It's okay for journalists to have compassion
A child’s picture, gifted to Jennifer Arul after a tsunami in South India had made him an orphan.
(OPINION) Most viewers and readers believe that as reporters and journalists we have no feelings and no empathy. I beg to differ. As a child in an exclusive Catholic Convent run by Irish missionaries, we were always told that the bedrock of our faith had to be compassion towards others. Perhaps it's what guided me through the spontaneous decisions we need to make as journalists in the course of our careers.
Sixteen years ago, 94 little children between the ages of 4 and 9 were charred to death in a gruesome fire accident at the Krishna English Medium School in the temple town of Kumbakonam in the southern state of Tamil Nadu, India. The fire began in the adjoining kitchen of the Midday Meal Scheme, a government sponsored program for less privileged kids. The inferno spread rapidly as the top floor of the school building had a thatched roof made of coconut fronds, completely against the government regulations. But the real horror was that the teachers who were present callously shut the doors that would have provided the children an escape route down the stairs. Instead, the action of closing those doors trapped the helpless, screaming students right there in their classroom in the middle of the flaming blaze.
The school authorities and teachers vanished from their homes and hid from the press for days on end. When they did turn up at the police station, they were extremely aggressive and threatened to assault the press corps. A lengthy court case finally determined the teachers guilty in the deaths of the children. They received 10-year jail sentences. The principal received a life sentence, the school was shut down permanently and massive fines were levied. My most haunting memory will always be the empty, gaping, freshly dug graves as corpses arrived for burial, carried by inconsolable parents and relatives. This summer, a memorial was held for those 94 little souls, but for those grieving parents the pain will never go away.
In another not-to-be forgotten report from a tiny village outside Puducherry, three hours from Chennai, we covered a very sad incident which still brings tears to my eyes so many years later. A cycle rickshaw was taking three little girls to school down the uneven paths that are common between fields in India. The rickshaw driver took a new route and rode up a steep embankment, unaware of the terrain ahead. He lost his balance, swerved, and the rickshaw hurtled down into a huge open water tank on the side of the pathway, plunging the children into the waters below, where they drowned. With my NDTV camera team we then visited the home of the kids in the nearby village. But when I saw those three little lifeless bodies, my heart skipped a beat. I could not bring myself to film that grieving mother. She was holding a vigil over her offspring, knowing it was all over. Professionalism then clicked in, but all I could do was describe the scene standing outside that home but showed no visuals. My feelings had overtaken me and I’m not ashamed to admit it.
The 2004 tsunami in Asia told its own story. Thousands of people lost their lives and, for reporters, there were many tales of grief to cover. We went about our jobs with dedication and determination. The story had to be told, and the world needed to know. But some memories are seared into my brain as if it were just yesterday. I recall that in Nagapatattinam, Tamil Nadu (where the tsunami was the most felt) there were more corpses on the beach than fish. Another horrific happening was in the auditorium at the office of the local District Collector. A slide show was held depicting the bodies that had been recovered and the families were there, keenly watching the grotesque images, in the hope of identifying a loved one. Cries rent the air as identifications were made and it was hard not to look away.
But let me end on a bit of a happier note: the tsunami left many children orphans. At an orphanage I saw an adorable little boy, about 5 years old, lying flat on the floor drawing a picture. His name is Arulpandi, and as I left the little nursery school, with adoring simplicity, he put his name on his painted sheet and presented it to me. Its among my most treasured memories and one day, God willing, I will go back there and find Arulpandi. By now he must be quite a young man!
Jennifer Arul is one of Chennai, India’s best-known faces on television. She has 30 years of experience as a broadcast journalist and executive in Asia, many of them as Managing Editor and COO in NDTV Hindu, where she has worked for 20 years since it started after freelance interviewing for Doordarshan and All India Radio. She is also a board member of The Media Project.