For how long shall they tell our stories—when we do not own the platforms?
For how long shall they define our crises, interpret our politics, frame our conflicts, and package our identities—while we watch from the sidelines?
For how long shall we complain about “bias” in media we neither built, funded, nor sustained—as if competition ever rewards passivity?
This is not a lament. It is a reckoning.
Across Nigeria—and across the world—media ownership determines narrative power. Those who own newspapers, television stations, digital platforms, and distribution networks decide what leads, what follows, what is amplified, what is buried, and what is framed as truth. Neutrality collapses when interests are threatened. This is not ideology; it is structure. And in that structure, Northern Nigeria has chosen absence.
The Uncomfortable Truth: Ownership First, Complaints Last
Let us be blunt. Media is not a charity. It is not a neutral public square. It is strategic infrastructure. It is built with capital, sustained by advertising, protected by alliances, and deployed during elections, policy fights, corporate battles, and identity conflicts. Those who pay expect returns—not only financial, but narrative leverage.
Southern political and business elites understood this decades ago. They invested early, accepted losses, endured regulatory pressure, and built institutions that today set the national agenda. Northern elites, by contrast, did not—despite commanding immense wealth. And now many are shocked that stories about the North are told through other people’s lenses.
For how long shall they tell our stories—when ownership was never a priority?
The Nigerian Media Reality, Not the Myth
Nigeria’s most influential private media houses—print and broadcast—are overwhelmingly Southern-owned and Lagos-based. This is not opinion; it is observable fact. Lagos is Nigeria’s advertising capital, corporate headquarters hub, and distribution center. Advertising money flows where markets are dense. Media scales where capital and ads converge.
Northern-owned private media exists, but it is thin and exceptional, not systemic. Daily Trust, founded in 1998 by Media Trust Limited and chaired by Kabiru Yusuf, stands as the most prominent Northern-origin private newspaper with national relevance. Leadership, founded by the late Sam Nda-Isaiah, is another. These outlets are respected. They matter. But they are outliers, not the product of a broad Northern elite strategy.
Contrast this with the South, where media is treated as power infrastructure—a long game. Platforms associated with Bola Tinubu (including The Nation and TVC News), with Nduka Obaigbena (through ThisDay and Arise News), and with the late Raymond Dokpesi (via AIT) illustrate a consistent truth: media is used to protect interests, frame debates, and mobilize audiences.
For how long shall they tell our stories—when others invested and we did not?
Capital Is Not the Problem—Priority Is
Let us dispense with excuses. Northern Nigeria is not poor. Northern elites dominate capital-intensive sectors: cement, manufacturing, agriculture, banking, real estate, oil and gas distribution, and international ventures. The emblem is Dangote Group, whose operations span continents and whose assets run into tens of billions of dollars.
So when Northern narratives are drowned, the issue is not capacity. It is choice.
Media is perceived as risky, politically volatile, and low in immediate return. Hard sectors promise predictable cash flows and tangible assets. But the cost of ignoring media is now evident: when narratives turn hostile, those same hard assets become targets of perception warfare.
For how long shall they tell our stories—until our empires are defined by others?
Narrative Warfare Is Real—And It Targets Power
Do not pretend this is abstract. Narrative campaigns shape regulation, public sentiment, investor confidence, and policy outcomes.
Consider the sustained narratives around Dangote Refinery since its commissioning phase in the early 2020s. Claims of “monopoly,” selective framings of market dominance, and insinuations—often detached from the refinery’s scale, financing complexity, and national energy implications—circulated widely. Whether one supports or critiques policy outcomes, the lesson is plain: when you do not own the megaphone, others decide how your story sounds.
Or consider the recurring online and media narratives alleging a “Northern Christian genocide.” These claims—frequently amplified without rigorous sourcing, timelines, or contextual differentiation between criminal banditry, insurgency, communal clashes, and state failure—have been used to internationalize pressure, polarize identities, and simplify complex security crises into incendiary binaries. This does not deny suffering. It questions framing—and who controls it.
Then there is the persistent attempt to fracture Northern identities, especially by stoking conflict between Hausa and Fulani communities—despite centuries of interdependence, intermarriage, and shared political economy. Narratives that essentialize blame, flatten history, and weaponize identity do not emerge in a vacuum. They are amplified—and amplification follows ownership.
Even within elite politics, the pattern repeats. The campaign pressure to replace Kashim Shettima with a “Northern Christian” figure—despite Shettima being neither Hausa nor Fulani—exposed how identity labels are deployed strategically, not accurately. The objective is not representation; it is reframing power.
For how long shall they tell our stories—while identities are simplified to serve someone else’s strategy?
Competition Is Real—Expect No Mercy
Here is the brutal truth: we are in competition. Politics is competitive. Markets are competitive. Narratives are competitive. No serious competitor amplifies an opponent’s voice at the expense of their own. To expect Southern-owned media—answerable to Southern capital, advertisers, and audiences—to prioritize Northern interests is to misunderstand how power works.
Globally, this rule is ironclad. Rupert Murdoch built News Corp to advance ideological and commercial interests across the US, UK, and Australia. Jeff Bezos owns The Washington Post; Elon Musk reshaped X after acquisition; Mukesh Ambani controls vast Indian media through Reliance Industries. States do the same through public broadcasters. Ownership equals leverage.
For how long shall they tell our stories—when the global rule is known and ignored?
The Price of Absence: Security, Economy, Identity
The costs of Northern Nigeria’s media absence are measurable:
1. Security Framing: Complex crises are reduced to viral soundbites. Root causes blur. Policy nuance evaporates.
2. Economic Vulnerability: Corporate narratives harden into “truths,” shaping regulatory hostility and public distrust.
3. Identity Polarization: Simplistic ethnic frames gain traction, deepening internal fractures.
4. Political Disadvantage: Election cycles favor those with platforms ready before the campaign starts.
Complaints after the fact change nothing. Infrastructure must precede crisis.
For how long shall they tell our stories—until each crisis finds us unprepared?
What Must Change—Now
Northern Nigeria must invest in media for survival, not as a side business. This means:
Capital Pools: Consortiums of Northern investors funding national newspapers, TV networks, and serious digital platforms.
Long-Term Horizon: Accept early losses; media power compounds over time.
Professional Independence with Strategic Clarity: Editorial credibility matters—but within ownership realities.
Advertising Ecosystems: Build Northern corporate advertising bases to sustain outlets.
Talent and Distribution: Invest in journalists, studios, bureaus, data, and reach.
Crisis Readiness: Platforms must exist before narratives break.
This is not about propaganda. It is about capacity—the capacity to tell your own story with rigor, speed, and scale.
For how long shall they tell our stories—until we finally decide to speak with our own institutions?
A Final Word to Northern Elites
History is unforgiving. Power does not reward hesitation. Those who refuse to build narrative infrastructure will inherit narratives built by others—often to their disadvantage.
Northern Nigeria’s political and business elites cannot continue to dominate hard sectors while abandoning the soft power that protects them. Media is not optional. It is defensive armor and offensive reach in a world where perception shapes reality.
For how long shall they tell our stories—before we accept that ownership is the price of voice?
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
Abuja Network News
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Opinion