Journalism Is Not A Political Party To Be Crushed: IBAN Must Stand Firm Against Wike -By Isaac Asabor

There are certain spaces in every profession that command reverence, not because of the walls that enclose them, but because of the principles they represent. For lawyers, the courtroom is not just a venue; it is a sacred arena where justice is pursued, arguments are refined, and the rule of law is upheld. The dignity of that space is fiercely protected. No serious legal practitioner would tolerate language or conduct that reduces the courtroom to a theatre of intimidation or reckless expression.

Expectedly, Journalism has its own equivalent. For  journalists, particularly broadcasters, the media chat, especially one conducted on a national platform, is not merely a programme slot. It is a civic space. It is where power is questioned, narratives are tested, and the public’s right to know is exercised in real time. It carries a certain solemnity, an unwritten code of respect, and a shared understanding that while the exchanges may be tough, they must never descend into hostility that threatens the integrity of the profession.

It is against this backdrop that the recent comments by Nyesom Wike during a live media engagement must be properly situated and firmly rejected.

When a sitting minister says, even hypothetically, “If there was any way to break the screen, I would have shot him,” in reference to a journalist like Seun Okinbaloye, it crosses a line that should never be blurred. Whether intended as hyperbole, frustration, or mere rhetoric, such language carries weight, especially in a country where journalists already operate under significant pressure.

This is why the reaction of the Independent Broadcast Association of Nigeria (IBAN) is not only appropriate but necessary. And this is also why the association must not back down.

To understand the gravity of the situation, one must appreciate the symbolic importance of the media environment. Just as a courtroom demands decorum, a media chat demands discipline, particularly from those in positions of authority.

When public officials step into the midst of journalists, particularly in a studio or hall, they are not merely guests; they are participants in a democratic ritual. They are expected to submit themselves to scrutiny, to answer questions, even uncomfortable ones, with composure and respect. That is the price of public office.

Journalists, on their part, are not adversaries. They are intermediaries between power and the people. Their questions are not personal attacks; they are instruments of accountability.  So, to respond to questions thrown by them with language that evokes violence, even figuratively, is to erode the very foundation of that relationship.

Imagine a lawyer standing before a judge and declaring, in frustration, that they would harm opposing counsel if given the chance. Such a statement would not be dismissed as mere exaggeration. It would be condemned outright, and rightly so, because it undermines the integrity of the legal system. Without recourse to putting the journalism and law profession on the same comparative scale in this context, it is not out of place to opine that the same standard must apply here. This is as words matter, especially from power

Defenders of the minister’s comment may argue that no real threat was intended. But that is precisely the problem with such reasoning, it ignores the power dynamics at play. When an ordinary citizen speaks recklessly, the consequences may be limited. But when a high-ranking government official does the same, the implications are far-reaching. Words from positions of authority shape attitudes, influence behavior, and can even embolden those who harbor hostility toward the press.

Nigeria is not a vacuum. Journalists in the country have faced harassment, intimidation, and, in some cases, outright violence. In such an environment, even a “joke” about shooting a journalist cannot be taken lightly. It sends the wrong message, it normalizes a dangerous mindset, and it chips away at the already fragile respect for press freedom.

Against the backdrop of the forgoing viewpoints, it is not an exaggeration to opine that the issue has pushed IBAN to its moment of truth. This is as its response to the issue can be said to be measured and firm. By demanding retraction and apology, the association has drawn a clear line: violent rhetoric, real or imagined, has no place in engagements with the media.

But words alone are not enough. This is a defining moment for IBAN. It must demonstrate that its stance is not symbolic but substantive. The threat of a boycott should not be seen as an overreaction; rather, it is a legitimate tool of professional self-preservation.

If journalists cannot guarantee a safe and respectful environment for their work, then the very essence of journalism is at risk. A boycott, if it comes to that, would not be an act of hostility. It would be a statement of principle declaration that the dignity of the profession is non-negotiable.

Perhaps the most troubling aspect of this entire episode is the underlying attitude it reveals, an attitude that treats journalism as an adversarial entity to be subdued rather than a democratic institution to be respected.

Unfortunately, journalism is not a political party. It is not an opposition group to be silenced or “dealt with.” It is a pillar of democracy. To attack it, whether through words, actions, or insinuations, is to weaken the very system that allows governance to function transparently. Therefore, public officials must understand this distinction. Criticism from journalists is not a declaration of war. Tough questioning is not an act of rebellion. It is the job.

And if that job becomes dangerous, if journalists begin to feel that asking the wrong question could provoke not just anger but threats, then the entire democratic process is compromised.

One of the greatest dangers in situations like this is normalization. Today, it is a comment made in frustration. Tomorrow, it could be something more direct. And over time, what was once considered unacceptable begins to seem routine. That is how standards erode. That is how institutions weaken.

And that is why IBAN’s response must be more than a one-off reaction. It must set a precedent. It must make it clear that any language suggesting harm toward journalists, no matter how casually expressed, will be met with firm resistance.

At this point, the path forward is straightforward. A public retraction. A sincere apology, not just to Seun Okinbaloye, but to the entire media community. In fact, there should be a clear reaffirmation of respect for press freedom. Anything less would be inadequate.

An apology is not a sign of weakness. On the contrary, it is a demonstration of leadership. It shows an understanding of responsibility and a willingness to uphold the standards expected of public office.

Given the essence of the foregoing principle, IBAN must hold the line. Not out of stubbornness, but out of necessity. Because once the dignity of journalism is compromised, rebuilding it becomes an uphill battle. Respect, once lost, is not easily regained.

This is bigger than one comment. It is about setting boundaries. It is about reinforcing the idea that the media space, like the courtroom, is sacred in its own right. And it is about ensuring that those who enter that space, regardless of their status, do so with the respect it demands.

In fact, democracy thrives on tension, the healthy kind. The kind that exists between power and accountability, between authority and inquiry. Journalists are not enemies of the state. They are custodians of the public interest. To threaten them, even in jest, is to misunderstand their role entirely. IBAN has taken the right first step. Now it must follow through. Because journalism is not a political party to be crushed. And anyone who treats it as such must be reminded, firmly and unequivocally, that some institutions are too important to be diminished.