It happened to be my birthday. After a family dinner, I returned home and logged onto the office computer network, to look at the stories lined up for the next day's paper.

I had commissioned an article by our Chief China Correspondent, Ching Cheong. He was on his way to Beijing to cover the historic visit to China by then-chairman of the Kuomintang (KMT) Lien Chan, and had promised to write on this. But the story was not to be found.

This was odd, as Ching Cheong usually delivered on time. I called the office to find out what had happened, only to be told by my colleagues that they had been trying to reach him all day, but with no luck.

It would be more than a week before we learnt that he had been detained for questioning by the Chinese authorities. At that point though, it was unclear precisely why he was being held, where he was, or just how long he would be in custody.

My senior colleagues and I decided it was best to try to work behind the scenes to secure his release. Going public and upping the ante might jeopardise that.

This was the approach we would continue to take even after Ching Cheong's arrest, and the allegations of spying against him, became public. Our first priority remained to protect him and work to get him freed.

Some, in the newsroom and outside, mistook this non-confrontational approach for indifference, even callousness. They wanted Straits Times editors and journalists to be seen protesting loudly, and relentlessly.

We resolved to do what we believed would be in Ching Cheong's best interests, rather than simply put on a show of support to keep up appearances.

My editor Han Fook Kwang and I made several trips to the Chinese embassy in Singapore to press his case, seeking information, urging his release. We got little joy out of it.

Lawyers were engaged to defend him, paid for by Singapore Press Holdings, which also kept him on the payroll at full pay, as a sign of solidarity and to ease his family's concerns. My colleagues in the Beijing bureau and on the China Desk assisted in the efforts.

Over the long months that followed, while Ching Cheong languished in jail, many readers and newsmakers, both in Singapore and abroad, would often call, e-mail or come up to me at events to inquire about him.

On the day he was released, journalists from around the world posed the same questions: Did we believe the charges against him? Would we stand by him? Would he return to journalism?

Our position remained constant: We saw no reason to doubt him, based on his track record with the paper. So, we were happy indeed at his release and looked forward to his return to the newsroom.

That day finally came last week. When my colleagues and I met him on Tuesday night, he was in good spirits, robust and thoughtful as ever.

He had, however, lost a good deal of weight - over 20kg, he said - and we decided to do as all good Singaporeans do - what did he want to eat, we asked.

'Laksa,' he shot back. 'Or any Singapore food...I like spicy food.'

Over the next two hours, as we tucked into nasi padang at a nearby restaurant, he was at pains to tell us his side of the story, why he thought he had been detained, and what he made of the unhappy experience.

'I want to tell the world my story. But everyone advises me to protect my fragile freedom,' he said ruefully, reminding us that he was out on parole, which could be reversed.

The next day, there were hugs and handshakes when he returned to the newsroom, with many of his old friends clearly overjoyed to see him.

Visibly moved, Ching Cheong would clasp his hands, take a little bow and proceed to thank everyone in sight in his humble way for their support during his ordeal.

I was struck that even an ST reader was moved to write that Ching Cheong's fortitude had earned his respect, both for him and all journalists.

Noting that journalists were a 'a special lot, a rare breed', Mr Ronald Lee Yew Kee wrote in The Straits Times' Forum page: 'They have a patience which many of us do not have, especially in their efforts to gather information.

'True, journalists may sensationalise news at times, but, by and large, they report objectively, in an unbiased way to serve the public good.'

Journalists, Mr Lee added, had to walk a fine line to ensure that their reports were truthful and fair. 'In so doing, their efforts may irk people or the governments concerned, especially if their reporting does not conform with those of established policies.'

Reflecting on the role of journalists, Ching Cheong himself put it this way: 'We're in a privileged position to know people, to know their views, and positioned as a bridge to understanding conflicts between groups of people.

'And it's this unique role that lured me to take a mediating role on both sides of the Taiwan Strait. And this led me eventually to jail, unfortunately.'

His advice to aspiring journalists covering China was to 'define clearly the line between pure journalism and politics'.

'I think I've muddled these two positions. That is very dangerous, as my story shows.'

But he added a crucial caveat to this view. Chinese journalists, he said, had long been prepared to step forward to help their nation - note nation, not government or party - in times of danger.

He cited a recent article in Hong Kong's Ming Pao which quoted former Chinese premier Zhou Enlai referring to a Singaporean journalist, Cao Juren. He wrote a story in 1958 in the old Nanyang Siang Pao, about China's bombing of Kinmen, which was published hours before it happened.

It showed the good ties he had with Beijing and Taipei, which he had tried to use to avert a crisis - unsuccessfully. This, Zhao had noted, was because he was 'only a bookworm' who did not weigh up the politics well enough, remarked Ching Cheong, arguing that such mediation efforts had deep cultural roots.

Now, whatever you make of this cultural distinction, journalists have long acted as intermediaries, between newsmakers and readers, interest groups and governments, and among competing groups in civil society. The information and perspectives in their reports help the various players understand and deal with the other better.

This role, I believe, does not change or diminish with the rise of citizen journalism, and today's instant, direct communications. In fact, in an ever more complex world, the role of trusted intermediaries is all the more important.

What makes journalists 'a special lot' is not so much superior knowledge or wisdom. Alas, after long years in the newsroom, some journalists fall into imagining they know better than businessmen, politicians and other newsmakers how the world should work, causing healthy scepticism to turn into ugly cynicism.

Similarly, too often newsmakers are wont to be dismissive of journalists, assuming they are ill-informed, acting on personal agendas or out to do them in. In most cases, this is neither accurate nor fair.

To my mind, journalists add value to societies through their readiness to go further, dig deeper and think harder, gathering information and analysing it, to help others make sense of an ever changing world.

Ching Cheong's trauma, and the courage with which he bore it, has helped reaffirm this belief in the role of the journalist, both in the newsroom and beyond. This adds to the joy we all felt on his long-awaited return.

warren@sph.com.sg