I remember sitting in my great-grandmother of blessed memory’s living room, watching the evening news with the family, all eyes glued to the television set. There was a certain rhythm to it: the anchor’s composed delivery, the solemn signature tune, the sense that what we were seeing mattered.
That era shaped an entire generation of professionals and audiences. It taught discipline, consistency, and respect for the craft.
Fast forward to today, and media in Ghana has changed completely. It starts with a flick of a thumb. A phone lights up in a trotro, at a chop bar, on a crowded street. A short video plays. Someone is delivering the news, not behind a desk, not in a suit or kaba and slit, not speaking the Queen’s English, but the message lands. It spreads. Comments pour in. Screenshots follow. Video is forwarded. By the time the 12:00 noon or 7:00 pm bulletin begins, the conversation has already happened. This is the media moment we are living in.
For many Ghanaians who grew up on scheduled television and appointment viewing, this shift can feel jarring. There was a time when broadcasting had rules: newscasters sat upright, words were carefully articulated, and programmes followed a strict rhythm. The media felt authoritative because it looked and sounded authoritative.
So when today’s digital media breaks those rules, embracing casual tone, humour, memes, and phone-shot videos, it feels to many like an affront to everything that once defined “good broadcasting.” The discomfort is understandable. But it is also revealing.
What we are witnessing is not a collapse of standards; it is a collision of eras. One side believes credibility must be worn like a uniform. The other believes credibility must feel human. And caught between these two ideas is the modern Ghanaian audience: scrolling, reacting, and deciding in real time what deserves attention.
The truth many find hard to accept is this: audiences have changed faster than institutions. People no longer wait patiently for information to be delivered at a fixed hour. They catch the news on the move; on the way to work, over lunch, or while scrolling through feeds. I’ve seen it firsthand: a man in a trotro laughing at a news meme on his phone, oblivious of the traffic jam outside, yet more engaged with that 30-second clip than the evening bulletin.
They want updates that sound like real life, not performances frozen in tradition. That is why unconventional voices and digital-first platforms are finding their footing and growing. They speak plainly. They reflect everyday language. They allow humour, frustration, and emotion to coexist with information. And in doing so, they earn something far more valuable than approval from traditional gatekeepers: attention.
In today’s media economy, attention is power. Engagement is influence. And influence, whether we like it or not, often translates into relevance and revenue. A short, imperfect video that reaches a million people will always outweigh a flawless broadcast watched by a few thousand.
For seasoned media professionals, this reality can feel like the ground shifting without warning. There was a time when access to the microphone was limited. Now, the microphone lives in everyone’s pocket. Authority is no longer granted by position alone; it is negotiated daily with audiences who can scroll past you in seconds.
Yet this moment does not call for bitterness or dismissal. It calls for humility.
Ethics still matter. Accuracy still matters. Context still matters. But these values must now travel through formats people actually engage with. Professionalism is no longer about stiffness; it is about relevance with responsibility.
The media in Ghana is not dying. It is shedding its old skin. Some institutions are adapting, learning the language of digital platforms, experimenting with tone, embracing personality without abandoning principle. Others are clinging tightly to nostalgia, mistaking familiarity for excellence. History has never been kind to that choice. And even this moment will not last forever.
Because just as radio gave way to television, and television has been reshaped by digital media, something else is already forming at the edges. Perhaps it will not look like a video at all. Perhaps it will be AI-generated news voices tailored to individual listeners. Perhaps it will arrive through smart glasses, earbuds, or platforms we have not yet named. Perhaps the next newsroom will not be a place but a system quietly curating reality in real time.
When it comes, it will arrive the same way all revolutions do: suddenly, unapologetically, and without waiting for approval.
Some will call it improper.
Some will say standards are falling.
Some will insist media was better before.
But somewhere, a screen will light up.
A story will travel.
And the conversation will move on: one flick ahead.
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