About The Sabin Report

People ask me what this is. Fair enough. I'll tell you plainly — plain being the one thing they can't abide.

The Sabin Report is mine. One man, one desk, one kettle, and thirty years spent inside the security industry — long enough to learn exactly how rotten it is, and exactly who profits from you never finding out. I am not funded. I am not sponsored. Nobody signs my cheques, which is precisely why nobody can stop them clearing.

I am not a journalist. Journalists have editors, and an editor is a man paid to tell you which true things you may not print. I am not an academic — academics have careers, and a career is a hostage you hand over on your first day. What I am is harder to buy and harder to shift: a man who kept his eyes open on the inside, took early notice, and had the poor manners to write it down.

The method here is the only method that has ever worked. I read what they publish. I look up what they file. I follow the odd little threads they're certain nobody will ever pull — the company with the made-up name, the contract booked to the wrong department, the notice that says the quiet part in the passive voice. Then I lay one against another until a shape appears. I do not ask you to believe me. I ask you to check. That is the whole difference, and they hate the difference more than they hate me.

You'll find, on these pages, the things I have found. Some of it will sound mad. It sounded mad to me too, the first time, stood in a corridor I was not meant to be stood in. I've made my peace with sounding mad. Cassandra sounded mad. Being right and being believed, I have learned, are two entirely separate careers, and I gave the second one up a long time ago.

A word on the people I write about. Where I name a man, it is because he has stood up in public and said a public thing — and a public thing may be weighed in public, by me, by you, by anyone with the nerve. I take no pleasure in it. Most of them, God help them, were only trying to warn people, and were laughed at for their trouble. I know exactly how that feels. It is half of why I keep the light on.

I keep the worst of it back. Not to tease you — though I'm aware it looks that way — but because some doors, once you've walked a reader through them, cannot be un-walked, and I will not do that to a stranger who simply clicked a link on a wet Tuesday. When you are ready, you'll know. And so, God willing, will I.

That's the site. That is the whole of it. A man, a desk, and a flat refusal to look away.

If any of it should reach one person who was beginning to believe they were the only one left who could see it — then the kettle, and the lost sleep, and the pint I keep ending up buying myself, will all have been worth the money.

— Roy Sabin