At a time when we strive to highlight the critical role journalism plays in society, it is worth reflecting on the work of those who have walked before us. Those who reported the world with all its idiosyncrasies, texture and nuance, and who opened our eyes to other cultures, religions, languages and world views. Not because it was part of the job, but because they cared, and they did so with respect, courage and humility.

I want to pay tribute to Sir Mark Tully, the veteran BBC journalist who became the “voice of India” and who died earlier this week (25 January 2025), aged 90. He was a man profoundly moved by India, a country where he was born and where he would die, leaving a legacy that few other journalists could match. Even after he stood down as the BBC’s South Asia bureau chief, many assumed that Tully was still doing the job.

I had the good fortune to meet him when I was a university student weighing up a career as a foreign correspondent. We had family friends who worked for international news agencies like Reuters, radio and newspapers too, and I would often probe them about their career choices. But when I heard Mark Tully reporting on the BBC about a cholera epidemic in Delhi in the late 1980s, and then found myself standing in that very same spot just a few hours later during a summer break, my mind was on fire. Journalism had the power to transcend distance and geography, to demand action in the face of authority or harsh social inequalities, to bear witness and to record some of our key moments in history. To me, that sounded like a worthwhile job, and I never looked back.

Years later, I had the opportunity to tell that same story to Mark at his home in Delhi. I arrived sidesaddle on a moped to find the correspondent’s vet tending to the family dog. In polite English tones, I was asked to lend a hand, then offered a cup of tea. It was strangely surreal, but also not. Mark did not seem perturbed by being a little unconventional. He was gracious and generous, and modestly answered my rapid-fire questions.

The BBC’s man in India may have operated during a different era than today, when radio news and then television were the mainstay of BBC broadcasts, and men dominated the reporters’ pool, with a few notable exceptions. Notwithstanding those limitations, Mark Tully’s reporting was vivid, authentic and authoritative. He spoke Hindi fluently, knew his “patch” intimately, and was deeply respected across Indian society. His coverage of the storming of the Golden Temple in Amritsar, the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi shortly afterwards, the Bhopal disaster at the Union Carbide plant with its devastating consequences, and the rise of the mujahideen in Afghanistan during the Soviet occupation are among the major historic events Tully covered.

We are fortunate to still have excellent reporters who embody that drive to document history in the making, alongside a deep sense of humanity and a commitment to getting the story right. The BBC’s Lyse Doucet is a case in point. But at a time of celebrity journalism, online influence and weaponised AI, it is important to remind a new generation of journalists to get the basics right. Retain a sense of humanity, authority and responsibility. I think Tully did that.

You may wish to read some of the tributes here.