On Being A Woman Journalist

Zubeida Jaffer 

On the walls of the press dining room at parliament are portraits of political correspondents dating back to 1929. The first woman, Fleur de Villiers, appears in a portrait in the mid-70s. I believe she was preceded by Jill Chisholm in 1972. The first black woman joined the Parliamentary Press Gallery in 1994. Vasantha Angamuthu from the Daily News in Natal found it unpleasant to be in an all-male environment and left after two years. I then replaced her. For those of us of colour, both men and women, covering parliament was an opportunity long denied to us. In both the National Assembly and in the press gallery, life had been a predominantly all-male, white affair. 

A white colleague at one of the Natal newspapers once told me that a few years ago she had wanted to be a political correspondent but was told that she would not "fit in". Instead, a male colleague with less experience was sent to parliament. With the dawn of democracy in 1994, this cosy, symbiotic relationship between white male journalists and parliamentarians was disrupted. Journalists had to deal with members of parliament of all persuasions - different religions, different races, different sexes. Naturally, the press gallery could not continue as it was. 

Charged with the task of creating a more diverse group of correspondents for Independent Newspapers, I was painfully aware that as we sought to transform our institutions, we could not be content just to strive to put together all those who automatically "fit in". "Fitting in" would have to come through give and take. We needed to "fit into" being South African, learning to share, adjust and accommodate. For true freedom of the press, the challenge was to move away from the assumption that either white male or black female was best. Journalists would have to find a way to look and listen beyond colour, gender and political party. Only then would we serve the public in meaningful and democratic ways, as we should always have done. It was not at all easy because we had for so long been entrapped in different camps, and had come from such vastly different experiences.

My own personal route into journalism, way back in the seventies, was in itself an unusual experience. Classified Malay, I was not as a matter of course allowed to attend a "white university" for training. I could only enrol at Rhodes in 1978 after obtaining a special permit from the government. At the end of that year, a handful of us - about 30 - were turfed out of the residences. The government had decreed that black students could not live alongside white students, so the university told us to leave our residences. I found an empty outhouse in Raglan Road in Grahamstown that I shared with a friend, but most others had no choice but to accept the separate black residences created by the university. We protested vehemently, but to no avail. 

Not only did I have to navigate the government's racial policies; I was also being reminded that journalism was not a profession for a "girl". The warnings came from members of our conservative community who feared that I would be in grave danger. Fortunately for me, my parents were fully supportive of my choice of career. Without that support, it would have been impossible for me to train in this field. 

The worst fears of those who had issued warnings were realised when I was detained after working for barely six months for the Cape Times. In my first few months there, at no time did I feel that I was being discriminated against as a female. In fact, I felt I had a particular advantage because I could easily slip unnoticed into troubled areas and come back with the story. 

After my detention, my self-confidence was severely dented, even though I did not realise this at the time. I felt harassed by my news editor - restricted both by the state and by news bureaucrats. I cannot say that this was specifically to do with my being female. It was to do with my preparedness to be a journalist to the best of my ability and with this being inappropriate in apartheid South Africa.

Journalism has for so long been a predominantly male preserve, and our newspapers and media institutions were shaped during a dark period of authoritarianism. Now that a free press is constitutionally guaranteed, the challenge is how to make the institution representative of the entire South African population so that the sensitivities of different perspectives can be captured. Women constitute more than half the population. The press is less than free if their voices are not heard. But as we labour on to bring change, the greatest challenge has been to create diversity while at the same time developing skills. There has been an influx of young women into the profession, but a substantial gap exists between this group and a very small layer of senior women. 

Democracy has also forced new challenges. While state violence has been defeated, sexual violence has come out of the closet. In newsrooms across the country, there is considerable insensitivity about this issue. Women in the newsrooms, together with men committed to change, must not only change the public understanding of sexual violence, but also bring about a different understanding of the issue within the workplace. There needs to be an awareness that rape is about power, not sex. While black women are the main victims, press outrage is often expressed when the victim is white or foreign. This grave imbalance needs to be urgently addressed. Partly, this could be done by placing more women in positions of authority in our newsrooms and ensuring that women are engaged in the process of challenging the present ownership pattern of the South African media. 

Consciousness about women's rights is, however, not necessarily the preserve of female journalists. Placing women in key positions will not automatically solve the problem. Education is also necessary. We have to ensure that staff are educated about sexual politics. I remember the case of rape survivor Nomboniso Gasa and her husband Raymond Suttner. When she broke the silence at a press conference, speaking out publicly about being raped, senior journalists in one of our newsrooms were found examining the pictures of the couple as they faced the press. Rumours and speculation about their relationship abounded in the newsroom, and to my dismay, I found some journalists falling back on the age-old stereotype of the blameworthy woman. As political editor of my paper, I was able to express a strong opinion on the issue. Sadly, it was not just male colleagues who were eager to conclude the worst about Gasa, but also females. Then there were male colleagues who felt the same sense of outrage that I felt, who provided greater balance in the debate.

Women journalists are particularly vulnerable to sexual harassment. Some of my male colleagues have argued that they too face harassment from women in power, but my sense is that women are under greater pressure. Building relationships represents part of the essence of our job. How do you develop a professional relationship without opening yourself up to the possibility that the man in power could misconstrue your intention? How do you do an interview when the male politician is obviously interested in flirting? This kind of situation needs to be handled with particular skill and maturity. The greatest difficulty is that women face this in silence. I found that my female colleagues opened up to me in parliament only when I raised the issue. In this way, I discovered that many were facing the same difficulties, but felt awkward speaking about it. To my knowledge, no media companies have put in place a support mechanism for women journalists. I most certainly had nowhere to raise this seriously at the Independent Group, because there was no females who were senior to me. The men generally just grin uncomfortably.

Women have some responsibility to challenge conditions that are not helpful to their daily lives. When I was appointed to the position of Group Parliamentary Editor of Independent Newspapers in 1997, I was offered a bigger car allowance that meant I was expected to buy a bigger car or pay more tax. I asked that I be given a child-care allowance instead because I was a single parent and the job would place greater demands on me and require me to employ help. But this, I was told, was not company policy and would not be possible. I did not buy a bigger car, choosing instead to forfeit the money to the taxman. I did not have the capacity to challenge this on my own. As women move into greater positions of responsibility, I hope that they will mobilise to bring about a shift in priorities within the business community. This is not a question of asking for more money. It is asking for a different set of priorities. 

Those senior women journalists joining the upper ranks of companies have to ask themselves whether they will "fit into" the male world or bring into that world the sensitivities, the special perspectives on female life experiences. Only then, when men and women work in parallel and as equals, can we attain the kind of balance that will bring about greater health within our societies. We have a long way to go. There are no simple answers. If we make a genuine attempt to hear what others are saying, then I have no doubt, solutions lie within our collective experience - black and white, male and female. 

While the problems sometimes seem insurmountable, I cannot but feel honoured to live at this moment in our history when we are called upon to transform and shape the key institutions of our society. We have the choice of throwing up our arms in despair or rolling up our sleeves and getting on with the job. None of us is perfect. We will make mistakes. But let it never be said that we refused to try.

Zubeida Jaffer has worked as a journalist and editor in South Africa since 1980. She is currently self-employed.

  

 

Vol, 11

Dec 2002

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