If you go out and find a dead body, try not to return with a story in which you, the reporter, have decided this was murder. Or suicide. It is not journalism if a reporter gives an account of a purported homicide without proof, or attribution.
Yet, this was the case last week in the widely reported incident of Philomena Njeri and Jonathan Mukundi, a seemingly troubled couple who were found dead in their house in Kiambu County.
“Short-lived reunion by estranged couple ends in murder, suicide,” said a Daily Nation heading August 5. That heading alone was not factual. “Ends in death” would be factual. “Ends in suspected murder, suicide” would not be factual, but a permissible qualification.
The story by Vincent Achuka and Simon Ciuru started off the gate with a troubling intro: “A troubled marriage that had in the last days turned into an on-and-off relationship ended in tragedy after a businessman shot dead his estranged wife under controversial circumstances before turning the gun on himself — putting to an end what started as a fairy tale romance.”
That sentence alone has at least seven weighty assertions: troubled marriage; on-and-off relationship; a businessman shot dead his estranged wife; controversial circumstances; turning the gun on himself; and a fairy tale romance.
Any of the assertions in a stand-alone sentence would require attribution. Put together, still none was offered. So, who told the reporters all of these things?
The next two paragraphs ran afoul of the same news reporting requirement. Mukundi had just reunited with his wife Njeri on Tuesday night. No attribution. They had lived separately for a month due to marital wrangles. No attribution.
Still, suddenly Mukundi pulled out his Glock pistol and pumped three bullets into her. No attribution. With her lifeless body lying on the floor, he then locked the door to the master bedroom and pulled the trigger again, this time with the gun pointing at him. No attribution.
And then, ironically, the reporters condemned themselves with the next two sentences: “There were no witnesses. Neighbours don’t recall hearing any gun shots.”
So, how did the reporters know all these details? “It is said they had been in a romantic relationship for almost 10 years.” It is said by whom?
Their social media pages suggested they were a happy couple who enjoyed fine things. Okay, that’s fine. But “It is a life that Njeri’s friends told the Nation that she really desired from her days at Zetech University.” Did these friends have names? How many were they?
“Those who know the couple say…” Still, “Others say that…” And “then there are those who say…” Who are these?
And then a damning editorialising: “Whether these factors directly contributed to Tuesday night’s unfortunate events will form part of the questions that detectives will be seeking to answer in the next few days.” Well, what’s left for detectives to do if you already decided for the reader?
But the writers weren’t done digging themselves into a deeper hole. They wrote: “Either way, it is still too early to tell apart from the fact that a husband shot his wife and then shot himself.”
No, it’s not fact. The only fact is bodies. Jumping to murder, suicide or perpetrator is not the job of a reporter, however obvious the scene may look.
If reporters insist on making these unfounded conclusions for the reader, they should quit journalism and become forensic scientists. Or detectives. Or, well, self-confessed rumour mongers.
Look, like every trade, journalism has basic rules. Measurable rules. A checklist that tells you that you’ve done the job. Take these three: attribution, verification, accuracy.
Attribution. How did you come by the information? The answer to this is mandatory. It’s telling the audience: don’t believe me, believe my sources who, by the way, are authoritative – oh, and here’s why they’re authorities.
Next, verification. Who or what backs up what you just said, or the source you just quoted?
Accuracy. Example: are my numbers right? The Nation said the couple had been separated for a month. Other media reports said Njeri had left in March, which would bring the count to five months. Who counted right? We may never know.
The Nation counted four bullets, three in Njeri and one in Mukundi. The Standard counted five; four in the woman, one in the man. Citizen and The Star reported a secret pregnancy, an un-born child from another man. The Standard reported an autopsy that ruled out pregnancy. What then?
