Behind the News: Voices from Goa\'s Press by Various

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This writer epitomises the love-hate relationship many
a journalist in Goa would share with someone who
suddenly descended on the Goan scene sometime in 1983.
Someone who has critically shaped the understanding of
Goa, including how we see ourselves and what are the
issues we define as important.

Clearly, Rajan -- by design or default -- has
contributed in significant manner to the Goa debate
over the past two decades. If one has to name the five
positive aspects of his legacy, it would be his ability
to extend the debate (by saying things no editor would
say); heading an organisation that, by design or
otherwise, actually gave a chance to many youngsters to
enter the profession; building up a till-now
sustainable alternative to the once arrogant lone
English-language daily in the state; giving space for
speedy growth to youngsters entering the profession
(even if, ironically, blocking that very growth later
on); and for taking on some of Goa's most sacred of cows.

But Rajan's ability to cast himself in the
'anti-Establishment' mould is equalled by his skills in
brokering deals (the recent track of contentious and
fast-confused charges over the Rs 300,000 government
sponsorship of the SARS campaign at Remo Fernandes'
50th birthday is a case in point, as are the
willingness to propose projects to a government that
are otherwise blasted from the editorial pulpit). This
rather personalised essay, obviously biased and clouded
by a string of personal experiences, seeks to narrate
one person's run-ins into Goa's most long-serving
editor. Perhaps from it could emerge a few snapshots
outlining how things really work in the Goa media.

ONE'S FIRST impressions of Rajan was meeting up with a
long-sleeve and tie-clad middle-aged 'uncle' during an
interview a month or two before the launch of the
English-language Herald in 1983. The location was in
the old balcony (now demolished) that stood almost over
today's Cafe Shanbhag, near the Panjim Municipal
Garden. Besides Rajan, also sitting in on the interview
was Valmiki Faleiro, who was egged on by the recent
public debate to tell his side of the story in another
chapter. (Devika Sequeira, then still in her 'twenties
but quite in command of the situation, willing to spend
extremely long hours and clear about what she expected
to bring out a thoroughly-worked on feature page or
front-page report as we later saw, had interviewed me
in an earlier round. Being quite thick-skinned, one
went in once again for another interview when
advertised subsequently, only to be told that it was
just as well one had returned, as the earlier
applications had got misplaced!)

In the second round of interviews, my first encounter
with Rajan, it took this then raw third-year college
kid quite some to gauge some clues about the identity
of this man shooting across the questions. Only a
syllable or two gave hint of his South Indian origins,
and with his formal clothes, he could have easily
passed off as a scion of a landed Goan family. Rajan
did seem a bit embarassed to make the offer of Rs 300
as the payment for a trainee sub-editor. But money
didn't matter, and the joy of becoming a journalist
while still in college more than sufficed. In any case,
this princely sum was thrice what one then irregularly
earned as an articled clerk to a chartered accountant.
This offer was made on the spot, and accepted as instantenously.

In no time, we got that that telegram calling on us to
join 'immediately'.

One recalls rushing into the colonial styled offices of
what was to become the Herald -- we then didn't even
know what the paper was to be called, whether it would
survive, who owned it, or whom we were working for.
Within minutes of each other, Bosco Souza Eremita of
Santa Cruz, Flavio Raposo of Carenzalem, Oswald Pinto
of Aldona and myself took up our seats on the bare
sub-editor's table, learning the basics of a profession
that some continued in. Bosco seemed to be
disillusioned that journalism offered so little scope
for creative writing; but he stayed on and worked his
way through Goa Today, Gomantak Times, the Portuguese
Lusa news agency, and the Jesuit-run UCAN, apart from
The Week and others publications. Flavio opted for a
life in academics. Oswald Pinto went across from one
form of reporting to another, and stuck with working at
the less-insecure 'reporting' section of the state
legislature. Reminiscing old times still brings back a
smile. We remain friends.

But this was not always the situation. You could argue
whether it's a Rajan-influenced legacy, but at our time
the staff would often be at loggerheads with one
another. It could have just been a faulty manner of
encouraging subordinates to improve in their
performance, but promises of promotions to more than
one candidate, and repeated if unfair comparisons with
one another, sometimes did leave strained relationships
among the staff that otherwise worked together fairly peacefully.

But there were the plusses for working in a fresh new
paper too. In the initial days, Rajan was almost a
godfather. "How much are the $%#@$%s paying you?" he
would sometimes ask juniors. Often, a recommendation
from him actually got translated into a raise.

He had his style of encouraging juniors. This, coupled
with the acute staff shortage at the Herald then and
frequent resignations from staff, meant a junior
sub-editor could get enough of an ego-boost to do the
front-page layout within a year or so of joining!

Talking about resignations, in the first four years of
its operation, the Rajan-edited Herald listings showed
that at least 30 journalists had left its rolls. Part
of this could have been due to the poor and
unsatisfactory compensation offered by a paper with
drew an infinitesimally tiny number of adverts compared
to today. Some left for better prospects; but
opportunities were few and far between anyway, then as
now. A few went on to continue their education; Alvis Fernandes,
one of the young men recruited through the informal
Miramar boys' network that proved to be a useful feeder
channel, was halfway through aeronautical engineering
anyway. But at least part of the resignations were
accounted for by the intrigue that dominated the place,
the growing curbs on free expression that could keep
the spark of idealism alive and politics enkindled
among the staff.

Among those who quit in the first four years were
Sushil Silvano (Deputy Editor), S. Vaidyanathan (News
Editor), Devika Sequeira (Assistant Editor/Chief
Reporter), Oswald Pinto, Bosco Souza Eremita, Flavio Raposo,
myself, Alvis Fernandes, Edward Rodrigues, Lovino Gomes,
George, Francis Ribeiro, Elston Soares, Lionel Lynn Fernandes,
Derek Almeida, the brothers Francis and Agnel Fernandes,
Goldwyn Figueira, Agnel Rodrigues (sub-editors/chief
sub editors), Perves De Souza, Cherryl DeSouza, Anna Mendes,
Valentino Fernandes, Armenia Fernandes, Sharmila Kamat,
Babacier Gonsalves (all reporters), Alexyz Fernandes
(cartoonist), Lui Godinho and Menino Afonso
(photographers), the other Francis Ribeiro and John Aguiar
among others (correspondents) and trainees including Sinha,
and Shanti Maria, now an advocate in Panjim. This
list would obviously be incomplete, having missed out
some names.

In 1987-88, at the time of the launch of the Gomantak Times,
a number of journalists left hoping for a better work
environment. At that time, when asked for his comment,
Rajan told the Goa Today something to the effect that
the paper he was editor was "better off after the
opportunistic and mercenary people have left us" for
jobs elsewhere.

Grabbing an opportunity to to claim our right to reply,
four of us who had just left took the opportunity to
make a point. The anger and irritation felt at that
time comes out in the note then written, to which the
signatories were myself (listing the donkey first, so
as not to deny the fact that one felt strongly about
this then as now), Armenia Fernandes, Valentino
Fernandes, and Francis Ribeiro. It's worth recalling,
to put the issue in context:

"Since October 1987 (that is, till mid-February 1988),
one chief sub-editor, one sports sub-editor, two
reporters, a cartoonist and a correspondent resigned
from the Herald. Instead of deceiving oneself by
calling these people 'opportunistic and mercenary', it
would be more profitable for Mr Narayan to be honest --
at least to himself -- over why such a number of
journalists resigned from the paper.

May we point out that under Mr Narayan's stewardship
itself, not a single journalist involved in launching
the English-language Herald a little over four years
ago is still with the paper today, except for Mr
Narayan himself.

And, would Mr Narayan care to explain why it is only in
his paper that 'opportunistic and mercenary people'
(including us, by his definition) are found in such
large numbers when it comes to looking for jobs elsewhere?

To us who know, Mr Narayan is hardly convincing when he
says that 'some junior people may have left' but
Herald's 'top is still intact'. It calls for deep
soul-searching on the part of Mr Narayan to find out
why scores of journalists have resigned from the Herald
since October 10, 1983 -- the date which the paper was
launched...

ON THE FLIP side, Rajan -- at least in his early phase
-- had the ability of encouraging his staff. After a
great job done in covering the Commonwealth Retreat,
the reward was not just a good word but also a meal at
the nearby Hotel Aroma. (For the CHOGM, Devika Sequeira
and Lui Godinho sneaked into the area, and anyone would
have thought they were just a couple of Indian
tourists; Perviz teamed up with Rajan himself to chase
the then-admired now-infamous Robert Mugabe to a church
in Chimbel where the once-charismatic leader had gone
to trace his ancestors from an empire that once ruled
central Africa and part of current-day Zimbabwe. S Vaidyanathan,
the former Financial Express chief-sub who's role in
stabilising the Herald desk often goes largely
unmentioned today, did his usual thorough job on the
desk, and we trainees simply joined in the fun with our
prank calls what not.)

Rajan can also be an ideal boss, if he so chooses and
if he trusts your work. Of course, it can also be
difficult to fathom the logic on which this trust is
based, in an editor who has strong, if unexplained,
likes and dislikes. But his you-manage-things attitude
did occasionally help. At one point, we convinced Rajan
that the long and difficult night-shifts of those days
were stressful, and asked for a five-nights, three-day
schedule. This meant that we got two off-days in every
ten days, or six in a month. Rajan's response was
something to the effect that this was fine, provided we
at the news-desk managed things among ourselves and
didn't then make a case for more staff. We did. It
worked. Any desk-man taking off during the crucial
night-shift, made sure to get in a mutual replacement.
In a word, this system probably worked better than
system of policing shifts. The point here is that if he
so chooses, Rajan's style of avoiding micro-controls
could actually make for a workable management strategy.

But this phase seems to have ended nearly exactly one
year after the launch of the English-language Herald,
when the staff got the drift their their editor was
unable or unwilling to take their issues into account,
and almost all jointly formed a union. When Rajan
learnt of this, his reaction was one of a man betrayed.

Part of the problem could have been that Rajan also
perceived the insecurity of his tenure. One got the
feeling that the paper was not being improved beyond a
point, as this could make those at the editorial top dispensable.

Over the next few years, the fetters started coming on.
Rather quickly. To the staff, it was pretty clear who
Rajan's own sacred cows were, even if the editor
posited himself as the paragon of a free press. From
industrial groups lacking their own mouthpiece in
print, to some of the dissidents then harassing the man
whom Rajan got into mutually-arrogant ego-clashes with,
Pratapsing Raoji Rane.

Rajan also had a perchance to hob-nob with politicians.
One of our colleagues always attributes his survival in
journalism to then political bigwig Dr Wilfred de Souza
. How so? Obviously Rajan had flung across a copy to
the sub concerned with a 'Find the mistake in it, or
get sacked' threat. Just that time, Dr W's car pulled
up alongside the newspaper entrance. Rajan was gone,
and so vanished the threat of a loss of the job.

(As anyone who worked on the desk would concede,
finding errors on paper, when under pressure, can be
the most difficult task. Specially if they are your own
errors. Everything looks correct. This writer too has
made the stupidest of errors, notwithstanding the
reputation of being a fairly careful and concerned
desk-person.)

In our early days at the Herald, some of us
college-kids who were blessed with two-wheelers -- even
if we needed two jobs and a loan to manage these --
doubled up as 'pilots' to the seniors. It came as a
shock to one's post-teenage idealism to hear Rajan
argue after being ferried to a lengthy confabulation
with a Congress dissident: "XYZ is a good politician.
The problem is just that he is so bloody corrupt." Or
words to that effect.

If the early freedom was quick to vanish, it didn't
take much time to realise that every new paper goes
through this honeymoon with truth -- extended only as
long as the time required to build up its credibility.
For the CHOGM, Rajan allowed this writer to report on
protests from a citizens' group concerned about the
pouring of crores down the drain in the name of
building infrastructure. If one recalls right, the
figure was around Rs 50 crore (Rs 500 million), a huge
sum by early 'eighties standards. Another issue that
was a concern then was the manner in which the event
was being used as an excuse by luxury hotels to expand
their properties. At this time, Rajan's diktat was
clear: let the criticism go before the event, but once
the CHOGM Retreat starts, no more of it.

Such attitudes, and this was surely not the only case,
meant the stifling of a crucial voice at an important
time of Goan history. Resultantly, the outstation
media, for instance, didn't get a clue that such
questions were at all being asked in Goan society. When
it comes to recording the history of the 'eighties,
there will likewise be many gaps or black holes... and
many could be led into believing that these events
simply didn't occur.

Rajan's role in the Konkani movement would be another
interesting issue for research. Many a Catholic from
Goa, both here and among the diaspora, tends to read
him as being a "hero for Konkani". (Dr Teotonio De
Souza, historian, commented on Goanet on September 18,
2003: "I have known Rajan Narayan while still in Goa
and admired his contribution to the Konkani cause.")

But the issue is more complex. Needless to say, Goa's
media adopts a dog-does-not-eat-dog approach, and for
most of the time avoids criticising each other. Rajan's
role in the language agitation is yet to be adequately
evaluated. The Week magazine, in an article written by
the journalist Ashok Row Kavi (who went on to become a
prominent gay activist, but that's not particularly
relevant here) did a critical piece on the role played
by Rajan and the other Narayan, Athawale:

It's titled 'The two Narayans' and says:

THE three worlds in Hindu mythology always shuddered
when the chant 'Narayan, Narayan' echoed in the cosmos.
It meant that Narada, the roving rishi, was making his
petty-fogging presence felt.

Goa has two Narayans and there is internal trouble
there. One is Narayan Athavle, editor of the Marathi
daily Gomantak, and the other Rajan Narayan, editor of
O Herald an English daily from Panaji. They are
fighting each other claiming that they are fighting for
two languages, Marathi and Konkani.

Their credentials can be questioned, though no one
bothers to do that. Athavle is an outsider: a
Maharashtrian Chitpawan Brahmin; Rajan Narayan is from
South India and is fighting for Konkani in English.

Athavle's editorials are pure petrol on Goa's red hot
embers. Starting with Ooth Marathe Ooth (Wake up
Marathas, wake up), Athavle, who supports Rane, has
carried on a relentless battle to show that Konkani is
a 'boli' (dialect) and not a 'bhasha' (language).
Athavle has published some 25 eminently forgettable
novels, and has had a lackluster career in Lok Satta,
the Marathi daily of the Express group.

Athavle gets quite alarmed when someone mentions
'Vishal Gomantak' (Greater Goa), which to him means
'expansionism'. But he has no qualms at all when he
says that Goa should finally merge with Maharashtra
because "their cultures are the same".

In his zeal to propagate the interest of Marathi, he
has even neglected the success of his newspaper which
has been falling in circulation. Tarun Bharat,
published from Belgaum in Karnataka, has taken away
6,000 out of the 18,000-odd Gomantak circulation. Yet
Athavle has such a strong grip over the owners, the
Chowgules, that he even overseas recruitment. No
Christians are employed in that daily.

Apart from editing O Heraldo, Rajan Narayan, a former
editor of Imprint, now speaks from political platforms.
Narayan has become more a pamphleteer than a
journalist. He often attends the strategy sessions of
the KPA. He has at times tried to maintain a balance
but has failed because he is viewed suspiciously by the
Hindus and because the Christians patronise him.

Rajan Narayan is a professional doing a job and taken
up with a cause which he would just as well drop like a
hot brick if he got a better challenge somewhere else.
However, the turn he has given to the O Herald has
taken its circulation to 12,000 from the 4,000-odd it
was selling before he took over its editorship. "I
don't make any pretensions that I'm being objective,"
says he. "I'm here to fight for Konkani."

Come what may, the two Narayans, both non-Goans, are
slugging it out through reams of newsprint. And both
are accused of polarising Goa's good people as never
before. (The Week, Jan 18-24, 1987)

The figures noted above of the Herald's circulation
don't seem to be very accurate. It was more like a few
hundred in its Portuguese days -- specially towards the
fag end of playing the role of being the "only
Portuguese language daily published in Asia". But Row
Kavi raises a point long back which probably didn't get
the attention it deserved.

By the time the 1985-87 language agitation was drawing
to a close, this writer was a chief sub-editor at the
Herald. Perhaps the cynical games visible all round
convinced one about not getting caught up in the
meaningless emotionalism that was ruling both
linguistic camps. Basic questions were not being
raised. What primarily was a caste-fuelled was being
fought out along linguistic lines. Many of those who
took up these issues -- as subsequent events showed --
were more keen on cornering a share of the spoils for
themselves and their kin, rather than really empowering
the commonman (and woman) to utilise a language they
could be more at home in. Rajan's own role was critical
in shaping the language issue the way it worked out.
The average Catholic became a hard-core, if later
disillusioned by the subsequent twist of events,
supporter of the Konkani camp, without quite
understanding the unstated issues involved.

On the language front, like many other controversies in
the state, this one too polarised journalists. The
United News of India news agency, though its then Goa
correspondent Jagdish Wagh, then put out a 10-take
article which echoed the Marathi side of the arguments.
Rajan's first response was to dump it in the
waste-paper basket. To one's mind, it made sense that
both 'camps' knew each other's positions on the issue.
Specially because this was one issue where the average
Catholic reader -- who hardly reads Marathi -- was
largely unable to keep abrest with the thoughts of one
side of the debate. To Rajan's credit, he was quick to
accept a suggestion from a junior, and decided that the
article be carried on the edit page. But if one thought
he did this because of the need for a diversity of
voices, that was simply untrue. Some days later, a
gleeful Rajan informed that it was just as well he had
taken up that suggestion, since the UNI write-up had,
in turn, provoked a series of lengthy polemical
responses from the Panjim-based Konkani hardline
supporter Datta Naik written to project the Konkani
cause. It was a point-by-point attempted refutation,
and more. A whole lot of more grist to the linguistic
mill that ultimately served to build circulation,
allowing Rajan to boost his bargaining power on this
basis.

If Rajan played a crucial role in stoking the language
controversy, he was also vital in bringing it to an
abrupt and unexpected end. On the day the language bill
was passed in the Goa assembly, an angry Churchill Alemao
stomped into the Herald office. He demanded to know
how the screaming headline read something to the
effect: 'Konkani made official language'. Alemao's
criticism (with some validity, even if ironical in the
backdrop of his own exclusivist approach which sought
compltely illegitimise the Marathi demand, in what was
in is more of a caste-defined battle) was that the
headline was not justified when the dialect and script
used by a small minority had been given official acceptance.

Later realties also elaborately demonstrated that the
Rane-Khalap drafted official language bill was
extremely ambivalent, if not wholly unimplementable.
Nobody knows for certain whether Goa has one or two
official languages, or almost-official languages. Each
official purpose for which it is to be used would have
to be specifically notified, leading to further
bickerings. Besides, almost everyone would like to
leave the act unimplemented, since it would open up a
can of worms and endless more problems if anyone went
ahead implementing it. The official invitation cards,
now printed in four languages -- English, Hindi, and
Konkani and Marathi -- are enough of an indication of
what a joke this has become.

Nonetheless, the Konkani experience did not stop Rajan
from subsequently claiming that the paper under his
steering had "demonstrated dramatically its influence
by succeeding to get more than 75,000 people for the
Konkani language". Of this, he tried to make a case for
better terms -- service conditions, allowances and
possibly commissions on advertisements "generated" for
the paper.

EVEN AS HE ANNOUNCED recently his decision to quit the
Herald and launch his own weekend paper, Rajan is back
to donning his role as a 'protector of the minorities'.
But even as he stokes fears here, a genuine question
could be whether this is anything more than a marketing
strategy. His claims of being committed to secularism
could be dismissed by critics as little more than a
cynical strategy of stoking minority fears, to build a
potent constituency, just as some politicians in Goa
have done -- to convert into a permanent votebank of
sorts a large segment of the Catholic electorate. In
July 1987, Rajan told his staff, this writer then being
one of them: "Our basic constituency are the Catholics,
whether we like it or not. So much so, anything on the
Pope or developments in Christianity should be
interesting to our readers."

Rajan was however quick to understand -- unlike most of
the other editors brought into Goa to head papers here,
who sometimes take years just to understand that this
small state doesn't need a scaled-down version of a
national newspaper -- that local news was of vital
importance. To cite a Rajanism, in the form of a blunt
directive to the news-desk: "The Rajya Sabha election
in Goa is of much greater consequence to use than a
peaceful Yath Ratra (sic) in Ahmedabad. In Punjab, for
instance, I do not think we should take cognisance
unless the death toll is above 10." (This was in times
when the Punjab violence was as Kashmir today.)

Rajan was quick to argue that a new paper in Goa should
address those segments which are significant in size.
One can question his obvious strategy of playing on
minority fears and building up a minority psychosis.
Even when viewed from a very narrow sense, this could
be damaging to the interest of the minorities
themselves.

But Rajan's ability to convince the reader still holds.

In September 2003, some Goan expats across cyberspace
were carefully watching the unfolding drama as Rajan
hurriedly launched his http://www.rajannarayan.com
site. Making his an issue of freedom of expression, and
indicting the man who weeks back graced Rajan's
birthday -- Manoharbab Parrikar -- was bound to strike
a chord. Afterall, haven't we in the Press in Goa been
complaining about increasing pressures from the BJP government?

On September 16, 2003, one expat suggested that
"perhaps the only way to overcome the muzzling of the
press is for Non-Resident Goans to fund an alternative
newspaper, where the journalists can do what they do
best without their livelihood being threatened." He
went on to suggest: "Now is the time for Non-Resident Goans
who care, to come to the assistance of journalists in
Goa. As an alternative, we could support Rajan
Narayan's new venture and give him the freedom to speak
out. Democracy and freedom are at stake in Goa. It is
time for all Goans who love their motherland, to put
their money where their mouths are, and do something
for Goa."

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