What's your worst nightmare? The one experience of your life that changed everything?
Mine came on March 3rd 1998 at 7.30 in the morning, when I was awoken by an insistent
knocking. Figuring it to be a somewhat over-enthusiastic postman, I stumbled out of bed
and opened the door to find three men stood there. Now, call me paranoid or call me
fatalistic, but I just KNEW that this was bad news. The leader of the three introduced
them as members of Manchester Polices Obscene Publications Unit, and informed me that they
had a search warrant, and that I was suspected of possessing obscene material for gain.
And THAT, my friend, is when the roof fell in on my life.
But the story actually begins
a couple of months later, when I received a call from someone who said he'd been told that
I had porn videos for sale. This seemed rather suspicious to me. Not only did I not sell
films, but the name he'd given as a contact meant nothing to me. I told him I didn't sell
anything, but he was insistent, asking if I knew where he could get any. Here's where I
made my mistake. Remembering tales of police officers making test purchases before raiding
porn dealers, I thought that I was safe unless I actually supplied something - which
obviously wasn't going to happen. So I decided to string the mysterious caller along,
thinking that I could perhaps expose the sting and write a witty article about it. A few
phone conversations followed, in which I made vague promises and cancelled planned
meetings. Unfortunately, instead of realising that they were simply being joshed with, the
police ran out of patience, figured they had enough evidence, and raided anyway.
So, back to the story. Bleary eyed and - lets be honest here - scared shitless, I had
to stand and watch as the three officers took my home apart. It was gut-wrenching to see
some twelve years worth of tapes being taken away, probably forever. Tapes that could
never be replaced, some featuring incredibly rare movies that I didn't know of anyone else
owning. Tapes which I needed for my work - at that time, I was close to completing BABYLON
BLUE, my history of adult film for Creation Books, and just about to start work on a book
about Michael Ninn for Salvation.
But it wasn't just the tapes. They removed my computer, three video recorders
(including an old betamax machine which wasn't even plugged in), several copies of my
short lived magazine SEXADELIC and lots of paperwork. If this hasn't happened to you, its
hard to explain what the experience feels like... but imagine being burgled, having the
burglars wake you up to watch, and constantly tell you that there's worse to come - that's
about as close as I can get. Three hours later, I was left alone. The officer in charge
had decided not to arrest me at that point; instead, they would examine the material, and
have me go into the police station in Manchester two weeks later, where I would be
formally arrested and interviewed. At this point, everything probably seemed fairly
run-of-the-mill as far as they were concerned. They doubtless thought that I would follow
the usual pattern of behaviour: keep my head down, try to get off lightly, avoid
publicity, and hire a local solicitor who had no special knowledge of the obscenity laws.
That's what most people do. But most people are terrified of their neighbours, their
friends, and their family finding out. Me, I don't give a fuck who knows what I'm into.
Lets face it, my name was already out there for the world to see. I took a different
approach.
One of the first people I called was David McGillivray, and old friend who also happens
to be something of an expert in censorship and sex. David soon called me back to say that
Duncan Campbell, the crime correspondent of THE GUARDIAN, was interested in talking to me.
The next day, I told my story to Campbell, and the following Monday saw a half-page report
in the newspaper. The effect of this was immediate. I spent most of the day answering
calls from local papers, TV production companies and even Canadian Public Radio! All
seemed fairly shocked that a bona fide film researcher and writer could be turned over.
All this had happened shortly after the University of Birmingham had been raided and faced
possible prosecution over a Robert Mapplethorpe book in their library, and many people
drew parallels. At this point, I had no idea why Id been originally targeted by the
police, and the idea of a moral backlash by the Powers That Be against people promoting
sexual freedom seemed all too plausible.
At the end of that week, I had to report to the police. By this time, Id secured the
help of a heavyweight London barrister, who travelled up to Manchester to sit in on the
interview. This, and the press coverage, had clearly rattled the police, who now found
themselves dealing with a somewhat messier case than they'd probably expected. They'd also
found no evidence to prove that Id ever sold a tape to anyone. The interview lasted around
fifteen minutes, during which I answered no comment to virtually every question - even
those asking if the quotes attributed to me in THE GUARDIAN were accurate or not. I was
then bailed until July. Life over the next few months was surreal, to say the least. I had
to try and carry on with my life, but was constantly aware of the threat hanging over me.
Sometimes, I would lie in bed at night, my head buzzing with various best and worst case
scenarios. Although my computer and a couple of hundred tapes had been returned to me a
month or so after the raid, I still had no VCR, and another couple of hundred films
missing. Things were made worse when I found out that two more people - one in Leeds,
another in a small Scottish village - had been raided and arrested as a result of material
found at my house.
The bail date was extended into early August, and for a time it looked as though the
whole case would be dropped. Eventually though, I had to report back for a second
interview. A week earlier, there had been a second, longer, angrier GUARDIAN piece, by Tom
Dewe Matthews. But by this time, the police had accepted that I wasn't a porn dealer;
however, they weren't quite through with me. On this occasion, I was re-arrested for
conspiracy to produce obscene material for gain - the same accusation levelled at the man
from Leeds, who'd been interviewed directly before me. The evidence for this was a home
movie of a couple having sex which they THOUGHT showed me filming; a mock-up video sleeve
found on my computer, and letters to Mr Leeds in which I discussed the IDEA of shooting
porn. Even though these letters referred clearly to making movies that would either
conform to BBFC regulations or be for overseas distribution only. Obscene material is, I
was told, obscene material, no matter where you plan to release it.
The interview followed the previous pattern, and I was bailed again, this time until
September 2nd, when it would be decision time. But the decision came before then. One week
before in fact, when I received a call telling me that the Crown Prosecution Service had
decided that there was no case to answer. Take note of that - no half-assed lack of
evidence, we know you did it but just cant prove it but NO CASE TO ANSWER. It turns out
that while its considered illegal to shoot porn in the UK, even for export, this law has
never been tested in front of a jury, and the CPS weren't about to put it to the test.
And so, after six months, the rest of my stuff was returned. The police seemed relieved
that the case was over - the publicity had been a major irritation for them, and something
that they clearly hadn't been prepared for. It seems that someone - and if you're out
there, thank you SO MUCH! - had even complained to the Home Office about what was
happening to me. To be fair to the police though, they were as honest as they could be
with me. Never once did they try threatening behaviour, or lie to me. They were, in the
end, just doing their job. I just wish that their job had something to do with the real
threats to the people of Manchester, like spiralling violence on the city streets every
weekend. As for the initial complaint - well, it turns out that one of my ghastly,
mean-spirited, shit-stirring neighbours had complained about me. Nice.
For me, its all over, though life will never be the same. I wonder about who's
listening in on my conversations, who's twisting my words to fit their own bigoted ideas.
I fear that knock on the door in the morning. But for some, like the poor guy in Scotland
who was raided because of a letter he sent me, things are far worse. Despite having just
25 tapes and one video recorder, he's been charged and, to rub salt into the wound, I've
been called as a prosecution witness against him. Makes you glad to be British, doesn't
it?
(The case in Scotland finally collapsed spectacularly, with the only
"evidence" ruled inadmissible. All tapes were returned and the defendant walked
free. Over £150 was spent just to have me appear as a witness - and do little more than
confirm my name and address. God knows how much the whole six+ month farce cost.)
