IT might sound odd but newspaper offices are sometimes so fed up with it that they dread the next bad news. And they must maintain a certain kind of aloofness from the outside world in order to survive and report and boastfully shape opinions, which is why an intrusion by the real, by one of our own, causes an earthquake. The professional façade —so called objectivity — is blown up by this invasion by the bad news that has personal connotations.

The gentleman is in his 80s, and a veteran newspaper hand, as confirmed by his yellowed visiting card, a relic from the last job he held until ‘a few’ years ago. When he went looking for work in a newspaper office a fortnight ago, he had to be escorted by a grandson of his. He mumbled a few words with old-world grace, took the vague response to his request with the requisite amount of salt and quietly walked away, holding tightly on to his young companion. No questions were asked about his abilities or his experience. He was just too old to have come asking.

Then there is this other, comparatively younger veteran who would once write on the old Lahore — the ancient city that has outlived his own market appeal. He is the more insistent type and would settle for just anything that remotely has to do with the profession he once served, respectfully, he believes — the sort you usually do not find and cannot afford to have in newspaper offices anymore.

Just as the doors have been closed on the old, the young people that one runs into also find themselves confronting an uncertain future.

The staff there still have their share of the haggard and the lost and the absent-minded, but these are essential journalistic attributes which are to be found in the ‘younger lot’ that has since replaced the coughing, smoking, white-haired, even if experienced and chastened, scribes of the classic newspaper.

But for these job inquiries by these veterans who once ruled and ruled from the newsroom, the journalists of today would do their jobs with less fear of the future.

The newspapers have taken their time in accepting change — in this case using their aloofness to some personal advantage — but they have or are yielding to the pressure finally. Just like the sudden transformation in the television soaps where the young must play the older generation to people almost their age, the senior tag comes to people in newspaper offices much quicker than it used to in the past. But if this change leaves the oldies out of the equation, it is far from a walk in the park for the budding and the aspiring.

Whereas it is difficult to keep a count of colleges that are offering journalism degrees in the country the question these students, journalism teachers and working journalists are often asked is where do these aspirants hope to find employment.  Not in the newspapers since a majority if not all of them are inspired by the glamour and thrill of electronic media, and the wise among them already know that public relations is a job much more rewarding than committing to spending a lifetime in search of news stories.

These youngsters are mostly destined for the TV channels, where many of them are to find out that the bubble had long burst and it is not at all difficult for the managements to hire fresh, energetic hands at a pittance.

The fate of these recent entrants is not dissimilar to those who have obtained professional degrees in other fields. Just as the doors have been closed on the old and the fear of being thrown out grips professionals as soon as they are past their 30s, the young that one runs into also find themselves confronting an uncertain future. There are no jobs for people other than those who already have jobs.

Take the three credit card sellers, for it makes as absurd and as hard-hitting an example of the job market as any — also, because it is recent and thus fresh in memory. There were three of them in the picture, competing with each other but each with a story similar to the other.  

They were all young graduates from colleges with decent enough reputations, they had all been relatively new recruits, two of them having joined just a few days earlier, and while all three hated their work, they lived in perpetual fear of losing their job.

The first one fell early. The credit card section of the bank he worked with was summarily closed down one day, ending his promising career when it was just a few weeks old. The second one had a story to share, complete with the usual family details to manifest just how badly he needed the work. He was doing fine under the circumstances until a new face with a superior degree to make use of and a bigger target to achieve walked into the bank branch. Having since been confirmed as a blood pressure patient the card seller, or the rider as he is sometimes called, now knew his job and his monthly salary of Rs10,000 were at stake.

“The boss told us that he had come with an agenda to extract the maximum out of us and a real bully he turned out to be. One hot afternoon I just couldn’t take it any longer and collapsed. My blood pressure had shot up to 200, which, apparently, was a landmark for my superior. He pondered over it briefly, and then he said this was a sign that his strategy and the people under his charge were working.”

The third card seller was the frankest of them all. The man he had approached was obliged to ‘help’ a salesman who earned Rs500 on every card that he sold. No salary. No petrol to move around in search of buyers. No other perks. Just as some others at the other end of the spectrum are too senior to be given work, these fresh graduates are too junior to be asking for the privilege called fixed salary.

The writer is Dawn’s resident editor in Lahore.

Published in Dawn, September 26th, 2014