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It has become a cliché these days to use the statement ‘Indian media in crisis’. Since last week, this cliché has again made its presence felt in the public life of this country. This time, however, concerns about press freedom and credibility have greater meat.
Following the high-profile resignations of two senior journalists who have been critical of the present government – Punya Prasun Bajpai and Milind Khandekar – from ABP news, concerns about press freedom, and along with it, the credibility of media, have resurfaced yet again. As Punya Prasun Bajpai noted in his statement, his prime-time show Masterstroke had ruffled a few hard feathers of the government, especially in the way the show went on the ground to verify the various claims made by the prime minister.
What the ABP fiasco throws in our collective faces are two important themes. The first has to do with the very credibility of our media, and the second is the increasing and overarching government interference. And the latter far more than the former.
While government interference in the media has been the mainstay in India (the Rajiv Gandhi government’s proposal to introduce the infamous Anti-Defamation Law during the autumn of 1988, and which he later had to withdraw, is a prominent example), but one can argue that the media, historically, has largely been independent, doing stories that have been critical of the government of the day. But an insidious change seems to have occurred since 2014.
The present ruling dispensation has understood that in order to stay in power, it had to perpetuate the idea of its achievements, create a mythology around the prime minister, and project him as the all-powerful muscular leader. To do this, a combative media that challenges the very claims on which the government seems to be dependent upon, is only a hurdle. What one needs is a pliant set of media bosses – who, to borrow the famous expression of Advani, and dating back from the days of the Emergency – would be all too keen to crawl when only asked to bend.
Why would they be all too keen to do this? The reasons can be many.
One is the fear of reprisal – both in the form of ad cuts and the non-appearance of party officials in the TV debates which drove the ABP proprietor to urge Bajpai not to take the PM’s name in his show. This is what drove Karan Thapar to write, in his recently released memoir, how he has been practically boycotted by the ruling party for his 2007 interview of Modi.
Then there are more ideological reasons, the need to have more clout, and finally, greed, when the need of the hour is to have a stronger spine, to stand up against the powers that be.
Barkha Dutt, in an interview to Paranjoy Guha Thakurta, had reiterated this by speaking about her ordeal in getting a TV license approved, and how one particular minister from the government had actually asked her to sit it out till the 2019 elections are over.
To come back to the ABP fiasco, it marks a permanent mutation in the relationship between the press and the government. The usage of the word ‘mutation’ here is deliberate. In medical science, ‘mutation’ is usually a malignant change, a cancerous outgrowth threatening the very existence of the body.
Indian politics in the 21st century – as in the rest of the world – has increasingly begun to be predicated upon spectacle, especially revolving around the cult of the individual. In such a case, it is incumbent to have a pliant media. Because official propaganda can only do so much.
The sad truth is that the cliché of ‘media in crisis’ will be repeated ad infinitum, till it becomes the new normal, and begins to resemble what it is in Russia and China. Clichés can be irritating, yes, but it bears remembering that they are also the truth that is tired of repeating itself.
(At The Quint, we question everything. Play an active role in shaping our journalism by becoming a member today.)
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