By Bernard Mwinzi
In the quiet corridors of Kenya’s bustling newsrooms, a revolution has been brewing—one that I’ve watched unfold with a mix of fascination and unease. It’s a shift so subtle yet so profound that it’s reshaped the very soul of journalism in this country. I call it “The Rise of Broadcast Hegemony,” a trend that has elevated broadcast journalists to the helm of media houses while inadvertently sidelining their print counterparts. As I write this on February 22, 2025, against my better judgment—for I tread a perilously thin line—I’m reminded of Stephen King’s words in Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption: “The most important things are the hardest to say.” They lie too close to the heart, too precious to articulate without risking misunderstanding. Yet, silence isn’t an option when the stakes are this high.
Let me be clear from the outset: this is not an indictment of broadcast journalists. Some of my most trusted mentors and colleagues—luminaries like Mark Masai, Pamela Asigi, Joe Ageyo, Emmanuel Juma, and Lofty Matambo—hail from the world of television. Alongside them stand the unsung heroes: camerapersons, video editors, and producers who breathe life into stories with unparalleled skill. This isn’t about them; it’s about a philosophical seismic shift that’s redefining Kenyan journalism, often at the expense of those who wield the pen rather than the microphone.
Over the past five years, this shift has crystallized in the editorial suites of multimedia giants like The Standard Group and Nation Media Group (NMG), where I spent 17 years until my departure in June 2024. What began as a natural evolution—adapting to a digital, video-driven age—has morphed into a power grab. Senior and middle-level appointments increasingly favor broadcast-leaning editors, schooled in the art of immediacy and visual flair, over their print peers. The seasoned scribes who once ruled news desks with ink-stained authority—think of the “tyrants” whose pens toppled giants and comforted the downtrodden—have either walked away in frustration or been swept aside by a tide that deems them relics of a bygone era. The message is implicit but unmistakable: print journalists are slow, verbose, and out of sync with the frenetic pace of modern news.
I’ve seen it firsthand. During my tenure as Managing Editor at Daily Nation, I witnessed the gradual erosion of print’s influence. Editorial meetings, once a battleground of ideas where depth and nuance reigned, became echo chambers for quick-hit stories tailored to social media algorithms. Print journalists, the “hungry hyenas” who sniffed out exclusives from the murkiest trenches, found their voices drowned out by colleagues prioritizing brevity over substance. The consequence? A newsroom culture that accidentally ostracizes print editors and reporters, relegating them to the fringes as broadcast takes center stage.
This isn’t mere nostalgia—it’s a warning. When print’s depth is sacrificed for broadcast’s soundbites, journalism loses its backbone. Consider the implications: seasoned reporters, once the architects of investigative scoops, are either forced into redundancy or coerced into adopting a broadcast style that strips away context for the sake of a 30-second clip. The hierarchy now celebrates celebrity over scrutiny, pushing serious journalism—think policy dissections or historical documentation—to the margins. At NMG, where I once led the weekend editions and later the daily, the shift was palpable as resources flowed to TV and digital video while print desks shrank. Advertising revenue, the lifeblood of newspapers, dwindled, amplifying the trend. Broadcast became king, and print journalists became outnumbered, their expertise dismissed in favor of stories that dazzle rather than inform.
This imbalance threatens to weaken Kenyan media at a time when it’s needed most. Journalism thrives on symbiosis—the fusion of print’s analytical rigor with television’s immediacy. Amputate one, and you’re left with a lopsided beast that prioritizes style over substance, entertainment over enlightenment. I saw glimmers of this during the 2022 General Elections, where my critique of the IEBC’s opacity drew ire but also underscored print’s role in holding power accountable. Broadcast can flash the headlines, but it’s print that unravels the why and how—yet that role is fading as media houses chase viral clicks over public interest.
The situation may worsen before it improves. With newspapers hemorrhaging revenue—NMG’s layoffs in 2024, including my own exit, were a stark signal—print desks will continue to shrink. But a course correction is possible, and it’s urgent. Kenyan media houses must recognize that sidelining print doesn’t just marginalize journalists; it erodes the industry’s capacity to document history and dissect complexity. Balance must be restored. Print’s custodians of nuance deserve a seat at the table, not as relics but as vital voices in a multimedia future.
As I reflect on my career—from sub-editor in 2007 to Managing Editor—I see a Kenya where journalism once shook the mighty and meek alike. That legacy isn’t dead, but it’s gasping under broadcast hegemony’s weight. Let’s not let it suffocate. The most important things are indeed the hardest to say, but they’re worth saying—if only for an understanding ear willing to listen.
