Sunetra Choudhury: Has RTI’s success killed the art of file-snatching?

There’s one school of journalism those in the outside world may not be familiar with. It’s nothing we’re taught in any J-school but it is something that all reporters come across soon after they start their careers — the file-snatching school of journalism.

As the term implies, it refers to surreptitiously obtaining official documents to expose a story. Now, obviously, because it involves taking documents without permission, it is in the ethical grey area but it has always existed with the objective of revealing the higher truth of journalism, for public interest.

This column isn’t really Journalism 101, but ever since the story about the finance ministry note blaming home minister P Chidambaram emerged, I’ve wondered whether the Right to Information Act and all the explosive documents it has brought to the public forum have killed the file-snatching school of journalism or at least made it redundant.

Why would you now spend endless hours befriending a clerk so that he lets you have a look and copy papers from a file, when all you can do is ask for the papers yourself by filing an RTI? Why do you want to depend on some angry officer who wants to leak papers because he has an agenda and leave yourself open to allegations of being a ‘plant’? Why should we employ any of this sneaky business when RTI gives us documents whose authenticity is undeniable?

Not that file-snatching hasn’t given rise to some unique and wonderful skills. One senior journalist who I respect greatly is feared in government circles for his ability to read papers upside down. This is his modus operandi: He goes into a senior official’s room just before or after a crucial meeting. He knows related papers will be on his desk and while engaging the official in small talk, he scans the papers on his desk, especially if during that time the official is distracted by a phone call or other visitors. Even though my colleague, unlike others, wouldn’t dream of stealing any papers when the officials weren’t looking, he would get vital tip-offs occasionally.

Another senior colleague, years ago, would give tips to younger reporters to steal any government file, even if it contained totally innocuous information. He would say that the Ashok Chakra on the file was enough to let its carrier walk in confidently to any government office. For extra impact, he’d advice, go into the office in a very sarkari-looking ambassador, and all government offices would lay out the red carpet. Other advice includes calling up any police station and using the codes for police bosses.

For instance, if the code for the police deputy commissioner is ‘Whisky One’, you call the police station in which some crime has occurred and for which you want more information, and say, ‘Main Whisky One bol raha hoon, kya khabar hai?’ The words would allegedly make the constable blurt out everything he knew and the reporter was guaranteed an exclusive.

I don’t know for sure how effective file-snatching really is because I’m too much of a wuss to try it. The dangers it entails was illustrated in my friend’s case. At the CBI office, while interacting with the designated public relations officer, she was shown a draft of their official statement. My friend, innocent to their paranoid ways, thought the officer was sharing it with her and so took it when she left his office. As soon as they realised it, they launched what can only be called a ‘manhunt’ for a silly piece of paper which wasn’t even worth a headline, and spread silly doubts about my friend’s intentions.

So, if a draft press release leaving a government office earlier can create such panic, I can only imagine what would have happened if the finance ministry note blaming Chidambaram was leaked via file-snatching. The Intelligence Bureau would have instantly started an inquiry, started tapping journalists’ phones and some temporary gag orders would have been put in place. At this very moment, those in crucial positions in the government may be getting nostalgic about the days when only wily journalists could get the note out, which they could have promptly denied, but I am among the many that are celebrating the opening of the floodgates.

Just look at number of revelations that we’ve had since the act kicked in — from the wealth declarations of the entire power list, to the embarrassing appointment of the charge-sheeted PJ Thomas as the country’s top watchdog, to the manner in which Suresh Kalmadi ran the Commonwealth Games show. The finance ministry note may be the latest embarrassment, but who can forget A Raja’s terse tone with his apparent boss, Manmohan Singh and the prime minister’s own blooper about ‘keeping at arm’s length’ Raja’s DoT. We’ve all heard with amazement and interest and thanks to RTI, they could never deny unlike the file-snatching days.

I just want to leave you with a story an RTI activist told me when I asked whether the government would curb their powers because of the potential for mischief.

“They may love to but they can’t as the nation’s tasted blood,’’ he laughed.

He then narrated how he recently went to a key ministry and put in an application for some information. When he returned to follow it up, a ministry official thanked him. ‘The minister wasn’t listening to my advice on the issue. He was bulldozing his way through, even though it was wrong,’ the official apparently said. ‘But when he heard there was an RTI in the matter, he quickly changed his mind.’

The power to stop future scams? The RTI activist certainly thinks so.

Sunetra Choudhury is an anchor/reporter for NDTV and is the author of the election travelogue Braking News