Making Room for Journalism: Cultivating Spaces to Sustain Practices,Camaraderie and Community Amidst Repression

Abstract

This article examines how journalists respond to restrictions and the dismantling of spaces essential to their professional and social lives by creating alternative work and social interaction environments. It focuses on Kashmir, where, following the revocation of the region’s semi-autonomy in 2019, several journalists and news organisations were forced to vacate their offices and shared spaces central to journalistic life were shut down. These developments not only disrupted daily routines and professional practices but also fractured the connections and associations once sustained through communal settings such as the Press Enclave and former Kashmir Press Club, which was controversially closed in 2021. Drawing on ethnographic interviews and participant observation, the article explores how journalists have responded to these constraints by cultivating independent workspaces and engaging in social and cultural practices that help maintain both their professional commitments and their sense of community. It shows that journalists in Kashmir have adopted adaptive strategies that allow them to continue reporting and remain connected with peers. These include forming informal community workspaces and participating in everyday social rituals that take place in public spaces. The article argues that these spaces and practices, though outside formal news institutions, play a critical role in sustaining journalism under pressure. By focusing on how journalists negotiate their environment, the study contributes to wider discussions on journalism and space, highlighting the ongoing importance of physical proximity, social networks, and collective resilience in maintaining independent journalism in politically repressive conditions.

Introduction

In January 2021, the administration in Kashmir suspended the registration ¹ of the Kashmir Press Club (KPC), the largest journalists’ association in the region; took over the building allocated to it for its operations; and declared that KPC ‘ceased to exist’ (Ashiq 2022). ² This move drew strong criticism from press freedom organisations. The Committee to Protect Journalists argued that the closure amounted to an attempt by the administration ‘to prevent journalists from doing their jobs’ (CPJ 2022), while Reporters Without Borders described it as a ‘coup’ and part of a broader effort to turn Kashmir into an information ‘black hole’ (RSF 2022). The concerns raised by CPJ and RSF point to a wider pattern in which the state has increasingly sought to regulate information flows and restrict independent reporting in Kashmir. These measures have intensified since August 2019, when the Indian government revoked the region’s semi-autonomy, split it into federally administered territories governed directly from New Delhi, and introduced a series of legal and administrative changes in the region.

The closure of the Kashmir Press Club was not an isolated incident. Nearly a year earlier, journalists and news organisations had been ordered to vacate their offices in Srinagar’s Mushtaq Ali Press Enclave, which has long served as the nerve centre of journalism in the region. Some of these premises, allocated by the government to journalists, were subsequently converted into offices for the state police, including the former KPC building. Because the Press Enclave and the Kashmir Press Club were vital spaces and nodes where journalists gathered for work, socialising and other activities, this clampdown destabilised journalists’ daily routines and hampered opportunities for solidarity and for learning and working together. Such measures have also had a ‘chilling effect’ on journalists in Kashmir, who have faced systematic repression since 2019.

This article explores how journalists in Kashmir negotiate state-enforced restrictions, evictions, and the loss of spaces essential to their daily work. To this end, I focus on the spaces and means that Kashmiri journalists have cultivated for work, leisure and socialising in the aftermath of the 2019 developments, especially after the clampdown on the Press Enclave and KPC. The examination of the dynamics of such spaces and activities will open ways to understand how journalists negotiate the lack of spaces for work and socialising amid broader curbs on freedom of expression and association. I argue that these spaces and activities, in many ways, not only sustain social practices and routines vital to journalism but also create means to counter the repression of journalism in Kashmir. Understanding the resilience factors that help journalists counter state repression in Kashmir, as scholars (Majeed 2021; Neyazi 2025) have argued, reveals the adaptive strategies and strategic practices they use to maintain critical reporting under pressure.

The article advances understanding of journalism beyond institutional newsrooms to include informal, improvised spaces and everyday practices that sustain journalists’ work and community. It shows that in politically volatile and repressive environments, such as Kashmir, these spaces provide crucial support, enabling collaboration, continuity of work and camaraderie. In doing so, the article contributes to a broader understanding of journalistic spaces and practices in contexts marked by precarity and political repression. In this article, ‘space’ is recognised as a sociomaterial arrangement through which journalistic practices are organised and sustained. It refers not only to physical settings but also to the relationships, routines and affective ties that develop within them under hostile working conditions.

I will first engage with scholarly works on the relation between journalism and spaces, particularly in the post-digital media landscape, which has significantly altered the dynamics of spaces in day-to-day journalistic routines and practices and forced us to critically analyse the role of spaces beyond traditional ‘organisational and institutional containers’ (Reese and Shoemaker 2016) like newsrooms and studios. Afterwards, I will contextualise the nature of curbs and repression against journalism and journalists in post-2019 Kashmir. This will establish the basis for understanding the environment in which journalists from the region work and situate their work within the socio-political dynamics of the region. I will then explore the nature and working of newly established spaces, beyond traditional newsrooms and office set-ups, where Kashmir’s journalists, and often non-journalists, come together for work and socialising. I illustrate how such spaces enable journalists to form associations that foster journalism and personal relationships. These associations, I argue, have become vital means to navigate state repression on journalism as well as precarities of work common to journalists elsewhere. Later, I engage with the social practice of Bahas, prolonged unstructured conversations in public spaces, to understand its significance in the daily routines of journalists in the present repressive socio-political context of Kashmir. I show how Bahas becomes a means of catharsis for journalists who lack resources to establish independent workspaces. I conclude by discussing and summarising the key arguments and findings of the study and its relevance to journalism studies.

Contextualising the Role of Space in Journalism

Spatiality has underpinned journalism’s cultural authority, and news organisations rely on place-based markers, including brand names, titles and datelines, to signal credibility and proximity to events (Usher 2019) and to establish what counts as newsworthy (Tuchman 1972). Moreover, spatiality also shapes journalistic practice by influencing reporting beats, defining access to sources, and structuring the geographic boundaries of news distribution (Schmitz-Weiss 2020). Yet, despite this centrality, scholars note that space has remained comparatively understudied within journalism research (Peters 2012; Usher 2019).

However, drawing on the ‘spatial turn’ in the social sciences, more recent journalism studies have examined how spatial relations structure news production, circulation and meaning. Building on insights from human geography, these studies explore how place/space ³ is not merely a backdrop to journalism but an active force that shapes identities, routines and power dynamics in the field. Many of these contributions critically interrogate how journalists construct, negotiate and sometimes contest the spaces in which news is made and consumed. Scholars have also employed spatial metaphors such as networks, fields and spheres to conceptualise media and journalism (Reese 2016).

These perspectives underline that journalistic spaces are socially constructed and entangled with broader hierarchies of meaning and power, rather than fixed or neutral (Örnebring and Schmitz-Weiss 2021). They also reveal how geography influences journalistic values and news priorities (Boyles and Adonu 2025; Nagel and Broersma 2024), shapes newsgathering practices and professional identities (Hmielowski and DuBosar 2023; Schmitz-Weiss 2020), and show how journalists actively forge geographies of news (Gasher 2015). Recent studies have also examined the intersection between journalism, mobile technology and location-based services (Schmitz-Weiss 2019).

For scholars of journalism, newsrooms have been a central site for examining spatiality. Newsrooms have been studied as organisational, material and symbolic spaces (Usher 2015), where layout and design (Sander Hölsgens et al. 2020; Zaman 2013), workforce composition (Usher 2019), and technological systems (Kaltenbrunner and Meier 2013; Wu et al. 2019) influence journalistic workflows and routines. Such studies illustrate what Maares et al. (2023) describe as the ‘sociomateriality of journalistic practice and place’. This sociomateriality refers to the idea that emerges from the interaction between people and objects. It involves the arrangement of physical spaces, the tools and technologies used, and the everyday relations among journalists, all of which combine to shape how news is produced and understood.

In recent decades, apart from transforming several core aspects of journalistic work, including how news is gathered, produced, coordinated and distributed, digital technologies have also altered newsrooms in numerous ways. They have catalysed the rise of integrated newsrooms and newsroom convergence, where content, staff and workflows are organised across multiple platforms rather than within separate desks or media outlets (García Avilés et al. 2009). The reorganisation of newsroom spaces and technologies has reshaped professional norms and newsroom cultures, with consequences for autonomy, collaboration and journalistic quality. Usher (2014) argues that these changes have pushed journalism away from a stable industrial model towards a more uncertain digital future. These structural transformations have also pushed many journalists into precarious freelance or corporate roles.

The COVID-19 pandemic further intensified these developments. It restricted journalists’ mobility, altered everyday reporting routines and reconfigured newsroom operations, with direct implications for consistency, verification practices and the overall quality of news output (Himma-Kadakas and Mõttus 2021; Saptorini 2024). Although these pressures are visible across contemporary journalism globally, they become especially acute in post-conflict and repressive environments. In such contexts, newsroom culture is marked by heightened precarity. Journalists confront unstable employment, persistent safety threats, migration pressures and fragile institutional structures (Badran and Smets 2021). In conditions like these, journalists do not rely solely on newsroom structures or formal institutional support. Instead, connections, associations and shared spaces beyond the organisation become crucial resources for solidarity, information exchange and risk management. For instance, Faris et al. (2023) illustrate how journalists working in politically contested regions like Kurdistan develop finely tuned political awareness and situational sensitivity by learning to interpret unspoken rules, manage risks and navigate restrictions while striving to exercise professional agency. Similarly, Dickinson and Memon (2012) show how Press Clubs in Pakistan facilitate cooperation among journalists and media organisations, including rivals, enabling them to distribute and mitigate risks collectively. As more journalists operate as freelancers and as newsroom structures continue to evolve in the post-digital and post-pandemic period, spaces beyond formal workplaces have become increasingly significant. They provide professional anchoring, foster collaboration, and help maintain shared standards and identities at a time when stable newsroom settings are less common.

In light of these changes, recent scholarship has advocated for expanding the analytical lens to study contemporary journalism. Reese and Shoemaker (2016) call for moving beyond conventional ‘organisational containers’ such as newsrooms, studios and offices. Similarly, Deuze (2019) urges researchers to recognise the inherent messiness of contemporary journalism and to attend to journalistic practices unfolding outside institutional centres. This perspective also requires acknowledging that work occurring beyond the newsroom is not completely free from structure. It continues to be shaped by institutional logics, constraints and expectations (Deuze and Witschge 2018).

In this article, I draw on Reese and Shoemaker’s (2016) and Deuze’s (2019) arguments to examine the emergence of journalistic spaces beyond formal institutions, and on Maares et al.’s (2023) notion of sociomateriality, to analyse how journalistic spaces are made and sustained in Kashmir amid the systematic destabilisation of institutions and spaces that have traditionally been vital to journalistic routines and against the backdrop of the ongoing repression on journalism in the region. This approach offers a way to rethink the role of space and place in journalism in a context where conventional newsrooms are shrinking, routines are unsettled, and more journalists are pushed into or choose freelancing. In Kashmir, this occurs alongside financial precarity and ongoing curbs on journalism.

In the next section, I show how the repression of journalism in Kashmir has significantly altered newsroom functioning. Under intensifying pressure to align with state narratives, editors and journalists have experienced disrupted routines, burnout and erosion of editorial independence. These dynamics have contributed to layoffs and voluntary departures, with many journalists moving to Indian and international organisations that provide greater autonomy. Local newsrooms continue to matter, but they no longer dominate the region’s news production. Attempts to control spaces beyond the newsroom, including the Press Enclave and the Kashmir Press Club, have further unsettled journalistic practice. These sites once provided collaboration, informal mentoring and emotional support that are difficult to reproduce elsewhere.

Digital technology remains essential to contemporary journalism, yet in Kashmir, its use is sharply constrained. The region faces frequent internet and telecommunications shutdowns, which directly affect news gathering, verification and dissemination. The long history of political conflict and repression of journalism continues to shape the everyday realities under which journalists work. Scholars, such as Majeed (2021) and Neyazi (2025), have argued that despite constraints, journalists in Kashmir do not simply retreat under pressure but instead engage in calculated assessments to continue working. I argue that creating and sustaining informal spaces of collaboration and camaraderie is central to maintaining journalism in conditions of political repression and professional precarity.

Working under Repression and Systematic Curbs Post-2019 Kashmir

In the aftermath of the first India-Pakistan War (1947–48), Kashmir remained divided between the two neighbours, both of which continue to claim the region in full. Legally, from August 1947 to August 2019, India governed Kashmir largely through Article 370 of the Indian Constitution, which served as a ‘bridge’ between the Constitution of Jammu and Kashmir ⁴ and the Indian Constitution (Najar 2023). Most Indian laws applied to Kashmir only with its government’s approval, while its government could frame most laws, except in defence, foreign affairs, finance and communications, for its people. Kashmir’s residents also had the exclusive right to own land in the region (Sebastian and Hrishikesh 2023). Although successive Indian governments diluted several aspects of this arrangement over the years, key features remained until August 2019, when the Indian Parliament unilaterally revoked Article 370. Almost all existing laws, land rights and symbols were abolished, and Kashmir was brought under direct rule by India. A series of repressive measures, including prolonged internet shutdowns, detentions and suppression of civil society, have followed since (Mohanty and Pal 2019).

Although journalists from Kashmir have historically worked under difficult conditions, the climate for journalism has become increasingly hostile in the post-2019 period. Over the past six years, journalists from the region have faced arrests, including under anti-terror laws, and harassment in various forms. Many have been questioned by investigating agencies about their stories, social media posts and political stance (Human Rights Watch [HRW] 2022). Around twenty-five journalists are on a clandestine blacklist that prevents them from leaving India’s borders (Kathju 2021). Several have been stopped at airports and barred from leaving the country. According to media reports, the state has formed teams to investigate the activities of journalists from the region (Dhawan 2022). Journalists also perceive they are under constant surveillance. Of twenty-seven known journalists targeted with Pegagus spyware in India, at least four are Kashmiris (The Indian Express 2021). These and other measures have affected many aspects of professional and personal life, including loss of income and professional opportunities, mental health and self-censorship.

In addition to restrictions on work and expression, there has been a systematic clampdown on the physical spaces where journalists in Kashmir work, meet and socialise. Since October 2020, at least nine media organisations and journalists have been forced to vacate their offices after the government issued eviction orders (Malik 2021). Allocated to the media by the government in the early 1990s, when armed insurgency broke out in the region, these offices were part of Srinagar’s Mushtaq Ali Press Enclave, located in the commercial hub of Kashmir. Historically, the Enclave has housed several prominent newsrooms and journalists’ workplaces. In an otherwise politically volatile region, the Press Enclave had emerged as a relatively secure and familiar space for journalists, and its routines worked in sync with the daily professional work of journalists. Apart from evictions, other measures have also affected the dynamics of the Press Enclave. These include increased police presence, installation of several CCTV cameras, and regulations on protests or demonstrations. Such actions have challenged the very ecosystem of journalism by destabilising journalists’ relationships with sources, workplaces and fellow journalists.

Similarly, the shutting down of the Kashmir Press Club in 2021, described earlier in the article, was not merely the closure of a building. For Kashmir’s journalists, its closure ended many possibilities of working together. Since many had lost their jobs after August 2019 and the COVID-19 pandemic, they were forced to contribute as independent professionals. Consequently, most relied on the Press Club for work and socialisation. The space was particularly useful for young journalists, who could learn the tropes of journalism from seniors and peers. Apart from being a work and community space, the Press Club also acted as a collective voice, issuing statements, supporting journalists during detentions and investigations, and criticising recurrent internet shutdowns and the state-backed ‘New Media Policy’ that journalists termed ‘Orwellian’ (RSF 2020). Among its three-hundred-odd members, freelance journalists were the most affected, lacking institutional support to establish workplaces. Already distressed by conditions in the Press Enclave, the closure of the Press Club further destabilised journalists, forcing many to work from home, find makeshift arrangements, or relocate. Replicating the ecosystem of spaces like the Press Enclave and the Press Club has neither been easy nor feasible in most of these new locations.

Methods

This project used ethnography as a mode of study. I held in-depth interviews and conversations with over twenty-five journalists in Kashmir from September 2023 to June 2024. These include staff reporters of regional, Indian and international news organisations, freelance contributors, as well as former journalists. I also observed, participated and tried to make sense of social gatherings of Kashmiri journalists beyond and beside their usual work routines. This also includes the time they spend among themselves and others, in spaces that might not otherwise be associated with journalistic work. These observation and participation sessions enabled me to capture social processes and everyday negotiations of journalists beyond detailed interviews and enabled a quotidian view of journalists’ associations. The interviews and observation sessions took place across several weeks during my fieldwork in Kashmir, as I visited the work and social spaces discussed in this article from time to time. This, as I will later describe in the article, meant spending hours with my participants and being a part of their routines.

I adopted ‘following the people’, ‘following the object’ and ‘following the event’, ethnographic approach to deepen the analysis (Marcus 1998). To this end, I followed, observed and interacted with journalists across spaces, such as workplaces and social gatherings and during their on-field reporting at different times. Following the object involved tracing their day-to-day routines and practices. Finally, following the event approach made it possible to examine how journalists move through work routines and critical moments in their lives. This included observing how participants coped with job losses and the uncertainties that followed, as well as how they experienced major political developments such as the Supreme Court’s verdict on the revocation of Kashmir’s autonomy and Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s first visit to the region after August 2019. This grounded ethnographic approach also opened possibilities of thick description (Benzecry and Baiocchi 2017), while keeping in view the causes, effects and functioning of broader political processes in Kashmir.

During the fieldwork, I also maintained a detailed text journal. This practice helped me record observations and reflect on them at different stages of my research, deepening my understanding of practices and processes beyond the visible and enabling critical reflection on my role as a researcher, who, although based in the West, identifies as a Kashmiri man. My connection to the region comes from being born and raised there, as well as from the social ties I maintain in Kashmir. Writing and revisiting the journal also provided emotional grounding during difficult periods, particularly when I felt mentally tested by both the repressive circumstances in Kashmir and the hardships endured by my participants, many of whom faced sustained surveillance, loss of income and professional marginalisation.

Due to the politically sensitive nature of the study, and Kashmir in general, and in line with the ethics of academic research, several measures were taken to ensure the safety of the participants. For the initial contact with journalists, I relied on my associations and references in Kashmir. I conducted all interviews and participant observation sessions for this research personally. Most interviews were conversational. This approach kept the interviews free-flowing. No interviews were recorded in audio-visual media so as to avoid catching attention and leaving data from which a participant could be traced. I would sometimes take handwritten notes, including observations and reflections, during interviews. On occasions, when making on-field notes was not feasible, I wrote notes immediately afterwards. All handwritten notes were destroyed promptly, and revised notes were stored securely on a digital platform approved by my university. To ensure safety, no external devices, such as hard drives, were used to store or transfer the data at any stage of the study.

The participants were informed about the nature of the research and verbal consent was taken before each interview. I preferred verbal consent over written/recorded consent so that no digital and article trails were left. This was to ensure that the identity of the participants was protected. Moreover, the names of all the participants (individuals as well as organisations) were pseudonymised at all stages of the research. I preferred approaching potential participants personally. When making use of the snowball approach to contact potential participants, it was ensured that intermediaries passed the information about the study to potential participants, who in turn contacted me. This ensured that the contact information of potential participants was not passed to me directly without their consent. I tried snowballing only through trusted contacts. In line with the research norms, I applied for and secured the clearance of the research ethics office of King’s College, London, before beginning the fieldwork. Various suggestions and changes from the ethics committee were incorporated, including a few discussed already, into my approach during and after the fieldwork.

I transcribed the data collected through in-depth interviews and participant observation sessions and then engaged in several rounds of reading and re-reading. For analysing the data, I employed an inductive coding approach (Bingham 2023). This process required critically examining the material I had gathered. As Ahmed et al., 2025 note, coding qualitative data is rarely linear. In my case, I often returned to the transcripts and my research journal to ensure that the initial codes captured the depth of the material and the complexity of the political context in which I conducted the ethnography. Through repeated engagement with the data, I developed patterns, themes and sub-themes. I then prepared summaries of each theme, outlining their core ideas and how they contributed to the broader arguments. Ethnographic observations and interview transcripts were analysed together based on these themes. To this end, fieldnotes provided the basis for a thick description of everyday routines, while interviews helped contextualise and interpret participants’ perspectives. This process led me to focus particularly on non-newsroom spaces that have emerged in Kashmir amid curbs and repression and on how these spaces function. I subsequently refined and combined sub-themes, weaving them into a coherent narrative, while continually revisiting my field notes. In this study, I have followed a non-positivist, interpretive approach, being aware that in qualitative research, meaning is contextual, and researcher subjectivity is a resource rather than a bias (Braun and Clarke 2023). This approach aligns with the way I conducted the ethnography.

Resisting Repression and Controls by Forging Spaces of Collaboration and Camaraderie

Journalists are required to communicate and socialise, including with fellow journalists, due to the nature of their work (Olajide Talabi et al. 2024). For them, working in isolation can have several professional and personal downsides. This is especially true in places like Kashmir, where the long-term violent conflict has left a large part of the population, including journalists, with post-traumatic stress disorder and depression (Boga 2024; Housen et al. 2017). The curbs on journalism and systemic repression, described earlier, have further compounded the problems of journalists and necessitated the need for camaraderie and solidarity. With the destabilising and closure of spaces vital to journalism, such as the Press Enclave and the Kashmir Press Club, and the constant threat of surveillance, journalists and media organisations in the region have been forced to look for alternatives. While some journalists have ended up working from personal spaces like homes, others, particularly full-time staffers of some Indian and international news publications, with financial backing from their organisations, have established new workspaces. In many cases, journalists have got together and combined resources to establish independent spaces for work, leisure and socialising.

Here, I focus on the dynamics of such spaces by examining the daily routines of journalists who come together for work, leisure and socialising. While several such spaces have come up across the region, I focus on one such group in Srinagar. There are various reasons for this choice. The group not only brings together working journalists and non-journalists but also former journalists and journalists who have been forced to take up alternative jobs due to the present state of repression in the region. It also provides space and learning opportunities for young freelance journalists who cannot afford to have independent workspaces. These factors enable a variety of opinions and conversations and make the space dynamic and inclusive. Lastly, during my fieldwork, the group members and I maintained sustained contact, cultivating a relationship where we could trust each other. This, while important for any kind of academic research, assumes more significance in Kashmir, where suspicion and mistrust have become common in society, including among journalists, who fear being reported to the state apparatuses.

Members of the group refer to this space by many terms, including the ‘office’, by the name of the area where it is located, and ‘Daftar’, which loosely translates as workplace in Kashmiri, Urdu and Hindustani, and can also denote a register or journal in Kashmiri, Urdu and Persian. Drawing on these meanings, its use by my participants, and to avoid revealing its precise location, I refer to the space as Daftar in this study. This choice acknowledges how the Daftar functions as an organised site created to sustain journalistic work and the social relationships that support journalism in a repressive environment.

Established in 2020 by three Kashmiri journalists working for different publications, Daftar is a joint workplace located in a quiet neighbourhood of Srinagar, relatively away from the commercial hub of Lal Chowk, an otherwise preferred location of journalists. For the initial set-up, the trio, who had known each other for several years, pooled in resources and sought help from their respective organisations.

Navigating Personal and Collective Precariousness

I first visited Daftar in the very initial days of my research in October 2023. It was a brief visit. I had gone to meet Jehangir, one of the three journalists who had co-established this space. We knew each other for over two decades through personal and professional associations. The idea was to chat with Jehangir ⁵ and get familiarised with the ground realities in Kashmir. However, due to the presence of others, including a few journalists I was acquainted with, I decided not to pursue the matter that day. I wanted to have this conversation in a relatively private setting, and I wasn’t sure if Jehangir was comfortable talking in the presence of others. Around a week later, I dropped in again. As I arrived in the morning this time, the space was quieter. After we had tea, I had a long conversation about the state of journalism in Kashmir with Jehangir and two other journalists, Younus and Huzaifa, who had co-established the space. Younus worked for a Delhi-based news organisation, and Huzaifa contributed to an international media agency. While we were busy chatting in one of the rooms, more people arrived. Apart from the founders, the Daftar housed others, including younger journalists who worked as freelancers and individuals working remotely for organisations based outside of Kashmir.

Since Jehangir, Younus and Huzaifa took care of the major expenses like the rent, electricity and broadband bills, the younger journalists were not expected to contribute financially except towards running the kitchen. It was past noon, and lunch was discussed. They counted people present and those they expected and added two more to the number. Ristas (meatballs), roganjosh (a curry-based mutton dish) and gushtabas (meatballs cooked in curd) and rice were ordered from a restaurant, Mooz, that they said was very good with Kashmiri cuisine, Wazwaan. Since the order was placed around rush hour, the restaurant said it would take them time to deliver the food. After a lot of negotiations and cajoling, two journalists, the youngest in the group, were sent to pick up the food from Mooz to save time. While we waited for them to return, Huzaifa remarked that Irfan Mehraj, their journalist friend who was in prison, must have been missing Mooz’s food.

Irfan, who edited Wande Magazine and contributed to international publications, was called for ‘questioning’ in Srinagar a few months earlier, in March 2023. He was then detained by one of India’s premier investigative agencies, the National Investigation Agency, and charged under the Unlawful Activities Prevention (Amendment) Act (UAPA) ⁶ and several sections of the Indian Penal Code (HRW 2024). Irfan was also associated with the Jammu Kashmir Coalition of Civil Society (JKCCS), a civil society organisation known for its extensive work on human rights in Kashmir. After 2019, the houses of several JKCSS staff and the organisation’s office in Srinagar were raided by the police. In November 2021, its Program Coordinator, Khurram Parvez, a leading human rights defender in the region, was arrested and charged under the UAPA (Parrey 2024). Both Khurram and Irfan remain imprisoned in Delhi’s Tihar Jail. Smiling fondly, Jehangir said he (Irfan) must have told the police if he could have roganjosh and rice from Mooz before they took him. Everyone else laughed. It was a bittersweet reminder of friendship and the conditions under which Kashmiri journalists are forced to work and live.

Although I insisted that I had food before visiting them, I was still fed. Such moments and seemingly mundane activities, like eating together, do more than fill time. In a repressive context like Kashmir, these acts help create bonds between journalists, strengthen trust and generate shared memories that sustain journalists emotionally and socially. After lunch, the conversations shifted from marriages, children and which ice creams suited them most. On one side of the room, Jehangir was writing a story on the impact of recent torrential rains on the apple crops, which are generally picked around this time of the year. However, every time the entrance door of the apartment opened and closed, making a creaking sound, one of the journalists would jokingly remark: ‘It might be them (security agencies)’ or ‘They (security agencies) are here’. The others would laugh. On one occasion, Basit, a young man who contributed to a Mumbai-based content agency and worked from the space for free of charge, remarked that they (security agencies) are always on a lookout for ‘weakened journalists’, and Jehangir was the weakest amongst the group these days. This evoked more laughter. Bereft of context, when I looked at their faces for clues, I was told the organisation Jehangir worked for was winding up its operations. Zahid, his colleague, was also losing his job. Without a full-time job and organisational support, Jehangir was more vulnerable to investigations and cases. Jehangir’s struggle was not limited to looking for work in the times when journalism jobs across the world were shrinking but also involved grappling with thoughts of his vulnerability and what might happen if his worst fears came true.

Families of incarcerated journalists from Kashmir, including those with young children, are not only deprived of their care and love but are also forced to undertake extensive legal battles while managing their basic financial needs. Such precarity and dilemmas often leave journalists cornered. It is not surprising that many journalists in Kashmir have either taken on other professions or significantly altered their way of working. The incident also revealed that the journalists’ experience with the state in Kashmir had become so extreme and recurrent that it was no longer seen as abnormal but had, in fact, become so predictable and absurd enough to be joked about.

In the coming weeks, Jehangir and Zahid began looking for jobs. They were willing to take up non-journalism jobs and shift to one of the Indian metropolitan cities. Jehangir, who had recently become a father, wasn’t so keen on migrating outside Kashmir. While he had lived and worked in Delhi for a significant time, he did not want his family to relocate to a ‘congested, tough city, away from home’. Since the editorial stances of most of the local media had changed considerably after 2019, Jehangir was not willing to work for these publications. For him, it meant being complicit in their actions. Besides, there were hardly any jobs available in Kashmir. The curfew-like situation after the August 2019 developments and the COVID-19 pandemic had a severe impact on businesses in the region. This, together with hostile conditions for journalism, including restrictions and control of government advertisements, resulted in the substantial loss of revenues. Consequently, many journalists were made redundant and fresh jobs became a rarity. Once considered robust, the credibility of most publications in Kashmir deteriorated significantly. Scrutinised and censored in Kashmir-based publications, some of the best journalists in the region preferred working for Indian and international publications as freelancers rather than working with local news organisations. Despite irregular income, little or no institutional backing against harassment and cases, the latter provided them greater editorial independence.

During my subsequent visits to Daftar, I often saw Jehangir and Zahid filling in applications for jobs and emailing their curricula vitae (CVs). Sometimes, they would take help from Younus and Huzaifa. At times, I was also asked to have a look at a few applications. Within a month, Zahid had relocated to Delhi to join a public relations company. There, he met another Kashmiri journalist who had earlier worked at a senior position for one of the largest media houses in Srinagar. Basit, not satisfied with the work and pay, followed Zahid to Delhi. He stayed with a journalist friend until he got a new job. By December 2023, a few more journalists, including two participants of the study (not from the Daftar group), had left Kashmir for Indian metro cities. While this migration was overwhelming for journalists who had to work in testing conditions away from families and home, it further weakened the already destabilised local press.

Meanwhile, Jehangir had made up his mind. He was determined not to leave Kashmir this time. ‘I have left for Delhi twice in the past. I do not want to be uprooted again’, he told me. Around that time, I was approached by some media production houses asking if I could recommend a video editor. I asked Jehangir if he was interested in video editing and whether he would be willing to learn it. Video editing, I thought, was a skill that could allow him to take up jobs without having to relocate. Moreover, with news organisations paying more for video stories than written ones, it was a skill that I thought could come in handy in that direction. Jehangir said that whenever he tried his hand at editing videos in the past, it had strained his eyes, resulting in severe headaches. I did not push the issue any further.

However, despite two months since his last full-time stint, Jehangir turned up in the office every day except on Sundays. I often saw him applying for jobs, appearing in interviews and helping younger journalists, most of whom were freelancing, by correcting their story pitches and editing their stories. Coming to the office, Jehangir said, gave him a sense of semblance. ‘The routine keeps me sane. What will I do all day at home?’ he told me. In a conventional case, once out of a full-time job, Jehangir would most likely have been at home until he secured another position. This would have cut him off not only from the everyday routines that anchor journalistic life but also from the social connections that help during uncertain and precarious times. The Daftar enabled a continuity. It allowed him to maintain a routine, to work and socialise alongside others, and to sustain a sense of belonging to a community. This is especially significant in Kashmir, where journalists work under repression and persistent uncertainty, at a time when newsrooms are shrinking and more reporters are turning to freelancing.

Learning and Forming Bonds Through Participation

Days at Daftar varied on the basis of news flows, seasons and the topic of conversations. On some days, not much unfolded. Time passed between chatter on Palestine, the Caucasus regions of Chechnya and Dagestan, books, Turkish serials and politics. However, on busy days, the group divided work and travelled together. For instance, in December 2023, when the Supreme Court of India read the verdict that upheld the 2019 decision by the Government of India to revoke the special status for Kashmir (Sebastian and Hrishikesh 2023), the group was helping each other with important quotes, contexts and details. While Younus and Huzaifa were writing their stories, Jehangir, who was still looking for a full-time job, helped with translating sections of social media video statements of prominent India-aligned Kashmiri politicians on the issue. Others, who were freelancing and did not have to file stories, also pitched in with whatever little they could do and managed the kitchen that day. Similarly, when Indian Prime Minister Modi visited Kashmir in March 2024, his first visit to the region since the revocation of the autonomy in 2019, and addressed a massive rally in Srinagar’s Bakshi Stadium, Younus was the only one in the group to get permission ⁷ to enter the venue during the event. A day before the event, I spotted the group near the venue. I was told that the lack of access to everyone meant that others had to rely on Younus for any interesting side stories inside the venue, while others would look for anything worthwhile outside the stadium. Later, the group also travelled together and followed a similar scheme during the three phases of parliamentary elections in Kashmir in May 2024. These examples show how, in the absence of formal structures, journalists at Daftar navigated limitations around resources and access through collaboration and collective responsibility.

This environment was particularly important for younger journalists who entered the profession in recent years and had little or no experience working in a traditional organisational set-up like a newsroom and news bureau. They, therefore, were not trained in ways like the earlier generations and were less familiar with various editorial processes within organisational structures. For these young journalists, a space like Daftar filled the gap of the newsroom culture that young journalists in Kashmir were deprived of for several reasons. Senior journalists like Jehangir, Huzaifa and Younus had not only helped create a space where many young freelance journalists, who lacked financial support, could work from but their presence and mentorship also provided a much-needed sense of togetherness at times when journalists in the region felt cornered. In this way, Daftar not only compensated for the loss of institutional spaces but also helped reproduce elements of newsroom culture that are essential for professional growth, collaboration and emotional support. This support extended beyond the group as well. On several occasions, the group visited journalists who were set free after brief detention or prolonged jail terms. During a conversation, Jehangir and Younus once remarked that while they have differences with some journalists, they have not hampered solidarity. Referring to a journalist who was detained and released after signing a bond (undertaking of good conduct), Younus said, ‘While he (Jehangir) was not at the best of terms with him (the detained journalist), Jehangir signed the bond as one of his (journalist’s) guarantors’.

It also became evident to me that the group accommodated frequent visitors. Although primarily financed by its founders, Daftar, I found, accommodated more people under its roof. These included other journalists and non-journalist friends and acquaintances who dropped in and out throughout the day. At times, especially during the harshest winter days, more than ten people would gather in a single room, sharing blankets, heaters and sipping tea; some working on their stories, others chatting or playing chess or cards. A room designated for smokers almost always stayed occupied, as some preferred smoking while working. In winter, when the windows were rarely opened, the room was full of smoke. On one occasion, when I asked Jehangir how journalists, who smoke a lot, manage in prison, I was met with big laughter. ‘Do you think we have not thought about this?’ he remarked. ‘It is actually very simple. There is a quota for each detainee. The non-smokers pass on their quota to smokers’, he added. The fact that such aspects were a part of the lived experiences of journalists, and were passed on to others, who spoke about them as a matter of fact, illustrated how the recurrence and severity of controls on journalists in the region had rendered these dark realities as banal.

By the time I wrapped up my fieldwork, Jehangir was still looking for a full-time job. Meanwhile, he began collaborating with younger freelance journalists in the group for stories for international publications, with a majority of them being video-based. This collaboration meant that although he contributed by pitching stories to publications, lining up people and locations and the recording process, he did not have to edit these stories on his own. While he provided guidance with the storyline, the editing process was taken care of by the younger journalists working with him. They also helped Younus with recording, often accompanying him to shoot stories. Jehangir had also written a few stories for Indian publications. He had joined the rapidly increasing tribe of Kashmiri journalists who had switched to freelance journalism in recent years. In fact, Kashmir’s journalism scene is increasingly dominated by freelance work, which, while offering more editorial independence than local media, provides little or no institutional backing against harassment and litigation and support like insurance cover. The lack of these facilities, otherwise vital for working in a politically charged and violence-prone region like Kashmir not only leaves Kashmiri journalists vulnerable to harm but has also impacted their work, as they are apprehensive of reprisals and backlash against their work, issues they will be forced to deal with on their own without the institutional support from publications they work for. Last time I met Jehangir, he told me that some international publications, apparently overwhelmed by the number of story pitches from Kashmir, had halted taking more freelance stories from the region for now. Already reeling under precarious conditions, such measures aggravate the anxieties of Kashmiri journalists about the future. Despite the loss of the institutional backing that enabled him to co-establish and later support Daftar, Jehangir continued to play a central role in its day-to-day routines.

Referring to community bonds between journalists of broadcast media in Denmark, Thomsen (2014) argues that despite insecurity, rapid change and competition, journalists and newsrooms are connected by the way of everyday practice-communities, both real and imagined. Thomsen employs the theory of ‘communities of practice’ (Lave and Wenger 1991; Wenger 1998) to explore how journalists develop both local and global professional identities. She argues that while newsrooms foster a close, family-like bond among co-workers, journalists often also identify with the broader, global identity of the journalism profession. This interplay between local and global communities shapes how journalists see themselves and connect with others in their field, including those they have not met.

Building on Thomsen’s (2014) arguments, I posit that in many ways, Daftar, although a space different from setups like newsrooms, fostered means for the emergence of a ‘community of practice’ based on shared learning through interaction and engagement in journalism. It offered members a sense of belonging not merely through their shared profession but also by fostering mutual support and collective concerns, particularly against the backdrop of a politically hostile environment for journalism in Kashmir and the precarity surrounding jobs, income and organisational backing. In this context, learning extended beyond acquiring universal news-making skills and also involved navigating the complex realities of being a journalist in a region at a time when journalism was also becoming increasingly precarious worldwide.

In a community, activities, tasks and functions, as Lave and Wenger (1991: 53) argue, are not isolated phenomena; rather, they derive meaning from the broader systems of relationships in which they are embedded. The working conditions of journalists in this study were shaped by both internal dynamics of the group members (in Daftar) and their approach to other journalists in Kashmir. Such nuances illustrate the social nature of learning, as argued by Lave and Wenger (1991). Despite financial constraints, Daftar regularly accommodated not only young freelance journalists but also non-members, and differences with other journalists from the region were consciously set aside to preserve solidarity in the face of state repression. Such practices fostered a sense of belonging not just within the group but with the broader journalistic community that felt beleaguered post-August 2019. In this context, their identity, both as professionals and individuals who had strong social connections, played a key role in shaping behaviours and outlook. By providing conducive space for young journalists, many of whom had little or no experience in institutional set-ups, Daftar enabled learning through participation and allowed them to gradually take on more central roles. Young freelancers, given space and mentorship at Daftar, later emerged as collaborators for senior journalists like Jehangir. In other words, the community Jehangir co-created supported him not only by providing him a sense of routine and purpose but also by enabling collaboration and support when he needed it most. The case of Daftar illustrates how journalistic space can be actively produced through sociomaterial arrangements that enable work, collaboration and mentorship outside formal institutions. Under conditions of repression and shrinking newsrooms, such spaces function as infrastructures that sustain professional routines and collective support.

However, while journalists like Jehnagir, ⁸ Younus and Huzaifa, who had full-time jobs and organisational support to establish independent spaces like Daftar, most freelance journalists, who lacked financial resources and organisational backing, have largely been left on their own. With limited spaces for meeting and socialising, many of them either stayed home or met in public spaces. I will engage with the dynamics of these public spaces in the upcoming section.

Bahas as Means of Catharsis and Defiance

During my fieldwork, I found journalists in Kashmir, who did not have designated spaces like Daftar to gather and work from, often met in public spaces such as parks, roadside tea kiosks and sometimes in cafes in different parts of Srinagar’s city centre and nearby areas. On a typical day, several groups met separately. While these meetings had no specific agenda, plan or timings, they provided catharsis, as journalists shared time and experiences without fear of being watched and snooped at. I had the opportunity to be a part of two such groups. However, since I was more familiar with one of them, which I refer to as ‘B Group’ hereafter, it resulted in significantly deeper connections with the group in general and its specific members. It is for these reasons that I focus this section on this group.

A usual B Group gathering has five members, but others, who join occasionally or drop by for some time, can often take the number up to twelve. Four of the five usual members are journalists or former journalists, each one of whom has had a different share of experience with police and security agencies in the past five years. Despite being under the scanner for their journalistic work, three of them continue to work as freelance contributors to various publications outside Kashmir. Apart from journalism, at least two also run small-time businesses and rely on non-journalistic gig work. With limited freelance work, these measures not only help in creating additional income but are also likely to support them in case freelance work dries up in the future or if conditions become too difficult to pursue journalism in Kashmir.

Despite juggling between journalism, business and family life, they meet in the evenings, almost every day of the week, except on Sundays. As Aftab, one of the most vocal and regular members of the group, once said, ‘I could have lived without journalism, and I took a break for a bit, but I could not live without Bahas and the company’. By Bahas, Aftab means debate-like discussions that the group undertakes daily. As Aftab put it, the Bahas draws the group together. Unlike Daftar, which centres on collaborative work and journalistic tasks, Bahas sessions function primarily as informal social gatherings. They may inform conversations about journalism, but they are not usually organised around work or production. Roughly speaking, Bahas is the social practice of the group getting together for long, informal and yet rigorous conversations. While such traditions exist across various social, religious and professional settings, including Adda in Kolkata (Chakrabarty 1999) and Sohbet in Turkey (Jassal 2014), Bahas warrants closer examination as it is set against the backdrop of shrinking safe spaces for journalists in Kashmir and amid an oppressive political environment. In the present context, Bahas also provides a means to understand the daily lives of journalists beyond newsrooms and work. Within the region’s historical context, these Bahas sessions are similar to the social practice of pen’d, gatherings common in Kashmiri social circles until a few decades ago, where members of a common circle, including neighbours, friends and colleagues, would gather and chat on random topics. Held at various social spaces, including on the shop extensions (vani pen’d) in lanes and by-lanes (kochipen’d) and inside salons (navid pen’d), this practice provided people a means of passing time, creating social connections and news sharing and discussions.

Of Community and Common Interests: Perspectives from Bahas

A Bahas session would usually begin after 1:30 pm. By then, the members would have tended to any professional and household chores. These gatherings were not planned. The participants arrived on their own. The topic of a Bahas was always decided, or rather, cropped up, during the session itself. In these sessions, the group talked about ideas, issues and facts that otherwise might not be allowed in the present political set-up in Kashmir. Therefore, unsurprisingly, all Bahas sessions were political in nature. At times, when religion was discussed, it was also dominated by politics. On certain days, sessions revolved around the life of a political figure from the Indian sub-continent and on other times on topics like ‘Whether political uprisings are permissible in Islam for subjects under Muslim rulers’ or ‘Were inhabitants of Kashmir sold to Dogra rulers by the British Empire along with the transfer of land under the 1846 Treaty of Amritsar ⁹ ?’ At other instances, the topics could be more contemporary. For instance, during the Indian Parliamentary elections in May 2024, for two days, the Bahas revolved around a prominent socio-religious organisation, Jamaat-e-Islami Jammu and Kashmir’s ‘real’ ideology, its history of contesting elections in Kashmir and ‘actual’ reasons for its support of armed rebellion in the early 1990s. During the Parliamentary elections, some leaders of the organisation not only voted, departing from the decades-old stance of the Jamaat of boycotting elections, ¹⁰ but they also declared that the organisation was willing to participate in Kashmir’s assembly elections if the ban on the party, issued ahead of August 2019 developments, was revoked. Books and news media were often referred to, and texts quoted from them to support arguments and counterarguments during Bahas. These books, mostly downloaded pirated copies, are shared for further discussions, and some members spend several hours of their free time, including nighttime, reading, usually on their cellphones.

While Bahas is not a competition and there are no definitive conclusions or winners, it is common for group members to shout at one another or declare that they will never participate in Bahas again. Yet a day or two later, the individual could be found immersed in arguments over cups of tea and cigarettes. It is not unusual for the group to get engrossed in Bahas and lose track of time. A session that started at 2 pm could easily drag on until 8 pm, or until family members called to check on individuals or ensure they had purchased the stationery for children they had been forgetting for the last two days. If Aftab’s five-year-old called, it meant his wife was too miffed to talk, and the red line had been crossed. It was time to rush home.

These ritual-like sessions helped sustain a sense of community and camaraderie, particularly for journalists grappling with irregular work and living through personal and collective precarity. They acted as a form of social glue, holding the group together across seasons, from Kashmir’s harsh winters to its blistering summer days.

The regularity of meeting in familiar public settings anchored journalists to one another at a time when press restrictions were intensifying and institutional routines had been destabilised. Through shared presence, conversation and simply spending time together, Bahas nurtured a cornered professional community. These gatherings enabled emotional support, the informal circulation of information and the maintenance of professional identity. Bahas illustrates how journalism is sustained not only through formal institutions such as newsrooms or workspaces like Daftar but also through ritualised and affective social practices that are not directly oriented toward news production. Bahas demonstrates how journalistic space can also take affective and relational forms beyond workplaces. Such gatherings sustain solidarity, emotional support and a sense of community under repression.

Despite spending a significant amount of time with each other, most journalists of ‘B Group’ kept their story ideas close to themselves. In addition, since the Bahas sessions were hardly about journalism, professional clashes were rare. But this also meant one had little idea of who would be joining the Bahas and where the missing members might be. Therefore, it was not usual to enquire about others when they were not present. The common response to a question about the whereabouts of a missing member would be ‘phone karsu’ (why not call him?) However, there were unsaid rules of who could call whom. It was mostly due to the fear that some phone numbers of the group members were under surveillance. There was an understanding that some members were already understood as being close to each other by security agencies. These individuals calling each other would not come as a surprise. However, regular calls to a phone number on surveillance from a new number could be an invitation for scrutiny, considered something best avoided. Realities like these acted as a reminder of the unforgiving political situation in Kashmir and the state of journalism in the region. In addition, while journalists have attempted to cultivate safer spaces and stay within congenial groups, one can never be completely immune from the anxieties of living and working in Kashmir as a journalist.

On many occasions, when Bahas was yet to begin or on the sidelines of a session, I also met several, mostly young, working and former journalists, artists and students. I listened to a young man trying to make a career in documentary photography. His friend, who had quit freelance journalism, now worked on a graveyard shift for some Bangalore-based tech company. Another Kashmiri journalist, who had worked across India for over a decade, had returned to Kashmir after he thought he had ‘enough of wandering away from home’. A few months later, he had begun contributing to a Delhi-based publication. Such experiences revealed how people came together to share time, experiences and form social connections. However, in my experience, these sessions were always male-only. On rare occasions, when a woman would drop by, her stay was limited to greetings or a brief chat.

According to Rumaisa, a freelance woman journalist I spoke to, after the closure of the Kashmir Press Club, women journalists either worked from home or kept their socialising limited to workplaces and a few restaurants and cafes that offered a relative sense of safety and privacy. This meant there was limited scope for interactions with male colleagues and counterparts. For most women journalists in Kashmir, socialising with a group of men in public spaces for long durations was simply not viable for social reasons. While women journalists like Rumaisa sometimes met amongst themselves, for a male researcher like me, being part of these women-only sessions would not have been feasible. They may not have felt as comfortable sharing personal experiences with me (a male researcher), which could have limited the depth and authenticity of the data gathered. Due to these limitations, I was unable to access and observe the daily social interactions of women journalists, an aspect that warrants more scholarly attention in the future.

Discussion and Conclusion

In this article, I have demonstrated that in post-2019 Kashmir, the controls over journalism operate not only through outright repression of expression but also through systematic control over physical and social spaces. By constraining access to shared workplaces, monitoring movement and dismantling collective institutions such as the Press Enclave and the Kashmir Press Club, the state reshapes the spatial foundations of journalistic practice. These measures have disrupted everyday journalistic routines and practices, weakened social bonds and sense of community among the journalists, who feel increasingly isolated and cornered.

Yet, despite the hostile settings for journalism, I reveal how journalism in Kashmir persists by adapting and negotiating. Building on scholarship that calls for moving beyond ‘institutional containers’ in journalism research (Reese 2016) and for recognising journalism as a messy and distributed practice (Deuze 2019; Deuze and Witschge 2018), I have shown how journalists in Kashmir sustain professional ties, routines, and emotional support through informal, place-based practices. As institutional settings in Kashmir have been destabilised or rendered inaccessible post-2019, journalists in the region have forged spaces and practices beyond formal institutional set-ups, such as newsrooms, to sustain their professional and social lives. I have demonstrated how journalists seek out alternative sites for work and socialising, embedding journalistic practice within everyday environments that appear ordinary but carry significant professional and political meaning, especially amidst the repression of journalism in the region.

Through the cases of Daftar and Bahas, I have illustrated how journalism unfolds in independent workspaces and in repurposed public settings. While space like Daftar functions as an improvised yet structured workspace that partially substitutes for shrinking newsrooms, enabling collaboration, mentoring, and continuity of practice, the social practice of Bahas sustains solidarity, emotional support and a sense of collective belonging in a context marked by fear, isolation and professional precarity. Together, these spaces demonstrate that journalism is sustained not only through the production of news but also through affective labour and everyday rituals that reproduce trust, resilience and professional identity. These settings have become particularly significant in a context marked by shrinking newsrooms, growing freelance labour and heightened pressure on journalism, especially in the volatile regions like Kashmir.

I have shown how Daftar and Bahas emerge as forms of quiet and dispersed resistance against the repression of journalism without confronting state power directly, but through shared routines and relationships that counteract the destabilisation of journalistic practices and the fragmentation and isolation of journalists. In this sense, they operate as social infrastructures (Klinenberg 2018) that support knowledge exchange, care and camaraderie.

At the same time, the article also reveals the limits of these adaptive strategies. Persistent monitoring, legal uncertainty and economic vulnerability shape how journalists use these spaces, often encouraging caution and self-restraint. Informal arrangements remain fragile and unevenly accessible, and they cannot fully replace the protections once offered by institutional organisations. This tension highlights how resilience under repression is partial and contingent, sustained through everyday effort rather than structural security.

Through this article, I have underscored the need to conceptualise journalistic space beyond formal institutions. I argue that in contexts where digital infrastructures are fragile and autonomy is curtailed, journalism often survives through informal networks, shared places, and everyday practices that enable adaptation and quiet resistance. Paying attention to these sociomaterial arrangements not only broadens how we understand the spatial dimensions of journalism but also reveals how, under repression, journalists remake the conditions of their own survival.