By Muhammed Jallow
History often teaches governments painful lessons not in the moment of decision, but in the long echo of regret that follows generosity extended without discernment. In the unfolding debate surrounding the controversial D40 million media support contract awarded to selected media houses and content creators, one cannot help but wonder whether, in time, the Government of The Gambia may look back and ask itself a difficult question: if only we knew then what we know now, would we have acted the same way?
This reflection is not born out of hostility toward the idea of supporting the media. On the contrary, a free, vibrant, and professional media is a cornerstone of democracy, accountability, and transparency. It is precisely because of this belief that the current situation demands a sincere, dramatic, yet honest interrogation of motives, outcomes, and unintended consequences.
The Government, through the Ministry of Information, has repeatedly and clearly articulated that the D40 million contract is not designed to promote or sell the government’s political agenda.
The Minister of Information, Dr Ismaila Ceesay, stated unequivocally in a Star FM exclusive: “I want to start by stating that the money given to the media houses is not meant to sell government agendas. That is not the essence.” He emphasised that the core objective is to bridge the information gap and ensure that Gambians are informed about government programmes, projects, and public investments funded by taxpayers.
This position is, in principle, noble and defensible. Access to information is indeed a human right. Citizens have the right to know how public resources are being utilised, whether in the construction of a one-kilometer road or the opening of critical infrastructure in remote and hard-to-reach communities such as Hakalang and Kabada. Dr Ceesay further underscored this when he explained that informing the public enhances accountability and transparency, values that this democratic dispensation claims to uphold.
Yet, while the intention may be pure, the execution has exposed a troubling reality. Some of the very media houses that benefited from this unprecedented support have, almost immediately, demonstrated conduct that raises serious ethical and moral questions. Instead of rising to the responsibility that accompanies public trust and public funds, certain beneficiaries appear to have weaponised the same resources granted to them to consistently portray negative images of The Gambia, its people, and its government.
This is where regret begins to take shape.
It is no secret that some of these media platforms were virtually unheard of before this intervention. Others had been struggling for relevance, sustainability, and reach. The government’s decision to include them was, arguably, an attempt to be inclusive, to strengthen media diversity, and to empower local institutions. However, for some, the support appears to have been nothing more than a temporary financial lifeline. As soon as the funds were secured or exhausted, the commitment to balanced reporting, national responsibility, and ethical journalism seemingly evaporated.
Even more alarming is the emerging pattern where resources meant to enhance access to information are being used to amplify narratives that cast the country in perpetual crisis, exaggerate faults while ignoring progress, and fuel cynicism rather than constructive critique. Criticism is healthy in a democracy, but when it is consistently selective, sensational, and divorced from context, it ceases to be journalism and begins to resemble agenda-driven hostility.
One must ask: is it justifiable for a government to fund institutions that actively undermine national cohesion and international image, especially when those institutions would not extend the same courtesy of fairness to the very hand that supported them?
What makes this situation even more paradoxical is that such an arrangement would have been unthinkable under previous governments. Never before has a Gambian government so openly and financially supported media houses, many of which are openly critical, oppositional, or even antagonistic toward state institutions. Ironically, the very government that has created this enabling environment for press freedom, financial support, and pluralism has become the most criticised administration in recent history.
This contradiction should not be ignored.
The Ministry of Information, in its detailed explanation, clarified that criteria were set, that the model exists in other countries, and that the funds would circulate back into the economy through salaries paid to Gambian employees and reinvestment in media operations. Dr Ceesay also clarified that Sparkling Media and Fandema Multimedia are content developers, not traditional broadcasters, tasked with enhancing the quality and reach of government-related information.
These defenses, echoed by other government officials who have stood firm in justifying the policy, are grounded in logic and comparative practice. Ministers and senior officials have argued that a government cannot preach transparency while refusing to invest in the very channels that disseminate information to the public. They have also warned against equating state support with censorship or propaganda, stressing that editorial independence remains intact.
However, independence must come with responsibility.
Freedom without conscience becomes recklessness. Independence without national interest risks becoming self-serving. A media house that enjoys public funds but consistently refuses to acknowledge public good projects, infrastructural development, social interventions, and reform efforts, while magnifying every shortcoming without balance, invites legitimate scrutiny.
Let it be clear: no one is calling for praise-singing journalism. The Gambian people are intelligent enough to detect propaganda. But they are also fair-minded enough to expect honesty, context, and proportionality. When roads are built, hospitals rehabilitated, schools expanded, and access improved in marginalized communities, these are facts that deserve to be reported with the same energy as scandals and failures.
The danger here is long-term. International partners, investors, and observers rely heavily on media narratives to shape perceptions. When media houses funded under the banner of improving access to information instead project a relentlessly bleak picture, they do not only embarrass the government; they harm the nation’s collective interest. Tourism, investment, and diplomatic confidence are not immune to sustained negative portrayal.
This is where the moral dilemma sharpens. Should the government continue to support institutions that do not see themselves as stakeholders in national progress? Should public funds be extended without robust monitoring, ethical benchmarks, and clear consequences for abuse of purpose?
Justice, after all, is not blind generosity. Justice weighs intention against outcome, rights against duties, and freedom against responsibility.
The government’s defenders have argued that withdrawing support or imposing conditions could be misinterpreted as suppression of press freedom. That concern is valid. Yet, accountability is not censorship. Asking media houses to adhere to professional ethics, national laws, and the spirit of the agreement is not an attack on freedom; it is a defense of the common good.
If regret comes, it will not be because the government supported the media. It will be because it failed to anticipate that some beneficiaries would neither appreciate the gesture nor respect the purpose. It will be because generosity was mistaken for weakness, and tolerance for indifference.
The lesson here is not to abandon media support but to refine it. Future interventions must be guided by stricter evaluation, measurable outcomes, and periodic reviews. Media houses that demonstrate professionalism, balance, and commitment to public interest should be strengthened. Those that misuse public resources to pursue narrow or destructive narratives should not hide behind the banner of press freedom to escape accountability.
In the end, the Gambian people deserve better. They deserve information that enlightens, not inflames; that critiques, not condemns; that builds, not belittles. The government, for its part, must learn that not every critic is an enemy, but not every beneficiary is a partner.
Let justice guide our actions towards the common good. Let generosity be matched with wisdom. And let this moment serve as a sober reminder that nation-building requires not only freedom of expression, but also a shared sense of responsibility to The Gambia, its people, and its future.
