KEY POINTS:
The continuing media frenzy over the Tony Veitch affair has left me uneasy, even faintly nauseated. When journalists turn on one of their own with the ferocity of jackals tearing at the throat of a wounded pack member, I'm glad I'm out of the game full-time.
Day after
day I cringe as I read the results of reporters racking their brains to find new people to spout more opinions to try to give the story additional legs.
Every woman and her dog from the Prime Minister to the woman in the street has been invited to have a say - and even a few men, too.
Much of what they have had to say is hypocritical hogwash and politically correct piffle.
What I can't understand is why such a huge fuss is being made over this incident, which happened two years ago, except that it must have something to do with the fact that Veitch is a talking head on TV, a voice on radio and, apparently, an after-dinner speaker.
But even the fact that he's a public figure doesn't explain the hysteria that revelations of his contretemps with his former partner have created.
So far, the only sensible reactions I've seen in the hundreds of column centimetres published are a couple of Rod Emmerson cartoons in this newspaper, and Finlay Macdonald's comments in the Sunday Star-Times.
Which were in marked contrast to the outlandish statement by that paper's editor, who proclaimed that "media bosses at state-owned broadcaster Television New Zealand and the Radio Network have set the campaign against domestic violence back years".
Cate Brett concluded: "By colluding with Veitch in keeping this matter 'in the family', these men [note the gender] have reinforced the pernicious belief that violence inside relationships is nobody else's business."
I've seen some long bows drawn in my time, but that one's so far out as to have a broken string, for there is no evidence that Veitch's employers knew the full details of the incident until now.
And as for this brouhaha setting back the anti-violence campaign, men who hit women will continue to do so and men who don't won't, no matter how many ads there are on TV. Domestic violence isn't a superficial problem to be dealt with by cryptic catch-cries; it goes far deeper than that.
So far, to her credit, the victim has remained aloof from the media scrum, and no one has been able, or even bothered, to try to find the answers to a few rather critical questions.
For instance, the victim made informal inquiries of the police, but declined to make a complaint. Why? Were there, for instance, questions of provocation in the argument that ended so horrendously?
Now don't get me wrong. If Veitch did what he is alleged to have done to his then partner, there is absolutely no excuse.
It is never, ever acceptable for a man to lay a hand on a woman, except in affection, and while many men might think they have reason to lash out, a reason is rarely an excuse.
Initially we were told that Veitch had paid the victim something more than $100,000 in compensation for injuries, hurt feelings and loss of earnings, and it was made to appear that this was a pay-off for her silence.
Yet later it transpired that the money was paid after the victim's lawyers demanded $150,000 compensation from Veitch's lawyers. There are other names than compensation claim for such demands, but no one so far has bothered to look into that.
The couple entered into a confidentiality agreement, which is often normal practice in such settlements, and it would be interesting to know who the tattle-tale was who let the cat out of the bag - an "unnamed source", of course. Because another unaddressed issue in this sordid affair is the question of privacy, of which we make much yet have very little, particularly if we are public figures.
Then there are those who are fretting about TVNZ's public image. I don't know why. The only public image I see of that outfit is that it is generally held in contempt. And if television personalities are role models, God help us.
Paul Holmes and Brendan Telfer get my respect for sticking with their colleague. They obviously understand that real friendship means a friend is a friend no matter how deeply he might get himself in the shit.
As each day goes by and as each new triviality is added to this sorry example of modern journalism, I am reminded of that scene from the Bible in which a mob gathers to stone to death a woman caught in adultery, until Jesus Christ said: "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone."
And one by one the accusers slunk off.
