On the morning of June 4, when the general election trends and results were emerging, social media in Kerala reported the death of B.R.P. Bhaskar (picture), a celebrated journalist who worked for several reputable English newspapers in the second half of the 20th century and took up several causes.
I have never had the fortune of meeting Bhaskar but I am familiar with some of his contributions to journalism, including a priceless collection of autobiographical articles, aptly titled News Room, published by DC Books. (Titled The Changing Mediascape, a modified English version by Bhaskar has been published by the Kerala Media Academy.)
Leafing through the original book in Malayalam ahead of two condolence meetings in Thiruvananthapuram, where Bhaskar died aged 92, I came across two touching lines in the preface by the author: “In the eyes of the current crop of journalists, my generation might fall into the stone age or dinosaur age of journalism. The question whether the lessons from that age hold any relevance for the new generation is not misplaced.” Bhaskar did emphasise that some values, such as truth, righteousness and justice, are timeless, not just for journalism but for all walks of life.
Soon, one anecdote after another began leaping at me from the pages of News Room, reminding me that certain bread-and-butter tools of journalism remain as relevant and indispensable now as they were when Bhaskar joined a renowned English newspaper as a trainee in 1952.
I will list a few anecdotes and contemporary parallels to underscore the contention.
The miracle girl
Beginners in newspapers are usually given copies from the districts that carry minimum risk. One day, the news editor, once the last word in newsrooms, asked Bhaskar, who had by then become a subeditor, to edit a report from the then Coorg that said an 18-year-old girl had stopped having food and water long ago but she was as energetic as any youngster of her age and could do everything that a teenager could.
In spite of being among the junior-most journalists on the desk, Bhaskar approached his chief and told him that the report strained credulity. The desk chief sent him to the all-powerful news editor who declared that the reporter was trustworthy and experienced and advised Bhaskar to go ahead with the report. Once published, the report was picked up by several newspapers, including The Times, London, and the ‘miracle girl’ became an overnight sensation.
The ripples reached Parliament and drew particular attention because India was facing a severe food shortage then. One MP said that if it could be established how the girl was surviving without food, it could provide the answer to the problem plaguing the country. Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru announced that the Bangalore Medical College would be asked to examine the girl and submit a report. (That Parliament readily took up a newspaper report, however preposterous it may sound, and the prime minister responded to the suggestion of an MP are testimonies to the influence of the media and the democratic traditions that have suffered erosion over the years.)
Needless to say, the claim was a hoax and the medical team caught the brother of the girl smuggling food to her, and the issue died down.
Cut to 2013. From miracle girl to miracle man. A national newspaper front-paged a report that said a Rambo-like Narendra Modi, then the Gujarat chief minister, had facilitated the rescue of 15,000 pilgrims from his state who were stranded in Kedarnath. Apparently, a fleet of 80 Toyota Innovas was pressed into service to ferry the pilgrims to Dehradun. A few days later, the same newspaper carried a commentary that punched holes in its own report without naming itself. The commentary asked: “How did these cars manage to reach places like Kedarnath, across roads that have been washed away, over landslides that have wrecked most access routes?”
The commentary added that “let us assume Modi’s Innovas had wings as well as helicopter rotors” and crunched numbers to suggest that it would have taken 80 Innovas at least 21 round trips totalling more than 230 hours (or several days) to pull off what Modi’s crack team apparently did in a day.
The maths should have been done by the reporter before swallowing the claim hook, line and 80 Innovas, and filing the report. The news desk, the last line of defence in a newspaper, should have behaved like Bhaskar did and drawn the attention of the chief to the absurdity of the claim. All established safeguards failed because by then, some of the once-respected Indian media houses had begun to take part in the myth-making around Modi.
It is this unquestioning attitude in Indian newsrooms that helped blur the thick wall that sought to separate fiction and fact. Soon, accounts began circulating of how Bal Narendra took home a crocodile hatchling and later, enlightened by remorse, set it free. In the decade that followed, many newsrooms forgot that their primary task is not to trust but to verify. Few news editors now have the power to spike reports, and most subeditors, who once revelled in peppering reporters with inconvenient questions, devote their energies to making pages where decision-making is limited to the placement of reports, not the merciless hygiene check of the reports.
When reporters and editors give up the right to question those in power and are afraid to challenge claims that test credulity, is it surprising at all that the prime minister can claim without batting an eyelid that he believes he is non-biological? Myth-making has rarely been successful without the active connivance and collaboration of the media.
Read, read, read...
Another anecdote in Bhaskar’s book refers to a report filed by a foreign correspondent on a biography of Nehru that was first released abroad. The report claimed that the biography made some new revelations and cited as an example a nugget that said the envelope with the list of the cabinet members that Nehru had handed over to the then governor-general, Lord Mountbatten, was empty.
The doubting Bhaskar again approached the news editor, saying the information was not new. This time, the news editor said the highly regarded foreign correspondent was unlikely to have made such a mistake.
But Bhaskar stuck to his version and the news editor was alert enough to send him to the newspaper’s library to verify. Mission With Mountbatten, a book written by his press attaché, Alan Campbell-Johnson, proved that Bhaskar was right. The very same newspaper had serialised Johnson’s book. If the news editor read the series, he did not recall it when the newspaper needed him to do so.
What Bhaskar read and retained, recollected and acted upon may sound insignificant. It is not.
Reading about a wide array of subjects is an essential and one of the most important drills to be followed by whoever wants to be a journalist. Such a requirement is looked down upon nowadays, mirroring the right-wing’s penchant to label as ‘elitist’ the liberal traditions of academia that nurture a healthy dose of scepticism and iconoclasm. Timely recollection is a skill that needs to be honed by seeking to associate everyday events with possible parallels from the past. The willingness and the ability to play spoilsport by pointing out unpleasant details are a reflection of the democratic values of a newsroom. Once these elements click into place, a fairly competent news desk can live up to its name as the last line of defence.
Insatiable curiosity that inspires reading and enquiry plays an important role in journalism — even now, especially now. In the run-up to the Karnataka assembly election last year, two names — Uri Gowda and Nanje Gowda — popped up in the political discourse and started doing the rounds. The right-wing suggested that the two Gowdas had actually killed Tipu Sultan.
The objective could not have been more diabolic: polarise Hindus and Muslims ahead of the polls. The names gained such currency that one of the four arches at a campaign rally the prime minister was scheduled to address featured the two Gowdas. But before the meeting, civil society and media portals like Eedina launched enquiries to find out more about the two Gowdas because few had read anything about the duo before. The only reference was in a play.
Eventually, at least two academics said they could not find any evidence that suggested Uri Gowda and Nanje Gowda ever existed or that the Gowdas were linked to the death of Tipu Sultan. A section of the media, especially Eedina, ensured relentless coverage calling out the right-wing claim — so much so that by the time the prime minister reached the rally venue, the arch featuring the two Gowdas had been taken down. Had the media’s curiosity and scepticism that triggered the search been replaced by laziness, gullibility and/or fear, the right-wing narrative would have become a dominant theme in the Karnataka assembly election that the BJP eventually lost.
Bhaskar’s book is enriched by several such anecdotes. Even in the age of jaw-dropping disruption, if journalism is to survive, it cannot do without some old-fashioned values and craft.
R. Rajagopal is editor-at-large, The Telegraph