Deborah Coddington: Apologies galore make for a sorry state of affairs

Let's apologise to the goofy girls who never got asked to dance at school balls. Photo / Supplied

This apology business could turn out to be the next big thing. Lately, it seems, every individual, or nation, or ethnicity is entitled to take offence, or claim deeply hurt feelings at the slightest oversight, gaffe, or grumpy outburst, and sorry must quickly be forthcoming.

In Britain's election campaign, Gordon Brown was right - that woman who was moaning about immigrants causing every trouble was bigoted. How ironic, though, that the liberal media hounded him into apologising.

But it doesn't matter if offence was given yesterday or centuries earlier by people long dead. The apology will be demanded by descendants.

It was a wonderful feeling for all those concerned last week when the South African sports minister sent a letter of apology to the Maori rugby players left out of tours to his country just because of their race.

Then the New Zealand Rugby Union said sorry too, and the South African Rugby Union. Then lastly the Maori Rugby Board.

And why stop with the reconciliation hui for the rugby unions?

What about an apology for all those women in New Zealand who did not have the right to vote until 1893? In the 1880s, around 700 women were the employers of men, who did have the right to vote, but their bosses couldn't. Surely that's worth a big sorry to the descendants of those women, and a hui somewhere?

Apologies for past slights against women would be numerous. What about women lawyers?

Some are already on to it. Down in Dunedin, where Ethel Benjamin was born, I'm informed by a frequent (female) guest to dinners at the Otago District Law Society that the society apologises ad nauseum to long-dead Benjamin, New Zealand's first female lawyer, for prohibiting her from accessing the Law Society's library.

But until about 15 years ago we only had one female High Court judge in this country, Dame Silvia Cartwright. You can't tell me there were no senior women practitioners competent enough to sit on the bench?

A big fat sorry should be immediately forthcoming for those passed over in favour of their male colleagues.

Then there are all those married women who were not allowed to take out a mortgage, buy furniture on hire purchase, or borrow money without their husband's permission in writing. No matter if said spouse was a problem gambler or spender, he was the husband, ipso facto, better with the family finances.

Left-handed people forced to write with their right hands have suffered hugely, I heard on Morning Report this week. Even if they did persevere with their left hands, the manner in which paper is manufactured means all their lives they've pushed the pen nib against the grain of the paper. As one of the sinisters, I'm sure Sir Robert Jones will be lining up for a sorry and a hui.

I see an opening here for canny entrepreneurs. Someone needs to broker the deal between both parties, heal the hurt, forge closure, speak the psychobabble. Much money could be exchanged, and why not?

Once upon a time, principled politicians didn't need media training, and yes, Virginia, there was a Santa Claus.

But now it's not only normal practice for aspiring MPs to be coached and groomed into office, it's also deemed acceptable for journalists to work both sides of the fence; that is, instruct the politicians on how to handle the media, then pop round the other side and conduct the interview.

But thick-skinned harridans like me would be bad for anyone setting up an apology brokerage business. I don't bear grudges, except for three people who've been exceptionally personally dastardly, so despite all the media attacks and the bile from strangers on the net, I'm not in the market for a sorry.

On the other hand, if this takes off, I could fall within some of the wider categories of those receiving an apology.

For instance, too-tall, goofy, flat-chested, skinny girls who never got asked to dance at school balls in the 1960s are still deeply hurt, and believe they were passed over in favour of cute, surfie-chick girls with perky breasts. We want an apology.