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ADVERTThere is something deeply perplexing—if not troubling—about a litigant who walks into court alleging defamation while fully aware that the very conduct in question was captured on video for the public to see.
The dismissal of former journalist Josiah Odanga’s case against the Media Council of Kenya by a Siaya court should not merely be read as a legal defeat. It invites a sharper, more uncomfortable question: what exactly was the motive behind the suit?
Here was a complainant who, by his own admission, was involved in a physical altercation at a public function in Gem Constituency. The incident, widely reported, followed the distribution of facilitation money—an uncomfortable but familiar practice that continues to cast a shadow over segments of the media landscape.
More critically, this was no murky allegation built on hearsay. The melee was captured on video, circulated in the public domain, and subjected to widespread scrutiny. The facts were not hidden; they were visible, undeniable, and, by the plaintiff’s own account, substantially uncontested.
ADVERTYet, despite this, the complainant sought to persuade the court that statements condemning the incident—and referencing issues he himself had acknowledged—amounted to defamation.
That argument was always destined to collapse under its own weight.
Defamation law is not a refuge for those seeking to rehabilitate reputations dented by their own conduct. It is designed to shield individuals from falsehoods—not from the consequences of actions already exposed to public view. When a statutory regulator steps in to censure conduct that is both admitted and documented, it is not engaging in character assassination; it is fulfilling its mandate.
The court’s reasoning was as straightforward as it was decisive: one cannot claim defamation where the statements in question are anchored in fact—especially facts the claimant has himself conceded.
But beyond the legal outcome, the case raises broader concerns about accountability within the media fraternity. Why weaponize the courts in a situation where the evidence is clear and incontrovertible? Was this an attempt to intimidate the regulator? To recast an already established narrative? Or simply a grave misjudgment of how far legal argument can stretch in the face of hard evidence?
Whatever the intent, the verdict sends an unmistakable message: litigation cannot be used to rewrite reality.
Odanga had a chance to mend fences with the regulator as much as his co-accused in the first instance of professional misconduct. He neglected the opportunity and was misadvised to use the courts.
For a profession built on the pursuit and defense of truth, the implications are sobering. The public expects journalists to uphold the highest ethical standards—not to be embroiled in public scuffles over handouts, and certainly not to retreat to the courts when called to account.
If anything, this episode should prompt a deeper reckoning within the industry—one that confronts uncomfortable truths about ethics, credibility, and professional conduct.
Because in the end, when the cameras have already captured the moment, the truth does not need defending. It simply stands.
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