Last April’s murder of actor Brett Goldin and his friend, designer Richard Bloom, found its way into ”The A to Z of cultural catastrophe” in the Mail & Guardian’s year-end edition.
It was a particularly horrifying crime: the bodies of the two men were found with a single shot to the head. Goldin, a promising young actor, was about to head overseas to start a new phase in his career at the Shakespearian festival in Stratford. The incident undoubtedly loomed large, not just in the life of the arts community.
The paper’s reference to the murder caused substantial hurt. This week, editor Ferial Haffajee and I met with Goldin’s mother, Denise, who pointed out several inaccuracies. Among others, they included the reference to Bloom as Goldin’s boyfriend (they were simply schoolfriends), the claim that the incident happened in the wee hours of the morning (it happened around midnight) and the remark that there was speculation about ”who was more trashed”, the victims or the murderers.
The last point seems to have been intended as a humorous element that is the hallmark of the listing. Except it wasn’t funny. It came across simply as snide wordplay of doubtful relevance. What was the suggestion here, that there was some kind of equivalence between murderers and victims?
It merely tarnished the reputation of the two young men.
In the context of such a shocking murder, common sense says that jokes are insensitive and tasteless and uncalled for.
Journalists often have to deal with death, and most find it difficult and uncomfortable. I remember how nervous I was as a young reporter when I was waiting to hear whether the widow of Eric Mntonga, an Eastern Cape union leader murdered by the apartheid security forces, would talk to me. It was one of the first of many encounters with tragedy, and I was almost relieved when I was sent away.
Fortunately — or unfortunately — such situations became easier with time.
Death reminds us that journalists are not excused from basic human concerns and values. It is possible to do a professional job while remaining empathetic to those who may have been thrust into our path by some terrible tragedy.
There’s another point to be made. Too often, the media forget that there are two kinds of readers: those who are outsiders to the event being written about, and the insiders who often know in much more detail what happened and may be profoundly affected by our writing.
These people read very precisely, with a keen eye for accuracy, nuance and tone.
This week, that reader was Denise Goldin. Boxes and albums of mementoes and tributes to her murdered son were piled high on her dining room table, almost like walls against great grief.
She told us that her husband was so upset by the M&G article that he hit his head on the steering wheel of his car when he read the entry and would not let her see the paper. She felt it contributed to his death of a heart attack shortly afterwards.
In apologising, Haffajee told Mrs Goldin that the incident had taught her to weigh the possible effects of a piece of writing more carefully. It was well said.
Words can’t be unsaid. But an apology was indeed in order.
The M&G’s ombud provides an independent view of the paper’s journalism. If you have any complaints you would like addressed, contact me at [email protected]. Or phone the paper on 011 250 7300 and leave a message.
Apology from the M&G
Words are not mere ink splashed on paper, especially words about two people brutally murdered in the prime of their lives in a crime that reverberated across the globe. Richard Bloom was staking his claim as a talented designer in the blossoming South African fashion design industry. Brett Goldin was a golden child of our country.
A mere 28 years old, Goldin was a fundi on television and an icon of MTV, where he made frequent appearances on MTV’s Crazy Monkey. He also graced the screens of several other mega-productions.
Goldin was also a star of the stage, winning rave reviews for the play , which he wrote, produced and starred in. A dramatic look at the Columbine school shootings, it should be staged at local schools for its powerful anti-violence message.
At the time of his death, Goldin was about to jet off to London where he would have starred in Janet Suzman’s Royal Shakespeare Company production of Hamlet alongside Sir Antony Sher. After his death Suzman and Sher actually set up a bursary fund in Brett Goldin’s name.
In a letter to Denise Goldin after her son’s death, Sher wrote: ”You said an extraordinary thing to me: ‘He could have been another you.’ I was too moved to answer, but I wanted to say, ‘And I could’ve been him.’ A young, Jewish, South African actor dreaming of coming to work in the UK at the Royal Shakespeare Company. That was me a few decades ago. But what if something awful had happened to me? Fate at its most inexplicable and cruel.”
Words are not just ink splashed on paper. At their most powerful they can capture the futility of a life wasted in a heinous crime, as Sher’s words do. Denise Goldin made us take another look at her son’s life and at his work. More importantly she made us take a second look at our words, and at the responsibility we carry along with the rights we claim, as members of the fourth estate.
We apologise to the families of Richard Bloom and Brett Goldin for any hurt and harm caused.