If Being A Journalist Is A Crime, Let Me Remain A Criminal — I Don’t Want To Repent -By Isaac Asabor

People have been sneering at me lately, treating my profession as if I stumbled into something inferior, something for those who could not “do better.” Some whisper it. Some hiss it. Some say it boldly with their chests puffed in self-importance: “Journalism? Why that one? Why not join a noble profession?”

They say it like they are diagnosing a disease. They say it like choosing truth over silence is a mistake. They say it as if being a journalist makes me a lesser professional.

Well, here is my response: If being a journalist is a crime, then let me remain a criminal. I am not repenting. I am not apologizing. And I am certainly not switching careers to massage anybody’s fragile ego.

People who have never chased a story in the rain, never confronted power with a pen, never risked relationships for truth, and never spent sleepless nights verifying facts will always think journalism is “ordinary.” To them, it is a fallback career; something anyone can do. Meanwhile, the moment society starts burning, these same people run to journalists for answers.

And as if society’s sneer is not enough, government on its part does not hesitate to dangle the Cybercrime Act over the heads of journalists, waving it like a threat, as though fear has ever been enough to stop a truth-teller from doing the job. They forget that journalism is not powered by fear; it is powered by conviction. You cannot frighten a journalist out of pursuing truth any more than you can frighten a river out of flowing downhill. The work is in the blood. It is a calling that refuses to be silenced, no matter how many legal weapons are brandished to intimidate those who dare to question authority.

And for anyone who doubts that this stubborn devotion to truth has divine approval, scripture itself settles the matter. Jeremiah 20:9 captures the very fire that drives real journalists: “His word was in my heart like a burning fire shut up in my bones; I was weary of holding it in, and indeed I could not.” That is exactly what the work feels like. The truth burns within, demanding expression. It does not allow silence. It does not permit retreat. Journalism, at its core, mirrors this divine compulsion—God-approved duties to speak, reveal, question, expose, and illuminate. No law, no threat, and no intimidation can extinguish a fire that God Himself endorses.

Let us be plain: journalism is not the refuge of the weak. It is the frontline of society. It is the only profession that requires you to grow a backbone and a conscience simultaneously.

Yet you find people who believe that because they wear corporate suits, carry fancy titles, or earn in dollars, they suddenly have the authority to look down on a profession that shapes nations, exposes truths, and documents history. Let them keep their illusions. I know what journalism has made me.

Journalism has given me clarity that many professionals lack. While some people sit in air-conditioned offices recycling the same tasks, I engage with the world as it truly is; its cruelty, its beauty, its contradictions. Journalism forces you to think critically. It forces you to question narratives, interrogate systems, and observe society beyond the shallow surface where most people operate.

Mock me if you like, but journalism has made my mind sharper than many of the people doing the mocking.

And let us talk about courage. Some professions give you comfort. Journalism gives you confrontation.

You do not survive this work without guts. You do not ask powerful people hard questions if you are timid. You do not uncover corruption if you are scared of shadows.

In the field of journalism, every story teaches you to stand taller. Every investigation teaches you to resist intimidation. And every published piece teaches you that the truth has a price, a price many of the so-called “noble” professions will never pay.

But apparently, being fearless is now a crime. Holding people accountable is now a sin. Refusing to be silent is now an offense. If so, hand me my indictment. I’m guilty as charged.

Journalism is also therapy, though very few people understand that. While others wrestle with unspoken fears, unresolved emotions, or repressed frustrations, we pour ours into stories. We process the world by documenting it. The pen becomes our mirror, our sanctuary, our mental gym.

Those who mock journalists do not know what it means to turn chaos into clarity.

They don’t know what it means to process tragedy before reporting it. They do not know what it means to remain human in a profession that exposes you to the best and worst of humanity every single day.

But they call journalism “ordinary.” They underestimate the emotional intelligence it takes to write about grieving families, displaced communities, injustice, or national hardship without losing your voice, or your sanity.

Journalism is discipline. Journalism is endurance. Journalism is purpose. It is not a hobby. It is not a gap-filler. It is not what you choose because you failed to get into something “more respectable.”

It is what you choose when you have the spine to defend truth and the stamina to pursue it. People who mock journalists forget one inconvenient fact: “society collapses the moment journalists stop doing their job.”

They forget that dictators fear journalists more than armies. They forget that investigative stories have toppled governments, exposed scandals, saved citizens, and rewritten national conversations. What other profession influences society at that scale?

But go ahead; call us criminals if it makes you feel more important.

I have come to understand that people mock what they do not understand and fear what they cannot do. Journalism is both. It requires intellectual depth, moral courage, and emotional resilience. And not everyone can carry that weight.

So, no, I do not want redemption from this profession. I do not want deliverance. I do not want salvation from the “crime” of telling the truth. I want to remain a journalist; fully, loudly, unapologetically. To the people who look down on journalism, here is my simple answer: Your contempt cannot erase my calling. Your arrogance cannot dilute my passion. Your mockery cannot silence my voice.

I would rather be a journalist with integrity than a professional with a hollow title. I would rather chase truth than chase validation. I would rather stay in the so-called “crime” of journalism than sit in safe professions that contribute nothing but noise and ego.

So if journalism is a crime, then I am a repeat offender. I am a proud lawbreaker in the court of public pretenders. I am not confessing. I am not negotiating. I am not seeking bail.

Let me remain a criminal in their eyes, because in the eyes of society, journalism is the last defense against ignorance, oppression, and deceit.

And if that makes me guilty, so be it. I’ll serve my sentence with pride.