Fleet Street hires one barrister per word for Russell Brand trial

Britain's national newspapers have begun printing their coverage of the Russell Brand trial almost entirely in white space. The cause is a new rule, adopted across the industry, that every published word must be cleared by its own barrister.

The comedian, 51, is on trial accused of three counts of rape, three of sexual assault and one of indecent assault involving six women. He denies all the charges. The prosecution opened by telling the jury he was a "ruthless, calculated and manipulative" predator, as The Guardian reported. That is the prosecution's case. It is for the jury to decide.

Those last two sentences took one national title a little under four hours to approve.

A free press, carefully

Every British editor has learned the Contempt of Court Act 1981 the way a child learns a hot stove. Under the act, a paper can be in contempt for anything that seriously risks prejudicing active proceedings, whether it meant to or not. For decades this produced a kind of tightrope walk. This autumn, the industry has simply declined to step onto the rope.

One broadsheet ran a front page with the headline "Trial" and nothing beneath it. A tabloid printed a full-page photograph of a courthouse door, then added a correction the next day clarifying that the door was not a party to the case.

"We used to have sub-editors," said Gideon Frail, night editor of a paper he asked me not to name, in case the name itself prejudiced something. "Now we have sixty King's Counsel in the canteen. They are lovely. They bill by the adjective."

Mr Frail showed me the drafts. One sentence had begun the evening as a paragraph about the prosecution's opening. It ended the night as the word "continues".

"We used to have sub-editors. Now we have sixty King's Counsel in the canteen. They bill by the adjective."

We have been here before, roughly

I covered the phone-hacking scandal. I sat through the Leveson Inquiry, when the press was told, at length and in public, that it had behaved appallingly. The papers promised to be better. They were, briefly, the way a man is briefly sober in the taxi home.

So a British newspaper discovering restraint is not a new story. It is the old story with the volume turned off.

Industry figures insist this time is different. Philippa Rounce, who chairs a body called the Responsible Coverage Forum, said the blank pages were "a mark of maturity".

"For years we were accused of running trials in the press before they reached the courtroom," she said. "Now we run nothing at all. It is the most legally sound journalism this country has ever produced. Circulation is down, but so are writs."

Readers adjust

Newsagents report confusion. The Saturday editions, normally thick with supplements, arrived this week as a stack of white sheets with page numbers. One national ran its crossword as usual. Its lawyers removed every clue.

"People think it's a printing fault," said Dev Okonjo, a wholesaler in east London. "I tell them no, it's the rule of law. Then they ask for a refund and I tell them that's also the rule of law."

Broadcasters have gone further. One rolling news channel replaced its trial updates with a slow pan across a calm lake. A presenter appeared every hour to say the case was ongoing, then looked meaningfully at the lake.

"We had a long debate about the lake," said Hamish Teale, a senior producer. "Legal asked whether a lake could imply anything. We swapped in a different lake. It felt safer."

The barristers are doing fine

The legal profession has welcomed the work. Chambers across London have created dedicated press-clearance units. One senior barrister, Imogen Strake KC, described the job as "the closest thing to peace I have known".

"I read a sentence. I remove the bits that say anything. I return the sentence," she said. "Very often the sentence does not survive. I am told this is called editing."

Not everyone is convinced the new caution will last. The British press has a long, sad record of discovering its principles at precisely the moment it is frightened, and losing them the moment it is bored.

Mr Frail agreed. He has watched a dozen moral awakenings come and go, usually within a news cycle.

"The day the verdict comes in, whichever way it goes, we'll have forty pages ready by teatime," he said. "Until then, the honest thing is to say a trial is happening, report what the court hears, and shut up."

He paused, then looked towards the canteen.

"Don't print that last bit," he said. "It hasn't been cleared."

The trial continues. The BBC and The New York Times are reporting the proceedings.