The worst thing that can ever happen to language is for it to end up in court
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Version 0 of 1. In a skilful pair of hands, there can be few experiences more excruciating than being cross-examined. Language that is part of a certain relationship, milieu or workplace, by the time it reaches court, is stripped of its context and suddenly sounds stark and unpalatable. “Yes, that’s what I said,” they might say. “But it’s not what I meant.” Related: Joe Hockey wins $200,000 from Fairfax in 'Treasurer for sale' defamation case So it was in March, when the federal court heard evidence in the case of Joe Hockey versus Fairfax. It was difficult not to squirm with embarrassment when evidence was tested under cross-examination about about emails and text messages sent to the Sydney Morning Herald’s state political editor Sean Nicholls, from editor-in-chief Darren Goodsir. The court heard Goodsir emailed Nicholls on 27 March 2014, saying: “...given what Andrew [Holden, editor-in-chief of The Age] and I endured last week with Hockey, I want to have this nailed to the cross in more ways than one … keep digging Sean… I have long dreamed (well, only since last Friday), of a headline that screams: Sloppy Joe! I think we are not far off, but perhaps even more serious than that.” In cross-examination, Hockey’s barrister Bruce McClintock SC put to Nicholls: “Mr Goodsir was suggesting that you crucify my client?” Nicholls replied: “That’s certainly not what I took from it.” In a later email, Goodsir wrote: “I’ll be back on Mon 28 and want to be in a spot to launch our dirt on Hockey then. This one ain’t over yet.” According to a report in the Herald, Nicholls said the term “dirt” was common journalistic parlance for investigating someone. Yet workplace parlance is not something that gets much attention in Justice Richard White’s 120 page judgement. Instead the question of malice was considered at length – and whether the crude language used in the emails and text messages could imply a malicious motive on behalf of Fairfax towards Hockey. The way people talk to each other in some (actually, probably most) professions, happens deep within the context of the culture of that workplace. Newsrooms – well, the best newsrooms – are robust places where the language of war and the hunt is used to encourage and support reporters doing the difficult work of taking on powerful figures. It can be a lonely job getting to the bottom of stories that involve party donations and access to politicians. The power is weighted in favour of politicians, who employ teams of gatekeepers to manage the media. A good editor will using rousing language, as will any team working in an environment that is in any way adversarial. Perhaps now editors and their counterparts in other professions will temper what they write to each other, and save the spirited language for verbal communication – as has often been the case in the public service. Having worked as an adviser in a political office, and as a lawyer for a plaintiff firm – the lingua franca of these workplaces can be dark and nasty. It has to be. The work was difficult and our opponents were strong. As colleagues, in order to bond yourself in a common cause you didn’t just talk about “beating” the other candidate in an election, but “killing” them. As with newsroom discussions about “nailing something to the cross,” when representing a client in court it was important to “destroy” the other side, to “smash” or “massacre” them. The secret languages of workplaces can often be unpleasant – but they serve a deeper purpose of binding people together in a common cause, of rousing them for the fight and of supporting them in that fight. Even the public language of professions – journalism, in particular – can be aggressive. In its context, we’re all familiar with the sound and feel of “journalese”. Perhaps Justice White isn’t, given his suggested replacements to the headlines that landed Fairfax in hot water. “A poster which read ‘Hockey: donations and access. Herald investigation’ may, for example, have been appropriate,” he wrote, before adding other suggestions: “Hockey: membership, donations and access: Herald investigation” and “Access to Treasurer can be bought, Herald investigation”. Related: 'Victory' has an exciting new meaning after Hockey's Fairfax defamation win | Richard Ackland Watering down language seems to be unintended consequence of cases such as these but god forbid judges dicate how we write headlines. No-one would buy the newspaper. Having that secret language of your text message or email put to you in court is like having your teenage diary or your drunken tweets read out. But we are nothing if not tribal. The language we use in workplaces will - as it must - remain. But cases such as Hockey v Fairfax, where the exposure of such communication was damaging, will send a strong message: say what you like - just don’t write it down. |