I recently made my first trip to Bangladesh and I sincerely hope it will not be my last.
Next time, I’ll be here with my family. My son will come for the tigers and the Sundarbans; my wife and daughters for the beautiful saris; and I will come for the cricket … and the chitt roti!
When I told my wife that I’d been asked to give an “inspirational speech” to students of media studies and journalism during my trip, she said to me: “I hope you’ll give an inspirational speech to your own children when you come back home!”
Bangladesh is a fascinating country to me as an Indian – so similar, and yet so different. I love the pride the people of Bangladesh have in the story of their country, their identity, and their beautiful language.
I love being in a young country with a proud, ancient civilization; a country that will not be pushed around by others, a country whose people are constantly striving to improve themselves and their lives, a vibrant democracy that fights hard to be secular, a country with a lively, independent media – and, what I love most of all, a country where people are still in love with newspapers.
I am a journalist, and I know that many of the nation’s youth aspire to enter this realm. I admire that they are taking these decisions. It is a noble choice – despite it being chronically underpaid.
I studied law at university. Like a good Indian son of my generation, I did what my father suggested. After my studies, I taught law for six years at my alma mater, Oxford University, one of the oldest in the world.
Law gives you a great education: Not only does it equip you to practice law, naturally, but it also trains you how to think, to negotiate, to study information, to write clearly, to understand the implications of your actions. All of these are essential skills for journalists as well.
I became a journalist by accident. I did not write a word in all my years at college, not a word for the various university magazines and newspapers that flourished at Oxford. Then one day, I happened to be seated next to the editor of the London Times at a dinner party. I was 30 at the time.
By the end of dinner, he had offered me a job … I suspect he may have had too much to drink. The job was writing editorials on law and politics for his newspaper. So I moved from Oxford to London, leaving behind a comfortable job with tenure and, I confess, very lazy working conditions, and moved to London.
It was a major gamble, a step into the dark. But it was a decision I have not regretted for a minute. Two decades later, I’m still a journalist – and still very proud of my profession.
Journalism today is in a state of revolution, of turbulence, of ferment. Technology has ripped apart all the old methods, all the old formats.
The old economic models on which journalism was based – advertising, subscription – have been turned upside down.
This is certainly true in the US, though much less so in Bangladesh. Here, largely due to the lack of Internet penetration, the old print models still thrive, and will continue to do so in the near to medium-term future. It should be enjoyed while it lasts.
For the students in Bangladesh who have chosen to study journalism, I can say, without hesitation, that they are idealistic and passionate. Ideals and passion are the fuel of journalism.
They must bear in mind three things as they study, and as they advance professionally outside of the walls of academia: They need to be honest; they need to be open-minded; and they need to be humane, to have humanity.
The need for honesty and open-mindedness are self-evident in journalism. A journalist who is dishonest will swiftly lose credibility, and without credibility, a journalist is nothing. Without open-mindedness, a journalist becomes nothing more than a propagandist.
Humanity is the third essential ingredient for good journalism. Its need shows itself in many ways, big and small. All journalists or prospective journalists must ask themselves: Did I get someone’s permission before quoting him in a story? What will it mean for a man’s life if he spoke to me in confidence, and I betray that confidence.
Another dimension that must be paid attention to is what effect the object of an inaccurate story, of a story based on rumour, hearsay, gossip can have on an individual’s life? A journalist has greater power to destroy lives than perhaps anyone in the world who works without a gun. That power should be used responsibly, it must be used humanely.
And finally, what will be the impact on people’s lives if a journalist fails to report a story out of personal fear, or out of fear of vested interests? What will be the impact on people’s lives if the nation’s journalists fail to ask hard questions of those in power? This requires bravery of course, but bravery is the twin-sister of humanity.
I’m not saying journalists must be disrespectful of authority, far from it, courtesy is always key. More flies are caught with honey … in the same way, more ministers are caught with honey too. But journalists must always be prepared to challenge the establishment, and not bow before it.
So these are a few of my thoughts to all Bangladeshi aspiring journalists, based on my 20 years’ experience as a writer, reporter and editor.
I envy all of them. They are starting a long and exciting journey. And nothing is more exciting, more exhilarating than starting a journey with passion, and with ideals.
