In a country where journalism was once hailed as the voice of the people and the conscience of the nation, it is now heartbreaking to witness its slow descent into silence and complicity. Nigeria, a nation in the grip of growing insecurity, has never needed a free, bold, and independent press more than it does now. But tragically, many of our top media houses appear to have sold their voice for a monthly cheque from the corridors of power.
Across Nigeria, from the forests of Zamfara to the streets of Plateau, Benue, Imo, and Kaduna, blood continues to stain the earth. Entire communities are displaced. Children are orphaned. Farmers cannot access their lands. Travellers are kidnapped with reckless abandon. And yet, the loudest voices in our mainstream media seem eerily quiet. When they speak, it is either in muted tones or with carefully scripted narratives that downplay the truth.
Why? Because many top media houses have become beneficiaries of state patronage — receiving monthly payments, contracts, and under-the-table incentives in exchange for their silence or, worse, their complicity. Rather than hold the government accountable, they now protect it. Rather than expose rot, they mask it. And rather than tell the Nigerian people the truth, they serve them sanitized half-truths — if they speak at all.
Investigative journalism — the very heart of a functional democracy — has all but vanished from our major newsrooms. Brave journalists who once dug deep into corruption, abuse, and security failures have been chased out of the system. Many now face threats, exile, or unemployment. The Fourth Estate has been turned into an extension of the ruling elite’s PR machinery.
Take, for instance, the deafening silence over the security breakdown in rural communities. In states like Niger, Kebbi, and Nasarawa, bandits operate freely — collecting taxes, attacking villages, and killing at will. In the South-East, unknown gunmen carry out targeted assassinations and attacks while security forces retaliate with collective punishment against entire towns. These crises are underreported or completely ignored by top media outlets.
Rather than amplify the voices of affected Nigerians, the media has chosen to echo the government’s narratives of “isolated cases,” “politically motivated attacks,” or “improved security.” Meanwhile, Nigerians on the ground know the truth — they live it daily. Their voices are drowned out by officialdom and a media that no longer sees them as worthy of attention.
This betrayal is not just a media issue — it is a national crisis. When the press fails, democracy falters. A media that watches the government erode public safety and economic stability without challenge becomes an accomplice in the suffering of the people.
We must ask: What happened to the legacy of fearless journalism in Nigeria? What happened to the spirit that once saw journalists endure arrests, intimidation, and threats to bring us the truth? What happened to the press that once stood firm in the face of military rule?
It is not too late for a reckoning.
The media must return to its calling — not as a business enterprise first, but as a public watchdog. Independent platforms, citizen journalists, and diaspora media are beginning to fill the vacuum, but they cannot do it alone. Nigeria’s top media must decide: Will they continue to be lapdogs to power or return as the watchdogs of democracy?
For a country drowning in bloodshed, corruption, and growing hopelessness, silence is no longer an option. The truth must be told, no matter whose ox is gored. The Nigerian people deserve to know what is happening — not through government press releases, but through fearless, investigative, independent journalism.
Until then, the media remains complicit in the collapse they refuse to report.
By: Godwin Offor
