For many, retirement signifies a well-deserved break from the daily grind. But for broadcasters who reported during a tumultuous period of military rule, the past continues to cast a long shadow. Their lives are woven with the echoes of sirens, the weight of censorship, and the indelible mark of shaping public perception during a time of national upheaval.
Take Margaret Njogu, a veteran Kenyan broadcaster whose voice resonated across the nation during the single-party rule of the 1980s. Today, her quiet suburban home in Nairobi stands in stark contrast to the high-pressure newsrooms of her past. Yet, a pensive air lingers around her as she reminisces, “The news was heavily scripted. We were government mouthpieces, not reporters, forced to paint a rosy picture even as the country simmered with discontent.”
Njogu’s experience is far from unique. Broadcasters under military regimes often faced a stark choice: toe the government line or risk imprisonment or worse. Walking a tightrope between professionalism and self-preservation became a daily routine.
Balancing Duty and Dissent:
For some, the line blurred. Veterans like Colonel Femi Williams (retd.) of Nigeria, who served during the military regime of the late 1980s, grapple with the ethical complexities of their actions. “We were soldiers first, broadcasters second,” he admits. We reported on government initiatives, but sometimes, subtle omissions became a form of dissent.
Colonel Williams highlights the nuanced ways broadcasters navigated a system of control. We used coded language,” he explains, “phrases like ‘increased security measures’ implied unrest.” This subtle rebellion, while limited, offered a lifeline to a yearning for truth amidst the government narrative.
The Scars of Censorship:
The psychological toll of censorship is another enduring legacy. “Self-censorship became a reflex,” says Njogu. “We constantly questioned the potential consequences of our words, even in casual conversations.” This constant state of hypervigilance, fearing repercussions for both themselves and their colleagues, left many broadcasters emotionally drained.
The Search for Healing and Legacy:
Despite the challenges, many retired broadcasters find solace in the positive impact they believe they made. Njogu recalls, “There were moments when we managed to weave in snippets of truth. A critical comment here, a neutral report there. We kept hope alive, even if it was a flickering flame.”
Colonel Williams echoes the sentiment. “The military eventually gave way to democracy,” he says. “The media played a crucial role in that transition. We may not have been heroes, but we were witnesses, and our work helped pave the way for a freer future.
Moving Forward and Bridging the Gap:
However, the impact of reporting under military rule extends beyond the individual. The mistrust it sowed between the media and the public continues to be a challenge.
Today, some retired broadcasters are actively bridging this gap. Njogu mentors young journalists, emphasizing the importance of journalistic integrity. Colonel Williams participates in media workshops, sharing his experiences and advocating for responsible journalism during times of unrest.
An Unfinished Story:
The story of broadcasters during military rule is far from over. Their experiences offer valuable lessons for today’s journalists facing increasing pressure from authoritarian governments around the world. Theirs is a legacy of resilience, of navigating a fraught landscape with limited options, and ultimately, an unwavering commitment to the power of truth, even in its most muted form.
As Njogu concludes, “Our stories are a reminder that even in the darkest times, journalists can play a role. We may not have been able to shout, but we could whisper, and sometimes, a whisper can be enough to spark change.”
