By Shu’aibu Usman Leman
I did not react with shock when the news came from Duguri, Bauchi State. I reacted with dread—the kind that comes from long familiarity with loss.
It was the same grim script Nigerian journalists know too well, that an official assignment, a road accident, injuries, critical conditions, and families waiting in fear for updates.
A team of journalists had been deployed to cover the commissioning of projects by the North East Development Commission when their journey was violently interrupted along the Yashi–Yelwan Duguri Road.
Fourteen Journalists survived with injuries that will heal with time. Others remain in critical condition, moved from one hospital to another as colleagues and loved ones hold their breath.
The media organisations affected——are not distant names to me. They are newsrooms I know, voices I recognise, and professionals whose risks I have worried about for decades.
That is why this incident feels deeply personal. It is not a statistic or a breaking-news alert; it is another wound in a profession that bleeds quietly.
When I wrote Bleeding Ink, I tried to document the hidden dangers of journalism in Nigeria—the risks that are ignored, normalised, and rarely acknowledged.
Receiving the news today, I feel that book writing itself again. The ink is bleeding again, for the same reasons it always has.
I have spent decades in this profession, including my years as National Secretary of the Nigeria Union of Journalists, and I have seen this pattern repeat itself too many times.
When accidents happen on official assignments, it is almost always journalists who are injured or killed—reporters, camera operators, and drivers—never the public officials whose events necessitated the journey.
I remember the emergency phone calls, the rushed hospital visits, and the funerals that came too soon. I remember asking how this injustice became routine.
Why is it that in convoys of power and ceremony, the journalist is the expendable one, left bleeding by the roadside?
The contrast is stark. Journalists are often transported in poorly maintained vehicles, driven long distances without safety checks, insurance cover, or contingency planning.
There are usually no safety briefings, no clear lines of responsibility, and no plan for what happens when things go wrong. Hope replaces preparation.
Meanwhile, public officials travel in well-serviced convoys, driven by trained professionals and protected by security protocols designed to minimise risk.
The message is unmistakable, that those who govern are protected, while those who document governance are left to chance.
This is not misfortune. It is a systemic failure that has repeated itself so often it now hides behind familiarity.
After every accident, there are statements of sympathy and hospital visits. Then the attention fades, lessons remain unlearned, and the next assignment proceeds unchanged.
The Bauchi accident must not be allowed to follow this familiar path into silence.
Media organisations must refuse substandard transportation, government agencies must take responsibility for accredited journalists, and the NUJ must insist on enforceable safety standards and proper insurance cover.
To my injured colleagues, I wish you strength and healing; to your families, I share your fear and anger. To those with the power to act, I say this plainly, that the ink has bled enough, and if nothing changes, it will bleed again.
Shu’aibu Usman Leman is a former National Secretary of Nigeria Union of Journalists-NUJ
