By | Kamran Ashraf Bhat
On April 12, 2025, tragedy struck Kupwara in Jammu and Kashmir when two separate accidents claimed multiple lives. Among them was a heartbreaking incident in Handwara involving a bus carrying students from GDC Sogam. Two students were confirmed dead, and several others injured. As the community reeled from the shock and pain, a more insidious tragedy was unfolding simultaneously—one not born from mechanical failure or reckless driving, but from moral collapse and the unchecked hunger for virality.
Within moments of the accident, Facebook Live streams began circulating—not from established journalists or media professionals, but from self-styled “FB Journalists.” These individuals, armed with smartphones and an insatiable thirst for online attention, descended upon the scene like scavengers. Blood-streaked roads, lifeless bodies, and devastated families were broadcast to the world without warning, blur, or even the smallest shred of empathy. No content advisories. No pixelation. No boundaries.
The question before us is not merely about journalistic ethics. It is about the degradation of our collective morality and the normalization of trauma as entertainment. What gives someone the right to turn human suffering into content for clicks? How did we arrive at a point where grief-stricken families are forced to mourn under the unrelenting glare of a phone camera?
Let’s be clear: these are not acts of journalism. They are acts of violation. Journalism, at its core, is a public service—bound by ethics, governed by truth, and anchored in humanity. These Facebook streams are none of those things. They are spectacles curated for engagement metrics, and the cost is the dignity of the victims.
Aamir Khan, the actor famously known as a perfectionist, once gave a viewer discretion advisory before releasing the trailer for Delhi Belly—a work of fiction, made for adult audiences, in a fictional world. He understood that content carries consequences and that audiences deserve both context and choice. Ironically, those capturing and uploading the raw, unfiltered horror of the Kupwara accident gave their viewers no such agency. Instead, they weaponized reality—using real people, real deaths, and real grief as props in their pursuit of internet fame.
The dangerous rise of pseudo-reporters—often with no formal training, no understanding of ethics, and no sense of responsibility—is a direct consequence of our unregulated digital spaces. Social media platforms like Facebook have democratized information sharing, yes, but they have also dismantled the filters that once protected the public from gratuitous trauma. These platforms reward the most shocking, the most emotional, and the most intrusive content. And in doing so, they have created an ecosystem that encourages the exact behavior we saw in Kupwara.
Worse still is the evolving relationship between these pseudo-reporters and officials within the administration. Why there will an action, These so-called FB journalists are crafting macho, action-hero narratives around local bureaucrats and concerned officials, often featuring them prominently in viral reels. These officials are receiving free public relations—crafted by content creators who should be held accountable themselves.
Why, then, would those entrusted with taking care of such violation of Media laws and public discipline take any action against this chaos? After all, they’re part of the show. They’ve become co-stars in a disturbing digital theatre where grief is the plot, chaos is the backdrop, and their presence serves as a stamp of authority—however hollow. The incentive to regulate or reprimand vanishes when the system itself benefits from the spectacle.
This is not just about a single incident. It is about a pattern. It is about a culture where boundaries no longer exist between news and voyeurism, between truth-telling and trauma-peddling. In this new world, the most devastating moments of our lives can be turned into a Facebook reel, scored with trending audio and shared thousands of times—without consent, without context, without care.
There are existing laws that prohibit the dissemination of graphic content, especially when it invades privacy or endangers the dignity of the deceased. There are ethical frameworks that define what responsible reporting looks like. And yet, there is no enforcement. No accountability. No demand for answers.
Where are the regulatory bodies? Where is the outrage from professional media organizations? Why has there been no public censure of these actions?
The answer may lie in our own complicity. As a society, we have begun to conflate virality with value. We share, like, and comment on disturbing videos because they evoke a visceral reaction. We make celebrities out of content creators who exploit pain. And in doing so, we feed the very machine that thrives on human suffering.
Media literacy must become a foundational part of our educational and civic institutions. People must be taught not just how to consume media but how to question it—how to differentiate between journalism and sensationalism, between documentation and exploitation. At the same time, social media companies must be held accountable for allowing such content to proliferate unchecked. Algorithms that reward outrage must be re-engineered. And laws that protect individual dignity must be enforced with rigor and urgency.
The families of Kupwara deserve more than our condolences. They deserve our outrage—not just at the accident, but at the way it was consumed and commodified. We must reject the normalization of suffering as content. We must reject the idea that the pursuit of views excuses the abandonment of ethics.
In a time where anyone can broadcast, the true test of journalism is not who can get the footage first, but who chooses not to. The strength of a society is not measured by how much tragedy it can document, but by how much dignity it can preserve in the face of it.
Kamran Ashraf Bhat is Head of the Editorial Board. The editorial board consists of opinion journalists who base their perspectives on expertise, thorough research, discussion, and established principles. It operates independently from the newsroom.
