Friday, 27 January 2012
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
Enterprise Journalism 2
Technically, the term ‘district reporter’ is used for a correspondent not based in the city where the national media’s production facilities are. But in practice, the journalists working anywhere other than Karachi, Lahore and Islamabad, are treated below par in terms of salaries, facilities, and capacity building. Reporters and sub-editors in Peshawer and Quetta – the provincial capitals that are also production hubs for a number of national news media outlets – are working for mainstream titles on monthly salaries of as little as six thousand rupees. Some drivers and domestic helpers in these two cities draw higher salaries. (The new Urdu daily, Nayee Baat has broken the tradition by hiring their staff in Peshawer at double or more the salaries they were drawing). Majority of correspondents in Gilgit are neither paid nor provided with equipment. They are expected to beg, borrow or steal, but file the text or footage in time anyways. They are only slightly more respectable than the district reporter, but they won’t let this distinction go unnoticed in their treatment of the small town colleague. The district reporters, realising their status as the lowest of the low, create their own power centres called Press Clubs.
Since the whole enterprise of district journalism is personality driven, it is inevitable that personalities clash and more press clubs come into being. In KPK Khyber Union of Journalists only represents Peshawer-based professionals while surrounding towns have their own press clubs. The Charsadda club has been padlocked after rival groups clashed over its control. It has been replaced by three different unions, all representing district correspondents in the vicinity. In Punjab, Jhelum has three press clubs, each claiming to represent the city journalists; Faisalabad saw a prolonged tug of war before press club elections could be held. And in Chakwal a group that had the backing of Ayaz Amir, threw out the management and took over the press club. The office bearers had to move court to retake control (more on why Ayaz Amir, the most famous son and politician of Chakwal and a senior journalist, had to fight with the lowly district reporters, in the next post).
As with any other racket, there are tiers to this enterprise as well. There’s the old school scribe who still wishes to change the world with his writing, raises funds for charitable causes and helps a few people with his clout. He could be a farmer, a shopkeeper or an office clerk, and practises journalism as passion or as an altruistic hobby. He may not excel in the craft but his intentions are good and they show up in his preachy articles published in the magazine section. For that matter the most famous rape story of Pakistan was broken by an unpaid district reporter (for daily Khabrain). Some of them make it to a big city and actually become ‘proper’ journalists.
The other district reporter is well off, has big ambitions, is on first-name terms with every rascal in town, greases every palm the government functionaries extend and squeezes every benefit he can from them, and more importantly, owns the distribution agency of the paper he works for. This last mentioned bit gives him enormous power over both his local rivals and the principles in the metro. He could sell all copies of the day, then have a picture taken of a group burning some newspapers on the street, and send the picture for publication and information that all copies went up in smoke. If he wants to show the paper is popular, he’ll start buying copies or forcing them on friends. If he doesn’t like something in the day’s paper, he’ll hold off distribution, and send the entire shipment back saying there are no buyers. He turns his employer into a business partner and matches them in crookedness, deed for deed.
At the end of the day though, the district reporter – even if he is a news agent and president of the press club as well – is no match for the employer. All his corruption is mere pennies when compared with that of his employer, who devised the whole system in the first place. The government, the NGOs, and the civil society have all learned to deal with the district reporter on his terms. No one has a problem with it.
The media houses should. They are fast losing credibility, and that would include newspapers too. In a round-up of the polls run on the Express Tribune website, one of the clearest verdicts was given on news media’s own trustworthiness. To the question: Do you believe the media in Pakistan is working in an ethical and professional manner? A whopping 91 per cent answered in negative.
The district reporter has very little to contribute to this trust deficit, but it’s him who could plug it most effectively with his community-based or ‘for people’ reporting – something never asked of him, and something he never learned to do.
Since the whole enterprise of district journalism is personality driven, it is inevitable that personalities clash and more press clubs come into being. In KPK Khyber Union of Journalists only represents Peshawer-based professionals while surrounding towns have their own press clubs. The Charsadda club has been padlocked after rival groups clashed over its control. It has been replaced by three different unions, all representing district correspondents in the vicinity. In Punjab, Jhelum has three press clubs, each claiming to represent the city journalists; Faisalabad saw a prolonged tug of war before press club elections could be held. And in Chakwal a group that had the backing of Ayaz Amir, threw out the management and took over the press club. The office bearers had to move court to retake control (more on why Ayaz Amir, the most famous son and politician of Chakwal and a senior journalist, had to fight with the lowly district reporters, in the next post).
As with any other racket, there are tiers to this enterprise as well. There’s the old school scribe who still wishes to change the world with his writing, raises funds for charitable causes and helps a few people with his clout. He could be a farmer, a shopkeeper or an office clerk, and practises journalism as passion or as an altruistic hobby. He may not excel in the craft but his intentions are good and they show up in his preachy articles published in the magazine section. For that matter the most famous rape story of Pakistan was broken by an unpaid district reporter (for daily Khabrain). Some of them make it to a big city and actually become ‘proper’ journalists.
The other district reporter is well off, has big ambitions, is on first-name terms with every rascal in town, greases every palm the government functionaries extend and squeezes every benefit he can from them, and more importantly, owns the distribution agency of the paper he works for. This last mentioned bit gives him enormous power over both his local rivals and the principles in the metro. He could sell all copies of the day, then have a picture taken of a group burning some newspapers on the street, and send the picture for publication and information that all copies went up in smoke. If he wants to show the paper is popular, he’ll start buying copies or forcing them on friends. If he doesn’t like something in the day’s paper, he’ll hold off distribution, and send the entire shipment back saying there are no buyers. He turns his employer into a business partner and matches them in crookedness, deed for deed.
At the end of the day though, the district reporter – even if he is a news agent and president of the press club as well – is no match for the employer. All his corruption is mere pennies when compared with that of his employer, who devised the whole system in the first place. The government, the NGOs, and the civil society have all learned to deal with the district reporter on his terms. No one has a problem with it.
The media houses should. They are fast losing credibility, and that would include newspapers too. In a round-up of the polls run on the Express Tribune website, one of the clearest verdicts was given on news media’s own trustworthiness. To the question: Do you believe the media in Pakistan is working in an ethical and professional manner? A whopping 91 per cent answered in negative.
The district reporter has very little to contribute to this trust deficit, but it’s him who could plug it most effectively with his community-based or ‘for people’ reporting – something never asked of him, and something he never learned to do.
Saturday, 31 December 2011
Enterprise Journalism
The world of ’district reporters’ is cheap and cheerful or cheap and cheerless depending on their willingness and ability to use the freedom of expression (and the identity card that gives them the freedom in the first place) creatively and to the mutual benefit of their households and employers.
I have used the word ‘employer’ for the want of a better term. It is someone who hires a servant on the promise of two meals only for part-time work, and tells him his job will be to go to the nearby shrine at the time of food distribution twice a day, get some for himself and bring a bowlful for the family. The list of such employers include every news media house in the country except for Dawn and Jang groups. The former pays regular salaries and the latter an honourarium – a reporter working for Jang, The News and occasionally for Geo for quarter of a century gets a monthly cheque for Rs. 730, for instance. The rest not only don’t pay, even for the expenses incurred on news gathering and communication, they demand to be paid handsomely by the employee instead. What then makes small town journalists hang on to their jobs by their toe nails? And fight daily battles with rivals who want to snatch their coveted Press Pass?
Jang was the first national newspaper that boasted of a network of correspondents in every district of the country. And they did it on the cheap. Others followed the example, and the correspondents started mushrooming on tehsil and union council level. These newly minted newsmen had, and still do, very little interaction with their employer or for that matter the world of journalism outside their little area of influence. They are given a press card and told to find ways to make money with it. Then came Khabrain, the truly visionary newspaper that did not invent journalistic blackmailing but did turn this furtive and criminal activity into an accepted art form. It auctioned its bureau offices in every city through large advertisements. No qualifications required, the highest bidder will have the right to represent the paper in that city.
Today, every small city and town has scores of press pass carrying men (tobe fair there are a handful of women, but only a very small handful) who have very little formal education, no professional training, and little or no sense of news, but they make up the bulk of 17, 000 journalists, Intermedia estimates are operating in Pakistan. I have come across correspondents for mainstream media who are high school dropouts and can’t write one sensible sentence in their mother tongue. They are all active within their communities, looking for ways to make money. Their inability to report does not come in the way because more often than not they get paid for NOT reporting something. There is an occasional report praising a local official’s dutifulness or a businessman’s philanthropy – which is supplied by the beneficiaries themselves – but mostly their job is to look for news that someone doesn’t want in the public domain and is willing to pay good money for keeping it out. Understandably, their regular paying customers are local police officials and rival groups of politicians and businessmen.
And when it comes to sharing the spoils of their money-making enterprise, the district reporter is not alone any more. The sub-editor/page maker, all the way to the news editor, everyone gets to partake of it. A majority of correspondents also double as advertising agents and the commission they get from booking ads is the only money they ever get from their employer. The downside is, someone may decide to pay in kind, i.e. in the shape of an ad in return for a favour, restricting the correspondent’s share to only 8 to 10 per cent whereas a direct payment in cash means the reporter gets to decide other colleague’s share.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
I have used the word ‘employer’ for the want of a better term. It is someone who hires a servant on the promise of two meals only for part-time work, and tells him his job will be to go to the nearby shrine at the time of food distribution twice a day, get some for himself and bring a bowlful for the family. The list of such employers include every news media house in the country except for Dawn and Jang groups. The former pays regular salaries and the latter an honourarium – a reporter working for Jang, The News and occasionally for Geo for quarter of a century gets a monthly cheque for Rs. 730, for instance. The rest not only don’t pay, even for the expenses incurred on news gathering and communication, they demand to be paid handsomely by the employee instead. What then makes small town journalists hang on to their jobs by their toe nails? And fight daily battles with rivals who want to snatch their coveted Press Pass?
Jang was the first national newspaper that boasted of a network of correspondents in every district of the country. And they did it on the cheap. Others followed the example, and the correspondents started mushrooming on tehsil and union council level. These newly minted newsmen had, and still do, very little interaction with their employer or for that matter the world of journalism outside their little area of influence. They are given a press card and told to find ways to make money with it. Then came Khabrain, the truly visionary newspaper that did not invent journalistic blackmailing but did turn this furtive and criminal activity into an accepted art form. It auctioned its bureau offices in every city through large advertisements. No qualifications required, the highest bidder will have the right to represent the paper in that city.
Today, every small city and town has scores of press pass carrying men (tobe fair there are a handful of women, but only a very small handful) who have very little formal education, no professional training, and little or no sense of news, but they make up the bulk of 17, 000 journalists, Intermedia estimates are operating in Pakistan. I have come across correspondents for mainstream media who are high school dropouts and can’t write one sensible sentence in their mother tongue. They are all active within their communities, looking for ways to make money. Their inability to report does not come in the way because more often than not they get paid for NOT reporting something. There is an occasional report praising a local official’s dutifulness or a businessman’s philanthropy – which is supplied by the beneficiaries themselves – but mostly their job is to look for news that someone doesn’t want in the public domain and is willing to pay good money for keeping it out. Understandably, their regular paying customers are local police officials and rival groups of politicians and businessmen.
And when it comes to sharing the spoils of their money-making enterprise, the district reporter is not alone any more. The sub-editor/page maker, all the way to the news editor, everyone gets to partake of it. A majority of correspondents also double as advertising agents and the commission they get from booking ads is the only money they ever get from their employer. The downside is, someone may decide to pay in kind, i.e. in the shape of an ad in return for a favour, restricting the correspondent’s share to only 8 to 10 per cent whereas a direct payment in cash means the reporter gets to decide other colleague’s share.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
Monday, 21 November 2011
Is afghani a female Afghan?
Yeh Woh (The News on Sunday, 20-11-11)
Pakistani newspapers are not known for their reading pleasure, perhaps because the writers and editors have never sought and found pleasure in reading and therefore consider good prose and news copy mutually exclusive. Or perhaps readers only care for information and not how it is presented.
It doesn’t necessarily follow that news copy, however bland and shabby, contains meaningful information for the reader. A vast majority of the stories appearing in print are done not to inform or educate the reader but to achieve the count of stories each reporter must file. And if at all there is a point to the story, it is lost to bad language.
Consider some of the oft repeated phrases in the leading newspapers: ‘democracy may be derailed’, ‘people will soon hear the good news’, ‘the disinformation is being spread by the agencies’ and the favourite of Urdu press: ‘there will be dama dum mast qalandar’. No one including the writer knows what these phrases mean or care about how they will be interpreted by the reader. Unless democracy is equated with Shalimar Express which is taken off tracks one fine day, is resumed a few days later, and is stopped again.
The vernacular press uses the analogy of ‘folding up of chess board’ which is just as mysterious because both use an active verb and no subject. Pray tell who will derail, and who will fold up? The ‘Subject that cannot be named’ is some times referred to as ‘agencies’. The last time I checked, the term was used in every newsroom for news wire agencies. Like, a story is attributed to agencies when contents of more than one news wires are used. The other use of ‘agencies’ was popularised by MQM when it wanted to point a finger at one or several military intelligence outfits but wasn’t sure which one(s).
In fact all these and many more ambiguous phrases are coined by politicians whose job it is not to inform and educate, and therefore can’t be held accountable. But when a journalist uses this nonsense in a news story, who is clamouring for accountability? When a politician promises good news soon, it is reported verbatim as if there is a precedent of politicians giving good news to the people. As far as I remember the only times we as a nation celebrate good news is when a government — any government — falls. And this news is almost always broken by a four-star general in crisp khaki uniform. So while we may get good news at the expense of politicians, there is no sense in politicians promising their own doom. As for the ‘mast qalandar’ line, I have no idea what it means, and can’t even guess if it is alright for a non-Sindhi politician to use it. But every Urdu paper worth its masthead continues to print it.
To be fair to the average reporter who describes MFN as most ‘favourite’ nation, and thereby ignites a nation-wide debate on how come our arch enemy has become our buddy overnight, the above phrases are too cryptic to handle and therefore they do the right thing by slipping in a useful ‘he said’ before or after the sentence, thereby washing their hands off whatever it does or doesn’t mean.
But even the experts available to our media do not add much to our understanding. A political analyst — and they are the largest tribe of experts owing to the fact that the job requires no qualification at all — builds his or her entire argument on the basis that a civilian government is a democratic government. The defence analyst can seldom make out that the singular form of Taliban is ‘talib’. The economist can blabber on endlessly about the micro and macro indicators but never a sentence a high school graduate can understand. And I don’t know a single Afghanistan expert who knows the difference between an Afghan and an afghani.
The most unfortunate English word, on account of its rampant abuse, is perhaps ‘alternative’. In fact chances are you won’t find the word if you ran a search of the online database of Pakistani newspapers. It is one of those ‘missing words’ like the ‘missing people’ our Supreme Court keeps searching in vain. Try this instead: type in ‘alternate’, and if you get 100 results, 95 of these were actually meant to use ‘alternative’.
Pakistani newspapers are not known for their reading pleasure, perhaps because the writers and editors have never sought and found pleasure in reading and therefore consider good prose and news copy mutually exclusive. Or perhaps readers only care for information and not how it is presented.
It doesn’t necessarily follow that news copy, however bland and shabby, contains meaningful information for the reader. A vast majority of the stories appearing in print are done not to inform or educate the reader but to achieve the count of stories each reporter must file. And if at all there is a point to the story, it is lost to bad language.
Consider some of the oft repeated phrases in the leading newspapers: ‘democracy may be derailed’, ‘people will soon hear the good news’, ‘the disinformation is being spread by the agencies’ and the favourite of Urdu press: ‘there will be dama dum mast qalandar’. No one including the writer knows what these phrases mean or care about how they will be interpreted by the reader. Unless democracy is equated with Shalimar Express which is taken off tracks one fine day, is resumed a few days later, and is stopped again.
The vernacular press uses the analogy of ‘folding up of chess board’ which is just as mysterious because both use an active verb and no subject. Pray tell who will derail, and who will fold up? The ‘Subject that cannot be named’ is some times referred to as ‘agencies’. The last time I checked, the term was used in every newsroom for news wire agencies. Like, a story is attributed to agencies when contents of more than one news wires are used. The other use of ‘agencies’ was popularised by MQM when it wanted to point a finger at one or several military intelligence outfits but wasn’t sure which one(s).
In fact all these and many more ambiguous phrases are coined by politicians whose job it is not to inform and educate, and therefore can’t be held accountable. But when a journalist uses this nonsense in a news story, who is clamouring for accountability? When a politician promises good news soon, it is reported verbatim as if there is a precedent of politicians giving good news to the people. As far as I remember the only times we as a nation celebrate good news is when a government — any government — falls. And this news is almost always broken by a four-star general in crisp khaki uniform. So while we may get good news at the expense of politicians, there is no sense in politicians promising their own doom. As for the ‘mast qalandar’ line, I have no idea what it means, and can’t even guess if it is alright for a non-Sindhi politician to use it. But every Urdu paper worth its masthead continues to print it.
To be fair to the average reporter who describes MFN as most ‘favourite’ nation, and thereby ignites a nation-wide debate on how come our arch enemy has become our buddy overnight, the above phrases are too cryptic to handle and therefore they do the right thing by slipping in a useful ‘he said’ before or after the sentence, thereby washing their hands off whatever it does or doesn’t mean.
But even the experts available to our media do not add much to our understanding. A political analyst — and they are the largest tribe of experts owing to the fact that the job requires no qualification at all — builds his or her entire argument on the basis that a civilian government is a democratic government. The defence analyst can seldom make out that the singular form of Taliban is ‘talib’. The economist can blabber on endlessly about the micro and macro indicators but never a sentence a high school graduate can understand. And I don’t know a single Afghanistan expert who knows the difference between an Afghan and an afghani.
The most unfortunate English word, on account of its rampant abuse, is perhaps ‘alternative’. In fact chances are you won’t find the word if you ran a search of the online database of Pakistani newspapers. It is one of those ‘missing words’ like the ‘missing people’ our Supreme Court keeps searching in vain. Try this instead: type in ‘alternate’, and if you get 100 results, 95 of these were actually meant to use ‘alternative’.
Friday, 14 October 2011
Karma in Karachi
The best part of being a trainer is, one’s own learning is assured.
The group of 14 trainees gathered at a country club outside Karachi proper last week, was special in that it was made up of mainstream journalists from the heart of conflict constituency – Baluchistan, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Federally Administered Tribal Areas – and they were selected by the hosts on the basis of their capability and desire to learn rather than sent by a friendly boss on an out-of-town freebie. It was a group of journalists unlike any other I’ve come across, and the perspective they brought with them was equally unique.
Those from FATA have no access to cable or dish television, and in many parts the newspaper is delivered a day late. In Waziristan the military routinely imposes curfew for two days a week which means no newspaper on those days. All journalism related activity is illegal therefore no local publication or independent radio station exists, and journalists working for media based in the settled areas are allowed to operate at the pleasure of local military commanders.
Those in Baluchistan and KPK work under extremely stressful conditions and insensitive, often grossly ignorant editors and owners who routinely push their reporters and photo journalists into situations where they have to decide between putting their life and well being at risk or using tactics that are unprofessional, unethical and against public interest.
They are all hounded by both the military and armed militants over reports perceived as unfavourable, several had received death threats or had been kidnapped, all are underpaid in comparison with their colleagues in Lahore and Karachi, none received any training for working in hostile environment, and only one was issued with protective gear. None in the group had access to first-aid kit, company paid life insurance, or facility to relocate on company expense when under threat.
And these men and women are the eyes and ears we rely on for news from the battle front! They are not really doing a job; it’s more like a mission.
I’m not sure if the trainers were able to help these journalists cope with working conditions they, the trainers had never experienced, but the trainees were visibly relaxed and happy to be away from the every day dangers and anxieties of their working life … until the last day when three of them had their airport bound taxi stopped on Shara e Faisal in broad day light and guns pointed at them while they emptied their wallets and handed their mobile phones to young robbers who were clearly not Taliban or soldiers.
The group of 14 trainees gathered at a country club outside Karachi proper last week, was special in that it was made up of mainstream journalists from the heart of conflict constituency – Baluchistan, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Federally Administered Tribal Areas – and they were selected by the hosts on the basis of their capability and desire to learn rather than sent by a friendly boss on an out-of-town freebie. It was a group of journalists unlike any other I’ve come across, and the perspective they brought with them was equally unique.
Those from FATA have no access to cable or dish television, and in many parts the newspaper is delivered a day late. In Waziristan the military routinely imposes curfew for two days a week which means no newspaper on those days. All journalism related activity is illegal therefore no local publication or independent radio station exists, and journalists working for media based in the settled areas are allowed to operate at the pleasure of local military commanders.
Those in Baluchistan and KPK work under extremely stressful conditions and insensitive, often grossly ignorant editors and owners who routinely push their reporters and photo journalists into situations where they have to decide between putting their life and well being at risk or using tactics that are unprofessional, unethical and against public interest.
They are all hounded by both the military and armed militants over reports perceived as unfavourable, several had received death threats or had been kidnapped, all are underpaid in comparison with their colleagues in Lahore and Karachi, none received any training for working in hostile environment, and only one was issued with protective gear. None in the group had access to first-aid kit, company paid life insurance, or facility to relocate on company expense when under threat.
And these men and women are the eyes and ears we rely on for news from the battle front! They are not really doing a job; it’s more like a mission.
I’m not sure if the trainers were able to help these journalists cope with working conditions they, the trainers had never experienced, but the trainees were visibly relaxed and happy to be away from the every day dangers and anxieties of their working life … until the last day when three of them had their airport bound taxi stopped on Shara e Faisal in broad day light and guns pointed at them while they emptied their wallets and handed their mobile phones to young robbers who were clearly not Taliban or soldiers.
Sunday, 2 October 2011
What a disaster!
My weekly column for The News on Sunday:
Everyone in Pakistan has by now learnt to respond to humanitarian crises, except for TV journalists and editors.
In the last six years alone, we have faced three major natural disasters that affected millions of people each; and several smaller scale calamities that hit communities: A passenger airliner crash, dozens of terrorist attacks on crowded public places, mass murder of pilgrims and at religious gatherings, a town burned down for having the wrong faith, a metropolis terrorised by armed criminals, widespread epidemics, a bus full of school children falling off a mountain road … more than enough experience of dealing with emergencies, and their fallout.
Majority of us have learnt from our mistakes. The affected people are managing to bury their dead and rebuilding their lives without waiting for government’s help. The government officials have learnt to respond quickly with a help-line number, never mind no one ever attends, or even makes those calls, except for cynics who dial just to confirm there’s no one at the other end. The elected leaders who used to hover above devastated land in their helicopters now wade through flood waters or stumble over debris for the benefit of TV cameras. Fellow citizens gather aid supplies and deliver in truckloads. And NGOs reach the remotest parts, though only to feed and shelter a tiny fraction of the needy, and hold workshops for local journalists emphasising that what’s most needed in an emergency situation, even more than food and shelter, is information. Information saves lives and provides relief.
But those charged with providing information on a mass scale choose to remain uninformed. To be fair, the print medium is doing a good job of keeping the rest of the country informed of what’s going on in the calamity-hit areas. Only, newspapers have hardly a readership to speak of. Reading is not one of our national traits, be it a publication, instruction manual, or a traffic sign. FM radio is not very effective either because of its limited range and budgets. Hence the popularity of television, and the enhanced responsibility that comes with it.
In an ironic but true reflection of their audiences, the TV journalists hate reading and learning as much. For them, a disaster is a routine story like sighting of Ramzan moon or arrest of Indian fishermen for crossing into Pakistani waters. No need to gather information; take an old script, change the date and names and you have a brand new story. If it’s flooding, the standard line is: ‘The place is inundated and the residents are facing severe hardships’. Really? They are not enjoying the free swimming pool facility right at their doorstep? If it’s three dozen Faisalabad families mourning the death of their sons who left for sightseeing and returned in coffins, the script is: ‘These families are devastated, the women are wailing …’ And what would you rather have them do? Sing a sad song?
It’s not just unprofessional, it’s pathetic and painful to watch. The morning after — a good 12-14 hours after the Kallar Kahar accident — there was little or no information about the survivors; nothing on where to look for the injured; no eye-witness account; no interviews with school, police, or local government officials. When bits of information did arrive, they did more harm by, for instance, giving only first names of the confirmed dead. Even a person of below average intelligence would expect more than one ‘Amjad’ or ‘Saleem’ or some such common name in a group of more than a 100. But not our TV editor watching over the ticker.
Every channel had a somber-faced reporter standing in front of a dead body or a tamashbeen crowd, saying utter nonsense about his surroundings that were visible to everyone on their screen anyway. Every cameraman was trying to take a close-up of the dead body or the wailing mother or sister … for God’s sake, can’t people even die with dignity and grieve in private? This is criminal behaviour that can only exist in a society in which any joker with a microphone or camera in hand is allowed into a household in mourning.
The jokers in the fields of Sindh, shoving microphones into miserable people’s faces with the question: ‘what are your problems?’, getting and accepting the only possible answer ‘we got nothing in aid’, and standing in ankle-deep water for their piece-to-camera, were bad enough. Do we have to take the freak show inside private homes?
---------------
The Kallar Kahar accident happened on Monday evening, this piece was filed on Wednesday, and the Thursday Dawn 'broke' the news that the bus never fell in a ravine, it overturned on the road. This bit of information took TWO DAYS to come out, not because the accident took place in a remote area - it happened ON THE MOTORWAY - but because none of the reporters in Faisalabad bothered to visit the site or even ask the right questions of traffic police officials. This must be the most shameful coverage of an emergency in Pakistani media ... as yet.
Everyone in Pakistan has by now learnt to respond to humanitarian crises, except for TV journalists and editors.
In the last six years alone, we have faced three major natural disasters that affected millions of people each; and several smaller scale calamities that hit communities: A passenger airliner crash, dozens of terrorist attacks on crowded public places, mass murder of pilgrims and at religious gatherings, a town burned down for having the wrong faith, a metropolis terrorised by armed criminals, widespread epidemics, a bus full of school children falling off a mountain road … more than enough experience of dealing with emergencies, and their fallout.
Majority of us have learnt from our mistakes. The affected people are managing to bury their dead and rebuilding their lives without waiting for government’s help. The government officials have learnt to respond quickly with a help-line number, never mind no one ever attends, or even makes those calls, except for cynics who dial just to confirm there’s no one at the other end. The elected leaders who used to hover above devastated land in their helicopters now wade through flood waters or stumble over debris for the benefit of TV cameras. Fellow citizens gather aid supplies and deliver in truckloads. And NGOs reach the remotest parts, though only to feed and shelter a tiny fraction of the needy, and hold workshops for local journalists emphasising that what’s most needed in an emergency situation, even more than food and shelter, is information. Information saves lives and provides relief.
But those charged with providing information on a mass scale choose to remain uninformed. To be fair, the print medium is doing a good job of keeping the rest of the country informed of what’s going on in the calamity-hit areas. Only, newspapers have hardly a readership to speak of. Reading is not one of our national traits, be it a publication, instruction manual, or a traffic sign. FM radio is not very effective either because of its limited range and budgets. Hence the popularity of television, and the enhanced responsibility that comes with it.
In an ironic but true reflection of their audiences, the TV journalists hate reading and learning as much. For them, a disaster is a routine story like sighting of Ramzan moon or arrest of Indian fishermen for crossing into Pakistani waters. No need to gather information; take an old script, change the date and names and you have a brand new story. If it’s flooding, the standard line is: ‘The place is inundated and the residents are facing severe hardships’. Really? They are not enjoying the free swimming pool facility right at their doorstep? If it’s three dozen Faisalabad families mourning the death of their sons who left for sightseeing and returned in coffins, the script is: ‘These families are devastated, the women are wailing …’ And what would you rather have them do? Sing a sad song?
It’s not just unprofessional, it’s pathetic and painful to watch. The morning after — a good 12-14 hours after the Kallar Kahar accident — there was little or no information about the survivors; nothing on where to look for the injured; no eye-witness account; no interviews with school, police, or local government officials. When bits of information did arrive, they did more harm by, for instance, giving only first names of the confirmed dead. Even a person of below average intelligence would expect more than one ‘Amjad’ or ‘Saleem’ or some such common name in a group of more than a 100. But not our TV editor watching over the ticker.
Every channel had a somber-faced reporter standing in front of a dead body or a tamashbeen crowd, saying utter nonsense about his surroundings that were visible to everyone on their screen anyway. Every cameraman was trying to take a close-up of the dead body or the wailing mother or sister … for God’s sake, can’t people even die with dignity and grieve in private? This is criminal behaviour that can only exist in a society in which any joker with a microphone or camera in hand is allowed into a household in mourning.
The jokers in the fields of Sindh, shoving microphones into miserable people’s faces with the question: ‘what are your problems?’, getting and accepting the only possible answer ‘we got nothing in aid’, and standing in ankle-deep water for their piece-to-camera, were bad enough. Do we have to take the freak show inside private homes?
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The Kallar Kahar accident happened on Monday evening, this piece was filed on Wednesday, and the Thursday Dawn 'broke' the news that the bus never fell in a ravine, it overturned on the road. This bit of information took TWO DAYS to come out, not because the accident took place in a remote area - it happened ON THE MOTORWAY - but because none of the reporters in Faisalabad bothered to visit the site or even ask the right questions of traffic police officials. This must be the most shameful coverage of an emergency in Pakistani media ... as yet.
Friday, 30 September 2011
Short history of a near exclusive
1041 PM: My daughter walks into the TV room trying hard to look ill. ‘Can I not go to school tomorrow because I am feverish. I think it’s dengue’? Before I could say ‘no way’ the door shuts with a bang, as if hit by a gust of wind. ‘OMG what was that? Did you hear that? It must be a bomb blast’ she says with renewed hope.
1043: The same ticker appears on several news channels: A blast heard in Islamabad. Location is being ascertained.
1045: It’s a private laboratory in Blue Area, says Aaj. Geo agrees and adds the information that glass windows are shattered in nearby buildings. Express hasn’t gone beyond identifying the area. It’s the ARY reporter who finally comes live with definitive information: ‘it’s Envoy hotel’, but the ticker at the bottom of the screen disagrees: it’s City hotel, it’s City hotel … it keeps yelling in a loop.
1050: Express ends the suspense by showing live video of the scene of blast. It is indeed City hotel in Blue Area, and there is definitely broken glass on the ground. The frame also shows a woman sitting calmly in a palanquin, Idi Amin style, and is being carried by two men who don’t seem to know where to take her. Still no sign of blood and gore.
1051: Majority of channels have disrupted their talk-shows to take the viewers live to the scene with a proud ‘exclusive’ displayed across the TV screens in water mark. Reporters are frantically conveying information: the blast occurred on the 3rd floor. It was 4th floor. It was top floor of the six-storey building. ‘So as you heard our reporter there’s been an explosion on the ground floor of … repeats the Sama newscaster. There’s also disagreement on the number of injured; they are either 2, 4 or 5, but there’s definitely a woman among them. Could she be the fair version of Idi Amin?
1055: It seems the source of blast was a pesky gas pipe. But there isn’t even a matchstick flame in sight. Excitement melts into discernable irritation, but the News One newscaster persists: ‘Are you sure there’s no crater or severed head or limbs … like in a planted bomb or a suicide attack?’ The reporter thinks a while and then says confidently: I can confirm that the injured men looked Afghans’. Meanwhile, PTV is as calm as ever, telling its viewers how significant the first day of APC has been, with no mention of the near-exclusive incident just half a kilometre down the road.
My daughter’s excitement is gone too. She seems very disappointed … and ill again. She looks at me as if deciding whether or not to stick with dengue, but then gives up and leaves.
TV journalists in Quetta must be smiling at their hapless colleagues in Islamabad. To know why, rewind to the morning of September 7 in Quetta:
There’s been a real terrorist attack and the entire national media is at work. Four TV channels among them claim their footage to be ‘exclusive’ while streaming or replaying different angles and shots of the same incident. These are: ARY, Geo, Express and Express 24/7.
Perhaps the fear of having their images stolen is the reason the editors choose to stamp them? But then faced with the same concern, Duniya and Samaa simply insert a watermark of their logo. And News One and Aaj do’t feel the need to do even that.
The Islamabad-based journalists of the ‘Exclusive Club’ got to wait for another opportunity.
1043: The same ticker appears on several news channels: A blast heard in Islamabad. Location is being ascertained.
1045: It’s a private laboratory in Blue Area, says Aaj. Geo agrees and adds the information that glass windows are shattered in nearby buildings. Express hasn’t gone beyond identifying the area. It’s the ARY reporter who finally comes live with definitive information: ‘it’s Envoy hotel’, but the ticker at the bottom of the screen disagrees: it’s City hotel, it’s City hotel … it keeps yelling in a loop.
1050: Express ends the suspense by showing live video of the scene of blast. It is indeed City hotel in Blue Area, and there is definitely broken glass on the ground. The frame also shows a woman sitting calmly in a palanquin, Idi Amin style, and is being carried by two men who don’t seem to know where to take her. Still no sign of blood and gore.
1051: Majority of channels have disrupted their talk-shows to take the viewers live to the scene with a proud ‘exclusive’ displayed across the TV screens in water mark. Reporters are frantically conveying information: the blast occurred on the 3rd floor. It was 4th floor. It was top floor of the six-storey building. ‘So as you heard our reporter there’s been an explosion on the ground floor of … repeats the Sama newscaster. There’s also disagreement on the number of injured; they are either 2, 4 or 5, but there’s definitely a woman among them. Could she be the fair version of Idi Amin?
1055: It seems the source of blast was a pesky gas pipe. But there isn’t even a matchstick flame in sight. Excitement melts into discernable irritation, but the News One newscaster persists: ‘Are you sure there’s no crater or severed head or limbs … like in a planted bomb or a suicide attack?’ The reporter thinks a while and then says confidently: I can confirm that the injured men looked Afghans’. Meanwhile, PTV is as calm as ever, telling its viewers how significant the first day of APC has been, with no mention of the near-exclusive incident just half a kilometre down the road.
My daughter’s excitement is gone too. She seems very disappointed … and ill again. She looks at me as if deciding whether or not to stick with dengue, but then gives up and leaves.
TV journalists in Quetta must be smiling at their hapless colleagues in Islamabad. To know why, rewind to the morning of September 7 in Quetta:
There’s been a real terrorist attack and the entire national media is at work. Four TV channels among them claim their footage to be ‘exclusive’ while streaming or replaying different angles and shots of the same incident. These are: ARY, Geo, Express and Express 24/7.
Perhaps the fear of having their images stolen is the reason the editors choose to stamp them? But then faced with the same concern, Duniya and Samaa simply insert a watermark of their logo. And News One and Aaj do’t feel the need to do even that.
The Islamabad-based journalists of the ‘Exclusive Club’ got to wait for another opportunity.
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