Oladeinde Olawoyin
My mind wandered aimlessly in search of clarity as I wobbled across the University of Ilorin’s Mass Communication Departmental corridor that hot afternoon. Ambition collided with confusion, and fantasy gave way for epiphany. I had always wanted to practice journalism, and had imagined that I knew what I really wanted. Until that moment.
“You must define what you want to do and be sure it isn’t ‘Churnalism’,” Professor Lambe Kayode Mustapha said, head bent skywards. I was in his office, and our conversations shifted in the direction of my post-varsity plan—–how I could harness the fire of journalism that burnt within me for societal good. After-school challenges loomed, and my mind was clouded by uncertainties. Before then, I had studied journalism for more than a decade, practiced on and off three campuses, freelanced for some fringe publications, garnered certificates and a few accolades, and felt I had my career path neatly defined.
“Churnalism won’t take you anywhere; only consequential journalism will…” Professor Mustapha-whom we affectionately called ‘Dr. Musty’ at the time- added, deadpan. He flipped through the pages of a particular text- (Noam) Chomsky’s, I think – adjusted his chair, and looked towards my direction. It was as though the non-verbal cue was necessary for the message to sink in, for maximum effect. But what exactly is “Churnalism” and why did he consider it important for his (Mass Communication) students to be clear about the direction of their craft quite early?
BBC journalist Waseem Zakir is widely credited with coining the term “Churnalism”—which essentially translates to the process of regurgitating press releases and syndicated reports, as against painstaking investigations and original research. Tony Harcup, journalism scholar and Emeritus Fellow of the University of Sheffield, referenced that in his 2004 book, Journalism: Principles and Practice.
The idea has its root in two words: a portmanteau of “churn” and “journalism”, the “churning out” of content from press releases and PR agencies.
“It’s affecting every newsroom in the country, and reporters are becoming churnalists,” Zakir said of the craft. “You get copy coming in on the wires and reporters churn it out, processing stuff and maybe adding the odd local quote…”
But Zakir’s observation wasn’t peculiar to the British press anyway, and years later, “Churnalism” would take the centre stage in global journalism discourse. In retrospect, as I would come to realise, Professor Mustapha’s fear had its roots in that ongoing conversation and how the local journalism ecosystem in Nigeria mirrored its devastating effects.
So, in Ilorin, even as the sun baked the skin with fiendish delight, what separated us that hot afternoon was the gulf between the insight of experience on the one hand, and the innocence of the formative years, on the other hand.
Our formative years are always a blur, defined quite often by imperfections: misdirected energies, idealism fueled by sheer naivety, error-prone judgements, and foggy visions. What influences the ultimate trajectory of our lives, in some cases, is the intervention of the guardian, that teacher, whose haunting voice and illuminating presence provide clarity in moments of naivety.
I am blessed with too many of such teachers and on this page, I have written about some of them: Alhaji Liad Tella, who showed me how far I could fly on the wings of sentences; Professor Saudat Salah Abdulbaqi, who fired my imagination midway between the delicate borders of motherly love and unbent principles; Professor Mahfouz Adedimeji, that model of a “teacher without borders” who exemplified excellence with dexterity of influence and character; and Professor Lukmon Adesina Azeez, the disciplinarian in whose world of rigour-as-only-pathway-to-excellence our hands burnt like gold in a furnace.
I have written, also, about those who came before them and sharpened my mind in the belly of hills in Eruwa: Messrs ‘Yinka Agoro, Rotimi Bolarinwa, the late Kunle Gbolagunte, Gbade Akinteye, Abiola Jesulowo, Patrick Akolade, ‘Wunmi Olajide, Ismail Adediran, Solomon Adedokun, among others. I remember, also, those who came after them in UNILAG: Ass. Prof. Suraj Adekunle Olunifesi; Professors Ismail Adegboyega Ibrahim and Adepoju Tejumaiye; Dr ‘Tayo Popoola, among others.
Professor L.K Mustapha stands tall among this tribe of lecturers… no, teachers—–guardian angels whose words haunted like shadows. For one, our relationship transcended the walls of the classroom and with him, there were no boundaries and barriers. He was the quintessential teacher as guardian who cared not just about students’ academic performance, but about their survival struggles. He was an eternal source of inspiration. In effect, very few people believed in my abilities as he did and his words of encouragement were the elixir I needed to soldier on, especially in the first few months of post-varsity life.
*Oladeinde is Business, Energy & Economy Editor of Premium Times posted this piece on social media