Comment by Peter Reid
Tough new press rules in the UK to protect privacy and curb smut-hounds have fuelled debate about whether Australia should adopt similar safeguards.
Intimidation and harassment by photographers and journalists are banned under a new code of practice drawn up by Britain's Press Complaints Commission, following the death of Diana, Princess of Wales.
Effective this month, the guidelines forbid the use of long-lens cameras to snap individuals without consent. As well, newspaper and magazine editors undertake not to publish photographs taken by "persistent pursuit".
The code also upholds for the first time in press guidelines the right to privacy for everyone, with respect accorded an individual's family, home, health and personal correspondence.
The aim of the code, hailed as the most stringent in Europe, is to protect rights of the individual while sanctioning the public's right to know.
But since the new rules are voluntary, drafted by editors for editors, it's anyone's guess how effective they'll be in restraining the rottweilers of Britain's notorious tabloids.
Self-regulation
In Australia, complaints about media intrusion and similar lapses during the past year raised concerns about whether the industry's watchdogs and codes of practice are adequate to protect personal privacy.
The UK's crackdown on press intrusion might not have happened if a princess pursued by paparazzi hadn't met a violent end, but post-Diana sentiment isn't as strong in Australia and it's odds on that press proprietors and editors here would baulk at any proposal to follow suit.
They'd doubtless insist, with good cause, that our present-day press isn't anywhere near as bad as Britain's muck-rakers. Moreover, the present system of press self-regulation works satisfactorily (for them) so any toughening of ethical codes simply wouldn't be justified. Or would it?
To be sure, there's no shortage of media sentinels, replete with lofty charters and codes of conduct, to maintain industry standards in this country. In all, six watchdogs ride shotgun on both the print and broadcast media, including the ABC and SBS.
They oversee the ethical conduct of the journalists and editorial bigwigs who produce what we read in most newspapers and magazines, plus news and current affairs programs on television and radio. Not surprisingly, these self-regulatory bodies believe they function well. Their critics think otherwise.
Take the most influential of them, the Australian Press Council (APC), self-styled "pre-eminent defender of the free media". Set up and funded by the newspaper industry 20 years ago, its chief roles are twofold: to preserve freedom of the press and, as ombudsman, to adjudicate on complaints brought to it by the public against newspapers and magazines.
The APC deals with a medley of complaints about breaches of ethics including false reporting, invasion of privacy, unfair treatment, inaccuracy and misrepresentation, bias and racism. Oddly enough, an APC-commissioned survey revealed the principle which the council seems to cherish most — freedom of the press — drew less than 2% of all complaints.
As well as admirers in the industry, the APC has its share of detractors. Kerry Packer spurned it as "window dressing". ABC-TV's Media Watch presenter, Stuart Littlemore, branded it a lap-dog rather than a watchdog. Others see the council as something of a rubber-toothed apologist for the press, lacking the bite to deal effectively with readers' complaints.
Rubber-toothed apologist
For starters, though the council has its own broad principles, it lays down no rules by which newspapers and magazines should govern themselves.
As well, the APC has no punitive powers beyond that of publicly announcing its findings. The council's authority relies solely on proprietors and editors willing to admit mistakes by publishing its adjudications on complaints, particularly when such judgments are critical of their own journals. But in practice, the process has flaws.
A case in point: the Sydney Daily Telegraph's publication of long-lens sneak photographs of Liberal Senator Dr Bob Woods and his wife in private conversation in the backyard of their home last year. The Telegraph devoted its entire front page and page three to the photos and text.
Inquiring into a public complaint about the photos, the council noted they were taken while Woods was being investigated by federal police over allegations he had rorted his parliamentary expenses. He was also emerging from a relationship with a woman who was a Liberal Party worker, and he'd since returned to the family home.
The headline accompanying photos of the couple snapped in an apparently private and emotional conversation read, "In the garden of their home, a senator and his wife confront a scandal ... ".
In its defence, the Telegraph pointed out that since there wasn't any trespass, the photos were legal. Moreover, it said, Senator Woods was a public figure involved in issues of public interest.
The Press Council agreed the Telegraph was entitled to explore such matters journalistically. But it ruled the public's right to know did not extend to a right to publish the sneak photos, branding them "a blatant example of an unjustified breach of privacy".
What followed next exposed an inherent weakness in the council's complaints process, on which rests the essence of its moral authority. Since it has no power to penalise or order newspapers to do anything, the council counts on their cooperation not only to publish its adjudications on complaints but also to give them prominence. This applies, in particular, to a newspaper or magazine against which the council has upheld a complaint.
As it happened, the Daily Telegraph duly published the council adjudication. But though it had splashed the sneak photos, plus headlines and text across pages one and three, it buried the adjudication on page 22.
How many readers would have bothered to read a few hundred words laced with legalese under a bland and ambiguous headline "Press Council rules" tucked away at bottom of the page?
Interestingly, the APC's set of principles has no definition of so-called "prominence" so editorial top brass can suit themselves. Moreover, there's no onus on them to run, in full, an adjudication critical of them. As well, there's apparently nothing to prevent editors even toning down the adjudication with extra wording to bolster their defence.
Some media commentators argue that for adjudications to be fully effective they should be not only published verbatim, but also given prominence comparable to the offending material.
If the impact on readers of adjudications can he significantly minimised by inconspicuous placement instead of prominence, it's perhaps hardly surprising that in an APC survey of complainants a majority of respondents perceived the council as biased towards the press.
Clearly, the Press Council could strengthen its code to ensure stricter compliance. It could also grant the public at least equal, or better still, majority representation to that of industry members on the council.
Such reforms might go a long way to earning the council wider respect and acceptance as our foremost media watchdog — with bite to match its bark.
[Peter Reid is a former executive producer of Four Corners and director of ABC-TV public affairs programs.]