Miscellanea/Farzana Versey

The day a journalist realises the subject is also a human being, he would be able to sleep at night

When Charlie came into my life, he did not know what he was getting into. I have always fancied myself to be a responsible journalist. Which means, if a scoop flutters before my nose, I sneeze and let it disappear. The problem is, it does not. Another scribe with a nose as sensitive as the bomb squad's favourite dog's, gets it.

Any regrets? None that have to do with envy. But I do feel like a voice in the wilderness. Thank heavens, I am not an investigative reporter, though I have done my bit at unravelling the truth. The second problem is, no one is interested in the truth. People want a blow-by-blow account. Or hard-hitting facts, without a care in the world as to whether it will affect the facts or the person.

Which is where Charlie comes in. An HIV-positive person, he was disillusioned with the mechanisms that were meant to act as a salve but were instead inflicting fresh whiplashes. I had, I admit, crossed the neon-lit streets and walked the tree-lined bylanes with him in order to understand his mind, but it would be wrong to say that it was all I was doing.

Somewhere, I too was looking for the bluster, the statements that would peel off masks. Sure enough, I got it; plenty, in fact. He did mention names.

When I sat to write the piece I omitted the names, thinking about what a noble creature I was. After the piece was published, Charlie called. Oh, I thought, he is calling to thank me, to tell me what a wonderful job I had done to spread AIDS awareness, to deflate our pet positions.

He said all that. And more. He told me that he had got a memo from one of the organisations he was doing rehabilitation work with. He was asked to explain why he had cast aspersions on their work and would he please explain his stand?

As far as I was concerned, Charlie's stand was clear when he had told me, "The process of rehabilitation helps me hold myself together."

If Charlie did not know his mind, who did? Yet, he was made answerable. All his dreams stood naked and bruised. And he wanted me to help, since I had held him up for public scrutiny.

This is the delicate point. If I let him write in the papers saying that he had not accused anyone and he was misquoted, my reputation would be at stake. Besides, it is not the truth. And if I wrote another piece explaining things, it would mean giving the issue more prominence. I could just as easily have washed my hands off and said, "Sorry Charlie, I've done my job. Good night."

Instead, I dictated a long letter which he could use as a reply to the memo. I don't know whether it was the most honourable thing to do, but I think it was proper.

However, does it absolve me of guilt? After all, when someone throws pearls of wisdom your way, you don't hark back to the oyster it came from. When a person agrees to talk to a journalist, how open must he be? And how much prudence must a scribe exercise, knowing well that as an eagle he might not dare but that won't prevent the vultures from circling overhead?

I have faced many situations where I have had to question myself. One of my earliest assignments was on breast-feeding and the guilt associated with not nursing. My knowledge of the subject was theoretical so, when one line was dropped from my manuscript, I paid no heed. Till the lady in question called and started crying on the phone. What had been left out was the crucial information that she did in fact breast-feed for nine months. I had no alternative but to cry in response.

But the years have taken their toll. I don't weep over such things anymore. Today, I tell my interviewee point-blank: "Everything that you say is for public consumption. I am not your friend, so don't give off-the-record nuggets."

Does that solve all my problems with a nagging conscience? Not quite. For, what is seen and what is perceived are two different things. There can be a wide chasm between what is said and what is understood. The day a journalist realises that the subject is also a human being, he would be able to sleep at night.

Illustration: Dominic Xavier