Jon Williams is world news editor.

 

Often in conflicts, news coverage focuses on bombing and killings. The stories of those caught up in violence are lost. So our colleagues at BBC Urdu set out to capture the impact the conflict in Swat was having on the pupils involved - their thoughts about their future, and how they were dealing with their day-to-day life.

BBC Urdu reporters made contact with teachers at a number of schools, including Malala's father, Ziauddin Yousufzai. He ran a school in Mingora, and suggested that his own daughter could write a regular diary. But in order to reduce the risk to Malala, we agreed she would write under a pseudonym, Gul Makai.

Her weekly blog started in late 2008. It proved to be such a hit, the blog was translated into English.

Her writings were non-political, but clearly reflected her desire for female education. They mostly talked about her school, studies, life at home and friends. Neither she, nor her father was paid.

In a January 2009, she wrote:

"I was getting ready for school and about to wear my uniform when I remembered that our principal had told us not to wear uniforms and come to school wearing normal clothes instead. So I decided to wear my favourite pink dress. Other girls in school were also wearing colourful dresses. During the morning assembly we were told not to wear colourful clothes as the Taliban would object to it."

Malala's diaries were published for 10 weeks. The diaries stopped when Malala and her family left the Swat valley before the launch of a military operation in May 2009. That was end of her association with the BBC.

After the Pakistani army regained control of Swat, Malala was able to return to Mingora later in 2009. Her father decided to disclose her real name when he nominated her for an international peace prize.

Malala began appearing on Pakistani TV news channels under her real identity, named as the girl behind the BBC Urdu blog. She was awarded a national peace prize by the Pakistani government, nominated for an international award and made several public appearances as a campaigner for girls' rights to education. Her fame spread far beyond Pakistan, as she stared in a documentary filmed by the The New York Times.

The BBC is incredibly proud of its association with Pakistan. BBC Urdu began broadcasting in April 1949, less than two years after the country's independence. Today, the BBC is still one of the most trusted news sources in Pakistan - precisely because we're committed to telling all sides of any story. Malala's is an important voice in the debate about Pakistan's future.

Jon Williams is the BBC world news editor.

The BBC report focused on a sequence where fighters built a 300 kilogram bomb in the back of a truck. A prisoner - said to be a member of the Shabiha, a government militia - is seen blindfolded, being taken into the city, where the fighters were said to be planning to use him as an unwitting suicide bomber.

In the event, the bomb failed to explode but the story has generated much interest across the Arab World and beyond. Amnesty International suggested that the video amounted to the attempted murder of a captive, under international law classified as a "war crime".

Some pro-government news agencies in Syria have suggested the BBC and the New York Times have termed the act as a "war crime". This is not true. The role of news organisations is to report facts and allow others to draw conclusions. The BBC and the New York Times reflect all sides of any story. It is not our role to pass judgement - we leave that to others.

Jon Williams is the BBC world news editor.

In the 1950s, 60s and 70s, Anthony Lawrence was the BBC's man in the Far East. First in Singapore, then Hong Kong, Lawrence was one of the BBC's "greatest generation" of foreign correspondents - a foreign legion that included legendary names such as Charles Wheeler, Erik de Mauny and John Osman. They built the BBC's reputation around the world, on crackly telephone lines and film flown back from distant shores*.

This weekend, "Lawrence of Asia" celebrated his 100th birthday, half a century after reporting on the communist insurgency in then Malaya, and the ousting of the British.

"Parked cars were set on fire. The steel blinds of shops came clattering down. Doors were bolted and barred. An all-day curfew was announced by radio and loudspeakers. Nobody could leave their houses. And all the streets of this big city were emptied like magic of all human beings, except for the odd mobile police patrol or military squads."

As the sun set on the British empire, Lawrence reported on the Vietnam War. One memorable despatch for From Our Own Correspondent in May 1972 suggests nothing much has changed. Reporting from the frontline with US troops in Vietnam, Lawrence could have been describing Afghanistan today:

"It's such a chancy business, this patrolling. You can go for months and meet nothing, and then three times in one week you meet some awful ambush or firefight. The man next to you goes down yelling with a leg blown off; the platoon commander is bleeding to death against a tree. It's over in 15 minutes, but it's a nightmare; and it may come again tomorrow night."

Much has changed in the four decades since Lawrence left the BBC - everything, and yet nothing. Lawrence's young "apprentice" in the heady days of the 60s was a young David Willey, still filing for the BBC from Rome, and this year himself celebrating his 80th birthday. Lawrence taught him to use the ordinary to explain the significant, the stories of real people - storytelling techniques at the core of contemporary BBC journalism today.

Lawrence moved to Hong Kong in 1958, and was forced to observe China from the outside for more than a decade before the mainland authorities let him in. He set about learning Chinese, and stayed in Hong Kong post-retirement. Having witnessed the suffering across south-east Asia, he founded a charity that helps refugees who flee to Hong Kong.

Tonight, at its famed Foreign Correspondents' Club, Hong Kong celebrates one of its finest adopted sons - and the BBC salutes one of its greatest generation. As the BBC marks 80 years of reporting the world, it is those like Lawrence who made it possible. Every day, we who follow seek to match the gold standard set by Lawrence and his contemporaries. One hundred not out! Happy birthday Tony.

Jon Williams is the BBC world news editor

*An earlier version mistakenly stated Lawrence was the last of his generation. But John Osman is still going strong at 80. Apologies.

Some news organisations refer to it as Myanmar, others, including the BBC choose to call it Burma. Over the next week, there will be lots of reporting about the country. So how do we decide which name to use?

The nation's military leaders changed the English language version of the country's name to Myanmar in 1989. The name change was opposed by pro-democracy campaigners and by Suu Kyi's National League for Democracy. They argue that the name was changed by a military junta that had no legitimacy - the NLD won elections in the country a year later, but the junta refused to recognise the result.

The decision to change the name of a country or a city is often politically sensitive, frequently the result of a nation shedding its colonial past, for example, Rhodesia's transition to Zimbabwe or India's commercial capital Bombay becoming Mumbai.

When Hillary Clinton visited the new capital Naypyidaw late last year, her advisors said she would not use either Myanmar or Burma, but would use phrases like "your country", "this land" and "what you call Myanmar". Officials said it was a sensitive issue for their hosts, but also for the US government.

That is not an option for the BBC. For us, the issue is about what is most helpful to our audiences. The BBC Burmese Service was founded in 1940. It has covered independence, uprisings and long years of military rule. It plays a vital role in bringing accurate, impartial news to the people of Burma, reaching an audience of many millions inside the country. In English - and in Burmese - our responsibility is to our audience. For now, most know the country as Burma, so, for now, that's what we continue to call it.

Others take a different view. The United Nations and the New York Times began calling the nation Myanmar in 1989, while the Associated Press adopted "Myanmar" in 2006. The BBC continues to keep names under review. Earlier this year we adopted the name "Chennai" for the Indian city of Madras - by contrast, we still refer to Bangalore rather than Bengaluru.

Jon Williams is the BBC World News editor.

Jon Williams is the BBC World News editor.

The BBC's Abdullah Ghorab was attacked in Yemen

Their reports made headlines around the world - they were the only international news team in Homs as President Assad's forces began bombarding the city.

Last week, a remarkable documentary on the World Service captured the courage and commitment needed to bring such stories to international attention. But too many in our profession pay a heavy price.

During 2011, the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) says 46 journalists lost their lives, covering conflicts from Pakistan to Somalia, Mexico to Libya.

Tragically, 2012 is already on course to outstrip that grim toll: a further six journalists have been killed in the first six weeks of this year.

We can never eliminate the risk of operating in places like Libya or Syria - only try to manage it to an acceptable level.

But in their annual report published today, the CPJ warns of a new risk - one that is more difficult to manage. It suggests regimes are finding new ways to censor the media and silence dissent.

During the uprisings across the Arab World, the internet has been a vital newsgathering tool.

Twitter and Facebook have been a source of information and video in places like Bahrain and Yemen, as well as Libya and Syria where the authorities have refused to allow access to the international media. But censorship is still alive and well.

In Homs, it became clear that the Syrian military were trying to jam our satellite equipment to prevent us reporting from the besieged city.

Earlier this month, we revealed how the Iranian government was trying to intimidate colleagues working for the BBC's Persian Service outside Iran by targeting family members who still live inside the country.

Passports of family members have been confiscated, preventing them from leaving Iran. Some of my colleagues have had their Facebook and email accounts hacked.

Ten days ago BBC Arabic reporter Abdullah Ghorab was attacked in Yemen, by a gang thought to be supporters of the outgoing president Ali Abdullah Saleh. His two brothers, who were with him, were badly beaten.

It was the third time Ghorab had been assaulted in Yemen, and he's also been verbally attacked by the country's deputy information minister.

Today, the CPJ warns that regimes may try to crack down further, precisely because they fear their ability to control the flow of information is weakening.

A year ago in Libya - two days after the start of the uprising that would bring down Colonel Gaddafi - an internet TV station started webcasting from Benghazi.

Long before international reporters made it to Libya, Alhurra TV (Free TV) was streaming footage online, allowing the world to see what was going on inside the country.

The authorities tried to shut down the internet to silence the station but, thanks to the ingenuity of its founder Mo Nabbous and his colleagues, government blocks were bypassed and the webcast was able to continue.

A month later, Nabbous was dead - killed by pro-Gaddafi troops in the battle for Benghazi.

A year on, those in Syria are following in Nabbous's footsteps. In Homs, activists have been using the Swedish website Bambuser to live stream pictures from inside the besieged city.

On Friday, the company said the Syrian government had blocked the site, a day after it broadcast images of an oil pipeline that campaigners claimed had been bombed by the Syrian military.

The CPJ is calling for the creation of a worldwide coalition against censorship made up of pressure groups, governments and businesses.

It's not just the BBC that faces difficulties - and not just Syria and Iran where we have problems. The internet has enabled millions to communicate more openly.

But that new-found freedom cannot be taken for granted.

Jon Williams is the BBC World News editor.

It takes real bravery to head towards the sound of gunfire and explosions when any right thinking person is running away - a courage shared not just by the correspondents but the often, unsung heroes, the producers, crews and engineers who get them on the air.

For much of the past week, the BBC has been the only UK broadcaster reporting from Tripoli - a five-strong team led by correspondent Matthew Price has holed up in the capital's Rixos Hotel, unable to go out unless "escorted" by Gaddafi government minders.

As parts of Tripoli fell, Matthew described his routine in a piece for the BBC News website - dinner in body armour and helmets, fear stalking the corridors as government officials abandoned the international media to their fate.

When Nato bombs started raining down on Libya, our Tripoli Correspondent Rana Jawad went into hiding. Being the BBC's correspondent in Gaddafi country was never easy at the best of times. But Rana refused the chance to leave: her life and her family was in Tripoli - and for five months, she filed a series of reports, billed only as a Tripoli Witness describing life in the capital.

At the BBC, everyone who works in a war zone is a volunteer. Like Rana, they make the decision to stay or go. Last night in a highly volatile situation, the BBC team in Zawiya, along with other major broadcasters judged it was not safe to continue with the rebels on the road into Tripoli.

Alex Crawford of Sky News took a different view and has rightly been praised for some compelling coverage. I congratulate her on her tenacity - it made for extraordinary television. But to illustrate the dangers facing those in Libya, this morning that same BBC team, led by Rupert Wingfield-Hayes came under fire as they entered Tripoli. The team is safe - but the footage which you can see here is terrifying.

Against this background we have succeeded in delivering comprehensive coverage of events in Libya since the uprising started in February. We have reported from Benghazi, Misrata and the advancing front line. Dozens of colleagues from many news organisations have risked their lives over the past five months to tell a hugely important story.

As I write, the fight for Tripoli is not over yet and some are still risking everything to ensure we can give our audiences - including those in Libya - first hand, "eyewitness" reporting. I could not be more proud of them.

Jon Williams is the BBC World News editor.

The country's protests started in Deraa

Since 16 March, the Syrian authorities have been facing an uprising - first in the southern city of Deraa, then in Homs, Latakia and then Hama - the scene of a massacre by troops loyal to President Assad's father in 1982.

Last week, the UN Secretary General, Ban Ki Moon suggested more than 1,000 people had died in Syria since the start of the violence. Yesterday came perhaps the most serious attack yet. The Syrian authorities claimed 120 security personnel were killed in battles with gunmen in the north-west of the country. The town of Jisr al-Shughour sits on the Turkish border - and was itself the scene of an Islamist uprising in 1980, also brutally crushed with scores of deaths.

All the time the BBC - and other news organisations - been forced to watch and report from outside the country. The Syrian authorities have refused to issue visas for international journalists. So it was good to hear Reem Haddad, the head of Syrian state television and a spokeswoman for the Syrian Information Ministry, tell Radio 4's Today programme she thought the time had come for international reporters to be allowed into the country "to put Syria's point of view".

I couldn't agree more. We're committed to telling all sides of the story. So far, the only pictures we've been able to gather have been those posted by protestors on YouTube.

Reem Haddad also suggested that BBC Arabic's reporter in Syria could report what's going on. Up to a point: his movements are heavily restricted and local journalists are subjected to constant intimidation.

It's not the first time a Syrian official has made promises on air. In March, President Assad's media advisor Buthaina Shabban promised the Today programme that the BBC could travel to Deraa - the seat of the uprising - to report from the city.

Two local journalists working for the BBC were stopped and prevented from reaching Deraa. Two days later they were arrested and questioned for a number of days. Other news organisations have suffered far worse: an al-Jazeera journalist, Dorothy Parvaz, went missing in Syria and turned up in Iran.

Eyewitness reporting is the only way we can really know what is going on - it's vital in providing a balanced picture of the story on the ground. I hope the Syrian government listens to Reem Haddad when she says the time has come to allow international reporters in - we couldn't agree more.

Jon Williams is the BBC World News editor.

Every war has the "journalists' hotel" - the Hotel Continental in Saigon, the Holiday Inn in Sarajevo, the Palestine in Baghdad. This time, the Government has corralled around a hundred reporters from around the world into the Rixos Hotel - a smart, Turkish hotel that has just celebrated its first anniversary. It's the garden of the Rixos that you see night after night behind Allan Little and Jeremy Bowen.

But in truth, in recent days, it's become a bit of a gilded cage. International reporters are not free to move around Tripoli - even before the start of the air assault by Britain, France and the United States, the BBC team needed Libyan "minders" to leave the hotel. In recent days, they've not been around - this morning, on Twitter, one of my colleagues in Tripoli likened it to serving a prison sentence, albeit one with a fancy hamam.

During yesterday's Commons debate on Libya, the prime minister paid tribute to the bravery of the British journalists in Libya. But he also suggested that those reporting from Tripoli were reporting under what he called "very, very strong reporting restrictions".

While it's true that we can't see everything we want, we can say whatever we want. Our correspondent in Tripoli, Allan Little, is not subject to censorship, and there is no requirement for him to submit his pieces for approval prior to broadcast. The restriction is on movement - something we have made clear in our reporting.

But reporting restrictions are not just confined to Libya. British military operations are covered by "Defence Advisory" notices - agreed by senior officials from Government and also from the media. Such agreements are not new - the UK Government first sought agreement from the media not to publish information "of value to the enemy" nearly a hundred years ago.

Since 2000, there have been five standing "DA Notices" - the first of which covers current military operations. These are voluntary, and are advisory. On Saturday, the MoD asked British news organisations not to detail timings of planes leaving the UK for operations in Libya during the opening hours of the air campaign, or reveal the detail of weapons being carried - the BBC agreed to the request. You can read what is covered by DA notices here.

Jon Williams is the BBC World News editor.

For 41 years, Muammar Gaddafi - the self-proclaimed "Brotherly Leader and Guide of the Revolution" - has made life difficult for the Western media. While British nationals can enter many of the world's 192 countries without visas, or collect them on arrival, Libya is one of the exceptions. There, the door is firmly shut to international journalists, local reporters face intimidation and the threat of worse. It explains why, in contrast to recent events in Tunisia, Egypt and Bahrain, we're unable to report from inside Libya on the protests taking place there, and the authorities violent response.

And that's an uncomfortable place for us to be.

In recent years, from Burma, to Afghanistan and Zimbabwe - even in Iran and North Korea - my colleagues have been on the frontline, eyewitness to events making headlines around the globe. In Libya this weekend, we've been forced to rely on others' eyewitness accounts. The geography of the country - much of it is barren desert - means it's simply not practical for us to enter Libya "under-cover". Add to that, the ruthlessness of the Libyan authorities, and the scale of violence, and you'll understand why - just a week after covering Egypt's own convulsions - Jon Leyne is reporting developments from Cairo.

When violence was last visited on Tripoli and Benghazi, the BBC was there to witness events. Famously, Norman Tebbit condemned Kate Adie's reporting of the US airstrikes on Libya on April 1986. Twenty five years later, the protests - and the authorities' response - are taking place with no international reporters present.

The BBC and other news organisations are relying on those on the ground to tell us what's happening. Their phone accounts - often accompanied by the sound or gunfire and mortars - are vivid. However, inevitably, it means we cannot independently verify the accounts coming out of Libya. That's why we don't present such accounts as "fact" - they are "claims" or "allegations".

Similarly, the flow of video - the so-called "user-generated-content" - has dwindled to a trickle as the authorities have periodically turned off the Internet. That means we have an additional responsibility - to be clear with our audiences not just what little we do know, but perhaps more significantly, what we don't.

Critics of the BBC's coverage of Libya 25 years ago accused our reporting from Tripoli and Benghazi of being "riddled with inaccuracy, innuendo & imbalance". I suspect Colonel Gaddafi's supporters will make the same allegations about the international coverage of events in Libya this weekend. It wasn't true then, it isn't true now. But when we're not on the ground, we have to work twice as hard to make sure that we're telling all sides of the story.

Jon Williams is the BBC World News editor.

 

In 1982, as the Royal Navy Task Force sailed in the south Atlantic, Brian was stationed aboard HMS Hermes, the aircraft carrier that served as the flagship of the fleet. Then - as today - reporters covering wars are not allowed to disclose "operational details".

So the phrase for which he will always be remembered was a clever ruse to get round reporting restrictions so he could say all the British Harrier jets had returned safely. It was a classroom lesson in good reporting under pressure - and won him new-found fame.

In the early 1990s, the satirist Chris Morris wrote a spoof TV news show, first for Radio 4 as On The Hour, and then for BBC2 as The Day Today. It was most famous for its sports reporter, Steve Coogan's Alan Partridge. But the name of the economics correspondent, Peter O'Hanraha-Hanrahan was clearly an "homage" to Brian. What greater accolade could any journalist wish for?

The steady nerve Brian showed in the Falkands served him well in the intervening 28 years - he saw more than his share of history unfold. Covering Asia from Hong Kong in the 1980s, he reported on the reforms of Deng Xiaoping in China, and the assassination of Indira Gandhi in India. He moved to Moscow when Mikhail Gorbachev became the Soviet leader, returning to Russia last year to interview Gorbachev. In 1989 he was in Beijing when the tanks rolled in to Tiananmen Square, famously reporting on the fall of the Wall as Berlin was reunited. Earlier this year he returned to Poland - where he'd reported on the rise of Solidarity - to cover the plane crash that killed President Lech Kaczynski.

In recent years, Brian had travelled to many countries, and covered ceremonial and state events such as the anniversaries of D-Day and the funerals of Princess Diana, the Queen Mother and the Pope. He was a regular voice on Radio 4 as presenter of both The World at One and The World This Weekend.

Brian fell ill the week before the election, and on polling day I went to visit him in hospital in north London. He was preparing for a long night and was frustrated that he wouldn't be at an election count, as he had been for the previous seven. Instead, he had persuaded the nursing staff to allow him to have a radio and an earpiece, and was making a date with Radio 4.

He returned to work while undergoing treatment - while tired, he was determined to do the job he loved. Last week, he'd planned to report from RAF Cottesmore as the Harriers he'd counted out in the Falklands were counted back for the final time before being withdrawn from service. Instead, he found himself back in hospital. As Harriers landed for the final time, the crews of RAF Cottesmore recorded a get-well message to Brian.

Brian had a special relationship with the audience - he broke through in a way few others do. They had come to trust him as a voice of calm - whether reporting on momentous events of history, or the grand state events. For more than 30 years, it was that quality above all others that distinguished Brian as one of the BBC's brightest and best. We mourn his loss.

Jon Williams is the BBC World News editor.

John Pilger made his name in South East Asia covering the wars in Vietnam and Cambodia in the 70s. His is a particular type of journalism. He doesn't pretend to be impartial - he's a campaigner. In The Wars You Don't See he takes aim at the mainstream media - including the BBC. The charge is that in Iraq and Afghanistan - then and now - we beat the drums of war.

There's a lot of ancient history in the film: was the media too unquestioning of the White House and Downing Street; were we willing participants in a rush to judgement about Saddam's supposed "weapons of mass destruction". The arguments have been rehearsed many times - and are valid areas for debate.

But Pilger makes a more serious charge: that too often, the BBC and others only report conflict from the perspective of those who wage war, and not those who are, so often, the victims - the civilians. He claims that "embedding" reporters alongside the Armed Forces at best, distorts the story and worse, makes the media a mouthpiece for the military.

He's right to identify the danger - "embedding" only ever provides one piece of the jigsaw. That's why, in Baghdad and Kabul, the BBC - at some cost and risk - has bureaux that report the other bits of the story. In Iraq, Gabriel Gatehouse and Jim Muir have covered the threats to Baghdad's Christians, while in Kabul, our opinion poll this week focused on the attitudes of the people of Afghanistan - not the military.

But "embedding" does have real value. There are 9,500 British troops in Afghanistan - and more than 100,000 US service personnel. Theirs is an important perspective, and their operations an important part of the story. The security situation means, sometimes, it is only possible to travel to certain parts of the country as part of a military "embed".

Pilger's case is that the media has to toe the establishment line otherwise they don't get access. Tell that to John Simpson or to our Kabul correspondent, Paul Wood - neither of them shrinking violets. Relationships are more sophisticated than John Pilger would have us believe. UK embeds are covered by a set of agreements between the media and the Ministry of Defence: the so-called Green Book [169KB PDF] is available online for anybody to read.

A public protocol is a strange conspiracy.

Jon Williams is the BBC World News editor.

John Simpson interviewing Aung San Suu Kyi

I should declare an interest: its author used to be my boss - twice! Richard Sambrook was director of News and most recently director of Global News; as the BBC's head of newsgathering, he helped build the network of overseas bureaux and foreign correspondents it is my privilege to lead.

He suggests that economic pressures and digital technology are undermining the role of the foreign correspondent - although his argument is more nuanced than the paper's title suggests. The paper should probably be called Is The Traditional White Male Ex-pat Correspondent Working From An Office With A Satellite Link To London At Risk? In that case, the answer would unquestionably be "yes" - but the title exaggerates to makes its point.

I can tweet as well as the next man (@WilliamsJon is my personal account, since you ask). But the idea that Twitter or other social media can replace rather than complement traditional, mainstream reporting is fanciful. Actually, I'd go further and suggest it's an opportunity rather than a threat.

In a world of more "noise" from the blogs and social networks, there's a craving from the mainstream audience for a "trusted guide" to make sense of it all - they want someone to help explain what matters and what doesn't. That's why even among the "networked" followers of Twitter, hundreds of thousands of people subscribe to the BBC's breaking news feed (@BBCBreaking) and thousands more follow the likes of Robert Peston, Rory Cellan-Jones and Laura Kuenssberg.

And just because someone random says - or tweets - something, it doesn't mean it's true. Three weeks ago, the blogosphere and the rest of the net were awash with rumours that Aung San Suu Kyi had been released hours before she was set free. Ironically, it was perhaps the most "traditional" foreign correspondent, John Simpson, who was there to tell the world of her actual release - in the same way as he has been doing for more than 40 years.

Richard is right to suggest that the "traditional" model is changing. I'm proud we have a more diverse reporting team than ever - though we also have more to do. The latest generation of foreign correspondents is as happy behind the camera as in front of it, filming as well as reporting. And broadband access means the spare bedroom can become a TV studio when the big story breaks.

But these aren't threats to the foreign correspondent; they're a chance to renew the relationship between the eye-witness reporter and the audience. The paper concludes:

"[T]he independent witnessing of events has been the core purpose of foreign reporting from its earliest days and will remain so for the future."

Phew! The foreign correspondent may no longer be the only voice in a "networked world", but he or she can be the most trusted voice. In an ever more complex world, they are far from being redundant.

Jon Williams is the BBC World News editor.

Then it was about Prince Harry being in Afghanistan. Today - on the day his brother, Prince William, went to Afghanistan - it concerns Paul and Rachel Chandler, the British couple who spent more than a year kidnapped in Somalia.

In the early hours of this morning they were finally freed by their captors and were taken to Adado and then Mogadishu, before flying on to Nairobi to be handed over to UK diplomats. Over the past 12 months, there have been a number of stories about their health and the demands by their kidnappers for a ransom.

As I write, the details of the negotiations that led to their release are unclear.

But some months ago, the family of Paul and Rachel Chandler sought what is known as a "super-injunction", prohibiting the media from reporting any developments in their case.

Lawyers for the family argued that speculation about their health, about any possible ransom and on the negotiations about their release might prolong their captivity. The injunction was designed to protect the safety of the Chandlers - and prevented us from referring even to its existence.

Such were the fears for their safety - and so dangerous is Somalia - that the injunction set out two criteria that needed to be met before we could report the couple's release; first Paul and Rachel Chandler must have left Somalia, and second, they must be in the custody of Foreign Office officials.

The family, their lawyers, and observers in Somalia feared that the couple might be freed by their original captors, and then seized by others seeking further ransom for the Chandlers' release.

The BBC and other news organisations observed the injunction issued by the High Court.

While we're not in the business of censoring the news, no story is worth a life - we accepted the argument of the family, their lawyers and the judge that to do otherwise would jeopardise the safety of Paul and Rachel Chandler.

Some other news organisations did not - which is why, for some hours, during the Chandlers' dangerous journey through Somalia to the safety of Kenya, the BBC stayed silent while pictures of the couple could be seen elsewhere.

While it wasn't a comfortable position for us, or our audience, to be in, it was the law and a restriction put in place to try to ensure the safety of the Chandlers. Had we done otherwise, we would have been in contempt of court.

At its simplest, journalism is about telling people things they don't know - so it's always difficult for us not to report a story. But sometimes there are good reasons. There is no public interest in breaking the law, simply to claim a scoop.

Jon Williams is the BBC World News editor.