The Listening Post

The 10th anniversary of the US invasion of Iraq has prompted some to reflect on a decade that began with the fall of a dictator but descended into a maelstrom of deadly violence. Benefiting from a heavy dose of hindsight the world has been asking “what went wrong?” Some of the soul-searching has been by the media itself. A handful of journalists have admitted to misjudgements in the run-up to the invasion – but is owning up to a mistake the same as questioning your culpability? As the US government beat the drums for war, journalists, commentators and TV anchors did more than just report the news they played along, taking dubious intelligence as fact and waving the flag when more of them should have been raising alarm bells. How can journalists be a check on power if they cannot admit to a collective capitulation of their duty to question? And if the media cannot admit to their failings, whither the next ill-advised military adventure, when the drums sound once again.

The 10th anniversary of the US invasion of Iraq has prompted some to reflect on a decade that began with the fall of a dictator but descended into a maelstrom of deadly violence. Benefiting from a heavy dose of hindsight the world has been asking “what went wrong?” Some of the soul-searching has been by the media itself. A handful of journalists have admitted to misjudgements in the run-up to the invasion – but is owning up to a mistake the same as questioning your culpability? As the US government beat the drums for war, journalists, commentators and TV anchors did more than just report the news they played along, taking dubious intelligence as fact and waving the flag when more of them should have been raising alarm bells. How can journalists be a check on power if they cannot admit to a collective capitulation of their duty to question? And if the media cannot admit to their failings, whither the next ill-advised military adventure, when the drums sound once again.

It’s the scandal that ripped through Rupert Murdoch’s media empire and the British political establishment. And this week, it ended with the creation of a regulatory body designed to curb the excesses of Britain’s print journalists - the first change to how Britain’s press is checked in more than 300 years. The new media watchdog comes after a lengthy Leveson inquiry – set up in the wake of the phone hacking scandal – which recommended an independent body backed by legislation. On our lead story this week, we discuss the future of the British press with Stig Abell, the former director of the Press Complaints Commission; author Dan Hind; Natalie Fenton, a media professor; and Kirsty Hughes, the chief executive, Index on Censorship.

It’s the scandal that ripped through Rupert Murdoch’s media empire and the British political establishment. And this week, it ended with the creation of a regulatory body designed to curb the excesses of Britain’s print journalists - the first change to how Britain’s press is checked in more than 300 years. The new media watchdog comes after a lengthy Leveson inquiry – set up in the wake of the phone hacking scandal – which recommended an independent body backed by legislation. On our lead story this week, we discuss the future of the British press with Stig Abell, the former director of the Press Complaints Commission; author Dan Hind; Natalie Fenton, a media professor; and Kirsty Hughes, the chief executive, Index on Censorship.

March 5, 2013, marked the end of President Hugo Chavez's 14 year reign over Venezuela, but his image lives on, everywhere. Depending on which news outlet you follow, Chavez is remembered as a dictator and a tyrant, or a charismatic visionary leader who stood up to the West. His media coverage seems as divided in death, as it was in life.

March 5, 2013, marked the end of President Hugo Chavez's 14 year reign over Venezuela, but his image lives on, everywhere. Depending on which news outlet you follow, Chavez is remembered as a dictator and a tyrant, or a charismatic visionary leader who stood up to the West. His media coverage seems as divided in death, as it was in life.

US Private Bradley Manning is no longer the alleged source of all those documents to WikiLeaks. According to his own testimony, delivered before a military court on February 28, Manning was the source - nothing alleged about it. In a pre-trial hearing for the first time, Manning admitted that he broke the law when he released around 700,000 government documents to WikiLeaks but these lesser charges did not satisfy the United States government. Calling more than 100 witnesses - some anonymously and in closed hearings - prosecutors will argue that Manning's leak put national security and lives at risk by ‘aiding the enemy'. If convicted, Manning - the traitor, could face life without parole but what of Manning - the whistleblower?

US Private Bradley Manning is no longer the alleged source of all those documents to WikiLeaks. According to his own testimony, delivered before a military court on February 28, Manning was the source - nothing alleged about it. In a pre-trial hearing for the first time, Manning admitted that he broke the law when he released around 700,000 government documents to WikiLeaks but these lesser charges did not satisfy the United States government. Calling more than 100 witnesses - some anonymously and in closed hearings - prosecutors will argue that Manning's leak put national security and lives at risk by ‘aiding the enemy'. If convicted, Manning - the traitor, could face life without parole but what of Manning - the whistleblower?

We look at the media landscape in a country where covering the opposition amounts to political extremism.

In 1971, Bangladesh declared independence from Pakistan and fought a bloody war to establish itself as a fledgling nation. More than four decades on, a country born out of troubles and bloodshed is experiencing growing pains. A war crimes tribunal that was meant to bring closure has instead brought old wounds back to haunt a new generation. At the heart of the story is the country's main opposition party, the Jamaat-e-Islami.

In 1971, Bangladesh declared independence from Pakistan and fought a bloody war to establish itself as a fledgling nation. More than four decades on, a country born out of troubles and bloodshed is experiencing growing pains. A war crimes tribunal that was meant to bring closure has instead brought old wounds back to haunt a new generation. At the heart of the story is the country's main opposition party, the Jamaat-e-Islami.

This week we focus on Israel and the story about one prisoner that revealed multiple layers of censorship. Prisoner X was a suspected Mossad operative-turned-double agent who, in 2010, reportedly committed suicide in an Israeli jail. In cases deemed too sensitive or a threat to national security, the Israeli government can issue gag orders that prevent the media from covering the story, which is what it did in the case of Prisoner X. But on February 12, the Australian network ABC News released a report revealing the prisoners real name - Ben Zygier – and details of his time in Israel. Grappling to contain the story, the Israeli government issued another gag order to prevent the Israeli media from citing international coverage. But with the story accessible to Israelis via social media, the order proved defunct. To discuss what this case reveals about Israeli censorship in the age of new media, we speak with Ian Black, the Middle East editor for The Guardian; Ronen Bergman, the senior correspondent for Military and Intelligence Affairs for the Yedioth Ahronoth newspaper; Tehilla Shwartz Altshuler, the head of Media Reform project at Israel Democracy Institute; and Noam Sheizaf, a journalist who writes for +972 Magazine.

This week we focus on Israel and the story about one prisoner that revealed multiple layers of censorship. Prisoner X was a suspected Mossad operative-turned-double agent who, in 2010, reportedly committed suicide in an Israeli jail. In cases deemed too sensitive or a threat to national security, the Israeli government can issue gag orders that prevent the media from covering the story, which is what it did in the case of Prisoner X. But on February 12, the Australian network ABC News released a report revealing the prisoners real name - Ben Zygier – and details of his time in Israel. Grappling to contain the story, the Israeli government issued another gag order to prevent the Israeli media from citing international coverage. But with the story accessible to Israelis via social media, the order proved defunct. To discuss what this case reveals about Israeli censorship in the age of new media, we speak with Ian Black, the Middle East editor for The Guardian; Ronen Bergman, the senior correspondent for Military and Intelligence Affairs for the Yedioth Ahronoth newspaper; Tehilla Shwartz Altshuler, the head of Media Reform project at Israel Democracy Institute; and Noam Sheizaf, a journalist who writes for +972 Magazine.

Unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs), better known as drones, have crept into modern warfare as quietly as the airborne killing machines themselves and, on the whole, media reporting on them has been just as subdued. Last week, the veil of silence was finally lifted when two of the most important and influential newspapers in the United States – the New York Times and the Washington Post – ran stories on a secret airbase in Saudi Arabia from which the US military has operated its 'drone war' campaign over Afghanistan, Pakistan and Yemen for the past two years. However, as the story broke, it also came to light that reporters at both newspapers had known about the base long before the story went to print. They had agreed to conceal newsworthy information at the request of the US intelligence establishment, on the basis that reporting the truth would have harmed American national security interests. The complicity of journalists with government officials to keep the base a secret has been justified on grounds of national security but the issue has raised troubling questions of when military secrets – as defined by the government – pull rank on the public duty of the fourth estate to inform.

Unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs), better known as drones, have crept into modern warfare as quietly as the airborne killing machines themselves and, on the whole, media reporting on them has been just as subdued. Last week, the veil of silence was finally lifted when two of the most important and influential newspapers in the United States – the New York Times and the Washington Post – ran stories on a secret airbase in Saudi Arabia from which the US military has operated its 'drone war' campaign over Afghanistan, Pakistan and Yemen for the past two years. However, as the story broke, it also came to light that reporters at both newspapers had known about the base long before the story went to print. They had agreed to conceal newsworthy information at the request of the US intelligence establishment, on the basis that reporting the truth would have harmed American national security interests. The complicity of journalists with government officials to keep the base a secret has been justified on grounds of national security but the issue has raised troubling questions of when military secrets – as defined by the government – pull rank on the public duty of the fourth estate to inform.