For many women journalists in East and Southern Africa, the start of the workday does not begin with a cup of coffee or a morning editorial meeting. Instead, it begins with the cautious opening of a smartphone, a deep breath, and the bracing for impact. Before they can report on the news of the day, they must first navigate a digital minefield of sexually explicit threats, derogatory comments about their physical appearance, and coordinated campaigns designed to dismantle their professional credibility. This is the modern face of censorship: a relentless, decentralized, and deeply gendered form of violence that seeks to drive women out of the public square.
According to a landmark global study conducted by UNESCO, this is not an isolated phenomenon but a systemic crisis. The data reveals a staggering reality: 73 percent of women journalists—nearly three out of every four—have experienced some form of online violence. Even more chillingly, one in four women reported receiving threats of physical harm, including death threats and warnings of sexual assault. In the context of East and Southern Africa, these statistics represent more than just numbers on a page; they are the lived experiences of reporters who must weigh the importance of their stories against the safety of their families and their own mental well-being.
Digital violence, frequently categorized as “technology-facilitated gender-based violence,” is a sophisticated tool of intimidation. It weaponizes digital platforms to harass, discredit, and ultimately silence women. Unlike traditional forms of media suppression, such as state-sponsored arrests or physical censorship, digital violence is often perpetrated by anonymous actors or coordinated “troll farms” that exploit the algorithms of social media to amplify hate. As these attacks intensify, the threat to press freedom becomes existential. When a journalist is hounded off the internet, the public loses a vital perspective, and the democratic fabric of society begins to unravel.
In South Africa, Kgomotso Modise is a name synonymous with grit and integrity. As a seasoned reporter for Eyewitness News (EWN), Modise specializes in the complex and often dangerous world of courts and criminal justice. Her work requires a meticulous eye for detail and a thick skin, but the harassment she faces today has evolved into something far more sinister than professional disagreement. “The insults are very sexual,” Modise explains, highlighting a distinct double standard in the industry. “My male colleagues who express similar views would never face the same slurs. For me, it’s always: ‘Oh, she’s sleeping with the investigations officer.’ Any opinion I share is sexualized.”
This pattern of abuse reached a fever pitch during Modise’s coverage of the high-profile Senzo Meyiwa trial. The case, which captivated and polarized the South African public, became a breeding ground for digital toxicity. While her male peers were often criticized for their logic or called “stupid,” the attacks against Modise and other female reporters were personal, visceral, and focused on their bodies and perceived morality. The intent was clear: to delegitimize her reporting by reducing her from a professional journalist to a sexualized object of ridicule. When criticism shifts from the accuracy of a report to the appearance of the reporter, it ceases to be public discourse and becomes a tool of erasure.
The escalation from digital harassment to personal violation is often rapid. Modise recalls a harrowing incident after she posted content criticizing extrajudicial killings. In response, an anonymous user retrieved childhood photographs from her private Facebook account and reposted them alongside explicit threats involving sexual violence directed at her and her underage niece. “That, for me, just went too far,” she says. “It wasn’t just an attack on my views—it was a violation involving children.” This tactic, known as “doxxing,” involves the malicious release of private information to incite real-world fear. For Modise, the message was unmistakable: your private life is not safe as long as you continue to speak your mind.
The psychological toll of such sustained abuse is immense, leading to a phenomenon known as the “chilling effect.” When the cost of speaking out is a barrage of trauma, many journalists find themselves instinctively pulling back. Modise admits that she has begun to self-censor, hesitating before posting commentary on sensitive cases. “Sometimes you think, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t tweet this,’ even though it’s a view that could inform others,” she reflects. This quiet retreat from the digital frontlines is exactly what the perpetrators of digital violence hope to achieve.
Across the border in Kenya, Cecilia Maundu is fighting to bring these issues into the light. As a journalist and the host of the *Digital Dada* podcast, Maundu has dedicated her platform to discussing digital security and online violence. Through her interviews, she has documented a consistent and heartbreaking pattern of trauma among her peers. “When journalists self-censor, society loses,” Maundu asserts. “Freedom of information is jeopardized.” Her research through the podcast indicates that every single woman journalist she has interviewed has faced some form of online abuse, ranging from body-shaming to coordinated “pile-ons” intended to destroy their reputations.
Maundu shares stories of a television news anchor who retreated into silence out of fear, and another reporter who sought intensive therapy after an extreme trolling campaign. Perhaps most distressing are the accounts of attacks that extend to the journalist’s family. In several cases, trolls have targeted the husbands and children of reporters, using them as leverage to force the women to abandon their work. “Several journalists have also made the difficult decision to deactivate their social media accounts entirely in order to safeguard their mental wellbeing,” Maundu explains. In an era where a digital presence is often a requirement for career advancement in media, being forced offline is a professional death sentence.
At its core, digital violence is a reflection of entrenched gender inequality and patriarchal social norms that persist in the physical world. Modise notes that the online environment often emboldens people to express biases they might hide in person. Even seemingly positive comments can be rooted in prejudice. “People think they can get away with insulting a woman. Even compliments like ‘beauty with brains’ reveal bias—the assumption that you can’t be beautiful and smart,” she observes. These microaggressions form the foundation of a culture that views women in media as interlopers rather than professionals.
The fight against digital violence requires more than just individual resilience; it demands institutional accountability. In 2023, the African Women in Media Conference in Kigali marked a significant turning point. Media organizations, journalists, and partners from across the continent adopted a landmark declaration, committing to confront the spectrum of violence facing women in the industry. This includes everything from physical threats and femicide to the “invisible” violence of surveillance, intimidation, and digital smear campaigns.
Modise credits her own newsroom for taking proactive steps, such as providing psychological support and ensuring that women are paired with male colleagues for high-risk physical assignments. However, she emphasizes that the burden cannot rest solely on the media houses. “We need stronger collaboration with law enforcement and cyber experts to unmask perpetrators,” she says. “Once people face consequences, the message will be clear.” Currently, the anonymity of the internet provides a shield for abusers, making it difficult for victims to seek legal recourse. Bridging the gap between digital crimes and real-world justice is essential for ending the cycle of impunity.
UN Women has been a vocal advocate for systemic change, pushing for a multi-faceted approach to ending digital violence. This includes urging social media platforms to improve their reporting mechanisms, calling on governments to enact and enforce robust cyber-safety laws, and fostering a culture of “digital citizenship” where online abuse is no longer tolerated as an inevitable part of the job. The “16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence” campaign, running from November 25 to December 10, serves as a critical annual reminder that the digital world must be a space of empowerment, not a minefield of harassment.
Despite the scars and the constant threat of backlash, women like Kgomotso Modise and Cecilia Maundu continue to stand their ground. Their persistence is fueled by a deep-seated commitment to the public’s right to know. For Modise, the motivation remains simple yet profound. “My love for informing and educating outweighs the hate,” she says. “When someone says, ‘Thank you for sharing this’—that keeps me going.” Protecting these voices is not just a matter of gender equality; it is a fundamental requirement for a free and fair press. As long as women journalists are targeted for their identity, the truth itself remains under siege.
