At the heart of even the corniest clichés there is truth. Hidden feelings often fly out of our mouths when our tongues are heaviest with alcohol or when we speak in jest. On Monday April 29, while attending a scheduled pre-cabinet press briefing in the conference room of the office of the Prime Minister, a supposed media colleague told a withering joke about me—loud enough so everyone else in the room could hear, journalists and government officials alike. “You’re the same guy who sells out his sources!” said my jocular accuser. I was taken completely off guard by what seemed to me an unprovoked attack on not only my professionalism, but also my character. I thought for a moment whether the shooter had mindlessly shot off his mouth. I was soon set aright. Looking straight at an obviously bewildered me, he said: “He knows who I’m talking about. The same guy who sells out his sources.”
Just what was it that had provoked the attempted character assassination? It wasn’t as if I had committed the unpardonable sin of writing critically about my colleague’s reporting prowess. Rather, someone had asked if I had seen my colleague’s latest report and I replied that I had not. The enquirer then informed me that “it was yet another nothingburger”.
Obviously the barb was a little too loud and perhaps a little too true for my colleague’s ears. His typical reaction was nevertheless directed not at his disappointed viewer but at me. Guilty by association, I suppose.
But I wasn’t the only one confused by this unexpected and umerited attack. “What is he talking about?” I was asked. “Aren’t you going to defend yourself?” To which I replied: “Consider the source.”
But my presumed colleague wasn’t yet done with me. “But what I wrote was true,” he mocked, giggling throughout like a schoolgirl. It occurred to me that he had echoed back at me my own words spoken to one man two months earlier: “But what I wrote was true.” I was quietly livid, until Senator Fortuna Belrose entered the room to switch my focus.
Immediately following her time with the gathered press representatives I called out to my colleague. “Miguel,” I said, “let’s have a word.” He approached me, his hand extended. I pretended not to notice as we sat down. “I didn’t get what you said earlier,” I said. His response: “I was told you sell out your sources.”
Suddenly I had gone from the man who sells out his sources to the man someone said sold out his sources. “Who told you that?” I asked, and he said: “Julian Monrose.” Just as I had already guessed. So much for me being untrustworthy. With little encouragement my accuser had proved himself a seller of sources. “What, it’s not true?” he asked, noting my bemused expression.
“Do you even know the story?” I asked.
“No I don’t,” was his reply. “I was told . . .” I cut him off. “You didn’t say you were quoting hearsay when you called me out as if you knew what you were saying was validated fact.”
“Oh, but that was just a joke,” said Miguel, looking like a grinning sheep might, if only sheep could grin. I said: “You were spreading fake news about me and now you say you were joking? If you’d wanted to know the truth you’d at least have asked for my version. You did not!”
He abruptly got up to “cover another story”. But not before letting me know he “didn’t like the story y’all wrote about Rehani”. I cannot tell to which story he referred. Rick Wayne wrote one with which Rehani found no problem. As for my three, they dealt more with double standards in media coverage than with Rehani himself. The best Miguel could do “for one of our own in trouble” was to call on the nation to pray for someone whose name he never mentioned. More on that soon in another bulletin!
