"We went to cover a protest. Then we became the story." The Unsalted journalists recount their detention at Jantar Mantar on October 10

“कुछ होगा कुछ तो होगा,

अगर मैं बोलूँगा,

टूटे न टूटे तिलिस्म सत्ता का,

मेरे भीतर का कायर तो टूटेगा।”

“Something will happen,

something will definitely happen

if I speak.

Whether or not the illusion of power breaks,

the coward inside me will surely break."

These lines by poet Raghuvir Sahay capture the courage it takes to question those in power. After what we witnessed and experienced at Delhi’s Jantar Mantar on October 10, they acquired a deeply personal significance. We had gone to Jantar Mantar to cover a protest. By the end of the day, our own experience had become part of the story we were trying to tell.

The protest, called by the Cockroach Janata Party (CJP) against Chief Election Commissioner Gyanesh Kumar, centred on questions surrounding the Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls and the electoral process. But the events of that day raised another fundamental concern: what happens when journalists attempting to document a public protest find themselves obstructed in the course of their work?

Security restrictions tightened across Delhi. Roads were barricaded, journalists were stopped alongside protesters, and restrictions on internet services raised further questions about the conditions under which information could reach the public.

For us, October 10 was not simply a day of reporting. It was a reminder of how easily the act of documenting events can itself become a struggle.

Stopped twice in a single day

We had been covering the situation at Jantar Mantar since the night of October 9. Early the following morning, we went to a hotel to use its Wi-Fi to publish our report and upload videos. Instead, we were held there for nearly an hour. The police also took possession of our cameras, microphones and phones.

Monika and two other women journalists accompanying her were questioned. They were asked to provide personal details, including their names, Aadhaar numbers and addresses. We explained that we were journalists attempting to report on the events and requested permission to leave. Yet valuable reporting time was lost while we were subjected to these restrictions.

The disruption did not end there.

That afternoon, while we were covering the protest at Jantar Mantar again, Monika questioned the police about the detention of Amaan, a journalist with Molitics. During the exchange, we too were taken into custody and made to board a bus.

Monika: During the physical altercation that followed, a police officer grabbed Saurabh by the throat and pulled him. We repeatedly shouted that we were journalists doing our jobs, but our pleas went unheard.

I was also pulled and dragged onto the bus by a male police officer. When he realised what he was doing, he used two other reporters as a shield and pushed me with their force, causing me to fall back.

There were approximately six or seven journalists on the bus. We protested and continued questioning the police, demanding to know why we were being detained. We kept shouting until the bus eventually stopped. About ten minutes later, we got off and returned to Jantar Mantar to resume our reporting.

For us, the incident was not merely about being detained. Our work had been disrupted twice in a single day. Time that should have been spent documenting a public protest had instead been consumed by questioning, the loss of access to our equipment and the struggle to continue reporting.

We had returned to the protest site because we believed that what was happening there needed to be documented. The experience only strengthened our conviction that the public must be able to know what unfolds at events of political significance.

When journalists become the story

Our experience on October 10 must also be understood in the context of the work we do as independent journalists.

Across the country, journalists are choosing to work outside established media organisations, reporting from the ground with limited resources. Without expansive newsrooms or substantial budgets, they attempt to document stories that often struggle to receive sustained attention in mainstream coverage.

Through The Unsalted, we have tried to bring such stories into the public domain.

We have reported on the concerns of communities affected by the Ken-Betwa Link Project. In Balaghat, we raised questions about the deaths of tribal children and the circumstances surrounding malaria and malnutrition. In Hansi, Haryana, we reported on a water crisis that had troubled a village for more than a decade. Following our reporting, a water connection was provided to the village.

We do not claim to have been the only journalists covering these issues. We chose to report on them because the circumstances demanded attention and the people affected deserved to be heard.

Our work is rooted in the belief that journalism must extend beyond the familiar circuits of political debate. It must also document the lives of people whose concerns rarely find adequate space in national conversations.

On October 10, however, the question was no longer simply whether these stories would receive attention. It was whether we would be allowed to continue documenting events unfolding before us.

Is a Press card the only thing that makes someone a journalist?

During the events at Jantar Mantar, the police reportedly insisted that journalists display their press cards and cover the proceedings from a distance. This raises an important question: does the ability to practise journalism depend entirely on possessing an identity card issued by a media organisation?

Independent journalists often work without the institutional credentials or resources available to reporters employed by established news organisations. Their work may not be backed by a large newsroom, but that does not make the questions they ask or the events they document any less important.

We believe that journalists are not above the law. Authorities may impose legitimate restrictions where necessary to maintain public order. But such restrictions must themselves be lawful, proportionate and accountable.

When journalists are detained, their equipment is taken away, or they are prevented from documenting events, the grounds for such actions must be clear. The use of force against journalists carrying out their work also demands scrutiny.

A press card cannot, by itself, determine the value of a journalist's work. Nor should the absence of institutional backing become a reason to disregard the work of those reporting independently.

The question is not whether journalists should be exempt from the law. It is whether the law is being applied in a manner that unnecessarily obstructs their work and undermines the public's ability to access information.

The public’s right to know

The events of October 10 raise concerns that extend beyond our individual experience.

When journalists are prevented from reporting on a public protest, the consequences are not confined to the reporters concerned. The public, too, loses an opportunity to understand what happened, why it happened and how those responsible exercised their authority.

Restrictions on internet services can further impede the circulation of information. When connectivity is disrupted, equipment is taken away and journalists are detained, the combined effect can make independent documentation considerably more difficult.

These concerns become particularly significant when the events being covered involve public institutions and questions of democratic accountability.

At Jantar Mantar, protesters had assembled to raise questions about the electoral process and the Election Commission. Our responsibility as journalists was to document the protest, record the concerns being expressed and scrutinise the conduct of those exercising authority.

Instead, we found ourselves having to fight for the opportunity to do that work.

Journalism cannot function effectively if those documenting public events are themselves prevented from observing and recording them. The public's right to know depends, in part, on journalists being able to carry out their responsibilities without arbitrary interference.

Questioning power is the purpose of journalism

Our experience at Jantar Mantar did not take place in isolation from the broader challenges facing independent journalism. We have previously faced restrictions on our accounts, intimidation and attempts to obstruct our reporting.

On October 10, we were stopped twice in a single day. Yet we returned to Jantar Mantar and continued working.

Whether we are reporting on the deaths of children in Balaghat, the concerns of families affected by the Ken-Betwa Link Project, a village's struggle for access to water, or citizens protesting at Jantar Mantar, the underlying question remains the same: are those in power accountable to the people whose lives their decisions affect?

Independent journalism does not mean that independent journalists are always right or that established media organisations are always wrong. It means that journalism must preserve space for investigation, dissent and questions that may be inconvenient to those in authority.

When the questions emerging from the ground receive insufficient attention, independent reporting becomes particularly important. Its purpose is not to claim a monopoly over truth but to bring overlooked experiences into public view and subject the exercise of power to scrutiny.

We, Saurabh and Monika, will continue to do this through The Unsalted. We cannot reach every story, but wherever we do, we will strive to document the experiences of ordinary people and the questions they are asking.

The government may erect barricades, impose restrictions and detain journalists. Such actions, however, cannot extinguish the need for public scrutiny or eliminate the questions that journalism must ask.

As Raghuvir Sahay's lines remind us, speaking out may not always break the spell of power. But it can break the fear that keeps us silent.

And when asking questions becomes an act of resistance, continuing to ask them becomes a responsibility we cannot abandon.

(This article is a first-person account of the authors’ experiences at Jantar Mantar on 10 October 2026. The views expressed are their own.)