Every government wants to be trusted. The question is: who decides whether it deserves that trust?
In a democracy, elections answer that question only once every few years. Courts intervene when laws are challenged. Legislatures debate and pass legislation. But there is another institution that works every single day, often without the authority to summon anyone or punish anyone.
It simply asks questions.
That institution is journalism.
Unlike Parliament, the judiciary or the executive, the press derives its strength neither from the Constitution nor from the power to enforce decisions. A journalist cannot issue an arrest warrant, strike down a law or pass a budget. The profession survives on something much less visible but far more fragile-public trust and the freedom to report.
That is precisely why journalism matters.
Its role is not to govern. Its role is to ensure that those who govern cannot operate without scrutiny.
History shows that many of the world's biggest scandals came to light not because governments volunteered the truth, but because reporters refused to stop digging. The Watergate investigation in the United States exposed political abuse at the highest level and ultimately led to President Richard Nixon's resignation. Closer to home, Indian journalism has uncovered corruption, environmental violations, illegal mining, financial fraud and failures in public welfare schemes. These stories did not emerge by accident. They emerged because someone decided that an official statement was not the end of the story.
That is often how journalism works.
It begins with doubt.
A missing document.
An unanswered phone call.
A figure that does not match the official record.
A question that everyone else has stopped asking.
The answers do not always reveal corruption.
Sometimes they confirm that public institutions have acted responsibly. That is equally important. Journalism is not meant to oppose governments by default; it is meant to test claims with evidence. Its loyalty is not to those in power or those out of power. It is to verified facts. This responsibility becomes even more significant during elections, public health emergencies and natural disasters.
When information is accurate, people make informed choices. They know where to vote, where to seek help and what policies are being proposed in their name. When information is false or incomplete, rumours spread quickly and trust weakens. In that sense, journalism is not merely about reporting events. It is about helping citizens distinguish fact from noise.
The digital age has made this responsibility both easier and harder.
Today, anyone with a smartphone can publish information that reaches millions within minutes. That has democratised communication in remarkable ways. It has also created an environment where misinformation travels as fast as verified reporting and sometimes much faster.
In such a landscape, journalism is no longer valuable simply because it is first. It is valuable because it is willing to verify before it publishes.
That process is rarely glamorous. It involves checking documents, calling multiple sources, reading court records, seeking responses from those accused and, when necessary, correcting mistakes publicly. Good journalism is built less on certainty than on discipline. It is also built on independence.
If reporters become too close to political parties, corporations or other centres of influence, public confidence begins to erode. Equally, when journalists are threatened, censored or prevented from asking difficult questions, the loss is not theirs alone. Citizens lose one of the few mechanisms through which they can understand how power is being exercised on their behalf.
This is why the press has often been described as the "Fourth Estate."
Not because it is an official branch of government.
Because it performs a democratic function that no other institution can fully replace.
A judge decides cases that come before the court. A legislator makes laws. A government implements policy. A journalist asks what happened, why it happened and whether the public is being told the whole story.
Those questions rarely make headlines on their own, but their answers often do.
The health of a democracy cannot be measured only by the number of elections it conducts or the laws it passes. It can also be measured by whether uncomfortable questions are still allowed to be asked and whether those in power feel obliged to answer them.
When reporters stop asking, silence fills the space. And in a democracy, silence is rarely where accountability begins.
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