Mediascape

Wanjiku and Mama Mboga must pool resources and buy back Nation

By now, we all know that the BBC—one of the world’s most dependable public watchdogs for over a century—is funded directly by British citizens.

This means that the average Briton watching the news one evening can stand and confidently say: I pay for that journalist. I fund that newsroom, the reporting, even the clothes on the reporter’s back.

Here is how it works: every household in the UK must pay an annual television licence fee of about £174.50 (about Sh30,000) to watch live TV. Watching without paying is illegal.

Try introducing such a system in Kenya and the uproar would be heard from here to planet Neptune. But why do the British willingly pay?

The logic is simple: they understand that he who pays the piper calls the tune. They confronted an uncomfortable truth long ago—that media freedom is largely an illusion when news organizations depend on the state, wealthy investors, or advertisers for survival.

That a media house that owes its existence to power and profit can never be fully free ought to be a compulsory essay subject for every media student.

The student should be able to explain why BBC News does not interrupt news to run Ugali flour and sanitary towel ads or interrupt normal programming to broadcast the wedding of its director’s nephew or a senior politician’s ‘homecoming.’ It is because the BBC is largely insulated from commercial and political pressures. Its primary loyalty is to the public.

But that independence comes at a cost. To preserve it, Britons agreed to collectively fund their public broadcaster. In doing so, they expect one thing: that the BBC remains a true public service—informing, educating, entertaining, and, crucially, holding power to account without fear or favour.

In short, the Brits feed their watchdog so that it can bark when, where and at who, and what matters to them. There is an old streetwise saying: If a dog starts barking at its owner, someone else is feeding it. The British have ensured that their media barks for them—not for politicians, corporations, or advertisers.

Contrast this with Kenya. Here, the media is meant to serve as a public watchdog, but the public plays little role in feeding its dog. The result is predictable: a famished mongrel that wags its tail for whoever offers the next meal. In such an environment, the infamous “brown envelope” often silences the watchdog more effectively than intimidation or imprisonment ever could.

Running a media house is expensive. Traditionally, it required millions of shillings—though digital platforms have lowered the barrier somewhat. Even so, only two forces can reliably sustain large media operations: the state and big business.

And both come with strings attached. Expecting a businessman who has invested millions not to influence editorial direction is naïve. Expecting a state-owned broadcaster to hold the government accountable is worse—it is self-deception.

Kenya’s media landscape reflects this reality. Major outlets are tied, directly or indirectly, to political or business interests. As for the national broadcaster, it presents a peculiar case: a public watchdog that has been chronically underfed—if not outright neglected—by those entrusted with its care.

So, who owns the public watchdog in Kenya? Not Wanjiku, certainly not Mama Mboga. Between them, they have no public watchdog of their own.

Instead, they rely on their wealthy neighbour’s dog—an arrangement that rarely works in their interests. And if insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly while expecting different results, then Wanjiku and Mama Mboga’s continued reliance on someone else’s watchdog while expecting undivided loyalty from the poor animal is not just insanity but an extreme case of naivety.

So, what is to be done? Perhaps it is time for Wanjiku and Mama Mboga to own their own watchdog.

One hopes that someday, in more or less the same way that Wanjiku and Mama Mboga had a chance to buy a stake at Kenya Pipeline for Sh9, they shall enthusiastically pool resources to buy off one of Kenya’s struggling media houses. Then they shall finally fully own a public watchdog, and hopefully, feed it well enough to defend their interests from the state and big business.

By Ghost Writer