Twenty-two years ago, the forty-year-old person who parades as ‘seasoned’ journalist was barely eighteen years old. As for the thirty-year-old braggart who is disturbing our minds with ugly noises on radio and TV, and trying to portray to us as a ‘seasoned’ journalist, he was barely twelve years old.
The Akans say if any animal says it has fat in its body, such an animal learnt how to grow fat in its body from the pig. Confused? Wait until I fill my fountain pen with more ink.
This column was born twenty two years ago. It used to appear two times a week until, my editor, the mercurial Iron Lady, Ambassador Gina Blay, felt it was tiresome for me, so I should write once a week. It has been very eventful, and so much water has passed under the bridge. I have a trenchant pen and a fountain pen, but for the sake of peace I have decided to always use the fountain pen.
It is not that I fear any Jupiter, but I am civil and well cultured. I can spit red saliva and fire, but I always spit the white one because I have been trained not to belittle the intelligence of anybody.
The media landscape today is a worry to some of us who know what over indulgence can do to the profession. You tune your television or radio set and what you hear makes you think we are living in a jungle. They call themselves journalists, but the best that they can do is to talk but not to write.
You see them swaggering and spewing out vitriolic invectives as if they too matter in the scheme of things. They profess to know everything from archaeology to rocket science, but in actual sense they know absolutely nothing. They are just hirelings who have been charged to unduly take on respectable ladies and gentlemen who have made it in life through the hard way.
I have had cause to write about the way these upstarts insult and bastardise persons who could be their fathers, and I still insist that such behaviour will be met with rough and hot iron.
Presenters like Randy Abbey, Omanhene Kwabena Asante, Nana Aba Anamoah etc. are a delight to watch and listen, but sadly, not so with these uncouth boys and girls who have no training in their various homes. Where I come from, respect of elders is a blessing. We were taught when we were children not to insult an elderly person, because we could be cursed and the future will be bleak for us.
Anytime we became wayward in public and played the buffoonery, any elder present could spank us very well, and later tell our parents what we did in public to warrant the spanking. If you are not lucky, your parents will also repeat the dose. All these upbringing has gone with the win. Empty barrels have taken control, polluting the air with nothing but stupidity laced with insults.
I want to serve notice, and notice is hereby served that from this day onwards, if any so-called journalist goes down the gutter, I, your Earth Angel Gabriel, will join the reckless fool in the gutter, and together we will besmear ourselves with dirt. I will don my solid armour of confrontational discourse, acidic, caustic, abrasive, rough, nasty and ready, and confront these nit-wits wherever they rear their ugly heads.
(Mote Brofo?) When my historic mission is accomplished, I will raise myself up and fly into the firmament where angels dwell. And when I delve into my arsenal of the Queen’s language, they should better go for a standby dictionary, that is if they don’t want to contract severe headache. When that comes to pass, nobody should say notice was not served before I descended into the gutter.
This country, our beloved country cannot afford to sit on the fence, while a few irresponsible charlatans distract our attention in our desire to move the nation forward. Every government welcomes constructive criticisms, but when destructive criticism takes centre stage and push comes to shove, something must be done to get the ship of state move forward.
The world today is sitting on tenterhooks. Wars, rumours of nuclear wars, and the threat of a Third World War are staring us in the face, and these are matters that journalists who wish the country well should focus on.
Just look at how the war in Ukraine has disturbed economies the world over, and juxtapose it with how some presenters on TV are falling over each other to catch public attention in the stupid Serwaa Broni balderdash. Is that how to build a nation? Much as they try to smear the president with dirt, it doesn’t wash, but instead of recoiling into their shell, they continue to disturb our ears with this idiotic bunkum.
When I wrote a piece on Russia’s war with Ukraine, colleague journalists called me from all over the country and admonished me to write more on the issue because the issue has bearing on the Ghanaian economy.
These are level-headed persons that we need in Ghana today. Not half-wits who sit on TV and radio stations making ugly noises. It is not for nothing that journalism is termed as the Fourth Estate of the scheme of things. We have a role to play in nation building, but the younger generation of journalists who were born too late to know how far we have come continue to muddy the waters through infantile analysis of issues they know absolutely nothing about.
They are too raw and bestial. They don’t read, and not reading often makes you stupid and brutal. Everyone can be acquiescent and fearful of being insulted by these disrespectful idiots. Not yours sincerely.
Smoking cigar makes you feel like owning the world. That is why millionaires, presidents, and celebrities smoke cigar. Excuse me while I puff La Gloria Cubana, one of the top cigars in the world, and a favourite of Bill Clinton. Do you think I am a small boy? Try me and see!!!
From Eric Bawah