Why Regional Journalists Need Greater Protection From Threats, Violence

The recent threat issued to journalist Rana Deka by former Assam Civil Service officer Hitesh Dev Sarma is not merely an unpleasant exchange between a powerful bureaucrat and a reporter. It is a symptom of a deeper, structural vulnerability that defines the everyday life of regional journalists in India. 

When a senior administrator allegedly calls a journalist, issues threats laced with violence, and drags the journalist’s child into the intimidation, the message is not personal. It is political. It is an assertion of hierarchy, that power can reach you anywhere.

Such incidents, however, are not exceptions in places like Assam, they are the rule. They reflect a systemic precarity woven into the very fabric of regional reporting. And unless we understand this precarity, its sources, logic and consequences, we will continue to misread threats to journalists as isolated misconduct rather than structural violence.

This is precisely where French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu’s field theory becomes clarifying. It helps explain not only why regional journalists face threats with such frequency, but why these threats are effective.

A field built unequally

Bourdieu’s field theory treats society as a set of arenas in which individuals and institutions compete for power. Each field has its own hierarchy and its own forms of capital: economic, social, cultural, symbolic. Within this framework, journalism in India is not an autonomous domain. It constantly collides with the fields of bureaucracy, politics, business and policing.

In metropolitan newsrooms, institutional strength and legal safeguards cushion conflicts, but in the Northeast, the field is sharply tilted: journalists rely mainly on symbolic capital like credibility and public trust, while officials hold economic, social and institutional power, media houses remain financially fragile and dependent on state advertising, and blurred field boundaries force reporters to rely on the very authorities they may need to expose.

This unequal distribution of capital means that regional journalists operate inside a field where they are constantly overpowered before a story even begins. Their symbolic capital may give them a voice, but it cannot protect their bodies, livelihoods or families when powerful individuals decide to retaliate.

Thus, when a bureaucrat threatens a journalist, the action is not spontaneous rage. It is a weaponisation of accumulated capital, an attempt to reassert dominance over a weaker actor in the field.

Why threats are structural

The threat to NK TV journalist Rana Deka reportedly came because he covered an incident of police action on protesters. Though this is routine reporting for a journalist, often routine journalism becomes “provocation” when power wants silence. In this context, the threat call was a performance of authority. 

It tells the journalist: 

Your autonomy is conditional. Your safety is negotiable. Your work is tolerable only when it aligns with what we expect. 

This is how symbolic violence – another Bourdieusian concept – enters journalism. Symbolic violence is not merely physical harm; it is the subtle, internalised coercion through which power gets obedience without having to act overtly. When journalists know that exposing certain individuals will trigger threats, surveillance, lawsuits or police attention, coercion is already functioning. Fear becomes part of the job description.

Thus, what happened to Rana Deka should not be understood as a personal dispute. It should be recognised as the field disciplining a journalist, a way of policing boundaries and punishing transgression.

The precarity that no one sees

The vulnerability of regional journalists is not only about power imbalances but also the deep insecurity built into their working conditions. Across Assam and the Northeast, many work as stringers or on short-term contracts, paid per story or a modest monthly sum with no benefits. Salaries, when they arrive, barely meet basic needs, and legal protection is almost non-existent. 

This triple precarity viz. economic, professional and personal creates fertile ground for intimidation: those who risk losing their jobs for displeasing powerful advertisers or officials are easier to silence; those without formal contracts remain disposable, making threats far more potent; and those without insurance, safety systems or legal support face real danger when covering conflict, remote regions, or protests. 

In such conditions, a threat does not target just one reporter, it becomes a warning to every journalist in the region: know your limits, and know your place.

Journalists’ rights are not optional

The Constitution of India guarantees freedom of expression under Article 19(1)(a), and this includes the freedom of the press. A threat to a journalist violates not just personal safety but constitutional rights. It also violates the public’s right to information, the foundation of democratic accountability.

Moreover, India is committed to global frameworks, such as the UN Plan of Action on the Safety of Journalists, which obligate states to prevent, investigate and punish threats and violence against media workers.

Yet, on the ground, journalists are left largely to fend for themselves. Complaints are often minimised. FIRs may be filed but seldom lead to meaningful consequences. The unevenness of justice reinforces the field imbalance: powerful actors learn that intimidation works; journalists learn that speaking truth can cost them safety or livelihood. 

Unless this imbalance is corrected, regional journalism will continue to shrink into silence.

Why Deka’s incident cannot be allowed to fade

The threat to Rana Deka is not a minor episode. It exposes how fragile press freedom is and how journalists lack institutional protection. It shows how quickly power turns predatory when it believes there will be no consequences. 

It reminds us that regional journalism, often celebrated as “grassroots” or “people’s journalism”, survives on the courage of individuals who have almost no protection.

If society treats this threat as normal or tolerable, the next journalist will think twice before covering a protest, reporting on misuse of authority, or questioning administrative action. The chilling effect is not theoretical. It is immediate and real. 

This is how democracies erode quietly: through the slow, steady normalisation of silencing.

Precarity is not a condition, it’s a warning

Assam urgently needs structural reforms, real safety mechanisms, strict penalties for official threats, legal aid, independent newsrooms, and stronger solidarity networks. 

The precarity of regional journalists is structural, and the threat to Rana Deka exposes clearly that silencing reporters is silencing democracy.

Alankar Kaushik teaches media studies at EFL University, Shillong.

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