Dharmasthala and the fall of media ethics

 In the Dharmasthala case, mainstream media has abandoned its duty of truth and compassion. By hounding complainants and shielding the powerful, it has turned into an accomplice rather than a watchdog—forcing citizens to question whether a boycott of the tainted media is the only path left.

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The past week has seen the Kannada media descend into a spectacle that can only be described as reckless and agenda-driven. The Dharmasthala case, already mired in tragedy, is now being distorted through what looks less like journalism and more like a carefully choreographed media trial. Television channels and newspapers, instead of informing the public with accuracy and integrity, are busy churning out half-truths and unverified allegations—often targeting those who have stood by truth and justice.

The disturbing feature of this media coverage is the vilification of complainants. Survivors, whistleblowers, and eyewitnesses—individuals like Chinnayya, Mattanna, Timrodi, Jayant, and Sujatha Bhat—are being hounded, almost as if their testimony were the real crime. Reporters and cameras follow them relentlessly, demanding soundbites until exhaustion breaks them down. Is this the role of the press: to make victims relive their trauma for the sake of ratings? Or is it to hold the perpetrators accountable?

By contrast, the accused and their networks often receive sympathetic treatment, with entire segments devoted to discrediting state action for inquiry or diluting the seriousness of the crimes. When journalism becomes a shield for those in power rather than a weapon of truth against them, it betrays its own foundational purpose.

Behind this lies the uncomfortable question of money. Many media houses have for years survived on the patronage of shrine-linked institutions and influential families who have not hesitated to deploy big-budget advertisements. When such benefactors find themselves cornered, it is hardly surprising that the same media rushes to protect them. The “return on investment” is now visible to the naked eye.

The consequences are already evident in the collapse of public trust. Readers are abandoning newspapers that have reduced themselves to mouthpieces; viewers have stopped tuning into television news bulletins that serve only sensationalism. The decline of circulation and viewership is not a random trend—it is the public’s silent verdict on a press that has sold its credibility.

This raises a larger question: who is the media serving today? If the answer is advertisers, political patrons, or shrine managers, then society has lost an institution that was once the conscience-keeper of democracy. A media that hunts complainants instead of amplifying their voices does not merely fail in its duty; it becomes complicit in injustice.

Some argue that a public boycott of unethical media is the only way forward. Indeed, murmurs of such an agitation are already being heard. Citizens may have to withdraw their subscriptions, switch off their television sets, and build their own channels of truth. Such acts of refusal may be painful, but they may also be necessary if we are to reclaim journalism from the grip of power and money.

The Dharmasthala case is a reminder that media trials often do more harm than good. Truth requires patience, compassion, and verification—not aggression in front of cameras. The press must decide whether it wants to be remembered as an ally of justice or as the most disgraceful accomplice of power. The choice, ultimately, will determine not only its future but also the health of our democracy.