Yeh Radio Pakistan hai

Yeh Woh
News on Sunday, March 25, 2012
 

It is ironical that people in Pakistan  have more trust in and loyalty towards foreign state broadcasters than their own state radio. And responding with double irony, the government wishes to change public perceptions, not by changing the way the PBC aka Radio Pakistan operates, but by slapping additional tax on the public.

 Public service broadcasting is a noble pursuit because it aims at informing, educating and entertaining the public at the expense of the tax payer and without being encumbered by the demands of commercialism. It’s not unusual for state broadcasters to disseminate propaganda in times of war or strife – BBC did it during WW II and during Falklands war and  Voice of America does it routinely as a matter of stated policy – but by and large it is an institution of value to the common people and needs to be preserved, kept modernised, and taken pride in.

 Born as Radio Pakistan  and renamed Pakistan Broadcasting Corporation in 1973, the broadcaster has always been owned and operated by the government. Its management board is headed by secretary information and broadcasting, and consists of members drawn from ministries of foreign affairs, finance, and interior, as well as heads of PTV and ISPR, the military’s mouthpiece. The chief executive is the director general who along with four ‘eminent persons’ as board members, is appointed at the discretion of federal government.

 The very constitution of the board makes it a tool in the hands of governments, both the military and civilian variety. And given its penetration – it’s the largest network of AM and FM radio in the country – and a subservient philosophy towards treating facts, history and music to please the rulers, it is a very powerful tool. The tradition and legacy of Radio Pakistan  (as indeed it is of PTV)is unashamedly towing the line of whatever government happens to be in power, and packaging it as patriotism. In fact everything it does, it does for the love of Pakistan  and its people, and yet it serves only the rulers.

 Along the way, it does some humanitarian information project, keeps alive some regional languages, and occasionally nurtures musical talent. But overall it only does disservice to public by misinforming and miseducating it. It has always done so, has always been thrown scraps at by the government, and has thrived. What has changed now that it is reaching into our pockets to survive?

 The case was built at a recent public concert in Islamabad, hosted by the DG. The evening’s host, Shuja’at Hashmi – one of those aging actors who sound senile whatever they say just because of their full head of jet black hair, in this case a wig – listed a number of grievances Radio Pakistan has, which all added up to an admission that the organisation needs help. What’s outrageous is what he proclaims next:that it’s you and me who are going to provide the help. Excuse me? What have I done?

You and me were represented at that pre-concert campaign-to-save-Radio Pakistan, by Senator Afrasiab Khattak and Babar Awan, two politicians cum lawyers who have no business with broadcasting, or if they have they didn’t mention it. What Mr. Awan confidently promised was that he’ll personally take it up with the finance minister. Excuse me? In what capacity? And if you  lobby in favour of the so-called Radio Tax, who are you representing? You are not even a senator.

It’s just ‘two rupees’ Hashmi kept reminding the audience, alternately employing comic and emotional tones – both of which sound equally tragic. I wish I lived in a society where someone would stand up and politely tell Mr. Hashmi that it’s not about two rupees. It’s a negation of the social contract we Pakistanis have with the state: you don’t work for us, we don’t pay you taxes. And here, an organization running on my money, working for the state, wants to tax me?

 ‘The average daily wage of a contract employee is, and get this … three … hundred … rupees,’ Mr. Hashmi goes dramatic. Yes, it’s sadly true. And it’s also true that when crunch comes, this employee’s salary is delayed for months, but never with the executives drawing six digit salaries. What’s also true is a majority of them will always remain contract employees because there are already three people hired on regular terms to do the job that eventually gets done by a contract employee.

Gutter ki Dunya

On January 9, three young women were killed and several injured in a stampede at Alhamra Cultural Complex, Lahore, where Atif Aslam performed to a hall overcrowded with female students of Punjab Group of Colleges, run by Mian Amir Mehmood, who also owns Dunya TV.

The families of two of the deceased women – Maheen Naseem and Farah Nawaz – addressed media on Tuesday 7^th February, at Lahore Press Club, to demand a judicial inquiry into the incident to ‘punish the culprits and recommend measures to avoid such tragedies in future’. Maheen’s father, Naseem Abbas who is a veteran stage and TV actor, lamented that the chief minister had ‘as usual ordered an inquiry and then forgot all about it’, and that the news media had deliberately suppressed the story to spare the organizers – the college management – because of their links with Mian Amir Mehmood and Dunya TV.

As if to validate Mr. Abbas’ allegations, none of the mainstream TV news channels reported the news conference. Today’s newspapers do carry the story but Dawn only identifies the college, The News has no names at all, and neither does the two-inch single column report in daily Express. ‘Influential owner of a private TV channel’ is the nearest any newspaper has come to identifying Mr. Mehmood and Dunya. It was the same, when the story broke – no names, not even the colleges' the students came from, and no follow ups after the initial report. Even the local channel C42 that doesn’t even let an overflowing gutter in the city go unreported, chose to stay quiet on this incident. The ‘conspiracy of silence’ Mr. Abbas sought the help of public representatives, parents and student bodies to end, continues shamelessly.

The conduct of Dunya TV over yesterday’s news conference is particularly shocking, even for a media as brazen in its flouting of professional ethics as the Pakistani television is. The channel went on the offensive against the families of the deceased students. It sent three senior reporters to the news conference it was not going to run a story about. The trio – Liaqat Ansari, Zeeshan Baksh and Arsalan Bhatti – led a pack of journalists who pounced on Mr. Abbas and Mazhar Nawaz, the brother of another deceased student, Farah Nawaz, as if they were criminals and not bereaved family members seeking justice.

Here is the audio sampling of some of the questions and comments – mostly bythe Dunya reporters, but joined by others too – the two men had to face:

The questions are loaded, the comments are libelous, the tone is accusatory and the mood is definitely hostile … 

Are you trying to push up the rate (of blood money)?

Do you want to disrobe the society by urging the families of other girls and boys to join you (in speaking out against the college management)?

There are allegations against you too … that you are demanding 50 lakh in blood money?

 

You also work with a private TV channel, are they pressurising you to do this press conference against another channel?

… You have all the forums available to you and you are being heard, it therefore appears you are just doing a drama here.

If you didn’t trust the management, why did you send your daughter there (to the concert)?

None of this is reported. It was just a show of strength by Dunya, aimed at not only drowning out the voice of the two men, and their hope for justice, but also at flaunting the ‘right’ of news media to plumb the depths of lowliness in protecting one of their own. Mind you, it’s not a case of homicide and no one is demanding eye for an eye; the families are only blaming the college management for negligence, for which ‘even an apology hasn’t been offered’. But Dunya has chosen to defend the management by removing the issue on ground and fighting it out in the gutter.

In the last couple of minutes of the recording above, you can hear raised voices of journalists accusing Mr. Abbas of hatching conspiracies against Dunya (without naming it) and a subdued Mr. Abbas profusely apologising and muttering in disappointment: ‘Are you people here to listen to me or to protect the channel?’

After Maya, what?

The social network community is rightly feeling smug at winning a battle against a particular TV show featuring Maya Khan and her troupe of sad and sexless women who chased away couples in public parks. And though the presenter, producer, and their employer, Samaa TV, behaved illegally and unethically, it was hardly an original idea, and Maya Khan – the failed actress who refuses to age gracefully – only copied what had been done several times by other TV channels.

Here is a clip from ARY News’ programme, ‘Zimmedar Kaun?’ produced and hosted by one Yasir Aqeel, who is not as grotesque as Maya but a lot more obnoxious and pestering. This clip was uploaded in April 2010 and therefore could have been the inspiration for Maya Khan’s show that got her banned, especially considering the similar plan of action and line of questioning:

And here is a clip from Metropolis TV on Karachi’s dating culture, from the good old 2009 when the only ones tormenting the dating community were beat policemen, and the only ones who had a problem with dating couples were married men who never found a date in their own time. And while this segment seems to be sympathetic to the dating couples, it nevertheless breaches privacy of many, putting them in harm’s way:

For the sake of record, Sun TV too got into the act as far back as in 2007 with a series called 'Chapa Maar' focusing on dating couples. This clip shows the Sun’s moral squad catching a boy who was, according to the host, below the age of 18 and his date, in a restaurant, in the presence of the girl's mother:

The only TV host to pick on Maya Khan scandal was Talat Hussain, on Dawn. It was a brave effort that amounted to depicting people in robes inside a public bath house. For starters, the host had concluded a recent programme on Pakistani students’ problems in UK with phrases like ‘qaumi izzat’ and ‘ghairat’ for some ‘unmarried women who have to live with men to save the cost of housing’:

And one of his guests on the show was Nadia Khan, whom he introduced as the doyen of private TV morning shows, and one with a well earned reputation for decency and respect for others’ privacy. Just to jog Talat Hussain’s memory, here is the clip of Nadia Khan taking on filmnstar Noor’s husband in Dubai. The clip ends with a very angry Nadia telling Noor: ‘… if my callers just complain to police that someone so much as stared at me, he’ll be put inside. Husband, my …’ She is awe-inspiring in her confidence with which she expects her viewers to assist her in a private and unpleasant matter. She was banned by Dubai and later, Geo, after this show:

So with the sacking of Maya Khan and banning of her show, we haven’t really removed an irritant – we have just realised it’s there. And the more you look the more you find. It runs deep in Pakistan’s media industry and requires many more battles before the citizens’ right to privacy, and right to be spared sermons by microphone wielding TV hosts, is established.

Stop Press

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.

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 ...

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’.