By Adonis Byemelwa
Dr. Egbert Mkoko sat on the judging panel, a mix of pride and concern reflected in his expression. A seasoned journalist and respected lecturer at the University of Dar es Salaam’s School of Journalism and Mass Communication, he hoped the Samia Kalamu Awards would spotlight a new wave of journalistic brilliance in Tanzania—one driven by courage, depth, and ethical rigor.
And in many ways, it did. The sheer volume of submissions—over a thousand entries from across the country—was a heartening signal that Tanzanian journalists remain eager to tell stories and are still hungry for recognition.
Yet, as he combed through report after report, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the shadows that loomed behind the celebration: a lack of investigative depth, ethical missteps, and an industry still struggling to break free from surface-level storytelling.
The Samia Kalamu Awards, organized by the Tanzania Communications Regulatory Authority (TCRA) in collaboration with the Tanzania Media Women Association (Tamwa), were never just about plaques and applause.
They were a call to action—an invitation for journalists to stretch beyond the press conference summaries and daily briefings, and instead venture into the murkier, more demanding terrain of real, hard-hitting investigative journalism.
With ministries from all sectors contributing to the recognition of excellence, the initiative was comprehensive and inclusive. And indeed, the turnout over the ten-month submission period was staggering. But as Dr. Mkoko shared on UTV’s “Uchanganuzi” program on May 6, 2025, volume does not always equate to value.
He spoke honestly, not out of criticism, but out of care for the craft, for the profession, and for the truth. Many of the entries, he noted, leaned heavily on repackaged press releases or shallow coverage of routine events.
“A journalist walks into a meeting, picks up the statement, files it as a story, and submits it for an award,” he said, clearly pained by the thought. “You can’t expect to win with that—it’s just not storytelling.” The real issue, he emphasized, isn’t a lack of talent, but a lack of structure and support that would allow that talent to flourish.
He gave the example of a radio piece about a ferry accident, where the reporter remarked that "several people managed to die." It was meant to convey tragedy, but the phrasing—an awkward, even insensitive construction in Kiswahili—reflected how far there is to go in refining the language of reporting.
For many Tanzanian journalists, Kiswahili is a mother tongue. And yet, under pressure, even basic expression can falter. “It’s not just about grammar,” Dr. Mkoko explained. “It’s about meaning. About honoring what we report.”
Language, however, was only one part of the picture. Ethical missteps cropped up in submissions as well. Dr. Mkoko pointed to stories involving children who had survived abuse, where journalists blurred faces in images but inadvertently—or perhaps carelessly—exposed their identities through other details: names of schools, villages, parents, even teachers. “It defeats the whole purpose,” he said quietly. “If we’re not careful, we’re doing more harm than good. We can’t preach dignity and strip it away in the same breath.”
The broader problem, he argued, lies in newsroom culture. Investigative journalism isn’t being suppressed by apathy—rather, it’s being strangled by a system that doesn’t invest in it. Most media houses don’t allocate the time or the money for long-form reporting.
Editors, pressured by deadlines and tight budgets, tend to favor quantity over quality. “You can’t produce a deep, well-researched piece in two days. It might take weeks, even a month,” he said. “And yet, your employer expects a paycheck-worthy output every week. Where does that leave room for investigation?”
The Tanzania Communications Regulatory Authority’s Executive Director shared this frustration, publicly lamenting the absence of solid investigative work in the national media. It’s a sentiment that resonates across the industry, a recognition that something vital is being lost in the daily churn of news cycles.
Press releases have become a crutch, and event coverage a default. But journalism—real journalism—was never meant to simply mirror the official story. It’s supposed to ask uncomfortable questions and to go where press releases don’t.
Yet even in his critique, Dr. Mkoko held onto hope. He saw that many journalists were beginning to understand what quality looks like. He saw flashes of brilliance, stories that tried to dig deeper, to connect more meaningfully. “Some media houses keep winning these awards,” he noted, “and it’s not luck. It’s leadership. It’s editors who polish stories, who push their reporters, who care.”
Indeed, while the trophies go to reporters, the fingerprints of good editors are all over those winning pieces. They’re the invisible mentors, the quiet gatekeepers who shape stories from raw drafts into compelling narratives. And without them, even the most passionate journalist can struggle to find their voice.
So as the applause from the Samia Kalamu Awards fades, what remains is a challenge—and a promise. Tanzania’s journalism has potential. But it needs room to grow, freedom to question, and support to dare. Because the stories that matter most aren’t handed to us. They’re hunted down, piece by piece, in the quiet work of investigation. And in that silence, the real truth waits.
