As part of our 15th birthday celebrations, we’ve trawled through the archives to bring you some of the best, weirdest and most salacious articles published on Crikey since our launch on February 14, 2000.
*This article was originally published on August 27, 2010.
I’ve never met Don Watson, but I like him. Like his books. Like his essays. Like his George Orwell-like pronouncements on the death of public language. Watson’s a public man of letters, which, in this post-literary period, makes him a rare bird, and therefore worthy of serious attention.
What I don’t like is the way in which, Galah-like, Watson has been seen squawking for public attention this week at the expense of his old boss, Paul Keating.
In case you missed the story, it was announced that Keating’s landmark speech on Reconciliation, delivered at Redfern in 1992, had been added to the National Film and Sound Archive’s collection of national significance.
The day of the announcement Watson was asked about the speech and, in a nutshell, claimed the speech as his; that he had authored it and Keating had delivered it word for word. Watson added that Keating deserved credit for having the courage and conviction to deliver the speech holus bolus.
Unsurprisingly, Keating came out swinging, sledging Watson for claiming authorship and claiming the speech as his because Watson was giving voice to his sentiments.
Some commentators — such as a fellow speechwriter Denis Glover — have made the fair call that both men deserve credit for the Redfern speech.
As for me, when I read Watson’s comments my overwhelming feeling was embarrassment.
What I was embarrassed by was an unseemly outbreak of authorial hubris.
Judging by his reported comments, Watson seems to have forgotten the first rule of speechwriting: the words you write are not yours, they belong to the speechmaker. That’s part of the deal when you sign on to be a speechwriter for a politician.
As a speechwriter, your job is to find, then write in, the voice of the person who delivers the speech. Your job is to hunt down their beliefs, convictions and ideas, then write a story that makes that person sound like an amplified version of his or herself.
In my experience, the speechwriter should share similar beliefs and convictions as the speechmaker, because they are then able to write with greater verve and passion.
Having read the Redfern speech — not to mention other Keating speeches such as the Unknown Soldier speech — it’s obvious that Watson was a brilliant match for his boss.
He wrote fabulous speeches that clarified and amplified Keating’s pungent message.
No doubt, he shared many of Keating’s beliefs and convictions.
Here’s the rub, though. A speech is not what is written by the speechwriter. A speech is spoken word.
What am I saying? That without Keating’s platform and performance there was no Redfern speech. The speech is what Keating did on that day, in that place. What Watson wrote is just words.
Or, as one politician is fond of telling me, it’s all in the delivery.
Don’t get me wrong, speechwriters are not word processing machines. They are required to give much of themselves to the speeches they write. But the point of the process is not authorial kudos, but political progress.
The reason I worked as a political speechwriter for five years was that I thought it the best way I could make a contribution to the progress of a set of beliefs and convictions I shared with Steve Bracks and John Brumby.
Yes, there are some speeches I wrote that I am proud of, but the only reason I was able to write what I wrote was because of the platform created by the leaders for whom I worked. Bracks or Brumby stood at a lectern before a room of strangers and gave those words life.
That’s why when you sign on as a speechwriter, you have to leave your ego at the door.
The trouble with Don Watson is that he seems to have forgotten that lesson.