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Pakistan's Secretive National Security Policy

Najam Sethi in The Friday Times

The PTI government claims to have formulated a National Security Policy after consulting key stakeholders, including hundreds of intellectuals, experts, businessmen, teachers and students. Unfortunately, however, opposition political parties and leaders were kept out of the loop and parliamentarians, even on the treasury benches, were all but ignored. To top it, the policy is classified as “Secret”. We have only been told that “traditional security” is to buttressed by “human security” by increasing the size of the pie that is to be distributed among these two categories. But not to worry. We already know what our National Security Policy has been for over seven decades and we are not shy of asking how and why the new policy should deviate from established wisdom.

Pakistan’s birth is rooted in the biggest mass migration in world history, unprecedented communal violence, and war over Kashmir. In fact, India’s political leaders wasted no time in loudly proclaiming that the new state of Pakistan would be reabsorbed into India before long. Thus insecurity was built into the genetic structure of the new nation and state and over 70% of the country’s first budget was immediately earmarked for military defense and security. The inherited colonial civil-military bureaucracy – that was more developed, organised and cohesive than the indigenous politicians and political parties – now seized the commanding heights of state and society, centralizing power in Governors-General (Ghulam Mohammad, Khjwaja Nazimuddin) and Presidents (Generals Sikander Mirza and Ayub Khan) and signing strategic defense pacts (CENTO, SEATO, BAGHDAD PACT) with the US (ostensibly against communism but in reality to bolster military defenses against India). Thus was born a National Security State based on three national security pillars: Distrust of, and enmity with, India (“unfinished business of partition” pegged to Kashmir); centralization of power via guided “basic democrats” under General Ayub; and dependence on the US for military and economic aid.

This centralized national security state system broke down in 1971 after the break-up of Pakistan following military defeat, leading to civilian assertion under Z A Bhutto and the first democratic constitution of 1973. But the Empire hit back in 1977 with the imposition of martial law, a presidential non-party system under General Zia ul Haq and return to the American camp in the 1980s. The system received a jolt in 1988 with the unexpected exit of General Zia ul Haq but recouped under President Ghluam Ishaq Khan and General Aslam Beg into a hybrid-constitutional system that enabled a strong military nominee or ally as President with the power to dismiss an elected prime minister and parliament (three times in the 1990s). Benazir Bhutto tried to build peace with Rajiv Gandhi but was declared a national security risk and booted out in 1990. The civilian impulse was restrained throughout the 1990s by periodic sackings and rigged elections. It was finally thwarted in 1999 when Nawaz Sharif clutched at bus diplomacy to build “peace” with India and General Musharraf put paid to it by adventuring in Kargil, overthrowing and exiling him, and ruling like a dictator for eight years on the back of billions of dollars in American military and economic aid for abetting its war in Afghanistan. An unexpected mass resistance sparked by a maverick judge, Iftikhar Chaudhry, ended his rule and ushered in the civilians again, but not before they paid the price of Benazir Bhutto’s life. Asif Zardari’s term was blackballed by Mumbai and Memogate, including the sacking of his prime minister Yousaf Raza Gillani; Nawaz’s rule was undermined by surrogate Dharnas, export of jihadis to India and accusations of sleeping with the enemy, finally coming to an end on the basis of a Joint Investigation Team answering to the brass.

This National Security paradigm was revived with the installation of Imran Khan in 2018 and the incarceration and victimisation of Asif Zardari and Nawaz Sharif. But the loss of American goodwill and aid, coupled with the failure of Imran Khan to provide a modicum of governance, has eroded the prospects of economic revival and legitimacy of the hybrid system, discrediting its manufacturers. Meanwhile, the conventional military balance with the old enemy India has fast deteriorated and, faced with the challenge of both legitimacy and feasibility of the hybrid system, the National Security Establishment has been compelled to return to the drawing board and review its National Security Policy.

Perforce, a new National Security Policy has to be fashioned to withstand the loss of American aid and goodwill; to restore representative and credible legitimacy to the political system; and to step back from perennial conflict with India over Kashmir. The trillion dollar question is how. Only a massive transfer of wealth from the super-rich rentier classes to the poor, and a return to a representative civilian system of governance, will stem the rising economic and political discontent and religious militancy that threatens to overwhelm the state; only a prolonged period of peace with India and a profound retreat from militarism will yield the required space in which to accomplish this task. But any overnight attempt to stand the old National Security Policy on its head may unleash a formidable backlash from vested stakeholders among the institutions, groups and classes that have benefited from it for seven decades.

That is why the new National Security Policy is top secret, and jargon and generalities have been profusely sprinkled on its public version to obscure its true content and challenge.

Government Pensions subject to 'Good Behaviour'

Lt. Gen. H.S Panag (retd.) in The Print

On 31 May, the Ministry of Personnel, Public Grievances and Pensions, which is headed by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, issued a gazette notification amending Rule 8 — “Pension subject to future good conduct” — of the Central Civil Services (Pension) Rules 1972. The amendment prohibits retired personnel who have worked in any intelligence or security-related organisation included in the Second Schedule of the Right to Information Act 2005 from publication “of any material relating to and including domain of the organisation, including any reference or information about any personnel and his designation, and expertise or knowledge gained by virtue of working in that organisation”, without prior clearance from the “Head of the Organisation”. An undertaking is also supposed to be signed to the effect that any violation of this rule can lead to withholding of pension in full or in part.

There are 26 organisations included in the Second Schedule of the RTI Act, including the Intelligence Bureau, Research & Analysis Wing, Directorate of Revenue Intelligence, Central Bureau of Investigation, Narcotics Control Bureau, Border Security Force, Central Reserve Police Force, Indo-Tibetan Border Police and Central Industrial Security Force. These organisations are excluded from the RTI Act. Ironically, the armed forces, which are responsible for the external and at times internal security, are covered by the Act.

In 2008, Rule 8 was first amended to make more explicit the existing restrictions under the Official Secrets Act by barring retired officials from publishing without prior permission from Head of the Department any sensitive information, the disclosure of which would “prejudicially affect the sovereignty and integrity of India, the security, strategic, scientific or economic interests of the State or relation with a foreign State or which would lead to incitement of an offence.” An undertaking similar to the present amendment was also required to be signed.

The scope of the 31 May amendment is all-encompassing and its ambiguity leaves it open for vested interpretation and virtually bars retired officers who have served in the above-mentioned organisations from writing or speaking, based on their experience in service or even using the knowledge and expertise acquired after retirement. There is an apprehension that in future, the rules of other government organisations, including the armed forces, may also be amended to incorporate similar provisions. 

The motive behind the amendment

All governments are legitimately concerned with safeguarding national security. Almost all countries have laws for the same. However, political dispensations often use these provisions to stifle criticism of the government, particularly by retired government officials who, based on their domain knowledge and experience, enjoy immense credibility with the public.

Originally, Rule 8 allowed withholding/withdrawal of pension or part thereof, permanently/for a specified period if the pensioner was convicted of a serious crime or was found guilty of grave misconduct. “Serious crime” included crime under Official Secrets Act 1923 and “grave misconduct” also covered communication/disclosure of information mentioned in Section 5 of the Act.

There was no requirement of prior permission before publication of any book or article, and prosecution under Official Secrets Act was necessary before any action could be taken. No undertaking was required to be given by the retiree officials. There is no noteworthy case in which this provision was invoked.

The motive behind the 2008 amendment by the UPA and the present amendment by the NDA, was/is to crack down on dissent by retired officials without the due process of law. This, when despite recommendations of the Law Commission and Second Administrative Reforms Commission, no effort has been made to amend the 98-year-old Official Secrets Act to cater for current requirements of national security. The only difference between the two amendments is that the latter makes the rule more absolute by adding the ambiguous rider regarding publication without permission “of any material relating to and including ‘domain of the organisation’, including any reference or information about any personnel and his designation, and expertise or knowledge gained by virtue of working in that organisation.”

The amendment to Rule 8 is unlikely to withstand the scrutiny of law. The Supreme Court and the high courts have repeatedly upheld the principle that “pension is not a bounty, charity or a gratuitous payment but an indefeasible right of every employee”. The government cannot take away the right merely by giving a show cause notice to a retired official for having used “domain knowledge or expertise” while writing an article/book or speaking at any forum. Any application of this amendment will be thrown out by the courts. No wonder that there has been no known application of the amended rule since 2008. There has been no alarming increase in cases under the Official Secrets Act. Between 2014 and 2019, 50 cases have been filed in the country and none against a government official. And if a government official is actually guilty of violating national security, then is withdrawal of pension an adequate punishment?

What does the government then gain by this amendment? Simple, the new amendment acts as deterrent against criticism by retired officials. Which self-respecting retired government official would like to seek permission from her/his former junior or fight a prolonged legal battle to get his pension restored? The government’s will, thus, prevail not by the wisdom of its decision but by default.
 
Loss to the nation

All major democracies make optimum use of the experience of their retired government officials. While some become part of the government, others contribute by educating the public and throwing up new ideas/suggestions for the consideration of the government. The domain expert keeps a check on a majoritarian government facing a weak opposition by publicly speaking and writing. All governments try to hide failures and scrutiny for inefficiency. With a weak opposition and government-friendly media, the Bharatiya Janata Party dispensation is more worried about the perceived threat from the retired officials with domain expertise than an ill-informed opposition.

Given the Modi government’s obsession with respect to national security and its lackadaisical performance in its management, it is my view that in the near future, the government will incorporate similar provision in the pension rules of other government departments and the armed forces.

A case in point is the attempt by the Modi government to deny/obfuscate the intelligence failure and the preemptive Chinese intrusions. To date no formal briefing has been given about the actual situation in Eastern Ladakh. Doctored information has been fed to the media through leaks by government/military officials. Three retired defence officers, including the author, brought the real picture before the public through articles and media interviews. All were careful to safeguard operational security. A concerted campaign was launched to discredit these retired officers through government-friendly media and pliant defence analysts until the events overtook their detractors to prove them right. The author extensively used his knowledge of the terrain in Eastern Ladakh to bring the truth before the public. In a similar situation in future, these officers may well be battling in courts to safeguard their pensions.

Imagine a situation that in future when no historical accounts of our wars, counter insurgency/terrorism campaigns and communal riots can be written by retired government and armed forces officers. No retired official will be eligible to head our security related thinks tanks or speak in international forums about our experience. Despite provision of Section 8(3) of the RTI Act to declassify documents after 20 years, the government never does so except to score political points as in the case of Netaji Files.

The amendment to Rule 8 of Central Civil Services (Pension) Rules 1972 is nothing more than a blatant, overarching and draconian gag order against retired officials to manage the public narrative for political interests under the garb of safeguarding national security.

It safeguards the interests of the political dispensation and not the nation. It must be challenged in the courts and in the interim disregarded with contempt.

Who owns the country? The secretive companies hoarding England's land

Multi-million pound corporations with complex structures have purchased the very ground we walk on – and we are only just beginning to discover the damage it is doing to Britain. By Guy Shrubsole in The Guardian 


Despite owning 15,000 hectares (37,000 acres) of land, managing a property portfolio worth £2.3bn and having control over huge swaths of central Manchester and Liverpool, very few people have heard of a company named Peel Holdings. It owns the Manchester Ship Canal. It built the Trafford Centre shopping complex and, more recently, sold it in the largest single property acquisition in Britain’s history. It was the developer behind the MediaCityUK site in Salford, to which the BBC and ITV have relocated many of their operations in recent years. Airports, fracking, retail – the list of Peel business interests stretches on and on.

Peel Holdings operates behind the scenes, quietly acquiring land and real estate, cutting billion-pound deals and influencing numerous planning decisions. Its investment decisions have had an enormous impact, whether for good or ill, on the places where millions of people live and work.

Peel’s ultimate owner, the billionaire John Whittaker, is notoriously publicity-shy: he lives on the Isle of Man, has never given an interview and helicopters into his company’s offices for board meetings. He built Peel Holdings in the 1970s and 80s by buying up a series of companies whose fortunes had decayed, but which still controlled valuable land. Foremost among these was the Manchester Ship Canal Company, purchased in 1987. The canal turned out to be valuable not simply as a freight route, but also because of the redevelopment potential of the land that flanked it.

Half of England is owned by less than 1% of the population



Peel Holdings tends not to show its hand in public. Like many companies, it prefers its forays into public political debate to be conducted via intermediary bodies and corporate coalitions. In 2008, it emerged that Peel was a dominant force behind a business grouping that had formed to lobby against Manchester’s proposed congestion charge. The charge was aimed at cutting traffic and reducing the toxic car fumes choking the city. But Peel, as owners of the out-of-town Trafford Centre shopping mall, feared that a congestion charge would be bad for business, discouraging shoppers from driving through central Manchester to reach the mall. Peel’s lobbying paid off: voters rejected the charge in the local referendum and the proposal was dropped.

Throughout England, cash-strapped councils are being outgunned by corporate developers pressing to get their way. The situation is exacerbated by a system that has allowed companies like Peel to keep their corporate structures obscure and their landholdings hidden. A 2013 report by Liverpool-based thinktank Ex Urbe found “well in excess of 300 separately registered UK companies owned or controlled” by Peel. Tracing the conglomerate’s structure is an investigator’s nightmare. Try it yourself on the Companies House website: type in “Peel Land and Property Investments PLC”, and then click through to persons with significant control. This gives you the name of its parent company, Peel Investments Holdings Ltd. So far, so good. But then repeat the steps for the parent company, and yet another holding company emerges; then another, and another. It’s like a series of Russian dolls, one nested inside another.

Until recently, it was even harder to get a handle on the land Peel Holdings owns. Sometimes the company has provided a tantalising glimpse: one map it produced in 2015, as part of some marketing spiel around the “northern powerhouse”, showcases 150 sites it owns across the north-west. It confirms the vast spread of Peel’s landed interests – from Liverpool John Lennon airport, through shale gas well pads, to one of the UK’s largest onshore wind farms. But it’s clearly not everything. A more exhaustive, independent list of the company’s landholdings might allow communities to be forewarned of future developments. As Ex Urbe’s report on Peel concludes: “Peel schemes rarely come to light until they are effectively a fait accompli and the conglomerate is confident they will go ahead, irrespective of public opinion.”

While Peel Holdings is unusual for the sheer amount of land it controls, it is also illustrative of corporate landowners everywhere. Corporations looking to develop land have numerous tricks up their sleeve that they can use to evade scrutiny and get their way, from shell company structures to offshore entities. Companies with big enough budgets can often ride roughshod over the planning system, beating cash-strapped councils and volunteer community groups. And companies have for a long time benefited from having their landholdings kept secret, giving them the element of surprise when it comes to lobbying councils over planning decisions and the use of public space. But now, at long last, that is starting to change. If we want to “take back control” of our country, we need to understand how much of it is currently controlled by corporations.

In 2015, the Private Eye journalist Christian Eriksson lodged a freedom of information (FOI) request with the Land Registry, the official record of land ownership in England and Wales. He asked it to release a database detailing the area of land owned by all UK-registered companies and corporate bodies. Eriksson later shared this database with me, and what it revealed was astonishing. Here, laid bare after the dataset had been cleaned up, was a picture of corporate control: companies today own about 2.6m hectares of land, or roughly 18% of England and Wales.

In the unpromising format of an Excel spreadsheet, a compelling picture emerged. Alongside the utilities privatised by Margaret Thatcher and John Major – the water companies, in particular – and the big corporate landowners, were PLCs with multiple shareholders. There were household names, such as Tesco, Tata Steel and the housebuilder Taylor Wimpey, and others more obscure. MRH Minerals, for example, appeared to own 28,000 hectares of land, making it one of the biggest corporate landowners in England and Wales.

Gradually, I pieced together a list of what looked to be the top 50 landowning companies, which together own more than 405,000 hectares of England and Wales. Peel Holdings and many of its subsidiaries, unsurprisingly, feature high on the list. But while the dataset revealed in stark detail the area of land owned by UK-based companies, it did nothing to tell us what they owned, and where.

That would take another two years to emerge. Meanwhile, Eriksson had been busy at work with his Private Eye colleague Richard Brooks and the computer programmer Anna Powell-Smith, delving into another form of corporate landowner – firms based overseas, yet owning land in the UK. Of particular interest were companies based in offshore tax havens, a wholly legal but controversial practice, given the opportunities offshore ownership gives for possible tax avoidance and for concealing the identities of who ultimately controls a company. Further FOI requests to the Land Registry by Eriksson hit the jackpot when he was sent – “accidentally”, the Land Registry would later claim – a huge dataset of overseas and offshore-registered companies that had bought land in England and Wales between 2005 and 2014: some 113,119 hectares of land and property, worth a staggering £170bn.

 

Victoria Harbour building at Salford Quays, owned by Peel Holdings. Photograph: Mike Robinson/Alamy

Private Eye’s work revealed that a large chunk of the country was not only under corporate control, but owned by companies that – in many cases – were almost certainly seeking to avoid paying tax, that most basic contribution to a civilised society. Some potentially had an even darker motive: purchasing property in England or Wales as a means for kleptocratic regimes or corrupt businessmen to launder money, and to get a healthy return on their ill-gotten gains in the process. This was information that clearly ought to be out in the open, with a huge public interest case for doing so. And yet the government had sat on it for years.

The political ramifications of these revelations were profound. They kickstarted a process of opening up information on land ownership that, although far slower and less complete than many would have liked, has nevertheless transformed our understanding of what companies own. In November 2017, the Land Registry released its corporate and commercial dataset, free of charge and open to all. It revealed, for the first time, the 3.5m land titles owned by UK-based corporate bodies – covering both public sector institutions and private firms – with limited companies owning the majority, 2.1m, of these. But there were two important caveats. Although we now had the addresses owned by companies, the dataset omitted to tell us the size of land they owned. Second, the data lacked accurate information on locations, making it hard to map.

Despite this, what can we now say about company-owned land in England and Wales? Quite a lot, it turns out. We know, for example, that the company with the third-highest number of land titles is the mysterious Wallace Estates, a firm with a £200m property portfolio but virtually no public presence, and which is owned ultimately by a secretive Italian count. Wallace Estates makes its money from the controversial ground rents market, whereby it owns thousands of freehold properties and sells on long leases with annual ground rents.

We also now know that Peel Holdings and its numerous subsidiaries owns at least 1,000 parcels of land across England – not just shopping centres and ports in the north-west, but also a hill in Suffolk, farmland along the Medway and an industrial estate in the Cotswolds. Councils, MPs and residents wanting to keep an eye on what developers and property companies are up to in their area now have a powerful new tool at their disposal.

The data is full of odd quirks and details. Who would have guessed, for instance, that the arms manufacturer BAE owns a nightclub in Cardiff, a pub on Blackpool’s promenade and a service station in Pease Pottage, Sussex? It turns out that they are all investments made by BAE’s pension fund; if selling missiles to Saudi Arabia doesn’t prove profitable enough, it appears the company’s strategy is to make a few quid out of tired drivers stopping for a coffee break off the M23.

The data also lets us peer into the property acquisitions of the big supermarkets, which back in the 1990s and early 2000s involved building up huge land banks to construct ever more out-of-town retail parks. Tesco, via a welter of subsidiaries, owns more than 4,500 hectares of land – and although much of this comprises existing stores, a good chunk also appears to be empty plots, apparently earmarked for future development. One analysis by the Guardian in 2014 estimated that the supermarket was hoarding enough land to accommodate 15,000 homes. More recently, however, Tesco’s financial travails have prompted it to sell off some of its sites. Internet shopping and pricier petrol have made giant hypermarkets built miles from where people live look less and less like smart investments. In 2016, Tesco’s beleaguered CEO announced the company was looking to make better use of the land it owned by selling it for housing, and even by building flats on top of its superstores. As for the supermarkets’ internet shopping rival Amazon, whose gigantic “fulfilment centres” resemble the vast US government warehouse at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark – well, Amazon currently has 16 of those across the UK. And it has grown very quickly: all but one of its property leases have been bought in the past decade.

Companies are increasingly taking over previously public space in cities, too. Recent years have seen a proliferation of Pops – privately owned public spaces – as London, Manchester and other places redevelop and gentrify. You know the sort of thing: expensively landscaped swaths of “public realm”. Aesthetically, they are all very nice, but try to use Pops for some peaceful protest, and you are in for trouble. They are invariably governed by special bylaws and policed by private security, itching to get in your face. I once found this to my cost when staging a tiny, two-person anti-fracking demo outside shale-gas financiers Barclays bank in Canary Wharf. Canary Wharf is partly owned by the Qatari Investment Authority, and – bizarrely – photography is banned. Within a minute of us taking the first selfie on our innocuous protest, security guards had descended en masse, and we spent the next hour running around Canary Wharf trying to evade them.

The Land Registry’s corporate ownership dataset contains millions of entries, and much remains to be uncovered. Some of the information appears trivial at first glance – a company owns a factory here, an office there: so what? But as more people pore over the data, more stories will likely emerge. Future researchers might find intriguing correlations between the locations of England’s thousands of fast-food stores and the health of nearby populations, be able to track gentrification through the displacement of KFC outlets by Nando’s restaurants, and so on.

But to really get under the skin of how companies treat the land they own, and the wider repercussions, we need to zoom in on the housing sector, where debates about companies involved in land banking and profiteering from land sales are crucial to our understanding of the housing crisis.

One particularly controversial aspect of the housing debate that has generated much heat, and little light, in recent years is the debacle over land banking, the practice of hoarding land and holding it back from development until its price increases.

In 2016, the then housing secretary, Sajid Javid, furiously accused large housing developers of land banking and demanded they “release their stranglehold” on land supply. Housebuilders, not used to such impertinence from a Conservative minister, hit back. “As has been proved by various investigations in the past, housebuilders do not land bank,” a spokesperson for the Home Builders Federation told the Telegraph. “In the current market where demand is high, there is absolutely no reason to do so.”

So who is right? This is a complex area, but one that is important to investigate. Can the Land Registry’s corporate ownership data help us get to the bottom of it?

It is common for UK pension funds and insurance companies to buy up land as a long-term strategic investment. Legal & General, for example, owns 1,500 hectares of land that it openly calls a “strategic land portfolio … stretching from Luton to Cardiff”. Its rationale for buying land is simple: “Strategic land holdings are underpinned by their existing use value [such as farming] and give us the opportunity to create further value through planning promotion and infrastructure works over the medium to long term.”

When I looked into where Legal & General’s land was located, I noticed something odd. Nearly all of it lay within green belt areas, where development is restricted. The company appears to have bought it with the aim of lobbying councils to ultimately rip up such restrictions and redesignate the site for development in future.

In the case of pension funds lobbying to rip up the green belt, it’s the planning system that is (rightly) constraining development, not land banking itself. And none of this implicates the usual bogeymen of the housing crisis, the big housebuilding companies. By examining what these major developers own, is it possible to say whether they’re actively engaged in land banking?

There is no doubt that many of the major housebuilding companies own a lot of land. What’s more, housing developers themselves talk about their “current land banks” and publish figures in annual reports listing the number of homes they think they can build using land where they have planning permission. As the housing charity Shelter has found, the top 10 housing developers have land banks with space for more than 400,000 homes – about six years’ supply at current building rates.

Prompted by such statistics, the government ordered a review into build-out rates in 2017, led by Sir Oliver Letwin. Yet when Letwin delivered his draft report, he once again exonerated housebuilders from the charge of land banking. “I cannot find any evidence that the major housebuilders are financial investors of this kind,” he stated, pointing the finger of blame instead at the rate at which new homes could be absorbed into the marketplace.

Part of the problem is that the data on what companies own still isn’t good enough to prove whether or not land banking is occurring. The aforementioned Anna Powell-Smith has tried to map the land owned by housing developers, but has been thwarted by the lack in the Land Registry’s corporate dataset of the necessary information to link data on who owns a site with digital maps of that area. That makes it very hard to assess, for example, whether a piece of land owned by a housebuilder for decades is a prime site accruing in value or a leftover fragment of ground from a past development.

 

Shoppers in the Trafford Centre, a shopping mall until recently owned by Peel Holdings. Photograph: Oli Scarff/AFP/Getty

Second, the scope of Letwin’s review was drawn too narrowly to examine the wider problem of land banking by landowners beyond the major housebuilders. As the housing market analyst Neal Hudson said when it was published, the “review remit ignored the most important and unknown bit of the market: sites and land ownership pre-planning.”

In fact, if Letwin had raised his sights a little higher, he would have seen there is a whole industry of land promoters working with landowners to promote sites, have them earmarked for development in the council’s local plan, and increase their asking price. As investigations by Isabelle Fraser of the Telegraph have revealed: “A group of private companies, largely unknown to the public, have carved out a lucrative niche locating and snapping up land across the UK.”

One such company, Gladman Land, boasts on its website of a 90% success rate at getting sites developed. Few of these firms appear to own much land themselves; rather, they work with other landowners, perhaps signing options agreements or other such deals. Consultants Molior have estimated that between 25% and 45% of sites with planning permission in London are owned by companies that have never built a home.

This gets us to the heart of the housing crisis. Sure, we need housing developers to build more homes. But most of all we need them to build affordable homes. And developers that are forced to pay through the nose to persuade landowners to part with their land end up with less money left over for good-quality, affordable housing. By all means, let’s continue to pressure housebuilders whenever they try to renege on their planning agreements. But at root, we have to find ways to encourage landowners of all kinds – corporate or otherwise – to part with their land at cheaper prices.

Since the first appearance of modern corporations in the Victorian period, companies have expanded to become the owners of nearly a fifth of all land in England and Wales. Much of this land acquisition is uncontested: space for a factory here, an office block there. But some of it has proven highly controversial. Huge retailers and property groups like Tesco and Peel Holdings have eroded town centres and high streets by amassing land for out-of-town superstores, and lobbied to maintain a culture of car dependency. Multinational agribusinesses have exacerbated the industrialisation of our food supply and accelerated the decline of small-scale farmers. Property firms have made tidy profits from the privatisation of formerly public land – which might otherwise have gone into the public purse, had previous governments treated their assets more wisely.

Though the veil of secrecy around company structures and what corporations own is at last lifting, thanks to recent data disclosures by government, there’s still much that needs to be done to make sense of this new information. The Land Registry needs to disclose proper maps of what companies own if we are to get to the bottom of suspect practices like land banking, and give communities a fighting chance in local planning battles.

Legally obliged to maximise profits for their shareholders, and biased towards short-term returns, companies make for poor custodians of land. Nor are corporate landowners capable of solving the housing crisis. Hoarded, developed, polluted, dug up, landfilled: the corporate control of England’s acres has gone far enough.

Peter Roebuck's Somerset agony

David Hopps in Cricinfo

The civil war that beset Somerset cricket more than 30 years ago was all the more remarkable because of the unimposing, bespectacled figure at its centre. Peter Roebuck would not have immediately struck a casual observer as a man capable of going to war. An unconventional loner, gauche even with close friends, he did not meld easily with either the old-fashioned administrators in charge of the club or the imposing superstars, Ian Botham, Viv Richards and Joel Garner, who would eventually be expunged from a Somerset dressing room that had fallen on hard times.

The conflict that took hold of the sleepy market town of Taunton throughout the summer of 1986 dominated the sports pages in a way that now is hard to imagine. Until now, it has only been possible to hazard a guess at Roebuck's state of mind as he became the principal hate figure for rebel supporters who were campaigning against the county's decision to release their great, long-serving West Indians, Richards and Garner and, as a consequence, accept the ensuing departure of Ian Botham in protest.

Previously unpublished diaries, which were not made available to the authors of the excellent Chasing Shadows: The Life and Death of Peter Roebuck in 2015, have now revealed the full extent of Roebuck's mental anguish. Condemned by his critics, increasingly reviled by Botham in a rift that would last a lifetime, and often left to flounder by Somerset's archaic administration, he presents himself as an honourable man who made his choice and forever fretted over the consequences.

"Lots of people are asking about my health," he writes as Somerset's warfare reaches its height. "I suspect they are waiting for a crack-up." Somerset comfortably won the vote to let go of Richards and Garner at an emergency meeting at Shepton Mallet in November 1986, and Roebuck took the spoils, but his life would never be the same again. Even as victory approaches, he rails at English society as "mean, narrow and vindictive" and falls out of love with the country of his birth for the rest of a life that was to end in tragic circumstances 25 years later.

By the time he wrote his autobiography, Sometimes I Forgot To Laugh, in 2004, Roebuck was able to tell the Somerset story with relative calm. Not so in his diaries, typed out contemporaneously in obsessive detail, complete with scribbled adjustments. Three unseen chapters of a book called 1986 And All That have been discovered and placed on the family website. "The truth can finally be told," is how the family puts it.

Roebuck was in his first season as Somerset captain, regarding himself as a more relaxed figure, at 30, than the intense batsman who had written the self-absorbed study of life on the county circuit, Slices of Cricket, a few years earlier. That self-ease soon departed. In midsummer he was informed at an emergency meeting of the management and cricket committee that Martin Crowe, not yet a New Zealand star, merely a young batsman making his way, and someone who had spent time with Somerset's 2nd XI with an eye to a future signing, had been approached by Essex.

Crowe, Roebuck writes, was "a man of brilliance rare in the game, a man of standards rare in the game". Roebuck's yearning to reshape a failing, ageing Somerset side has youth and work ethic at its core and encourages him to support the majority preference on the committee to sign Crowe and release Richards and Garner after many years of loyal service. One wonders how Botham will respond to Roebuck's allegation in the diaries that Botham viewed Crowe at the time as little better than a good club player.

In Somerset, Richards and Garner were far more than overseas players. They were part of their limited-overs folklore, as much a part of Somerset as scrumpy or skittles. As Roebuck, this cricketing aesthete, frets over the implications, he writes in his diary: "Echoes in my mind kept repeating that this Somerset team could never work, could never be worthwhile unless we abandoned the past and began to build a team around Crowe. Our chemistry was wrong. It hadn't worked with Botham as captain, and it wasn't working with Roebuck as captain. We'd lose Crowe to Essex."

Botham at the press conference announcing his decision to leave Somerset Adrian Murrell / © Getty Images


A couple of weeks later, that course of action was confirmed. Sworn to secrecy until the end of the season by a Somerset management and cricket committee of 12, a body which Roebuck naively imagines is capable of confidentiality, he ludicrously seeks to maintain discretion in the height of summer in a dressing room awash with rumour. Out on the field, "smiles hid hatred". In Roebuck's version of events, all those responsible for the decision keep their heads down and often fail to tell him what is going on. Rebels soon force an emergency special meeting, and at the end of the season virtually everybody but him seems to disappear for a prolonged holiday - acts, in some cases, of breathtaking irresponsibility. He delays his return to Australia, where he spends the close season, to see the job through.

"I was bound to be forsaken by friends," he writes. "It was all right for them, they were amateurs, committee men, they could leave this club and this game at any moment. It was my living, much more was at stake."

A cerebral and unclubbable man, he is ill-equipped for the task - whether the art of appeasement or politics. Lost in his own thoughts, he reads cricket books, watches movies, takes long baths, and makes impromptu visits around the county in search of understanding. Some imagined friends desert him, some of them quite cruelly, and, for the first time, he is assailed by scurrilous rumours about his private life. Tabloid journalists descend upon Taunton, enquiring about his relationship with the young cricketers he houses on an annual basis. Fifteen years later, his belief in the educative value of corporal punishment was to lead to a guilty plea, to his instant regret, to three charges of common assault against South African teenagers.

Roebuck's insistence that he will not surrender to "moral blackmail" is one of the most revealing passages in these freshly discovered chapters. "These tactics, this moral blackmail, this offer not to tell lies if I will not tell facts, must not rush me into a hasty marriage with attendant car and nappies. Through my life so far, I've tried to be as independent, financially and personally, as possible… I fear love for its invasion of privacy though now, at last, I begin to think about it. For the present, I have two lives (in England and Australia), three careers (cricket, writing, teaching), and a variety of ways of keeping the world, though not friendship, at its distance. I don't care a jot what anyone else does in private, so long as it does not hurt people. I want to help the young, something I've failed to do so far in my years at Somerset because I was too involved in my own game to care for anyone else."

The Roebuck family website goes as far as to suggest "a causal connection" between events at Somerset that fateful summer and the manner in which his life came to a tragic end many years later. You would have to be a believer in chaos theory to accept this conclusion without reservation.

Another 25 years elapsed before Roebuck fell to his death from a Cape Town hotel window in 2011 while being questioned by police about an alleged sexual assault, which remains unproven. A police statement at the time said that Roebuck, by then a celebrated author and journalist, committed suicide, a version of events that was accepted by a closed inquest, before last month South Africa's Director of Public Prosecutions responded to family lobbying and agreed to review the findings.

In mental turmoil he might have been, but Roebuck required no passage of time to see the mid-1980s as a period when county cricket's unwieldy amateur committees were no longer fit for purpose, unable to deal with the advent of the celebrity cricketer. It is no coincidence that the mid-'80s also saw county cricket's other great conflict, as Yorkshire descended into internecine strife over the future of Geoffrey Boycott.

"Somerset, a small county area with a small county cricket team is one of the battlegrounds upon which this battle is taking place. It is a battle between old-fashioned standards and celebration of stardom. It isn't really a battle between management and worker at all. Botham is not a worker, cannot pretend to be a working class hero. In this battle the management and the workers are on the same side. "

Roebuck bats in a benefit match for Botham in Finchley, London © Getty Images


Somerset's general committee is elderly white males to a man, and when Roebuck goes to an area committee meeting in the seaside town of Weston, where incidentally he finds warm support, he learns that a 26-strong committee has been extended to 27 just because somebody else asked to join. "We must change this old, male hegemony in charge of cricket," he writes. "A game cannot, in 1986, be run by genial, sensible pensioners. It is frightening how much cricket depends on the tireless voluntary work of old men."

Much has been made over the years about the enmity that grew from this summer onwards between Roebuck and Botham, polar opposites in character and cricketing approach, But it is Roebuck's fear of Richards' volcanic temperament that stands out most in these unseen chapters, such as an exchange during a Championship match at Worcester, after Somerset's intentions are known, a day that begins with Roebuck strolling by the banks of the Severn in search of rural bliss and soon becomes something altogether more tempestuous.

"Viv asked to see me in private, so we went upstairs where we wouldn't be disturbed. For the next 15 minutes he launched a tirade of abuse […] He said I was a sick boy, a terrible failure, an unstable character, someone who should never be put in charge of anything… He said I hadn't yet seen his bad side and he'd unleash it upon me from now on. During this torrent, I sat quietly, not angry at all though a little startled."

Tensions with Botham are also laid bare. "Botham is trying to form the players into a gang behind him," Roebuck writes. "He's shown little interest in these young cricketers on previous occasions, but he is a formidable warrior… If he can't win them over he'd certainly try to bully them into line." He even explores likenesses between Botham and Percy Chapman, an Ashes-winning captain in 1926, who "fell into decline, drinking heavily and putting on weight, ravaging his body". He questions Botham's desire to be surrounded by like-minded "chums", not stopping to reflect that he himself was also bent upon building a Somerset side in his own image.

"I am not a loner," he concludes, "rather my preferred pursuits (reading, writing, music) are solitary. I am private, it is true, and enjoy the companionship of my close friends much more than the conviviality of a loud, large group. As for splitting the team, the whole point of this struggle was that it had been split for years."

Supreme Court brings Indian cricket into the 21st century

Suresh Menon in The Hindu


The world’s most successful secret society has been given a lesson in transparency and that is cause for celebration.

No tears need be wasted on the panjandrums who have been running the Board of Control for Cricket in India and its State associations like personal fiefdoms.

The Supreme Court finally reeled in the long rope it had given the BCCI, and so tripped up its senior officials. If there was contrition among the officials, these remained unexpressed. Yesterday’s powerhouses will be tomorrow’s forgotten men, their frown and wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command erased forever.

Inevitably, some good men will be thrown out with the bad, and there will be much churning as the old order makes way for the new. The saner elements of the board will wonder if it had to come to this, when, with greater maturity and common sense, the BCCI might have emerged with some dignity.

For the BCCI brought about its own downfall, aided by nothing more than its hubris and cavalier disregard for the laws of the land. You cannot ignore a Supreme Court judgement, as the BCCI did, and hope that nothing will change. It wasn’t just arrogance, it was foolishness of the highest order.

Would past presidents like Chinnaswamy and Sriraman, Gaekwad and Bindra, Dungarpur and Dalmiya have allowed things to come to this pass? It is convenient to believe they wouldn’t. But there is false memory at play here, a harking back to a golden era that never existed. Ghulam Ahmed, former off spinner and board vice-president, put it succinctly, “There are no values in the board.”

The Anurag Thakurs and Ajay Shirkes are paying the price for the culture that men like those mentioned had brought into the BCCI. These men ran the best sports body in the country, and somehow believed that they had a divine right to do so. Players kowtowed to them, politicians and businessmen chased them, and they clung on to power with a touching desperation.

The current dispensation extended that culture and refined it. They, like their predecessors, failed to understand the connection between actions and consequences.

At any time in the BCCI’s eight-decade history, the Supreme Court could have stepped in and ruled as it did now. Accountability and transparency were never in the BCCI’s handbook for officials, but public scrutiny was not as intense as it is now, and in some cases the good that an official did outweighed the bad, and all was forgiven.

Brinkmanship — a tactic much favoured by the BCCI to bring other cricket boards and indeed the International Cricket Council to its knees — is not a strategy guaranteed to impress the Supreme Court. That the highest court gave the BCCI more than six months to comply with its order when it could have acted even as deadlines were ignored is a testimony to its benevolence.

But how did a three-time Member of Parliament, which is what Anurag Thakur is, and sundry other luminaries, misjudge the seriousness of the situation? Was this a proxy war fought on behalf of his political masters by Thakur, or was the board, recognising the inevitable, preparing for a scorched earth response? The first will have to remain in the realm of speculation till a lead actor in the drama spills the beans. We shall soon know about the second.

The BCCI’s death wish has been one of the features of the whole saga. Thakur came in as the bright, young face of the board. There was an energy about him which makes his fall a disappointment. At 42 he was the man who replaced the old guard. Yet, within weeks, the cozy club he had tried to break up when N. Sinivasan was in charge, quickly reshaped itself into a new cozy club.

His fall is a cautionary tale for those who set out to change the system but is absorbed by it. The Supreme Court’s ruling will also impact other sports which have been resisting change like the BCCI. And that is good news for Indian sport.
The domestic season has been unaffected by the BCCI’s problems. This has been the case traditionally, and is one of the true blessings of Indian cricket. There are enough dedicated officials to ensure that the show goes on.

A generational change has been forced upon the BCCI, which is otherwise happy to continue with sons and nephews (never daughters and nieces) and other relatives keeping everything in the family.

Now State associations will have to change their registrations where necessary, holding general body meetings in order to advance this. Legal procedures need to be followed. There is a temptation to believe that cricketers make the best administrators. This is a common fallacy. There are cricketers who have made excellent administrators, but being able to play the square cut is no guarantee of managerial skills. The names of corrupt cricketer-officials are well known.

There is a long road ahead, mostly uncharted. But a start has been made. The new system may not be perfect, but it is better than the old one. Accountability ensures that.

TTIP leak could it spell the end of controversial trade deal?

Andrew Griffin in The Independent

Hundreds of leaked pages from the controversial Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP) show that the deal could be about to collapse, according to campaigners.

The huge leak – which gives the first full insight into the negotiations – shows that the relationship between Europe and the US are weaker than had been thought and that major divisions remain on some of the agreement’s most central provisions.

The talks have been held almost entirely in secret, and most information that is known in public has come out from unofficial leaks. But the new pages, leaked by Greenpeace, represent the first major look at how the highly confidential talks are progressing.

They indicate that the US is looking strongly to change regulation in Europe to lessen the protections on the environment, consumer rights and other positions that the EU affords to its citizens. Representatives for each side appear to have found that they have run into “irreconcilable” differences that could undermine the signing of the landmark and highly controversial trade deal, campaigners say.

For instance, the papers show that the US is looking to weaken the EU’s “precautionary principle” that governs how potentially harmful products are sold, Greenpeace says. The US has much weaker regulation that aims to minimise rather than avoid risks, and that same less strict regime could come to the UK and Europe under the deal.

If the EU made further changes to similar regulations, it would have to inform the US and corporations based there, according to the documents. American companies would then be able to have the same input into EU regulation as European ones do.

There are also notable missing parts of the agreement. None of the texts includes any reference to the global effort to cut CO2 emissions agreed in Paris last year, according to Greenpeace, despite a commitment from the European Commission that it would make environmental sustainability a key part of any deal.

Those who support TTIP argue that it represents an important step that will allow the US and EU to work together more closely and that it will support business in both regions. But parts of the deal and the secrecy that surrounds it have led campaigners to argue that it could include dangerous changes to the consumer protections that are guaranteed by the EU.

UK Parliament 'would not be able to stop NHS sell-off under TTIP'

Poverty, environmental and other campaigners have claimed that the new leak could be enough to undermine those already controversial talks.

"The TTIP negotiations will never survive this leak,” said John Hilary, the executive director of War on Want. “The only way that the European Commission has managed to keep the negotiations going so far is through complete secrecy as to the actual details of the deal under negotiation. Now we can see the details for ourselves, and they are truly shocking. This is surely the beginning of the end for this much hated deal."

Other campaigners criticised the fact that the only public information that has emerged about TTIP has come from leaks.

“TTIP is being cooked up behind closed doors because when ordinary people find out about the threat it poses to democracy and consumer protections, they are of course opposed to it,” said Guy Taylor, trade campaigner at Global Justice Now. “It’s no secret that the negotiations have been on increasingly shaky ground. Millions of people across Europe have signed petitions against TTIP, and hundreds of thousands have taken to the streets to call for an end to the negotiations. These leaks should be seen as another nail in the coffin of a toxic trade deal that corporate power is unsuccessfully trying to impose on ordinary people and our democracies.”

My perfect affair – how I’m getting away with it

Anonymous as told to Joan McFadden in The Guardian


Tell no one, put nothing in writing, pay in cash, don’t drink, and keep off the phone. How to have an affair for nine years and get away with it

 

‘The first time we slept together, we were like two teenagers, and not in a good way.’ Photograph: Jonathan Storey/Getty Images
Love and happiness are certainly important to me in my 20-year marriage to Stephen. They are also important to me in my nine-year affair with Michael. I didn’t have an affair lightly. I know people have affairs for all sorts of reasons and think ultimately that they have a goal in mind – the end of their marriage, a lasting new relationship or a complete change to what they see as a boring life.

I’m none of these things. I want no drama disrupting my family. I want to stay happily married and carry on my affair and I never, ever want anyone else to know, so I have every detail planned and covered. My husband doesn’t suspect, my sisters and my best friends have no idea and I make sure there’s no evidence at all that can trip me up.

I didn’t start an affair because I’m lacking anything with Stephen. He’s a brilliant dad and funny, intelligent, fit and attractive. We’ve always made an effort to keep things fresh – of course you get bogged down in daily life, but we go out for dinner by ourselves or have a day off when we pack the kids off to school and go back to bed for a few hours. We also do a lot as a family, as well as socialising with friends and enjoying a variety of hobbies, so being organised is vital and, like many working mothers, I keep a meticulous diary to make sure everyone is in the right place at the right time.


I also have a diary in my head of my times with Michael, but I never put anything in writing. No love missives – texts are about the families getting together – and any emails are work related because we work in the same field. Stephen was friends with Michael first, having met him at a school event when our youngest child was just starting. He couldn’t believe we hadn’t met professionally and soon introduced us. He’s completely different from Stephen, who is very forthright, enthusiastic and go-getting while Michael is dreamy and creative, but with an incisive sense of humour and very witty, so they get on well.

I was quite shaken when I started to find Michael attractive. I’m not stupid enough to think you can go through life fancying only one person, but I’d kept any previous little crushes firmly in my head. Stephen is quite a flirt himself and the odd little bit of jealousy never did me any harm, and tended to respark my interest in my husband.

This was different. For the first time since we got married, I could imagine myself having an affair and at first it made me uncomfortable. I started plotting how we could do it and never get found out, and almost convinced myself that I was just being academic about it. Then we all got quite drunk at a party and Michael and I really started flirting. I thought life would go back to normal the next day and it did in front of Stephen and Jane, but we had a completely different relationship when we were alone.

We started talking dirty. At first it was just a little edgy – do you still fancy Stephen/Jane? Ever been unfaithful? Ever thought of it? It got more and more explicit and I couldn’t get him out of my mind. But I got a bad shock when he sent me a filthy text one night. I was sure he was drunk as it was short but very graphic. At that point my conscience was almost clear as we’d done nothing but talk, so I said, “Oh my God, Stephen – Michael’s just sent me a text that’s meant for Jane!”

Stephen thought it was hilarious and I texted back and said, “Isn’t this for Jane? Stephen says lucky her!”

Stephen teased him about it for ages but the next time I was alone with him I was furious and told him never to do something so stupid again. He said he thought I fancied him and I said very calmly that I did, but I wouldn’t risk my marriage or kids for anyone. It took another six months of discussion and planning before the affair started. We agreed that it was to be an added extra to an already strong friendship, but organised calmly and dispassionately, so no one would suspect.

By the time we slept together, we were both in a total state and it was a complete disaster. He’d been to the first day of a conference – I arrived that afternoon and checked into the same hotel. We had three hours in the late afternoon till his flight home and despite all our talk about being calm and dispassionate we were both unbelievably nervous. We were like two teenagers, and not in a good way.

For months I’d been totally turned on every time we were anywhere close to each other, but not now. The sex was clumsy and painful and a couple of times I wondered what the hell I was doing. He had his own worries – it was over far too soon and I felt dissatisfied as well as guilty – and he clearly felt the same. We had another go before he had to rush for his plane and it was just as bad. He said he would text me and I snapped at him not to – had he forgotten all we agreed? Stephen phoned later and in the midst of the chat about the kids asked if Michael was at the conference so I said he’d popped in before he left.

Coming home the next night was hellish. I was sure Stephen could tell I’d had sex with someone else but he was the same as ever and I was pathetically pleased that I was able to enjoy sex with him as normal. It was another two days before I saw Michael again and I was desperate to phone him, despite my rules, though I managed not to. He looked so miserable I was instantly irritated, convinced Jane would have guessed something was up. I was tempted to suggest we just forget it but I didn’t want to make him even more upset so I was reassuring and said we’d sort something out.


We went away for a week’s holiday and I did a lot of thinking. I decided that nerves had made the sex awkward, and once we got over the hump – so to speak – we’d be fine, so I deliberately made plans. Stephen took the kids to the cinema that weekend. I phoned their house, telling Jane I had mislaid papers from the conference and asking if Michael could bring me his so I could copy them. I read one of Stephen’s porn mags to get me in the mood, opened the front door and literally dragged him into the toilet, where we had exactly the sort of sex I’d imagined.

That was the last risk I took. I’m sure no one suspects we’re having an affair. We meet as lovers about twice a month, which probably does keep the magic and anticipation going, but I’m endlessly careful; I do worry about CCTV now as it’s everywhere. We usually meet at a conference hotel or at the airport and I might say to Stephen that I bumped into Michael and had a coffee with him, though I obviously won’t tell him that was after lunch and before sex. We’ve managed to resist that temptation to tell others by talking to each other instead. There are no romantic letters, emails or texts – and because we have fairly constant contact, there’s none of that terrible panic that illicit lovers seem to have about when the next encounter will be.

This care is also my safety net should Michael ever want more. He says he still loves Jane but if he decides otherwise I would just deny everything and there’s no proof. Not a note, credit card bill or hotel receipt – everything is paid by cash – so I’d just walk away.

I wouldn’t be friends with Jane if I didn’t want the smokescreen that provides – we’re too different and there’s a slightly snobbish side to her that irks me, but a monthly coffee or occasional girls’ night makes it seem that we have a separate friendship and so she’s much less likely to suspect anything. She’s even said that I’m good for Michael as he doesn’t have sisters so it’s nice to see him have a friendship with a woman.

I love both men, I’m harming no one and have no intention of doing so. I know we’re being greedy but it’s not affecting anyone else badly. If anything, it enhances my sex life with Stephen and when you’ve got two men seeing you naked you certainly keep yourself fit. I want everything to continue as it is, whereas many people having affairs want something to change, usually other relationships, so they can be together all the time. Strange as it may seem, my biggest worry is that, years on, Michael may die first and I won’t be able to grieve properly, because although the close friendship is known and taken for granted, obviously the affair isn’t. In a matter of fact way, we also assume that, when we’re much older, if our partners die we’ll end up together almost by default. Like everyone else, I’m aiming to live happily ever after, but with both men as part of my life. The only way to make that feasible is to keep everything as tidy as possible.

Perhaps we don’t want to explore the premise that for most people it’s not fidelity and love that keeps them constant to their partner, but fear of potential messiness should they be discovered. How many people, no matter how satisfied with their sex lives and happy with their partners, would say “no thank you” to an explosive sexual encounter if it was guaranteed that they’d never be found out? Domesticity doesn’t do it for everyone long term, no matter how much we’d like it to and although that’s apparent in male behaviour over the centuries now that women are on a par with men, surely this means such potential restlessness applies equally to both sexes?

It takes a very brave person to give an honest response, but, before judging me, ask yourself just one question – what’s stopping you from doing exactly the same?

Freemasons from throughout history to be revealed

The list is being published online by the genealogy company, Ancestry

Ian Johnston in The Independent


A once highly secret list containing the identities of two million Freemasons throughout history is to be published online, revealing the extent of the organisation’s influence in the upper echelons of society.

Everyone from Oscar Wilde and Rudyard Kipling to the Duke of Wellington and Lord Kitchener were members, The Daily Telegraph reported.

There are even claims that a singer suspected of being Jack the Ripper was protected from prosecution because he was a mason.

Other members include Sir Winston Churchill, Edward VII, George VI, Edward VIII, explorers Ernest Shackleton and Captain Robert Falcon Scott, scientists Edward Jenner and Sir Alexander Fleming, engineer Thomas Telford, businessman Harry Selfridge and social reformer Thomas Barnardo, as well as both Gilbert and Sullivan.

The list is being published online by the genealogy company, Ancestry.

Miriam Silverman, senior UK content manager at Ancestry, told the Telegraph: “We’re delighted to be able to offer people an online window into a relatively unknown organisation.”

Meanwhile a new book by the director and screenwriter of the film Withnail and I, Bruce Robinson, claims that Jack the Ripper was a singer called Michael Maybrick.

The book, The All Love Jack: Busting the Ripper, claims that all the murders had elements of masonic ritual. The symbol of a pair of compasses, for example, was carved into the face of one victim.

Maybrick and his brother James, also a suspect, were both masons, as were two senior police officers, three police doctors and two coroners involved in the case. Maybrick was a member of the “Supreme Grand Council of Freemasons”.

Robinson told the Telegraph: “It was endemic in the way England ran itself. At the time of Jack the Ripper, there were something like 360 Tory MPs, 330 of which I can identify as Masons.

“The whole of the ruling class was Masonic, from the heir to the throne down. It was part of being in the club.

“Part of the whole ethic of Freemasonry is whatever it is, however it’s done, you protect the brotherhood – and that’s what happened.

“They weren’t protecting Jack the Ripper, they were protecting the system that Jack the Ripper was threatening. And to protect the system, they had to protect him. And the Ripper knew it.”

How to achieve the good life

How to learn anything in 20 hours

The big secret nobody wants to tell

The secrets of long-term love

What is the key to a happy marriage? Is there a formula for long-term love? And how do you keep the passion alive after more than 50 years together? Six happily married couples share their secrets, from never eating in front of the television to keeping some things a mystery

• Hannah Shuckburgh
• The Guardian, Friday 22 August 2014 13.00 BST

Together for 56 years

Gem, 74, and Ezra Harris, 74, grew up in Glengoffe, a village in St Catherine, Jamaica. Ezra emigrated to England at 19, Gem followed him two months later, and they married in August 1958. They settled in Bradford. Ezra was a forklift driver and Gem worked in domestic service until they both retired. They have three children, Jennifer, 55, Christopher, 52 and Samantha, 45, and four grandchildren.

 Ezra and Gem Harris: ‘ We have a good time. We used to love a dance, listen to reggae, calypso. But it’s hard now with our bad knees.’ Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Ezra: Back home, people used to talk about abroad as if the whole place was paved with gold. When a plane passed overhead we would all look up and wish we were on it. One day I heard an advertisement on the radio, saying you could come to Britain and get work. It was a promise of a future. I wanted to make myself better off and be somebody.

I arrived in Bradford in June. It was supposed to be summer but I can remember the cold, the smell of the coal. The first day I was here, I felt like going back. You feel lonely; you miss your parents. I thought it would be much easier if I got a wife.

Gem had been two years below me in church school. I didn't know anything about women. My father was a preacher and very strict. I wrote to her saying I'd like to send for her to come and marry me. I hoped she'd agree and she did – she was glad to come because I bought her a ticket out of Jamaica. I knew she would make a good wife.

We didn't go back to Jamaica until 1973. Everything seemed different – smaller, farther away. It didn't feel like home. But still, after all this time, I can't get shot of my accent. Gem always tells me, "Speak English!" But you cannot teach an old dog new tricks.

Fifty-six years we have been married. You must work at it. Talk to each other. Disagree, but don't let arguments drag on. Don't go around having lots of kids with women and not looking after them. And believe in God. If you trust in Him, everything is going to be all right.

I try to be a good husband. I try not to come in with mucky hands. She worries about me passing first, and I tell her, "Don't worry about a thing." But if she goes first I will be miserable.

We're going to go on a cruise, and when I booked it the lady asked if we would like separate beds. I said, "What are you talking about, woman?" We are husband and wife. Sometimes you still get some fun!

Gem: I remember looking down from the plane as I flew into England for the first time, and seeing all this smoke coming from the chimneys. It looked as if the whole place was on fire.

Even now, I don't know how I managed to get to Bradford alone. Ezra didn't come to meet me at the station – I am still angry with him about that – so I got a taxi to his lodgings. It was just a room, really, with a coal fire and a paraffin heater.

I'd brought a wedding dress from home, and my mother's veil. I arrived on 12 August, and we married on 30 August in a register office. I missed my family very much at first, but you get used to it. The winters were hardest.

There was a lot of racism back then. People would shout, "Go back to your dirty country!" They treated you as though you were nothing. It was hurtful, but you just try to keep away from trouble.

Ezra calls me "the wife", which he shouldn't do. I'll tidy up the house and he'll go and leave crumbs. We quarrel every day, but we always make up.

He likes to cuddle, but I don't bother. I am always telling him to talk properly, but when I get mad, I talk in patois: "Shuttup and come dung ere, man!" He just laughs.

We have a good time. We used to love a drink and a dance at the African-Caribbean centre, listen to some reggae, some calypso – but it is upstairs and it's hard to get up there now with our bad knees. On Sundays I'll always cook Jamaican food for the family – curried goat, rice and peas, but always with yorkshire pudding, too.

Together for 52 years

 Mick and Barbara Wilson: ‘ I know many couples can’t survive such loss, but we could always talk and cry together.’ Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Barbara, 72, and Mick Wilson, 79, met in 1960 and married in 1962. Their eldest daughter, Sarah, died in a white-water rafting accident 14 years ago in Peru, when she was 36. Barbara is a neuropsychologist; Mick is a retired English teacher, and they live in Bury St Edmunds. They have two surviving children, Anna and Matthew, and four grandchildren.

Barbara: I was in my first year at teacher-training college when Mick, in the year above, invited me to his room for coffee. "Mick Wilson never invites people for coffee," a friend told me. He gave me a large German beer mug full of Nescafé; I think he wanted to make a good impression.

Mick thought we should wait to have children, but I decided we shouldn't. We were hippies: no TV, no car, we made our own bread. Mick had long hair and a beard and wore bell-bottoms. We had lots of cats and stick insects. I was a housewife, but Mick wanted me educated. I took my psychology A-level when I was 29, then a degree, a master's, and a PhD.

In 2000, I was leaving work when a colleague said, "Mick's on his way over." I just knew something awful had happened. Maybe it's the cat, I thought. Please let it be the cat. Mick called from the motorway. "There's terrible news." Some part of me already knew. "Is it Sarah? Is she dead?" He said, "I think so."

We somehow got through that night. Some kind of madness takes over. It's anguish, grief and everything in between. We took turns to be strong, I think. We talked and cried and held each other. We arranged to go out to Peru the following week and Mick paid £10,000 for a helicopter to look for Sarah's body. It was pointless, of course, but I knew he needed to do it, so I let him. Sarah has never been a taboo: we talk about her every day.

Mick: It was always a strong marriage. We've done daft things, of course. Back in the old, hippy days we thought we wanted an open marriage, but we tried it once or twice and it didn't work out for us. It taught us both that the best kind of arousal comes through affection, not sex with just anyone.

Our daughter Sarah's marriage had broken down after years of failed fertility treatments and she went to Peru to rethink her life. To this day, we've never had a body to bury. We won't ever have closure. You can learn to live with it, but you'll never close the book. I know many couples find their relationship can't survive this kind of loss, but ours did because we could always talk to each other and cry together.

We are in our old age now and, the way we see it, we've lived a happy life, apart from one terrible tragedy. We have two wonderful children, and four grandchildren. To have the marriage we have, the life we have together, I think we've been very privileged.

Together for 36 years

 Howard Shepherdson (left) and Rod Marten: ‘ We have no separate lives. We spend every day together and it never gets boring.’ Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Rod Marten, 71, and Howard Shepherdson, 60, met in a pub in London in 1978. Rod is a retired tax inspector; Howard is a semi-retired management consultant. They were the UK's first same-sex couple to be legal long-term foster parents; their son, Glen, is 43. Rod and Howard have two grandchildren, and have been civil partners since 2005. They live in Ealing, west London.

Howard: I had always thought the idea of love at first sight was a cliche. But one Thursday night in 1978, that's what happened. I spotted Rod at the bar and it was just lovely from the moment we started chatting. I went home to my parents in Sussex that weekend feeling quite delirious. I thought, "What is this?" It was like catching pneumonia.

In 1985 I was a school counsellor and had been working with a 14-year-old boy, Glen, from a children's home. One day, Glen just asked me: "Will you be my dad?" I thought it was best to be honest with him, so I said I was afraid it was impossible, because I'm gay. Glen said, "Why should that matter?" And it struck a chord. Rod and I decided we might as well try. No gay couple had formally adopted – or long-term fostered, as we did – before. It was very strengthening, loving someone together and them loving you back. He now lives in France with his wife, Isabelle. We visit all the time, and Skype. Having grandchildren has been a deeply enriching experience for us.

Rod and I are not at all independent of each other. We have no separate lives. We spend every day together and it never gets boring. Yes, sex does start to slow down at our age, but physical intimacy shouldn't. We still curl up on the sofa together, as we have done for ever. There's just one thing we avoid completely as it would mean instant divorce – DIY.

Rod: When I went into work the day after I'd met Howard, a colleague said I seemed different, extra-happy. I was. We met in September and by December we were looking to buy a flat together. I think my family thought it was a bit soon, but we're still in the same flat, 36 years later.

In the 80s, being openly gay on the street was not something you felt particularly secure doing. We've never walked around holding hands. If we were 21 now we'd do it, but you can't just start doing that in your 60s. Getting our civil partnership was a political statement, but as the date got closer, it felt very romantic.

I think relationships need rules. Work must never dominate your life. We never go to sleep on an argument. I am a terrible procrastinator, and Howard is an over-organiser, but you have to learn to love the other person for who they are, and not be frustrated by what you want them to be. It's no good being perpetually disappointed. Our other absolute rule is that we never, ever eat dinner in front of the television. We haven't done it once in 36 years.

Together for 40 years

 Setsuo Kato and Jill Fanshawe Kato: ' We’ve both had admirers over the years, but we have got strong self-discipline.’ Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Jill Fanshawe Kato, 68, and Setsuo Kato, 72, met in London in the early 70s and married in Tokyo in 1974. They spent two years living in Japan before moving back to the UK and settling in north London. Setsuo is a freelance photojournalist; Jill is a potter.

Jill: I had visited Japan in my 20s and found it a very chauvinistic place. But I'd got quite far with my Japanese and wanted to carry on learning, so I joined an evening class in Holborn. Setsuo turned up one night to interview students for an article that he was writing.

Luckily for us, our families were very supportive. We had a traditional Japanese wedding in Tokyo. I wore a pink kimono with kanzashi hair ornaments.

I think after all these years together, I have started looking a bit Japanese. I've always used kohl round my eyes, and I like to wear Japanese textiles. I suppose it's attitude and behaviour, too. I'm from Devon, but British people can never tell where I'm from.

We never had children – perhaps that is the thing that has kept us together, and given us greater independence. We've both had admirers over the years, but we have got strong self-discipline. You need to be kind to each other, remember the value of what you have.

There should always be an unknown area of your partner. There is a lot of mystery about Setsuo. We would never go to the loo in front of each other; there is privacy and respect between us. We've lived in this house for more than 30 years, but Setsuo has never once gone into my studio at the top of the house. We are probably still finding things out about each other, even now.

Setsuo: Japanese men who travelled to London in those days were not mainstream – we were adventurous types. It wasn't as if you just hopped on a plane. I'd caught a Russian boat from Yokohama, and took the Siberian railway all the way to London.

I have lived here a long time, but I always consider myself Japanese. I am not very good at being physically affectionate. I am a bit better at it than most Japanese men, but I don't talk about my feelings. I don't lose my temper.

Jill and I give each other huge freedom. Jill will often go abroad for a month or two to work, and I enjoy a social life more than her – I zoom off and come back as I wish. We've always said we face the world back to back.

I think you have to be patient. When life is down, people think changing partners will help – but I'm not convinced anyone is better off in the long run. It would just be awful to have to start again.

We are like two trees that have grown together; our roots are entwined.

Together for 59 years

 Patrick and Doreen Skilling: ‘ We married at the Savoy, way above our station.' Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Doreen, 89, and Patrick Skilling, 86, married in 1955. They lived in Notting Hill for 50 years; Patrick was an advertising executive and Doreen designed wallpaper for Biba. In the 70s, the couple gave up their jobs to run a furniture stall together in Portobello Market. Doreen was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 2006 and they now live together at the Sunrise care home in Beaconsfield.

Patrick: A colleague had been trying to take Doreen out. He said to me, "Take this bird out, will you? I can't handle her." So I took her for a drink. I was wildly impressed. We dated for five years and were married in the Queen's Chapel at the Savoy. It was way above our station, but Doreen somehow managed it.

We always thought we would have children, but by the time we realised it probably wasn't going to happen, it was too late. We weren't sad about it at the time – it wasn't something we even talked about – but now I think it may have been the greatest tragedy of our lives. When I see Doreen cuddling a doll now, I wonder whether it may have affected her more than she let on, that there might be a deeper sense of loss.

I was earning good money in advertising, smoking and drinking too much. I'm sorry to say I failed her many times; falling into the pitfalls that husbands do. But Doreen was always very patient. We decided I'd leave my job and we'd become business partners. So we took a stall in Portobello Market, and started selling antiques and junk furniture. It revitalised our married life. We had time to talk.

Ten years ago, I started to notice Doreen was having problems with numbers. She couldn't sort out the change. It was two years before we got a diagnosis, that she had Alzheimer's. She has never really understood what is happening to her. The change in her was slow and almost imperceptible. But I wept for her. It was so dreadful that such a lovely person should face such a thing.

All along I'd assumed we'd stay at home. But after six years, she developed problems I just couldn't cope with. She moved into a home, and for two months I visited her every day. It was obvious from day one that I should live there, too. I wanted to continue being important in her life. Selling our house was like losing another partner. You mourn for these things, as if they were human; the conservatory full of plants we'd tended together, all her paintings.

Doreen lives on a secure wing, and I have a separate room. She doesn't communicate at all now. She sits around looking lovely. I envy her tranquillity. I go up every day. She doesn't know it's me – Pat, her husband – but I think she thinks I'm a friendly face. That's good enough for me. I just cherish what's left.

Now I must fill my days. I walk, garden, do my stamp albums. I don't want to sit slumped on a chair, like everyone else here. And Doreen, she'll just fade away. She won't be afraid of it. But I'll be shattered. Inertia will probably keep me here after she's gone. I am 86, and it's just too daunting to find a new house. But you live day by day. It's hard to live any other way.

Together for 73 years

 Fred and Gladys Croft: ‘ It will come some day, life without each other. We don’t like to think about it’ Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Gladys, 100, and Fred Croft, 96, met at a dance in New Malden, south-west London, in 1931. Gladys was a factory worker; Fred an engineer who then joined the air force. They married in 1940, before Fred was posted abroad. After the war, Fred worked for the NHS, and the couple settled in the London suburbs. They have a daughter, Audrey, 69, and a grandson, Iain, 41. They live in couples' accommodation in the Acacia Mews care home in St Albans.

Gladys: My mother died of an asthma attack when I was 18, and my father remarried and went off with his new family. He paid our rent, but we never saw him again. My youngest sister was only eight, so we had to bring ourselves up – five sisters in a small flat in Raynes Park.

I would go out with the girls I worked with at the weekend. We'd always have a good laugh. That's where I saw Fred for the first time, at a dance. I loved dancing back then.

We got married just before he left for the war and I wore a wedding dress that three of my sisters had already worn. We didn't have many guests, just my sisters and Fred's mum, who had made a fruitcake.

I didn't want children during the war, because so many fathers didn't come back, you see. You can't think the worst, but my sister's husband was killed in the war – terribly sad.

Audrey was born in May 1946. It was too late to have any more children, because I was so old – 32. We decided that we wouldn't have any more.

We've had some wonderful holidays. Fred would often surprise me by booking a hotel for the weekend. We both love seeing places – Denmark, Spain, Ireland – but we'd never take a package tour. We liked to do it ourselves, see a lot of things.

We don't get flustered; I think that's the secret. Fred is very easy-going. He'll go into the garden and I'll leave him be. He has been a good husband, and I think I've been a good wife.

We haven't had difficult times or problems like many other people have – we've had good health, nice holidays, and we've worked hard. We've done everything together, and always had each other. We've never been lonely. I have never been unhappy in all my life. You have to make your own pleasures, don't you?

Fred: There's nothing magical about it, really. We've just lived a normal life. If you've got problems, you sort them out. We have arguments, but we've never had a row. Not a proper one.

Yes, there are things we would have liked to have, but if we couldn't afford it, we didn't buy it. We never bought a house. Borrowing money makes for trouble. I've met two people in my life with plenty of money and they've never been happy. Money causes terrible worries for people.

The things you saw in the war, they shaped you. These days, youngsters don't seem satisfied with life. They think nothing of getting married three times. Our grandson, Iain, is divorced. I think you've got to try to be happy with what you have. Don't always be looking elsewhere. Don't aim for the moon.

I've always let Gladys do what she pleased. If she wanted to go out with the girls, she just went. I didn't worry. But I've always included her in my interests, that's the thing. I love boats, and we had wonderful barge holidays together for 30 years.

It'll come some day, life without each other. We don't like to think about it. Gladys gets panic attacks. I can't stand up on my own any more, so I can't help her. It's terrible to watch. I wouldn't want to be without her.