UAE autocrats think a free press is a crime

But the key player in this saga — a watershed moment for press freedom in Britain — was more than 3,000 miles away in Dubai. Sultan Ahmed Al Jaber has many roles. He is chairman of Abu Dhabi’s state oil company and host of the Cop 28 climate summit, an uncomfortable combination. More pertinent to current events in the UK, Al Jaber is chairman of IMI. If the RedBird acquisition goes ahead, his imposing figure will loom large over publications that hold sway over Tory hearts and minds from Westminster to the leafy shires.

The two sides of the debate can be summarised roughly as follows. Lord Johnson of Lainston, one of Kemi Badenoch’s trade ministers, says concerns about the United Arab Emirates’ unenthusiastic approach to press freedom are “sentimental”. In an editorial, the Speccie responded by pointing out that newspapers, besieged though they are by changing reading habits and the proliferation of free content online, continue to do the heavy lifting of proper investigative work, such as the exposés of MPs’ expenses and Matt Hancock’s Covid-era WhatsApps, in the Telegraph’s case. Where The Spectator erred in its rampart-manning was in demanding “cast-iron assurances” of editorial independence were the deal to go ahead. History tells us that the UAE — and specifically Al Jaber — do not understand that phrase, and that their cast-iron promises turn to sand when tested.

The National, Abu Dhabi’s attempt to create a Middle Eastern version of the International Herald Tribune, was founded with a lot of ambition in 2008 but lost credibility as the government intervened to soften coverage. In 2016, it was brought under the umbrella of IMI. At the time, as well as chairing IMI, Al Jaber was in effect the UAE’s chief censor, overseeing its National Media Council, which he ran for five years. Campbell MacDiarmid, a journalist who spent a year at The National as assistant foreign editor, says it was essentially a “mouthpiece” for the regime that followed its “red lines”. Outlets that embarrass the hydrocarbon-fuelled government do not simply get a slap on the wrist. Al Roeya, a smaller newspaper in Dubai, was closed last year after it ran an article about Emiratis driving across the border to Oman to fill up with cheaper petrol.

Less widely known — but more relevant, given the brand’s resonance in the west — is the story of Sky News Arabia. The joint venture between Sky and the Abu Dhabi Media Investment Company, IMI’s parent, began life in 2012, based in Abu Dhabi. It started brightly, but sank into a mire of government meddling. The nadir came after the murder of the Washington Post columnist Jamal Khashoggi at the Saudi Arabian consulate in Istanbul in 2018. Unlike Sky’s channels in the rest of the world, Sky News Arabia parroted the line initially taken by UAE’s neighbour, claiming that suggestions of Saudi involvement in Khashoggi’s disappearance were fake news.

I am told that Al Jaber would intervene to direct senior editorial appointments and would walk the newsroom giving orders on how stories should be interpreted. Sky Arabia’s board included John Ryley, then head of Sky News, and Andrew Griffith, then Sky’s chief operating officer and now the science minister. I understand that UAE interference has been an ongoing concern for Sky’s western executives.

The prospect of Abu Dhabi draping a dishdasha over the Telegraph newspapers, which claim to have 734,000 subscriptions, and The Spectator, which boasts of more than 100,000, might seem to have jetted in from a clear blue sky. But people familiar with IMI’s plans say it has long kept a shopping list of western media assets. “This is not an accident,” said someone with knowledge of IMI, referring to the planned Telegraph/Spectator takeover.

The word bandied around in Abu Dhabi about media ownership is “prestige”. In this context it means influence — and a kind of power. The UAE owns Manchester City and a stake in the broadband provider CityFibre. It has agreed to invest £10 billion in the UK and is expected to announce the creation of a $30 billion climate fund at Cop28.

But footballers, internet users and wind-farm operators don’t get to shape the future of the Conservative Party. The UAE wants to be a player in affairs beyond its borders. Owning an established newspaper gives a tycoon a different sheen. And post-Brexit and post-David Cameron’s “golden age” with Beijing, Britain has increasingly looked to the Middle East for cash. Last year, for example, ministers kicked the Chinese out of their 20 per cent stake in the Sizewell C nuclear project. Guess who’s being lined up to take their place?

You can shrug and ask whether this matters. The UK has a vibrant and at times raucous free press. You can point out vested interests on the part of DMGT, which owns the Daily Mail and wants to buy The Telegraph, and News Corp, ultimate owner of The Sunday Times, which is reported to covet The Spectator. But just think about The National, Al Roeya and Sky News Arabia. Reflect on how vows of editorial independence have proven to be little more than Potemkin villages. Look up stories about Al Jaber’s staff assiduously editing Wikipedia pages detailing his oil activities. Consider that while RedBird IMI is run by Zucker, three quarters of its cash comes from Mansour. Bear in mind that in the UAE, the boundaries between the personal, the political and the state are nonexistent.

Imagine how The Telegraph and Spectator might cover the next Cop controversy. Picture the cosy chats Mansour and Al Jaber might enjoy in Downing Street ahead of an election.

Defending our press is unfashionable. It’s imperfect and messy. But it’s better than the alternatives. Until now, Britain has been blessed with media owners who have been aggressive, eccentric, opinionated and even occasionally insolvent. But they have all believed in independent journalism. The UAE views it as a crime. Worrying about letting an autocratic state plant its flag on a big chunk of what used to be Fleet Street is more than just sentimentality.

Dominic Lawson is away