopoly in Fleet Street which works very much against the public interest – the labour monopoly, exercised by the mechanical unions. But that is another story, to which I shall return.
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