Opinion

A Trial By Fire

A woman journalist invariably faces anger that degenerates into abusive language with sexual overtones.

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A Trial By Fire
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My first job, as a correspondent for The Telegraph, was, in many ways, a trial by fire. This was way back in 1982, when the anti-foreigners agitation in Assam was at its height. Spearheading the movement against illegal migrants from Bangladesh were the All Assam Students Union (AASU). The student movement got massive support from the Assamese middle class and women were out in the streets protesting and heeding every call given by the students. 

While the issue of infiltration was genuine and resonated not just across the northeast but in other parts of the country as well, the movement actually at that time was also anti-left, anti-Bengali, anti-Bihari, anti-Nepali, in short against "outsiders". Many genuine Muslim migrants were also attacked, though they had been settled in the state for generations.

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Criticising a popular movement is never easy. More so, if you are reporting from your home state. Both men and women reporters have to face the anger of an enraged and self-righteous middle class. But for a woman journalist this invariably degenerates into abusive language with sexual overtones.

The anger against me was not just that I had questions about certain aspects of the agitation, but that a Assamese reporter dared to question the people's movement. I was labelled a 'desh drohi' . After several of my critical reports appeared in The Telegraph, the student leaders refused to talk to me. At news conferences, held in the AASU headquarters in the university, any question I raised was ignored. The pipsqueaks that were the local reporters, did not bother to protest. While many of them were nice people and friendly at a personal level, they did not dare to stand up for a colleague, worried that their equation with the AASU leaders would be spoiled.

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After one such press conference, as I was heading outside, a group of AASU supporters surrounded me and began heckling me. An executive committee member of AASU came up to me and said. "We have been watching you for a long time. We see the lies that you churn out everyday. This is a warning, if you continue this kind of biased reporting, be prepared to be taken up the hill." This was the local slang for “be prepared to be raped!” This kind of language would have never been applied to a man.

I was also under attack for wearing jeans and daring to smoke in public. As sub-nationalist sentiments were at a high during this period, women and even girls wore the traditional Assamese Mekhla chadar. An AASU adviser -- there were hundreds of these pompous guys floating around -- took me on, one day. His point was I should be ashamed of myself, wearing western clothes. Mind you, he himself was in trousers and a shirt, while lecturing me. When I pointed this out to him, he nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders and said, it doesn't matter all men wear these clothes.

Another day, a smiling pot-bellied policeman knocked on my door. He politely informed me that he had a arrest warrant for me, as I had refused to heed the summons of a district court! I was shocked because I had no clue that a criminal case had been filed against me by a AASU leader for a report I had written for Sunday magazine, which was brought out also by the ABP group. The paper stood by me and the case went on for some years. But that is another story.

My next posting was in Sri Lanka at a time when Indians were hated by the majority community. But despite that I never felt threatened or at a disadvantage because of being a woman.

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A shorter, edited version of this appears in print magazine

Seema Guha is a senior journalist

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