The government was originally due tomorrow
to unveil long-awaited proposals for a Freedom of Information Act. It would be a fine
thing to raise three unequivocal cheers for this belated delivery on an old promise, but
it has been hastily postponed. Instead, an item on another part of the government's agenda
is casting a shadow over the conviction that all is for the best in the best of all
possible worlds. For, no doubt by coincidence, tomorrow is also the day on which my former
colleague, Tony Geraghty, has been informed that he is to be charged under section 5 of
the Official Secrets Act for matters relating to his latest book on the Irish war.
Geraghty
is what is known as a veteran writer - in other words, he has a long track record on which
we might base a judgment of his talents and intentions. He was at one time defence
correspondent of the Sunday Times and is the author, among many other books, of a
best-selling study of the SAS. He is certainly no shrinking violet, but nor is he a
revolutionary, closet or otherwise. He is a tenacious journalist with a wide range of
contacts in the military and intelligence worlds. One of them, Nigel Wylde, was charged
yesterday under section 2 of the same Secrets Act.
Mr Geraghty has had little time to pursue his profession over the past six months. In
December his house was raided by the Ministry of Defence police, and he was interrogated
for several hours; he has been on police bail ever since, trying to puzzle out what it was
all about. You might think that anyone who writes about the war in Northern Ireland is
asking for trouble. That might initially have been the view of the secretary of the
D-Notice committee, Rear-Admiral David Pulvertaft, who, as is his duty, wrote to Mr
Geraghty's publishers inviting them to submit The Irish War to pre-publication censorship.
Mr Geraghty declined, upon which the good admiral wrote again advising that he would read
the book on publication and warning that should he find any untoward disclosures in it,
they would hear from him again. The book was published and nothing more was heard, leading
all concerned to conclude that no official feathers had been ruffled.
Until last December, that is. A police raid is not within the normal experience of most
writers, but this was even more singular for the fact that the men at the door of Mr
Geraghty's Herefordshire home were MoD police, affectionately known as Modplod. Modplod
are a body of 5,000 whose duties, as the Tory minister Archie Hamilton repeatedly assured
the House of Commons in 1987, are largely confined to protecting MoD property and policing
the actions of military personnel (though not for civil crimes). What, then, were they
doing on Mr Geraghty's doorstep? Perhaps they mistook his house for an MoD establishment,
or Mr Geraghty himself (who can be rather brisk) for a member of the armed forces. Or
perhaps they suspected him of having purloined MoD property. If so, they were
disappointed. The nearest they came to anything that resembled MoD property were some
shorthand notes, intellectual property, one might argue, of Mr Geraghty's.
Yet, after six months of investigation, Mr Geraghty is now to be charged; if convicted,
he could end up in prison. No doubt it would be good for sales of his book, but a few
nagging issues remain unexplained. When, I wonder, did Modplod, an executive agency under
the Ministry of Defence, acquire powers to search civilian property, interrogate civilians
and lay charges against them? And if Modplod was acting lawfully, where is the statue that
covers this expansion of its powers?
Rear-Admiral Pulvertaft has said publicly that he did not initiate the action. Has
Modplod itself begun to read books and to decide for itself what it does and doesn't like?
If not them, then who? And why did this phantom censor not use the usual channels, or at
least have the courtesy to employ the home department police - Special Branch are usually
happy to oblige.
The secretary of state for defence, George Robertson, has said Modplod have his full
confidence, which presumably means that he sees nothing wrong with their acting against
civilians. It's not a happy thought for anyone who might be thinking of writing about
military or intelligence issues, or anyone who might wish to talk to such a writer. It
would be churlish to imagine that that might be the very point of this bizarre exercise.
Mr Geraghty's book remains on sale. As his solicitor, Neil O'May, observed: 'It's
astonishing that the authorities should be bringing this action now, seven months after
publication and without taking any action against the book."
Mr Wylde and Mr Geraghty, of course, deny the charges. Should anyone care to celebrate
Freedom of Information day tomorrow, the contentious pages, dealing with a computer system
called 'Glutton" which links car number-plates to dossiers of suspects, are
apparently between 158 and 163. Careful, though: you never know who might come knocking at
the door.
The Irish War is published by HarperCollins
