12-07-2008, 11:20 PM
When <b>IDIOT </b>THE Box became an<!--QuoteBegin-->QUOTE<!--QuoteEBegin-->As the tragedy of terror began to unfold, a far more pathetic picture made itself evident on television
LATE IN the evening of Wednesday, November 26, a flurry of panicky SMSes caused drowsy Mumbai to switch from Jay Leno to the news. An unnerving story about âNigeriansâ in a cross-fire outside iconic Leopoldâs on the iconic (and nefarious) Colaba Causeway was breathlessly reported. The âbreaking newsâ tag began to scroll; usually used so frequently and imprudently, we may have read it, âboy cries âwolfâ.â Soon, however, more information began to pour in. Firing at CST, a petrol pump blown up at Colaba, shooting in the lobbies of the Taj and the Oberoi. Around 11 pm, the words âTerror Attackâ were used. Mumbai and the rest of sleepy India sat up and began to surf through the channels.
As the obvious tragedy began to unfold, a far more pathetic picture made itself evident. Witless speculation, hyperbole and several times in those first 24 hours, distressing misinformation was shrieked out at viewers. (The âsiegeâ was over, no it wasnât. People trapped in the hotels were released. No, they were hostages. A terrorist was waving a white flag. The hotels were sanitised. No they werenât. Karkare, Kamte and Salaskar killed while sauntering into Cama Hospital. No, they were shot in their car.) Eager young field reporters, driven to apparent hysteria with that âhistory in the makingâ buzz, betrayed their inexperience while ad-libbing shot-byshot renditions in real time. Conflicting reports on casualties, defence resources, the number of terrorists all came down in an avalanche of bumbling self-contradiction and hasty extrapolation. When CNN led into a report from a correspondent in Mumbai, what accompa nied the footage of the Taj burning and gunfire was the agitated commentary of young woman rendered all but incoherent by her juvenile high-pitch. But even that can be condoned.
What cannot be condoned is the ambulance-chasing, survivor heckling, bloodhungry scramble for TRPs that followed. India watched as Rajdeep Sardesai hovered in-frame over a just-released hostage who was being interviewed by Times Now. They watched him grab the arm of the traumatised man and then drag him into his own channel. He then proceeded to bark, âWere you scared? Were you scared?â Another senior journalist, (whose imprudent use of her mobile phone at a secret bunker during the Kargil war allegedly betrayed the Armyâs location) put her arm, rather inappropriately, around the shoulders of a Muslim man and wiped a tear out of her welling eyes as she contemplated the possible loss of life. Yet another, when advised to lie beneath the line of fire, propped herself up on one elbow, almost as if posing for a picture on holiday. A camera caught someone trying to hold a manâs shot, bleeding hand in frame.
Horrified viewers watched as each channel began to try and outdo the other. The branding of the tragedy had begun, âIndiaâs 9/11â, âthe war on terrorâ, all made even more distasteful by the apparent glee of having an âinternationalâ scale crisis. The salivation continued, âthis is an exclusive storyâ, âwe are the only channel to have this informationâ, âwe are talking to a survivor on the 19th floorâ.
<b>Did no senior journalist question the obvious compromise on security when they gave away the locations of the distraught survivors desperately seeking help? Did their experience not make them doubt the wisdom of blatantly displaying the locations of the officers in hiding? Did they even pause to think before blurting out the impending arrival of commandos or the army or the number of officers down?
Simultaneously, the premature post-mortems began. Inapt quote-vendors, dragged into the studio to rage, respond or worse, offer solutions. Writers, actors, advertising professionals were suddenly a treasury of penny-wisdom. </b>
<b>In the aftermath, the afterglow was nauseating. Candle-light vigils were covered in what an astute observer called a âRang-deBasanti-esqueâ display of patriotism and grief. Overproduced visuals with background scores ranging from menacing, horror-style bass-string tones to smarmy, weepy wind instruments topped and tailed more discussion, more analysis. Not all the people gathered at the Gateway and in Bengaluru on December 3 were baying for war with Pakistan. Unrepentant, ridiculously innocent of experience still, the interviews were disproportionately represented.
Even as we lament our apathy, our diseased democracy, our bureaucratic failures, even as we sign petitions, file PILs and light candles⦠we must remember that the fourth estate is our watchdog, our conscience keeper, our counterbalance to internal propaganda. What is heart-breaking is that we have failed to check this decline as we saw it happen. We have turned our backs while watching journalismâs omniscient observer turn into the megalomaniac headline-hunter.
The lessons to be learnt from all quarters are the same. We need to get involved. We need to question aggressively, our politicians, our protectors and now, unfortunately, even those whose job it is to question. Never again must we let them cry wolf, especially now, while the wolf is at the door</b><!--QuoteEnd--><!--QuoteEEnd-->
LATE IN the evening of Wednesday, November 26, a flurry of panicky SMSes caused drowsy Mumbai to switch from Jay Leno to the news. An unnerving story about âNigeriansâ in a cross-fire outside iconic Leopoldâs on the iconic (and nefarious) Colaba Causeway was breathlessly reported. The âbreaking newsâ tag began to scroll; usually used so frequently and imprudently, we may have read it, âboy cries âwolfâ.â Soon, however, more information began to pour in. Firing at CST, a petrol pump blown up at Colaba, shooting in the lobbies of the Taj and the Oberoi. Around 11 pm, the words âTerror Attackâ were used. Mumbai and the rest of sleepy India sat up and began to surf through the channels.
As the obvious tragedy began to unfold, a far more pathetic picture made itself evident. Witless speculation, hyperbole and several times in those first 24 hours, distressing misinformation was shrieked out at viewers. (The âsiegeâ was over, no it wasnât. People trapped in the hotels were released. No, they were hostages. A terrorist was waving a white flag. The hotels were sanitised. No they werenât. Karkare, Kamte and Salaskar killed while sauntering into Cama Hospital. No, they were shot in their car.) Eager young field reporters, driven to apparent hysteria with that âhistory in the makingâ buzz, betrayed their inexperience while ad-libbing shot-byshot renditions in real time. Conflicting reports on casualties, defence resources, the number of terrorists all came down in an avalanche of bumbling self-contradiction and hasty extrapolation. When CNN led into a report from a correspondent in Mumbai, what accompa nied the footage of the Taj burning and gunfire was the agitated commentary of young woman rendered all but incoherent by her juvenile high-pitch. But even that can be condoned.
What cannot be condoned is the ambulance-chasing, survivor heckling, bloodhungry scramble for TRPs that followed. India watched as Rajdeep Sardesai hovered in-frame over a just-released hostage who was being interviewed by Times Now. They watched him grab the arm of the traumatised man and then drag him into his own channel. He then proceeded to bark, âWere you scared? Were you scared?â Another senior journalist, (whose imprudent use of her mobile phone at a secret bunker during the Kargil war allegedly betrayed the Armyâs location) put her arm, rather inappropriately, around the shoulders of a Muslim man and wiped a tear out of her welling eyes as she contemplated the possible loss of life. Yet another, when advised to lie beneath the line of fire, propped herself up on one elbow, almost as if posing for a picture on holiday. A camera caught someone trying to hold a manâs shot, bleeding hand in frame.
Horrified viewers watched as each channel began to try and outdo the other. The branding of the tragedy had begun, âIndiaâs 9/11â, âthe war on terrorâ, all made even more distasteful by the apparent glee of having an âinternationalâ scale crisis. The salivation continued, âthis is an exclusive storyâ, âwe are the only channel to have this informationâ, âwe are talking to a survivor on the 19th floorâ.
<b>Did no senior journalist question the obvious compromise on security when they gave away the locations of the distraught survivors desperately seeking help? Did their experience not make them doubt the wisdom of blatantly displaying the locations of the officers in hiding? Did they even pause to think before blurting out the impending arrival of commandos or the army or the number of officers down?
Simultaneously, the premature post-mortems began. Inapt quote-vendors, dragged into the studio to rage, respond or worse, offer solutions. Writers, actors, advertising professionals were suddenly a treasury of penny-wisdom. </b>
<b>In the aftermath, the afterglow was nauseating. Candle-light vigils were covered in what an astute observer called a âRang-deBasanti-esqueâ display of patriotism and grief. Overproduced visuals with background scores ranging from menacing, horror-style bass-string tones to smarmy, weepy wind instruments topped and tailed more discussion, more analysis. Not all the people gathered at the Gateway and in Bengaluru on December 3 were baying for war with Pakistan. Unrepentant, ridiculously innocent of experience still, the interviews were disproportionately represented.
Even as we lament our apathy, our diseased democracy, our bureaucratic failures, even as we sign petitions, file PILs and light candles⦠we must remember that the fourth estate is our watchdog, our conscience keeper, our counterbalance to internal propaganda. What is heart-breaking is that we have failed to check this decline as we saw it happen. We have turned our backs while watching journalismâs omniscient observer turn into the megalomaniac headline-hunter.
The lessons to be learnt from all quarters are the same. We need to get involved. We need to question aggressively, our politicians, our protectors and now, unfortunately, even those whose job it is to question. Never again must we let them cry wolf, especially now, while the wolf is at the door</b><!--QuoteEnd--><!--QuoteEEnd-->