Survival of the censored

The heavens cannot howl.
We can scream under the skies.
Inside us, 
Can we hear someone wail?
– Diwik Ramesh in Poora Aadamee

It was one of those events that happen only in Southasia. Khila Nath Dhakal, a reporter with the Nagarik daily based in Biratnagar, an industrial town in eastern Nepal, did an exposé on the business-crime nexus flourishing under the patronage of one Parshuram Basnet, a local gangster associated with the youth wing of the ruling Communist Party of Nepal (Unified Marxist Leninist). He sent out a few of hooligans to rough up the scribe, who managed to flee and survive a merciless beating but then decided to file a complaint with the local police. What followed has twisted the case into multiple knots.

Home Minister Krishna Bahadur Mahara had to seek the permission of Prime Minister Jhala Nath Khanal, CPN (UML)'s chairman, to issue instructions to the police to apprehend Basnet, who remained at large despite countrywide protests by journalists for his prosecution. Last heard, the cabbie-turned-billionaire was holding press conferences from unknown locations claiming that he was in constant touch with his party. Meanwhile, his parent organisation, the Youth Force affiliated to the CPN (UML), held violent demonstrations torching government vehicles in Kathmandu and stoning school buses full of children in Biratnagar, resulting in the imposition of prohibitory orders for two days in mid-June.

In the past, journalists of Nepal struggled against the Maoists, survived the royal-military rule and have managed to operate despite threats from several armed groups. Now, it seems, they have discovered that the enemy within – inside the ranks of the parliamentary parties that purportedly champion freedom of expression – are no less of a menace.

Despair is not the only emotion among Nepali journalists, however. The whip of justice recently lashed the murderers of journalist Birendra Shah (killed in 2007) and Uma Singh (hacked to death in 2009) with life imprisonment, although in Uma's case, three other suspects were acquitted. Nepal abolished the death penalty more than a decade ago, and these verdicts are open to review by upper courts. Nevertheless, two convictions within a month have raised hopes that the judiciary will end the culture of impunity if the executive decides to take investigations to their logical conclusion. By comparison, reports from Pakistan are far more depressing. Salman Shahzad, a correspondent and bureau chief of Asia Times Online was found murdered in May this year, southeast of the capital Islamabad; marks on his body indicated that he had been tortured. The Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) noted recently that out of 15 targeted killings of scribes, only the murderers of Wall Street Journal reporter Daniel Pearl in 2002 have been prosecuted so far.

Elsewhere in Southasia the situation is equally grim. In a list of 13 countries where five or more cases of murdered journalists remain unresolved between 2001 and 2010, six are from our region. Indeed, only two countries from Southasia have managed to remain off the Impunity Index, Bhutan and the Maldives. Their record is better perhaps because their media are still at nascent stages and remain highly regulated.

Lonely battles

The insensitivity of the larger society towards the plight of Southasian journalists defies logic. Part of the explanation perhaps lies in the way that the Southasian middle class looks at the profession. In a letter to the editor in the Calcutta-based The Telegraph, a reader recently referenced the murder of Jyotirmoy Kumar Dey, editor (special investigation) of Mid Day in Bombay. The writer noted almost nonchalantly that another journalist would come and take over the work of the slain investigative reporter. In the Southasian worldview, perhaps, journalists are believed to be soldiers of truth, and it is the fate of the fighter to die on the line of duty.

Sadly, ground realities corroborate the public perception of the profession. 'Murders make up more than 70 percent of work-related deaths among journalists across the world,' according to CPJ. 'No other profession calls on its practitioners to lay down their lives for their art save the armed forces and, in Sri Lanka, journalism,' began the slain Sri Lankan editor Lasantha Wickramatunga's posthumously published letter, titled 'And then they came for me'. For the solace of Wickramatunga's soul, let it be known that, on that count at least, journalists in the rest of Southasia are comrades-in-arm with their Sri Lankan colleagues.

The vulnerability of journalists in Southasia might also have something to do with the media boom in the region. Two decades ago, most Southasian countries had one national television station, a single national broadcaster and a couple of dailies that called themselves 'national' newspapers. The entry of private entrepreneurs in radio and television has transformed the media landscape. Today, there is stiff competition in the market for eyeballs and advertising. Print journalists took years to cultivate sources, kept confidence and maintained unwritten codes of silence if specifically requested to do so. Even such a cautious approach was no guarantee of personal security, but at least it ensured that the public remained sympathetic towards journalists. It is no longer so; journalists are increasingly being perceived as nosy people looking for trouble. The old saw of the profession – If it bleeds, it leads – is back in circulation with all the attendant risks. When blood flows either on the page or on the screen, people inevitably get alarmed and are prompted into cover-up operations.

When proprietors stand behind decisions of editors who, in turn, back reporters, those disturbed by bold stories hesitate from challenging the freedom of the press. Reckless commercialisation of the media has created a situation in which the management refuses to look beyond the balance sheet. The editor is happier in giving space to what has been called 'paid news'. In fact, the term is a complete misnomer – all such material falls under the category of promotional handouts, which become advertising when someone pays for its publication. Reporters are then left to their own devices for coming up with stories that fill the space or the airtime between ads.

No qualification or training can equip a journalist with the skills needed to deal with the intricacies of complex issues. Desk support, however, is crucial in keeping field reporters on track. The pressure of meeting impossible deadlines usually induces two kinds of responses among lone warriors: those who are pragmatic decide to engage with issues of a type that can never go wrong, such as global warming, beauty contests, the failings of political parties or lifestyles of the rich and famous; while the adventurous ones choose to relentlessly pursue their hobby horses in society or politics. The fashionable prosper while the hardy have to struggle to survive – emotionally, materially and physically. The foolhardy journalists who are convinced that the world can be changed through courageous reporting are often the ones who have to face threats to their lives while practicing their profession.

Hostile terrain

Afghanistan and Pakistan is clearly two of the unfriendliest places in the world for a free press. According to unofficial estimates, nearly 70 journalists disappeared or died over the last decade in Pakistan alone. That was when the country was merely a frontline state in the 'war on terror'. With multiple battles being fought on several fronts simultaneously – foreign troops storming a hideout stealthily, drones raining bombs, and all kinds of sleuths let loose everywhere – it is often difficult to decide who is fighting against whom in present-day Pakistan. In an undefined battlefield, journalists are the most susceptible targets of 'collateral damage', in the clinical expression of military-speak.

Assam and other states in the Indian Northeast, along with Naxalite-affected areas, are another danger spots for journalists in our region. Caught between rebel groups and the military, reporters from the Northeast have to ensure their survival by talking about the weather – as the discussion about climate change comes down to. Pressures are more intense in Chhattisgarh, where the Naxalites, the state-backed paramilitary Salwa Judum, mining corporations and agencies of the state vie with each other in buying the silence of journalists. In Bangladesh, it is difficult to put a name on enemies of the press because a sizable section of them belong to law-enforcement agencies and militant-religious groups.

Southasia will remain a dangerous place for journalists so long as societies of the region do not realise that any attack on the press amounts to an assault on freedom of expression for all individuals. In the meantime, media persons have to point their pens, microphones and cameras skywards in honour of their fallen comrades, because the state has lost its ability to apprehend common criminals masquerading as political leaders.

~ C K Lal is a columnist for this magazine and for the Republica daily in Kathmandu.