As African journalists, we are taught that the ultimate goal of our work is to serve the public—to tell the stories that matter to our communities, to amplify marginalized voices, and to hold power to account. But increasingly, I find myself asking: who are we really serving?
There’s a growing unease within many of us, though few say it aloud. It’s the quiet realization that our journalism is no longer shaped by the needs of our audiences, but by the interests of those who fund it.
Let’s be honest: a significant portion of African journalism—especially investigative and in-depth reporting—is now being sustained by donor support. But these donors are rarely African. They are international foundations, development agencies, and philanthropic institutions whose priorities, however well-intentioned, do not always align with the lived realities of African communities.
If climate change becomes the buzzword, everyone scrambles to write proposals and chase grants on climate reporting. If tomorrow, the donor darling is AI, we reframe our pitches, tweak our angles, and suddenly we’re all writing about AI—regardless of whether it’s a pressing concern for the audience we claim to serve.
What we’re witnessing is the rise of grant journalism—where the pursuit of funding determines editorial direction. And while this may keep newsrooms afloat and journalists employed, it also creates a troubling feedback loop: journalism becomes less about truth-telling and more about chasing the next funding cycle.
This model sidelines urgent local issues that lack global appeal. Stories about sanitation in Kibera, terrorist herders invasion of farming communities in Nigeria, or labour struggles in Dakar don’t often fit into flashy donor frameworks. They don’t win awards. They don’t trend at international conferences if it doesn’t fit nicely into the funders agenda. And so, they get buried.
Which brings me to a necessary question: Where are the African funders?
Where are the African billionaires, banks, telecoms, and foundations willing to invest in journalism that tells African stories for African audiences? Where is the sustained support for reporting that speaks directly to the lived experiences of our people—not because it’s fashionable, but because it’s necessary?
This is not a call to reject international funding. Global support has enabled important work and exposed African stories to broader platforms. But we need balance and self-determination. We need to reclaim editorial agency and build funding structures that are rooted in our own contexts.
It’s time to develop African-led solutions that prioritize public interest journalism—not just donor-defined agendas. This means encouraging African philanthropy, building local endowments, and creating media ownership models that prioritize community accountability.
Until we do, we must keep asking ourselves: Are we producing journalism that informs and empowers African communities—or are we simply performing journalism for the applause of distant funders?
The answer will define the future of our profession.