THE saying, "No news is good news”, has no place in the journalistic profession; no news spells bad news, period. To the international media, the run-up to the presidential elections in Rwanda is disappointing, if not out rightly boring.

From the initial excitement that accompanied the launch of the campaigns, hordes of media crews swarmed the capital, in anticipation of the usual violence that accompanies elections in what formerly used to be known as the Third World.

Very disappointing, these elections are turning out to be – from a journalist’s point of view. There are no violent confrontations between rival parties, no running street battles with the police, no billows of smoke ... the list is endless, of the lacking ingredients to spice a reporter’s story.

So with the lack of drama, the foreign press is back in its labs, trying to cook up some sort of doomsday scenario about to strike this country. They pick insignificant matters and twist them into the desired shape of what they wish Rwanda to be.

We, in the media, are attracted to gore and violence like a committee of vultures are to a carcass. A news photographer who witnesses an accident, will run for the camera instead of rescuing the victim. So much are we conditioned to being out of touch with reality that we sometimes play God.

The media can make or break a politician’s career, break up families, fan wars and gleefully tally the collateral damage afterwards- in short, bad news is good news.

I remember at the height of the Congo War, a colleague with whom we covered the conflict, a correspondent for a foreign media organisation, opened my eyes into the murky world of international media.

While we tried to cover all aspects of the conflict, my friend was only  interested in something he could give a twist, to portray himself as someone risking his life, in the insect-infected Congo jungles, to bring to the world’s attention, the plight of the endangered species- the local population.

My internationally recognised (and possibly award winning) colleague would cook up something like this; "The frail looking Haruna, however, said the soldiers did not rape anyone in the village...”.

I would be flabbergasted and admonish my friend; if there were no cases of rape, why bring it up? I would ask.
He would stare at me with barely hidden scorn.

"My dear, in a situation like this, you are the conductor of an orchestra. It’s you who shapes the situation to attract the attention of your audience. If at a later stage, cases of rape are reported, I will have been the first person to break the news”. I was speechless.

The other aspect I learnt of my friend’s modus operandi was that he was not interested in the positive things we encountered while we were "embedded” with Rwandan troops. He was always on the lookout for a fellow "muzungu”, usually working for some "humanitarian” agency as his prime source of information.

What did he expect the "expat” to say, if not to draw a grim picture of the situation, in order to show why his continued presence was necessary? Loosely translated, more funding would flow in if the story was given a humanitarian twist.

That is when it hit me: International media organisations and so-called humanitarian agencies are in bed together because they scratch each other’s backs.

My friend was not interested when we arrived in a town— right in the middle of the DRC — that had lost its soul (and paved streets) with the departure of the Belgian colonialist. The close-to-collapse buildings were still fitted with electric bulbs that had never been caressed by even a single watt for the last two or three decades.

One day, a miracle occurs that nearly sends the residents of the sleepy town scampering into hiding. The lights suddenly came on and water gushed out of the rusty broken pipes and, this is the best; the nearby forest suddenly bursts into light in an orderly manner!

The forest is actually the remnants of what was once-upon-a-time a major street, and the straight line of lights up in the trees were street lights, still fitted with the indefatigable Congolese bulbs "Fabrique en Belgique” (made in Belgium).

The answer to the miracle was very simple, but is the highlight of my Congolese adventure:

The local commander came upon a rusty looking generator, when he poured in a few litres of diesel; it burst into life and resuscitated a nearby water plant.

The sleepy town burst into joyous song and dance, the teenagers were mesmerised and contented to finally prove the mythical tale they had grown up with- of the stars in the forest- were actually true. The local commander now knew how to keep the town happy, a drum of diesel and for a few hours of power every day.

My friend ignored this life-changing story and instead went hunting for inexistent rape victims-to be and the trails of blood diamonds, he should possibly have been searching for in West Africa.

That is the sad tale of how, an unspoken coalition of NGOs and media organisations, have taken hostage world opinion to suit their own agenda. There is one thing though, that they should not forget; just like the old town suddenly bursting into life, the light will shine in the forests of lies and manipulation.

I have no doubt that this disease of fabricating news and setting the tempo for the audience, will run out of steam (or diesel for the matter). But there should be no sitting back.

Our "boring” presidential campaigns will likely come under fire in a bid to spice them up to suit the front pages of some media organisations; After all, aren’t we, members of the media, used to being virtuoso conductors who set the pace?

P.S: Read even what I write with caution, I might have been contaminated...

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