shadow of britain

Chapter 921 The Sun will never bow to the government.
“Oh? Then I’m even more curious.” Yang slowly exhaled a puff of smoke, squinting at Ridley: “If you’re not looking for trouble, then what exactly are you, a busy man from Scotland Yard, trying to achieve by making this special trip to Strand?”

“Just trying to get to the bottom of things.” Ridley chuckled and borrowed a light from Yang. “I certainly didn’t mean to disturb your enjoyment. But recently, officials from the Treasury, the Interior Ministry, and the Foreign Ministry have been circulating this article, ‘Government Affairs.’ Although I personally think it’s making a mountain out of a molehill, unfortunately, they don’t think so, so they assigned the task to me. If you can submit a report proving that The Sun’s actions have no political motives, not only will you be free of trouble, but I can also cooperate and complete the task.”

Yang smiled dismissively upon hearing this. As a veteran editor who had been working in Fleet Street for over a decade, he was not so easily fooled: "It sounds like you're doing me a favor?"

“I wouldn’t presume to say I’m doing you a favor, but I humbly request that you do me a favor.” Ridley pulled out a pen and paper from his pocket and readily agreed, “We’re all just trying to make a living, why make things difficult for each other? I only need a small thing, such as your newspaper’s editorial records. I don’t need to see the manuscripts, I just want to see who reviewed the manuscripts and who decided on the layout for the recent issues. This is purely routine, you don’t need to worry too much.”

Upon hearing this, Yang's smile gradually faded: "Officer Jin, if I understand correctly, are you implying that the government can arbitrarily interfere with press freedom?"

Ridley paused in his pen-holding motion upon hearing this, smiled at Yang, and asked, "Do you really have to adopt such a businesslike attitude?"

"Otherwise what?" Yang looked at the young police officer, who was not yet thirty, and smiled smugly.

He knew that as long as he invoked the doctrine of press freedom, Scotland Yard would be powerless against him. Even those old bureaucrats in their forties and fifties, after parliamentary reforms, no longer dared to display the arrogant attitude that the regency government had always had.

As for this greenhorn?

He's been cornered.

Upon hearing this, Ridley closed his eyes, put down his pen and paper, took a deep breath, and shook his head slightly.

That old bastard, he won't listen to reason, so he'll have to suffer the consequences!

Ridley opened his eyes, his smile gone. "Since you prefer things to be done officially, then let's follow the official procedures. Mr. Yang, may I ask you one more question?"

"Please go ahead." Yang picked up his coat from the back of the chair. "Your time is precious, and so is mine, so this is the last question."

“Many people are worried that The Sun’s long-standing hostility toward the government has gone beyond mere media oversight and is now deliberately stirring up public opinion.” Ridley fiddled with the documents he took out of his briefcase, speaking slowly and deliberately, with the imposing presence of the head of the Fifth Division of the Police Intelligence Bureau: “Especially these last few issues, these reports are really giving me a headache.”

He looked up at Yang and, seeing that the other man didn't seem to care, continued reading: "Let me see... 'The Golden Road,' 'The Road to Wealth: The Reconstruction of Westminster,' and this article, 'How the Royal Navy Was Forged,' are all from your editorial column."

Yang's hand trembled slightly, and cigar ash fell onto the cuff of his coat.

Ridley ignored him and continued his introduction: "The Golden Road accuses the Treasury of accepting bribes in the Railroad Bill, and also implies that a member of the House of Commons Rail Committee suddenly purchased a country house after winning the bid for Birmingham Rail."

Ridley spoke in a flat tone, as if reciting a list, but every word was like a nail driven into Yang's ears.

“And this one, ‘The Road to Wealth in Westminster’s Reconstruction’.” Ridley flipped through the stack of documents: “This one, written after the Westminster Fire reconstruction plan was released, is almost entirely sarcastic about the political connections behind the project’s chief architect, Sir Charles Barry, and denigrates the government for nepotism in building reviews.”

Yang's forehead twitched slightly, and the curve of his lips was almost frozen.

He didn't interrupt Ridley, but simply stubbed out the cigar in the ashtray.

Ridley's gaze swept over them indifferently: "As for 'How the Royal Navy Was Forged,' that article caused the biggest uproar at the Admiralty. You anonymously cited a Royal Navy sailor's whistleblower, claiming that the oak the Royal Navy purchased was actually old driftwood soaked in seawater, yet officials still settled accounts at the price of new wood. In addition, you also implied that a reviewer of a naval committee collected two hundred pounds in 'inspection fees' at the shipyard. Mr. Yang, do you know the cost of building warships at the Woolwich Shipyard? Two hundred pounds wouldn't even buy me, yet you think you can buy a member of the naval committee?"

Yang's fingertips finally stopped on the table. He was silent for a moment, then put down his coat and sat back down at the negotiating table. "Officer Jin, there's probably a misunderstanding here. These aren't editorials we write, but rather content from the letters-to-the-reader column. How readers write in their letters, and what they write, is beyond our control. Besides, the letters-to-the-reader section wasn't invented by The Sun, but by The Times."

Ridley watched as Yang sat back down in his chair, and the smile gradually returned to his lips.

“Very good.” He put down the documents and spoke frankly, “I believe there is indeed a misunderstanding. But Mr. Yang, you are also right, the Letters to the Readers column is indeed a great creation in the history of journalism.”

Ridley paused deliberately, then used the interrogation methods the Police Intelligence Bureau used to handle criminals: "Now almost every newspaper in the country has this column—The Times has it, the Morning Post has it, the Morning Chronicle has it. No one denies that it gives ordinary people a voice. But the problem is..."

Ridley tapped the table, his tone suddenly turning sharp: "While you can't control what readers write, you can control whether it gets published!"

Yang raised his eyes, his eyebrows almost furrowed together.

“If The Times were to receive these letters,” Ridley continued, “they would delete those that are clearly false. No matter how sensational or how much they could boost sales, if the content is not factual, Thomas Barnes would never let it go to print. Because they know that freedom of the press is not something to be taken lightly!”

Yang tried to explain: "Our editorial principles are..."

“Editorial principles?” Ridley interrupted Yang rudely, not giving him a chance to explain. “You’re absolutely right. I almost forgot, there are indeed some newspapers that don’t have any editorial principles at all.”

He lowered his head, pulled out a stack of newspapers from his briefcase, and threw them in front of Yang's eyes. Each one was a report from The Satire.

The page was densely packed with typesetting, almost filling the entire sheet. Below the title was the Satirical Journal's characteristically exaggerated, provocative, sarcastic, and unrestrained writing. Ridley tapped the Satirical Journal lightly with his finger: "Take Mr. Barnard Gregory of the Satirical Journal, for example. He's quite adept at the letter-to-the-reader section. As far as I know, more than half of the letters to the Satirical Journal are written by himself. He often publishes fabricated letters in the newspaper, under a pseudonym, using the guise of 'public opinion' to extort money. He either implies in his letters that the Countess of Beecham is having an affair with Mr. William Burton, or that Mrs. Nils's newborn child is an 'unpleasant accident' for Mr. Nils, who has only recently married."

Yang's lips twitched slightly, but quickly tightened into a thin line.

“Of course,” Ridley continued casually. “Mr. Gregory, this ‘journalistic fighter,’ was indeed your colleague. In 1832, he was prosecuted for alluding to the scandals of the Countess of Beecham and Mr. Burton. In 1834, he was imprisoned again for suggesting that Mrs. Nils had a child out of wedlock. Each time he was arrested, he claimed that he was merely publishing readers’ letters, representing the voice of the public and the freedom of the press. But what was the result? The result was that none of his readers went to jail; only he did.”

Ridley smiled slightly as he said this, and pushed the stack of "The Satire" toward Yang.

Yang looked at the stack of "The Satireist," his expression shifting between light and shadow.

“Pseudonyms, innuendos, anonymous letters—these are nothing new,” Ridley added, his voice almost casual. “Of course, I don’t think The Sun has fallen to the level of The Satire. After all, you still have some sense of propriety.”

“But the problem is…” Ridley suddenly lowered his voice, “these reader letters you published are really making the Treasury Department and several members of Congress uneasy. So, if things can be resolved today, that would be great. But if they can’t, then you’ll have to talk to the members of Congress’s lawyers and the Treasury Department’s legal counsel.”

Upon hearing this, Yang's expression froze completely.

He stood up abruptly: "Don't give me that crap. Even a lukewarm guy like William Carpenter has been to jail. Do you think I'm afraid of you scaring me with lawsuits? For us journalists, going to jail isn't always a bad thing. The Sun will never bow down to the government!"

“Perhaps. After all, even a habitual libeler like Mr. Barnard Gregory wrote letters from prison protesting his innocence, saying he just wanted the people’s voices to be heard.” Ridley slowly stood up, adjusting his coat as he did so. “I’ve said from the beginning that I have no intention of threatening you. I’m here today simply to resolve the issue. But unfortunately, you have no intention of resolving it.”

Seeing Ridley get up to leave, Yang quickly blocked his way: "Regarding those articles you just mentioned, we already gave a response when we questioned them in Whitehall earlier."

“Of course you can say you’ve given a reply,” Ridley said, picking up his briefcase and putting on his hat. “But whether Whitehall and the councilors accept it is another matter. To be fair, I also have some unfortunate news for you.”

Yang immediately pressed, "What news?"

“Whitehall is currently considering stripping The Sun of its parliamentary press rights.” Ridley chuckled and shrugged. “In short, your parliamentary journalists will be barred from entering the Palace of Westminster when the House of Lords and House of Commons meet. But I don’t think it’s a big deal, since The Sun’s readers don’t like the renovated Palace of Westminster, and I imagine they’re not interested in parliamentary news either.”

Yang's face instantly changed color: "Are you kidding me?"

“Take this as a joke. Until things are settled, all the news is like a letter from a reader and has no credibility.” Ridley’s tone was light: “Oh, by the way, your former partner—Mr. Patrick Grant, hehe…although you’ve been arguing about control for years, he still seems to be holding a grudge about it.”

Yang's face darkened: "What good is holding a grudge? The civil court has already ruled that after his bankruptcy, my full ownership of The Sun is legal and compliant. Besides, the three-month appeal period has long passed. What could Patrick possibly be dissatisfied with?"

Ridley shrugged. “Indeed, you know the law well. If we consider common law procedures, after three months, the court will no longer accept appeals. However… I’ve heard that Mr. Grant seems to be preparing to petition the Court of Chancery to overturn the judgment on the grounds of injustice and breach of good faith. Moreover, several members of Congress are currently considering helping him file a petition with the Court of Chancery.”

“The Court of Equitable Justice…” Yang’s face turned ashen, and the corner of his mouth twitched almost uncontrollably.

If Yang has truly acted uprightly, then Grant's petition is not a big deal.

The problem is that he did indeed engage in irregularities in the process of kicking Grant out of The Sun, and his victory in the case was due to him paying bribes and using connections.

Ridley noticed the change in Yang's expression and chuckled inwardly, thinking that the old Scottish man had finally shown his weakness.

“Mr. Yang, I’m not trying to scare you. You know that the judges at the Court of Chancery don’t follow procedures; they follow their conscience, especially when it comes to matters of integrity. If there were any ambiguities in The Sun’s accounts or shareholdings back then, making them feel that the newspaper was dishonest, then they might be able to overturn the case, and even the favorable judgment in the civil suit could not be upheld.”

Yang raised his head, his forehead already beaded with sweat. His lips moved, but he couldn't utter a single word of explanation.

Ridley, confident in his resolve, continued, “Of course, you don’t need to worry too much. Grant is dirt poor; even if he writes a petition, he can’t afford a lawyer. If it really goes to the Court of Chancery, it’ll probably be because of the encouragement of a few congressmen. Frankly, I personally think that making such a big fuss is pointless.”

He paused, as if offering a ladder: "In the end, although The Sun made a mistake, it doesn't deserve to die. In our line of work, who hasn't made a mistake? As for me, I've always advocated turning big problems into small ones and small problems into nothing."

Yang squinted, staring intently at him, and tentatively asked, "Are you speaking on behalf of White Hall, or on your own behalf?"

Ridley smiled and spread his hands: "Of course, it's just me personally. The opinions from Whitehall are still being considered, but I've always felt that London's press should be spared. After all, if Fleet Street dies, those of us in charge will have to go down with it."

"Then you..."

“It’s actually quite simple,” Ridley said with a smile. “Bring out your recent editorial schedule and the original manuscripts of those reader letters, preferably with the date of receipt and the mailing address. If you can prove that these articles were not edited internally by The Sun, I can write an investigation memorandum for you, explaining that the problem lies in a review oversight, rather than deliberate fabrication.”

He paused for a moment, his tone softening: "Furthermore… the Treasury Department needs to save face. You know what I mean. Whitehall doesn't want to ban *The Sun*, they just need an explanation. So, I suggest you publish a short statement in tomorrow's edition, just a few lines. Say: 'Several reader letters published in this newspaper recently have caused misunderstandings for relevant departments due to unverified facts. We hereby correct and apologize.' I can guarantee that as soon as your statement is published, this matter will be over instantly. Those gentlemen at the Treasury Department and the members of Congress will pretend they didn't see your past remarks. As for Grant… after the Court of Chancery reads your apology, they will likely change their opinion of you as an 'honest editor.' What do you think?"

(End of this chapter)