Commentary:Wasteful Battles: Antipodean Weaponization of Media Against Pacific Countries
By Tevita Motulalo
In the complex theatre of Pacific geopolitics, much is made of “regional partnership” and “Pacific family” values. Beneath the diplomatic veneer, however, lies a more coercive reality: a form of information warfare waged through influential, state-funded media institutions in Australia and New Zealand.
While these outlets often position themselves as democratic watchdogs for the region, their reporting can function—intentionally or otherwise—as an instrument of power. The result is that Pacific governments are frequently forced to divert scarce resources to fight “ghost wars” against narratives constructed without sufficient local verification.
The recent controversy involving the Kingdom of Tonga and allegations of “shadow fleet” registrations illustrates this dynamic. Radio New Zealand International reported that Tonga was defying international sanctions by allowing Russian vessels to fly its flag, immediately reviving historical suspicions surrounding international shipping registries. The impact was swift: the Tongan government was compelled into a defensive posture, issuing denials and expending diplomatic capital to rebut the claim.
Subsequent clarification revealed a far simpler reality. Foreign vessels were illegally “false flagging,” using Tonga’s identity without its consent. A routine confirmation with Tongan maritime authorities could have reframed the story as one of international maritime fraud rather than state complicity. Instead, the dominant narrative cast a sovereign Pacific nation as a sanctions violator—an outcome that placed reputational harm above journalistic balance.
Newly appointed Prime Minister Lord Fakafanua began his administration responding to the fallout from this reporting rather than advancing policy priorities. Whatever the intentions of RNZ’s reporters and editors, the consequences were predictable. A verification call would have been neither costly nor difficult.
For Pacific nations, such media cycles are not merely news events; they are resource-draining micro-crises. When major broadcasters in Wellington or Sydney publish culturally insensitive or insufficiently contextualised reports, Pacific administrations must redirect officials from development, health, or infrastructure work to manage external perceptions. This creates an asymmetry where a single report from a well-resourced Western outlet outweighs months of quiet, effective governance.
This pattern reflects a lingering paternalism. By repeatedly framing Pacific states as corrupt, incompetent, or easily influenced by external “bad actors” such as Russia or China, such coverage reinforces interventionist instincts within metropolitan capitals. Pacific governments are left carrying a “reputational debt,” constantly required to demonstrate credibility to maintain aid flows, trade access, or diplomatic standing.
The racialised undertones of this coverage also warrant scrutiny. Tropes of “Pacific instability” strip communities of agency and obscure the reality that many alleged failures are the result of sophisticated transnational criminal activity or geopolitical pressure—not local mismanagement.
If Australia and New Zealand are sincere in their commitment to a “Blue Pacific” future grounded in mutual respect, their publicly funded media institutions must reflect that ethos. Journalism should scrutinise power, not reproduce colonial-era hierarchies through careless amplification. The issue is not whether the Pacific requires media scrutiny, but whether powerful media organisations are willing to scrutinise their own assumptions before passing judgment on their neighbours.
