The legwork for every ground report involves a fair deal of planning by the reporter in coordination with the local chauffeur. However, in the middle of a civil war in Manipur, one had to be extra cautious with the planning — every commute between the hills and the valley had to happen during daytime to ensure that the press/media tag on the car was visible from afar.
Discussing the next day’s plan after wrapping up reporting the developments in Churachandpur, my Kuki-Zo driver said we will not be able to start early the next day. On enquiring, he said his Internet was no longer working. He had to travel for two hours to ‘store some Internet’.
Shocked and intrigued in equal parts, I asked him how, even during an Internet ban, he was able to access the Internet. He then explained that every few days, his family and friends would travel in the car for two hours to the Manipur-Mizoram border. They would switch off their locations, turn on the data in their smartphones and access the Internet.
Before heading back they would spend a considerable amount of time browsing the Internet and downloading videos of the protests and atrocities.
These videos would then be sent through Bluetooth or transferred while accessing the Wi-Fi from the camps of the leaders. This would happen on both sides. In the valley, common folks could be seen visiting the locations of Meitei leaders or centres where the Wi-Fi was working. They would download videos from there, go back to camps, and share them with others. In both relief camps, displaced Meiteis and Kuki-Zos had access to videos of violence, but very few had access to non-partisan sources of news.
While speaking to these groups about the events that followed the May 3 violence, they showed pictures of deformed bodies and videos of houses being burnt. But none of these were captured by them. They would often struggle to point out the sources of these videos.
Some of these videos and photographs were later proved to be fake by media outlets outside the State.
Noises from smartphones would only convey partisan updates. For example, a displaced Meitei in Imphal Valley pointed to the news of Meitei women who were assaulted at the Churachandpur Medical College. The fact that this turned out to be fake news never reached him.
There has been very little choice in terms of what news people have had access to since a blanket ban on the Internet came into effect. The common man is privy to information that is shared with him by the higher-ups. The reality is that news and updates of events were often distorted. Information was distributed by those in positions of power, to shape a narrative that suited their convenience.
A Kuki student, who I met at one of the camps as I was filing my story, was watching a video of a Meitei influencer saying that there will be fireworks in August. The student, who had to set aside his books to monitor social media since the start of the violence, was visibly stressed. He spoke of how such videos from the opposing camp helped his community understand the possible places and time frames of attacks.
Between downloading the online versions of his college text and monitoring social media, the Kuki student expressed concerns about his academic future. The 21-year-old, who wanted to pursue his Masters degree from one of the universities in Delhi, had missed the deadline because of the ethnic clashes followed by the Statewide Internet ban.
If people continue to spread videos of violence — sometimes that of real events and many times fabricated ones, what purpose does an Internet ban really serve in the State?
alisha.d@thehindu.co.in
