Post by Okediadi Emeka (@emekoked)

Perhaps Rufai will say that this is television and that robust disagreement is part of what makes the programme interesting. Fair enough. But there is a danger when the presenters themselves become more interesting than the subjects they are supposed to be discussing. The audience did not switch on the television to watch two broadcasters fight for intellectual territory. They came for the news. They came for analysis. They came for information. They came to understand Nigeria.

When two anchors repeatedly find themselves arguing over who is more knowledgeable about broadcasting, journalism or professional ethics, the programme risks becoming a theatre of personalities rather than a platform for journalism. And, Rubby, perhaps this is where you need to ask yourself a difficult question: Have you outgrown the programme?

Not because you are too old. Not because you are too distinguished. Not because morning television is beneath you. But because perhaps your accumulated experience is now better deployed elsewhere. There are interviews you could conduct that require depth. There are young journalists you could mentor. There are books you could write. There are memoirs you could leave behind. There are questions about Nigerian politics, journalism, governance and public communication that only someone with your peculiar journey can properly interrogate.

You have something that cannot be taught in a studio: institutional memory. You have seen Nigeria from inside the newsroom and from inside government. You have watched politicians arrive, rise, fall and reinvent themselves. You have watched the media evolve from the era of newspapers and terrestrial television to the age of social media, citizen journalism and instant outrage. You have seen how power communicates. You have also seen how power tries to manipulate communication. That experience is invaluable. So why spend so much of your remaining professional capital defending yourself in morning television skirmishes? At some point, a man must ask whether the battle he is fighting is worth the ammunition.

And that brings me back to my original question: For how long more, Rubby?

How long will you continue to tolerate an environment in which you occasionally appear to have to defend not merely your position but your professional standing? How long will you continue to sit beside people who sometimes seem determined to prove that experience has become irrelevant? How long will you allow a television chair to become an arena in which your considerable professional history is reduced to an argument over who gets the last word?

You don't need it. You really don't.

Your history is already written.

And perhaps there is another lesson here. Leaving a platform is not always quitting. Sometimes it is recognition. Sometimes it is reinvention. Sometimes it is simply knowing that one has reached a point where the next chapter should be written differently.

A great footballer does not have to remain on the pitch until somebody physically removes his boots. A great professor eventually leaves the classroom. A great judge eventually leaves the bench. A great soldier eventually leaves the battlefield. Not because they have been defeated, but because there is dignity in knowing when one has done enough in one particular arena.

Perhaps broadcasting should not be abandoned. Perhaps it should simply be elevated.

Imagine Reuben Abati conducting a serious one-hour interview with a President, former President, governor, business leader, diplomat or intellectual without having to fight for airtime with anybody. Imagine a programme built around your experience rather than one in which you have to share the oxygen of the room. Imagine young journalists sitting at your feet—not arguing with you about the profession, but learning from you about it. That, to me, sounds much more appropriate for the next chapter of your career.

And let me say something else, Rubby. Do not mistake this letter for a call for you to become timid. Far from it. You should remain as sharp as ever. You should challenge. You should disagree. You should interrogate. You should expose weak arguments. But there is a difference between being fearless and being needlessly combative.

The great broadcaster does not merely ask difficult questions; he knows how to listen to the answer. The great interviewer does not merely dominate the guest; he makes the guest reveal something. The great anchor does not need to win every argument; he needs to make the audience understand the issue.

That is the standard to which I would hold Reuben Abati because you have earned the right to be held to a higher standard. Perhaps, therefore, the real question is not, “Can Reuben Abati continue on the morning show?” Of course he can. The real question is: “Is this still the best use of Reuben Abati?”

That is a much more serious question.

And I hope, Rubby, that you will ask it yourself. Because sometimes the most powerful thing an

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