Here's an uncomfortable truth: when a sitting premier tells the press he finds court-released footage too harrowing to watch, the story isn't really about his feelings. It's about ours.
WA Premier Roger Cook has said he could not bring himself to view footage of a fatal car crash released by a Western Australian court. On the surface, this reads as a moment of human vulnerability from a senior politician, and perhaps it is. But the statement deserves more than a sympathetic nod before the news cycle moves on.
Courts release footage and evidence in open proceedings for a reason. The principle of open justice, a cornerstone of common law democracy, holds that justice must not only be done but be seen to be done. When a court allows graphic material into the public domain, it is not doing so casually. Judges weigh competing interests with care: the dignity of victims, the rights of the accused, and the public's legitimate interest in understanding how and why people die in circumstances that might one day touch their own lives.
A premier who publicly declares footage too confronting to watch is not, of course, doing anything legally wrong. He is not interfering with the court. But the statement carries a weight it may not intend. When a political leader signals discomfort with material that a court has deemed appropriate for public release, it subtly suggests that perhaps the public shouldn't see it either. That is a conversation worth having explicitly, not by implication.
The strongest argument on Cook's side is this: political leaders are human beings, and performative toughness is its own form of dishonesty. If he found the footage genuinely distressing, saying so may be more authentic than the usual political armour. The Office of the Premier of Western Australia is not short of opportunities to project strength; admitting the weight of human tragedy is at least a change of register.
That argument deserves credit. It also deserves scrutiny.
The open justice principle exists precisely because powerful people, including governments, have historically preferred that uncomfortable evidence stay hidden. Courts serve as a counterweight to that instinct. When they release footage, whether of police conduct, fatal accidents, or institutional failures, they are doing the work democratic accountability requires. A premier's personal distress, however genuine, is not a reason to relitigate a court's judgement on what the public should see.
There's also the question of what such footage might tell Western Australians about road safety, policing, or both. Fatal crashes often reveal systemic factors: road design, enforcement, speed limits, vehicle standards. The Law Council of Australia has long argued that open justice serves not just the parties to a case but the broader community's understanding of how the legal system functions. Footage that prompts public and political attention to systemic failures serves a genuine public interest. Insulating decision-makers from the human consequences of their own policies is not a form of dignity. It's a form of distance.
What we deserve is a premier who watches the footage, reflects on what it reveals, and arrives at the press with something more considered than an admission of avoidance. The emotional response is understandable. Making it the story is the part that deserves a second look.
Courts do difficult work. Transparency is part of it. Looking away is a choice, but it shouldn't be the headline.