Censorship, in one form or the other, is as old as time itself. Whenever moral policing has come into force, an answering wave of opposition has emerged. Books, paintings, cinema and the press — all have faced the axe of a censor at some point in time. Despite heavy criticism, the scissors of the censor board have chopped off what they have deemed unfit. The cited reason for censoring content has been its impact on people, especially the youth and children.

The Central Board of Film Certification was setup in the early 1960s for this reason. It was thought that the visual medium would always leave a greater impact than other mass media. However, television (TV) was always kept outside the board’s purview. In the days of Doordarshan (DD), the aired content was already monitored and vetted by the government. So the board was, more or less, a symbolic entity. With no other competitors, DD did not have to pander much to public sensibility or worry about factors like ratings. But with the government opening the gates to foreign investors in the early 1990s, things changed. Foreign channels came into India and domestic channels saw a boom. The viewer suddenly had a plethora of options to choose from. Television became a free, accessible medium which provided exposure to a world which was beyond the reach of most Indians. Originally perceived as “family entertainment”, TV shows became new and “different” with chat shows, reality TV and youth-oriented programmes. While many of these enjoyed high ratings, voices were being raised in protest at the content and quality. In some quarters, there was a longing to get back programmes like Hum Log and Malgudi Days of the “good old days” of DD. But there is no stopping change. As content gets more adventurous, controversies arise. Ashok Row Kavi, a gay rights activist, abused Mahatma Gandhi on the 1996 chat show called Nikki Tonight. The comment created a lot of furore and the network had to issue an apology to viewers and members of Gandhi’s family. Lee Child, the famous English thriller writer, once said, “I’m opposed to censorship of any kind, especially by the government. But it’s plain common sense that producers should target their product with some kind of sensitivity.” The possible lack of “common sense” at the producers’ end is forcing the concerned authorities to talk about setting up a censor board for television. But is the creation of a body to decide what the people of the country should watch a wise decision? Are not viewers best placed to decide what to watch? And can censorship transform itself into suppression? Two distinguished television personalities share their views and concerns on our Issue of the month.

Siddhartha Basu// Free flow of ideas and information is vital to a democracy, in which some degree of conflict and flashpoints are inevitable. The question is, how are these to be addressed? By intolerant groups or self-appointed thought police? Or by rushing to the courts on a daily basis? Of course not! Similarly, censorship in any form just passes the buck to a Big Brother, who exercises control over content either according to his fancies or by mechanical application of guidelines. It is also like trying to plug the leak after the dam has burst. We are living through an information revolution. It’s the age of the internet. At a single click or tap of even a mobile button, you can access an entire universe of content. There are about 700 TV channels beaming into India. Any kind of governmental policing of this explosion can only happen within a completely totalitarian and rigidly enforced regime. If that happens, all the abuse endemic to a Licence Raj will kick in. When you take the example of the case against Sach Ka Saamna, on what grounds should it, or could it have been stopped? That it was too truthful? The premise of Sach Ka Saamna, a show built around public confession and catharsis, is based on coming clean on personal issues, be they moral, social, emotional or even sexual. It is intended for a mature audience, and is meant to be thought-provoking and to make you sit up. Though the language and conduct was restrained and sensitive, a number of people were obviously not comfortable with this premise, while others found it too provocative. It was described as vulgar and obscene, without even a single word, image, or action in the show being so. Remarkably, the show had a sizeable and committed audience, who could obviously relate to what the show was all about. In the final analysis, the remote is the ultimate control. That’s the power of choice, and it’s in the hand of the viewer. On the other hand, television is a powerful medium, and both — those who fashion and those who control the content — need to exercise a heightened sense of responsibility. There is clearly a need for active self-regulation in television, which hasn’t been happening effectively enough. Self regulation is possible, if there’s a heightened sense of social responsibility, and a willingness to act on it. Timely review is important not only from the point of view of regulation, but also from the point of view of quality control. In the rush for ratings and profits, responsible restraints are routinely thrown to the wind, and the relentless mill of 24x7 telecast makes the very prospect of systematic review and correction remote. The S&P (Standards and Practices) cells of broadcasters have not really stemmed the tide. The government has been making ominous noises about withdrawing licences. People wonder why when films are subject to censorship, television is not. Maybe it’s that power of the remote — if you don’t like it, you can just shut it. Then again, arguably, the big screen has a magnified impact, and therefore, has traditionally been subject to scrutiny. The number of films, too, makes it feasible to monitor them. India, the world’s largest film producer, makes about a thousand feature films a year, in all languages. That is a fraction of the content output of India’s television channels. Realising the need for a review and response system, the Indian Broadcasting Federation has activated a Broadcast Content Complaint Council, which addresses viewer complaints. You would have noticed the tickers running at the bottom of the screen urging viewers to write in if they had issues with programme content. BCCC has a weighty and representative mix. It is headed by a retired Supreme Court judge and the 12 member council has four eminent members, four members of the broadcast industry, and four members of national level statutory commissions. Let’s see how well it works.

Shekhar Suman// The need for censorship in television is an absolutely relevant discussion — now more than ever. In India families sit together to watch a show, which is why it is necessary to regulate content and keep it within the confines of decency. I say this both from the perspective of an actor and that of a viewer. Censorship becomes even more relevant when we examine the impact of TV on India’s youth, especially children. With parents out working, there’s often no adult to guide children through television content and help them distinguish between drama and reality. The result: cases in which children try to pull off stunts seen on TV. Yet another big problem is that of imitation. Young people believe what they see on-screen to be the gospel truth and, even worse, endorsed behaviour — including unnecessarily aggressive behaviour and inappropriate language. One argument is that since “I hold the remote, I hold the right to decide”. The fact remains that though one may hold the remote, there are few choices. Because of the lack of censorship, improper content gets replicated across channels. It’s human behaviour to do things that are prohibited; the forbidden fruit is always that much sweeter. Take the Indian programme Emotional Attyachar modelled on its US counterpart, in which adulterous spouses and partners are brought out into the open — it’s apparently very popular among youth. The show is aggressive, abusive and delves into the contestants’ lives and bedrooms. Do parents wish their children to make sense of the world through what is shown on the screen and through the lens? I don’t think so, because I often meet people who ask me, “Why is this stuff being shown? Why can’t you stop it?” I believe that the call should be taken by the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting. When it comes to censorship in films, India has a system of certification which allows the audience to decide what is worthy of a watch and what is not — both for them and their families. This matter of censorship is often over-simplified and reduced to the basic notion of “freedom of expression”. However, freedom is a very relative term. One could say this is a free democratic country. So can I take off my clothes and walk on the road? I most certainly won't be allowed to do that! One has to draw the line somewhere — the definition of freedom is not being the worst that one can be. Freedom can’t be translated into a complete lack of responsibility. Experts in charge of television content should keep Indian audiences in mind. These days we are aping the West as far as programming is concerned. Take the show in which a contestant sits on a chair and answers questions, revealing his or her deepest secrets. Are such discussions a good idea, especially when the family sits together to watch the show? Personally, I prefer clean entertainment, which does not mean childish programmes, but shows like Tamas, Buniyaad, Yeh Jo Hai Zindagi and Dekh Bhai Dekh — pure family entertainment that dwelt on relevant issues, without getting preachy. Finally, the great debate on ratings — giving the audience what they want and what “sells”. Well then, why don’t we start selling pornography; it would do really well! Nudity sells, abusive behaviour sells. At the end of the day it’s not a question of demand and supply alone, because what sells is not always acceptable. There was a Russian news channel, where the anchor started stripping while reading the news. Could we have such a programme in India? Is it our culture? The business of ratings has made the TV industry market driven — a Hindi line sums up the present attitude “Ganda hai to kya hua,Dhanda hai”. That is the operating sentiment and that’s why I don’t believe that self-censorship could work. People who are in charge of the content already know that what they show is inappropriate, and they show it nonetheless. It’s like selling cigarettes with a statutory warning, knowing that addicts will buy anyway. Which is why we need a governing body, an egalitarian panel, which represents viewers, performers and politicians. Together, I believe, we can come to a consensus on what should and should not make it to television.