Labour and Liberal Democratic politicians vied to embrace the proposals. David Cameron expressed doubts. He opposed creating new government involvement in press affairs. His former allies at the Murdoch papers and some of their competitors, such as the Daily Mail, the Telegraph, and the Spectator, voiced skepticism bordering on contempt for Leveson’s plan. As the weeks passed, the specter of state influence sparked a backlash, especially among publications that were not implicated in widespread abuses. In March 2013, after several rounds of negotiations between newspaper executives and the government collapsed, Cameron pushed a plan with a royal charter. The self-regulatory arrangement, which would be enshrined in law by Parliament, would take away the industry’s veto over appointments to the panel that would enforce the press code, yet ensure that most members had strong journalistic ties. The proposal made some reformers recoil. The Guardian’s Rusbridger, who previously said greater regulation was inevitable, argued that the newspaper industry deserved a year to deliver its best shot at a workable solution before the government intervened.
Press executives, politicians, and victim advocates expended extraordinary effort to outfit the earlier, nearly worthless system “with teeth.” But the problem went beyond the flaws in the processes of various regulators. Leveson proposed a serious shift in the relationship between the state and the press at the heart of one of the world’s leading democracies simply because the shadow cast by one news outfit was so great that police, prosecutors, and politicians could not imagine enforcing the law against the criminal activities of its journalists.
The most direct, albeit radical solution, as media analyst Claire Enders argued before Leveson, would be to limit the size and reach of major media companies. Her plan’s appeal lay in its logic and simplicity. Such an approach would have required major government interference in the workings of private industry. And it would have been reasonably seen as targeting News Corp, rendering its takeover of BSkyB or any other significant acquisition in Britain off-limits, even in the future. Labour leader Ed Miliband advocated that path before Leveson but not in Parliament.
Murdoch had dodged the big bullet.
IN CHINA, where Murdoch once had great ambitions for News Corp, the stakes could not have been higher. In early 2012, a British reporter poached by Thomson for the Wall Street Journal from the Times of London, Jeremy Page, had pieced together a story about a possible cover-up involving a murdered British businessman, the wife of a powerful Chinese politician, and a Chinese police chief seeking sanctuary in the British embassy. “It involved a certain amount of risk to publish something like that,” said Rebecca Blumenstein, a senior Journal editor overseeing the story. After she and others carefully edited the article, Blumenstein turned to Thomson, handing him a copy. Thomson’s eyes widened as he pored through it. He did not cite any concerns about News Corp’s vast Chinese business interests, which included not just the paper but the company’s blockbuster films. He said simply, “Are we confident about the sourcing?”
Two weeks later, Chinese officials confirmed the outlines of the Journal piece, an endorsement accompanied by the regime’s decision to shut down access to the paper’s Chinese language site inside China. David Barboza of the New York Times later revealed corruption involving the family of the Chinese premier, Wen Jiabao. When the Times website was shut down and fifty-five of its computers hacked, the newspaper publicly denounced Chinese retaliation. The Journal carried itself much more quietly, only to find the Times rewarded months later with a Pulitzer Prize for Barboza’s reports, one of four it won in 2013. The Journal won a Pulitzer, too—for the opinion columns of contrarian conservative Bret Stephens. The newsroom had been once again shut out of the most revered awards in print journalism. Those at the Journal who respected Thomson thought judges at the Pulitzers were once again punishing the paper’s reporters and editors for the sin of working for a publication owned by Rupert Murdoch.
They found solace elsewhere. “Some of the initial concerns about the values of the Journal—in that it would turn into a business version of the New York Post—have proven to be unfounded,” said William Grueskin, a former senior news executive for the paper. “The Journal’s news has continued to be pretty much on a straight and narrow path, though I think it has a very different focus.”
In September 2012, Murdoch returned to Australia for one of his periodic visits. He liked addressing the troops, in this case at the annual awards for News Ltd. “We must not take, whatever we do, our foot off the gas when it comes to our newspapers,” Murdoch said at Sydney’s State Theatre, a charming jumble of art deco, Gothic, and Italianate touches. “Print will be with us for many, many years. But we must also provide our readers with the greatest news experience possible on other platforms. Where others hesitate in the face of disruptive technologies, we see opportunity and will charge forward.”
In the US, Murdoch’s gaze turned westward. Most of the major assets of Fox Group outside Fox News—were based in Hollywood. The Tribune Co. was exiting a bankruptcy and eager to shed its newspaper properties, including some of the most storied papers in the country. Murdoch wanted to add the Los Angeles Times to his newspaper portfolio, so he could own the most influential publication based in the world’s entertainment capital. The sister Chicago Tribune held a mild appeal as well. Tribune preferred selling its newspaper unit to a single buyer, both for the ease of the transaction and also because it had some partnerships with other publishers that would be damaged by unraveling the chain. But given rules preventing ownership of a major paper and multiple television stations in the same market, and Fox’s two LA TV stations, Murdoch wasn’t fully convinced he could get such a deal past federal regulators at the FCC anyway. “It won’t get through with the Democratic administration in place,” Murdoch told the Los Angeles Times. The public interest media lawyer and Murdoch-watcher Andrew Schwartzman did not think the possibility of a Murdoch-owned Los Angeles Times was so far-fetched. “This is a strategy of deciding what you want to do, figuring out a mechanism that will ultimately get you there, and then proceeding based on a bet that the regulators will change to accommodate what it is that you’re trying to do,” Schwartzman said. Murdoch, he said, “has repeatedly won such bets.” One of the key owners of Tribune was the investment firm Angelo, Gordon & Co. Its cofounder, John Angelo, is the father of James Murdoch’s friend and fellow executive Jesse Angelo.
In December, Rupert Murdoch announced that he would kill off the tablet-only The Daily to appease investors and to protect the American publication Murdoch truly loved—the New York Post. Angelo, who had served as The Daily’s sole editor, would return to the Post, this time as publisher. The Post’s tone and metabolism would stay the same. Yet for the first time, every Murdoch publication had to justify its existence. Unlike the Sun or Sydney Daily Telegraph, both of which were losing circulation, the Post did not dominate its market and had been losing money at an accelerating rate. Angelo knew the numbers previously, more or less. But he found looking at the books as the top business executive a jarring experience. Holy shit, Angelo told a friend. That’s a lot of money to lose. (He would later serve as editor, too.)
Murdoch would remain chairman and CEO of the sleeker and investor-friendly Fox Group, the media and entertainment conglomerate including Fox News, Fox Studios, Fox Sports, and the like. To assure investors that they should hold onto their new News Corp stock, Fox Group (later rechristened 21st Century Fox) would assume any costs stemming from the hacking scandals. The tab had reached several hundred million dollars by the end of 2012 and was likely to grow. Chase Carey would remain chief operating officer, the number one non-Murdoch. James Murdoch would stay on as deputy chief operating officer and would await his chance to succeed his father. He was among a very small number of people who thought that possible.
Despite his father’s wishes, Lachlan Murdoch refused to return to the new News Corp, no matter how snugly the structure would fit into his Sydney-based life. He knew he would be CEO in name o
nly. His father would always want to run the papers, know what was happening, scan the revenue lines, scour for daily gossip. There was room for only one Murdoch in that alignment. Subsequently Rupert Murdoch rewarded a surrogate son, appointing Thomson to lead News Corp, as he had elevated a surrogate daughter, Rebekah Brooks, at News International.
Thomson leapfrogged his boss, Lex Fenwick, the publisher of the Wall Street Journal and the CEO of Dow Jones, to lead the entire corporation. The CEO of the reconstituted News Corp, holding sway over the most influential and widely read newspapers in the US, the UK, and Australia, would be a news executive with only a few months of pure business-side experience. Thomson had the boss’s full trust and a seemingly Sisyphean task, promising investors “relentless” cost-cutting at the papers accompanied by digital innovation that would prove, he promised, their salvation.
Thomson’s appointment had consequences elsewhere in the empire. Some associates thought Joel Klein was disappointed that he had not been named CEO. If so, he never said so publicly, soldiering on as chief of his new technology-based education venture. His legal strategy seemed to have worked. The US Justice Department could have made a criminal case against News Corp under the Federal Corrupt Practices Act for the bribes funneled to British cops. But the Brits were aggressively pursuing those cases. News Corp’s cooperation with law enforcement agencies was reasonably strong, and prosecutors and regulators prepared a nine-figure settlement that would be announced after the split. That was a huge relief at corporate headquarters.
Tom Mockridge, brought in from Sky Italia to steady News International as its CEO, could not abide being passed over as News Corp’s new CEO. He quit and would later emerge as the new CEO for Virgin Media’s expanded pay-TV play in the UK. Murdoch’s earlier nemesis, John Malone of Liberty Media, had just bought Sir Richard Branson’s controlling stake in Virgin Media. The appointment involved an element of revenge for both Mockridge and his new boss.
Rebekah Brooks was set to face trial in fall 2013 on charges of phone hacking, bribing public officials, and concealing computers and documents from police in July 2011. She was to be alongside several former colleagues, including Andy Coulson, Ian Edmondson, and the private investigator Glenn Mulcaire, who was to stand trial on separate charges. Additionally, Brooks was set to face criminal charges for perversion of the course of justice, along with her husband, Charlie, her former secretary, and the former security chief for News International. She, like her co-defendants, disputed all charges.
In Parliament, Labour MP Tom Watson wrote a book about his fight against News International, Dial M for Murdoch, and advanced back up his party’s hierarchy. Louise Mensch resigned her seat, moved to New York City to be closer to her husband, and became a columnist for Murdoch’s Sun tabloid.
James Harding, editor of the Times of London, left the paper after being told News Corp wanted someone else in the job. He had been the youngest and one of the most popular editors in the paper’s history. His paper had admitted a single case of email hacking that had not been approved ahead of time by editors or lawyers. But Murdoch and other executives could not forgive his tough editorial line against hacking and the British parent company. Murdoch told Leveson he could not believe Harding had not bought the disks that had the MP expense records on them—handing that scoop to the Daily Telegraph. Harding had thought paying for the story was dishonorable. Murdoch thought getting beaten was. Harding later became BBC news chief. Will Lewis came to New York to work on strategic issues for News Corp.
Thomson’s deputy, Gerard Baker, succeeded Thomson as managing editor at the Journal and editor in chief of the Dow Jones Newswires. Murdoch strode into the Journal newsroom with Thomson for the announcement, all three men clad in nearly identical dark striped suits and collared white shirts without a tie, as the chairman doused his new editor with a bottle of high-end champagne. A significant number of his journalists anticipated Baker’s tenure with apprehension, given his record. Instead, at least in the first six months, he proved a pleasant surprise, tapping Blumenstein and a few other American editors with roots in the paper’s pre-Murdoch era as his top deputies. Baker was well aware of his reputation. He showed a light touch at the start.
At a dinner held by the British-American Business Association in February 2013, former Time magazine managing editor Walter Isaacson launched into effusive praise for Baker and the Journal. After what you have done in the last four years, Isaacson said, the Wall Street Journal today is the best newspaper that I have ever seen in my lifetime. New York Times Co. CEO Mark Thompson sat in the crowd stoically as Isaacson said those words. It was a funny thing: The head of the new News Corp would be Australian. The managing editor of the Wall Street Journal was British. The New York Post was still run by an untamable Aussie. The New York Times had turned to an ex-BBC executive and frequent Murdoch critic for its CEO. And the New York Daily News was edited by Colin Myler, the Brit who had run newsrooms at Murdoch’s Sun and News of the World.
By 2013, New York’s newspaper scene was effectively defined by, and in reaction to, the World of Murdoch.
RUPERT MURDOCH had counted on his mother as a touchstone, a reminder of his Australian roots and a handy one-liner to ward off any suggestion he was getting too old for the job. Well, my mum’s ninety, Murdoch would say, in later years shifting the age to one hundred, and she still gets about. Finally, in December 2012, at the age of 102, Dame Elisabeth died. Her death occasioned a state funeral. Prime Minister Julia Gillard, never favored by Murdoch, did not attend. She would later fall, replaced by Labor’s Kevin Rudd. The tributes poured in, from Murdoch’s own roster of commentators and critics and old political allies, but also from foundation presidents, university officials, hospital directors, museum docents, and the like. For Dame Elisabeth’s memorial, mourners packed St. Paul’s, the Anglican cathedral in downtown Melbourne, just a block north of the Yarra River and close by so many of the cultural institutions that she had patronized and championed over the years. Huge television screens were set up outside the church for the throngs who wanted to watch the tributes to this great Australian figure.
She was hardly a saint to her son, though. She was tough, he told people. The service was broadcast nationally. Murdoch paid loving tribute: “Today I wish to speak to the extraordinary accomplishments of this exceptional woman. On its own, that would be a formidable task. It is made even more daunting by the obligation of a grateful son, to do a justice to a mother whose love gave me more than I could ever hope to repay.”
Elisabeth Greene Murdoch made clear she was devoted first and foremost to Keith Murdoch—and that her love for their children was an expression of her love for him. Since their aging father would not be the family disciplinarian, she took on that task too. “Just let me say that Mum assumed that role with none of the angst or self-doubt that consumes so many modern parents,” Dame Elisabeth’s son said to laughter. “I still remember, vividly, the good smacking I got for pulling my big sister Helen’s pigtails.”
Murdoch’s mother gave him an indirect smacking once again, decades later, during a nationally televised documentary by telling an interviewer that she assessed success and failure differently than her son did. Money couldn’t be the point, she said. Murdoch told those who had come to pay their respects that Dame Elisabeth was a woman who disdained finery and preferred pursuing charity by stealth. “However you came to know her, what you remember is the strength of character that defined Elisabeth Murdoch’s life,” Rupert said. “It was formed by the credo she learned so many decades ago at the Clyde School: We are judged by our acts.”
We are judged by our acts. Dame Elisabeth lived long enough to see her son’s full ascent. Keith Murdoch died when Rupert was just twenty-one, at the tail end of his studies at Oxford. The pudgy-faced son burned with a desire to demonstrate he could make his mark in the same field as his father.
Dame Elisabeth watched closely what followed. She saw Rupert establish a new paper of quality for the coverage o
f purely national issues. In the 1980s she saw him forswear his Aussie citizenship so he could hold onto his American television stations. She had followed his career as he and his editors sought to create the most influential news organization in Australian, English, and American politics. He had proved a worthy entrepreneur as he scorned government models for how things should work. All along, Rupert had acted to acquire more properties, shedding those that had become inconvenient, as he built the most powerful media empire in the English-speaking world. Dame Elisabeth had seen it careen out of control in the UK, half a world away, where all the corner-cutting and deal-making and law-breaking of his tabloids finally came to a shuddering stop and gave credence to Murdoch’s critics.
None of that gave Murdoch his due as an innovator and a patron of public service in journalism. His largess had sustained the Times of London, which would not have been viable on its own. The value of the Wall Street Journal had been written down by more than half since its acquisition, but Murdoch did not back away from it.
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