Reports of this obituary have been greatly exaggerated

Obituaries prepared for the death of former French president Jacques Chirac are more illuminating than intended, writes Colin Randall.

Former French president Jacques Chirac. Patrick Kovarik / AFP

Jacques Chirac, French president for 12 years but in poor health since leaving office in 2007, was reportedly at death’s door after becoming ill with a lung infection during a recent visit to Morocco.

Now pushing 84, Mr Chirac had rough times in office, presiding over rising unemployment, civil unrest and collapsing trust in elected politicians. After leaving the Elysee, the presidential palace, he received a suspended sentence in a corruption case dating from when he was mayor of Paris.

But Mr Chirac had great charm and – rare among French leaders since Gen Charles de Gaulle – a statesmanlike demeanour.

He crushed the odious far-right Jean-Marie Le Pen in a presidential election, did more than predecessors to tackle Islamophobia and anti-Semitism, and perceptively opposed the invasion of Iraq in 2003.

In retirement, he enjoys the popularity he lacked when in power.

However you look at it, Mr Chirac has led a fascinating life, amply justifying the torrent of words that will follow his eventual demise.

For now, even his political opponents would wish him a strong recovery. But the media is naturally making preparations for a different outcome and those preparations include updating obituaries.

Serious obituary writing is one area of journalism to have escaped dumbing down. There may no longer be the well-staffed obituaries departments that the better newspapers once proudly maintained, but good writers remain available to produce compelling appraisals of the lives of important or interesting people.

The printed page still seems the obvious home for the fine words we see in the best examples. But whether obituaries appear in newspapers, on television and radio or online, we can broadly agree they ought to be accurate and unrushed. Therefore, it is also natural that those responsible for them should make contact, while subjects are still living, with individuals able to offer valuable input.

So what possessed a politician with as much experience of government and media as Roselyne Bachelot, a minister under Mr Chirac’s presidency and a long-established admirer, to complain loudly at feeling “upset, indignant and disgusted” on being approached?

Ms Bachelot's comments appeared in her column for the French newspaper Nice-Matin. It was permissible for her to discuss the subject, but disgusting for journalists to seek her assistance and the light she could shed on Mr Chirac's career.

Yet as one who supported Mr Chirac even – her own words again – “in the most difficult moments of his political career”, she would be among the first to protest if the media, deprived of her considered thoughts, got aspects of his life and times wrong.

The views of Ms Bachelot, now part of the media she rebukes for doing its job, hardly matter a great deal now that her days of active politics are over. But she invites criticism for a classic example of people in public life failing to engage the brain before expressing themselves.

And in case she doubts the benefits of well-briefed articles on recently departed figures, she may usefully consider the case of Dave Swarbrick, a British folk-rock musician, who had the uncommon experience of reading his own obituary.

London's Daily Telegraph published the piece, painstakingly researched by a knowledgeable writer, in the mistaken belief that Swarbrick – then very ill – had died.

“I enjoyed the obit,” he said later. “It was very complimentary and answered a question I'd often asked myself: would any paper bother when I died?”

It bothered again when, exemplary medical attention having extended his life by 17 years, Swarbrick did die in June. The newspaper marked the sad occasion with an updated obituary of the sort Jacques Chirac, with the same gift to read words published after death, would perhaps appreciate.

Colin Randall is a former executive editor of The National