Imagine it is 2032, a mere eight years from today. The big story in Kenya is the coming elections. All candidates contesting the presidency are running for the first time, maybe except for perennial losers. President William Ruto, now a senior statesman, is waiting to hand over power to whoever wins. He is campaigning vigorously for one of the candidates that he believes will protect his legacy.

But other energetic candidates refer to the lost years of past regimes. These candidates say Kenya needs a fresh start as many things are not working. The only problem is that both sides are struggling to be heard. The old form has changed; the previous predominant media politicians used to have to reach the country has long gone silent.

You are told that a newspaper started by Indian migrants to Kenya at the turn of the last century has folded. Another that rose to challenge the market ruled the roost for years, but the weight of social change came heavy on it, and it, too, folded a few years back.

These media houses had started radio and TV stations that broadcast nationally. But after a while, both could not survive, and they followed their print counterparts and folded, too. A national broadcaster is still on the air but is not doing well, and few take notice.

Nairobi streets are not clean; there is garbage everywhere. A young chap used to run the place, but he has shifted his attention elsewhere and left the city in poor shape. Historians tell you that the spaces now covered with garbage used to be covered by newspapers. Some of these newspapers can be found in private libraries and libraries abroad.

The institutions that once moulded journalists continue to do so, albeit in a scaled-down form. Their graduates, resilient and adaptable, forge their own paths. They create content, establish platforms for dissemination, and hope for a spark of interest from somewhere.  Many of these sites are fragmented and cater to niche markets with strange names. Some graduates find jobs with small radio stations scattered across the country, some broadcasting in vernacular, and others run by county governments. However, finding a media house that broadcasts nationwide has become difficult.

Older people tell you that once upon a time, the country would almost came to a standstill at 7pm and at 9 pm to listen to and watch the news. The news bulletin, sometimes running for as much as 45 minutes, would be gripping, with some stories filmed live and others broadcast from churches.

Now, there are so many little outlets with so much gossip that the truth is hard to tell. At some point, the rain falls heavily and causes floods. There are no floods where you are. But on the platforms you follow, you find many images of supposed floods in your area. But other platforms tell you those images are from some 30 years ago in faraway India. You struggle to figure out what exactly is happening. It is the same way the campaigning leaders are struggling and wish they could reach the entire country with their message.

For many thought leaders in the media sphere, the slide to this media apocalypse is on, and there is no way of reversing it. Many politicians today feel the slide should be accelerated. They find the media useless, a stumbling block to their dreams. Can this apocalypse be reversed or delayed?

That task belongs to the entire society – probably led by the government. Most government agencies feel that training journalists is the problem and throw every cent at it. But this could be misdirected enthusiasm. Government officials may want consider that maintaining a national platform on which communication thrives is everybody’s business: government, media owners, journalists, and the public.nce.

— The writer is the Dean of the School of Communication at Daystar University