Why the truth of the 2002–2004 media struggle must not be rewritten
By Alagi Yorro Jallow
In public discourse, disagreement is expected. What is not acceptable, however, is the deliberate distortion of verifiable facts in an attempt to recast history. Madi Jobarteh’s recent article in The Alkamba Times, purporting to revisit the 2002–2004 National Media Commission (NMC) struggle, falls squarely into that troubling category.
His account is not merely flawed—it is revisionist.
At the heart of this matter lies a simple, indisputable truth: the legal challenge against the NMC Act is a matter of public record. In Gambia Press Union & Others v. National Media Commission & Another (Civil Suit No. 5/2005), the Supreme Court of The Gambia clearly identified the plaintiffs who stood against the law. These included the Gambia Press Union (GPU), Deyda Hydara, Alagi Yorro Jallow, Demba Ali Jawo, and Swaebou Conateh.
This is not opinion. It is fact—documented, archived, and accessible.
Yet, in his attempt to reconstruct this pivotal moment in Gambian media history, Madi Jobarteh conspicuously omits my name while introducing individuals who were not party to the case. Such a departure from the record cannot be dismissed as oversight. It raises serious questions about intent and credibility.
Let us be clear: the constitutional challenge to the NMC Act was not a symbolic exercise. It was a defining confrontation with state power at a time when dissent carried real risks. The individuals named in the court filings were not commentators or retrospective analysts; they were active participants in a legal battle that helped shape press freedom in The Gambia.
To substitute or omit names from that record is to alter history itself.
It must also be stated that those referenced by Jobarteh—respected as they may be in their own right—were not plaintiffs in the Supreme Court case. They neither signed the legal petition nor stood before the court in that action. To suggest otherwise is to mislead the public and undermine the integrity of the historical record.
This discussion is not about personal differences. It is about preserving truth in a space where accuracy matters. The history of the NMC struggle is too important to be reduced to selective storytelling or retrospective positioning.
Indeed, Jobarteh is correct in one respect: contemporary legislative proposals echo troubling aspects of past regulatory overreach, now extending into the digital sphere. That is a conversation worth having. But any meaningful critique of present challenges must be grounded in factual integrity. One cannot defend democracy by distorting history.
If we are to invoke the legacy of figures such as Deyda Hydara, we must do so with honesty. The principles he stood for—truth, accountability, and courage—demand nothing less.
The struggle against the NMC Act was not fought in comfort or hindsight. It was waged in a climate of fear and uncertainty, where taking a stand came with consequences. Those who participated did so at personal and professional risk. That reality must not be diluted.
History does not belong to any one individual to edit or reinterpret at will. It is a collective record, anchored in evidence. Court documents do not shift with narratives, and facts do not yield to preference.
In the final analysis, attempts to rewrite this chapter of Gambian history say more about the reviser than the events themselves. The record remains intact. The names are documented. And the truth endures.
No amount of revisionism can alter that.
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