Late last year, the Law Society sent an email to all members about the Journal. It read: “For 50 years, we have strived to present reliable information of practical use.”
‘Reliable information’? ‘Of practical use’? I wondered where I fit in. I read on …
“As we prepare for the next 50 years … we would like … you to attend one of several two-hour discussion groups.”
An invitation to a focus group! I signed up straight away, but, as a regular contributor to the Journal, I figured they’d screen me out.
A week later I received a call to let me know I’d been randomly selected to participate. (Perhaps a little less randomness in selection might have been in order.)
Detailed instructions followed by post – along with a recent edition of the Journal. I flicked straight to my article, just as I do whenever a copy hits my desk.
Damn! Not my best work.
Oh well, after so many articles, I figured my reputation would precede me.
On the night of the focus group, I arrived at the last minute, was given a name-badge and ushered in to a conference room with a two-way mirror on a wall. A dozen serious-looking lawyers sat flicking through copies of the Journal. No one looked up to see me grinning – much like my caricature above.
Our facilitator, also grinning, led us through a ‘get to know you’ game. Like everyone else in the room, I stuck to my law-story … and thereby no one got to know me at all.
“Give me three words that describe the Journal.”
‘Reliable’ was offered up first, followed by ‘serious’ and, alas, ‘boring’.
“Now which parts of the magazine should they keep?”
“Outside View,” said someone. “Inside the back page … it’s always good to have a laugh.”
“Indeed,” I concurred, smiling.
Next came praise for the long and serious articles, then the President’s message and Anne Susskind’s work. Someone mentioned Andrew Calvin’s articles, the media mentions and even the classifieds. I started to worry. I waited, and waited, until there was little that hadn’t been mentioned – save for my column.
“You know I’ve never really appreciated it until now …” said someone, flicking back through the magazine – towards my article – and then right on back past it
“… the Table of Contents is good.”
What!?
“What about Lexcursions,” I blurted. “It’s great, don’t you think?”
There was a little squeak on the white board, and then silence.
“Okay,” said the facilitator. “What parts should they get rid of?”
A long pause.
“I’m not too sure about this bit,” said a lawyer, looking at my page.
Well, this is something, I thought. Better to be hated than completely ignored.
“This list of Regional Law Society presidents,” she said pointing to the filler next to my article. “Perhaps it should go.”
“It’s filler!” I said. “Yes we should get rid of it. Maybe give more space to this guy.”
I tapped my finger sarcastically on my picture.
Again, nothing.
I shot a look at the two-way mirror. Do I exist? It looked dubiously back.
The facilitator proffered some ideas. “We could rename the Journal … use less words and more bullet points … make it more colourful … turn it into an app.”
I could see the fear of a general dumbing down casting its shadow over the group. We liked our Journal just the way it was and wouldn’t change a thing – not even the bits we’d never noticed before.
“But I can see where you’re going,” said someone. “Maybe it should have more funny bits, like a regular column making fun of lawyers and the law.”
“Yeah,” said another. “And some Chaser-style stunts.”
I threw my arms up in the air, gave up, and sulked. The facilitator continued, plotting what now seemed an inevitable path.
Oh well, I consoled myself, I might not be “of practical use”, nor “reliable” – and I’m clearly not “relevant” – but I just hope I’m dumb enough to make the cut.