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Traditionally, in newspapers, a major part of resources and effort
have gone into gathering hard news. But today, television and the
Internet have dramatically changed the newsroom, and the front page
is no longer what it was twenty or even ten years ago. Television,
radio, the web are all far better than newspapers at breaking the
hard story, and the intelligent newspaper recognises that and adapts.
So features have found their way to the front page. You'll even
find the lead story sometimes written in what used to be regarded
as a features style. The accent now is not simply on what happened
- the hard news - but increasingly on the how and the why - the
exploration of detail and the human angles which vividly bring home
the point of the story and put it in context.
So today, the feature writer's brief is central to the newspaper's
activity. Features deal with all areas of journalistic interest
and are a major expression of a paper's editorial identity. They
add depth, and allow the exploration of different angles to a story.
They can anticipate trends, help form opinions and create links
with readers.
Features are more persuasive, because they allow the reporter to
go behind the immediate headline detail and provide context and
analysis. They are not dependent on a breaking story, although they
may well take a breaking story into a new chapter. And if the research
and the story are good enough, it may turn out to be breaking news
in its own right. We'll continue reacting to events as they happen,
of course, but the agenda-setting possibilities of features reporting
mean we can initiate our own stories, exploring human rights issues
that are not currently in the news but which merit public examination.
Features are good for journalists. Unlike the traditional hard
news story, features allow a more flexible structure and provide
the reporter with ample opportunities to display imagination and
style. Feature writers are not bound by the sparse, staccato style
of the news report, but can adopt a variety of techniques to tell
the story, which doesn't have to come to the point in the first
two paragraphs. They are not circumscribed by a formula nor a rigid
structure. They can meander in alleys, tease meaning out of symbolic
detail. But this freedom brings with it distinctive challenges.
The format is not for those inclined towards quickies. Good features
entail a tremendous amount of hard work, often team-work spanning
days, sometimes weeks.
Today, readers are inundated with information from all directions
and all sorts of sources. To be a successful feature writer, you
must transcend this daily dose of sound bites, info bits and assorted
data. For the reader, it's a barrage of information; for you, it's
a mosaic of ideas and opportunities. A good feature presupposes
the ability to distinguish the significant detail from the insignificant
- and the craft skills to convert that into a compelling read. It
takes experience, training and a lot of leg work -- visits to the
sites as well as to libraries.
Features are particularly useful vehicles for reporters wanting
to highlight human rights abuses. In a country like India, with
its myriad problems and tensions, stories about massacres, abuses
and violence have produced a certain ennui over the years. The reader,
reporters are often told, is suffering from issue-fatigue, and won't
be a reader unless the issue is directly relevant. At the same time,
the competition for column space has increased. There is greater
emphasis today on lifestyle stories, and new sections on subjects
such as information technology or media, so issues journalism has
to fight for its place. So how does a reporter persuade the reader
to spend time on yet another story on dowry or child labour?
A well-crafted, well-researched feature, looking at HR issues from
a new angle or with a different approach, is a possible answer.
If there is a way of igniting fresh interest in an old but continuing
problem, it is through a feature.
There are several techniques a feature writer can use. A feature
can be an incisive analysis which offers fresh insight into an old
problem. Or it can be a compelling narrative guaranteed to touch
even the most tired or cynical reader. The bait which entices a
reader to stop and read your story and not others is the human drama
which creates a bond of empathy between the reader and the real-life
characters you write about.
Features can work in several ways.
They can
- Explain what is happening
- Expand on a news item, an official statement
- Explore ideas, new concepts
- Investigate issues, social problems, scandals
- Describe events large and small; places; experiences; journeys;
people
- Entertain with humour, perhaps, or colourful description
- Campaign for the righting of wrongs, the improvement of the
human condition
- Comment usually in the form of a column
Let us look at a story which appeared on the front page of The
Hindustan Times.
Sajjo, all of 12 years, in chains because she is mentally ill
Chained to a block of wood that weighs nearly 20 kg, 12-year-old
Sajjo spends her days in the shadow of social stigma. Bruises and
deep gashes are common on her fragile form. Sajjo's fault? She is
mentally challenged and described as a "terror" by residents
of Kali Kalyanpura.
Sajjo hits children, steals food and goods from shops. Her parents
said she slipped out of the house one day. Neighbours told Sajjo's
mother, Sayra, that she was seen boarding a bus.
"Finally, she was brought back by some people. They had seen
her sing and dance and passengers rewarded her by throwing coins,"
recalled Sayra.
The incident spread around in Turkman Gate and she was branded
as "pagal". People started throwing stones at her and
would beat her up without provocation. Sajoo's parents were forced
to chain her.
As she screamed and ripped her clothes apart, father Abdul Sattar
and Sayra slipped a chain around her left foot. She was left on
the rooftop. Her fits of rage continued. She would be immobile for
hours in the sun, despite all efforts to cajole her to come inside
the house. Once, Abdul tried to pacify her and was pushed off the
roof. He sustained minor injuries ---- one more tale was added to
her horror story.
"On her birth, doctors said she had a weak brain," said
Sayra. The parents refused to believe it, till the girl began to
show signs of abnormality. She would scream and turn violent without
provocation, even bang her head against the walls.
"Every policeman in the area knows about her. They have often
brought her home when she has wandered out. Sometimes she drags
the block she is chained to along into the street. People laugh
at her. Encouraged by them, she begins to dance and sing,"
said Sayra.
Sajjo appears to be intelligent. She watches TV and has favourite
songs. "I want to see a doctor. I want to have a doll of my
own," she says wistfully. With Abdul struggling to make two
ends meet, toys have no place in Sajjo's life. Only scorn, rejection
and beating.
Hindustan Times, 23.6.00
The photograph accompanying the story shows a young girl with short-cropped
hair and wearing a blue shalwar-tunic She could be any Indian teenager.
But the first paragraph - a vivid description of Sajjo's appearance
- lets the reader know she is not an ordinary child. Sajjo is chained
to a block of wood. She has bruises and gashes on her fragile form.
The thumbnail sketch of Sajjo creates a visual effect. And then,
as in cinema, the reporter cuts to the next shot. We 'see' Sajjo,
and then we hear the voice of her mother, Sayra.
"Finally, she was brought back by some people. They had
seen her sing and dance and passengers rewarded her by throwing
coins," recalled Sayra.
Sajjo is a terror. She hits children, steals food from shops. It
is the same Sajjo who sings and dances. By mixing the commonplace
with the not so commonplace, the reporter creates a certain stylistic
tension which produces a warm, sympathetic portrait.
The next few paragraphs encapsulate the predicament of children
like Sajjo. People throw stones at her and beat her up. Poverty
aggravates her trauma. Had she been born in a well-off home, and
received adequate medical care, perhaps things would have been different.
But her father could not afford expensive medicare and in India,
the state does not pick up the tab. Someone like Abdul is part of
what is euphemistically known as the "unorganised sector,"
so he is not covered by health insurance. What are his options?
Abdul, an autorickshaw driver, sought medical advice ----
even quacks ---- but Sajjo's condition did not improve. With the
burden of eight children and a monthly Rs 60 rent for their one-room
shack, the couple gave up. As years rolled by, Sajjo became more
uncontrollable.
There are tens of thousands of children like Sajjo in this country.
Such children are routinely taunted and abused. Their plight receives
scant attention, their rights are not generally recognised. But
readers today suffer from compassion fatigue, so unless there is
a powerfully etched human face to a problem, it is unlikely to have
any impact.
The story is well done, but could have been better.
Sajjo is clearly a moody child and interviewing such a person is
not the easiest task in the office diary, but the world as seen
through Sajjo's eyes does not come through clearly. The reporter
uses only one quote from the girl.
"I want to see a doctor. I want to have a doll of my
own," she says wistfully.
Did Sajjo say anything more? If she did not, how did she avert
the reporter's queries? How did the reporter try to draw her out?
Did she show a violent streak in front of the reporter?
We are curious, but we don't get the answers. A feature format
allows you the luxury, sometimes, of describing how you gathered
your information - if it's relevant, of course. Your experiences
as you conduct interviews or seek out details of a case study can
bring colour to the story. How the reporter related to Sajjo, and
how she responded, would have been a valuable addition.
Sajjo's story dramatises the plight of one mentally damaged girl,
illustrative of many other suffering children and adults. Just how
big the problem is, the story doesn't say, but the reporter could
well follow this piece with a further story - or stories - about
different kinds of disability, for example, or to explore more deeply
the way Indian society treats its less fortunate brothers and sisters.
FEATURE WRITING BEGINS WITH AN IDEA
The best features differ from news in one fundamental way. News
reporting is mostly reactive: an event happens and newspapers report
it. Features can be pro-active; the writers find their own stories
and set their own agenda.
By far the most important aspect of feature writing, then, is IDEAS.
How to find them; to recognise them; how to make connections between
events. Without this, the feature writer and the features pages
could not exist.
Where do IDEAS come from?
Everywhere is the simple answer. You simply have to learn how to
look.
Ideas come from reading - reading anything. Newspapers, magazines,
books, pamphlets, advertisements, street hoardings, reports. There
could be a big story lurking in a one para brief at the bottom of
a page in a newspaper, in a letter to the editor or in a vacancies
ad in the classified columns. Cut it out. If you don't have time
to develop it straight away, file it for future use. An IDEAS FILE
will enable you to come up with a good story when less organised
reporters are still twiddling their thumbs.
These days, of course, the reading does not have to be confined
to printed matter. The World Wide Web has opened up fantastic possibilities
for reporters in search of ideas. There are dozens and dozens of
non-governmental organisations, think tanks, lobby groups which
deal with human rights issues. Is there an Indian angle to what
they are posting on the Net? Can you build a story to match what
is appearing on other news sites around the world?
Network with reporters on the human rights beat in other cities
and countries, sharing information, experiences and ideas. You'll
learn a lot about insititutions, individuals and human rights initiatives
in our country as well as outside. Most institutions these days
have a presence on the World Wide Web. Check their websites for
updates and news flashes. Subscribe to web mailing lists which deal
with specific themes, just as you would ensure you're on the mailing
lists for snail mail press releases from organisations working in
the areas that interest you.
Think ideas, too, when you're watching television or listening
to the radio. Even when you're with family or friends. Listen to
what people are talking about. And most importantly, keep your eyes
and ears open ALL THE TIME. A good reporter is never off duty, and
there are stories on every street corner if you look hard enough.
Read the following story from The Hindu. How might
you develop it as a feature?
NHRC takes up the cause of 'living dead'
This was human rights violations of a different kind. A group
of poor people from Uttar Pradesh who were shown 'dead' in the
revenue records and deprived of their lands, today appeared before
the National Human Rights Commission to tell their story.
Taking a serious view of these 'shocking' incidents, the Commission
has taken up the case which has brought into focus the way the
poor were being exploited by influential persons who, in collusion
with revenue officials, had shown them as dead and grabbed their
land holdings.
The case was taken up by the Commission at the behest of the Allahabad
High Court on a reference to investigate the human rights violations
of the landholders. A complaint was also filed by one Mr. Lal
Bihari of Azamgarh who had been shown to be dead. It had taken
him almost two decades to convince the authorities that he was
in fact alive and hence his land could not be taken away.
Even as the Commission called for a report from the U.P. Government,
the High Court ordered an investigation by the District Magistrate,
Azamgarh, and it was found that of the 90 complaints received,
30 were true and the CJM also submitted a list of errant officers/officials.
When the case was taken up today, the Commission was apprised
of the action being taken to correct the revenue records wherever
the land holders had been erroneously shown to be dead and this
exercise would be completed by March 2001.
The Commission granted the U.P. Government two weeks' time
to submitt a detailed report of the action taken so far not only
in Azamgarh district but also in other districts of the State.
The report would include action taken against erring officials
as well as whether the victims got back their properties, the
Commission said and adjourned the case to October 23.
The Hindu, 22.9.00
The subject matter lends itself easily to the story-telling technique.
It's set in eastern Uttar Pradesh, one of the poorest and most feudal
pockets of the country. Start with one of the complainants - Lal
Bihari, perhaps - and introduce his story. Broaden out to bring
in the other complainants and the general theme of your feature.
Then describe the land, the people, the socio-economic backdrop
before getting even more deeply into the story behind the complaint
to the Commission. What is it about Azamgarh that has allowed such
a situation to develop? It might not be possible for you to visit
Azamgarh yourself - the ideal approach - but talk to people who
are familiar with the area. Perhaps people such as Lal Bihari.
You could also expand on the National Human Rights Commission itself.
The reporter on the beat should know all about the NHRC, but the
average reader perhaps has no inkling as to what this august body
does. What is its significance to people like Lal Bihari? What other
cases has it dealt with? Maybe this is something that could be dealt
with as a sidebar. If you were writing for the web, it would be
a link to a separate page.
To add depth to the story, you might speak with NHRC officials
and those in the UP administration. But it always needs to come
back to Lal Bihari and his friends. To people.
Journalists who have visited eastern Uttar Pradesh know the feudal
character of the region. But we must not assume that all our readers
are equally familiar with the place we are describing or its socio-cultural
milieu.
Read the first few paragraphs of Luke Harding's story on the Gujarat
earthquake for The Guardian (UK). See how he sets the scene
in his intro. Neither Harding nor his readership are from India.
So he has to describe Dinara in a way which brings it alive to someone
who may have no idea what the region is like. Similarly, not all
Indians know or have travelled to every part of their country so
the approach holds good for us as well. Set the scene, describe
the ambience in a way which makes it alive to someone who may not
be familiar with the place.
The residents of Dinara have a harsh life at the best of times.
The village lies on the edge of a vast expanse of desert. Nothing
much grows apart from diminutive babul trees. Only camels seem at
home, plodding among the shimmering salt flats.
And these are not the best of times. Last Friday the earthquake
that levelled much of the Indian state of Gujarat left seven dead
in Dinara, including an eight-month-old baby. As the tremors subsided,
the villagers shook themselves and waited for help to arrive.
Yesterday - thirsty and desperate - they were still waiting. "We
have had no water for four or five days. All of our wells have been
destroyed. We have been forced to drink salt water," villager
Omar Sama said. "We are not getting grain. Nobody has come
to help us."
The village teacher, Sama Mirmama, added: "We are looking
for bread. People living here believe that God is angry with us."
The Guardian, 1.2.01
Here is another feature from The Indian Express. It is about a
hospice in Kerala, a final stop over for AIDS patients, and the
story highlights one of the newer forms of human rights violations
in India: the hounding of AIDS patients.
The last resort
(by Sreelatha Menon)
Appu Kuttan's wife and eight-year old daughter do not step
out of the house for fear. They do not know how the villagers
would react. All they know is that they are feared and loathed
by every one. Because Appu Kuttan is HIV positive and the whole
village knows of it.
While his family lives under virtual house arrest in a village
in Palakkad district, Appu Kuttan has literally gone into hiding
in a hospice in Peringandoor in Thrissur district. In fact, the
Mar Kundukulam Memorial Rehabilitation Centre started by the Thrissur
Archdiocese of the Catholic Church a year ago as a recovery centre
for HIV patients in Kerala, where a superstitious fear of the
disease prevails.
Out of the 38 patients admitted there in one year, 18 have died
and only four have returned home. The rest are still there with
no hope of leaving since their families do not want them back.
In fact, at the root of the very existence of this hospice is
the story of a convict who had HIV and was left unattended and
abandoned in the Medical College Hospital nearby. Father Joseph
Kundakulam, who was formerly the archbishop there, came to know
of this man afflicted with diseases and with a body covered with
painful bedsores. He sent members of the convent to take care
of him. After that, the priest was determined to start a place
where HIV positive patients who had been rejected by society could
be cared for, says the home's director, Father Varghese Palathingal.
The National Aids Control Organisation (NACO) has since offered
its support to this hospice as one of the three pilot projects
for hospices for neglected AIDS patients.
But the question remains whether such hospices are a solution,
and what the inmates of the hospice in Peringandoor say enforces
such doubts. Their stories of total rejection by society suggests
that while a hospice may help a handful, an attempt to remove
false fears and the stigma attached to the disease would go a
long way in helping patients.
Among the inmates in the home is a couple from Thrissur district,
two lovers who defied their parents and got married. They belong
to two different religions. Nandini is just 22 years old and her
face is always lit with a smile. She says that she did not know
that her husband was HIV positive when she married him. He knew
it but did not tell her, she says. But she forgave him because
he hid his illness from her for fear of losing her, she says.
When he collapsed one day, she rushed him to the district hospital
in an autorickshaw. There they were kept waiting to see a doctor.
And as Nandini ran up and down the hospital seeking help, the
autorickshaw driver learnt about Joseph's HIV status. In an hour
he was back where Nandini and Joseph lived, spreading the news
to everyone that Joseph was HIV positive and no doctor was ready
to see him.
The landlord promptly threw out the couple's belongings from their
house, says Nandini. The two then moved to another hospital from
where they were advised by the relatives of another AIDS patient
to go to the hospice. "But before that, we contemplated suicide,"
admits Nandini, who says she owes her life to the hospice. While
Nandini, who is also HIV positive now, has suffered no ailments
so far, Joseph too is recovering under the care of the nuns of
the home and visiting doctors.
But where would they go if they were to leave the home? Nowhere.
Nandini has no hope of ever going back to the world that rejected
her. Father Varghese Palathingal is contemplating jobs for women
like her who may be left without any source of income because
of HIV. And then there's the story of Kali from Kozhikode district.
She was brought to the home by her own adult children, who asked
her never to return, says Father Palathingal.
Murali, who has a grocery shop in a Thrissur village, is another
inmate. "No one wants me to return," he says. But he
is worried about his wife and children and he wants to go with
them somewhere and live incognito.
The stories are endless, as many as the 16-odd patients there.
Father Palathingal says the fear people have of the disease and
the resultant ostracism patients have to face is evident in the
opposition faced by the hospice from the local people. The locals
are also opposing a proposed AIDS-cum-cancer hospital that is
to come up in their village. They say they had nothing against
the patients, but did not want their village to be a site for
hospitals treating infectious diseases.
(The names of patients have been changed).
The Indian Express, 21.6.00
The feature about the hospice in Kerala does two things: it highlights
a problem and it speaks of one partial solution. It is a mix of
narrative and commentary, blending colour, anecdotes, and human
drama with the big picture. The focus is on the victims - the people
- and it is effective.
The reporter is moved by the plight of Appu Kattan and the other
AIDS victims. In small ways, she makes clear where she stands. She
does it through punctuation - look at her first paragaph - and through
some of the words she chooses. The convict left unattended and abandoned
.body
covered with painful sores. Or
The landlord promptly threw
out the couple's belongings
.. That's acceptable in features.
The reporter is entitled to react to the story, to approach it from
a particular point of view. That doesn't mean, however, that she
would be entitled to say: "I think
.." Comment goes
elsewhere in the paper.
The closest Menon gets to comment is this passage:
But the question remains whether such hospices are a solution,
and what the inmates of the hospice in Peringandoor say enforces
such doubts. Their stories of total rejection by society suggests
that while a hospice may help a handful, an attempt to remove
false fears and the stigma attached to the disease would go a
long way in helping patients.
It might have made a good conclusion
but we'll come to that
later. First, you have to put the story together.
Features structure
If newspapers were simply concerned with facts, they would be filled
only with news stories. But they're not. They present a forum for
many different kinds of writing - news analysis, human-interest
stories, personal opinion columns, personality profiles.
All of these come under the heading of features, so it isn't really
possible to say: "This is how you write a feature." There
are as many different ways of writing as there are stories to be
told.
But whatever kind of feature it is, it should give the reader more
than mere facts. Features are generally longer than news stories,
and the writer has more material to manipulate. More varied material
too. So you must have some idea of the shape of the article before
you start to write. You need a structure.
The aim of story structure is to give your feature a pattern, an
order which will make it easy for the reader to absorb. Without
structure, even simple stories become confusing and hard to understand.
Your story needs control. It needs a beginning, a middle and an
end. Which sounds so easy. But it is surprising how many experienced
writers, as well as beginners, find the creation of a features structure
difficult. Structuring is not easy, particularly when you have accumulated
a large mass of material.
The structure is something only the writer will notice. It's rather
like the human skeleton - you can't see it, but if it wasn't there
the body would simply collapse. So with stories.
Structure alone is not enough, however. The good writer takes the
reader along a clear path from first word to last word. Not necessarily
a straight path - it might curve, or even come full circle, but
the development will be like a staircase - one step after another
from top to bottom, joined together with craftsmanship. Even spiral
staircases work like that, so there is room for flexibility in the
way you build your path.
Creating the structure
In a hard news story, structure often comes from the intro. Put
the right point in the first paragraph, and the rest of the story
flows from there. Features are different. Their content is more
complex, their range is wider and their purpose is different. All
of those things affect structure.
So first you have to decide in your own mind what the feature is
for. WHY are you writing it? What QUESTIONS are you setting out
to ANSWER? What story are you trying to tell? What is your THEME?
The answer to these questions will help to establish your priorities,
which in turn will help you to manage the material your research
and your interviews have produced.
Prepare a structure plan. Different writers adopt different
approaches to this, but all involve going through the material you
have gathered, selecting the points that matter to your theme and
discarding those that are irrelevant. It may help to transcribe
all your interviews, from your tape recorder or your note book.
Go through the material and mark the passages you want to use.
Note the quotes you want to use. List all of these things on a separate
piece of paper, then go through them again to fit them into connected
sub-themes.
Arrange the points within the sub-theme so that they connect
properly and support each other, then give the sub-themes themselves
an order, with a logical development that supports your main theme.
Some people do it by writing the points individually on small cards
then shuffling them about to find the most effective order. One
writer used to type everything out in properly finished, but unconnected
paragraphs, then cut the typescript up with scissors to put them
in the best sequence! Not a system that would suit many people,
of course, but not far removed from what we have been discussing.
Like that writer, find a method that suits you, and use it.
It appears to takes time, but it should save you time in the end.
Even if it doesn't, the difference it will make to the quality of
your feature will make it time well spent.
As you go through your interview material, there is a temptation
sometimes to deal with the interviewees one by one. You write into
the feature everything person A said, and when you have finished
that, you start on person B. It is a trap you should avoid. It's
a structure of sorts, of course, but generally speaking not a good
one. Far better to take your sub-themes one by one, and quote each
interviewee on that before moving on to the next topic.
Let's say your feature is to do with education for girls. The main
theme might well be that girls get a raw deal in many countries
when it comes to schooling.
After your intro (of which more later) the first sub-theme might
be the scale of the discrimination against girls. You pick up points
from your research demonstrating how boys get more schooling, and
perhaps a few quotes to support the statistics. Then you move to
sub-theme 2.
Why is there so much opposition to the idea of education for girls?
Quotes from parents, from social workers, from community leaders.
Your third sub-theme would examine the effect this attitude has
on the girls as they grow to woman-hood. Quotes from parents, again,
perhaps the same social workers and community leaders, but also
from girls themselves.
Fourthly, your investigations might have thrown up a family which
has gone against tradition and given their daughters a proper schooling.
You quote them, the girls' teachers, and of course the girls themselves.
Fifthly, but not quite finally, you have a sub-theme looking ahead
to try to assess the effect of this discrimination on a community
changing to meet the demands of a more developed society. Then finally,
the conclusion - and we'll come to that later as well.

What now? You have a structure, with an outline plan for the pathway
of words you will create for the reader. The next step also sounds
easy. Find an intro.
Writing the intro
The intro to a feature is not like the intro to a hard news story.
That hangs on the main point of the story, sparsely written and
direct. The feature writer takes a more open view, with a variety
of approaches to the story. It may be a direct frontal attack, but
it is quite likely to build a more oblique route into the story,
using narrative, case studies, quotes or anecdotes.
What news story and feature intros have in common, however, is
that they are both the crucial selling point for the story. The
good journalist uses the intro to capture the reader's attention.
If the intro isn't a "grabber" - something that really
pulls the reader into the story - then the reader will not be encouraged
to read on. And with features, written to greater length than news
stories, that is a particularly acute waste of the journalist's
time, the newspaper's resources and the reader's money.
So features intros, just like news intros, need punch to create
impact and demand attention.
They must be well-written, of course, but unlike the news intro,
they may well extend over two or three paragraphs. It depends on
the material.
Be specific. Use a case-study approach to begin your story,
taking one person's story to introduce and illustrate a wider idea.
As with the story about Sajjo:
Chained to a block of wood that weighs nearly 20 kg, 12-year-old
Sajjo spends her days in the shadow of social stigma. Bruises and
deep gashes are common on her fragile form.
It is a good start and the reader is compelled to continue. You
can go on from there to describe similar cases, or to discuss the
issue more broadly, whatever your material suggests. But you have
the reader on the hook, and that's the key.
The intro to the story on the hospice in Kerala takes a similar
approach:
Appu Kuttan's wife and eight-year old daughter do not step out
of the house for fear.
Contrast this with the intro on the Hindu's "living dead"
story. The point of the story comes through, but without a human
element, it makes for dull reading.
This was human rights violations of a different kind. A group of
poor people from Uttar Pradesh who were shown 'dead' in the revenue
records and deprived of their lands, today appeared before the National
Human Rights Commission to tell their story.
A feature writer is a story teller. Here's another way this story
might have started, leading with a striking fact.
Lal Bihari was officially dead. Revenue records in Uttar Pradesh
said so. And it took him nearly 20 years to prove them wrong.
Or you can try a narrative intro, taking the reader along with
the story, like this:
When Bhanwari Devi's 13-year-old daughter was raped in the bajra
fields by an upper caste youth, she picked up a lathi and went after
the rapist herself. She had no faith in police and courts. Either
way, she was prevented from seeking any redress by the upper castes
of Ahiron Ka Rampura. "The village caste panchayat promised
me justice," she says. "Instead, they threw me and my
family out of Rampura." Nearly a decade after the rape, no
one in this village in Ajmer district has been punished.
It doesn't mean much, though, in Rajasthan. On average in this State,
one Dalit woman is raped every 60 hours.
From: A Dalit Goes to Court, P. Sainath's award-winning
story for
The Hindu, 13.6.99
You can even start with a quote, if it's a good one:
"Bullshit" says Nata Duvvury, quietly. She is responding
to the theory which holds that Kerala's women are more sexually
liberated than others in India and that this is thanks to the customs
of the Nair caste.
New Internationalist, March 1993
Beware history in the intro. Only historians and children are likely
to be attracted to a story that begins "Once upon a time
"
In other words, keep the essential background until later.
And beware, too, the intro to the intro. That is the two or three
paragraphs at the start of some features which are mere preparation,
even background, for the real story to come. Look at your feature
and see if you lose anything by cutting the first two or three paragraphs.
If the answer is no, you've fallen into the trap.
How do you find the intro? There is, of course, no set of rules
which will automatically produce the intro to order, but there is
one piece of advice which will help.
Look for an intro from the moment you begin researching a story.
Experienced writers usually sit down at their computers with at
least an idea in their head of the way they will start. Perhaps
it's an anecdote, an eye-catching quote, a stark fact - but it is
something they will have noted in the story collection process as
a possible way to start. As they begin to write they may realise
that their possible intro doesn't work - even the best writer runs
into problems sometimes - but at least they have started to put
words on paper.
And that is one of the keys. If you are stuck for an intro, don't
sit there with your head in your hands waiting for inspiration.
It won't come. Do something. Start writing.
One writer claimed he always began in the middle of his features
because he didn't know what he wanted to say until he'd written
it. That was probably bad planning, but there is the germ of an
idea in his method.
Start writing, somehow. Start with a question, perhaps, just to
get you going. Say it's a feature about a campaign to raise literacy
levels among rural women. Start like this:
Why are the women of rural India going back to school?
It's not a good intro, but it allows you to start writing. You
can always - and in a case like this, you must - go back to re-write
the intro later, for you can be sure that the real intro idea will
emerge as you write.
Building the reading path
With your intro established, the task now is to fill out your structure
plan with the facts, the quotes, the anecdotes, the analyses you
have decided to use. But they cannot be presented as a set of individual
contributions. They must fit together to create a clear reading
path.
It involves linguistic and thematic links - the use of related
words, such as wife and she; repetition of words; words and phrases
such as but, on the other hand, and now, which act as connectors;
and a sequence of related ideas.
Look again at P. Sainath's story on Dalits going to court. His
two-paragraph intro - a narrative case-study - establishes the tone
of the story and introduces the theme. Paragraph three broadens
the context to give some idea of the extent of the practice, and
the last sentence - In this State, the extent of under reporting
of such crimes is perhaps worst in the country - opens the door
that leads to paragraph four.
The link is picked up there with the words victim and atrocities.
Both relate to such crimes in the preceding sentence. In paragraph
five, the link comes right at the beginning: The incident
.
Lower down, Bhagwan Devi says
if we are attacked again, no
one
will help us. The next paragraph begins: Her cynicism is
grounded in reality
The personal pronoun is the simplest of
links, yet one of the strongest.
And so it goes on. Arun Kumar believes the conviction rate in Rajasthan
is better than in the rest of the country. A logical thematic link
leads to: What do the figures say? Or, a little later on,
rape
cases declared "false" average around 27 per cent. Next
paragraph: This (the direct linguistic link) is like saying that
women in the state tend to lie
.
The whole feature flows in an apparently effortless flow from first
word to last, but it was put together with immense care by a craftsman.
Are you creating a reading path of similar strength?
Look also at the feature by the British journalist Tim McGirk,
He wanted to kill our babies for being girls. (See appendix) Our
analysis examines the structure of this excellent story, and the
way McGirk's technique builds a strong writing path.
And in conclusion
Hard news stories simply finish when you reach the last fact, the
last full-stop. Features need a proper conclusion.
That needs planning too, and you can do it in the same way as the
intro. Keep your mind alert for conclusion possibilities as you
carry out your research. You are looking for something to round
the story off, to sum it up, perhaps to symbolise everything you've
been saying for the last few hundred words. It might be a good quote,
or another instalment in a case study. It might well relate back
to your intro, tying it together structurally. Or it might look
forward.
Sreelatha Menon's story on the AIDS hospice in Kerala ends with
another damning example of the fear ordinary people have of the
disease.
The locals are also opposing a proposed AIDS-cum-cancer hospital
that is to come up in their village. They say they had nothing
against the patients, but did not want their village to be a site
for hospitals treating infectious diseases.
Properly crafted conclusions are one reason why features are more
difficult to cut than hard news stories. A well-written feature
cannot be shortened by deleting the last two or three paragraphs.
EXPRESS FOCUS, JULY 4, 2000
Missing the wood for the trees
What's a forest without people, ask the tribals of Jashpur district
in Madhya Pradesh, as they are asked to move out in the name of
developing a sanctuary. Rajendra Khatry reports.
The rain-laden dark clouds kissing the green hilltops encircling
Badalkhol sanctuary in Jashpur district in Madhya Pradesh bordering
Orissa make a pretty picture. But there are rumblings in the mountains,
and the streaks of lightning flashing across the sky warn of dark
days ahead.
For hundreds of years, the tribals in this region have protected
and nurtured the forest, using its products to feed themselves.
But instead of acknowledging their contribution, the Forest Department
seems more keen on displacing them from their natural habitat in
the name of developing a sanctuary.
Aware of the government's moves, the tribals in the sanctuary area
are gearing up for the big fight.
"Who will dare drive us out of this place? The forest is ours,
we belong to the forest, and no one can separate us," declares
Puniya Ram, a resident of Rangpur. Adds Janghu Ram, from Dumarpani
village, "Kill us if you want. We will never leave this place."
Others say they do not want compensation. "Just leave us alone
where we are," is all they demand.
The Badalkhol sanctuary in eastern MP, with an area of 105 square
kms on the banks of Eib river on one side and Dorki river on the
other, is the 33rd sanctuary to be developed by the state government
with aid from the World Bank. The area derived its name from the
fact that earlier, the forest was so dense that once you entered
it, it was impossible to see the clouds (badal). Illegal felling
of trees by timber mafia has denuded the forest over the years.
An eviction notice in the form of an appeal was recently served
on four villages inside the sanctuary --- Ranpur, Rajour, Kurhatipna
and Dumarpani. Although the Forest Department does not say so openly
, it is evident that once these villages are vacated, the tribals
from the 34 villages on the periphery of the Badalkhol sanctuary
will have to make way as well.
The Badalkhol sanctuary development project is more than two decades
old. In 1976, under the Wildlife Protection Act, the MP Forest Department
first issued a notification for the protected area's development.
The plan had no role for the tribals, though. At best, they were
considered an obstacle.
Stiff resistance from the tribals - mostly the fierce hunting tribe
of Pahadi Korwas --- however bogged down the project. In 1982, the
Forest Department served a verbal notice on the inhabitants to vacate
the forest. The tribals refused, but the department persisted. The
tribals retaliated in anger by massacring hundreds of animals and
birds in the sanctuary.
Since then, the government has mellowed down its approach. Now,
the government is experimenting with the idea of inducements to
lure the tribals out of the forest. The Forest Department has offered
Rs 1 lakh each to the family that vacates the sanctuary. But there
is still no talk of a rehabilitation plan. The result of this "grand
offer": the tribals just did not refuse, but got even more
belligerent. In desperation, forest officials rushed to the area
to explain to the tribals they had no plans to oust them by force.
They even distributed a written statement signed by the District
Forest Officer (DFO) declaring that nobody would be displaced against
his or her wishes. But the tribals are not convinced.
DFO of Jashpur, Arun Pandey, said the government wants to develop
the sanctuary to protect wildlife and the forest. He has been at
pains to remove any doubts from the minds of the tribals and convince
them that the Forest Department will not use force at any cost.
"We are not enemies of the tribals. In fact we have formed
hundreds of Forest Protection Committees comprising tribals from
the concerned areas all over the district," he says. And the
inducement offer? Well, according to the government's existing forest
policy, the forest will be safe only when there is no disturbance
from human beings or their domestic animals. "Eventually eveyone
may have to leave," he admits.
District Collector of Jashpur, Durgesh Mihstra, says the tribals
displacement issue has been blown out of proportion. "The administration
is conscious of the rights of the forest dwellers even as it wants
to protect wildlife," he says. A separate department has also
been formed for the development and protection of the Pahadi Korwa
tribe, he says.
It is ironical though, that while the government has launched an
ambitious project to help the Pahadi Korwas, simultaneous plans
are afoot to uproot them from their homeland. The charge that the
tribals have begun to destroy the forest and damage the eco-system
holds no water, not in Jashpur, not anywhere in the country.
Living in abject poverty in mud houses in far-flung areas with
no electricity, proper roads or drinking water, the tribals hardly
present the face of the timber mafia that the forest department
charges them with. The tribals cut wood mostly for domestic purpose
like building houses, or lighting their chulhas and not for commercial
exploitation. They depend on farming to sustain themselves.
Alleged harasssment by the Forest Department is slowly but surely
driving the tribals in Badalkhol sanctuary area to desperation.
Things will only worsen if the Forest Department does not tread
carefully.
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Feature Writing
What happens when a Dalit attempts to seek justice from
the courts? Especially in a feudal, conservative state
like Rajasthan, where he or she runs many challenges
before a case is even registered? The process is calculated
to discourage all but the most determined. In some instances,
even charges are not framed years after a major atrocity.
P. SAINATH reports from Rajasthan.
WHEN BHANWARI DEVI's 13-year-old daughter was raped
in the bajra fields by an upper caste youth, she picked
up a lathi and went after the rapist herself. She had
no faith in police and courts. Either way, she was prevented
from seeking any redress by the upper castes of Ahiron
Ka Rampura. "The village caste panchayat promised
me justice," she says. "Instead, they threw
me and my family out of Rampura." Nearly a decade
after the rape, no one in this village in Ajmer district
has been punished.
It doesn't mean much, though, in Rajasthan. On average
in this State, one Dalit woman is raped every 60 hours.
Data from reports of the National Commission for the
Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes show that nearly
900 cases of rape of SC women were registered with the
police between 1991 and 1996. That is around 150 cases
a year or one every 60 hours. (Barring a few months
of President's rule, the state was entirely in BJP control
through this period.)
The numbers don't measure the reality. In this state,
the extent of under reporting of such crimes is perhaps
worst in the country.
In Naksoda of Dholpur district, the victim of one of
the most dramatic atrocities has fled the village. In
April 1998, Rameshwar Jatav, a Dalit, sought the return
of Rs. 150 that he had loaned an upper caste Gujjar.
That was asking for trouble. Enraged by his arrogance,
a band of Gujjars pierced his nose and put a ring of
two threads of jute, a metre long and 2 mm thick, through
his nostrils. Then they paraded him around the village,
leading him by the ring.
The incident hit the headlines and caused national
outrage. It was widely reported overseas as well, both
in print and on television. All that publicity however,
had no impact in ensuring justice. Terror within the
village and a hostile bureaucracy at the ground level
saw to that. And with the sensational and spectacular
out of the way, the press lost interest in the case.
So, apparently, did the human rights groups. The victims
faced the post-media music on their own. Rameshwar completely
changed his line in court. Yes, the atrocity had happened.
However, it was not the six people named in his complaint
who had done it. He could not identify the guilty.
The senior medical officer, who had recorded the injuries
in detail, now pleaded forgetfulness. Yes, Rameshwar
had approached him with those wounds. He could not remember,
though, if the victim had told him how he had come by
those unusual injuries.
Rameshwar's father, Mangi Lal, turned hostile as a
witness. "What do you expect us to do?" he
asked me in Naksoda. "We live here in terror. The
authorities were totally against us. The Gujjars can
finish us any time. Various powerful people, and some
in the police, forced this on us." Rameshwar has
left the village. Mangi Lal has sold one of the only
three bighas of land the family owns to meet the costs
of the case thus far.
For the world, it was a barbaric act. In Rajasthan,
it just falls into one of thousands of "Other IPC"
cases. Which means cases other than murder, rape, arson
or grievous hurt.
Between 1991-96, there was one such case registered
every four hours.
In Sainthri in Bharatpur district, residents say there
have been no marriages for seven years. Not of the men,
at least. That's how its been since June 1992, when
Sainthri was stormed by a rampaging upper caste mob.
Six people were murdered and many houses destroyed.
Some of those killed were burned alive when the bittora
(store of dung and fuelwood) they were hiding in was
deliberately set alight.
"The women of Sainthri are able to get married
because they leave the village when they do so,"
says Bhagwan Devi. "But not the men. Some men have
left this village to get married. People don't want
to send their daughters here. They know that if we are
attacked again, no one, neither police nor courts, will
help us."
Her cynicism is grounded in reality. Seven years after
the murders, charges are yet to be framed in the matter.
That too, does not mean much. One Dalit is murdered
in this state a little over every nine days.
In the same village lives Tan Singh, a survivor of
the bittora fire. The medical record shows he suffered
35 per cent in that event. His ears have been more or
less destroyed. The little compensation he got - because
his brother was one of those killed - has long ago disappeared
in medical expenses. "I had to sell my plot of
land to meet the costs," says the devastated young
man. That includes several hundreds of rupees each time
on repeated trips to Jaipur - on just travel alone.
Tan Singh is just a statistic. Some Dalit is the victim
of grievous hurt every 65 hours in this state.
In Raholi in Tonk district, an attack on Dalits incited
by local school teachers saw several cases of arson.
"The losses were very bad," says Anju Phulwaria.
She was the elected Dalit sarpanch but "I was suspended
from the post on false charges." She's not surprised
that no one's been punished for the act.
On average, one Dalit house or property suffers an
arson attack every five days in Rajasthan.
In every category, the chances of the guilty being
punished are very few.
Arun Kumar, the soft-spoken chief secretary, Government
of Rajasthan, disagrees with the idea of a structured
bias against Dalits. He believes that the alarming numbers
reflect the commitment of the State in registering such
cases. "This is one of the few states where there
is hardly any complaint about non-registration. Because
we are diligent about it, there are more cases and thus
crime statistics." He also believes the conviction
rate in Rajasthan is better than in the rest of the
country.
What do the figures say? Former Janata Dal MP, Than
Singh, was a member of a committee investigating crimes
against Dalits in the early nineties. "The conviction
rate was around three per cent," he told me at
his Jaipur residence.
In Dholpur district, where I visited the courts, I
found it to be even less.
In all, 359 such cases were committed to Sessions between
1996 and 1998. Some had been transferred to other courts
or were pending. But the conviction rate here was under
2.5 per cent.
A senior police officer in Dholpur told me: "My
only regret is that the courts are burdened with so
many false issues. Well over 50 per cent of SC/ ST complaints
are false. People are put to needless harassment by
such cases."
His is a widely held view among the largely upper caste
police officers of Rajasthan. (A senior government official
refers to the force as the CRP - "The Charang-Rajput
Police." These two powerful castes dominated the
force right up to the nineties.)
The idea that ordinary people, particularly the poor
and weak, are liars is deep rooted in the police. Take
rape cases across all communities. The national average
of such cases found to be false after investigation
is around five per cent of the total. In Rajasthan,
rape cases declared "false" average around
27 per cent.
This is like saying that women in the state tend to
lie five times more than women in the rest of the country.
The more likely explanation? A huge bias against women
is deeply embedded in the system. The `false rape' data
covers all communities. But a detailed survey would
likely establish that Dalits and tribals are the worst
victims of that bias. Simply: the level of atrocities
they suffer is far higher than other communities.
I had been assured everywhere I went in Rajasthan that
Dalits were grossly misusing the law in general and
the provisions of the SC and ST (Prevention of Atrocities)
Act, 1989, in particular. Above all, the much feared
Section 3 of the Act under which those guilty of casteist
offences against Dalits and Adivasis can be imprisoned
for up to five years with fine.
In reality, I could not find a single case where such
serious punishment had been meted out to offenders.
In Dholpur itself, the few punishments handed out in
cases generally involving offences against Dalits seemed
unlikely to deter the guilty. They ranged from fines
of Rs. 100 or Rs. 250 or Rs. 500 to a month's simple
imprisonment. The most severe punishment I came across
was six months simple imprisonment. In one case, the
guilty had been put on "probation" with bail.
The concept of probation is one this reporter had never
run into in such cases anywhere else.
Dholpur's is not an isolated instance. At the SC/ST
Special Court in Tonk district headquarters, we learned
that the conviction rate was just under two per cent.
So much for the numbers. What are the steps and the
barriers, the process and the perils facing a Dalit
going to court?
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