Kerry Stokes has his chequebook open, again. This time the beneficiary of his largess is defamation damages aspirant Bruce Lehrmann.
It came to light in evidence last week that Stokes’ Seven Network has been paying Lehrmann’s rent into next year.
It’s not for the first time that this media proprietor has financially supported a courtroom contestant suing other media organisations and journalists. Nor is it unusual for his TV network to pay large sums of money to buy exclusive interviews with celebrities, the notorious and various categories of victims.
Buying exclusive rights to an informant poses its own special kind of ethical slippery slope for the media. In the case of Liam Bartlett’s Spotlight interview, it now appears Lehrmann gave the viewers a misleading gloss on what happened on 23 March 2019.
It was not until a forensic examination in court that viewers of Spotlight realised that the interviewee lied to the viewers about the lie he gave the chief of staff of his then employer, Senator Linda Reynolds, on why he was in the ministerial office well past bedtime.
Lying to a tabloid TV show is hardly unique, but a lie with double pike is something special. For a commercial TV network, the important thing is the ratings.
The former Liberal staffer admitted telling three different stories – including two that were lies – about the reason for his after-hours visit to Parliament House, but denied sexually assaulting Brittany Higgins after they entered the ministerial office together.
Under cross-examination by Network Ten’s barrister, Dr Matt Collins SC, Lehrmann admitted to lying to Channel Seven when he said he was worried about his involvement in an earlier minor security incident.
Lehrmann has always maintained his innocence and pleaded not guilty to a charge of sexual intercourse without consent. In 2022, his criminal trial was aborted due to juror misconduct and a second was abandoned because of prosecutors’ fears for Higgins’ mental health.
The federal court’s online file for the case reveals Lehrmann’s rental arrangements from 13 April 2023 to 12 April 2024, payable by Seven at $4,000 a fortnight. There is also an exclusivity agreement between Seven and Lehrmann that gives the TV network exclusive rights to the story.
Importantly, the interviewee “warrants that to the best of his knowledge the information provided by him in relation to the Seven Exclusive is entirely true and wholly of a private or domestic nature”.
That leaves open the possibility that money might also have been paid directly to third parties – such as Lehrmann’s lawyers.
Tabloid TV chequebook interviews are invariably hammered out by lawyers for each party. What is to be explored and what is off limits is the subject of a contract – along with the financial consideration.
The fine print of the ground rules and price are outsourced to the legal representatives. It is entirely conceivable that other contracts could cover options for future opportunities – podcasts, a miniseries, a book.
Maybe in Lehrmann’s case, there is the possibility for a fresh interview with Liam once the case is over.
It need hardly be said that the success of any prospective new venture would hinge on the outcome of his defamation case.
Importantly, the chequebook buys exclusivity. Once the contract has been inked, the commercial media entity owns the public appearances of their “newsmaker” in relation to the interview. In Chequebook Land, the consumer is entirely in the dark about the nature of the agreement between the interviewer and the interviewee.
Faith in programs where newsworthy people have sold themselves to commercial media could be elevated with the simple initiative of pasting the contract agreement in a bold font on the media outfit’s website – rather than waiting for bits of it to emerge in court documents during litigation. Only then can we know how many grains of salt should be sprinkled over the performance.
It may be a bold idea, but journalists consistently cry for more transparency – so it can’t be all bad if the shoe is on the other foot.
This is not to say that everything in the fee-for-performance genre is a patsy piece of showbiz. Personal tragedies, traumas and miscarriages of justice carry their own reward. Original insights were had from Lindy Chamberlain ($250,000, Nine), Kathleen Folbigg ($1-1.5m, Seven) and Iraq hostage Douglas Wood ($400,000, Ten). Less so for the $150,000 Seven paid to Barnaby Joyce and Vikki Campion for details of their affair.
Even for the least discerning viewer, there is a sense that something is not quite right about a paid interview. It seems lopsided – indeed, one-sided – and a lazy form of journalism.
The same story could be explored independently with the application of journalistic skills. Countless news stories each day are reported without the need for a cash transaction. Most mainstream news organisations avoid the practice of paying people to open their mouths.
The idea of authentic journalistic endeavour seems to be bypassed in the lurch for the chequebook.
There’s another form of reverse chequebook journalism that has been highly refined in the United States and might soon catch on here. Known as “catch and kill”, it involves a media organisation buying a juicy story from someone in the eye of a storm, getting an exclusive contract – and then burying the salacious schlock.
It gets complicated, but is intriguing nonetheless. Usually, a catch-and-kill operation is designed to protect a third party who is paying the publisher not to have the story revealed; it’s a laundromat of information and money.
The National Enquirer in the US has perfected the art form. It paid one of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s lovers $US20,000 for her story to protect Arnold, who was running for governor of California. It was never published by the Enquirer.
Similarly with the exploits of Harvey Weinstein and some of his victims and $US150,000 to former playmate of the month Karen McDougal for exclusive rights to her story about what Trump was like in the bedroom. All top-class material that was so good no one could read it.
The unfortunately named David Pecker – CEO of the National Enquirer – was a friend of Trump.
• Richard Ackland writes at 500Words.com.au
