SagarScribe

Development Journalism: Antithetical to development?

2010-08-15T23:58:00.004+05:30

Media activism with respect to developmental issues carries an inherent contradiction: Activism in favor of development or against the developmental schemes/projects which are always wedded to conflicts with Nature/natural resources. This confusion which is so dominant even among the most knowledgeable media persons was echoed by Krishna Prasad, Editor of The Outlook , during a book launch program in Bangalore today morning.
One of his many questions with regard to development journalism was the risk of it becoming antithetical to development without which we could not have seen a KRS and the neighboring affluent regions like Srirangapattinam, Nanjangud and other regions around Mysore which now reap the benefit of the construction project.
Of course, the issue takes back to the old argument over what is development; building big dams at the cost of ecology OR the micro/organic development which many say is the most suitable for country like India. The issue also centers around similar debate over if it is justifiable to 'affect' certain number of people (like the displaced who lose their land and homes to pave way for dam and highway construction, etc.) in order to benefit certain other number of people, who generally form the majority.
These very fundamental debates over 'development' apart, the lack of understanding/confusion among the members of the media fraternity over the role the media ought to play when it comes to developmental issues is misguiding their coverage wrt development. Somehow the readers/viewers feel that there is a tendency among majority of journalists, especially young ones, for hyper-activism in issues relating to development. The readers/viewers can confidently say that if there is a report on say, a newly proposed dam in some part of the state, it is definitely against the proposed project.
And this activism sounds very similar to that of NGOs spearheaded by activists like Arundhati Roys and Medha Patkers and the motto is to oppose, oppose everything that talks about development, because it hurts ecology and the natives. One can not just jettison these arguments, of course they are really valid and are the essential questions for the human race. But, it is essential for the media to have clarity with these questions. Instead of just echoing reflecting/repeating the views of firebrand activists, the media fraternity should do some do some "limb-work" and study the issues "personally and professionally" (as Krishna Prasad put it) to see the things by themselves. Maybe, such exercises bring clarity for the arguments over perennially debated question of 'what is development'

THE COPPER SCROLL

2010-08-08T00:25:00.004+05:30

(An old botched-up attempt in a short-story competition!)

“He would love it when he will be a grownup”. Arun could not have felt any better when he affectionately glossed over the framed black and white photograph of his toddler son. The smiling baby was finally chosen from a huge collection of photos for the life-size print.
Never a day passes without capturing those tender moments of Akash since his arrival in the family a year ago. The ever growing collection of pictures and video clips, which he keeps watching quite often, reassures him with the feeling that he is fulfilling his fatherly duty with diligence.
Arun could feel that mystifying bond with the baby when he was still in anticipation of his fatherhood. Now he realizes how unreasonably unsympathetic was he when he would not take kindly to parents whose kids cried and disturbed people in buses, trains, cinema halls... He always wondered why people beget children if such was the kind of trouble.
It was a bit of a surprise when Dr Suma, staring at him and Ranjitha with her eyes peeping above her golden-rimmed reading glasses crouched on the edge of her unusually long nose said while inserting the scan report in an envelope with professional deftness, “I strongly recommend you to continue with the pregnancy. Otherwise you might regret later. I have seen many such cases, especially working professionals who tend to postpone”. Probably, it was the countenance of the young couple which did not betray any traces of enthusiasm about having a baby that prompted the doctor to offer an advice instead of congratulating the prospective parents.
Everything changed the moment the truth was out. Arun and Ranjitha already felt like parents. Those nine months were a long wait. It was then that the cries and calls of kids started sounding sweet and their mischief enlivening. The thud of the baby punching the mother’s belly from inside was music.
During the course of introspection an expectant father would normally indulge in, Arun’s pattern-matching sense deciphered that those latent delicate parental feelings, which were profusely aroused in him now, were an inheritance from his father.
Thirty years ago, Sreenivas Rao was like what Arun is today. Extremely warm and comforting for his son, just like the way he took organic care of plants and trees in his farm. He would take Arun wherever he went- areca farm, paddy field, nearby town..., and held no grudge even if the toddler wreaked havocs. Nor did he behave like a hard taskmaster when his schooling began at the nearby government school in Kadu. It was no different with Amrutha who was born three years younger. He loved to witness all early moments of his children.
While Arun has somewhat hazy memory of his early childhood escapades with monsoon rain, streams and brooks in his quintessential malnad village, he has not forgotten his informed conversations with his father, as such dialogues have continued even to this day, even after he completed his engineering and migrated to Bangalore to work in software industry.
Arun is amazed by the enormity of his father’s understanding of ecology. It is a colossus. He precisely knows what happens to flora and fauna if Swathi rain pounds heavily but the following Vishaka rain disappears. The very permutation and combination of the types of rain and all possible scenarios make up for a huge volume of information. And this is only a slice of knowledge which Sreenivas holds in his elephant’s memory. Arun always thought the wealth of organic knowledge inherited from generations should be documented.
One thing cannot be documented and can only feebly be remembered- his childhood, which Arun considers too precious not to have recorded. For, his younger days in Kadu mean a lot to him. It was profound and incomprehensible. He often felt his childhood was richer than that of his urban counterparts including his wife. He first sensed it when he joined college in the nearest city Shimoga. In Bangalore, far removed from parents and the woods, he tries to latch on to something which could make him feel at home by reviving his pastoral memories, but fails.
Barring a lone photograph taken at the age of three when his long hairs were still uncut and he looked like a girl, there are no other visual records exist of his childhood. Sreenivas Rao never worried about having his children adequately photographed and archived. He did not think it was necessary.
It did not happen that way with Ranjitha who works in the same company where Arun is employed. Daughter of a chartered accountant, she possesses a great collection of photographs, most of them black and white, taken from the day when she was a month old baby. She was also photographed with her grand parents who are no more. It is obvious to Arun that she prides herself in showcasing her frames from the past.
Now, Akash stands before him as a reincarnation of himself. For, it is said that Akash bears complete similarity with his father when the latter was of the same age. Dark wide eyes, pointed nose, salient cheek bone, longer fingers.., all resembling boy Arun. According to Sreenivas Rao, the third photograph in the album in which Akash is seen sitting on an old bamboo chair, most resembles Arun. This is of the smiling Akash, now in life size and without colours. Arun has planned it as the main attraction for his son’s birthday which is just a week away.
Ranjitha is making the final list of guests and busy making calls. Her mother Arundhati has also come to assist the couple. The house in the posh Koramangala locality is drowned in refreshing odour of Asian Paints, and sundry decorative items are lying everywhere.
“It is already Sunday. All pending works should be completed by evening”, thought Arun while lazily stretching out on a brown leather sofa, after slanting the photo frame against the wall.
The bell rang. Arun got up lazily and opened the door.
An aged man of good height with a red turban concealing much part of the prominent but wrinkled forehead; tanned skin disguised by unkempt grey beard, and moustaches pointing a little skyward; a full-sleeved shirt of dull white colour ill fitting the dark stout body, the lower part of which is attired in soiled dhoti of similar colour with its loose ends flapping in the whiff of air; tired feet stuck in travel-soiled leather sandals dotted with visibly worn-out hand stitches; long pieces of thick cloth in the shape of a sac stuffed with his belongings hanging heavily from either side of his shoulders. Completely out of place with all the rest is the blue cap of a Reynolds pen clipped to his shirt pocket from inside.
Wafts of hairs popping out of his large sagging earlobes appear like gilded mesh in the backdrop of bright morning rays. But those eyes in deep sockets are intensely serious and frighteningly penetrative, radiating youthful exuberance which overwhelm even the most conscious beholders with momentary forgetfulness of the man’s senility. A faint smile lingering on his lips reddened by regular pan chewing fails to belittle the solemn sobriety on his face.
Arun is struck by a strange feeling of duality; neither the man is familiar enough to start a conversation, nor a complete stranger to turn himself away in haste. That turban, the artistic curve of moustaches and the eyes seem to be of some acquaintance but not the grey hair, wrinkled skin and the drooping posture. And the very metro ambience which is in stark contrast to his earthly figure appears to alienate the old man further, pushing his incompatible personality to a realm of its own.
He stood clueless while looking at the man for sometime and before he could say anything, the man asked: “Is this the house of Aruna?”
“Yes, I am Arun”
A spontaneously warm expression changed the serious countenance of the old man.
“Oh son, you have changed so much. I am seeing you after so many years. Don’t you remember me? I am Siddappa, Helavara Siddappa, who was telling you stories when you were a kid”
Arun required no further introduction, but shell-shocked to a degree of disbelief and delighted to the hilt. It took a moment to come out of the bewilderment.
“Siddappa.., you are here!?”
He never expected that he would meet this man, who enthralled him in his childhood with stories of his grandfather, after a gap of twenty years, that too in Bangalore!
Putting hands around his burdened shoulders, Arun affectionately asked him to come inside the house. Leaving his footwear near the door and unloading his baggage, the man said: “Your father told me that you have a baby boy. That is why I am here”.
Even as Siddappa prepared to enter the house, images of Kadu and its life flashed before the eyes of Arun at a great shutter speed.
His first encounter with Siddappa which Arun scarcely remembers was when he was a three-year-old kid. The man was in his prime and his costume and the compelling talk were enchanting. He never understood his conversation with the father and mother. But it was understandable that his parents held Siddappa in great respect and listened to his words which he seemed to pluck from the pages of a large worn-out book kept open on a foldable wooden cross before him.
The man started engaging the boy with his art of story telling in subsequent years of his annual visit. Amrutha joined the company later. It was the story of their grandfather who built the existing ancestral house in Kadu. What made the story hilarious was the friendship between Ganapathi Rao and Kanneshwara Rama, the dreaded dacoit of yesteryears who was finally shot by the police. He was so notorious that films were made on him. It was a public knowledge in the village that the brigand often visited Ganapathi Rao secretively during night. But nobody made an issue of it for the fear of incurring wrath of the bandit as well as the Ganapathi Rao, a rich landlord and an astute politician who was into freedom struggle.
The brother-sister duo was held captive by Siddappa’s style of narrating the events and characters. His own association with the grandfather made it sound more real.
Before he could recoil himself from memory, the old man sat on the floor in the same fashion he used to do in Kadu house, with his belongings lying by his side. He got up with difficulty and sat on the sofa after much insistence. But his discomfort was palpable from his stiff upper body as he seemed half hidden in the extra-thick cushion. The perplexed faces of Ranjitha and her mother made him more uncomfortable.
The women could not make any sense of the happenings before their eyes. They were nonplussed and stood motionless as if waiting to be answered. Sensing their inquisitiveness, Arun made a brief introduction- “I know him since my childhood”.
When they still seemed clueless, he hurriedly quipped- “he knew my grandfather”, as though he did not have patience to offer any further explanation.
Siddappa asked for a glass of water and then the baby. Water spilled over his dhoti when he held the glass in his trembling hands even as he kept talking about his recent visit to Kadu and how difficult it was to trace the house in Bangalore.
When Arun came to the room, Akash was still in the bed and a little feverish. He was exhausted by his birthday shopping spree the previous day and the prolonged stay at the Forum Mall.
Arun held his son protectively in both the hands and went near Siddappa, much to the chagrin of his wife and mother-in-law. The same trembling fingers came down and gently caressed the cheeks of the baby with great affection.
After a while of a diagnosing look, he took out a long notebook from his sac and opened a crumpled page which was already bookmarked with a peacock feather. The title read: BELLIKALU FAMILY. It contained multiple tree-like pyramid structures, all in an orderly sequence flowing from below the title and almost touching the bottom where the pyramids stopped with open-ended nodes. One of the last nodes was named Arun with the date: 19/05/1976.
Arun grew curious. “It is my date of birth”.
With sobriety back on his face, the man uncapped the Reynolds pen and drew a vertical line hanging down from the nod called Arun and named the lower tip as Akash with the date 03/09/2007, the day Akash was born.
While Siddappa was busy encrypting other details like zodiac sign, Nakshatra and Gothra of Akash, Arun who stood behind him found sufficient time to scan through the entire page. Little did he realize that he was on the way to a long journey back into the ages.
“My family has a history of six hundred years!? Unbelievable”. It all began with Thimmappa Aramane with the date 17/03/1451, almost during the Vijayanagar Empire! and about eighteen generations have passed since then. Akash is the latest edition. There are so many contemporaries of Akash, all from Bellikalu family.
“Some are in Bangalore. Also scattered everywhere including Mangalore”, Siddappa explained. He himself has witnessed about three generations, the last three levels in the pyramid structure.
The immensity of the past shook Arun. One of his great grand fathers was an official in the palace of Mummudi Krishnaraja Wodeyar of Mysore a century back. Thimmappa Aramane, the precursor of the family, was a priest in a temple built by Vijayanagar rulers near Hampi. That is why the name ‘Aramane’.
All of a sudden, a huge cache of great Memory lay threadbare before him. What Arun was desperately trying to reconstruct so far was just a droplet of this.
Watching the stunned face of Arun intently, Siddappa said: “It is our duty to record your family”.
“But why?”
“We are ordained by the god. Every family of the Helava community maintains genealogy of at least a thousand families. The art continues from generation to generation. My son will come to you when I die”
Encouraged by Arun’s enthusiasm, Siddappa continued in his typical style of story-telling, how his community members living in parts of north Karnataka visit their client families every year and update family trees.
“We stick to only those families which our forefathers have recorded and go wherever their tree branches out in the country. We are literates from generations”
Now, paper has replaced palm leaves as the temporary recording medium. But the details are finally inscribed on copper scrolls which safely preserve the history of families for ever. The financial condition of a Helava family is measured by the number of copper scrolls in its possession.
“We can mortgage copper scrolls in our community bank and get loans”
As Siddappa got ready to leave, Arun stuffed a currency note and a photograph into his pocket. The septuagenarian promised to visit again. Arun was not sure how. His eyes were moist.
Back in the room, Akash was still asleep with his tiny fists clenched. Arun slowly unfolded the right fist and the lines on the tiny palm were visible, triggering a train of uncontrolled thoughts in him a rush. He gently folded the fist back to its clenched state and came out with a blank gaze. Ranjitha was searching for a suitable place to keep the framed photograph of the birthday baby. Her mother was completely busy with the household routine.

'First Olympic gold' celebration is not majestic but pathetic

2008-08-11T22:44:00.016+05:30

With all due credit to Abhinav Bindra, most level-headed Indians realized in a matter of a few hours on Monday that the young shooter's feat in Beijing has embarrassed them more than it has made them proud.
For, Abhinav is a self-made champion. Coming from a wealthy family which has at its disposal the wherewithal to provide him the necessary facilities of the costly sport, he persevered hard, became world champion and consequently won Olympic gold. His father provided the shooting range in the backyard of the house for his training. And there is absolutely no role of the nation in building his sports career. Alas, what help the corruption-ridden Indian sport setup including the notorious Indian Olympics Association could have provided Abhinav ? But, the guardians of Indian sports are extremely professional in taking credit for his feat. It is no surprise even if those at the helm of affairs in Indian sports bodies get promoted/felicitated for their role in Abhinav's feat!
It is a fact universally acknowledged that every Indian citizen in possession of some knowledge must be in need of no more evidence to prove the unprofessionalism most evident in the country's sports setup.
And this has led to a circumstance that any celebration of Bindra's achievement can never be majestic but pathetic. As my friend impulsively pointed out, New York Times' headline - "With India’s First Gold, Suddenly a Billion People Notice the Olympics" - sums up the sports pathos of the country. Other headlines were equally serious/humourous: "Bindra ends India’s wait for individual Olympic gold" (Thaindian.com); "Shooter Bindra wins India's first solo gold medal" (AFP); "India fetes first gold medallist" (BBC). These effectively describe the desperation of a billion people for an Olympic gold.
Not only celebration, the country seems to be finding it difficult even to give a balanced response to what Bindra has achieved. We either foolishly compare his feat with some of the completely unrelated sports glories of the past like cricket world cup (1983) or the recent 20/20 world cup (Sports minister M S Gill spontaneously said it is a bigger win than 20/20 world cup victory) or we immediately get down to business, the monetary worth of and inflow to Abhinav Bindra as the following headlines suggest:
" Tamil Nadu announces Rs. 5 lakhs for Bindra " (The Hindu)
"After Olympic gold, cash rewards flow in for Bindra" (NDTV)
" India's golden Bindra gets lifetime rail pass " (Reuters)
" MP CM announces reward of Rs. 5 lakhs for Bindra " (The Hindu)
" Bindra could command Rs 2 crores per endorsement " (Sify)
" Bihar govt to reward Bindra with Rs 11 lakh " (Economic Times)
" Bindra receives Rs 25 lakh award from Haryana govt " (Business Standard)
" BCCI doles out Rs 25 lakh for Olympic champ Bindra " (Times of India)
" Deshmukh announces Rs 10 lakh cash prize to Bindra " (Hindu)
" Yeddyurappa announces 10 lakh for Abhinav Bindra " (Mangalorean.com)
" Orissa announces Rs.500000 award for Bindra " (SINDH TODAY, Pakistan)
" Bindra's parents on his eligible bachelor label post-win " (IBNLive.com)
" SAIL awards Rs 5 lakh to Bindra " (Moneycontrol.com)
" Punjab government announces award of Rs.1 crore for Bindra " (PunjabNewsline.com)

KSRTC has changed, passengers haven't

2008-04-08T06:35:00.009+05:30

Karnataka State Road Transport Corporation (KSRTC) which was just another public sector white elephant sometime back is now on a sensational ride. KSRTC, now sub-divided into four zones, is now making profit, and consequently, its buses offer better safety, comfort and punctuality when compared to the recklessly managed private buses. I, like most other frequent-long-distance travellers, am amazed at the change of approach and demeaner of KSRTC staff. They appear to be thorough professionals and prompt (remember the days when you wouldn't get tickets in return for your money !).
But sadly, the mindset of the passengers has remained much the same. Most of them still think they can travel in government buses in the manner they want and that the conductors are a redundant presence in buses. More sadder part is that the youth, who otherwise wear the garb of thorough professionals, behave like uncouth sapiens with the bus staff.
The other day in Shimoga when I boarded a volvo bus bound for Bangalore, three youths who appeared to be software professionals, made the other thirty-five passengers of the bus wait for nearly an hour because of their ignorance/arrogance regarding the ticketing procedure. They had booked e-tickets but forgot to bring their original identity cards to be verified by the bus staff as stipulated by the KSRTC.
When the lady conductor of the bus asked for original identity card, one of the two in question produced a xerox copy. She insisted for the orginal but the men argued that nobody would keep original identity cards and that the rules of KSRTC held no importance for them. When the matter reached the boiling point, one of the three claimed that he had a original ID card and he is the brother of the ticket holder. "When I am certifying my brother, what other identity would you require", he challenged. But the mild-mannered lady was not ready to relent to the `kinship claims' and she re-confirmed that xerox copies of identity cards are not considered valid, after calling a department official over phone. She also advised the three to pay again for the reserved seats and get refund for e-tickets they have booked, later.
But the three men called up some senior government official of their acquaintance and coerced their entry into the bus. They were least cared about what would happen to the poor lady conductor if their travel in the bus was considered illegal by checking squad. As far as I know, the KSRTC is merciless on erring staff, most of whom are contract employees, and the punishment ranges from high penalty to suspension from service. This delayed the departure of the bus by nearly an hour, leaving the fellow passengers red-faced.
Add to this another episode: A government official of (Additional) Superintendent of Police rank (considered by Lokayukta as one of the most corrupt after unearthing disproportionate assets worth crores possessed by the officer in question) also boarded the same bus on a supposedly official visit to Bangalore. He claimed that he was eligible for free travel which was objected to by the lady conductor. Surprised by this, he issued a mild threat to her saying that he would engage her at a higher level of bureaucracy. I later saw her consulting the staff of other buses during a midnight stopover, about the `overwhelming presence' of the `hugely grown' bureaucrat in the bus. Her colleagues advised her to issue the ticket to the officer, even if it meant shelling out from her pocket, to escape punishment which was imminent in case she was found guilty by checking squad later during the journey. She was caught between two threats.
She promptly issued a ticket to the officer along with a copy of KSRTC guideline that no official can claim free travel in high-end volvo buses on the grounds of official visits. He read the guideline and returned it and gave no money, but. She took his cell number and also requested him to brief the depot manager about his travel so that she would be spared of paying the money from her salary.
The conductor appeared to me as a symbol of a much-changed work culture in the overhauled KSRTC, a professional confronted with unprofessional customers and a woman who finds it too hot to handle the arrogance/ignorance of male beauracrats.

'Bicycle Thief' in the making in Bhagalpur

2007-08-29T11:37:00.000+05:30

image source:indiatimes

There could hardly be anybody who would not be moved by the pathetic condition of Antonio who gets beaten up by the mob while trying to steal a bicycle, in Bicycle Thief, a vintage movie set in post-war Europe. In the movie, Antonio, the protagonist, who is caught in abject poverty lives in a time of widespread unemployment. He learns about the job of a poster man which is meant only for persons having bicycles. Having his own bicycle stolen and the responsibility of his wife and son weighing on him heavily, Antonio is left with no other choice but to steal a bicycle. When he does it quite unprofessionally, the crowd beats him up back and blue while his kid watches him helplessly with tears rolling down his cheeks.
The emotion could not be any different when one watched TV footages of a youth fastened to a two-wheeler being dragged on the road by a policeman in Bhagalpur, Bihar, on Tuesday. Mohd Aurangajeb, the victim was punished in such a brutal way by the police for his petty crime - snatching a gold chain. He was then dumped on to a cycle cart to be carried to a police station instead to a hospital. The man who was begging for mercy was roughed up by the people all along. The people who meted out `criminal justice’ to the chain-snatcher seemed to be exalted over their `valiant’ efforts, as though they had won a Napoleonic war. Soon, the police, the custodians of law, joined the barbaric act by dragging the bleeding youth along the road.
Aurangajeb who appeared to be a confused illiterate is an autorikshaw driver and has a sister to look after as his parents are no more (going by the TV reports).
Astonishingly, Bhagalpur DIG, G N Sharma defended the act saying that the police had done a good job by rescuing the thief from the mob. According to him, Aurangajeb was fastened to a motorcycle to prevent him from escaping and he accidentally fell down and got dragged only for some distance.
Echoing similar opinion, Anil Sinha, another senior police officer, questioned the attitude of the people who took law in their hands. In an apparent bid to defocus the attention on the police brutality, he talked about the `plummeting values’ in the `civilized society’ in asked “where we are heading to?”.
More interesting was the statement of Railway Minister Laloo Prasad Yadav who said it was the ‘Jungle Raj’ of Nitish Kumar government, and talked of increasing corruption, loosening law and order! It is not sure if the former Bihar CM made such a criticism after watching the news as nobody saw the hand of the government in the barbaric incident except the police atrocity.
Bhagalpur has a history of police atrocities since the time of Laloo. But no officials and politicians talk about it. And now, there are fears that the Bhagalpur incident could turn out to be a communal issue as the victim belongs to a minority community.
A still from `Bicycle Thief'. image source: moviediva

Jog Falls from unusual viewpoints

2007-08-28T18:17:00.000+05:30

Come Rainy season, the world famous Jog Falls regains its glory, attracting tourists from all over. People come, see and enjoy the splendour of the Falls from the usual viewpoints. Here are some of the views of the Falls from quite unexplored angles. This is a close view of the Falls.

View of waterfalls from Forest Guest House point, seen from British Bunglow, Jog Falls.

A close view of Raja, the main constituent of Jog Falls.

Wonderful view of Raja of Jog Falls in the backdrop of concave rocky wall.

We are at the beginning of a great fall. This is the point where one of the falls dives down.

Peeping into Raja from rocky terrain.

Deeper(!) view of the depth of Jog Falls.

It is a waterfalls which takes birth only during the rainy season. It is seen on the right side of the main Jog Falls.

Seasonal waterfalls on the left side of Jog Falls. One can approach the point from a Forest Guest House also seen above.

Another view of the seasonal waterfalls by the side of Jog Falls

YouTube Debate: Politics of Verisimilitude

2007-07-29T20:57:00.000+05:30

When CNN and YouTube collaboratively provided a platform for netizens to interrogate US presidential candidates on Monday, it heralded a novelty in the history/future of the media. It was the first ever video-questioning of the running horses by the public through a social networking site, and, the telecast of the same by the traditional media, lending a sense of immediacy and a streak of naturalness to the otherwise-reality-show. Here, the second part of the description (sense of immediacy…streak of naturalness) of CNN-YouTube surreal show is an initial uncensored thought and hence could be vague.
Politics apart, the collaboration of new media with the old has presented us a phenomenon requiring some thought. While hailing the foray of social networking site into the active political realm as a defining moment comparable to the impact of television on politics when Richard Nixon debated John Kennedy during 1960 presidential elections, the liaison of old and the new media has been interpreted in many ways even within the media fraternity.
To borrow the coinage of The Sydney Morning Herald, “Old media are entering into an uneasy alliance with new media to grill the Democratic candidates in the US presidential race”. Certainly, the expression here echoes a sense of insecurity and a fear of the new among the traditional media.
New York Times wrote, “Yet while there was a new format for the debate, which was sponsored by CNN and the video-sharing Web site YouTube, the change went only so far: Candidates frequently lapsed into their talking points, and there was little actual debate among them”.
CNN-YouTube presidential debate is a path-breaking phenomenon merely of its novelty and not because of its ability to impact the way of the old media. That is to say, it failed to redefine the relationship of the performer (presidential candidates, in this case) and the audience (TV viewers) so as to liberate the latter from the shackles of the traditional media. On the contrary, it brought a section of the audience (cybercitizens) within the ambit of the old media and imposed `editorial judgment’ on them. Bringing people out of their closet and subjecting them to the scanner of the camera is in a way reinforcing the authority of the old media.
The event could not do away with the moderator, the media interface between the people and the candidates. It was just a surrealistic show creating an impression among the public that they were directly engaging the presidential candidates, little realising that it was instead them who were being `watched’ and hence `interrogated’.
Of more than 2,000 video questions that were posted on YouTube for the debate, only 37 could confirm to the editorial judgment of the CNN editors (who, of course, are bound by time). Elimination of rest of the questions and the `editorial discretion’ exercised by the professionally regulated old media while choosing `appropriate’ voter videos nullified the very essence of the amateurishly free new media at one go. The rest was just the continuation of any other presidential debates on the television involving a moderator who struggles hard to contain the oratory of the candidates so as not to exceed the timeline.
It is surely a change from the days when only the people used to watch candidates on their TV screens in their houses to a day where the candidates observe the `voters’ on the screen and study them. The cybercitizens who participated in the YouTube show appeared powerless as they were not provided an opportunity to cross-question the candidates and to engage them in true sense. Instead, their personality and the surrounding came to the full public glare. This lent a sense of immediacy and naturalness to the show which was not true. And centredaily.com is correct in predicting that “The march of citizen video into politics might not have the revolutionary impact that television had a half-century ago - despite predictions of such an upheaval Monday from YouTube's founders”