Preserving literary integrity: A call for ethical engagement with print media

Heramba Nath

In an age increasingly defined by digital speed, convenience, and short attention spans, the traditional print medium—newspapers, magazines, literary weeklies and monthlies—continues to serve as a vital pillar of democratic expression, cultural preservation, and intellectual discourse. Yet, a troubling trend is emerging in many parts of the country, where individuals contribute poems, stories, articles, fictional pieces, and letters to newspapers or magazines, without engaging meaningfully with the very publications they seek to be featured in. Rather than buying a copy or subscribing to the publication, they often capture a photograph of their written work on a mobile phone and send it directly to a known writer or contributor, requesting that it be forwarded for publication.

At first glance, this act may appear innocent or even efficient. But it raises serious questions about ethics, respect for literary culture, and the long-term sustainability of the print ecosystem. The newspaper or magazine is not merely a platform; it is a finely balanced structure supported by editors, contributors, printing staff, distributors, bookstalls, and readers. Each link in this chain has a role to play. When one link is ignored or bypassed—especially that of the reader or purchaser—the entire structure begins to erode.

There is no denying that India has always celebrated the literary spirit, and that every person—regardless of background—has a right to express, reflect, and contribute to public thought. But every right carries with it a corresponding responsibility. In this case, that responsibility includes a fundamental respect for the value of the medium one seeks to use. If someone wishes to be featured in a newspaper or a fortnightly, it should be incumbent upon them to at least purchase that publication, if not subscribe to it regularly. To do otherwise is to treat the publication as a one-way street—useful only as a vessel for personal exposure, rather than a living forum for collective growth.

What is lost in such practices is not merely revenue, though that in itself is of great importance. Newspapers and small literary magazines often operate under tight financial margins. Their survival depends heavily on sales and subscriptions. When contributors neglect to buy even a single issue, they indirectly harm the very space they are trying to occupy. The book seller at the corner shop, the magazine distributor in a small town, the agency struggling to clear its monthly stock—these are not faceless entities, but real individuals whose livelihoods are tethered to the circulation of these publications. If every writer became only a sender and never a buyer, how long could these agencies and stalls survive?

Moreover, there is a deeper philosophical and moral dimension. Literature is not merely written; it is shared, read, and internalised. A writer who does not read the platform they are submitting to is like a singer who refuses to hear the music. A newspaper article, a short story, or a poem gains context and meaning through its placement amidst other works, news items, and editorials. To engage only partially, bypassing the rest of the content, is to miss the holistic vision that each issue of a publication represents.

And then there is the question of ethics and literary etiquette. When aspiring contributors send photos of their writings to another writer for publication—with no effort to understand editorial guidelines, thematic focus, or the style of the publication—it places undue pressure on those who are already working hard to maintain literary standards. Established writers and regular contributors are not submission agents; they are co-travellers in the journey of ideas. Their role is not to serve as intermediaries for unsolicited content, but to contribute meaningfully and help uplift the quality of the discourse.

This also speaks to a shift in the behaviour of some new entrants into the literary world, who may value recognition over process. In the rush to see their names in print, they forget that publication is not an entitlement—it is an earned opportunity. It comes not only from talent, but from patience, perseverance, and above all, respect for the editorial institution. A newspaper editor is not obligated to carry one’s piece simply because it has been forwarded by a known name. The piece must merit inclusion through its content, relevance, and alignment with the publication’s ethos.

There is, of course, a need to encourage young and aspiring writers. Their voices are important and must be heard. But encouragement should never come at the cost of literary discipline. If someone wishes to be part of a literary magazine, the first step should be to become a reader of it. Let them observe the tone, the themes, the quality of language. Let them see how others are writing. Let them understand where they fit, and how they can grow. And let them support the publication, however modestly, by purchasing an issue from a bookstall or subscribing through the agency. That is the basic ethic of being a responsible writer.

One might argue that many cannot afford regular subscriptions, or that physical copies are not easily available in every region. These are valid concerns, but not insurmountable ones. If someone has a smartphone with internet access, they can surely spare a minimal amount occasionally to purchase a copy. And if the distribution network is weak, that only underscores the importance of supporting the remaining agencies and stalls that are still functioning. Without their survival, even the best-written article will have nowhere to appear.

It is also time for editors and publication houses to gently but firmly discourage this informal method of content circulation. They can put in place clear submission guidelines, and encourage contributors to engage with the publication as a whole. A special note in the editorial column or an appeal in the contributor’s section can go a long way in fostering a more ethical and engaged literary community.

In a world where digital noise often overwhelms thoughtful voices, print remains a sacred space for reflection, clarity, and depth. But that space must be nurtured—not just by editors and publishers, but by every single writer, reader, and buyer. It is only through a shared sense of responsibility that we can ensure the survival of our newspapers, our magazines, and indeed, our literary heritage.

Let us write not just to be published, but to be part of something greater. Let us read what we wish to contribute to. Let us buy what we wish to preserve.

Let us return to the ethics of engagement.