This question comes up often, especially from young reporters and bloggers trying to find their place in Nigeria’s crowded media space. Do you really have to be a Nigerian Union of Journalists (NUJ) member before you can call yourself a journalist?
The truth is, NUJ is not a licensing body. Journalism in Nigeria is not like medicine or law, where you cannot practice without a certificate. Anyone who gathers, processes, and shares news with the public is, in a sense, already practicing journalism. That is why you will find thousands of people reporting, writing, or broadcasting every day without ever carrying an NUJ identity card.
But does this mean NUJ is irrelevant? Far from it. While you can function as a journalist without belonging to the union, NUJ gives you something extra: it provides a professional identity, it offers protection when you are harassed or assaulted in the line of duty, and it creates opportunities for training and career growth. Above all, it signals that you are part of a community that subscribes to certain ethical standards. Without that, many journalists work in isolation, exposed to pressures and vulnerable to attacks with no institutional cover.
I witnessed this division firsthand during my time as Director of Media of the APC Katsina State Campaign Council, which worked for the election of Governor Dikko Radda. Anytime we called a press briefing, we didn’t face a single press corps but a cluster of groups. On one side were the organized NUJ chapels: the Correspondents’ Chapel, NUJ KTTV Chapel, NUJ Katsina State Radio Chapel, NUJ Alfijir Radio Chapel, NUJ Companion FM Radio Chapel, NUJ Vision FM Chapel, and chapels representing virtually every broadcast station. On the other side were all the others who did not belong to any NUJ chapel — a large and diverse group of practicing journalists, bloggers, and online publishers I grouped together simply as “Non-NUJ.”
The separation was striking. The NUJ chapels carried themselves with the confidence of formal recognition, and they insisted on being identified as distinct bodies. The Non-NUJ group, though equally active in covering events, was left outside that structure, without the same institutional identity. As the Media Director, I had to engage both sides, making sure no one felt ignored. That experience opened my eyes: NUJ membership is not just a professional badge, it is a line that divides the field into insiders and outsiders — yet, in truth, both sides were telling the story of the campaign.
The rise of social media has complicated things further. Today, we have a whole generation of citizen journalists and bloggers who practice outside the NUJ entirely. With just a smartphone, they break news on Facebook, X, YouTube, and blogs long before newspapers hit the stands. This has made journalism faster, more accessible, and more inclusive, giving space to issues that mainstream media sometimes ignore. Yet, it also comes at a cost. Many of these new voices lack professional grounding in ethics and balance. They are accountable only to their followers, not to any professional code. And in the rush to be first, accuracy often suffers. The result is a flood of misinformation that makes it harder for the public to separate truth from propaganda.
In my own journey, I have had to balance both worlds. On one hand, I value the recognition and protection that come with NUJ membership. On the other hand, I also run an independent blog that is not under NUJ’s umbrella. That experience has taught me something important: journalism is not about the card you carry, but the credibility you build. If people trust your reporting, if they can vouch that you are fair and accurate, then you are already wearing the true badge of the profession.
And this is not just a Nigerian dilemma. In the United States, there is no equivalent of NUJ, and journalists are not licensed by the government or any professional body. Anyone can start a newspaper, a blog, or a YouTube channel and call themselves a journalist. The protection lies in the First Amendment — the guarantee of press freedom. But because of this openness, American journalists rely heavily on newsroom ethics, professional associations, and fact-checking organizations to maintain credibility.
In the United Kingdom, journalists may belong to the National Union of Journalists (also called NUJ, but different from Nigeria’s), yet membership is voluntary. What defines journalism there is less about union cards and more about editorial standards, codes of practice, and the watchdog role of regulatory bodies like Ofcom.
In countries like South Africa, Kenya, or Ghana, the picture is similar to Nigeria. There are strong unions and associations, but membership is not compulsory. What matters more is credibility with audiences, adherence to ethical codes, and sometimes recognition by press councils that mediate complaints.
There are, however, a few countries — especially in parts of Asia and the Middle East — where journalism is more tightly regulated, and licenses or government accreditation are required before one can practice. But such systems often raise questions about press freedom, since government licensing can easily slide into censorship.
The international best practice, therefore, leans towards freedom with responsibility: no compulsory licensing, but strong voluntary associations, robust newsroom standards, and a culture of accountability. Nigeria’s NUJ sits somewhere in the middle — not compulsory, but influential — yet it has to evolve. If it wants to remain relevant, it must embrace digital journalists and bloggers, not exclude them.
Because at the end of the day, whether in Katsina, Lagos, London, or Los Angeles, journalism is not about the card you carry. It is about the trust you build with your audience, the balance you maintain in your stories, and the courage you show in holding power to account. That is the true license of a journalist anywhere in the world.
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