I am a journalist. To some people, I represent the conscience of the society, the voice of the voiceless and the fourth estate of the realm. My job is a thankless one. I belong to the class of the under-appreciated moulders of the society. Despite my significant role, I am often chastised, abused, beaten, disdained, rejected and killed. But this is the path I have chosen. For me, there is no retreat, no surrender.
This week, I want to delve into an unfamiliar, yet crucial terrain. Today, I will open my book of lamentations. Today, I want to tell you what you do not know about the Nigerian journalist, specifically, those detailed to cover activities of the Nigerian Senate. While addressing the core issues I intend to thrash out here, I will digress at some point and paint a broader picture of the threats, sufferings and plight Nigerian journalists who cover sensitive beats contend with everyday.
In case you are not a Christian or familiar with biblical history, let me tell you something about the Book of Lamentations in the Holy Book. I will be brief, so you will not get bored.
The Book of Lamentations in the Bible is a collection of poetic laments, which captures the destruction of Jerusalem.
This collection of songs was composed after the fall of the city of Jerusalem in 587/6 B.C. Jeremiah, the acclaimed author of the book, was known as the “weeping prophet” for his deep and abiding passion for his people and their city.
The common conception is that the Book of Lamentations, which mourns the destruction of the first Holy Temple and the ensuing exile of the Jewish nation, was written in reaction to those tragic events. Many paintings depict the Prophet Jeremiah, penning the work while in the background Jerusalem and the Temple are going up in smoke.
Today, the Nigerian journalist represents Prophet Jeremiah, author of the book of Lamentations. In the past, journalism was seen as a trade plied by societal misfits. Although there were exceptional journalists, practitioners who were in the majority did not have university degrees. It was a free-for-all kind of trade. Those who could not catch up with their folks in life, embraced journalism.
When the practice entered another phase, the misnomer did not change. Unlike other professions, which are specially designed for some people, anybody could go into journalism. Engineers, economists, biologists and other graduates who felt they could write and had no blue-collar jobs, became journalists. As I write this, that trend has not changed.
The Nigerian journalist is the least-paid in the world. Anyone with a superior claim can challenge me. In other saner climes, journalists enjoy life and health insurance packages because of the sensitive nature of their profession. Because they earn well, they hardly compromise and can call any politician’s bluff.
The popular brown envelope syndrome in Nigeria is alien to many journalists in other climes. After all, their legitimate salaries can sustain them. In Nigeria, the story is better left untold. Journalists who are considered to be very successful in Nigeria are in the extreme minority.
In other countries that I have visited, publishers and owners of media houses do not owe journalists. It is a taboo to contemplate that. Not so in Nigeria. Despite the annoying infinitesimal salaries Nigerian journalists earn, they do not come regularly. Some journalists have lost count of the number of months they have worked without any pay.
Unlike others, no one speaks for us. When a company refuses to pay its workers, they run to journalists. Who are we to say no? We take up the case and in no time, the aggrieved staffers are paid. When state governments refuse to pay pensioners and civil servants, we come up with screaming headlines. Without delay, they get paid.
But when a journalist works for three years without getting his salaries, the rest of the world moves on as if we do not matter. Except for a very few, journalists do not enjoy any pension. When they become too weak to practice, they just join the wasteland of history and the world moves on silently.
In Nigeria, doctors and other professional folks gladly embrace it when you call them veterans. For a journalist, this is a taboo. In journalism, those in the category of veterans are regarded as spent forces that are no longer relevant. Yes, that is it!
In Nigerian journalism, you are as good as your last byline. In this trade, mistakes are not allowed. One error can earn you a sack and your world will crumble right in front of you. When you write a beautiful story, the world keeps mute. One perceived negative story could earn you a bullet or multibillion naira lawsuit.
Nigeria is one of the worst countries to practise journalism. A security man sees you as his enemy. For a politician, you are just a conduit. Sometimes journalists delude themselves to assume that politicians are their friends. At least, the delusion gives us some sense of importance. In the real sense of it, politicians see us as means to their own ends.
During protests, journalists get brutalised. In Abuja at least, it is a norm. Security agents beat us to stupor and the heavens have not fallen. We get arrested and kept in the same cells with hardened criminals. When we get killed in the line of duty, condolence messages flow like streams for 24 hours. After that, the world moves on, including our media houses.
Journalists are busy people. The only trade we know how to ply is journalism. Some people have been in the newsroom for over 30 years. We are like the typical fish. When you take us out of the newsroom, we suffocate because we are not trained to ply other trades.
We seldom go for medical check up. We work 24 hours a day and every day of the week. We grow grey hair, far ahead of time. We suffer from cardiac arrest and high blood pressure. We are like candles in the rain. One moment, we are shining stars. The next, we just fizzle out.
I needed to establish these ignored facts so that you can understand the nature of our thankless job. Everyday, you read newspapers, watch television and listen to the radio. But the men and women behind these are the least celebrated in the society.
In the Senate, journalists detailed to cover the revered chamber know so much, but report little. I always argue that if a journalist reports up to 30 per cent of what he or she knows, Nigeria will become ungovernable. For us, the public good comes first. That is how we are wired.
The Senate is like an octopus. In the real sense of it, the Senate, vis-a-vis, the National Assembly, is more important than the Executive arm. But in Nigeria, this argument will not fly. The Senate is like a warehouse, where heads of Ministries, Departments and Agencies flood to make their case.
During important assignments, some staff of the National Assembly, who are obviously less qualified, academically, denigrate journalists. They provide seats for everyone, including slaves, but insist that journalists must stand.
Sometimes, we stand for hours. Even when it is a press briefing, people who have no business with the event, occupy the available seats and insist that journalists must stand.
Is it a crime to be a journalist? There are PhD holders who cover the Senate as journalists. We are no longer societal misfits. We matter now. Without us, whatever happens in the Senate will be buried there. Even if you do not like our faces, at least, accord us some respect.
As journalists, we interact with government officials. For instance, during the yearly budget defence, government officials flood the National Assembly. When they appear before the various standing committees to defend their respective budgets, funny things fly in the air.
When lawmakers unearth some things, we report them. Sometimes, journalists consider the survival of the Nigerian state and file reports based on what is best for everyone. This does not mean that we compromise. No, we do not! We are very objective and we put Nigeria first.
Like I noted earlier, the National Assembly is like an octopus. It accommodates everyone. The good, bad and ugly people visit the expansive complex everyday for reasons best known to them. Despite the tight security checks, food vendors, traders, girls of easy virtue and all manner of people gain access without qualms.
But not so for journalists! Once security officials sight a journalist from a distance, their antenna goes up. We are frequently harassed and our valid identify cards are seized. Our only crime is that we are journalists. We always complain, but those who should act look the other way.
I can go on and on. Our challenges are enormous as journalists. While we take up the fight of others, the time has come for us to put our house in order. Charity begins at home. Our lives, welfare and families matter too. It is time to give the Nigerian journalist his well-deserved right of place.
To my colleagues and others who may be offended by this piece, I apologise. This is not personal. I can no longer sit back and watch ‘Rome burn.’ We have been silent for too long. Whether or not we want to acknowledge these unique challenges, they exist. At some point, we will have this debate. We must not allow ourselves to be taken for granted. Rather than get angry, add your voice and demand for what is fair and just for the Nigerian journalist. Cheers.