For many women in journalism, the start of the workday does not begin with a newsroom briefing or a morning coffee, but with a deep breath and a bracing of the soul. Before they can report on the world’s events, they must first navigate a digital minefield. Across the globe, and with increasing intensity across East and Southern Africa, women journalists are waking up to a barrage of sexually explicit threats, coordinated body-shaming, and sophisticated harassment campaigns. These are not merely “mean comments” or the occupational hazards of a public-facing role; they are calculated, technology-facilitated attacks designed to achieve a single, chilling goal: to drive women out of the public square.
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 online violence. Perhaps even more alarming is that one in four of these women has received threats of physical harm, including explicit death threats. In the regions of East and Southern Africa, these figures are not just abstract data points; they represent a daily reality that dictates how women report, what stories they choose to cover, and whether they feel safe enough to maintain a digital presence at all.
Digital violence, or technology-facilitated gender-based violence (TFGBV), is the modern weapon of choice for those seeking to undermine press freedom. By weaponizing digital platforms to intimidate and discredit reporters, perpetrators ensure that the “cost” of being a female journalist becomes prohibitively high. When these threats escalate from the screen into real-world stalking or physical intimidation, the boundary between the digital and the physical evaporates, leaving journalists in a state of perpetual hyper-vigilance.
In South Africa, Kgomotso Modise has become a prominent voice in court and criminal justice reporting. As a seasoned journalist for Eyewitness News, she is accustomed to the high-stakes environment of the legal system. However, the most dangerous part of her job is often the feedback loop on social media. Modise notes a distinct and disturbing difference between the criticism leveled at her and that directed at her male counterparts. While a man might be called “uninformed” or “biased,” the attacks against Modise are almost exclusively sexualized.
“The insults are very sexual,” Modise explains. “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 vitriol reached a fever pitch during her coverage of the high-profile Senzo Meyiwa trial. In a climate of intense public polarization, Modise and her female peers were targeted not for the accuracy of their reporting, but for their physical appearance and their perceived morality. While male reporters were debated on the merits of their arguments, the women were subjected to degrading insinuations about their private lives and body-shaming comments.
This distinction is critical for understanding the nature of digital violence. Legitimate criticism of a journalist’s work is a cornerstone of a healthy democracy. However, when that criticism pivots to weaponize a woman’s gender, sexuality, and appearance, it ceases to be “feedback” and becomes a tool of delegitimization. It is a strategic attempt to strip a professional woman of her authority by reducing her to a sexual object or a target of ridicule.
The escalation of digital violence often follows a predictable, yet terrifying, path. For Modise, the line was crossed when her professional reporting on extrajudicial killings triggered a personalized attack. A troll managed to dig through her private history, retrieving childhood photos from her Facebook account. These images were then reposted alongside explicit threats of sexual violence against Modise and, most distressingly, her underage niece.
“That, for me, just went too far,” she recalls. “It wasn’t just an attack on my views—it was a violation involving children.” This tactic, often referred to as “doxxing” or “cyber-stalking,” is intended to show the journalist that they are being watched and that their family is within reach. It is a psychological strike designed to trigger the most basic instinct of protection, forcing the journalist to choose between her career and the safety of her loved ones.
The ripple effects of such trauma are profound, leading to a “chilling effect” that threatens the very foundations of a free press. When the price of an opinion is a threat against one’s family, many journalists understandably begin to pull back. Modise admits that she has started 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 says.
This sentiment is echoed by Cecilia Maundu, a Kenyan journalist and the host of the *Digital Dada* podcast. Maundu has dedicated her platform to discussing digital security and online violence, and her findings are bleak. Every journalist she has interviewed has faced some form of online abuse. The patterns are consistent: coordinated trolling, family-targeted attacks, and a relentless focus on gender.
Maundu highlights the story of a television news anchor who began to withdraw from the public eye to avoid further victimization. Another journalist sought intensive therapy after an extreme trolling campaign, while others have been forced to deactivate their social media accounts entirely. In a modern media landscape where a digital presence is often a job requirement, being forced offline is equivalent to being silenced professionally. “When journalists self-censor, society loses,” Maundu asserts. “Freedom of information is jeopardized.”
The root of this violence lies in entrenched gender inequalities and societal norms that remain hostile to women in positions of power. Modise points out that even “compliments” often carry a subtext of bias. The phrase “beauty with brains,” she notes, implies an inherent contradiction—the assumption that a woman cannot be both physically attractive and intellectually formidable. This underlying misogyny provides the fuel for the more aggressive forms of harassment seen online; it is a worldview that refuses to accept women as equal participants in the intellectual and professional sphere.
Addressing this crisis requires more than just individual resilience; it demands institutional accountability. In 2023, at the African Women in Media Conference in Kigali, a landmark declaration was adopted by media organizations and partners across the continent. This commitment aims to confront the spectrum of violence against women in media, ranging from online smear campaigns to physical threats and surveillance.
However, declarations must be backed by action. Modise credits her newsroom for providing psychological support and implementing safety protocols, such as pairing female reporters with male colleagues for high-risk physical assignments. But the digital realm remains a “Wild West” where perpetrators 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.”
As the international community observes the 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence under the #NoExcuse campaign, the focus on digital spaces has never been more urgent. From November 25 to December 10, the UNiTE campaign emphasizes that digital platforms should be tools of empowerment, not weapons of control. For women journalists, the stakes could not be higher. Protecting them is not just a matter of individual safety; it is about ensuring that the narratives of our time are shaped by a diverse range of voices.
Despite the daily vitriol, women like Modise and Maundu continue to stand their ground. They are driven by a sense of duty that outweighs the fear. For Modise, the motivation is found in the quiet moments of connection with her audience. “My love for informing and educating outweighs the hate,” she says. “When someone says, ‘Thank you for sharing this’—that keeps me going.”
The battle for press freedom in the 21st century is being fought on the screens of our smartphones. If we allow digital violence to silence women journalists, we allow the erosion of truth itself. The message from the frontline is clear: the harassment must stop, the perpetrators must be held accountable, and the voices of women must be protected at all costs. There is no excuse for digital abuse, and there is no democracy without the safety of those who report the news.
