The Fifth Columnists By Sam Orbaum Humor Column (April 14) Thank goodness we have freedom of the press, or we wouldn't know we're the bad guys. "Hey, Bill! Come join us! What're ya drinkin'?" The young journalist forced a weak smile. "Something real strong." He was welcomed with a pat on the back. "So how was your first day on the beat? Not like back home, ha ha!" Bill was introduced around. "Smitty, of the Times. Been here since, I dunno, biblical times I guess." "Markus, photographer for the European News Syndicate. If everyone in Europe hates the Israelis, you can thank me, heh heh!" "Elaine, stringer for the wires, I'm writing a book on Palestinian independence, and no matter what Markus tells you, I'm not dating him." "Hal Stein, Guardian. Remember that piece proving Arik Sharon took down the World Trade Center? That's mine. Won a few prizes for it. Hey Smitty, why is it the booze in Israel tastes so lousy? You think Sharon's trying to poison us?" (Dammit, Smitty thought; how did Hal know he was working on just that story?) Young Bill shot back a double. "Best thing I learned in college was how to drink," he said comradely. "They sure as hell didn't prepare me for being a war correspondent." He took a deep breath and steadied himself. "I can't believe the stuff I saw today. Those Palestinians are inhuman. Absolutely barbaric! These poor Jews. Is it always like this?" No one answered. The other journalists gaped at him, and then at each other. Elaine found her voice first. "Uh, Bill. Let's not forget, a Palestinian died killing all those Israelis. Another victim of the illegal occupation. Think of that poor kid's mother." "But -" Smitty cut into Bill. "You don't understand what's going on here. Nothing's obvious. I've got great sources, and they told me the Israelis rigged that suicide bombing to kill Jews and make the Palestinians look bad. Of course, the Israelis denied it, they always do. What, you think the Palestinians are so stupid that they want to die?" "But I saw -" "You saw ?! Jeez, what are you, an innocent bystander? Someone knew you were there, and they gave you something to write about. If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, did the tree make a sound? If Jews and Arabs kill each other and we're not there to make hay about it, does death matter? No. Let me put it this way: the Syrians killed 20,000 of their own people in Hamra, but we weren't there, so who cares? It's like it didn't happen, and the world remained the same. Syria's on the UN Security Council. Capiche?" "Boy, I sure have a lot to learn about being a foreign correspondent in Israel," Bill said. Hal popped a few peanuts. "It's rather good sport, actually," he said breezily. "We'll be having a slow day. My editor is howling for a story. So I call some friends, and tell them I need a spot of action. An hour later we have a bleedin' good punch-up. Naturally, they wait for Markus and the TV crews. We count to three and sure enough, here come the Israelis, they bash a few kids, and we have our story. Then the Israelis come crying to us. Next day, the whole world's furious about Israeli brutality. Happens every time." Bill was agog. "You mean it doesn't just happen? You orchestrate the violence?" Elaine was getting impatient with this naive fool. "Nah, sometimes we just get a tipoff. Look, kid, how'd you think we always get to the right place at the right time? I can write my story without leaving the barstool, but not the photographers. Hey, Markus, show him what's in your bag." Markus grinned. "You mean Helga?" He pulled out a battered doll. "Every cameraman needs one of these. When the Israelis knock down a building, I put ol' Helga on the rubble, and 'click'! Haven't you ever noticed? Any disaster, anywhere in the world, there's always a doll where the house was. Amazing coincidence - everything's destroyed, except for one sorry-looking doll that always ends up on top of the rubble." Bill felt ill. "And I thought I needed a drink before." "You gotta give 'em what they want," Smitty told him. "You write crap about 'those poor Israelis' and you'll be back home covering art exhibitions." "Ooh, careful, Smitty," Elaine chided, "you sounded a teeny bit anti-Semitic there." The others howled in raucous laughter. Hal explained to poor Bill. "Yeah, we're all a bunch of hard-ass anti-Semites. Christ, I'm even Jewish! We're just doing our job, honest reporting and all that - I went into Ramallah with the 'human shield' to protect the Palestinians from the Israeli genocide. Take it from me, the Jews behave like Nazis." Bill eyed him icily. "Big hero. Why don't you go into downtown Jerusalem and shield the Jews? Or are you afraid the Palestinians will behave like Palestinians?" Elaine leaned over to Bill and dropped her voice. "In this country, be careful what you say so they don't know what you think." Bill was utterly bewildered. "Tell me what I don't understand. On one side, we have a democracy struggling to uphold its basic goodness in solving an unsolvable problem, and on the other side, a nihilist society that glorifies terrorism and mass murder, which would be objectionable anywhere else in the world. But you guys - you not only disregard professional impartiality, you justify the evil." Well, his new friends weren't exactly speechless this time. This pompous college kid dared to preach to them about journalistic integrity and challenge their belief in democratic values?! "We believe in the Palestinians' right to self-determination!" Hal roared at Bill. "What's wrong with that?" "As journalists," Bill reminded him, "you're not supposed to believe in anything but the truth. Besides, isn't that exactly what the Israelis believe in?" "You know," Smitty retorted coldly, "if we were sitting at a bar in Ramallah instead of Jerusalem, you wouldn't get out of here alive." Bill grinned. "Careful there, you just agreed with me. The Palestinians don't allow freedom of the press, so you meekly comply with non-criticism; the Israelis allow complete freedom, which you use against them every chance you get. And which side do you, as fiercely independent journalists, admire? Your poor, ignorant public wouldn't know your objectivity is compromised, because you don't tell them. You are a righteous bunch, aren't you! "Awferchrisakes!" Smitty exploded. "You been here, what, an hour? It's amazing how much you understand." "The Israelis got to him," Markus suggested. "Have you ever listened to them with an open mind?" Bill asked. Elaine bristled. "Hey! I'm a journalist! I'm not going to submit myself to their Zionist propaganda!" Bill summoned the bartender for the tab. He wasn't about to wait for anyone to say "drinks are on me, pal!" He didn't think he made a very good impression on these reporters, which was, after all, the only reason he was there. Having paid for his drinks, Mossad agent Bill went home to write his report.