Go Forth and Sting

Sting journalism has been accorded legal sanction. A veteran of the trade explains what happens after you get a great story.

Of the many ways a journalist in India can acquaint himself with the archaeology of how the Indian system operates, one good one is to be part of an undercover story. Starting from the tip passed on by a source to the sub-radar execution of the story, s/he will soon find that doing the story was the easy part. The fun, if I can call it that, really begins after the story has hooped through the editorial filters to get published or telecast. The buzz of achievement is shortlived; soon, you are desperately warding off the Huns from giving you an undeserved dusting.

The peculiar pathology of how the melodrama plays out can almost be dubbed a scientific phenomenon. The so-called ‘victims’ of the story will go on air to allege that the footage in question—proving what scumbags they are—was, in fact, doctored and that a huge conspiracy is afoot to malign them. They will question the motives of the media platform and journalists who did the story. There are a whole lot of villains in the jungle to lump the media with—ISI, corporate interests, nameless external forces, Maoists and whatever other terrier you can think of. There is also, of course, the easily invoked broadside against television media for the kind of things it will do to jack up TRPs. By a twisted piece of logic, any bit of fact can be construed to have been manufactured to feed the beast we all like to demonise—TV ratings.

Sometimes, the cacophony is comical. Last month, when Rajesh Ranjan, a Congress MLA from Jharkhand, was caught on tape offering to sell his vote for the Rajya Sabha elections, in an IBN7-Cobrapost investigation, he said in his defence that “my offer to sell the Rajya Sabha vote was unofficial”. Of course, there were the usual allegations of conspiracy.

When another investigation in 2006 showed a whole bunch of Muslim clerics issuing fatwas in lieu of money, the channel and journalists in question were accused of being part of a right wing conspiracy to defame Islam.

Another investigation in 2007 that showed Hindu godmen willing to use their trusts to turn black money into white (for a fee) invited great opprobrium from the right wing establishment. One of the godmen even approached the Supreme Court for the redressal of imaginary wrongs. After filing a spurious affidavit, the godman in question never appeared in court again, and his case was dismissed for lack of merit.

Another story showed candidates for the last Uttar Pradesh Assembly polls willing to do all manner of illegal and unethical things to raise funds for their campaign. We were then accused of doing the needful at the behest of vested political interests.

An investigation last week about difficulties faced by Muslims in renting houses in the four big metros was confronted with a ‘Hindu’ backlash in the virtual world. I personally received SMSes asking me to change my name to Maulana Aniruddha!

For journalists, these are pinpricks. What becomes a worry is when a story hurts the State, and all manner of authority descends on you to wreak vengeance. We faced that at Tehelka after Operation Westend. A commission of inquiry was instituted whose main purpose was to investigate Tehelka rather than the sordid goings-on it had exposed. Various false prosecutions were initiated against us, one of them under the draconian Official Secrets Act (OSA). In this case, the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) chargesheeted four journalists, accusing them of worsening India’s relationship with the Netherlands! All because Tehelka allegedly published a story allegedly quoting some Home Ministry minutes which had evidence of some Dutch NGOs funding militants in the Northeast.

In another case, Delhi Police has labelled Cobrapost journalists ‘accused persons’ in the cash-for-questions story that shook Parliament and led to the unprecedented dismissal of 11 MPs in 2005-06. This, after the Lok Sabha had lauded the story and the Supreme Court had upheld the dismissal of the legislators from both Houses of Parliament. The very FIR Delhi Police filed showed their intent, coming as it did more than one-and-a-half years after the event. It targeted the journalists and media platforms instead of the MPs. It was only after the Delhi High Court intervened that Delhi Police roped in all the MPs!

Last week, however, the Delhi High Court quashed the proceedings against the journalists in a historic judgment of far-reaching consequences. The ruling castigates Delhi Police for considering the reporters ‘accused persons’ instead of witnesses in the case. Justice Shiv Narayana Dhingra, who pronounced the order, said: “I consider that in order to expose corruption at higher levels and to show to what extent State managers are corrupt, acting as agent provocateurs does not amount to committing a crime. 

The intention of the persons involved is to be seen, and the intention in this case is clear from the fact that the petitioners [journalists] after conducting this operation did not ask the police to register a case against the MPs involved, but gave the information to people at large as to what was happening.”

What is most interesting about the order is that the court addresses the question of whether ‘a citizen of this country has a right to conduct such a sting operation to expose corruption’, and concludes in the affirmative. This confirmation of rights accorded to the larger citizenry, instead of just the media, is welcome and should boost responsible citizen journalism.

Over the past ten years, I have spent a day a week in one court or the other, trying to ride out malicious prosecutions by various State authorities at the behest of the regime of the day. 

I have had a ringside view of CBI interrogation rooms, Delhi Police tactics, the décor of nearly all courts in the Delhi NCR and a few outside, the way Army courts of inquiry function, and income tax offices as well (one income tax officer asked us probing questions on whether Tehelka had deducted TDS from the amount paid to Bangaru Laxman during the course of Operation Westend!). Some simple maths on this reveals 520 days spent in various courts. And that’s not counting the time I have spent consulting lawyers before appearance dates.

There is, however, a lot of fun to be had as well. Some of my most treasured moments were when some of the most ludicrous and nonsensical questions I had drafted for Indian parliamentarians actually got asked! Sample some:

Whether the Railway Ministry has placed any order for purchase of the Yossarian Electro Diesel engine from Germany. Is the ministry aware that the Tom Wolfe Committee report in Germany has halted its induction into the Euro Rail system?

Whether the Government has given sanction for the seed trial of Salinger Cotton of Monsanto. If so, has a report been prepared on Catch 22 cotton so far?

Has the Ministry lifted the 1962 ban it imposed on the book For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway and the 1975 ban on Ken Kesey’s book One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Hunter Thompson’s book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas? If so, when were the bans removed?

Whether the Government is aware that a domestic flying licence has been denied to Cobra Cargo for starting operations in India. Since when has Semper Sursum Pvt Ltd, the holding company of Cobra Cargo, applied for a domestic cargo licence?

I am happy that the undercover nature of some of my journalism over the years has helped me pay homage to Joseph Heller’s Yossarian. I am a little upset that Major Major and Milo Minderbinder got left out. But I am happy that the Yossarian brand name has infiltrated the German market in spite of strong opposition from Tom Wolfe, thanks to the foresight of Indian parliamentarians. 

As for the Catch 22 and Salinger cotton strains, I hope they are really profitable for farmers and that the lifting of the bans on Hemingway, Hunter Thompson and Kesey, long due and deserved, give a tremendous fillip to the publishing industry.

As for Semper Sursum Pvt Ltd, I feel that the Union of India should promptly issue them a domestic cargo licence, if that facility exists, so that Cobra Cargo can fly the books of Kesey, Hunter Thompson, Hemingway, Salinger, Wolfe and Joseph Heller all over India free of charge. An undertaking Cobra Cargo has assured me of personally. Semper Sursum, incidentally, is the logo of my school, St Joseph’s College, Allahabad, and literally translated means ‘aim high’. It was also originally meant to be the name of the cash-for-questions investigation till we decided that the Latin wouldn’t really ring a bell with an Indian audience. Apologies to all Josephites. 

But I must admit I am really baffled when I read snide comments from some senior journalists about the alleged ‘unethicality’ of undercover stories. 

They don’t rant about paid news, about corporate conflicts of interest, cross-media monopolies, and commercial and advertising pressures that come from corporates on stories (all of which are greater evils by far than any lopsided undercover investigation). But they get greatly agitated over some beautiful piece of undercover journalism. For some of them, I suspect, this has to do with their notion that these stories attract a lot of attention. For some, it is also the perception that the media platforms practising undercover journalism are encroaching on their own investigative turf.

But there is also a hypocrisy in all this. While some of them castigate television for these ‘sensational stories’, they don’t rant against print practising undercover journalism. The newspapers do undercover journalism without really calling it so and without the scrutiny that accompanies such stories on TV.

To give a few examples where print journalists have paid money and used deception as a tool to execute stories in public interest:

The Sunday Express ran a story on 18 June 2006 about how they had travelled across three districts—Lucknow, Kanpur and Faizabad—and obtained OBC certificates of well-known figures. To quote:

‘Former Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee was declared a Ahir by the Faizabad collectorate, when he is a Brahmin. BJP President Rajnath Singh, a Rajput, is, on paper in Faizabad, now a Kurmi. Two OBC certificates, issued from two different places, declare Arjun Singh an Ahir in Faizabad and a Kahar in Kanpur. Prakash Karat’s certificate issued by the Lucknow office makes him a Garadia.’

The paper got the certificates ‘duly signed by a proper authority with serial numbers and actual signatures. Names of prominent high-caste people were used deliberately to explain how vulnerable the system is and how blindly the certificates are signed’. 

The newspaper procured the certificates, officially sealed and delivered to The Sunday Express, for a ‘fee’ ranging from Rs 200 to Rs 500. These certificates, the article says, can be used to get all kinds of benefits—from jobs to college admissions—available as per government policy.

The Hindustan Times published a frontpage lead, on 29 June 2007, on how national-level certificates can be bought without actually taking part in any of the sports. The paper got proof of ‘systematic malfunction in Indian sport’. To quote: ‘For a fee or by knowing the right person, (or both), you can get bona fide certificates attesting to your being a national-level sportsperson’, and these certificates are priceless to many as they get their college admission, a job in a public sector company, or even a visa.

Outlook magazine ran a cover story (2 October 2006), headlined ‘How We Bought RDX’, on how easy it is to buy the dreaded explosive. The reporter went in search of the bomb mix, and bought it for just ‘Rs 80/gm’.

These were all excellent stories that needed to be done. But they should also dispel the myth that undercover stories are a TV obsession.

The great impact you often see of undercover stories is on account of the quantum of evidence they bring to a particular topic. By its nature, video evidence takes the story to another level of credibility. A recent example is last month’s News of the World investigation of match fixing in cricket. In stories where hidden cameras are used, we ascertain whether the people we are doing a particular story on have a ‘predisposition’ to commit the particular act in question. American case law on undercover operations articulates that if law enforcement has ‘prior knowledge’ of the intention of a person to commit a crime, and the person is subsequently exposed in an undercover operation, then it is not entrapment. 

British law, in any case, doesn’t even count entrapment as a defence for the alleged victim. In India, not much case law has been developed yet, but any that does will or should lean on ‘public interest’ as the defining theme in any face-off between individual privacy and an act of corruption that impacts the people at large.

The writer is editor-in-chief of Cobrapost.com and author of the recently published novel, The Emissary

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