Community radio stations in India could be the new chaupals, the shared public space, the collective decision-maker and grassroots problem-solver of the day, writes Shubhranshu Choudhary

Radio Democracy: parking attendant in south Delhi with a transistor Photo Dharmender Ruhil

You accept TV channels, newspapers, but not radio… Does this not remind you of Dronacharya and Eklavya?

We cannot be part of any institution of your civil society… Because historically we are not part of the civilised world… For that matter the civilised world has been at war with the ‘savage, uncivilised tribals’… and we do not even wish to be a part of the civil society.”

This was the voice of a friend who works with the tribals in India, and we were discussing the contributions that civil society institutions can make for legalising community radio. Like the others participating in the discussion, I too was shaken.

We have often acknowledged that the tribal society is more refined than the rest. I remember my exchange with a woman activist in the Narmada Bachao Andolan. She used to work in the deep interiors in the forests among tribal communities, and I had asked her if she was not afraid to move around on her own. She was quite surprised, “I feel afraid on the streets of Mumbai. Not here. These people are more civilised than us. In their society there has been no rape till this day.” Although I recounted this story during the discussion, I did feel that my friend’s antagonism was not unjustified.

Earlier, tribals used to transmit messages on their drums; that was their own inherited technique of communication. Modern science invented radio waves but the control on the new technology was intentionally limited.

In a typical tribal district where the literacy rate among women is less than 20 percent, the government will give you a license to run a newspaper, but if you want to transmit the sound of drums, or your songs to more people, you will not be allowed to do so legally by a modern scientific technique. Ten years back, the Supreme Court decided that radio waves are public property and the government has no exclusive rights over them — but the decision is gathering dust. No institution of the civil society has filed a contempt plea against the government.

Vikram Krishna of Radiophony says: “Radio technique is very economical. With the expense of only a few thousand rupees, every village can start its own radio station. But our Union government, which is allowing several TV stations to be set up, finds the radio a threat to national security. It permits foreign security agencies to use the radio technique, but not its ordinary rural folk.”

Recently, some tribal women associated with a voluntary organisation in Vishakhapatnam set up their own radio station. But the police confiscated their equipment because “they were indulging in illegal activities”.

In the jungles of Kupwara in Kashmir, Indian army officials acknowledge that there is a Mujahideen frequency which is operational. They listen to it regularly on their fm radios, “because on their frequency the news and information is more accurate”. Even they can’t understand how the security situation can be improved by not allowing the common man to have access to radio. They argue, “If radio is allowed in the far flung areas it would change the life of the people. They can then be part of the mainstream.”
But the government seems paranoid. The bizarre logic of allowing songs, entertainment and advertisements and not news on commercial fm radio stations is incomprehensible. Why is the government scared of the community radio networks?

Statistics show that more than half the country does not have access to electricity, leave alone TV. If they are earning the so-called minimum wages, they are unable to afford newspapers either. These figures also tell us the probable reason for this fear of non-governmental news on radio. A radio can be purchased for only Rs 50. And a radio station can be set up for about Rs 10,000.

So why am I surprised when my tribal friends say, “We find this just like the film Lagaan, where the Englishman invites the ‘uncivilised Indians’ to play cricket, or when the civilised world has open tournaments for hockey, wrestling and archery on astroturf, or if they use technically advanced expensive equipment which is out of our reach. You accept TV channels, newspapers, but not radio… Does this not remind you of Dronacharya and Eklavya?”

I once saw an ‘illegal radio station’ operating in an open meeting of a voluntary organisation. Around 250 tribals had gathered from different parts of the country. They did not share one universal language and any meaningful communication would have been well nigh impossible. So four fm stations were set up, one for Oriya, another for Telugu, a third for Hindi and the fourth in English. Simultaneous translations were available on radio sets. People spoke in their own language and every adivasi could listen in his own language on his Rs 50 radio with a pair of headphones.

This was the true realism of democracy. Everyone had something to contribute because they could all understand what was going on and say what they wanted to. I could actually see how democracy can be decisively weakened by not allowing freedom of expression to people in a language they are comfortable with.

It is no longer necessary to look at success stories in the western developed countries. They abound in smaller, poorer neighbouring countries like Nepal, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh where the radio has shown people the way to talk to each other, and solve their own problems through interactive, creative communication. Surely, the radio stations could be the new chaupals, the shared public space, the collective decision-maker and grassroots problem-solver of the day. It can also be a joyful endeavour, preserving folk and oral traditions, breaking casteist stereotypes, bridging gaps among religious communities, helping build a truly secular, egalitarian and pluralist society.

So why is it dangerous for people to talk to each other?

The writer was formerly with the BBC