Postcard from Fontinalis King’s students telling the stories of a fictional land by Mark Burgess
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he salvelinus fontinalis is a brook trout prominent in eastern Canada. The salmo trutta is a brown trout, native to Europe and Asia. Fontinalis and Trutta are also hostile nations in the fictitious region of Salmo, the Pearson Peacekeeping Centre’s creation and the site of a journalism internship for eight graduating King’s students last November. Operation Eurasian Star—a NATO Rapid Deployable Corps training exercise for the Turkish military—operated in the secure confines of Istanbul’s Ataturk Wargaming Centre, where we worked 12 to 13 hour days. But for the most part our compasses were dialed to the fictional coordinates. And so the eight of us—Lyndsie Bourgon, Colleen Cosgrove, Jenny McCarthy, Connor MacEachern, Richard Norman, Sandi Rankaduwa, Sarah-Jane Steele and I—were the media corps, covering the cruel fictions of balkanized Fontinalis. Pearson staff Dr. Kenneth Eyre and Peter Dawson (BAH ’85) masterminded the make-believe country and the scenarios that came with it. Their creation borrows Nova Scotia’s geography, the former Yugoslavia’s tragedy and employs Latin fish names for the area’s doppelgängers. Eastern Canada is Salmo, a region of seven countries. Mainland Nova Scotia becomes Fontinalis and eastern New Brunswick is the rival People’s Republic of Trutta. The conflict began when old tensions between Ethnic Truttan enclaves within Fontinalis and the majority Fontinalians boiled over. Salmo is a thorough creation. The scenario’s background documents included detailed topography, elaborate histories, invented religions, complex ethnic loyalties and colourful embellishments. For example: the endangered Great Northern Panther (3.5 metres, 230 kilograms) haunts the forests of the Libris prefecture with an innate taste for human flesh; the national
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T i d ings | summer 2 0 0 8
King’s student Mark Burgess analyzes a map of Nova Scotia/Fontinalis.
"The responses weren’t always what we expected; sometimes there was no response at all. The Turkish military wasn’t accustomed to the scrutiny we presumed was our right, which made it difficult for both of us." drink, Vyskejak, is a grain liquor sold at a potency ranging from 35 to 65 per cent alcohol, and is pronounced with the hard ‘V’ that distinguishes the Vontinali language. The plot lines used in the simulation were varied and unrelenting. Each day featured a heavy dose of “injects,” events designed to test the Turkish forces’ ability to respond to the unexpected. These ranged from the assassination of a Supreme Court judge, to Greenpeace accusations that a NATO boat had injured a whale, to more serious indiscretions leveled against the forces. The military’s response to these trials—practically, diplomatically, and, in part, with the press—determined the battle rhythm, or the pace and content of future injects. The responses weren’t always what
we expected; sometimes there was no response at all. The Turkish military wasn’t accustomed to the scrutiny we presumed was our right, which made it difficult for both of us. An example of this was the first of two press conferences. As we registered for press passes we were issued bright yellow bibs—like “pinnies” to demarcate teams in gym class—that we were instructed to wear. In case there was any doubt, these press uniforms defined us in the military’s terms: an obstructive group of flashing yellow lights, best avoided but handled with extreme caution when necessary. A few of us were allowed to ask scripted questions. But we also learned the role of the wrathful journalist, when we were eventually given carte blanche to take the communications branch to task for their