In 2018, while covering an incident of communal violence in Uttar Pradesh, I visited the house of one of the affected families. The building had been ransacked and set on fire. It was clear that the family had rushed out before a meal in fear: a plate of partly kneaded dough, half-cooked dal, and chopped vegetables lay on their kitchen floor. There was also a religious book. A neighbour accompanying me became agitated seeing the condition of the book. Sensing that this situation may further aggravate tensions, I pleaded with him to remain silent. Scores of angry people were standing outside and any provocation had the potential to start another wave of violence. He thankfully found merit in what I said. He picked up the book, and we quietly left the place. Whatever be the situation, one of the thumb rules in this profession is that we are first journalists; we cannot afford to let religion or ethnicity cloud our judgement.
But this is an ideal, and the opposite often takes place. The ongoing ethnic violence in Manipur has brought to the fore the disturbing trend of reporting on ethnic lines. More than 100 people have been killed and thousands have been displaced in the last 50 days. And just like the police, the press too is deeply divided. An officer told me a few days ago that even two reporters working for the same organisation could have different versions of the same incident, depending on their ethnicity.
During a conflict, it often suits the government to suppress and censor news. This is where journalists can play a key role by holding the government accountable. But this is not what is happening in Manipur. If you pick up a newspaper published from Imphal and another newspaper published from a hill district, you will find that the news is often along community lines. There are exaggerated claims by both sides.
