CHRIS McVEIGH: Clarity begins at home

I enjoy listening to Jim Mora on Radio New Zealand. There are a number of reasons for this. He has a pleasant manner and a calm , not to say soothing, quality to his voice. Neither declamatory nor strident, he chats away to his listeners and his guests as if we and they were sharing a quiet table and a couple of flat whites on an otherwise uneventful Sunday morning. He brings a sort of calm intelligence to the microphone, a quality which alas is sadly in ever short supply in the hectic, opinionated world of broadcasting today. He is also scrupulously fair in his interviews: probing but not dominating; conceding and not hectoring, in sharp contrast with others from the same stable, some of whom approach an interview as if it were the last fence in the Grand National, to be overridden at all costs.

He is also commendably free from the taint of partiality, which sadly infects some others from the RNZ school of broadcasting. I recall hearing him interviewing an old friend of mine some years ago on the subject of Captain James Cook. My friend was something of an expert on the topic, having written a number of books about the 18th Century seafarer and had researched his subject thoroughly. This compared unfavourably with some of the neophytes on the subject at hand, most of whom seemed to have gleaned what little they knew about Cook from the back of a weetbix packet, vacuously parroting the latest lame and shallow critical incantation without the faintest idea of its authenticity.

Mora approached the interview in a spirit of curiosity, wanting to learn about the explorer rather than wishing to sully his memory. We came away knowing more about the transit of Venus than we probably needed to but we were rather better informed as a result.

I hope he won't mind me saying so but I think he is the closest we have in this part of the world to Melvyn Bragg, the celebrated English broadcaster and author. That may be stretching it a bit but he certainly comes close.

All that is by way of introduction to a topic which, accidently in a way, surfaced in Jim Mora's show last Sunday. He was running through the guests who would be appearing on his show that morning, one of whom was to be the well known singer and cabaret performer Engelbert Humperdinck.

As an aside, I once heard Engelbert interviewed on air some years ago from his dressing room. He was asked whether he still enjoyed live performances to which he replied, with a refreshing absence of irony, that he was in Las Vegas. The interviewer then asked him what songs he most enjoyed singing, as to which he responded, again without a hint of modesty, that he was 83, at which point the interview terminated, whether by accident or design we shall never know but I rather think that the interviewer came to the view that Engelbert's preferred métier was live cabaret and not searching interrogation and that well enough should be left alone.

Anyway, back to Jim Mora and his Sunday morning programme. We were told that Jim would be interviewing Engelbert who was (and I quote) "...touring across the motu." I wonder whether anyone had bothered to pass on this intelligence to Mr. Humperdinck who would, I am sure, be somewhat perplexed by the observation, not having the faintest clue what the motu was. And therein lies the whole problem with this fastidious insistence on peppering one's conversation with non-english words. There may be some who know what is being said and there will be others who assuredly will not (Engelbert will, I'm sure, have been in the latter category). To the listener therefore it is important because he or she will not know what is being said, and thus the whole purpose of the conversation may be lost. The communication of information will be thwarted by the idiosyncratic insistence on the importation of unknown sounds into the exchange of facts and ideas.

To the speaker this should also be of some concern because he or she will be uncertain as to whether the correct meaning of what is being said is being conveyed and therefore understood. But apparently this is of little moment to those who practise this manner of communication, be it on air or elsewhere. The speaker rarely, if ever pauses to enquire whether his audience is able to translate what is being said. On the contrary they usually proceed with a breezy lack of concern, bordering on contempt for the niceties of polite discourse.

This is bad enough when one is listening to the radio but it reaches absurd heights of indifference in the public sphere. We have probably all been to some sort of exhibition or opening recently where there is an introduction or preliminary address in Te Reo. This can sometimes last a short while or, more usually these days, for quite some time. With a cavalier lack of sympathy for either the audience's comprehension or their feelings the speaker (or speakers) will usually plough on unconcerned and unstoppable: thus achieving in the audience the perfect trifecta of incomprehension, bewilderment and resentment.

To those practitioners of this folly it is pointless to ask for either remedy or resolution. If a mild criticism is voiced then that person will either be told that Te Reo is an 'official language' as if this somehow absolves the speaker of any responsibility for clarity of communication or, worse still, will be accused of racism, which is almost certain to shut down any further debate and to cause yet further resentment.

I don't know how long this fashionable and annoying practice will last. If those who wish to signal their good intentions and erudition want to persist with a mixture of plain english and pidgin maori to the continued bafflement and irritation of their listeners then I suppose it will eventually peter out as more and more people reach for the off switch or leave the room. It can only be a matter of time.

Chris McVeigh is a retired KC living in Christchurch. He was previously President of the Canterbury District Law Society and, in an earlier life, a scriptwriter and performer for the satirical TV programme ‘A week of It’