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Since he was in no position to use the typewriter, his wife persuaded him to dictate or write out his thoughts. At first he demurred, but then took her advice. "In the beginning I couldn't understand my own handwriting. But in the last ten years, I have developed a good hand in both Urdu and English," he chuckles. "I would write and my son would type it out and give it back to me for corrections."
The trouble Zamir Niazi took over his books, both before and during his illness, is adequately reflected in his works. As somebody said of his first book: "The Press in Chains is not a book. It is a library." He has not only talked of the post-partition period but also of the Indian press before 1947. In his book, The Web of Censorship, he talks of the self-censorship newspapers often resort to, bringing out the insecurities that are inherent in those who wield the pen in a nation with a poor record of democracy. So densely packed with information are all his books, that no subject is exhausted altogether. One can only agree with the author that a number of books on the press in Pakistan indeed remain to be written.
Zamir Niazi started collecting press advices routinely issued to newspaper editors by the authorities during the 1965 war. Somehow, even after the war, the press advices did not stop. These not only placed taboos on the publication of certain topics but also issued instructions on how many columns a particular article could occupy. He now started pasting these advices in right earnest in a register. He merely wanted to maintain a record - no thought had entered his mind of writing a book at this point. Then in 1971, his precious collection vanished mysteriously (he hints it was taken by a colleague who is now dead). A crucial part of the history of the press in Pakistan was lost with it. "I fell ill, I even thought of leaving the profession," he reminisces. Luckily, his dejection was short-lived and he soon resumed the practice of gathering advices as well as other material on the press.
Also, in the early seventies, on a visit to India, he went to the Bombay Press Club where he was amazed at the sight of scores of books written by journalists on the local press. On his return, he found several books on the Western press in British and American libraries. That set him thinking. He tried to persuade several journalists to write on the press in Pakistan but no one wanted to take on the task. Finally, Babar Ayaz, a colleague, advised him to write a book himself. Thus Zamir Niazi's first book saw the light of day in 1986 during the dark era of General Ziaul Haq's rule. According to him Babar remained a moving spirit behind all the three books.
So why wasn't such a sensitive subject ripped apart by the censor's scissors? Unaffectedly modest, Zamir Niazi replies, "I was considered a non-entity. No one knew me, not even professionally since I was working on the desk, and according to a senior colleague, 'a very unsocial' person. Only the journalists with whom I had the honour of working knew me."
Under these circumstances, according to him, the authorities thought that the banning of the book would lead to a celebrity status for the author and that the book would sell like hot cakes. They were also afraid this would then become an international event.
In fact, after the publication of the book General Zia flaunted the book in front of foreign journalists concerned about the freedom of the press in Pakistan. He particularly pointed out the last chapter, 'Dark Tunnel' which dealt with the heavy handedness of the authorities towards the journalist community as a vindication of the accusations of undemocratic actions levelled at the military regime.
But it is not as if Zamir Niazi spares the journalist community in either his conversation or his works. He points out the fact that during the Zia era, newspapers were provided with as much newsprint as they asked for without any consideration for the actual circulation. The newsprint that was left over inevitably found its way to the black market. This was a kind of 'perk' the authorities allowed the journalists, in order to win them over to their point of view. The ministry of information had a list of those who resorted to this practice. With Zia's demise and with the induction of the first Benazir Bhutto government this list found its way into the hands of the professed champions of press freedom and human rights. But, for some reason or the other, the list remained unpublished.
However, Zamir Niazi remains optimistic about the press. "I think that the press is behaving most maturely. If at all a code of ethics is necessary it should be manned, financed and implemented by the newspapers. There are three or four groups of newspapers that can do this but (the representatives of these) should take some token money from smaller newspapers also. No government should play a part here."
But more than a code of ethics, Zamir Niazi believes that the two most important qualities a journalist must possess are conviction and conscience. This may lead to some tricky situations, such as the issue of the notorious 'White Paper' of the Zia regime where noted journalists had a hand in giving shape to the document.
He mentions one, the late I.H.Burney, who had suffered under Z.A. Bhutto. "He was one of the main architects of the paper but he didn't accept any payment from the government. He didn't use the government transport. He even refused the editorship of the The Pakistan Times and Morning News." But did his conviction and conscience justify his aiding a military set-up that was, for all intents and purposes, illegitimate? Zamir Niazi again reiterates that the late journalist had acted according to his conscience. Even later, Mr Burney confided in Zamir Niazi that he had done the right thing.
He dilates on the subject of conscience by giving the example of rules governing gun sales in the US. "Despite constraints on the gun sales, the murder rate has gone up in the US," he says. Rules and laws, he believes, are no good unless accompanied by a deep conviction that one must follow these.
Zamir Niazi is now working on another book, A fettered freedom, that will include past articles written by the author and relating to the press, plus the period 1990 to 2000. Invariably, he would have brought readers up-to-date with a long struggle for freedom that began before 1947 and will go on for years to come.
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Profile
Subeditor, Dawn 1954-1962. Chief subeditor, leader writer, Daily News 1962-1965. Edition in charge, editor of magazine section, news editor, Business Recorder 1965-1990. Editor monthly Recorder and weekly Current. Contributed articles to various local and foreign publications
Books: The press in chains (1986), The press under siege (1992), The web of censorship (1994). Also edited Zameen ka nauha (2000). Two more books under print: Unglian figar apni (Blood-dripping fingers) and Haath hamare qalam huvay (our severed hands)
Press advices, 1980-1981
May 26, 1980: Anita Ghulam Ali has issued a statement supporting the demands of college teachers. It is not to be published.
Oct 25, 1980: A rally by Dadu medicos against Zia at the Bagh-i-Quaid reception in Hyderabad. It should not be published.
Dec 22, 1980: An eye camp is set up in Quetta. Give prominent display to it.
May 28, 1981: Crime reports should be taken on inside pages (not more than two column headlines).
July 31, 1981: Awami Express accident: statements suggesting 'sabotage' should not be published.
Aug 14, 1981: Photograph of Begum Zia can be published only with dupatta on.
Sept 13, 1981: The NWFP administration has prohibited the entry of Benazir Bhutto to the province. Two officials failed to implement this order, resulting in termination of their services and suspension of a DSP. This report should not be published.
Nov 7, 1981: A students raid on the censor's office in Karachi. The item should not be taken.
(These advices have been taken from The web of censorship).
Source: Daily Dawn.
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