“It was a mistake to hold that secret hearing before Christmas in the case we must not name. Who, it must be asked, or what, was to be protected by this secrecy?” HUGH SELBY overhears a once-in-a-year conversation down by the lake. 

THE fabled, wizened wise one comes down from its eerie once a year to sit awhile on the banks of our lake and share its wisdom with those who chance to come by.

On its most recent visit it was joined by a politician and a judge, both well established and secure in their positions. Each of them waited for the wise one to speak – an experience that neither was used to.

The wise one stared at the reflections on the lake, especially at the upside down image of the bridge that spanned it, and after a long silence opened up with: “Silence and secrecy only get you so far. Eventually, something has to fill the void and that something is rumour, some of which becomes accepted as fact.”

The judge whose time on the bench had been enough to learn the benefits of appearing inscrutable said nothing; however, the politician saw the remark not as an observation to be treasured but as an attack. “What secrecy?  What silence?”

“I arrived early in the morning mist so I took a trip on the shiny red tram for fun,” said the wise one.

“I wasn’t expecting rails to tie up horses, or water or feed for them, but I was surprised at the lack of any covered storage for push bikes and there were too few parking spots to entice commuters to leave their cars at the tram stops. The whole enterprise reminded me of the ghostly trains in Japanese anime films – ever so beautiful but practically useless.

“So much criticism of this project, but the only response has been to ignore it. How easily it could be put to rest by publishing the analysis that shows that the financial, social and community benefits outweigh the enormous debt incurred. Imagine that money spent on housing and education. 

“Failing to share that report means rumours, gathering strength month by month, that there is no such report, that the project is not even a solid white elephant, but at best a wobbly pink flamingo.”

Some well-disciplined rowing crews pulled past, the cries of the coxes muffled by the noise of the coach’s outboard. On the far side the dragon boats were pushing aside the water. The wise one stared into the dark eddies along the shore and watched as flotsam drifted here and there, directionless: “Darkness begets doubt’,” the wise said.

Across the lake the fountain jet unleashed a spire of climbing beads of water-borne light.

“Trust comes from power that is transparent. Look at that spire. There is always strength in the right decisions. It was wrong to ignore the selection committee’s recommendations, especially for a job that is so well paid and has such perks.”

The politician shrugged. The judge sat tight lipped.

“The rumours are that that judge is a bit work shy, that the associates write a lot of the decisions.”

The judge uncoiled and recoiled: “There’s nothing wrong with having associates write judgments. They are chosen for their legal knowledge and writing is valuable training. They have heard the evidence, too.”

“Quite right,” said the wise one, “but there is a problem with a decision when the associate had been a friend of the complainant and the judgement is, let us say, unbalanced.”

“You can’t prove that. It’s a scandalous rumour.” The judge was visibly agitated. “This kind of remark brings justice into disrepute.’”

“So it does, so it does,” the wise one replied. “But the rumour was shared by another judicial officer. Rumour rushes to fill awkwardness. And it could have been avoided altogether if the appointment had followed the advice of the selection committee instead of wasting their time.”

A couple walked by, their voices carrying the lightness and mutual trust that romance captures, be it fleeting or life-long or somewhere in between.

“It was a mistake to hold that secret hearing before Christmas in the case we must not name. Who, it must be asked, or what, was to be protected by this secrecy? Here is a case that is a wonderful vehicle to show how well our legal system can serve its community and individuals within it. All set at nought for nothing.” 

A family of canoeists paddled through the graceful arch of the water falling from the spire, the laughs of wet children filling the air.

“Be grateful you’re not on the hill. One of those in the former government had a spot of trouble with some protected grasslands. The Information Commissioner found that the documentation should be released. The department refused and is seeking a review by the AAT, a body now scarred by a surfeit of political appointments made by that former government. Who can have confidence in AAT decisions, especially in a case such as this? 

“A new year is a chance to begin anew, to be sufficiently confident that competing arguments are publicly recognised and publicly addressed, rather than hiding behind silence and secrecy to cloak one’s prejudices and insecurities.”  

The Carillon struck the quarter hour. “Ah, it’s 9¾. The Eerie Express is about to depart. Each New Year carries our hopes and dreams. Let’s do better in 2023.”

Hugh Selby is a recently retired barrister who enjoyed appearing in criminal jury trials and teaching about them.