Manikda lives on

Brave, honest and vocal journalists like Manik Saha are never allowed to live that long

I always felt that people like Manikda or, should I say, good people like Manikda would be protected. I always thought whoever wanted to take their lives would think twice because of their popularity and positive image in society. But how wrong I have been -- first it was Shamsurbhai in Jessore, and now Manikda in Khulna! Now I do believe that good people are never allowed to live longer.

I have (can't say had) known Manikda ever since I began working as a reporter. I met him in Khulna in July 1996 when I had gone there for a radio series I was doing for the BBC Bengali Service. He was so friendly and co-operative towards a junior reporter like me, we talked about the stories I wanted to do, planned our trips outside Khulna city in the days to follow, chatted about so many different things and lastly had a delicious dinner cooked and served by Boudi. Manikda was so fond of his daughter, she would stick around him like glue for as long as he was home. I teased him that maybe he should give up some outside responsibilities to spend more quality time with his daughter. He just smiled and changed the topic. Probably he knew that it was something he could never do.

Manikda was committed to his profession to the point of no return. There was not a single time he forgot to call us at the BBC Dhaka office with a breaking news. There was not a single instance when we would be in any doubt about the authenticity of the news -- that's the kind of trust and credibility he had earned over the years as a stringer for the BBC. He was one of the very few correspondents in the divisional cities who could be interviewed on a short notice -- live or prerecorded. Press Club was his second home; his friends, colleagues were all there, but no-one could save him.

Manikda was talking or rather contemplating to move to Dhaka since he was no more feeling safe in Khulna. Being a high-profile reporter in that troubled zone is not an easy thing. I don't know whether he had informed the authorities about his intention, but one thing that I know -- Manikda for sure did ruffle many feathers with his reports.

Many might have had an axe to grind with him; some of them, now seem, was desperate for revenge, but for what? For writing the truth, for being uncompromising at any cost? If this is the price one has to pay for being true to his commitment and beliefs, then, as the cliche goes, the price is really too heavy. It wasn't anger, it was a feeling of being hapless and I am sure many would feel the same way. I am not really interested to know who was behind the attack, but I would like to find out what prompted it. That is a question we need to ask ourselves over and again.

Let's flashbkack -- what happened after Shamsur Rahman was shot dead in his office three years ago. The then government took the killing quite seriously and vowed to bring the killers to justice. We are probably going to witness a similar round of political circus centering Manikda's death. The opposition will blame the government for not being able to protect the journalists and the present government will 'vow' again to punish the culprits. But the underlying reality will eventually get lost. Shamsurbhai's killers are yet to be punished. I still haven't been able to muster up enough courage to call his wife and express my sympathy. Because what do I say to her? Thanks for those cups of tea all through the night when Shamsurbhai and I watched the mutiny drama unfolding at Jessore central jail in 1996 but sorry we haven't been able to catch his killers? What if she asks me, ''what have you done to bring his killers to justice?''

I admit I am too much of a coward to face the question. But what about all the others who had been fighting for the protection of journalists? Didn't we just restrict our responsibility within the perimeters of verbal and written protests? It is hard for me to believe that all the prominent and respected journalists could not use their influences in pressuring the administration to bring the killers to book.

For me, Shamsurbhai still lives. Similarly, Manikda is still there too. But I know that in all likelihood his killers would also never be caught, let alone punished. And I will continue to feel helpless, because who knows who would be next in line.

Someone who trained to be a lawyer became a journalist. Maybe Manikda realised that he could serve the society through this noble profession. I heard from his friends that there were many instances when he used his good relation with the local administration to mobilise them in helping the persecuted and oppressed when they came for help, especially after the general election in 2001. But Manikda remained behind the scene. He never bragged about his achievements, his efforts. He was probably being careful. He might have saved a lot of people, but not himself.

The writer is an assistant editor of The Daily Star.