The pen is not a toy. It is a scepter. In the hands of the righteous, it builds empires of truth. In the hands of the reckless, it becomes a dagger that strikes in the dark.
We have watched the craft fall low. Where once there were scribes who feared the weight of their words, now there are hawkers of headlines—men with a laptop, data bundles, and the hunger of a boda boda rider chasing the next fare.
They hear a whisper, they twist it, they publish it, and they vanish before the dust settles. Forty years of honor spent for five thousand shillings and a plate of groundnuts.
This is not journalism. This is sacrilege.
The computer gave us reach, and the masses gave us trust. To misuse both is to betray the very people who look to you for light.
To drag private sorrow into the marketplace for clout is to trade in souls. To cloak blackmail as “exposé” is to make a mockery of the trade. The innocent do not read to be devoured; they read to be informed.
And mark this: the loudest voices today are often the successless relatives of the profession. Men who could not stand in the council of the diligent now stand on the ruins of others, swinging blindly.
In their frenzy, they stain the names of true journalists—the ones who burn the midnight oil, who verify before they publish, who know that a word once loosed can never be recalled.
Recall Teddy Cheye of The Confidential. He mistook recklessness for power, and power left him in misery. Let that be a warning written in ash: the pen gives no immunity to the fool.
Journalism is not blackmail. It is not a weapon for vendetta. It is not a trade in family matters disguised as public interest.
The true journalist asks before he writes: Does the public need this to judge power, or do I only seek to destroy a man? If the answer is not the first, then close the laptop. Silence is better than sacrilege.
How then shall we tame this beast?
- Restore the Gate: Let not every voice with a phone call itself a house of the press. Registration, accountability, and oath must return.
- Hold the Watchmen: The editor who prints filth owns the filth. Let the consequences rise to the desk where the decision was made.
- Awaken the Reader: Teach the people to discern. A nation that knows how to test a word will not be devoured by it.
- Shield the Faithful: Separate the craftsmen from the charlatans. Honor those who build, and let the parasites starve in obscurity.
Journalism was ordained to be the watchman on the wall, not the arsonist in the city. It was meant to expose what is rotten, not to manufacture rot for profit.
The pen is sacred. It was given to men to speak truth to power, not to sell truth for power. If you cannot bear that weight, lay it down. For once credibility is lost, even time cannot retrieve it.
Muhoozi’s strides and my desire to lead FUFA are mine. They bear my name, my sight, and my foresight. I write what I foresee because of the exposure I have walked through. If you hate my knowledge, write your own story. The press is not a closed chamber.
Grabbing a pen to make your point is better than activating the devil’s soul against my image.
To distort, to smear, to wage war on a man’s name because you cannot match his argument—that is not journalism. That is possession. That is the coward’s way of fighting a battle he cannot win in the light.
Do not expect me to stop because you have stained my image using a private home-land matter in disguise.
I will not be divorced from my thoughts. I will not be diverted from the truth I see.
You can shout, you can twist, you can spend your plate of groundnuts on a headline. But you cannot silence a man who writes what he knows.
The pen is a scepter, yes. But it is also a sword for the man who refuses to be gagged.
I will keep writing. I will keep speaking.
And when history judges, it will judge between the man who built with words and the man who burned with them.
Wield your pen. But wield it honestly.
If you cannot, step aside and watch those of us who can.
MMJ Immanuel Ben Misagga
Investor and Emeritus President, SC Villa and Nyamityobora FC
