Various - Behind the News - Voices from Goa's Press

If you believe in miracles, here is a small one. An e-book, written collaboratively by over a dozen-and-half journalists, many with amazing stories to tell. Their willingness to do so, says something.

For one, it indicates a generosity to convert memories into history, which would otherwise have been consigned to the dustbin of amnesia. This is particularly true, as the media seldom writes critically about themselves in Goa. More importantly, it also suggests that there are many in Goa who have a story, and are willing to narrate it. If only they're given a chance. As mediapersons, we need to ask ourselves why these stories are not allowed (or encouraged) to surface in the first place. It's impossible to believe that there is such a drought of ideas and issues in Goa, and the general lack of debate in the media would make it seem.

October 10, 2003 marks the 20th anniversary of the Herald's English-language edition. Many of us journalists who contributed here are no longer, or perhaps never were, associated with that daily newspaper. But, the launch of this product undeniably opened up avenues for a generation of journalists in the state. In addition, it rewrote the rules of journalism for all of us here, for better or worse. Hence the choice of this date for the first release of this book.

What is being said along these e-pages refers to critical times in the history of post-1961 Goa. Needless to say, views voiced here stem from personal experiences, oftentimes are subjective, and likely to generate even more debate. But personal viewpoints are also important, in that these help to complete our understanding of particular events, episodes, and individuals. It is no coincidence perhaps that this series of essays is critical of some held up as icons of Goa's journalism over the past four decades. You might feel the criticism is unfair; but other versions do need to be heard.

This is, of course, not the last word on the subject. Nor does it claim to be a comprehensive account – what got included depended on who was willing to write their 'story' when the call for chapters went out.

This unusual work is humbly devoted to those who are not, or cannot, be with us, as we go down the corridors of time and look at the past decades. Journalists whom Goa has produced, but perhaps were never adequately recognised over the years. Like the innovative Ivan Fera, who died young along with the promise of immense talent and many bylines in journals like The Illustrated Weekly. Or, Norman Dantas, who's early death was at least in part triggered off by despair brought on by the unfair deal he got from journalism in Goa. We need to also remember the many who are not here with us, pushed out – both by limited opportunities, as also politics in the press – to migrate far and wide and earn a living on distant shores. To all of them, and the unsung heroes of journalism of the post-Liberation era, this e-book is devoted.

Besides his stint referred to in this chapter, Benedito Martinho Herculano Antao (b, 1935) worked for the Indian Express in Bombay (1965-66). He then won a journalism award from the World Press Institute, moved to the US for a year's study, work and travel. Later, he spent 10 weeks at the Denver Post (1967), worked for a Catholic weekly in Toronto, and was a copy editor in the mid-seventies at a major Toronto daily. He also taught high school English, drama and religion for 22 years, before retiring in 1998, and qualified as a certified financial planner in 1988. Currently, he is involved in fiction writing, for which purpose he sees journalism as a "great training ground".

There is a truism in journalism that goes like this: facts are sacred; comment is free.

When I first read it in one of the books on journalism that I borrowed from the USIS library in Bombay in the late 'fifties, I was filled with such fervor as to consider the vocation in journalism that I was contemplating on, at the time, akin to the priesthood. The concept of 'freedom of the press' particularly attracted and engaged my young mind, burning with idealism to bring about genuine equality in Indian society and to see us as a truly "honorable people" as the Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru had said we were.

In other words, journalism would offer me a platform to make a difference.

After a season of doing freelance sports reporting for The Indian Express in the city now called Mumbai, I felt much like a lover. One who is not content with merely kissing but wants to explore the whole body. And as a follower of another truism, namely, he who seeks finds the way, lucky circumstance fell into my lap and I found myself doing freelance work for the Goan Tribune, a fortnightly published in Bombay to espouse the cause of Goa's political freedom from the Portuguese rule.

Here I got the opportunity not only to write about sports, but also to do general news reporting and profiles of prominent Goans. In little over a year, though, my budding love affair discovered a flaw in my inamorata – the lady fancied the use of hyperbole and propaganda as legitimate means to promote herself. My idealism received a jolt of reality when Lambert Mascarenhas, editor of the periodical then, engaged in propagandist campaigning, suggesting that such slanted writing was necessary to achieve the end. However, my burning desire to express myself in writing overruled my squeamishness.

After the Liberation of Goa in 1961, Lambert went to Goa and became joint editor of a new English-language daily, The Navhind Times, owned and published by the Dempo Brothers, who had become wealthy in the mining business. My fascination for the mistress of journalism remained still intact, not to mention the hidden agenda of my wanting to change the world.

So I went to Goa and joined the paper in June 1963.

Considering myself as a protege of Lambert, I enjoyed a special status at the paper, doing both reporting and sub-editing. It didn't take me long, though, to notice that Vassantrao Dempo, the elder brother, was keenly interested in the image of his newspaper and its editorials. He had hired two editors, a Catholic and a Hindu named T. V. Parvate from Maharashtra, ostensibly to give balance to the paper's news and views. Often at around 5:30 p.m., I would see Mr. Dempo carefully perusing the editorial that Lambert or Parvate had written before it came to the newsroom. The editors wrote on alternate days. I would know, for example, that Dempo had suggested a change in how a certain point of view was expressed in Lambert's editorial because Lambert often invited me to sit across his desk while he wrote an editorial that was based on my news report. Mr. Parvate, a fast and fluent writer, only occasionally asked me into his partitioned office to verify a fact or a figure.

Naturally, my curiosity propelled me to ask Lambert why it was necessary for him or Parvate to have their editorials okayed by the ultimate boss. After all, both of them were professionals who knew and understood the law of libel and defamation. Lambert, flashing his customary smile by way of indulging me, a novice in the game of politics, said it was a condition of his contract. Besides, what was the big deal? An editor could just as well express his own viewpoint as that of the owner. It wasn't a loss of freedom. We live and let live.

I thought about it and gradually came to the conclusion that reporters also indulged in self-censorship. Facts may appear to be sacred, but as a reporter I choose them to slant a 'story' in a particular way. Moreover, space in a newspaper is always limited, forcing me to write to a certain word count, in effect compelling me to sacrifice many 'facts'.