What makes a journalist?

Mathew Rongmei
Dimapur

I was watching an interview on HornbillTV recently - Dhiraj Sharma, Monalisa Changkija, Imkong Walling and Al Ngullie in conversation. It was one of those discussions that stays with you. And it left me with a very simple question that is not so simple anymore: What actually makes someone a journalist?

On the surface, it’s an easy answer. But in a time when media is changing every day, it’s a question worth asking again and again.

The word itself comes from the French journal - a daily record, a diary. In its simplest form, a journalist is someone who gathers information, checks it, talks to people, and tells the public what happened.

But I think journalism is a little more than that. It’s not just about telling people what happened. It’s about trying to find out what actually happened.

Mahatma Gandhi was a journalist too. Through Young India and Harijan, he didn’t just report news - he used journalism to communicate an idea, to reach people, to move a nation. It reminds us that journalism has influence. And influence always brings responsibility.

That same idea is behind our Press Council. The First Press Commission recommended it back in 1956, and the Press Council of India started functioning on November 16, 1966. That’s why we observe November 16 as National Press Day - not just to celebrate a free press, but a free and responsible press.

Yes, a journalist is free to ask questions, to investigate, to report on matters of public interest. But that freedom only works if it comes with accuracy, fairness and honesty.

They say a good journalist needs a “nose for news” - that instinct to know what matters. That’s true. But that’s just the starting point. After you find the story, you have to know how to ask the right questions, how to verify what you’ve been told, and how to actually understand the subject before you put it out for everyone to see.

And perhaps the most important skill of all-knowing the difference between fact, opinion and allegation. An opinion is an opinion. An allegation is an allegation. Neither becomes a fact just because it makes a great headline.

This matters even more in a place like Nagaland. Here, political, tribal, religious and social issues are deeply personal and often sensitive. One unverified claim, one careless sentence, one misleading headline - and you create more confusion than clarity.

Social media has made this even more complicated. Today, anyone with a smartphone can shoot a video, do an interview, post a story, and reach thousands in minutes. That’s powerful, and it has opened up space for many voices. But it has also blurred the line between journalism and influence.

There’s nothing wrong with being a content creator, a commentator or an influencer. They add a lot to public conversation. But having a camera, a microphone, a press card, or 50k followers doesn’t automatically make you a journalist. 

What makes you a journalist is not what you have, but how you work - how you gather information, how you verify it, and how you present it.

Of course journalists have opinions. We all do. The difference is that your reader or viewer should be able to tell what is reporting and what is your personal view. And when we get it wrong - because we will - we should be willing to say so and correct it.

Good journalism also has nothing to do with the size of your organisation. A powerful story can come from a small, independent paper or a solo reporter in a district. And just because you work for a big, recognised house doesn’t mean everything you file is automatically good journalism. Credibility isn’t given. It has to be earned, every single day.

That’s why the term “influencer journalist” makes me pause. Influence itself is not the problem. The problem starts when views, likes, shares and followers become more important than the responsibility to get it right. Journalism should never become a race for attention.

Then there’s the question of who is a journalist on paper. In Nagaland, the DIPR is the nodal department for press matters. The Government has now notified the Nagaland News Media Accreditation (Revised) Rules, 2025, which is a welcome move because it recognises the new reality - digital media, electronic media, freelancers. Accreditation matters because it’s linked to access: to information, to officials, to documents, to press conferences - to the actual tools of news gathering.

Which brings me to something small but visible - the “PRESS” stickers on vehicles.

A small shop that does typing, photocopying, wedding cards, calendars, letterheads and visiting cards may be called a printing press. That’s fair. But a commercial printing shop is not a news organisation. Printing something and reporting news are two very different jobs.

When vehicles from such businesses carry “PRESS” stickers, it creates confusion - especially at police checkpoints or during sensitive situations. A genuine media vehicle should be identifiable not by a sticker bought at a shop, but by a verifiable media organisation, a working journalist, or an authorised media pass.

The idea is not to make life difficult for real journalists. The idea is to make it clearer - for the police and for the public - to know what’s a genuine media vehicle and what’s a commercial printing vehicle. A commercial printer can proudly use its own business name on its vehicle. That’s its identity.

A press sticker should mean professional responsibility. It shouldn’t be a shortcut through a checkpoint.

As National Press Day comes around, maybe our Press Clubs in Nagaland can do more than the usual speeches and celebrations. Maybe it’s a good time for an honest conversation.

Are we verifying enough?

Are we giving the other side a chance to respond?

Are we clearly separating news from opinion?

Are we reporting enough about ordinary people, about issues outside Kohima and Dimapur?

And most importantly - are we doing enough to earn people’s trust?

This could be a moment to talk about the real challenges - misinformation, AI, social media, paid content, ethics. Because in Nagaland, responsible journalism matters even more. We need to be able to report difficult issues without making them more difficult. To question those in power without becoming partisan ourselves. To give ordinary people a voice without turning their stories into just another piece of content.

So, what makes a journalist? For me, it’s not the camera. Not the mic. Not the press card. Not the follower count.

It’s the willingness to ask, to verify, to understand, and to report responsibly.

A journalist can make a mistake. We all do. What matters is the willingness to acknowledge it, correct it, and learn from it.

In the end, perhaps journalism is not about being seen or heard. It’s about seeing clearly, checking carefully, and telling honestly.

A free press matters. But a free press keeps its place in society only through responsible journalism.