By Bill Saidi
MOST journalists are acutely aware of the perils endemic in a story that walks into the newsroom, screaming its head off about being The Big Story of the day.
A story for which the reporter does not have to sweat has all the danger signals of being either a non-story, or a story likely to explode into the reporter’s or the editor’s face – sooner or later.
Most reporters learn, through being in the trenches for long, that a good story must, first of all, wear the badge of “public interest” on its lapel. If it doesn’t, then it needs to be probed thoroughly before a reporter is assigned to it.
Once it passes that rigorous test, the next thing is to assess its source. This has to be a fairly reliable source. The source may not want to be identified no further than being “reliable”.
The reporter must ascertain that the reason for this anonymity is genuine and justified. If it cannot be proved to the satisfaction of both the reporter and the editor, then it should be announced that “all bets are off”.
The source must be identified or there will be no story. This is necessary, in the first place, for the paper’s credibility. Then, of course, there is the question of defamation. The editor could always take the decision on the probability that the source would have no legitimate reason to “tell a long story” to the paper.
But there should be no hesitation either way: the cost to the newspaper could be enormous. Quite often, it could involve the lost of a life or lives. This might be far-fetched on the face of it. But a good editor knows enough about the job to realize there is this adage: If in doubt, don’t.
The mention of death, though brief, has to be taken seriously. Of course, journalists have been killed for more grievous errors of omission or commission than relying too much on an unreliable “reliable source”.
A recent conference of African journalists in Harare was told the 13 of their number had been killed on the continent – mostly in Somalia. It’s hardly likely that these journalists were in the “crossfire” of the civil war that has raged in that country since the overthrow of the dictator Mohammed Siad Barre as president.
In most cases, they were deliberately targeted. They were suspected of siding with one side of the conflict against the other – or for reporting that one side was losing the war when that same side believed they were scoring success after success.
In Zimbabwe, the most well-publicised death of a photo-journalist, at the hands of persons unknown, was that of Edward Chikomba. He formerly worked for the state TV. He had become a freelance photojournalist after being retrenched.
So far, there have been no arrests in connection with his death.
Journalists been arrested and locked up for doing their job. Under the notorious Access to Information and Protection of Privacy Act, journalists have been picked up and locked up by the police.
Before that law came into effect, the same measures could be taken against journalists under the Law and Order (Maintenance) Act. This law was passed by the settler regime to deal with rising African agitation against the colonial administration.
In 2001, I was one of the four journalists from The Daily News, locked up at the Harare central police station over a story relating to the alleged looting of farm property by the police or some other such law enforcement agency. With me in the lockup were the editor, Geoffrey Nyarota, the news editor, John Gambanga and the senior reporter, Sam Munyavi. Only he is still out of the country, the rest of us being around and trying hard to do what we were trained todo–be journalists again.
My time in the cells – about ten hours, reminded me, rather horribly, that you could get killed in this job – or die of other causes.
In 2001, I was 64 years old. I have suffered from Type 2 diabetes since I was 34 years old. Nyarota is diabetic too. We shared his medication. If we had been locked up for longer, there is no telling how we would have fared underf the harsh conditions in the crowded cells.
The faint-hearted cadet reporter, entering journalism from the idealistic standpoint of trying to “make a difference”, might find the real-life conditions of the job so frightening, they might decided there and then to quit – join the priesthood or become a teacher or go farming.
To stick it out –as some of us have – takes a commitment to what has been called a thankless job for society. The genuine journalists are driven by the adventure of making a difference. Each story is graded on its potency for making a difference to people’s lives – however insignificant. If people conclude that the news they read or watch or listen to makes a difference to their lives, they develop an attachment to the purveyors of such news.
In my mind, as I sat in my underpants in the cells at Harare central police station in 2001, ran the question: Am I assumed to have committed a crime against society – or was I about to commit such a crime?
Fortunately for the four of us, the wheels
of justice prevailed eventually. Our lawyers managed to convince a judge that we were being held illegally. We were released. The threat was that we would still be charged with a crime arising from a story
we had published – which had “caused alarm and despondency..
All four of us must have reflected, at some point, we were fortunate not to have been killed. As far as I know, all of us have not changed our minds about journalism as a result of that frightening experience. That is as it should be. If others before us had not stiffened their resolve after similar challenges, where would journalism be today?
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