The News of the World Phone Hacking Brouhaha
The News of the World phone-hacking scandal has convulsed the media and political landscape in recent months. I speak to former News of the World journalist Ed Hacker, who has broken ranks to ‘tell it like it really is.’
When accusations of widespread phone hacking first emerged in 2006, the News of the World vehemently denied any wrongdoing. Parent company News Corp said they felt ‘hurt and emotionally bruised’ at the claims and, later, Reuters released pictures of founder Rupert Murdoch weeping without abandon on his $300m private powerboat. Two weeks later the company admitted partial liability, and promised a ‘zero-tolerance crackdown’ on illegal practices. In the six months that followed, 22 journalists were told to clear their desks and a further 19 were put on gardening leave.
Ed Hacker was one of them. ‘I was put on gardening leave,’ he says. ‘Can you believe it? Me? I could make a joke about not even having a garden, but there’s no humour in this situation – only agony.’ He pauses, before breaking into a devilish grin. ‘I do have a garden, actually, but’s all crazy paving.’
I meet Hacker in a crowded branch of Café Nero on Portabello Road. For a long time we can’t get a seat, and there are screaming kids running around everywhere. The situation escalates as a particularly lawless tyke tries to pilfer my iPad. ‘We can’t go anywhere else, I’m afraid,’ consoles Hacker. ‘They have free wi-fi here, and I quite fancy one of the baristas. She’s called Maria.’ He gives me a conspiratorial wink. ‘She does pilates, if you know what I mean.’
Before I have time to tell him that I don’t, Hacker suddenly launches into a foul-mouthed rant about his treatment at the hands of his former employers. It is forceful stuff. He also has a habit of spitting a little when he gets agitated and before long my face and bust are covered with a layering of sputum. A lady sitting at a nearby table asks me if it is raining outside. Diplomatically, I say yes. Luckily, a table becomes free at this stage and I’m able to go at the napkins.
Hacker was a senior, long-term servant of the Sunday newspaper. ‘When I first joined, the News of the World was basically a skinmag. Not for nothing was it called the “Screws of the World” by detractors. It was all hardcore porn and B&Q adverts. I changed all that. Overnight we became a respectable publication, with cerebral articles about celebrity gossip interspersed with corporate rightwing propaganda. It made the owner happy, and it was a winning business model. It proved you didn’t need full-frontal nudity to get good sales figures – just top-half nudity.’ He reflects. ‘And maybe a bit of tush.’
When I probe him about phone-hacking he becomes more evasive. He hastily leaves his seat to head to the gents, where he remains for half an hour. I notice the barista, Maria, looking over. Is it possible that she fancies Hacker, and is wondering where he’s disappeared to? She may even be looking at me. Maria’s quite attractive, really, and I’m beginning to understand what Hacker meant by the pilates reference. I’m just popping some Tic-Tacs and readying myself to go over, when Hacker returns.
He leans in and begins whispering. ‘Look, it wasn’t my idea to start the phone hacking crap.’ He looks agitated, and his wrinkled face is suddenly very close to mine. I’m struck with a fear that Maria might get the wrong idea about us. Also, he’s started spitting again (the effects are magnified by our physical proximity). ‘I had a dotted line responsibility to Murdoch, and sales for that quarter had slumped. When Andy suggested hacking into Coleen Rooney’s blinged-up BlackBerry, it was – from a business standpoint – very difficult for me to say no.’ He muses for a spell. ‘I’m also very, very nosy and intrusive by nature. Everyone hates me.’
I ask him whether the ‘Andy’ in question is Andy Coulson – who would later become David Cameron’s controversial communications director. Again, Hacker grows evasive. ‘That lies outside the domain of this conversation,’ he intones. The shutters have come down and Hacker retreats to the john again – for a full hour this time. However, upon his return he opens up. ‘Yeah.’ He laughs and takes a swig of cold mocha. ‘It was Coulson. Coulso! He was a fucking laugh, that guy.’
Hacker then launches into an account of the phone hacking procedure. ‘Because we had a deal with BT, it was cheaper to phone-hack on evenings and weekends. We started with the talking clock. That was difficult because it loves to chinwag and is never off the phone. Eventually we managed to hack into its messages, though they were eye-wateringly dull. We sold them to the Independent, who ran a po-faced piece about Time and the effects of climate change on Madagascan lemurs. Don’t ask.’
‘That was the thin end of the wedge. Before long we were all at it, phone-hacking like it was going out of fashion. Politicians, royalty, footballers, loss-adjusters, milkmen, roach exterminators – no one was too big or small to be a target. Phone hacking became second nature to me. I learned to speed-dial phone-hack. I was even hacking into my own messages – that was the only way I’d listen to them. I’d always wanted a job where I was adding to the sum of human happiness, and I’d finally got one. When I got arrested and jailed, I couldn’t believe it.’
Hacker pauses, wondering if he has said too much. I assure him that he hasn’t, hoping my pleased-as-punch grin doesn’t suggest otherwise. As we part, I ask him if he plans to make a move on Maria. ‘Nah,’ he replies. ‘I hacked into her phone will I was in the bog. She has a boyfriend called Clive. Also, she doesn’t really do pilates, if you know what I mean.’ I still don’t, but we part amicably.
Some names have been changed to protect identity. Maria is a pseudonym for my wife, and Ed Hacker is really my brother
A mobile phone (being hacked)
