The obsolete British art of keeping a secret

This week, the London Stock Exchange issued a public warning about bill stickers. The legendary flyposter has gone electronic and is virtually impossible to prosecute. It is now easy to post sensitive commercial information anonymously on the Internet for all to see. The financial world is aghast at the threat this poses to secrets that all business likes to preserve.

And bill stickers have subversive allies in other walks of life. On Wednesday, Keith Rose unlocked another awkward secret. A convicted murderer, he telephoned the BBC from jail to tell millions of listeners how to escape from Parkhurst prison. Meanwhile, even the mighty McDonald's is having problems silencing damaging criticism of its ethics: using the libel courts has turned into a public relations disaster. And leaks are springing from all over the place in officialdom. Poor old William Waldegrave nearly drowned in one that said he deceived MPs about the sale of arms to Iraq. Everywhere the message is the same: it is almost impossible these days to keep a secret.

Britain's authorities are understandably uncomfortable with the tide of information that is now flowing out, unchecked, to the general public. They want to hold it back because in secrecy lies their power. After all, undisclosed sales to Saddam Hussein allowed just a few civil servants and ministers to run their own strictly private foreign policy. There were important reasons why nobody should find out what they were up to. As one of Lord Howe's officials wrote at the time: "It could look very cynical if, so soon after expressing outrage about the treatment of the Kurds, we adopt a more flexible approach to arms sales." Indeed. If the charmed circle of ministers and civil servants can keep such things to themselves, then they are never called upon to explain such acts of hypocrisy.

Even reformists within the Establishment want to keep control of information. Sir Richard Scott might be ready to blow the gaffe on the arms scandal, but only when it suits him. He chastised the BBC for publishing his provisional criticisms of Mr Waldegrave and John Major. But the public is unsympathetic. On this matter they would overwhelmingly side with the BBC. Why should they have to wait for Sir Richard's imprimatur before some juicy morsel of news can be released? We are not children: we want access to information as soon as it becomes available.

The Scott inquiry is a cameo of the new fault-line between past and future. The past is a way of governing that wraps itself in obscure customs, sophistry and plain deceit in order to control access to the truth and reduce accountability. This is the world that has for so long allowed MPs, as we report today, to massage their expenses and take advantage of public funds. In contrast, the future is one where information is generated and broadcast so widely that it becomes almost impossible for a clique to keep it under wraps. In this world, even the conventional press, such as this newspaper, will find itself by-passed if it avoids the awkward questions. The process is reminiscent of the Protestant Reformation: Britain's priestly class of politicians, administrators and professional mediators is being ousted from its commanding control of truth.

A revolution in information technology dictates the trend. But the change also reflects a public mood. We want to know. Knowledge is power and society is becoming empowered. There is a problem, however. Although we castigate politicians and those in authority for their deceits, we do not always reward them for their honesty. Indeed, we frequently hold truth- tellers and searchers in contempt. Those who bring us unpalatable realities often find few friends.

Look, for example, at the Church of England's brave attempt this week to update its vision of family life to take account of modern ways. Here is an organisation that is bound by centuries of tradition and inevitably has difficulty thinking afresh. Yet the CoE is conscientiously searching for a contemporary truth, however awkward and imperfect that proves to be. The Bishop of London's candid admission about his own sexual ambivalence is a good example of a courageous spirit. Yet the general reception given to such honesty has been derision towards the CoE for failing to affirm its old certainties which everyone knows are often out-of-date and irrelevant to many people.

Yet the emergent information-rich society needs truth-tellers. They are its standard-bearers, the agents of a new transparency and openness. They can help us to face up to difficult issues, be they setting limits to treatment on the National Health Service, recognising Britain's relative insignificance in the world or highlighting the threat that our lifestyles pose to the environment. At the moment, looking at the political parties, it is difficult to find figures who seem prepared to play this politically precarious role. Most serious politicians are silent on the really important issues that Britain is encountering.

The attitude of the Scott inquiry is striking at the heart of the ancien regime. His report will challenge the old secrecies and monopolists of information. It will represent a vote for a future of freer information and open government. It will be an expression of confidence in the maturity of voters to deal with difficult and complex issues. The question is whether we and our leaders are up to the challenge.