Rogue Element

‘On that first point, I’m pretty sure the Aboriginals wouldn’t agree with you. And on the second… okay, I’ll give you that.’ They walked in silence while they negotiated a particularly boggy section. Clouds of mosquitoes rose from the thick mud and flew into their nostrils, mouths, ears and eyes. They ran through the last few sucking puddles, half blind, scooping the insects out of their mouths. Suryei lost her shoe in the mud. Joe volunteered to go back and get it for her. Suryei refused. She tied some fabric saved from Joe’s shirt around her nose and mouth, went back and freed it from the bog herself.

‘Look, I don’t think the media are the bad guys but they have a serious flaw,’ said Suryei, picking up where she’d left off.

‘And that is?’

‘The news media can only handle information in a certain way.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s not good with grey.’

‘Eh?’ Joe was not sure he understood the point. He pulled aside a branch that threatened to whip back into Suryei’s face.

‘Well, you know the expression, “it’s all there in black and white”?’

Joe nodded.

‘Well, it’s never there in grey. Newspapers, the media generally, they take a side of a story, one that can be dealt with unequivocally, and report on it more or less accurately.

‘And the news sources may — not always, but sometimes — give the other side of a story, providing the issues are clear. But it’s not very adept at dealing with issues that have black and white mixed in equal parts. Like I said, it’s not very good with grey. The bad guys are always bad and the good guys are always good. But life is rarely so ordered and people, issues — whatever — are never, in truth, so perfectly one dimensional and transparent.’

‘You’ve obviously thought about this a bit.’

‘Haven’t you? Or do you just accept everything you’re spoon-fed without question?’

‘I wouldn’t say that, but I don’t think my levels of cynicism are up to yours. Probably because I haven’t seen as much,’ Joe added. Suryei had certainly been exposed to more life than he had.

‘But it’s always been like this. Take wars. The media dehumanises the opposition. That makes things worse because people are then more prepared to do things, cruel things, when they don’t think the other side is as “human” and “civilised” as they are. That’s what happened in Vietnam, and in the Second World War with Japan, and probably every war in human history…’ Suryei gathered her thoughts. She stopped and surveyed the jungle hemming them in.

‘Anyway, it’s easy to see how the media works when there are extreme examples, such as when there are confrontations between nations, but the principle, the way the media simplifies things, is the same no matter what the issue.’

‘Okay, but you can’t blame just the media,’ Joe interjected. ‘It’s been fashioned by the people who buy newspapers and listen to the news. News is presented the way it is because that’s what sells. People want the facts delivered that way — simply.’

‘That, Joe, is an incredibly simplistic view,’ said Suryei, stopping. Her hands were on her hips, like she was ready to fight. ‘The public believes getting the facts is the same as getting the truth, and one is not the same as the other. Those embargoed stories back in East Timor — the truth was managed, massaged, put through the blender.’

Joe quietly entered a small clearing. A family of macaques occupying a large tree, its roots dangling into the space below it like a matted screen, chattered and screeched and whirled quickly up and down the branches. Joe noticed the discarded fruit on the ground and nudged one over with his toe. It looked familiar — green on the outside with rich crimson flesh full of seeds inside. He picked one off the tree’s trunk, peeled it open and took a bite. It tasted sweet. He ate it quickly and had another. He tossed a couple to Suryei. She joined him beside the tree, picking the fruit that sprouted from its bark.

‘This is what the babirusa eats,’ said Suryei, diverted, the journo again. ‘It’s a fig, unique to Sulawesi. Evolved just for the babirusa’s dinner. The fruits are low, see, and easily reached.’

‘Can you imagine what must be going on back home in Australia?’ said Joe, almost incoherently, talking with his mouth full. ‘Do you think the authorities — the government — know what’s going on?’

‘They must. Think about it. QF-I has gone missing,’ Suryei said, hunting for a branch that hadn’t been stripped. ‘They must know it’s crashed somewhere in Indonesia. The relatives of the passengers — your parents and friends — the whole bloody country’s probably in mourning. And shock. And if it appears the Indonesians are up to no good…’