There was a time—not too long ago—when journalism was a calling. A mission. A noble pursuit of truth. Today, I struggle to even call it a profession. It has degenerated into an enterprise of power-brokering, sycophancy, caste calculus, and ideological hopscotch. If morality had an obituary column, modern Indian journalism would feature on top.
My latest bout of disillusionment is triggered by the arrest of Kommineni Srinivasa Rao, a man once celebrated for his journalistic prowess, who now finds himself on the receiving end of a political reversal. His career arc is not just chequered—it’s dizzying. A self-proclaimed chronicler of Andhra politics, Kommineni has gone from being a trusted voice of Eenadu (practically the Telugu Desam Party’s in-house gazette in its heyday) to an overzealous cheerleader for YSR Congress. This transformation didn’t happen in a vacuum—it arrived conveniently with the winds of power in 2019. He switched horses midstream, from pro-TDP to pro-Congress, and then to Saakshi, the undisguised propaganda arm of Y.S. Jaganmohan Reddy.
Is this journalism? Or political brokerage in disguise?
One might even have offered him sympathy for his arrest—had he not, over the years, weaponised his pen not for truth but for targeted bile, especially against the very political force he once helped script glowing headlines for. There’s a fine line between fearless commentary and full-throated vendetta, and Kommineni gleefully danced across it. Personal attacks, verbal assault disguised as analysis, and the zeal of a man more loyal than the king—all on record.
But why single him out? The Komminenis of journalism are everywhere now. The profession is infested with turncoats who, having failed to make a mark with genuine talent or reporting, climbed the ranks singing paeans to their political benefactors. Some were handsomely rewarded with government-appointed sinecures and lifetime achievement awards (ironically, for compromising every professional value worth celebrating). Others became managing editors, not for their reportage, but because they knew which political boss to court and when.
Let’s not pretend this rot is recent. The decay began with the advent of the Telugu Desam Party in the early ’80s, when journalism in Andhra Pradesh began morphing from a profession of principles to a playground of caste affiliations and ideological fault lines. Suddenly, even newsroom debates echoed the divisions on the street. The loftiest qualification for a journalist? Be born into the ‘right’ caste and know whom to side with when the election results are in.
Still, I count myself fortunate. I belonged to an era when titans like D. Sitaram, G. Krishna, and TV Krishna walked the corridors of newsrooms with upright spines and clear minds. I worked under D. Sitaram, a firebrand journalist whose mentorship I cherish to this day. I rose to become a Chief of Bureau/Assistant Editor at a time when promotions were earned, not purchased with political currency. But alas, in the years since, I have seen men of lesser intellect and even lesser ethics crawl their way into editorships—simply by being “yes men” to pliant managements or powerful politicians.
So, is Kommineni’s arrest unjust? Perhaps. But cry me a river. Where were these free-press warriors when another “senior journalist,” Kollu Ankababu—incidentally from the same social-political camp—was arrested during the YSRCP regime for similar excesses? No press councils met. No black bands worn. No fire and brimstone op-eds. Just deafening silence. Why? Because outrage, too, like journalism today, is up for partisan auction.
And now we’re expected to believe that some of these union leaders, who moonlight as government appointees, will march on the streets shouting about “suppression of press freedom”? Spare me the drama. Their silence is louder than any slogan. They’ve already sold their conscience for cozy office chairs and monthly honorariums.
In this climate, the new-age journalist must ask: is it better to be principled and sidelined, or spineless and salaried? The Komminenis and Ankababus have made their choice. The rest of us, sadly, live with the collateral shame.
Journalism is no longer the Fourth Estate. It’s fast becoming the fifth wheel of power politics—a dispensable appendage used, abused, and discarded based on the day’s ruling party. And unless we rediscover the spine that once defined our tribe, we are just bhajan mandalis in a press card disguise.
It breaks my heart to say it, but yes, journalism, today, is a disgusting profession to embrace.
