Ukraine russia
Ukrainian servicemen in the Luhansk area, eastern Ukraine (Image: AP via AAP/Vadim Ghirda)

The “great power” reporting mindset of Australian media (and much of the commentariat) on foreign news is getting in the way of the understanding we need of what seems set to be, suddenly, the first big offshore news story of 2022: the possibility of war in Ukraine.

The challenge is more structural than ideological — part how we understand what’s “news” and part how the news supply chain is designed, and where Australia fits in it.

The result? Our traditional media practices encourage us to think of the world through 19th century ideas of the conflict of great powers rather than the interlinked globalism of the 21st. All those other countries (Australia too) become just interchangeable pieces in a world understood through old imperial ideas of “spheres of influence”.

We see only dimly what’s actually happening in Ukraine — and what Ukrainians are thinking and doing. For that we have to reach to emerging voices on the spot, like the recently launched English-language Kyiv Independent, set up by a collective of journalists in December after they were fired by their former real estate developer owner of the Kyiv Post

In a column published this week the paper went to the heart of the problem:

As presented by the international media, the situation seems to have little to do with Ukrainians … While there is endless speculation over what Vladimir Putin may want or how the West should respond to the threat of a major European war, Ukraine has been reduced to the status of bystander in its own national drama.

News relies on conflict, and the bigger and more violent it is, the more newsworthy. Think of it as the foreign news equivalent of “if it bleeds, it leads”. But as economic historian Adam Tooze aggregated in his substack newsletter Chartbeat this week, the short attention span of global media means they misread how the conflict is being played out through strategies of public affairs and economic pressure over the long term. 

The decision by the emerging eastern European democracies to join NATO from 1999 is understood not as an act of self-determination (and self-interest) in a time of global networking, but as the outsider United States extending its sphere of influence to push the Russian sphere back within its 1991 national borders.

Similarly, Russia’s action in massing troops on the Ukrainian border is not so much a strike against the modern rights-based order, but a (more or less) legitimate reassertion of its rights as the pre-eminent regional power.

Part of the problem is news: what great powers like Russia — and more particularly superpowers like the US — do is inherently more newsworthy, more likely to directly affect our lives than what middle-range countries like Ukraine do. (Same is true for the way other countries look at Australia: we’re just not that newsworthy for them most of the time.)

It’s reinforced by how we get our news: funnelled through UK and US media using their reporters usually based in what are subsidiary news centres — in this case, like Moscow. It’s a “news” that prioritises the interests and concerns of their home market. 

In Australia, we get what we’re given as that content gurgles down the global news funnel.

For traditional commercial media, it’s a low-cost commodification of content. Particularly, on television, the impact of the visuals outweighs the news value: from hurricanes in Florida to Russian tanks on the move in the Donetsk Basin.

It’s worse than it used to be. Australian media used to invest in foreign correspondents who spoke directly to and for Australian audiences. This was critical in ensuring access to information from our region came unfiltered through European or North American perspectives.

It drove the belated political recognition that Australia is on the Asia side of the Asia-Pacific rather than in a more virtual Anglo-American space.

The ABC’s European correspondent Steve Cannane is in Kyiv. It’s a temporary replacement for the correspondent the ABC had in Moscow for half a century until 2013. In 1991 its reporter Monica Attard broke the global story of the collapse of the attempted coup which led to the end of the Soviet Union (and, through 30 years of twists and turns, to where we are today with the 100,000 or more Russian soldiers on the Ukrainian border).

Globally, digital media is helping fill the gap. Most famously, in 2014 crowd-sourced journalism innovators BellingCat scoured local media and web postings to expose within days Russian involvement in the shooting down of MH17 in eastern Ukraine (and the deaths of 298 people, including 38 Australians).

Reporters from those handful of aspirants to be global voices are also turning up in Ukraine. The BBC has correspondents there (feeding, too, into the ABC). The Washington Post Moscow reporter Isabelle Khurshudyan was reporting on the ground from Ukraine’s second largest city, Kharkiv, at the weekend.

Local journalists, human rights activists and pro-democracy campaigners pay the price for the media’s great power focus. Global press freedom groups are still fighting for the release of pro-democracy journalist Raman Pratasevich, arrested when Ukraine’s neighbour (and Putin ally) Belarus scrambled its air force to illegally force a RyanAir plane to land so he could be arrested.

It remains a chilling reminder that rogue states, no matter their “sphere of influence”, threaten us all.