A recent complaint sent to the Media Council of Kenya, signed by a self-identified “sports betting professional,” is making the rounds online. It claims that local media houses like Nation, Standard, and The Star have been unfair and careless in their coverage of gambling addiction and its growing impact on Kenyans.
It accuses journalists of being sloppy, misleading the public, and supposedly creating a “crisis” by simply reporting on what’s already visible across this country, families falling apart, suicides rising, and a generation getting buried in debt chasing wins that never come.
Not once does it ask, “Is the addiction real?” or “Are Kenyans suffering because of this industry?” Instead, it focuses on protecting the business side of things, licenses, taxes, and operator reputations, as if those matter more than the lives already lost or ruined.
One of the main arguments is that journalists didn’t mention the exact type of game involved, like Aviator versus sports betting versus lotteries. But let’s be honest…whether you’re crashing in Aviator or trying your luck with five-team multibets, the damage is the same. People are losing everything, and trying to separate one gambling product from another is just smoke to avoid accountability.
The complaint also says most bets in Kenya are small. That may be true in raw numbers, but the amounts lost are not small when you consider how often people bet and how fast the losses stack up. Even ten shillings, multiplied across weeks, months, and platforms, has turned into lost rent, broken homes, and funeral expenses.
It also claims journalists should have named specific operators so the public knows who is licensed and who isn’t. That sounds noble until you realize some of the worst losses and testimonies are linked to platforms that are licensed. So what now?
There’s a part of the letter that almost reads like comedy. It says the journalists didn’t explain how cash lending apps connect to gambling addiction. But if the betting industry really wants to have that conversation, then let’s talk about the people who took mobile loans, gambled, lost, and now can’t even afford to eat. I as Nyakundi am ready for this debate.
None of the virtual games like Aviator have had their code audited by the Betting Control and Licensing Board. No one at the BCLB can say how they work, what data they collect, or how outcomes are determined, and that alone should terrify everyone.
The complaint also attacks media houses for failing to mention support services for gamblers. But how are you expecting someone to seek help from a helpline they’ve never heard of, while they’re being bombarded with gambling ads every single minute, including during prime-time news?
One of the most disturbing parts is where the complainant questions whether suicide stories were verified, and whether naming individuals violates data rules. That’s rich, coming from an industry that rarely cares where its next ad is shown or how many minors are watching. The letter even blames parents instead of taking real responsibility for the mess being caused.
What this letter really reveals is that the gambling industry is feeling the heat, and instead of addressing the harm, it’s going after the people reporting it. They want to shift the focus from the addiction to the headlines.
But here’s something else we need to talk about. Media houses can’t act shocked about gambling addiction while airing betting ads every ten minutes. If they are serious about the damage this is doing to people’s lives, then the bare minimum is to stop taking blood money. You can’t report on funerals in one segment and promote betting platforms in the next. It doesn’t work that way.
Royal Media Services, led by SK Macharia, is one of the most notorious. They’ve turned prime time into a gambling showroom, pushing ads and even bringing so-called winners on air to sell the dream. And while they count the profits, others are counting coffins. If media wants to be taken seriously, it has to pick a side , the people or the profits.
To finish this article, I want to say that no matter how long the letter, or how polished the arguments, this problem won’t go away by silencing media houses. It won’t disappear by asking for apologies or demanding balance while people are selling their mattresses to bet on planes that never take off.
This isn’t about being anti-business. It’s about being honest. The truth is on the streets, in the testimonies (most of which I am currently sharing), in the funerals, and in the quiet desperation that many Kenyans are now forced to live through.
And no matter how many letters are written, the people will keep speaking, because no one else will.
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