The Menace of Brown Envelope Journalism and the Crisis of Ethics in Nigerian Media
The Menace of Brown Envelope Journalism and the Crisis of Ethics in Nigerian Media
By Matthew Eloyi
In the vibrant yet volatile landscape of Nigerian journalism, a silent cancer called “brown envelope journalism” continues to eat deep into the integrity and credibility of the profession. It is a term that many within the media industry know too well but often choose to whisper in corridors or brush aside as a necessary evil. This practice, which involves journalists collecting monetary inducements, often discreetly wrapped in brown envelopes, in exchange for favourable news coverage or the suppression of damaging reports, has grown from a fringe misconduct into a pervasive norm, threatening the very soul of ethical journalism in Nigeria.
Brown envelope journalism is not a new phenomenon. For decades, it has been the dark underbelly of newsrooms across the country, a sordid testament to the entanglement of poverty, institutional failure, and professional compromise. But what was once an exception has today become disturbingly normalised, with some journalists demanding envelopes as a matter of entitlement, and some news sources offering them as a matter of routine.
To address the menace, we must understand the forces driving it. First is the economic reality facing journalists in Nigeria. Many media practitioners are grossly underpaid, or not paid at all. Some reporters go months without salaries, surviving solely on stipends from newsmakers. In such a context, ethics becomes a luxury, and survival takes precedence. When journalism becomes synonymous with penury, the temptation to compromise becomes overwhelming.
Second is the ownership structure of media houses. A significant number of Nigerian media outfits are owned by politicians or individuals with vested interests. These owners often set the editorial direction, prioritising loyalty over objectivity. Journalists who seek to maintain independence or expose uncomfortable truths risk losing their jobs, or worse. In such a climate, the “brown envelope” becomes both a coping mechanism and a survival strategy.
Third, and perhaps most disheartening, is the complicity of newsmakers (government officials, corporate executives, and even non-governmental actors) who offer inducements as a tool of manipulation. For them, the brown envelope is a cheap investment for image laundering, a small price to pay for public goodwill or for burying scandal.
The implications of brown envelope journalism are profound. At the heart of journalism is the public trust; the belief that news reports are guided by facts, objectivity, and public interest. When stories are bought and sold like commodities, that trust erodes. The media becomes not a watchdog, but a lapdog.
Consider the 2023 general elections, where media houses published conflicting opinion polls and biased coverage that clearly mirrored the influence of financial inducements. Such reporting not only misled the public but also undermined democratic processes. When journalists become mouthpieces for the highest bidder, democracy suffers.
Public health campaigns have not been spared either. During the COVID-19 pandemic, some media platforms downplayed the seriousness of the virus or gave space to pseudoscience because the voices behind such narratives could pay. Insecurity in parts of the country is also underreported or manipulated, depending on which side of the conflict is bankrolling the reportage.
Moreover, brown envelope journalism creates a two-tier media system; one where truth can be told only by those who can afford it. NGOs with limited funding are ignored while big corporations and politicians dominate the headlines with self-serving stories. The voices of the marginalised: the poor, the abused, the forgotten are drowned out.
The ethical codes of the Nigerian Union of Journalists (NUJ) and the Nigerian Press Council explicitly forbid inducements. But these guidelines are toothless in the absence of enforcement. The NUJ itself, in many states, has been accused of failing to discipline errant members or of being compromised. The few journalists who resist the lure of brown envelopes often find themselves isolated, demoralised, or dismissed as fools.
There is also a generational dimension to the problem. Younger journalists are increasingly socialised into a culture of compromise. Many fresh graduates entering the field already expect to be “settled” after covering events. This is not merely a personal failing but a systemic rot perpetuated by elders who should be mentoring a new crop of professionals grounded in ethics and responsibility.
The fight against brown envelope journalism cannot be won in a vacuum. It requires a multi-pronged approach.
First, media organisations must pay journalists living wages. No anti-corruption sermon will resonate with a reporter who cannot afford transport fare to cover an assignment. Media owners must understand that ethical journalism is impossible without economic justice for practitioners.
Second, professional bodies like the NUJ, Guild of Editors, and Press Council must go beyond rhetoric and enforce disciplinary measures against erring journalists and media outlets. Naming and shaming, suspension, and disqualification from covering public institutions should be tools in the disciplinary arsenal.
Third, newsmakers must stop offering bribes. Public relations officers, government appointees, and corporate communications executives must be trained on ethical media engagement. Paying journalists should not be seen as “standard procedure.” It is bribery, and it corrodes the legitimacy of the news ecosystem.
Fourth, the journalism curriculum in Nigerian tertiary institutions must be revised to place stronger emphasis on media ethics, investigative reporting, and real-world challenges. Internships should be monitored to prevent young journalists from being indoctrinated into corrupt norms.
Lastly, civil society and international donors should support independent media platforms that uphold transparency. Grants, fellowships, and training programmes can empower ethical journalists to continue their work without depending on compromised institutions.
The Nigerian media is at a crossroads. It can choose to reclaim its role as the fourth estate of the realm, a beacon of truth in a country grappling with disinformation and corruption. Or it can continue its descent into irrelevance, where truth is negotiable, and facts are for sale.
Brown envelope journalism is not just a professional misdemeanor; it is a moral failing, a betrayal of the sacred duty to inform, educate, and hold power to account. If Nigerian journalists do not confront this cancer with urgency and resolve, the credibility of the profession may never recover.
In the end, the battle for ethical journalism is not just about media integrity; it is about the soul of the nation.
