Introduction

In recent years, I have continuously lamented the parlous state of journalism in Nigeria, expressing deep dissatisfaction with the mediocrity that now defines much of the country’s media landscape. The consequences of this decline are far-reaching, eroding the credibility of the press and transforming what should be a pillar of democracy into a megaphone for the highest bidders. Today, Rufai Oseni barks at guests while Reuben Abati plays umpire in a show of shame. Tomorrow, it is Seun Okinbaloye’s turn to deliver another round of insubstantial, watery content, devoid of intellectual depth. The Nigerian media, once a formidable force holding power to account, has willingly reduced itself to an echo chamber for political elites.

Against this backdrop, I recently stumbled upon Edmond Obilo’s interview with Sam Omatseye on his book about President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Having read Omatseye’s essays and listened to Obilo on multiple occasions, I was particularly eager to see how this conversation would unfold. However, the interview turned out to be the worst I had ever encountered—so appalling that it effectively dissuaded me from even considering reading Omatseye’s book, let alone recommending it to anyone. My concern here is not with Omatseye, whose biases are well known, but with Obilo, who failed woefully in both his conduct and his articulation of the interview’s purpose.

The Fundamental Question of Objectivity

Obilo’s interview raises a critical question that historians and serious journalists must always grapple with: Can a biography or political analysis written by a close admirer of its subject ever be truly objective? Omatseye, a seasoned journalist and columnist, made no attempt to hide his admiration for Tinubu. Yet, at no point in the interview did Obilo challenge him on how this partisanship might have shaped the book’s narrative. This was a glaring and indefensible omission. It is natural for writers to have perspectives, but when an author is openly biased, their work ceases to be an objective historical or political account—it becomes hagiography.

Obilo’s failure to interrogate Omatseye’s biases was not just a missed opportunity; it was a dereliction of journalistic duty. Any interviewer worth their salt should have pressed Omatseye on whether he sought out dissenting voices or incorporated credible critiques of Tinubu’s political trajectory. Instead, Obilo enabled a one-sided conversation that reinforced a predetermined narrative rather than facilitating an intellectually honest discussion.

The Issue of Bias in Political Writing

Objectivity is a foundational principle of serious journalism and historical documentation. A writer’s closeness to their subject can lead to three major issues. First, selective narration. An admirer tends to highlight successes while downplaying failures. If Omatseye’s book is written through the lens of Tinubu’s greatness, it is unlikely to give serious attention to his controversies, policy failures, or political maneuverings that may cast him in a less flattering light. Second, lack of critical engagement. A true biographical or analytical work must engage critically with its subject. While Tinubu is undeniably a political force in Nigeria, a fair account must examine not just his achievements but also the criticisms against him, including allegations of corruption, questions about his past, and the controversies surrounding his rise to power. If Omatseye is too close to Tinubu, he may avoid asking the tough questions that would make the book truly informative. Third, the credibility of sources. When an author is emotionally or politically invested in their subject, their selection of sources can be skewed. A book that relies mostly on sources that reinforce a positive narrative while ignoring dissenting voices or alternative perspectives becomes a work of propaganda rather than a serious contribution to political literature.

What is Expected of a Journalist Seeking Objectivity?

A journalist, when engaging with an author whose biases are clear, has the responsibility to probe and challenge their narrative. Edmond Obilo, known for his critical approach, should have pressed for balance, questioning whether Omatseye sought out opposing views on Tinubu and whether he included credible criticisms in his book. He should have demanded transparency in research, asking about the sources the author used—whether they were independent analysts or mostly Tinubu’s associates and political allies. Furthermore, he should have highlighted the risk of hero worship. If an author openly admits admiration for their subject, a journalist should push them to explain how they ensured objectivity in their writing.

Conclusion: A Broader Crisis in Nigerian Journalism

Obilo’s interview is symptomatic of a much larger crisis within Nigerian journalism: a profession that should be defined by inquiry, skepticism, and public accountability has instead embraced complacency and servitude to power. Journalists, who once stood as watchdogs of democracy, now function as glorified public relations officers for politicians and the business elite. The Nigerian media no longer challenges narratives; it amplifies them. It no longer holds power accountable; it serves as its mouthpiece.

True journalism demands the courage to ask uncomfortable questions, even when engaging with powerful figures or respected colleagues. Obilo had a responsibility to push Omatseye on the credibility of his sources, the balance of his analysis, and the integrity of his conclusions. Instead, he facilitated an exercise in mutual admiration, devoid of any critical rigor.

The failure of the Nigerian media is no longer just an abstract concern; it has real implications for the country’s democratic health. When journalists refuse to interrogate power, when they allow partisanship to dictate narratives, and when interviews become mere platforms for political propaganda, the public is left without reliable sources of information.

This is why I feel vindicated in my long-held belief that the Nigerian media has become a shadow of its former self. If even veterans like Obilo and Omatseye have succumbed to this decline, then what hope remains for the younger generation of journalists? The fourth estate, once a bastion of truth and accountability, is now a hollow institution, echoing the voices of those it was meant to scrutinize. Political writing, particularly in a democracy, should inform, not merely praise. If Omatseye’s book is more of a tribute than a critical analysis, it risks being dismissed as political fanfare rather than a serious intellectual contribution. Journalism, at its best, exists to challenge power, not to serve it. Any journalist engaging with such a book must hold the author accountable to the standards of fair and balanced reporting.

Below are links to Obilo’s 2-part interview:

https://youtu.be/M1icw7ib8aU?si=Z7iCfdOS0qb-p8IA

https://youtu.be/hxX5bkuR7RI?si=9P1TrkJOS_X-01Mi