Justice Cudlip Trout, my appalling neighbour, has been called back from gardening leave to take up the job of Government Truth Censor. In return for two prize marrows and a batch of his plum port, I have agreed to publish his account of his first month in the job. He insists much of what follows is true:
I've been sold a pup.
This Truth Censor job was meant to be a somnolent lurk where I spent the morning discouraging freedom of information requests, then donned the nosebag for lunch, or watched the cricket.
But it's got edgy, and I blame the Police Department.
A fortnight ago their Southern Division marched in wanting my stamp on a novel plan to solve halfwit driving by tourists. (I'm told a quarter of the South's fatal crashes involve foreign sightseers.)
"So what's your grand new idea?''
I asked their Chief Traffic Inspector.
"Free spectacle cleaning? We rent them pedal cars?''
"No, your Honour. There's a better, cheaper answer,'' she beamed.
"Our Special Working Party has come up with a cracker - we just stop telling the media whether crash drivers have overseas licences.''
"So if nobody twigs they're foreigners, the problem vanishes?'' I asked.
"Yes indeedy. The media pests insist on seeking the facts. If we can make the foreigner IDs vanish, then bingo, we change the perception that tourists are a safety problem. And perception is truth.''
"This is bold, Inspector. But have you sought buy-in from affected parties - as per the departmental manual?''
"Well only the parties that count - the tourism bosses and the car rental folk. These guys need to earn as much money as possible for the good of the country. So they're happy if we stamp out insulting publicity about foreign drivers.
"Good Lord, we want Kiwis waving prettily at tourists, not giving them the finger. Or shouting witticisms like ‘Wong Way'.
"The rent-a-car folk have agreed to disguises. Foreigners will now get cars with mag wheels, hoon racing stripes, and Highlanders stickers. One firm has got visitors wearing All Black beanies.''
"Grief, Inspector, next you'll have them issuing tourists with masks,'' I said.
She shook her head sadly.
"Yes - we thought of that. But the morgue workers said masks may be unhelpful.''
"So what happens when the press asks about the identity of foreign bodies?'' I asked.
"We've told officers to call the deceased a mother or father, brother or sister, husband or wife, or son or daughter. How clever is that? We avoid the issue but still tell the truth.''
I looked at the clock.
It was five minutes past lunch time.
Frankly I'd just listened to the most nauseating load of official mendacity that I've heard since last Friday.
But the oyster pie was waiting, so I signed it off for them.
It was a mistake, of course, and two days later it came back to bite me. I was endorsing a proposal that Housing Statistics describe families sleeping in cars as "residents of mobile homes'' when the Southern District Police stormed back into chambers.
"It's outrageous,'' they shouted.
"The clowns administering the Official Information Act have ratted on us. They released our 'Hide the Foreigners' memos to the handwringers at the Otago Daily Times.''
"The ODT? That's grim,'' I sympathised.
"Look, they're a queer lot, but not totally bad - their racing tips are helpful.
"So what do you want me to do about them?''
An apoplectic inspector began a speech about secrecy measures to prevent local cops answering media questions.
"It's about quality control,'' he shouted.
"Your local constable is well-meaning, but too dim to understand our nuances.''
I listened, becoming less and less sure about my new Truth Censor job.
Fiddling with my Biro, I looked down at the desk diary.
There was a quote of the day from someone called Gloria Steinem.
"The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.''
Amen to that, but perhaps the idea's a bit radical for the Police Department?
- John Lapsley is an Arrowtown writer.
