THERE WAS A TIME, NOT that long ago, when we journalists on assignment in the Middle East would complain that Israel must be the last Western nation to insist that foreign correspondents submit their copy for censorship.
Iraq and Afghanistan changed all that, to the extent that Israeli strictures today are mild compared to what some countries countering insurgency are likely to demand. More often than not, even getting to report on military issues in parts of Asia and Africa is impossible without a letter of authority from somebody at the top.
Journalists who arrived in Israel were required sign an undertaking that included a proviso that any copy intended for publication was vetted by a government official. Quite simply, it was a matter of no signature, no press card. There were no exceptions, which is why we all signed at some stage or another. We, like the Israeli officials with whom we dealt, knew that signing your rights away as an independent observer was tantamount to censorship, though in reality controls were pretty limited. Also, the strictures were almost impossible to enforce.
As a visiting ‘fireman’ I never complained. I would do my story, take my pictures, get back on the plane and go home. Nobody at Ben Gurion Airport would ask about the notes in my briefcase or what I’d filed while on Israeli soil, or possibly whether the films in my hold-all had anything that might compromise the security of the nation.
However, don’t be fooled that you can enter the country incognito, do your job and leave again unnoticed. Everything in Israel is ‘noticed’. It is also recorded. You’ll get past immigration, but you only need to file once to have someone knocking at your door, and not necessarily in the early hours of the morning.
Military reporting in Israel has always been a fairly low-key affair, with accreditation handled by the appropriate authority at the Government Press Centre at Beit Agron in downtown Jerusalem. If your intention is to report on security matters, you’d deal with the office of the Israel Defense Forces (IDF), or, as it is called, the Spokesman. For foreign correspondents permanently based in Jerusalem in the first decade of the New Millennium, the situation is no different: the government has a grip on them, intangible perhaps, but perceptible.
‘Recalcitrant’ news providers are pigeonholed in a category of their own, especially when those who might be giving too much prominence to ‘the other side’, i.e. the Palestinians.
That situation might involve some kind of leverage, like unobtrusively restricting access to IDF units, or not being provided with information that might be passed on to other hacks as a matter of course. It doesn’t take long for the message to get across and if that is not working, then a quiet word with the newspaper or network’s senior management or owners, most of whom are Jewish anyway, will do the trick. Or the unhappy soul is sent packing, possibly on assignment elsewhere in the world.
For decades Ha’aretz, a left-wing daily, has routinely highlighted what it terms ‘the Palestinian plight’ and because it has a strong following, they get away with it in the face of public opinion, which was why I rate the newspaper among the best in the Middle East.
As a consequence of these tactics, my colleagues tend to tread warily. If they meander too far off course in what they submit to their editors in London, Washington, Helsinki or Tokyo, they’re aware that while they won’t be deported, they might have a tough time renewing their residence permits next time round. That’s fine in the normal course of events, but it might be intimidating if you emerge with a scoop that might have a bearing on national security. Generally, this is not likely to happen, but conceivably it might, especially in this epoch of instant international communications and the Web.
Consequently, the last time I visited Israel I had my picture taken, completed the requisite forms and went along to Beit Agron to fetch my government press card. The questions asked were perfunctory. Apart from how long I intended to stay, I was required to detail which areas I intended to visit. Did I know any Palestinians or did I intend to contact members of the community? These were some of the questions asked by a female sergeant. She remembered me from my last visit and that I had a British passport. I’d been there several times already for Britain’s International Defence Review, part of the Jane’s Information Group stable.
My track record was in the computer, but she was required to ask anyway. At the same time, you couldn’t avoid getting the impression that under the brittle crust of this female soldier’s friendliness lay a magma of paranoia, especially when dealing with foreigners.
The object of my assignment then was to spend a week on board one of the smaller Israeli Navy patrol boats searching for insurgents along the Lebanese coast and it had all been arranged months beforehand. Named Daburs, the Hebraic for hornet, these were fast, functional and though only lightly armed, adequate for their envisaged security role.