Bushwhacked: Global goings-on mangled by media

GLOBAL events can be confusing or raise issues which defy logical explanation.

For example: how can one big country send in about 30,000 troops into a neighbouring country and then claim the troops are not theirs just because they don’t have any insignia on their uniforms?

I saw Vladimir Putin live on my very own TV sit there and deny any Russian troops had been sent onto Ukrainian land.

The Ukrainians later somewhat cutely described the anonymous troops as “Ninja Turtles” in reference to their all-over green uniforms and malevolently masked faces.

See, if that happened in Australia, the Meeja would be all over it like a bad suit. “Secret Aussie shock troopers invade innocent country and speak very rudely to asylum seekers.” Something like that.

I’m confused. I’m confused why, every time I see refugees shuffling forlornly across a burning desert somewhere in Africa, or in sweltering compounds in Asia, or jammed onto a sinking, stinking fishing boat somewhere, there is always one unifying object. Those red, white and blue woven plastic carry bags. Have you noticed that?

They cost about $2 in Australia, and you often see them at airports being used as back-up luggage when some family decides that a household worth of mattresses, blankets, pillows and food parcels is going to be disallowed as carry-on baggage. But there’s the point: how come we can guarantee a never-ending supply of red, white and blue woven plastic cheap luggage bags absolutely anywhere on the planet, but we can seldom get food and shelter to where it’s most needed in a timely fashion?

The United Nations should be outsourcing its aid delivery to the manufacturers and distributors of cheap luggage. It’d have a better chance of getting through.

However, the Australian Meeja would probably be a bit snippy: “Selfish Aussie rich b@stards foist cheap, crappy luggage on war-ravaged poor while keeping the Louis Vuitton at home.” I’m confused.

I’m confused (but delighted) that every time something major happens in the world, Western news companies have no difficulty finding officials who speak excellent English. The new PM in Kiev spoke elegant English. A “Ninja Turtle” at a road block outside Sevastopol spoke English.

It happened the other day after the simply awful Malaysian Airline disappearance. There, on our screens, at five-minute intervals were various Malaysian security folk, government members, airline executives, all standing in front of vast banks of microphones, patiently explaining – in English – that they had no explanation.

We wondered if an Australian plane on the way from south-east Asia disappeared, would we have any airline officials, government MPs, or security folk addressing the media of Malaysia, Vietnam and China in anything other than Orstralian?

Or what hope would there be of finding a Ukrainian speaker at Oodnadatta? 

Very little, because our Meeja would probably report: “Up-himself Ocker sucks up to rest of world while refusing to explain it to those back home.”

I’m confused. I have given up trying to predict how our national and international Meeja see things. Or if they see things.

There always has to be someone to blame. Someone to be interrogated. Punished. Chastised. Exposed. Held accountable. My pet hate word of this decade is “revealed”.

No one just tells us what’s happened. They reveal. They expose. They accuse.

And I find myself often reflecting on that famous US bumper sticker of the 1970s. Sometimes, it really does just happen. 

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