The dawn of the digital age promised a democratization of information, offering journalists unprecedented tools to reach global audiences and hold power to account. However, for women journalists across East and Southern Africa, this digital frontier has increasingly transformed into a hostile landscape. Every morning, thousands of women in the media industry log onto their professional accounts not just to report the news, but to navigate a minefield of sexually explicit threats, coordinated character assassinations, and body-shaming campaigns. This phenomenon, known as technology-facilitated violence, is no longer a peripheral nuisance; it is a direct assault on press freedom and a systemic effort to purge women’s voices from the public square.
The scale of this crisis is staggering. According to a landmark global study conducted by UNESCO, a chilling 73 per cent of women journalists—nearly three out of every four—have experienced some form of online violence. Even more alarming is the tangible overlap between digital threats and physical danger: one in four women surveyed reported receiving threats of physical harm, including death threats. In the context of East and Southern Africa, these figures are not merely abstract data points. They represent a daily occupational hazard that dictates how stories are covered, which voices are heard, and which reporters are forced into silence.
Digital violence against women journalists is a calculated weaponization of technology. It is designed to intimidate, discredit, and ultimately neutralize the influence of women who dare to report on sensitive issues. Unlike the professional critiques faced by their male counterparts, the attacks directed at women are almost exclusively gendered, focusing on their bodies, their private lives, and their perceived "place" in society. This abuse often escalates from the screen into real-life terror, blurring the lines between the virtual and the physical.
For Kgomotso Modise, a prominent South African journalist specializing in courts and criminal justice for Eyewitness News (EWN), this vitriol is a constant companion. Modise’s work places her at the center of some of the most contentious legal battles in the region, but it is her identity as a woman that makes her a target for specific types of malice. She notes that while her male colleagues might be criticized for their views or called "stupid" by disgruntled readers, the attacks she faces are inherently 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 disparity in harassment was particularly evident during Modise’s coverage of the high-profile Senzo Meyiwa trial. The case, which involves the death of a beloved South African football star, has deeply polarized the public. As Modise provided factual reporting on the proceedings, she and other female reporters were met with a barrage of appearance-based insults and degrading insinuations. These attacks were never about the accuracy of the reporting; they were strategic attempts to delegitimize her professional standing by reducing her to her gender and physical appearance.
The danger of digital violence lies in its ability to penetrate the private sanctuary of a journalist’s home. The transition from professional disagreement to personal violation is often instantaneous. Modise recalls a harrowing incident after she posted content criticizing extrajudicial killings. In retaliation, a digital predator retrieved childhood photographs from her private Facebook account and reposted them alongside explicit threats involving sexual violence against both Modise and her underage niece. "That, for me, just went too far," she says, reflecting on the trauma of the event. "It wasn’t just an attack on my views—it was a violation involving children."
Such incidents are a textbook example of "doxing"—the malicious searching for and publishing of private information—used to instill a sense of vulnerability. When a journalist’s family is brought into the line of fire, the psychological toll is immense. This leads to a phenomenon known as the "chilling effect," where journalists begin to self-censor to protect themselves and their loved ones. Modise admits that the constant threat of backlash has made her more hesitant to share her perspectives on sensitive cases. "Sometimes you think, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t tweet this,’ even though it’s a view that could inform others," she confesses.
The impact of this digital siege extends far beyond the individual, threatening the very foundations of a healthy democracy. When journalists are scared into silence, the public loses access to diverse viewpoints and critical information. Cecilia Maundu, a Kenyan journalist and the host of the Digital Dada podcast, has dedicated her career to documenting this crisis. Through her platform, Maundu explores the intersection of online violence and digital security, highlighting how coordinated trolling campaigns are used to dismantle the careers of women in media.
Maundu’s research and interviews reveal a grim pattern across the continent. Every journalist she has interviewed for her podcast has experienced some form of online abuse. The stories she shares are heartbreaking: a television news anchor who began self-censoring out of sheer fear; a reporter who required intensive therapy after a period of extreme trolling; and another whose husband and children became the targets of online vitriol. "Several journalists have also made the difficult decision to deactivate their social media accounts entirely in order to safeguard their mental wellbeing," Maundu says. In an era where a social media presence is often a requirement for a career in media, deactivating these accounts is a professional sacrifice that many feel forced to make.
The root of this violence is not the technology itself, but the entrenched gender inequality and harmful social norms that technology amplifies. Online harassment is a digital extension of the misogyny that exists in the physical world. Modise points out that even "compliments" can be laden with bias, such as the backhanded praise of being "beauty with brains." This implies an inherent contradiction between a woman’s appearance and her intellectual capacity, reinforcing the idea that women in media are to be looked at rather than listened to.
Addressing this crisis requires more than just individual resilience; it demands institutional accountability and systemic change. For too long, newsrooms and tech platforms have treated online harassment as an unfortunate but inevitable part of the job. However, the tide is beginning to turn. In 2023, during the African Women in Media Conference in Kigali, media organizations and partners adopted a landmark declaration. This commitment aims to confront the rising violence against women in the industry, including rape, femicide, online threats, and surveillance. It serves as a blueprint for how the media sector can protect its most vulnerable members.
In the newsroom, some progress is being made. Modise credits her employers for providing psychological support and implementing safety protocols, such as pairing female reporters with male colleagues for high-risk assignments. But she insists that the burden of safety should not fall solely on the journalists or their employers. "We need stronger collaboration with law enforcement and cyber experts to unmask perpetrators," she asserts. "Once people face consequences, the message will be clear." The current culture of impunity, where digital attackers can hide behind anonymous avatars, must be dismantled through robust legal frameworks and international cooperation.
As the global community observes the "16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence," the focus on digital spaces has never been more critical. From November 25 to December 10, the UNiTE campaign highlights the need for #NoExcuse when it comes to online abuse. Digital platforms should be engines of empowerment, providing women and girls with the tools to lead, innovate, and report. Instead, for many, they have become minefields of harassment and control.
Ending digital violence is not just a matter of safety; it is an essential component of defending the "fourth estate." If the voices of women journalists are extinguished, the narrative of our collective future will be incomplete and skewed. The courage of reporters like Kgomotso Modise and Cecilia Maundu provides a glimmer of hope. Despite the sexualized insults, the threats to their families, and the psychological trauma, they continue to do the work.
For Modise, the drive to remain in the profession is fueled by the very audience the trolls try to keep her from. "My love for informing and educating outweighs the hate," she says. "When someone says, ‘Thank you for sharing this’—that keeps me going." To ensure that this passion is not snuffed out, the global community must recognize digital violence for what it is: a direct threat to democracy that requires an urgent, coordinated, and uncompromising response. Protecting women journalists is not an optional act of solidarity; it is a fundamental requirement for a free and informed society.
