An exclusive look at a strategy memo prepared for Rebekah Brooks this afternoon:
Rebekah, The Boss has sent word: this phone situation has developed not necessarily to our advantage. He’s asked us to formulate a strategy for you. It’s balls-out time. This is a go large or don’t go at all moment. Sticking your fingers in your ears and going lalalalalalala is not enough anymore. Even the payroll vote at Westminster is getting restless. Soon they’ll be wandering off the reservation whimpering that Something Must Be Done. We all know how that ends: something gets done even if it’s a stupid something. This is how we roll in Wapping too because that’s how the game is played. It’s what we ask for all the time, isn’t it? Anything to keep the punters happy. Problem is they’re not very happy now. Nor are the advertisers and you know the Boss likes them even more than he likes you. He’s getting on and doesn’t need this. So we need our biggest Reverse Ferret ever. Let’s get creative. You’re the MOST HATED WOMAN IN BRITAIN right now so things can’t get much worse. Trust us, the Boss wants to save you because he doesn’t want to be beaten by the muesli-munching poofs at the Guardian. But even the Boss has his limits. He needs your help. Which is why you’re getting our help. You’re going to blame the readers. Sure, we usually pander to their baser instincts and flatter their easily-stoked sense of self-righteous bullshit but that was then and these are different times. Stick it up the punters. That’s the plan. Remember this ad? We’re going to do something similar. I am not a witch, I’m you. Bang on. That’s the message and it works because it’s true. “None of us are perfect but none of us can be happy with what we see around us.” Bang on again. That’s why the News of the World exists. You were only doing your job and your job was giving the punters what they wanted. (Yeah, we’re going to have to drop the it’s “inconceivable” that you knew stuff; everyone can conceive that you did. Tough break but there you have it.) No, if you sinned it was because you loved the readers – the Great sodding British public – not wisely but too well. They’re a prurient, censorious, malignant bunch of bastards and we gave ’em a paper to match. If they’ve got a problem with that they should look to their own consciences first. Never mind the motes, look at the beams matey. You were doing your job, remember. It’s tough being the woman on that wall and not many people have the guts to do it. They can’t handle it and the truth is that the news is a messy bloody business and if corners get cut sometimes, well that’s the way you make an omelette. Right? So, sure, in retrospect maybe we went too far in the Dowler thing (and maybe the Soham thing too and a few other things we’ll not bother talking about now). But if we hadn’t done it someone else would and the punters would have bought their papers instead. All these people on their high horses: well they read our papers too even if they pretend they don’t. That’s why we’re number one. Bunga bunga all the way baby. We don’t have the luxury of filling our pages with worthy crap no-one wants to read. What are we, the Independent? No we are not. If every paper was like that there’d be no watchdog role for the press because there’d be almost no press at all. Who wins then? The politicians and the undeserving rich, that’s who. It’s a package deal. Don’t like the celebrity rubbish? Fine, but that’s what pays for the juicy stuff. Life’s a circus, dear, and you don’t get to choose between the clowns and the Christians being chewed by the lions. You gotta have both. It ain’t pretty but that’s why they call it muckraking. That’s why public life in this country is unusually honest (not that we want to let on about that too much). If we’ve gone too far this time then sure we’re sorry but we did it for you. The public doesn’t give a toss if something’s in some doddery judges’ definition of “the public interest”. The punters know what they want and deserve to get lots of it, good and hard. That’s what we’re here for. Sure they hate us at the moment but this will pass because hating us means hating themselves and they can’t handle that truth either. We want them but they need us. Hang in there love. Remember: I am not a witch, I’m you. PS: One last thing: time to start calling yourself Rebekah Wade again.
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