Word about town is that gossips are more trusted to help organise social events but less likely to be consulted for their ethics. By “word”, I mean “a workplace study from the University of Leeds business school”, and “about town” means “reported in the Times”.
Gossips unethical? For shame! The insights of this particular study I shall personally table for moral judgment at the next convergence of my neighbourhood girl gang. Gossip, friends, is both a moral mission and our pleasure on the fortnightly-or-so mornings we – 30s to 50s, a rainbow of sexualities and various household compositions – convene at the local cafe, eat toast and information-share.
We mostly drink coffee, but, baby, we spill tea. One of the many benefits of living in a small country town is that the human characters of the social narrative are visible on a near-daily basis. Physical encounters at the chemist, the supermarket, the early-morning pilates class form nodes of an information network more powerful than any digital communication that will ever be invented.
Shakespeare personifies Rumour as a character in Henry IV Part II, “painted full of tongues”, bitterly insisting that “rumour is a pipe, blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures”. This negative characterisation informs the conclusions of the Leeds university workplace gossip study, where study participants rated gossipers as “less moral and competent” even though the researchers themselves could demonstrate that gossip was the “hallmark of a well-connected individual with an extensive social network”. Anyone arguing that gossipers are incompetent is failing to grasp the investigative skills obliged of the role; a gossip’s reputation only endures for as long as their gossip proves true.
Lest the demonising persist – in the workplace or beyond it – Rumour is warmly invited to spend some time in my cold corner of regional Victoria, southeastern Australia, where gossip has a significant community role to play in social and economic wellbeing, which is why everyone participates in it.
Apocryphal folklore remembers the comeuppance of a dastardly tradesperson when it was observed he was merely parking his van outside clients’ homes while the bulk of his billable hours were spent at his mistress’s house. The relentless scrutiny of close proximity means the businesses of “good people” thrive, and shysters and hypocrites are quickly exposed. On another occasion, a set of precious keys I managed to leave on an intercity train were returned to my home within a day, despite a) being unlabelled and b) me not even realising I had lost them. How could anyone have known they were mine? I can only conclude that I’d been gossiped about.
The workplace, of course, is a society similar to a small town. The Leeds university study’s researchers explain that gossip helps facilitate workplace culture, informing individuals of how to navigate organisational relationships and avoid threats. Connectedness overcomes the isolation that perpetrators rely on to conceal abuse: inquiries into scandals in Britain’s NHS have stated openly that gossip saves lives. In any community, gossipers identify who may be in need of help and consideration but is too shy, too embarrassed – or too vulnerable – to request any. In my town, somehow groceries appear for those going through tough times, anonymous flowers turn up for the heartbroken – and the baker always seems to have “spare doughnuts” since my husband has been unwell.
Is it the fear of losing control of one’s reputation to others that stigmatises gossip? Gossip weaponised to tread on personal sensitivity and harm a reputation was something I bore tearfully at age 11, sobbing to my mother when one of my Year 5 colleagues denounced me as “a flirt”. “If they aren’t talking about you, then you aren’t very interesting,” was superb – if blunt – maternal training in the art of not taking oneself too seriously. It was also fine preparation for life on the internet, where parades of unadmitted ex-friends, rejected dates and former partners can anonymously spread both real gossip and unadulterated nonsense about me, you, and anyone else, all of the time. Why be afraid? Being seen means you get your keys back, while the power move is to embrace the identity your enemies create for you; flirt your little self sick.
Malign or benevolent, gossip’s just broadcasting in its oldest, verbal form. It doesn’t require literacy, priestly interpretation, printing presses, radio towers or a $44bn website, so it’s historically the chosen medium of women, who had no access to these other things. “Gossip” comes from “godsibb”, pertaining roughly to a gathering of godmothers.
But stigmatisation and marginalisation and gendering does not dilute the transformative effect gossip may have on the lives of individuals or the fate of a community. Therein lies the real cause of gossip’s ongoing demonisation – the unbearable reminder, to everyone, that shared information has a power even the powerful can’t control.
Van Badham is a Guardian Australia columnist
