By: Jake Moore
About two weeks ago I traveled to a hotel on the coast with a coworker. We were covering an event organized by the government backed social security company in Ghana called the Social Security and National Insurance Trust (SSNIT). It was a conference with muslim leadership from all over Ghana and – like many events in Ghana – many of the delegates were late. While we were waiting for more people to arrive, my co-worker mentioned something about an envelope with a few extra cedis in it that we needed to pick up before we left (Cedi is the Ghanaian currency).
I had heard of something like this already. During the first week in Ghana the entire group went to the University of Ghana campus to attend lectures. One of the lectures was given by a former Ghanaian journalist. She told us about the “little brown envelopes.” These envelopes have a name. “Solidarity.” But most people just call it soli for short. The envelopes usually have one hundred cedis – but can range from fifty to three hundred – and are given to each journalist that covers an event. While many newspaper editors make roughly 500 cedis a month.
When I heard my co-worker mention this envelope I informed her that I would not take the money, and she didn’t seem pleased. Coming from a western perspective, many journalists – myself included – view this money as potential bribery or at least something that could impact our views. There are many journalists, past and present, that do a lot to avoid letting their opinion be influenced in any way. There have been famous American journalists that refuse to vote because they believe voting makes them partial. This American value was already well known to my colleague. To my statement about not taking the money she responded, “because you think it’s a bribe right?” I didn’t expect her to love my decision; I also didn’t expect her to understand exactly why I wouldn’t take it.
She tried to do some convincing and she made some good points. More than anything it seemed her rationale was that this money was to cover transportation costs to the events. After all, she’s an intern and makes no money despite her pieces regularly being published in the paper, and she pays probably 20-30 cedis each way to get to these events. I still wouldn’t budge. I told her that I had no problem with her taking the money. I did not come to pass judgment. But I wouldn’t take the money.
I was surprised at how much this seemed to trouble her. It didn’t make her cry or seem to bother her all day, but at the same time I could see the worry on her face. She told me that she would have to tell the editor that I didn’t take it, and I was fine with that. I would talk to him myself if that would make things easier.
Before this interaction I had made a decision that I wouldn’t take soli. My views on the matter were black and white. Soli was a bribe. Soli was a problem for good journalism. Now it seems less cut and dry. I still won’t accept soli and it isn’t my favorite thing in the world, but it doesn’t seem like the scourge I had imagined before. This experience laid bare the privilege that thriving journalism really is. Journalism is simply a challenge everywhere. Journalism done right is accountability and people and institutions everywhere shy away from it – or actively fight against it.
This doesn’t include the fact that many journalists in Ghana have to work two jobs to provide for their family. Some take positions as interns waiting for an opening and work unpaid for a year or more. Policies protecting journalists and information aren’t strong so journalists and their newspapers can face real backlash. When an event sees that your paper didn’t take the soli, they might think there was a problem. You might not get the transcripts or even a notification about the next important event.
When I had first heard about soli it was described to us as a part of the culture, which is true. But something about the way they spoke about it made it seem like Ghanaians didn’t understand the other side of it. Like they didn’t understand the concept of a bribe, but that wasn’t true one bit.
Of course they understand that, but there is more to it. Soli isn’t some inherently evil thing. The practice operates in a moral gray area and helps to provide for journalists as they try to better establish themselves and grow their institutions. American journalism wasn’t always squeaky clean. It still isn’t. Soli was presented to us against a purely western perspective. West African journalists that told us about it must have felt judged or held to the standards of the American institution, and that is wildly unfair to them.
There are many ways to look at soli. It does have the potential to make a negative impact. However, there is also potential for soli to help good journalists that need support. Just like before, my views of ethical journalism are pretty rigid, but I am a born and raised American, trained at an American school and read American newspapers. The one lesson I have learned from my interaction with soli is that it is ridiculous to hold journalists a world away to the same rigid standards that we impose on ourselves back home. The reasons for this are many and not hard to find, but may be difficult to understand from another continent.