robert fisk why?

Wilson, the night editor said, called it "bollocks" and "waffle".

Still in west Beirut, where dozens of Westerners were being kidnapped, I opened The Times to discover that a pro-Israeli writer was claiming on our centre page that all journalists in west Beirut, clearly intimidated by "terrorism", could be regarded only as "bloodsuckers".

The "Hitler Diaries" were Murdoch's own mistake, after refusing to countenance his own "expert's" change of heart over the documents hours before The Times and The Sunday Times began printing them.

Wilson, the night editor said, called it "bollocks" and "waffle".

He would deal with the trade unionists later.

Maybe it's because his editors and sub-editors and reporters repeatedly second-guessed what Murdoch would say.

Within 24 hours, I had spoken to the British air traffic controllers at Dubai, discovered that US ships had routinely been threatening British Airways airliners, and that the crew of the Vincennes appeared to have panicked.

In other words, the very system of investigative journalism – of fact-checking and months of interviews – became self-defeating.

King Hussein would call me "Sir", along with most other journalists.

Once the Israelis could look like good guys, Douglas-Home's concerns evaporated.

Murdoch was owner of The Times when I covered the blood-soaked Israeli invasion and occupation of Lebanon in 1982.

Within 24 hours, I had spoken to the British air traffic controllers at Dubai, discovered that US ships had routinely been threatening British Airways airliners, and that the crew of the Vincennes appeared to have panicked.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

I didn't believe in The Times any more – certainly not in Rupert Murdoch.

Still in west Beirut, where dozens of Westerners were being kidnapped, I opened The Times to discover that a pro-Israeli writer was claiming on our centre page that all journalists in west Beirut, clearly intimidated by "terrorism", could be regarded only as "bloodsuckers".

Within 24 hours, I had spoken to the British air traffic controllers at Dubai, discovered that US ships had routinely been threatening British Airways airliners, and that the crew of the Vincennes appeared to have panicked.

Murdoch said that Wilson was "Charlie's choice" and I thought, so, all well and good – until I was chatting to Charlie's widow and she told me that it was the first time she had heard that Wilson's editorship had been her late husband's decision.

He is a caliph, I suppose, almost of the Middle Eastern variety.

I had, with Douglas-Home's full agreement, spent months investigating the death of seven Palestinian and Lebanese prisoners of the Israelis in Sidon.

So Barnes dispatched me to editor Charles Douglas-Home's office with the Reuters story and I marched in only to find Charlie entertaining Murdoch.

[George] Brock [Wilson's foreign editor] rewrites Fisk."

In the sterile world of the Murdochs, new technology was used to deprive the people of their freedom of speech and privacy.

It was obvious, I concluded, that the men had been murdered – the grave-digger even told me that their corpses had been brought to him, hands tied behind their backs, showing marks of bruising.

Think of Hafez and Bashar Assad or Hosni and Gamal Mubarak or Rupert and James.

It was obvious, I concluded, that the men had been murdered – the grave-digger even told me that their corpses had been brought to him, hands tied behind their backs, showing marks of bruising.

The end came for me when I flew to Dubai in 1988 after the USS Vincennes had shot down an Iranian passenger airliner over the Gulf.

Still in west Beirut, where dozens of Westerners were being kidnapped, I opened The Times to discover that a pro-Israeli writer was claiming on our centre page that all journalists in west Beirut, clearly intimidated by "terrorism", could be regarded only as "bloodsuckers".

King Hussein would call me "Sir", along with most other journalists.

When he died, of cancer, it was announced that his deputy, Charles Wilson, would edit the paper.

He would deal with the trade unionists later.

"I knew Rupert was interested in what I was writing," he told me later.

A subsequent US official report and accounts by US naval officers subsequently proved my dispatch correct.

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

Within 24 hours, I had spoken to the British air traffic controllers at Dubai, discovered that US ships had routinely been threatening British Airways airliners, and that the crew of the Vincennes appeared to have panicked.

The good news: a few months later, I was Middle East correspondent for The Independent.

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

Once the Israelis could look like good guys, Douglas-Home's concerns evaporated.

Of course, they all told me this was not true and went on to assert that their king/president was always right.

They have satraps and ministers and senior police officers – and "democratic" governments – who know their wishes, their likes and dislikes.

Within 24 hours, I had spoken to the British air traffic controllers at Dubai, discovered that US ships had routinely been threatening British Airways airliners, and that the crew of the Vincennes appeared to have panicked.

The foreign desk told me the report was up for the page-one splash.

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

Charles Wilson – who much later became, briefly, the editor of The Independent – was a tough, friendly man who could show great kindness, as well as harshness, to his staff.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

I had, with Douglas-Home's full agreement, spent months investigating the death of seven Palestinian and Lebanese prisoners of the Israelis in Sidon.

You hear all these awful things about Arab dictators and then, when you meet them, they are charm itself.

Murdoch was owner of The Times when I covered the blood-soaked Israeli invasion and occupation of Lebanon in 1982.

Murdoch was more caliph than ever, no more responsible for an editorial or a "news" story than a president of Syria is for a massacre – the latter would be carried out on the orders of governors who could always be tried or sacked or sent off as adviser to a prime minister – and the leader would invariably anoint his son as his successor.

Murdoch was owner of The Times when I covered the blood-soaked Israeli invasion and occupation of Lebanon in 1982.

After the invasion, Douglas-Home and Murdoch were invited by the Israelis to take a military helicopter trip into Lebanon.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

I asked the Israelis if they would carry out a military inquiry and, anxious to show how humanitarian they were, they duly told us there would be an official investigation.

Murdoch was joking with his ministers and courtiers.

We all knew Murdoch had signed up to all manner of guarantees of editorial independence, oversight and promises of goodwill when he bought The Times – and had then fired his first editor, Harold Evans.

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

Murdoch was owner of The Times when I covered the blood-soaked Israeli invasion and occupation of Lebanon in 1982.

Maybe it's because his editors and sub-editors and reporters repeatedly second-guessed what Murdoch would say.

Oddly, he never appeared the ogre of evil, darkness and poison that he's been made out to be these past few days.

The end came for me when I flew to Dubai in 1988 after the USS Vincennes had shot down an Iranian passenger airliner over the Gulf.

In all this time, Murdoch had expressed exclusively pro-Israeli views, and had accepted a "Man of the Year" award from a prominent Jewish-American organisation.

And, after he had left, Wilson said to me in a hushed voice: "See how he called you by your first name?"

I had, with Douglas-Home's full agreement, spent months investigating the death of seven Palestinian and Lebanese prisoners of the Israelis in Sidon.

It was obvious, I concluded, that the men had been murdered – the grave-digger even told me that their corpses had been brought to him, hands tied behind their backs, showing marks of bruising.

And, after he had left, Wilson said to me in a hushed voice: "See how he called you by your first name?"

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

The Israelis tried to rubbish my reporting; Douglas-Home said he stood up for me.

He had turned The Times into a tame, pro-Tory, pro-Israeli paper shorn of all editorial independence.

These potentates, in public, would often joke with their ministers.

Before he was editor, Douglas-Home would write for the Arabic-language Al-Majella magazine, often deeply critical of Israel.

The "Hitler Diaries" were Murdoch's own mistake, after refusing to countenance his own "expert's" change of heart over the documents hours before The Times and The Sunday Times began printing them.

The "Hitler Diaries" were Murdoch's own mistake, after refusing to countenance his own "expert's" change of heart over the documents hours before The Times and The Sunday Times began printing them.

Still in west Beirut, where dozens of Westerners were being kidnapped, I opened The Times to discover that a pro-Israeli writer was claiming on our centre page that all journalists in west Beirut, clearly intimidated by "terrorism", could be regarded only as "bloodsuckers".

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

The good news: a few months later, I was Middle East correspondent for The Independent.

Murdoch greeted me, before holding a jocular conversation with Wilson.

I warned them that American "leaks" that the IranAir pilot was trying to suicide-crash his aircraft on to the Vincennes were rubbish.

We all knew Murdoch had signed up to all manner of guarantees of editorial independence, oversight and promises of goodwill when he bought The Times – and had then fired his first editor, Harold Evans.

When he died, of cancer, it was announced that his deputy, Charles Wilson, would edit the paper.

So Barnes dispatched me to editor Charles Douglas-Home's office with the Reuters story and I marched in only to find Charlie entertaining Murdoch.

Murdoch was more caliph than ever, no more responsible for an editorial or a "news" story than a president of Syria is for a massacre – the latter would be carried out on the orders of governors who could always be tried or sacked or sent off as adviser to a prime minister – and the leader would invariably anoint his son as his successor.

Next day, my report appeared with all criticism of the Americans deleted, with all my sources ignored.

Oddly, he never appeared the ogre of evil, darkness and poison that he's been made out to be these past few days.

Murdoch was more caliph than ever, no more responsible for an editorial or a "news" story than a president of Syria is for a massacre – the latter would be carried out on the orders of governors who could always be tried or sacked or sent off as adviser to a prime minister – and the leader would invariably anoint his son as his successor.

For Murdoch could never be blamed.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

Still in west Beirut, where dozens of Westerners were being kidnapped, I opened The Times to discover that a pro-Israeli writer was claiming on our centre page that all journalists in west Beirut, clearly intimidated by "terrorism", could be regarded only as "bloodsuckers".

The "Hitler Diaries" were Murdoch's own mistake, after refusing to countenance his own "expert's" change of heart over the documents hours before The Times and The Sunday Times began printing them.

But it was enough to "justify" publishing my long and detailed report.

After the invasion, Douglas-Home and Murdoch were invited by the Israelis to take a military helicopter trip into Lebanon.

In other words, the very system of investigative journalism – of fact-checking and months of interviews – became self-defeating.

In other words, the very system of investigative journalism – of fact-checking and months of interviews – became self-defeating.

He is a caliph, I suppose, almost of the Middle Eastern variety.

But it was enough to "justify" publishing my long and detailed report.

Maybe it's because his editors and sub-editors and reporters repeatedly second-guessed what Murdoch would say.

The "Hitler Diaries" were Murdoch's own mistake, after refusing to countenance his own "expert's" change of heart over the documents hours before The Times and The Sunday Times began printing them.

I warned them that American "leaks" that the IranAir pilot was trying to suicide-crash his aircraft on to the Vincennes were rubbish.

These potentates, in public, would often joke with their ministers.

Once the Israelis could look like good guys, Douglas-Home's concerns evaporated.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

The man's insouciance was almost catching.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

These past two weeks, I have been thinking of what it was like to work for Murdoch, what was wrong about it, about the use of power by proxy.

It was obvious, I concluded, that the men had been murdered – the grave-digger even told me that their corpses had been brought to him, hands tied behind their backs, showing marks of bruising.

"They say they're forgeries, Charlie," I announced, trying not to glance at Murdoch.

But now Douglas-Home couldn't see how we would be "justified" in running a report "so long after the event".

Not a line was removed from my reports, however critical they were of Israel.

Charles Wilson – who much later became, briefly, the editor of The Independent – was a tough, friendly man who could show great kindness, as well as harshness, to his staff.

But once, when I was visiting Wilson in London, Murdoch walked into his office.

So Barnes dispatched me to editor Charles Douglas-Home's office with the Reuters story and I marched in only to find Charlie entertaining Murdoch.

The West German government had proved that they must have been written long after the Führer's death.

Murdoch was more caliph than ever, no more responsible for an editorial or a "news" story than a president of Syria is for a massacre – the latter would be carried out on the orders of governors who could always be tried or sacked or sent off as adviser to a prime minister – and the leader would invariably anoint his son as his successor.

"I knew Rupert was interested in what I was writing," he told me later.

So Barnes dispatched me to editor Charles Douglas-Home's office with the Reuters story and I marched in only to find Charlie entertaining Murdoch.

I didn't believe in The Times any more – certainly not in Rupert Murdoch.

In all this time, Murdoch had expressed exclusively pro-Israeli views, and had accepted a "Man of the Year" award from a prominent Jewish-American organisation.

Months later, a senior night editor who had been on duty on the night my Vincennes report arrived, recalled in a letter that he had promoted my dispatch as the splash, but that Wilson had said: "There's nothing in it.

Hafez al-Assad once held my hand in his for a long time with a paternal smile.

"Aha!" he thundered.

"They say they're forgeries, Charlie," I announced, trying not to glance at Murdoch.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

"Well, there you go," the mogul reflected with a giggle.

The West German government had proved that they must have been written long after the Führer's death.

A subsequent US official report and accounts by US naval officers subsequently proved my dispatch correct.

The Israelis tried to rubbish my reporting; Douglas-Home said he stood up for me.

Charles Wilson – who much later became, briefly, the editor of The Independent – was a tough, friendly man who could show great kindness, as well as harshness, to his staff.

Months later, a senior night editor who had been on duty on the night my Vincennes report arrived, recalled in a letter that he had promoted my dispatch as the splash, but that Wilson had said: "There's nothing in it.

The West German government had proved that they must have been written long after the Führer's death.

The foreign desk told me the report was up for the page-one splash.

But I worked in a region where almost every Arab journalist knows the importance of self-censorship – or direct censorship – and where kings and dictators do not need to give orders.

The Israeli "inquiry" was, I suspected, a fiction.

The Times editorials became more and more pro-Israeli, their use of the word "terrorist" ever more promiscuous.

I didn't show it to him."

We all knew Murdoch had signed up to all manner of guarantees of editorial independence, oversight and promises of goodwill when he bought The Times – and had then fired his first editor, Harold Evans.

The West German government had proved that they must have been written long after the Führer's death.

A subsequent US official report and accounts by US naval officers subsequently proved my dispatch correct.

If I hadn't been living in the Middle East, of course, it might have taken me longer to grasp all this.

The good news: a few months later, I was Middle East correspondent for The Independent.

The "Hitler Diaries" were Murdoch's own mistake, after refusing to countenance his own "expert's" change of heart over the documents hours before The Times and The Sunday Times began printing them.

A subsequent US official report and accounts by US naval officers subsequently proved my dispatch correct.

These past two weeks, I have been thinking of what it was like to work for Murdoch, what was wrong about it, about the use of power by proxy.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

Surely he can't be that bad, I almost said to myself – this was long before the 1982 Hama massacres.

Hafez al-Assad once held my hand in his for a long time with a paternal smile.

Mistakes could be forgiven.

It was obvious, I concluded, that the men had been murdered – the grave-digger even told me that their corpses had been brought to him, hands tied behind their backs, showing marks of bruising.

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

It was obvious, I concluded, that the men had been murdered – the grave-digger even told me that their corpses had been brought to him, hands tied behind their backs, showing marks of bruising.

Still in west Beirut, where dozens of Westerners were being kidnapped, I opened The Times to discover that a pro-Israeli writer was claiming on our centre page that all journalists in west Beirut, clearly intimidated by "terrorism", could be regarded only as "bloodsuckers".

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Charles Wilson – who much later became, briefly, the editor of The Independent – was a tough, friendly man who could show great kindness, as well as harshness, to his staff.

Murdoch was owner of The Times when I covered the blood-soaked Israeli invasion and occupation of Lebanon in 1982.

King Hussein would call me "Sir", along with most other journalists.

It was obvious, I concluded, that the men had been murdered – the grave-digger even told me that their corpses had been brought to him, hands tied behind their backs, showing marks of bruising.

Hafez al-Assad once held my hand in his for a long time with a paternal smile.

We all knew Murdoch had signed up to all manner of guarantees of editorial independence, oversight and promises of goodwill when he bought The Times – and had then fired his first editor, Harold Evans.

After the invasion, Douglas-Home and Murdoch were invited by the Israelis to take a military helicopter trip into Lebanon.

We all knew Murdoch had signed up to all manner of guarantees of editorial independence, oversight and promises of goodwill when he bought The Times – and had then fired his first editor, Harold Evans.

"They say they're forgeries, Charlie," I announced, trying not to glance at Murdoch.

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

You hear all these awful things about Arab dictators and then, when you meet them, they are charm itself.

But I worked in a region where almost every Arab journalist knows the importance of self-censorship – or direct censorship – and where kings and dictators do not need to give orders.

In all this time, Murdoch had expressed exclusively pro-Israeli views, and had accepted a "Man of the Year" award from a prominent Jewish-American organisation.

All of which, of course, was official Israeli government policy at the time.

Hafez al-Assad once held my hand in his for a long time with a paternal smile.

In all this time, Murdoch had expressed exclusively pro-Israeli views, and had accepted a "Man of the Year" award from a prominent Jewish-American organisation.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

In other words, the very system of investigative journalism – of fact-checking and months of interviews – became self-defeating.

He is a caliph, I suppose, almost of the Middle Eastern variety.

He is a caliph, I suppose, almost of the Middle Eastern variety.

Charles Wilson – who much later became, briefly, the editor of The Independent – was a tough, friendly man who could show great kindness, as well as harshness, to his staff.

Before he was editor, Douglas-Home would write for the Arabic-language Al-Majella magazine, often deeply critical of Israel.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

The end came for me when I flew to Dubai in 1988 after the USS Vincennes had shot down an Iranian passenger airliner over the Gulf.

The Israelis tried to rubbish my reporting; Douglas-Home said he stood up for me.

On the flight back to London, Douglas-Home and Murdoch sat together.

Maybe it's because his editors and sub-editors and reporters repeatedly second-guessed what Murdoch would say.

I didn't believe in The Times any more – certainly not in Rupert Murdoch.

It was obvious, I concluded, that the men had been murdered – the grave-digger even told me that their corpses had been brought to him, hands tied behind their backs, showing marks of bruising.

The West German government had proved that they must have been written long after the Führer's death.

King Hussein would call me "Sir", along with most other journalists.

Within 24 hours, I had spoken to the British air traffic controllers at Dubai, discovered that US ships had routinely been threatening British Airways airliners, and that the crew of the Vincennes appeared to have panicked.

Mistakes could be forgiven.

Hafez al-Assad once held my hand in his for a long time with a paternal smile.

King Hussein would call me "Sir", along with most other journalists.

Except that Times readers were not allowed to see it.

Still in west Beirut, where dozens of Westerners were being kidnapped, I opened The Times to discover that a pro-Israeli writer was claiming on our centre page that all journalists in west Beirut, clearly intimidated by "terrorism", could be regarded only as "bloodsuckers".

Still in west Beirut, where dozens of Westerners were being kidnapped, I opened The Times to discover that a pro-Israeli writer was claiming on our centre page that all journalists in west Beirut, clearly intimidated by "terrorism", could be regarded only as "bloodsuckers".

In all this time, Murdoch had expressed exclusively pro-Israeli views, and had accepted a "Man of the Year" award from a prominent Jewish-American organisation.

The man's insouciance was almost catching.

Of course, they all told me this was not true and went on to assert that their king/president was always right.

Now his Times editorials took an optimistic view of the Israeli invasion.

Surely he can't be that bad, I almost said to myself – this was long before the 1982 Hama massacres.

In all this time, Murdoch had expressed exclusively pro-Israeli views, and had accepted a "Man of the Year" award from a prominent Jewish-American organisation.

King Hussein would call me "Sir", along with most other journalists.

Murdoch was owner of The Times when I covered the blood-soaked Israeli invasion and occupation of Lebanon in 1982.

Maybe it's because his editors and sub-editors and reporters repeatedly second-guessed what Murdoch would say.

The Times editorials became more and more pro-Israeli, their use of the word "terrorist" ever more promiscuous.

But now Douglas-Home couldn't see how we would be "justified" in running a report "so long after the event".

The "Hitler Diaries" were Murdoch's own mistake, after refusing to countenance his own "expert's" change of heart over the documents hours before The Times and The Sunday Times began printing them.

But now Douglas-Home couldn't see how we would be "justified" in running a report "so long after the event".

Within 24 hours, I had spoken to the British air traffic controllers at Dubai, discovered that US ships had routinely been threatening British Airways airliners, and that the crew of the Vincennes appeared to have panicked.

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

The "Hitler Diaries" were Murdoch's own mistake, after refusing to countenance his own "expert's" change of heart over the documents hours before The Times and The Sunday Times began printing them.

Oddly, he never appeared the ogre of evil, darkness and poison that he's been made out to be these past few days.

Oddly, he never appeared the ogre of evil, darkness and poison that he's been made out to be these past few days.

In other words, the very system of investigative journalism – of fact-checking and months of interviews – became self-defeating.

All of which, of course, was official Israeli government policy at the time.

Murdoch greeted me, before holding a jocular conversation with Wilson.

When we got the facts, too much time had passed to print them.

The "Hitler Diaries" were Murdoch's own mistake, after refusing to countenance his own "expert's" change of heart over the documents hours before The Times and The Sunday Times began printing them.

We all knew Murdoch had signed up to all manner of guarantees of editorial independence, oversight and promises of goodwill when he bought The Times – and had then fired his first editor, Harold Evans.

Surely he can't be that bad, I almost said to myself – this was long before the 1982 Hama massacres.

The night editor's diary for that day finished: "Shambles, chaos on Gulf story.

The "Hitler Diaries" were Murdoch's own mistake, after refusing to countenance his own "expert's" change of heart over the documents hours before The Times and The Sunday Times began printing them.

You hear all these awful things about Arab dictators and then, when you meet them, they are charm itself.

"Hallo, Robert!"

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

"I knew Rupert was interested in what I was writing," he told me later.

You hear all these awful things about Arab dictators and then, when you meet them, they are charm itself.

"I knew Rupert was interested in what I was writing," he told me later.

Within 24 hours, I had spoken to the British air traffic controllers at Dubai, discovered that US ships had routinely been threatening British Airways airliners, and that the crew of the Vincennes appeared to have panicked.

The "Hitler Diaries" were Murdoch's own mistake, after refusing to countenance his own "expert's" change of heart over the documents hours before The Times and The Sunday Times began printing them.

Hafez al-Assad once held my hand in his for a long time with a paternal smile.

They have satraps and ministers and senior police officers – and "democratic" governments – who know their wishes, their likes and dislikes.

On the flight back to London, Douglas-Home and Murdoch sat together.

But things changed.

I had, with Douglas-Home's full agreement, spent months investigating the death of seven Palestinian and Lebanese prisoners of the Israelis in Sidon.

Murdoch was owner of The Times when I covered the blood-soaked Israeli invasion and occupation of Lebanon in 1982.

Within 24 hours, I had spoken to the British air traffic controllers at Dubai, discovered that US ships had routinely been threatening British Airways airliners, and that the crew of the Vincennes appeared to have panicked.

Oddly, he never appeared the ogre of evil, darkness and poison that he's been made out to be these past few days.

When we got the facts, too much time had passed to print them.

Oddly, he never appeared the ogre of evil, darkness and poison that he's been made out to be these past few days.

Then, in the spring of 1983, another change.

These potentates, in public, would often joke with their ministers.

But once, when I was visiting Wilson in London, Murdoch walked into his office.

But now Douglas-Home couldn't see how we would be "justified" in running a report "so long after the event".

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

"He sort of waited for me to tell him what it was, although he didn't demand it.

The Times editorials became more and more pro-Israeli, their use of the word "terrorist" ever more promiscuous.

The end came for me when I flew to Dubai in 1988 after the USS Vincennes had shot down an Iranian passenger airliner over the Gulf.

Hafez al-Assad once held my hand in his for a long time with a paternal smile.

Think of Hafez and Bashar Assad or Hosni and Gamal Mubarak or Rupert and James.

When he died, of cancer, it was announced that his deputy, Charles Wilson, would edit the paper.

These past two weeks, I have been thinking of what it was like to work for Murdoch, what was wrong about it, about the use of power by proxy.

The West German government had proved that they must have been written long after the Führer's death.

In the sterile world of the Murdochs, new technology was used to deprive the people of their freedom of speech and privacy.

But once, when I was visiting Wilson in London, Murdoch walked into his office.

Murdoch was more caliph than ever, no more responsible for an editorial or a "news" story than a president of Syria is for a massacre – the latter would be carried out on the orders of governors who could always be tried or sacked or sent off as adviser to a prime minister – and the leader would invariably anoint his son as his successor.

These past two weeks, I have been thinking of what it was like to work for Murdoch, what was wrong about it, about the use of power by proxy.

I had, with Douglas-Home's full agreement, spent months investigating the death of seven Palestinian and Lebanese prisoners of the Israelis in Sidon.

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

"He sort of waited for me to tell him what it was, although he didn't demand it.

He stated that "there is now no worthy Palestinian to whom the world can talk" and – for heaven's sake – that "perhaps at last the Palestinians on the West Bank and in the Gaza Strip will stop hoping that stage-strutters like Mr Arafat can rescue them miraculously from doing business with the Israelis."

And they do what they believe their master wants.

After the invasion, Douglas-Home and Murdoch were invited by the Israelis to take a military helicopter trip into Lebanon.

Murdoch was more caliph than ever, no more responsible for an editorial or a "news" story than a president of Syria is for a massacre – the latter would be carried out on the orders of governors who could always be tried or sacked or sent off as adviser to a prime minister – and the leader would invariably anoint his son as his successor.

Murdoch said that Wilson was "Charlie's choice" and I thought, so, all well and good – until I was chatting to Charlie's widow and she told me that it was the first time she had heard that Wilson's editorship had been her late husband's decision.

Within 24 hours, I had spoken to the British air traffic controllers at Dubai, discovered that US ships had routinely been threatening British Airways airliners, and that the crew of the Vincennes appeared to have panicked.

[George] Brock [Wilson's foreign editor] rewrites Fisk."

Still in west Beirut, where dozens of Westerners were being kidnapped, I opened The Times to discover that a pro-Israeli writer was claiming on our centre page that all journalists in west Beirut, clearly intimidated by "terrorism", could be regarded only as "bloodsuckers".

Murdoch said that Wilson was "Charlie's choice" and I thought, so, all well and good – until I was chatting to Charlie's widow and she told me that it was the first time she had heard that Wilson's editorship had been her late husband's decision.

Surely he can't be that bad, I almost said to myself – this was long before the 1982 Hama massacres.

The West German government had proved that they must have been written long after the Führer's death.

Except that Times readers were not allowed to see it.

You hear all these awful things about Arab dictators and then, when you meet them, they are charm itself.

He would deal with the trade unionists later.

You hear all these awful things about Arab dictators and then, when you meet them, they are charm itself.

In all this time, Murdoch had expressed exclusively pro-Israeli views, and had accepted a "Man of the Year" award from a prominent Jewish-American organisation.

Murdoch was owner of The Times when I covered the blood-soaked Israeli invasion and occupation of Lebanon in 1982.

The Israelis tried to rubbish my reporting; Douglas-Home said he stood up for me.

In the Middle East, Arab journalists knew what their masters wanted, and helped to create a journalistic desert without the water of freedom, an utterly skewed version of reality.

Months later, I was passing by the paper's London office on my way back to Beirut when the foreign editor, Ivan Barnes, held up the Reuters wire copy from Bonn.

If I hadn't been living in the Middle East, of course, it might have taken me longer to grasp all this.