Conflict Reporting : Women on the front line

In 1777, two years into the American War of Independence, Frederika Charlotte Riedesel created history. After accompanying husband Friedrich Adolf Riedesel — a German commander who fought on behalf of the British — to the front lines, she wrote Letters and Journals Relating to the War of the American Revolution and the Capture of the German Troops at Saratoga. In doing so, she became the first woman to helm an account of war.

Seventy years later, Margaret Fuller of the New-York Tribune became the first woman foreign correspondent when she covered the Italian unification movement. But it was World War II which saw female scribes and photojournalists gain prominence. Even then, stalwarts like Martha Gellhorn couldn't report from the front lines. This is no job for a woman, they were told. Their 'human interest' stories, chronicling the lives of military doctors, nurses, soldiers and the effects of war, were relegated to the back pages.

Ironically, these very accounts birthed a new type of conflict reportage: the kind that went beyond arms, ammunition and strategy. Some call it 'soft reporting', saying it plays into the female-journalists-are-more-caring template. But BBC veteran Lyse Doucet thinks otherwise. "In today's wars, the so-called soft side is now often the hard side of the story," says the channel's Chief International Correspondent and Senior Presenter, who's reported from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Syria and across North Africa during the Arab Spring. "The humanitarian cost of war is not a side bar. Both men and women cover it."

Indeed, that factor which once determined story angles — gender — is a non-issue in most international media organisations. The 2011 Libyan Revolution was a case in point. There was Sky News' Alex Crawford, who, in her helmet and flak jacket, rode a pickup truck with rebels as they advanced into Muammar Gaddafi's compound.

As celebratory gunfire boomed in the background, Crawford became the first foreign correspondent to report the takeover of the Libyan capital Tripoli by rebel forces.

Is being female an upper hand?
Conflict reportage has gone from being a once male-only territory to having CNN's Christiane Amanpour, Newsweek's Janine di Giovanni and Marie Colvin as poster children. It may be insular to focus on the male-female binary, since it's the quality of reportage, not gender that matters. Your sex may not necessarily determine your approach to storytelling, but in areas of tumult, it certainly determines how people react to you. BBC World News presenter and correspondent Yalda Hakim, who's reported from South Sudan, Libya, Tunisia and Afghanistan — her country of birth — thinks being a female reporter in conflict zones is advantageous. It also helps that she's fluent in English, Pashto, Dari, Farsi, Hindi and Urdu.

"Locals are always protective of me and go out of their way to help. It's also allowed me to interview and meet the most vulnerable members of these societies: women and children. Often, they don't feel comfortable talking to men, or their cultural and religious restrictions won't allow them to. So I'm able to get to the heart of the story through them," she says.

Teresa Rehman, who's written extensively from insurgency-ridden areas in North-East India and is managing editor of The Thumb Print magazine, says women can sneak into places where men may fail. Militant leaders and cadres may also be more careful while dealing with female reporters, she feels. And motherhood can be a plus. "As a mother myself, I've tried to lend a careful ear to the wailing mother of a child soldier in Manipur. But a male reporter can be equally sensitive. Sensitivity needs to be weaved into conflict reporting irrespective of one's gender," she says.

Big media backing
Perhaps it's no longer a biggie to be a woman conflict reporter for international news organisations and wire services. But talk to freelancers and local journalists, and one realises that gender parity in the profession is still a distant dream in much of the world.

Eman Mohammed is testament to this. As Gaza's only female photojournalist, she's fielded threats, sexism and even being abandoned during an air raid. It's an ongoing saga for the woman whose works have appeared in Mother Jones, Le Monde, Washington Post and The Guardian. Foreign correspondents have buffers in security, insurance and camera and production crews, which freelancers and small publications usually don't. "So you're responsible for your own safety. International female photographers didn't exactly have to struggle the way I did. No one asked them, 'Why are you here'?" says Eman. She's also spoken openly about a photojournalist who sexually harassed her and other Palestinian journalists in Gaza. "The authorities confirmed that they knew about his history, but didn't want to take action in order to 'protect the girls' reputation'. That's how it works."

Eman, a mother of two, has had her 'priorities' questioned. Male reporters and photojournalists aren't expected to choose between their jobs and family, she stresses. Neither are they asked point blank to go home and take care of the kids. For all her 'big media' experience, even Alex Crawford, a mother of four, hasn't been spared from such blinkered thought.

Conflict and conflict reporting shut out women since both tend to have a masculine quality, feels Rohini Mohan, whose book The Seasons of Trouble draws from her coverage of the aftermath of Sri Lanka's civil war. "Female war reporters have to fight many stereotypes. They either have to display a certain kind of courage and gumption (considered unusual for a woman), or pander to the human interest story trap. Grants, assignments and publishing opportunities are all linked to these stereotypes," she shares.

Photojournalist Kitra Cahana, who was assigned by The New York Times to document the 2013 Taksim Square protests (also known as 'Occupy Gezi') in Turkey, says most full-time counterparts in mainstream media come from a narrow slice of the socio-economic, race and gender bracket. But being a woman with a camera, she states, can render one a 'genderless being'. "I've had access to certain male-only environments as a woman with a camera that I wouldn't have been allowed to enter into purely as a woman."

Perils of the job
Besides obvious risks to life and safety, there are looming threats of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and depression. A study conducted by neuropsychiatrist Dr Anthony Feinstein at the University of Toronto on 218 conflict reporters (who'd worked for 15 years on average) showed they had PTSD rates five times higher than that of the general population.

Psychological trauma is an understatement for Yazidi activist Nareen Shammo. A former investigative journalist in Iraq, Shammo is trying to free thousands of Yazidi women enslaved by the Islamic State (IS). She moves secretly, changes mobile numbers often and has deactivated her Facebook account after getting threats. "My mind and health are failing. I'm plagued by nightmares after hearing stories of rape, pedophilia and organ harvesting by IS militants. But we have to continue because these women have no other voice," she says via email. Shammo's reached out to authorities and human rights organisations, trying to highlight the horrifying conditions in unorganised Yazidi camps. But there's been no serious action thus far, she claims.

Closer home, Teresa Rehman is concerned about the lack of awareness regarding psychological, physical and legal trauma associated with conflict journalism. She had PTSD after a story on a fake encounter in Manipur led her to being questioned by the SIT, CBI and the Judicial Commission. "It can be a very lonely battle," she says.

Yalda Hakim has lost several friends and people she knew to conflict. "In the past 12 months, a young Afghan journalist and his family were brutally slaughtered at Serena Hotel in Kabul. I was devastated for days. The easiest way for me to deal with such loss is to talk about it. There's nothing wrong or taboo in seeking professional help to overcome tragic situations."

Inside stories
Lyse Doucet, on ground during the Soviet war in Afghanistan ("our convoy was once bombed at night in the dead of winter, and we were chased by Soviet helicopter gunships in the wake of another battle"), was also with President Hamid Karzai in 2002 when he narrowly survived an assassination attempt in Kandahar. "The bullets whizzed by my producer," she remembers. And when it comes to bypassing security in high-risk areas, she relies on her local colleagues' know-how. There's also that reliable trump card: humour. "I've got through checkpoints by disarming guards with a bit of local language and a joke. Laughter is a universal language," she says.

Rohini Mohan recounts a close call in Jaffna, Sri Lanka, when a white van inched next to her. Thinking she'd be kidnapped "like thousands of others", she ran into a nearby house for safety. She's also twisted a line in a permission letter to confuse a soldier at a checkpoint. It paid off. "Another time in a bus full of Sri Lankan soldiers and Tamil civilians, I acted like I only knew English and was more foreign than I was. I've lied, smiled and joked through tough situations. It also helps when I'm improvising on their assumptions. Like when a soldier was convinced I was a journalist (I was undercover). I told him I wanted to be one but didn't have a job (which I didn't at the time), so I was just talking to people to know everyone's side — including his."

For some, Turkey's Occupy Gezi movement may be synonymous with clashes and riots, but Kitra Cahana has a different take altogether. "Being in Gezi Park was like watching a living, growing organism try to define itself. Fascinating forms of anarchist systems and organisation were adopted and experimented with at the site. There was a lending library, community garden, sanitation crews and healthcare volunteers. Political conversations were happening everywhere you looked."

But for Eman Mohammed, the takeaways from Gaza are grim. As one of the few to highlight Israel's use of white phosphorus grenades, she has a message for those not in the know. "White phosphorus was used in Operation Cast Lead ('08-'09) and got international attention, but not enough to make it stop. This encouraged the Israeli army to use it again in the last Gaza war, knowing the world wouldn't do a thing about it. And they were right. No one did," she says.

White phosphorus has devastating effects on human health. The spread of unknown diseases in Palestine has increased as a result, she adds, and so have cases of disfigured babies.

Local heroes
In 1965, Prabha Dutt threw (imposed) caution to the wind when she went to the front line to cover the India-Pakistan war. Thirty-four years later, her daughter Barkha Dutt followed in her footsteps and earned acclaim for her reportage of the Kargil War. Despite such trailblazers, one doesn't come across many women conflict reporters in India.

Sevanti Ninan, founder-editor of media watch portal The Hoot, surmises that training, protection and insurance for Indian conflict reporters — whether male or female — could be inadequate. "It's not all bullets," she says, citing the example of Tehelka photographer Tarun Sehrawat, who succumbed to cerebral malaria while on assignment in the 'Red Corridor'. But look to the northeast, she informs, where stories by unheralded women in strife-ridden zones go largely unheard.

Sure enough, there's Monalisa Changkija, the only female editor-publisher of a newspaper (Nagaland Page) in North-East India. Being a female conflict reporter in itself can be challenging, but being one in a state where insurgents, revolutionaries, administrators and the military (through the Armed Forces Special Powers Act) wrangle for power each day? That's some pluck.

The situation is similar in neighbouring Manipur, where journalism is perhaps the most dangerous profession, says Imphal Free Press editor Pradip Phanjoubam. So far, the names of two women reporters here stand out: Thingnam Anjulika Samom and Konsam Samita of The Sangai Express. But ask Phanjoubam about dangers experienced by women conflict journalists in the state, and he says there are relatively very few of them in the first place. It's a matter of choice, not sexism, he points out. "Journalism here doesn't pay well, and it's viewed as unsafe. So not many women apply. When the profession picks up, I'm sure there will be an equitable distribution of reportage."

Like many scribes in Manipur, Phanjoubam often finds himself in the crosshairs of insurgent groups and security forces. So accustomed is he to threats that he brushes them off as routine. He proceeds, with a hint of resignation in his voice: "When you live this every day, you don't really feel stifled. It's when you go to other places, in an atmosphere of freedom, that you realise what you'd been missing all this while."