Surely real power involves the humbling of the mighty, the invigilation of the state, the exposure of something profoundly wrong? In which case, alas, the British press mostly serves powder puff stuff. The Americans had Watergate; we had Tony Blair at the Queen Mum's funeral. It isn't exactly a contest.

Worse, the stories that were in the shop window of shame, that stank to high heaven, were seldom taken hold of and driven determinedly to their conclusion. Consider the murder 13 years ago of Pat Finucane, the Belfast solicitor, and how few waves it made.

Three years ago, by contrast, José Barrionuevo and Rafael Vera were sentenced to long prison sentences. Barrionuevo had been Interior Minister in Felipe Gonzalez's Spanish government. Vera had been his junior minister responsible for security. Let's call them Spain's answer to David Blunkett and Lord Charlie Falconer. That is the dimension of their fall and disgrace.

They were found guilty of ordering and funding the kidnapping of a Basque Eta terrorist leader in the early Eighties. They were found guilty of setting up and running the underground Anti-Terrorist Liberation Groups, called GAL, which murdered 28 people in three years of 'dirty war'. Some of the victims belonged to Eta; others were cases of mistaken identity. In short, GAL offered a covert eye for an eye - and they betrayed the rule of law.

How did they wind up in prison? One Spanish newspaper, El Mundo, dug and dug again, running story after story through the Nineties, obliging other papers to join the hunt, pushing the authorities to inquire and act.

Nobody got tired or changed the subject. Everybody stood up to be counted. And, at the end, Barrionuevo wound up behind bars. It was a remarkable saga of persistence and ingenuity.

So to the killing of Finucane, who was shot dead by Ulster Defence Association terrorists after officers inside British army intelligence - servants of our state, who belonged to what was coyly called the Force Research Unit (FRU) - had fingered him. We know that both FRU and the old Royal Ulster Constabulary had deep links with the UDA.

We know that an inquiry by Sir John Stevens, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner, will shortly tell a lousy tale of assassination and official betrayal. We know who ordered Finucane's assassination and how a policeman helped his killers escape. We know, too, that M15 was up to speed on the whole wretched business. Our lads from 'homeland security' worked hand in glove with the boys from FRU.

They briefed and debriefed. Did they tell their Minister back in London? Did anyone with political clout give political orders? Sir John, apparently, thinks the trail grows cold there. He can't encase his findings in a greater plot.

But even supposing that's so, even supposing the Ministers of the day sinned by omission and not commission, there remains very little here for our comfort. A verdict, alas, which includes the British press.

Hands up. I was an editor in 1989 when it all happened. The Guardian, like other newspapers, reported diligently. The story went into the shop window, and its presence was solidly signalled. But somehow, at the time and through the years that followed, there was never the critical mass of definitive investigation. No hue and cry. No tide of opinion. If the tale has true journalistic heroes, they probably work for the BBC and Panorama, which put Finucane stage centre for two nights running last month. Even then, some papers, such as the Observer, provided detailed coverage - and some papers, like the Sunday Telegraph, did not.

Excuses? Call them reasons. Ireland's troubles did not sell newspapers on the mainland (and still don't). The great British reading public sees Belfast on the front page and, quite clinically, walks on by the newsstand.

There was always the feeling of a war in sluggish progress, with 'our boys' as the chaps in the white hats bringing order to a faraway land. Our boys tend to get the benefit of the doubt in wartime. And, of course, there was nil sympathy for the Provisionals bombing London.

In short - and maybe too clinically - there was never a chance that the British press would join voices to demand that all the FRU stones be turned over. (The Stevens inquiry has its roots in Belfast and the necessary aftermath of peace.) Nor do TV and newspapers work, in such cases, to a common agenda.

Panorama too, much of the time, is left by too many editors to pursue causes which rarely burst into print. Newspapers, equally, get weary of TV pundits banging on about celebrity intrusion, as though Liz Hurley's privacy were the biggest issue of the day.

So there are plenty of explanations for why the case of Pat Finucane is, 13 years later, only now coming to the boil.

Perhaps there is no great case for blame, but even so I rest uneasy. El Mundo shows vividly what can be done in the face of monumental obstruction and all the usual caveats which go with wars against terror. El Mundo also shows what has to be done.