When My Press ID Finally Arrived, I Didn’t Expect to Tear Up — But I Did”
—Why the New GJA Membership Cards Are More Than Just Plastic
-I didn’t expect to tear up over a piece of plastic.
But there I was — sitting on a faded bench outside the newsroom, sunlight bouncing off my cracked phone screen, when the WhatsApp message popped up: “GJA is distributing the new membership ID cards. Come pick yours.”
At first, I rolled my eyes. Another card? Another round of bureaucracy? I’d honestly forgotten I even filled out the form months ago — between chasing stories, dodging insults from politicians, and explaining to family (for the thousandth time) why journalism isn’t “just blogging.”
But when I held the card in my hands — glossy, firm, with my name printed bold and proud — something cracked open in me. Not just pride. Something deeper. Validation. Identity. A reminder that I wasn’t just screaming into the void.
-Let me rewind a bit.
I became a journalist by accident. Well — not entirely, but close. I started out writing Facebook posts about local issues, then blogs, then got noticed, then thrown into fieldwork without much of a manual. No formal welcome, no clear sense of belonging. Just me, my pen, and endless GPRS-level internet.
For years, people would ask, “Are you really a journalist?”
And I’d half-smile, half-defend myself: “I write for XYZ… I cover real stories… I’ve been to press briefings…”
But deep down, I wondered too.
-So yeah — that little laminated card? It hit harder than I thought.
Because the Ghana Journalists Association (GJA) isn’t just tossing out ID cards. They’re recognizing us. Giving shape to all the invisible hours, the unedited voice notes, the phone calls at midnight from sources too scared to text. This card is a symbol — of inclusion, legitimacy, and yes, of safety too (God knows we need that these days).
With the new cards rolling out this month, there’s a buzz among my colleagues. Not the usual “big man politics” kind of buzz. But genuine, wide-eyed energy. Even the older journalists who’ve seen it all — they’re showing off the new cards like kids with new school bags.
One of my mentors — Mr. Nartey, who’s covered four coups and still types with two fingers — looked at his and said quietly, “It feels like a new start.”
-And let’s not downplay this: In today’s Ghana, being a journalist is dangerous.
Fake news spreads faster than our investigations. Social media trolls label us “sellouts.” Some of us get threats for asking basic questions. And without a proper ID, without institutional backing, we’re sitting ducks.
So when GJA began distributing these new membership ID cards, it wasn’t just an administrative update. It was an act of armor. A line in the sand.
Finally, we have something that says: I belong here. I’m not invisible. I have a tribe.
-Of course, nothing is perfect.
Some people are still waiting for theirs. There are murmurs about delays, and honestly, I wish the distribution process had more tech (QR codes, maybe even virtual IDs someday?). But hey — baby steps.
What matters most is this: The GJA is taking steps to strengthen the community. To make sure we’re seen. Heard. Counted.
And in a world where everything feels fragile — truth, jobs, trust — even small steps mean a lot.
-So here’s what I’m chewing on lately:
What if we treated our professions — our callings — like they really matter? What if we fought to be recognized, even when the world forgets us?
And what if something as simple as an ID card… could change the way we see ourselves?
Because for me — and maybe for you too — this little card was more than a piece of plastic.
It was proof: I’m still here. I’m still writing. I still matter.
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-Let’s talk:
Have you picked up your GJA card yet? How did it make you feel? Drop a comment below or share your story. We’re all in this together.