If it’s a mortal sin to speak ill of the dead, I have a confession to make

While the saying goes we mustn’t speak ill of the dead, the truth is there is no better time to tell the truth about someone than when they are gone. They can’t sue. They can’t argue with you. And their friends, if they have any, won’t get into any kind of boring inaccurate defence mode because it will be, on the whole, “beneath” them.

We’ve all had that experience. There is this one person I know (a truly awful human being) and I earnestly wish I could tell you what I really think of her. If I outlive her, that will definitely happen. I will not hold back.

Comedian Hannah Gadsby had the bravery to criticise her subject while he was still alive. Good for her. In Australia, that takes guts because of what author Mark Davis described as the Gangland syndrome (also our defamation laws). Our pond is too small to escape the eels biting back. Or lawyers taking a big nip.

I only bring this up now because Gadsby unleashed the de mortuis nihil nisi bonum (of the dead, nothing but good is to be said) zombies when someone dug up an old tweet of hers about Barry Humphries, who has been elevated to near sainthood since his death last Saturday. Thing is, Gadsby was already a public critic of Humphries but her criticisms were reanimated after his death. In true zombie style, her critics tried to eat her brain (or at least her reputation). They failed.

Gadsby wrote: “Barry Humphries loves those who hold power, hates vulnerable minorities and has completely lost the ability to read the room.” Her view, with others, led to the Melbourne International Comedy Festival changing the name of its main award.

I’ll be honest and reveal I don’t have a terrific sense of humour. I sat stony-faced through endless Monty Python movies while at the same time asking my patient, beloved spouse to explain scenes to me. While I enjoyed The Castle, I didn’t laugh. Kath & Kim, same. Frontline, an Australian classic, made me extremely uncomfortable yet turned me into a fan for life. Believe me, there is much to commend these works without them having the capacity to make me fall about laughing. I will often describe something as hilarious based on the reactions of those around me.

I only saw Barry Humphries live once, maybe 40 years ago, and I found the character of Edna Everage to be, how shall I say, mean and dull (he picked on a small woman, possibly of Indian descent, in the front row and I wanted to die on her behalf). No-one around me was laughing either. And these were the days before political correctness set in. Mind you, I don’t find Hannah Gadsby all that funny either. But she doesn’t have to be funny to be right about Humphries.

But this is not about whether Humphries was funny. It was really about whether he sided with the powerful. Yes, he did. We should expect and hope that people in his position take on the powerful, not side with them. So why do we assume we should speak well of the dead?