'How Do Freelancers Like Me in Kashmir Prove We’re 'Real' Journalists to Govt?'
'For freelancers in Kashmir, new rules demand documents many of us don’t have. How do we prove that we are 'Real'?'
advertisement
Since my childhood, I remember my Nanaji (grandfather) bringing home newspapers every morning. In the evening, at exactly 7 pm, our whole family would gather around the radio to listen to Sherbeen, the daily news programme that connected us to the outside world.
Back then, the internet was not mainstream in Kashmir. Frequent shutdowns and restrictions made it impossible to rely on online news. In those moments, the rustle of newspapers and the familiar voice from the radio quietly planted in me a fascination with news and storytelling. What started as a daily family ritual eventually became my calling.
A year ago, while still in college, I decided to take my first real step towards journalism. I spent a week visiting at least six local newspaper offices across Kashmir. The responses I got were both disheartening and eye-opening.
'Impossible To Survive With Such Pay'
At first, I thought this struggle was because I was still midway through my graduation. But when I spoke to fellow journalists, I realised it wasn’t just me. “This is normal here,” one of them told me. Most newcomers in local media earn only Rs 5,000-Rs 7,000 a month, often covering press releases, political events, or traffic drives rather than stories that really matter.
That’s when I understood the gap between the passion that draws young people into journalism and the harsh reality that often pushes them away.
Still, I didn’t lose hope. I met a few senior journalists in Kashmir who had worked with international media organisations. They mentored me for a few months, teaching me how to pitch, report, and write better. Slowly, I began to understand how journalism works beyond local papers; how to find a story, build credibility, and bring people’s voices to light.
Eventually, I started freelancing for two national outlets. The pay wasn’t great, but compared to local newspapers, it felt decent. Seeing women in malls and shops earning as little as Rs 3,000 a month, my modest progress felt like a small miracle.
For a while, it felt like I was finally finding my path. A few of my friends even followed in my footsteps and started reporting too.
'LG’s Order Has Serious Consequences for Us'
Then came November. On 3 November, I saw a news report saying the Jammu & Kashmir government planned to “weed out fake journalists.” At first, I thought it was about those who misuse social media to spread misinformation in the name of journalism.
But soon, it became clear that this decision would affect everyone, including legitimate, independent journalists.
The move came after Jammu and Kashmir’s Lieutenant Governor Manoj Sinha directed district magistrates and senior superintendents of police to 'weed out fake journalists' and ensure 'mandatory registration and accountability' of media professionals and online platforms.
Soon after, district administrations, including in Baramulla, Kupwara, Shopian, Pulwama and other parts of the Valley, issued circulars asking journalists to submit detailed personal information for verification. The required documents include Aadhaar and PAN cards, educational certificates, official ID cards, six months of salary statements, and links to social media accounts and the organisations they work with.
While the administration framed the exercise as an effort to bring transparency, many local and independent journalists fear it could become a tool to monitor or discourage critical reporting in a region already grappling with press restrictions.
As freelancers, we pitch stories, write, and get paid per piece. We don’t have monthly salary slips or formal appointment letters. So how are we supposed to produce these documents? And if we can’t, does that make us “fake journalists”?
“If you’re new or freelance for smaller publications, no one gives you such documentation,” he said. “Many independent journalists have now started shifting to research work instead of reporting just to avoid scrutiny.”
His words stayed with me. Journalism in Kashmir is already difficult—between restrictions, low pay, and constant pressure. Now, this new layer of bureaucratic control risks pushing out the few remaining independent voices.
Not only freelancers, but even small independent creators are feeling the impact. I met a 30-year-old creator from north Kashmir whose story broke my heart.
“I have four sisters,” he told me. “My father used to sell tea at a stall. I really wanted to do something different, so two years ago I started a YouTube channel and a Facebook page.”
He registered his venture under the MSME scheme and began posting updates on local issues, road conditions, panchayat meetings, and drainage problems. “People started watching. I felt I was doing something good for my community,” he said.
Then came the new circular. “Now, I don’t think I can continue,” the creator said. “They want documents I don’t have—salary slips, media letters. But I’m just a small creator trying to do civic journalism. My work feels lost.”
Watching him struggle to hold back tears, I realised how easily bureaucratic procedures can crush ordinary dreams.
'Reporting in Kashmir Is Already a Fight for Survival'
The Indian Constitution guarantees freedom of speech and expression. Yet, in places like Kashmir, that right often feels conditional. You can speak—but only after you’ve filled out a form, submitted your ID, and been approved by an office.
It makes me wonder: who gets to decide who is 'fake' and who is 'real'? Is it the bylines, the salary slips, or the courage to tell uncomfortable truths?
As someone still learning and finding my way in journalism, I don’t claim to have all the answers. But I do know that journalism cannot survive if young reporters are afraid to speak or write. If every story must pass through layers of scrutiny, then slowly, stories will stop being told at all.
Despite everything, I still wake up every morning and scroll through the news, just like my grandfather once unfolded his newspaper. The spark that began with Sherbeen still lives in me.
I continue to write—even if it’s slow, even if it’s uncertain. Some days, I wonder whether my future in journalism will survive this growing climate of control. But then I feel that if journalists like us don’t tell the stories of this place, who will? Someone has to tell them, right?
That’s reason enough to keep going.
Because journalism in Kashmir isn’t just a profession. It’s a struggle that continues every single day, between hope and fear, between silence and truth.
(The Quint tried speaking to Nitish Rajora, Director of Information, Department of Information & Public Relations (DIPR), regarding the issues raised. He refused to comment. The Quint has also raised these queries over email with the DIPR, and their response is awaited. The story will be updated as and when they respond.)
(The author is a young freelance journalist from Kashmir. She has chosen not to reveal her identity.)
(All 'My Report' branded stories are submitted by citizen journalists to The Quint. Though The Quint inquires into the claims/allegations from all parties before publishing, the report and the views expressed above are the citizen journalist's own. The Quint neither endorses, nor is responsible for the same.)