Accessibility and transparency are two different things

There was a time in living memory when New Zealand politicians rarely spoke to the media. Press conferences were unusual events. Prime ministers and members of Cabinet would occasionally grant interviews to individual reporters but felt no general obligation to communicate information or opinions to the public at large.

Prior to the advent of television and the inquisitorial approach taken by impertinent interviewers such as Brian Edwards and Simon Walker (both of whom were from Britain, where journalists were accustomed to holding politicians accountable), the media’s relationship with those in power was respectful and even deferential.

Consider the striking contrast with the situation today, when not only is the prime ministerial press conference an established ritual, but journalists consider it their right to intercept politicians whenever the opportunity arises – most obviously on “the tiles” at Parliament, named after the strategically located area where the press gallery pack lies in wait.

Politicians have never been more accessible, which in theory should be welcomed as a triumph for accountability. But are the public necessarily any better informed? Politicians give the appearance of being more open than they used to be, but in reality they are often simply a lot more skilled at saying nothing. They are coached by teams of media advisers to stick carefully to agreed lines that typically conceal more than they reveal.

I was reminded of this while listening to Nathan Rarere interview Nicola Willis on RNZ’s First Up. It was an exercise in futility. Rarere wanted to know what was going on in National’s coalition talks with ACT and NZ First, but Willis batted away his questions with well-rehearsed and entirely predictable lines. We heard the familiar “strong and stable government” mantra twice, followed by a recitation of familiar objectives from the National manifesto. The interview added nothing to what we already knew – or perhaps that should be what we didn’t know. In which case, what was the point? I wonder whether politicians ever consider the novel notion that, like Mister Ed, they should only speak when they have something to say.  

This is not to suggest that politicians retreat behind a wall. There’s always the possibility that a clever question will catch them off-guard and provoke a revealing response or an unexpected morsel of information. But we shouldn’t delude ourselves that accessibility equates with transparency. As with so much in politics, the media standup is often mere political theatre, conducted more for drama and entertainment than enlightenment.

As a recent RNZ interview with veteran political journalist Richard Harman reminded us, useful information is far more likely to be ferreted out by the old-fashioned means of cultivating good contacts – digging beneath the surface – than by the showy but often pointless ritual of the press gallery scrum. For the current generation of political reporters, however, cultivating contacts, like covering select committee meetings and debates in the House, may seem too much like hard work. Far easier to point a camera or microphone at someone and ask fatuous questions that elicit meaningless replies.