Caught in violence while reporting on protests against violence

As a female reporter, I have always found it unsettling to cover crimes against women. The challenge is not only to report the story, but to keep personal feelings out of it as well. Reporters also cannot afford to let their guard down, especially while covering protests. Hundreds of people come together at such protests to express solidarity with the cause. However, some of them also come with an agenda.

In less than a year, I found myself caught in at least two violent situations while covering two separate cases of sexual assault. Last year, when India was celebrating its 78th Independence Day, Kolkata was reeling from the horrific rape and murder of a 31-year-old doctor inside the R.G. Kar Medical College and Hospital. Like my colleagues and peers, I spent a lot of time on the road covering ‘Reclaim the Night’ marches, held by people protesting against sexual violence.

One night, I entered R.G. Kar Hospital and stood in front of a stage, waiting for one of the marches to start. The premises had been heavily barricaded and police personnel had been stationed at all the entrance gates. The space felt secure — until it did not. A few minutes post midnight, I started hearing loud screams. It was clear that something was wrong; these were not protest slogans.

Suddenly, more than 100 men, some intoxicated, broke the gates of the hospital. They brought down the barricades and went on a rampage. As they hurled stones and sticks at protesters, terrified workers, doctors, and nurses ran looking for cover. The police fled, offering little or no help. Many police personnel were injured. Later, they told the media that they were not prepared to handle the mob.

Panic rising, I ran across the college campus, knocking on every door and pleading for shelter. All I wanted to do was to hide from the violent mob. Most of the students said they could not trust me enough to let me inside. They were suspicious of me and I couldn’t blame them. The situation was already violent and the odds were stacked against them. Finally, one kind man took mercy and urged his peers to let me inside a seminar hall. I joined a group of people huddled inside. We stacked wooden planks and desks against the entrance in a desperate attempt to keep the mob out. I waited with them for hours, watching my phone in dismay as the battery threatened to die. Every time there was a bang on the door, we shivered in fear. The mob could be heard abusing people outside. They were trying their best to locate people hiding inside the campus. They finally went away and we walked out, relieved.

In June this year, I was covering another protest march in front of the South Calcutta Law College. For nearly three hours, there had barely been any activity. So, as human nature would have it, I let my guard down. But that was the calm before the storm.

The situation again escalated in seconds. A group of political workers who allegedly came to protest against the lack of safety of women started abusing the students who were agitating about the same issue. They hurled gendered abuses at us and beat up everyone who came in their way, including women. Caught in the crosshairs, I ran with other journalists. We looked for cover and found a tea shop. The police were nowhere to be seen this time too.

While reporting on protests against violence, reporters don’t expect to be caught in the violence. Both these protests were in the heart of the city, yet I ended up feeling threatened. I wondered, if I felt this way in a crowd, how frightened and insecure must women feel while travelling alone at night? The experiences left me shaken and I realised that I would always have to watch my back. Journalists need to constantly look for a way out of such situations, to save ourselves and to tell the story.

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