Busting Super-Injunctions On Twitter: Another Symptom Of An Over-Entitled Age

This weekend finds me in London, whirling around in the eye of the book launch storm and with very little opportunity to keep track of what’s making news in the world of technology.

Fortunately here in the UK there’s one tech story that’s impossible to miss: an anonymous Twitter user has been posting details of legal injunctions, taken out by celebrities to keep their alleged misdeeds out of the public eye.

Inevitably, a debate is raging both in the traditional press and online: does Twitter render so-called “super injunctions” redundant? What’s the value in gagging a newspaper when the same allegations can be published anonymously online with impunity? Is there a place for secrecy in today’s open and connected world?

It’s a subject in which I’ve long had an interest. As I wrote last month, I was once threatened with jail after I broke a super-injunction online to demonstrate that, in the Internet era, gagging orders (which only cover the UK, and so are unenforceable against, say, Twitter) aren’t worth the paper they’re written on.

Given that history, you might assume that I’d be all in favour of the current flurry of leaks. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Call it growing up (almost a decade has passed since my near-run-in with the High Court), call it post-Wikileaks-fatigue, call it whatever you like: the fact is I have almost no sympathy left for the idea notion that just because something can be published, it should be.

Much of my objection stems from the language of the proponents of openness. In almost all cases, from the Twitter injunction-busters to the Wikileakers, we hear the same justifications: “sunlight is the best disinfectant”, “the public has a right to know”, “innocent people have nothing to hide”. Oh please. Let’s at least call a voyeuristic spade a spade. The majority of the people couldn’t give a damn about the public interest, or of disinfecting public life: they just want to know what rich and powerful people do behind closed doors.

That attitude reached its ghoulish nadir after the killing of Osama Bin Laden. “We have the right to see the photos of his body,” cried the entitled masses – the Twitterers, the bloggers, the news media. To which I have to respond: why? Given the risk of further inflaming tensions, and of crass Photoshop stunts, and countless other arguments for blocking the publication of graphic images of the corpse of a terrorist, what exact right do we have to demand that the US Government upload them to Flickr? Simply because they exist? Simply because we have a mawkish fascination – and don’t let’s pretend it goes any further than that for most people – with what a celebrity terrorist with his eye blown out looks like?

(“But without the photos, we can’t get closure,” wail the openness advocates “we can’t be sure he’s dead.” Sure. As if seeing a photograph is proof of anything any more. Al-Qaeda say he’s dead; the government says he’s dead; senators on the other side of the aisle say he’s dead. He’s dead. Closure accomplished.)

Even accepting that some people’s interest in injunction-breaking and photo-publishing goes beyond the voyeuristic, doesn’t make their reasoning any more sound. Those supporting the breaking of injunctions on Twitter frequently make a public interest argument: what right do celebrities have to cover up their bad behavior? Well, for one thing, not every injunction is an example of a guilty celebrity using the law to cover up a sordid affair. Injunctions are frequently used by high-profile people to prevent the publication of malicious and untrue allegations which would destroy families and ruin reputations. In those cases, it’s no use suing for libel after the fact. Anyone who thinks that “the public” (whoever they are) will hear an allegation and not assume it’s basically true is living in a fantasy land.

Even where there is a genuine story being covered up, it’s still far from given that just because someone is, say, a famous footballer or TV personality that they have surrendered the right to a private life; particularly when the privacy of their family is also threatened.

And even in cases with a stronger public-interest – the Bin Laden photos, the Wikileaks allegations – the notion that everything should be shared with the people and the press is dangerous and disingenuous. I’ve written before about how Wikileaks damaged the ability of diplomats to do their job in return for – what? – showing that American and British diplomats aren’t all that corrupt at all, actually. Great.

The truth is that, at some point in the past decade or so, an idea grew to maturity that secrets are inherently bad: that the public has a right to know every detail about everything so that we might make our own judgement on it. If anyone in a position of power or influence – a celebrity, a government minister, a spy – writes a document or takes a photograph, we have the right to see it and comment on it.

It’s perhaps no coincidence that this era of entitlement coincides with an era in which we are entitled to comment on every other damn thing in the universe. A world in which everyone is a book reviewer, or a film critic. A time when no news programme is complete without inviting the viewer to share their opinion and no news article truly comprehensive until the comments of readers have been taken into account.

Is it any wonder – when we’re constantly being told that our opinion is as valid as that of experts, or ministers or journalists or any number of people who are actually paid and trained to make decisions or provide analysis – that we’ve come to assume that we’re entitled to know or see everything, no matter how private, sordid or distasteful?