Welcome to the Brave New World, where Artificial Intelligence is now the fashionable buzzword at international press freedom symposiums, and media conglomerates toast to algorithmic efficiencies over wine glasses and wafer-thin ethics. While the world debates whether ChatGPT, Google Gemini, Anthropic Claude, Meta LLaMA, Mistrial etc will replace the newsroom or simply be its intern, somewhere far from the high-rise towers of innovation, media practitioners in the North West Region of Cameroon are still trying to replace broken microphones with their own voices; sometimes quite literally.
World Press Freedom Day 2025 arrives with the United Nations flag fluttering under the theme “reporting in the brave new world: the impact of Artificial Intelligence on Press Freedom and the Media.” Splendid. But what of the actual brave reporters in the trenches or should I say streets of the North West, who have not the luxury of debating deepfakes because their reality is far too real a daily fight not just for facts, but for breath, bread, and bullet-free evenings?
For over eight years, private media workers in the North West Region have been reporting in a climate so hostile it would make Orwell’s Room 101 seem like a coffee break. Their offices are war zones without barricades, where there is no internet but there are plenty of interruptions: gunfire, abductions, detentions, and a generous sprinkling of death threats. The global media space is worried about AI hallucinations; in Bamenda, journalists are more worried about actual hallucinations caused by untreated trauma and hunger-induced vertigo.
Press freedom? Try press survival. In this patch of the world, “freedom” means having just enough battery power to transmit a radio signal through a solar-charged recorder while ducking crossfire. There are no pay slips here
, maybe just polite promises from broke proprietors and the hope that tomorrow’s news might come with a transport allowance. No social security, no health insurance, no security. Just God, and perhaps, a prayer whispered before recording an interview in a red zone.
Still, they persist. Brave souls behind handheld recorders and borrowed smartphones, telling stories the world is too busy, too artificial, or too apathetic to hear. It is a masterclass in courage that would make Tim Sebastian take off his tie in reverence. These journalists do not need AI-generated prompts; they need trauma-informed therapy, a reliable internet connection, and a press jacket that doesn’t double as a burial shroud.
What else is a “brave world” if not this? If Aldous Huxley were Cameroonian, he would set brave new World in Bamenda, where media workers have neither soma nor air-conditioned utopias, just community goodwill, stubborn hope, and the tenacity to tell the truth.
As UNESCO rightly asserts, “Press freedom is the cornerstone of democratic societies.” But in Cameroon’s conflict zones, this cornerstone is held up not by institutions, but by tired hands, cracked voices, and blank editorial pages waiting to be filled with the next act of heroism. It is no wonder that the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) continues to list Cameroon among countries of concern. In 2024 alone, journalists in the Anglophone regions faced arbitrary arrests, threats, and in some cases, exile, their only crime being the pursuit of truth.
The International Federation of Journalists (IFJ) has long advocated for decent work conditions, fair remuneration, safety, and the right to unionise. Yet, in the North West, a journalist joining a union is more likely to be labelled a “troublemaker” than a rights-holder. Meanwhile, AI tools flood the global newsroom with efficiencies that would baffle the average radio presenter in Wum, Belo, Misaje who still edits with razor blades and glue.
At a time when the world is rewriting journalism in code and silicon, can we pause and acknowledge that courage is not artificial? That real journalists, not robots, are the ones walking to press conferences in danger zones, capturing voices amidst violence, and reporting through tears? The ones being ignored in donor conferences because they don’t wear lanyards with QR codes or work from ergonomic chairs.
They deserve better. They deserve protection, fair pay, working gear that doesn’t look like war relics, and laws that actually work in their favour. They deserve the right to unionise without being labelled subversive. They deserve a newsroom where the biggest threat is not a bullet or a bribe, but a bad headline. They deserve editors who can offer contracts not condolences.
This World Press Freedom Day, let the theme not be another grand narrative crafted in editorial towers with uninterrupted Wi-Fi. Let it echo the defiance of the reporter in Kumbo, the engagement of the cameraman in Batibo, and the grit of the woman hosting a news bulletin from a makeshift studio in Nkwen.
The future may be brave. It may even be artificial. But in the North West Region of Cameroon, journalism is still terrifyingly real. And for once, let us stop pretending that anything else deserves our attention more.
By Bakah Derick
Bakah Derick is a multiple award-winning journalist and human rights reporter based in Bamenda, Cameroon. He is the Administrator of Hilltopvoices Communications Group Ltd and Vice President in charge of International Relations at the Cameroon Journalists’ Trade Union (CJTU). With nearly two decades of experience across radio, television, print, corporate communications and digital platforms, he is renowned for his fearless reporting on disability rights, press freedom, and inclusive development in conflict-affected communities.
Email: hilltopvoicesnewspaper@gmail.com
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