Aasi
Islamabad
Is this the National Press Club or the backstage of some theatrical drama?
With names like RABJA, RAPJA, APJA, UPJA, ZAPJA, and many more strange acronyms, self-proclaimed “representatives of journalism” are mushrooming across the scene. Every group chants the slogan of freedom of the press, but their hearts beat only for their personal gains and cushy positions.
The once-unifying national journalist body RIUJ (Rawalpindi-Islamabad Union of Journalists) has now become a symbol of factionalism, threats, and deceit. Under the guise of journalism, various groups have sought shelter under political umbrellas, not to defend press freedom, but to secure jobs, influence, and funding.
Once a prestigious sanctuary for journalists, the National Press Club is fast becoming a place where real journalists are left standing outside, while unqualified, non-journalistic faces enjoy privileges inside. Membership has turned into a business.
Property dealers, politically connected individuals, and people who have never held a mic or written a truthful word now proudly sit as permanent members. For them, there are no rules, no background checks—just connections and cups of tea are enough.
On the other hand, those who wield the pen as a weapon—true soldiers of journalism—are denied with excuses like “no quota available,” “your file is incomplete,” or “we’re unaware of your media outlet.”
It feels as though the National Press Club has become a hub for property agents, sycophants of TV anchors, and assistants to ministers. Decisions are made by those who don’t know how to craft a news story, while those whose writings once challenged dictatorships are forced to wait outside.
Come election season, these so-called guardians of journalism throw lavish parties, serve meat-filled naan, and distribute free mobile cards. Their promises sound as grand as awarding every member a Nobel Prize.
But the moment they win the chair, doors are slammed shut on genuine journalists, while cabins open up for personal interests.
The real question is: Who will represent the true journalists?
Will the laborers of the pen remain wanderers?
Will those who speak the truth be silenced while flatterers receive membership cards?
If this situation isn’t reversed, it won’t be long before historians write:
“There once was a National Press Club in Islamabad—not a haven for journalists, but a den of vested interests.”
