For many women journalists across the African continent, the start of the workday does not begin with a cup of coffee or a newsroom briefing; it begins with a deep breath before opening a social media feed. What awaits them is often a curated nightmare of sexually explicit threats, coordinated character assassinations, and vitriolic body-shaming. This is the modern frontline of journalism, where the battlefield has shifted from physical war zones to the digital palm of one’s hand. In East and Southern Africa, this digital violence has transitioned from an occasional nuisance to a systematic tool of repression, designed to intimidate women into silence and, ultimately, to erode the foundations of a free press.
The scale of this crisis is staggering. According to a landmark global study conducted by UNESCO, a harrowing 73 per cent of women journalists—nearly three out of every four—have experienced some form of online violence. Even more chilling is the fact that for 25 per cent of these professionals, the digital threats are not confined to the screen; one in four women reporters has received threats of physical harm, including explicit death threats. In the context of East and Southern Africa, these figures represent more than just data points; they describe a daily reality that dictates how women journalists navigate their careers and their lives.
Digital violence, frequently categorized as “technology-facilitated gender-based violence,” is not merely about “mean comments.” It is a weaponized form of abuse that uses digital platforms to discredit and dehumanize women. By leveraging the reach and anonymity of the internet, perpetrators launch attacks that often escalate from digital harassment into real-world stalking and physical danger. As these attacks intensify, the stakes for press freedom grow higher. When a woman journalist is forced to retreat from the public eye to protect her safety or mental health, the public loses a vital perspective, and democracy itself suffers a blow.
In the heart of South Africa’s justice system, Kgomotso Modise has seen the darkest side of this trend. As a seasoned reporter for Eyewitness News (EWN), Modise specializes in courts and criminal justice—a beat that often places her at the center of the country’s most contentious legal battles. For her, harassment has become an unwelcome occupational hazard. She notes a distinct and disturbing difference between how she and her male counterparts are treated when they report on sensitive topics.
“The insults are very sexual,” Modise explains, highlighting a pattern of abuse that is specifically designed to degrade women. “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 gendered double standard is a hallmark of digital violence. While a male journalist might be called “uninformed” or “biased,” a woman journalist is attacked for her appearance, her perceived morality, and her sexuality. The goal is clear: to delegitimize her professional standing by reducing her to a sexual object.
This pattern reached a fever pitch during Modise’s coverage of the high-profile Senzo Meyiwa trial. The trial, which has captivated and polarized the South African public, became a breeding ground for online vitriol. As Modise and other female peers provided updates on the proceedings, they were met with a barrage of appearance-based insults and degrading insinuations. These attacks had nothing to do with the facts of the case or the accuracy of their reporting; they were calculated strikes intended to punish women for occupying space in a high-stakes professional environment.
However, digital violence rarely stays within the bounds of professional criticism. For Modise, the line was crossed when her personal history was weaponized against her. After she posted content criticizing extrajudicial killings—a matter of significant public interest—an anonymous user retrieved childhood photographs from her private Facebook account. These images were then reposted alongside graphic threats involving sexual violence directed not only at Modise but also at her underage niece.
“That, for me, just went too far,” Modise recalls, the memory of the violation still sharp. “It wasn’t just an attack on my views—it was a violation involving children. That post got insane engagement, and a lot of it was negative. I’ve gotten used to the insults and people criticizing my views. But someone took it a step further.” This tactic, often referred to as “doxxing” or the weaponization of personal data, is a common escalation in digital abuse. It serves to remind the journalist that her private life is not safe and that her family is a target, creating a psychological burden that few other professions demand.
The long-term impact of this sustained abuse is a growing mental health crisis within the industry. Many journalists find themselves forced into self-censorship as a survival mechanism. Modise admits that the constant threat of backlash has made her more hesitant to share her insights on sensitive cases. “Sometimes you think, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t tweet this,’ even though it’s a view that could inform others,” she says. This is the “chilling effect” in action—a slow silencing of voices that leads to a sanitized and less courageous media landscape.
In Kenya, journalist Cecilia Maundu is fighting to bring these issues to light through her podcast, *Digital Dada*. Maundu, a specialist in digital security, focuses on the intersection of technology and gender-based violence. Her work has revealed that the experiences shared by Modise are part of a broader, systemic epidemic. Through her interviews, Maundu has documented a consistent pattern of coordinated trolling and body-shaming that targets women in media.
“When journalists self-censor, society loses. Freedom of information is jeopardized,” Maundu asserts. Her research through the podcast shows that the visibility of women in media makes them lightning rods for misogyny. She speaks of television news anchors who have deactivated their social media accounts to escape the relentless victimization, and others who have sought intensive therapy to deal with the trauma of coordinated “piling-on” campaigns. In many cases, the abuse extends to the journalists’ husbands and children, creating a ripple effect of distress that can dismantle a person’s support system.
The root of this problem lies in entrenched gender inequality and harmful social norms that have simply migrated to digital spaces. As Modise points out, even supposedly positive comments can be rooted in bias. The backhanded compliment of being “beauty with brains” implies that intelligence and physical appearance are normally mutually exclusive for women. This mindset creates a culture where women are viewed as “fair game” for insults the moment they step outside of traditional roles or challenge the status quo.
To combat this, the call for institutional support and accountability is growing louder. In 2023, during the African Women in Media Conference in Kigali, a landmark declaration was adopted by media organizations and partners across the continent. This declaration represents a formal commitment to confront violence against women in all its forms—from physical assault and surveillance to the digital smear campaigns that have become so prevalent.
While some newsrooms are beginning to take action—Modise credits her own organization for providing psychological support and implementing safety protocols for high-risk assignments—the consensus is that much more is needed. There is a desperate need for collaboration between media houses, law enforcement, and cyber-security experts. Currently, the anonymity of the internet allows perpetrators to act with near-total impunity. “We need stronger collaboration with law enforcement and cyber experts to unmask perpetrators,” Modise insists. “Once people face consequences, the message will be clear.”
Addressing digital violence also requires a shift in how social media platforms govern their spaces. UN Women and other international bodies continue to advocate for more robust moderation and faster response times when journalists are targeted. The protection of women journalists is not merely a matter of individual safety; it is a fundamental requirement for a healthy democracy. When women are harrassed out of the industry, the diversity of the narrative is lost, and the news becomes a one-dimensional reflection of a patriarchal society.
As the world marks the “16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence” under the theme of #NoExcuse, the focus on digital spaces has never been more relevant. From November 25 to December 10, the UNiTE campaign seeks to remind the public that online spaces should be tools for empowerment, not minefields of abuse. For women like Kgomotso Modise and Cecilia Maundu, the fight continues every day. Despite the threats and the trauma, their commitment to the truth remains unshaken.
“My love for informing and educating outweighs the hate,” Modise says. “When someone says, ‘Thank you for sharing this’—that keeps me going.” It is this resilience that sustains the press, but it is a resilience that should not have to be tested by a barrage of digital hate. Ensuring that the next generation of women journalists can report without fear is the only way to ensure that the stories that matter most continue to be told.
