Is the decline temporary, or has the malady sunk in deep?
If they take away my ink and pen
Grieve I shall not
For I have dipped my fingers
In my heart’s blood
If they seal my tongue
Complain I shall not
For the links of every chain
Shall recite my words
Adapted from Faiz Ahmed Faiz
The first time I had an urge to write, I was very young and had little idea of the importance of either the written or the spoken word. For me, writing was just a means of venting my pent-up emotions. It was much later in life that I began to associate my words with the cause of ideas and convictions. There has been no looking back ever since.
Moving ahead in life, I discovered that, within and outside the ambit of the profession, words were also offered for sale. Ideas and convictions had nothing to do with this travesty which reflected one’s lust for money and an effort to gain some relevance, political or otherwise. But, I thought that such people would constitute only a tiny minority of the tribe of journalists.
But, no, there were further shocks in store. I learnt to my absolute angst that the buying and selling of words, of the written and the spoken varieties, was a widespread affliction. It was just like trading in other commodities. Ideas and convictions were not the drivers of words any longer. Only money was, and entire opinion pieces in newspapers and prime-time programmes on television, were up for sale for the right price.
The profession of journalism commands sanctity and stature. Both have been contaminated in exchange for abominable pursuits of a clique of merchants. Left to them, they would dispose of the entire profession if it would suit their lustful desires and their demeaning indulgences.
Even later in life I discovered that these ugly mansions, these grandiose pretensions of being important, these desperate overtures to manoeuvre credibility were the masks to hide the filth and ugliness inside, and that this trade was not really new. It dated back to all such times when people nurtured similar aims and ambitions. They purchased words to camouflage their shame and bloated affectations by gratifying the sordid ambitions of the tribe of journalists with a few coins so as to advance their selfish objectives.
It was Faiz who wrote about the need and impact of words even in oppressive times: “Speak for thy lips are free, speak for thy tongue is still yours…”. There are other poets and writers who defied tyranny and repression with bold and meaningful invocations which changed the course of history and humankind. Their words will forever remain embedded in human memory with our heads bowed in gratitude. The dark night of autocracy would have lasted longer if these brave voices had not come forth, weaving magic with their writings.
Words command immense power. Words have raised empires. Words have nurtured dynasties. Words have marshalled armies, initiated wars and woven the peace thread. Words have inspired a spate of creativity and bred phenomenal progress. But, words have wrought mayhem and destruction also, annihilated civilisations and bared the demonic lust and greed among people. Empires have perished at their calling and dynasties have surrendered to their might. Words are powerful and this power has been at play in multiple ways through centuries. Human beings have been both the creators of this power as well as the victims of its wrath.
But, one had never witnessed the demeaning of the written and spoken word like it has been consistently on display these days. Words are no longer vehicles for promoting humankind’s progressive and creative faculties. Instead, they hang like albatrosses around their necks because the writers have surrendered before their ingrained greed and callousness. They no longer put their faith in the efficacy of words. They exploit its purchasing prowess instead by sacrificing their integrity at the altar of securing their respective pound of flesh. Is the decline temporary, or has the malady sunk in deep? I say this because, without establishing the sanctity of the written and spoken word, there is no way we could move forward along a civilised path. We would only wander off into the boondocks, lost for direction and purpose both. This is the course which the merchants of words have clearly opted for.
Faraz had likened words with dreams. Yes, words weave dreams which show direction to humankind to accomplish their destiny. But, what kind of destiny have we opted for: a destiny which these vile merchants are trying to forge at the cost of our character, integrity and ethos? It is not by selling our dreams that we would progress and flourish. Instead, it is by reclaiming our dreams and our heritage.
An earnest movement is required to shake off this apparel of respectability which these ugly merchants of words have wrapped around themselves to hide the corrupt instinct which has put us on course to depravity. We cannot take a path chiselled by the illicit bounties delivered by this crooked cartel selling their words for cash or kind. They are to be shamed. The path to salvation is not in their company. That would only spell ignominy for the whole profession.
From Faiz’s words of defiance to contemporary coinages sold for varied inducements, it has been one humiliating fall. The power of words is now manipulated by a bunch of intellectual parasites, nibbling away at the ethos of their profession. It has been hijacked by a group of self-anointed pontiffs who sit every evening before the cameras, fabricating stories that would suit their pockets rather than the ethical code governing their job. The edifice of journalism which had been raised by some stalwarts of the profession has crumbled before the greed and callousness of those who sit at the helm at this critical juncture. They have no reason to be there. They have no professional or moral integrity. They belong in the pit.
A profession rooted in bias and prejudice cannot be a pillar of the state. It breeds hatred and divisions in a society which is already tottering on the brink. It needs healing, not further fragmentation. These merchants of words preaching hate must go. They have no role in the process of putting the country together by ensuring welfare for the suffering communities which have languished on the fringes of life.
The problem is visible. The cause is known. It is for those who still care about the profession, and are mindful of maintaining its sanctity, to also prescribe the prognosis. The time is now. Any further delay would irreversibly compromise the ideals which are still espoused by a large number of adherents of this profession.
It is not going to be easy because these merchants of deceit possess a saleable commodity. So, in addition to nullifying myriad temptations, it is the lure of the illicit bounty that has to be resisted. It can be done by reiterating the foundational ethics of the profession and ensuring that these are not compromised by the deviants.
The profession of journalism commands sanctity and stature. Both have been contaminated in exchange for abominable pursuits of a clique of merchants. Left to them, they would dispose of the entire profession if it would suit their lustful desires and their demeaning indulgences.
The words you write reflect your soul. You cannot sell your soul for a share in the loot. Let us hope that the profession will bounce back by ousting these demons whose continued presence within its folds has been infectious, with the society bearing the brunt of the scourge.
