The high court’s dismissal of the actor Noel Clarke’s case against the Guardian is about more than one actor’s failed libel claim. Mrs Justice Steyn’s judgment is about power and complicity as well as the failure to protect vulnerable people. In her verdict, she agreed with the Guardian that there were “strong grounds to believe that [Clarke] is a serial abuser of women”.
The court heard testimony from 26 witnesses before concluding that Clarke had engaged in harassment, bullying and abuse of power over many years. The judge accepted some of his evidence, but found him to be neither credible or reliable. The Guardian’s journalists, by contrast, were meticulous and gave Clarke reasonable opportunity to respond as well as fairly presenting his denials. Without women speaking up, Clarke would never have been exposed.
The judge rightly agreed that these were plainly matters of public interest. But in law it is not enough for an editor to say that a story is important. It must also demonstrate responsible journalism: it must have careful corroboration and fair presentation, and not be given to sensationalism. The editors and reporters produced a final article, the judge agreed, that was measured, accurate and balanced. Crucially, their belief that this work was in the public interest was “reasonable”.
Beyond the law is a wider, all too familiar story. Clarke was not just another actor; he was being honoured by the British film academy, Bafta, for his “outstanding British contribution to cinema” even as serious allegations began to circulate. But the deeper indictment is of an industry that turned a blind eye. Clarke was rewarded and celebrated while women who spoke out risked their careers. The structures of power that enabled him – and the colleagues willing to look away – are the same factors that have ended up sheltering abusers across society.
This is the culture that allowed him to flourish. It is the culture that required #MeToo before voices were heard, and that now faces a backlash in which powerful men are recast as victims. In Britain, a star celebrated by his peers has been exposed as a serial abuser only after years of whispers were ignored. In her summing up, Mrs Justice Steyn punctured Clarke’s line of defence in a passage that was both subtle and resonant. These were, she reasoned, deliberate acts of abuse, later rationalised through minimisation and self-deception.
The lesson of this case is twofold. First, it is a victory for investigative journalism. When reporters act responsibly, the courts will uphold their right to publish. The Clarke case and allegations on shows such as MasterChef have sparked reforms, prompting a BBC culture review and the creation of an independent industry standards body. The second part of the lesson is that awards, plaudits and silence sustain harassers and abusers more effectively than any legal defence.
Clarke’s reputation lies in ruins, not because of gossip, but because of findings tested in court. For years, Britain’s TV industry tolerated a toxic culture where the misconduct of powerful men was seen as unmentionable and staff were resigned to silence. The industry’s power imbalance – dominant executives and stars versus insecure freelancers, a situation worsened by shrinking production budgets – is widely blamed. The story here is not just about one man’s downfall. It is about a culture that looked away – until it could no longer deny the truth.
