Over the past couple of days I have been moved to look into something called Operation Yellowhammer, which appears to be the name given to some branch of our government’s no-deal Brexit planning. See reference 1 for first notice.
The existence of such an operation was reasonably reliably signalled by a Treasury Minister carelessly revealing the top of a document while going into a meeting, captured by a photo journalist in the vicinity. A little later we get a document on the Internet purporting to come from the heart of the operation.
One trouble with this document being that all provenance and formatting has been stripped out; all we get is the bare text. A proceeding which protects the source but which also makes one wonder about whether the document is what it purports to be. A problem which will be familiar to spies everywhere, certainly to those appearing in le Carré novels. Presumably also to the people running Wikileaks – although I know nothing about them, apart from the unsavoury antics of their former leader.
Let us suppose that what we have is the bare text taken from a digital draft of document A for committee of government B, leaked by person C, close to the committee, to well known journalist D, who publishes it on website E. Journalist D claims journalistic privilege and refuses to reveal his source, a privilege for which he might ultimately go to jail, if the government choose to press the matter. Jail apart, this chain from A to E throws up all kinds of issues, a few of which are enumerated, in no particular order, in what follows.
The draft of document A might be an early draft. The work of some over enthusiastic young policy wonk which did not, in the event, see the light of day. So all we really have is what said wonk thought ought to be said or thought that his masters might be persuaded to say. Not what was actually was said. It is true that these thoughts of the policy wonk might be interesting, might be indicative of the weather, as it were, in the relevant part of government – but they do not carry the weight of those in a document which has been promulgated in the proper way.
And at worst, they might be a straightforward fabrication by some mischief maker. Perhaps a mischief maker in the employ of some unsavoury special interest group – like the owner of a very big tax haven – or some foreign government which does not have our interests at heart.
We can try to check whether committee B really exists. Sometimes the existence of these committees is public knowledge. Sometimes we can find some reliable person who will confirm the existence and purpose, evidence in favour of our text. A reliable person who is willing to provide this confirmation but who is not willing to be involved in any kind of leak in a more active way.
Similarly, we can try to check whether person C really exists and bears some plausible relation to committee B. Perhaps he – or she – is the cleaner responsible for the relevant committee room and has trawled through the contents of the waste paper bins. Or is the clerk charged with disposal of the committee's confidential waste.
Person C has very likely been guilty of breach of trust, at the very least. How much money has changed hands? Do we want to be associated with, make use of such a person, public interest or not? Or do we apply the US rule that we cannot use evidence that is tainted in this way? A rule which is not without its merits.
And then there is the journalist D. Perhaps he is our favourite columnist from the Guardian, a chap whom we have been reading for years. A chap who might actually write under a pseudonym and might not actually be an individual at all. Is he a William Hickey? He might actually be a shifting team of hacks on zero hours contracts. Do we really want to put serious trust into such a person? And even if he really is a real person, do we trust his choice and management of all the research assistants who do all his donkey work? Is he all to apt to spend his lunch times in the pub and not be too bothered about checking their work when he gets back?
And then we have website E. How can we be sure that this is the website of journalist D? How can we be sure that the whole thing is not a spoof which D has not had time or occasion to deny any involvement with? And even if we were able to check with journalist D, would our checking have much traction compared with the excitement of our text. As the owners of Facebook know perfectly well, fascinating lies generate far more revenue generating clicks than dull truths.
And lastly we have the protection of the law, which surely rules against the publication of untruths, against the publication of lies. Surely we can trust that law, just like we trust lawyers.
All of which diverts attention from the substance of the text in question.
Which we can get back to by thinking about the extent to which the text confirms what we already knew. If 90% of the document is corroborated by other sources, perhaps we can trust the other 10%? Or has the other 10% been cunningly planted in among the real stuff to confuse us? Or is the text just a leak from government, just a deniable testing of the public waters? Which takes us back to all the issues raised above.
And round and round we go.
Reference 1: http://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/08/worried-of-epsom.html.
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