“Good morning, sir! I’m a journalist investigating the bridge your department built.”
“Wonderful! Has it won an award?”
“It has fallen into the river, sir. But before writing about the contract, I thought I should seek your consent.”
There was a thoughtful silence. Somewhere at the other end, I imagined a chair being pulled closer to a desk. Here, at last, was a journalist who understood how a healthy relationship between the press and the powerful should function.
“What exactly would you like to publish?”
“The amount sanctioned, the amount spent, and how your brother’s company received the contract.”
“My brother is a private individual.”
“He built a public bridge.”
“Yes, but he did so very privately.”
This imaginary conversation came to mind while reading that twenty-one news publishers have challenged India’s privacy law in the Supreme Court. They argue that its consent requirements could obstruct journalism. The government says it is willing to hear their concerns.
Now, privacy deserves protection. Nobody needs a reporter peering through a bedroom window or publishing a patient’s medical records for entertainment. But when public money travels into private pockets, surely the journey deserves a travel correspondent?
“Sir, may we photograph the pothole?”
“Certainly.”
“And mention who was paid to repair it?”
“Now you are becoming intrusive.”
I can visualise a newsroom with a new department beside Accounts and Advertising. Consent. Hundreds of polite young employees calling people whose activities are about to appear on the front page.
“Madam, we have documents suggesting your organisation diverted relief funds.”
“How distressing!”
“Yes, madam.”
“I mean it’s distressing that you have the documents.”
The editor waits anxiously. The presses stand ready. Finally, the consent executive enters with excellent news. Permission has arrived to publish the weather, provided the clouds cannot be identified.
Think what such an arrangement would do to the humble bribe. The envelope could come with a little declaration: “The contents of this transaction are personal. Any resemblance to public interest is deeply regretted.”
Meanwhile, the citizen continues supplying his phone number to buy socks, his birthday to order lunch, and his entire family history to recover a forgotten password. His privacy seems remarkably negotiable. Somehow, confidentiality becomes sacred the moment he asks where his taxes went.
The minister’s willingness to hear editors is welcome. Let that discussion produce clear protection for journalism that serves the public.
Back at our imaginary bridge, the official finally calls.
“You have my permission to publish.”
“The investigation?”
“No. My statement expressing concern.”
“And the missing money?”
“Please respect its privacy.”
I put down the phone and looked at the photograph of the broken bridge. Beneath it, villagers were wading through the river to reach work, carrying their shoes above the water.
They had not been asked for consent before their money was spent.
Perhaps somebody should begin with them, with us…!