By Bernard Mwinzi
Today I want to talk about something I have observed in recent times. I do so against my better judgment, knowing very well that I tread a rather thin line. But, as the great author Stephen King, writing in ‘Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption’, noted: “The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them; words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out.”
But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within, not for want of a teller, but for want of an understanding ear.
Anyway, back to that thing I wanted to tell you. In Kenya’s major newsrooms, a silent revolution has been underway, and it has seen print journalists lose their say and stake (and steak, as well) as their broadcast colleagues take over. This trend, which I like to refer to as ‘The Rise of Broadcast Hegemony’, has not only reshaped news priorities, but also led to an internal newsroom culture that accidentally marginalises print editors and reporters, treating them as relics of a fading era rather than custodians of depth and nuance.
Before I continue; a disclaimer: This is not an attack on broadcast journalists. Do not overthink it, for some of the finest journalists I know, and who have held my hands during the difficult transition to multimedia journalism, are on TV. They include such journalism greats as Mark Masai, Pamela Asigi, Joe Ageyo, Emmanuel Juma, that Kiswahili gangster Lofty Matambo, and the armies of camerapersons, video editors and producers who are the unsung heroes of the trade. So, no, this is not an attack, but rather a straight-from-the-shoulder commentary of the philosophical shift that’s quietly re-imagining the posture of Kenyan journalism.
The shift is most visible in senior and middle-level editorial appointments at multimedia outfits such at The Standard Group and the Nation Media Group in the last five years. It passes itself off as platform evolution; but it isn’t. This is a power shift, where the best and most experienced broadcast-leaning colleagues, often schooled in brevity, visual appeal, and immediacy, perceive print journalists as slow, verbose, and out of step with the modern news cycle. The era of the print journalist is gone. If you think I’m kidding, just look around. The tyrants who ruled the desks, and whose pens shook both the mighty and the meek, have lost the patience and walked out. Or they have been pushed out by the shifting tide, wailing and flailing.
But, what are the consequences of this ideological shift? What happens when seasoned print reporters and editors, the hungry hyenas who go to great lengths to get exclusives from the darkest trenches, and who were once the backbone of hard-hitting journalism, are either forced into redundancy or coerced into adapting to broadcast-style storytelling, where depth is sacrificed for soundbites? What happens to quality, tone and form when the hierarchy values celebrity over depth? Serious journalism is pushed to the fringes; that’s what happens, as this signals not just a personnel change, but also an editorial philosophy shift that… excuse me as I look for the right words… that privileges spectacle over scrutiny.
And it is about to get worse before the industry naturally course-corrects. With newspapers losing advertising revenue, media houses are downsizing print desks while pumping resources into broadcast and digital video content. Print journalists are increasingly finding themselves outnumbered in decision-making meetings, their expertise ignored in favour of quick, visually compelling stories that cater to social media algorithms rather than public interest.
This state of affairs is not just reshaping Kenyan media; I dare say it is weakening it. Journalism thrives on balance; on the fusion of print’s depth and television’s immediacy. When one arm is amputated, what remains in multimedia outfits is a newsroom that values style over substance, entertainment over enlightenment. If Kenyan media houses are serious about protecting their future, they must break this cycle. Print journalism, with its ability to document history, dissect policy, and hold power to account, must not be sidelined; it must be allowed to have its say on the table.
The writer is former Managing Editor, Nation Media Group
