Five years after reforms, Ethiopia’s media is once again trapped between fear and power

The concept of media freedom stems from the universal right to free speech—an essential expression of liberty, standing alongside the rights to life and the pursuit of happiness as fundamental human freedoms.

Since 1993, May 3 has marked World Press Freedom Day, following its proclamation by the United Nations General Assembly. It is a moment to reaffirm journalism’s indispensable role in the advancement of society.

Yet, in Ethiopia, this year’s observance arrives not with celebration, but with solemn introspection. For many of the country’s journalists and media professionals, it is a time to weigh the risks taken, the stories untold, and the freedoms still withheld.

On paper, Ethiopia’s Constitution—specifically Article 29—enshrines the right to freedom of expression and the press. It promises protection against censorship and undue interference. But the reality for journalists working in the country rarely reflects that promise.

Over the past three decades, generations of reporters have faced censorship, harassment, detention, and in some cases, enforced disappearance. These are not shocking headlines for most Ethiopians—they have become disturbingly familiar.

Following the political reforms of 2018, a brief period of optimism emerged. Dozens of new media outlets sprang to life, and a vibrant, if short-lived, public discourse flourished.

But that window has since narrowed. Journalists now operate under an atmosphere of surveillance and intimidation. Many have been arrested arbitrarily, held without charge, or driven into exile. Their silence is not the result of libel suits—but fear. And it often begins with a quiet, incremental erosion: the denial of access to information.

One recently retired journalist, who spoke to The Reporter on condition of anonymity, expressed concern over how normalized this erosion has become.

“I can’t count the number of times we were simply brushed off when requesting information from government officials,” she said. “We even joke—half-seriously—that the ability to withhold information or dodge journalists is a requirement to hold public office.”

She noted that instead of pushing back or pursuing legal appeals, most reporters opt to seek alternative sources to balance their stories—driven not only by limited time and resources, but by resignation.

“We just don’t have the time or resources to fight for a sliver of information when a pile of urgent stories waits on our desks,” she said.

Under Ethiopia’s amended Mass Media and Access to Information Proclamation, any person denied information by a public body can appeal within 30 days. The head of the agency must respond within 10 days. If the outcome remains unsatisfactory, the applicant can escalate the appeal to the Office of the Ombudsman within another 30 days.

In theory, these legal pathways exist to empower journalists. In practice, the cumbersome administrative procedures often deter them. The newsroom’s fast-paced nature cannot wait for bureaucratic delays, particularly when deadlines loom and leads multiply.

This erosion of a constitutionally guaranteed right is compounded by other, more overt pressures: deliberate delays disguised as routine procedure, hostility from officials cloaked in the rhetoric of “national interest,” and, at times, direct threats to a reporter’s safety or livelihood.

Worse still, journalists who persist—who choose to navigate the legal maze—are often labeled adversaries of the state, rather than citizens exercising their rights.

Requests Become Red Flags

A seasoned reporter, speaking on condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation, recalls how filing formal requests for public records became more than a bureaucratic exercise—it became a trigger.

“After a while,” he said, “you realize the request itself becomes more dangerous than the story you’re pursuing.”

In many instances, journalists who push back against information denials are not just ignored—they are slowly worn down by a system calibrated to sap momentum. Appeals stretch from days into weeks, timelines that newsrooms can rarely accommodate. The relevance of the information fades, deadlines pass, and public interest stories are quietly buried beneath procedural delays.

This slow suffocation of media rights doesn’t occur in a vacuum. It mirrors a broader institutional culture where transparency is not a norm, but an exception—dispensed as a privilege rather than exercised as a duty.

Ethiopia’s revised media law, hailed by officials as a reform milestone, has done little to rebalance the power dynamic between those who hold public information and those trying to report it. To many working journalists, the law is not a shield—it’s a mirage.

Stories of journalists detained for their reporting have become disturbingly routine, their shock value dulled by repetition. Increasingly, even the act of seeking balanced coverage—contacting opposing voices or questioning official narratives—is seen as grounds for suspicion.

Just last week, Abebe Fikir, a reporter with The Reporter, was detained while attempting to solicit information from the Addis Ababa City Administration for a news piece. Though later released on bail by court order, his personal electronics remain in police custody. His case is ongoing.

In another recent development, The Reporter has confirmed that the House of People’s Representatives barred a media outlet from entering its premises to cover parliamentary proceedings. Sources, speaking anonymously, said that representatives of the outlet have been negotiating with parliamentary staff for more than two weeks to resolve the issue.

Within newsrooms, a palpable shift is underway.

Topics once considered standard beats—armed conflict, ethnic dynamics, or federal governance—now trigger hesitation. Editors are increasingly observing a culture of self-censorship taking hold, not out of editorial prudence, but out of fear.

Critics warn that the lines between journalism, activism, and criminal behavior are growing dangerously blurred—weaponized by those in power to silence dissent.

Even state-run media has not escaped scrutiny. The Ethiopian Broadcasting Corporation (EBC), the country’s flagship public broadcaster, was recently the subject of criticism from lawmakers.

The Public Expenditure Administration and Control Affairs parliamentary committee convened a meeting with EBC leadership following a Federal Auditor General audit revealing that the broadcaster prioritized government-favored content over matters of genuine public interest.

“I do not believe giving away your freedom is appropriate,” said Arare Mosisa, deputy chair of the committee, during a hearing.

She cited internal meeting minutes from EBC showing that government officials had called to pressure and even ridicule media professionals for airing content deemed unfavorable. “Only what the government wants to be reported is covered,” she said. “Not the public.”

Arare emphasized the media’s constitutional role as the “fourth estate”—a pillar of democracy entrusted with giving voice to all segments of society.

Local Journalists Bear the Brunt

Despite constitutional guarantees and official rhetoric about democratic reform, the reality on the ground for Ethiopian journalists paints a far bleaker picture—one where press freedom is too often an aspiration rather than a practice.

The weight falls most heavily on local journalists, particularly those working in Ethiopia’s regional states. While foreign correspondents may benefit from diplomatic backing or international scrutiny, local reporters are exposed—vulnerable not only to state reprisals but also to community backlash, arbitrary detention, and threats against their families.

In conflict and post-conflict zones such as Tigray, Oromia, and Amhara, simply asking questions—or being in the wrong place at the wrong time—can land reporters in jail. The line between journalistic inquiry and perceived hostility has blurred dangerously.

A new report by the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ), published in January, reveals that five of the six journalists currently imprisoned in the country face possible death sentences under terrorism charges, stemming from their coverage of the ongoing conflict in the Amhara region.

The sixth journalist, Yeshihasab Abera, was detained in September 2024 amid a wave of mass arrests in the region. The crackdown, described by officials as part of a “law enforcement operation” targeting armed groups and their alleged supporters, has swept up civilians, academics, and members of the press. Authorities have yet to publicly disclose any charges against Yeshihasab or explain the basis of his arrest.

The CPJ’s 2024 Prison Census situates Ethiopia within a troubling global trend, where ambiguous laws around “terrorism” and “extremism” are routinely used to silence reporters. Such charges, often levied without due process, have become a blunt instrument of state control—replacing open censorship with the chill of legal threat.

And yet, even in the face of escalating risks, many journalists persist. Their commitment endures not because the path is safe, but because the stakes—for truth, for public accountability, for the integrity of a nation—are too high to abandon.

The Constitution may promise a free press, but for many of the country’s journalists, that freedom remains elusive, defended only by those still willing to speak truth to power—however great the cost.As Ethiopia marks World Press Freedom Day, the gap between law and reality remains stark.