Not long ago, Ethiopia was celebrated as a rising beacon of press freedom in Africa. In 2018, the country stunned the world when Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed swept to power with promises of reform. Dozens of jailed journalists were freed, banned media outlets returned from exile, and the long-shuttered space for public debate cracked open at last. It was, for a moment, a journalist’s revolution without bloodshed. But that moment has now curdled into a grim cautionary tale.
Today, Ethiopia is once again one of the most hostile countries in Africa for journalists. Since the eruption of war in the Tigray region in late 2020, over 200 journalists have been arrested. At least 53 have fled into exile. Dozens more work under a fog of threats, intimidation, and near-constant surveillance. Once a story of liberation, Ethiopia’s press scene is now one of suppression, fear, and silence.
The reversal is both sharp and brutal. In the early days of Abiy’s premiership, foreign governments and press freedom groups poured in with cautious optimism. The nation jumped 40 places in Reporters Without Borders’ press freedom index, unprecedented for any African country. Ethiopia became a model of how quickly change could happen when political will and public demand aligned.
Then came the guns.
The conflict in Tigray began in November 2020 and rapidly spiraled into one of Africa’s most devastating civil wars in recent memory. By some estimates, 600,000 people died in the first two years. Reports of war crimes, mass displacement, and starvation began to trickle out. But getting information from inside the region became nearly impossible. The government imposed a sweeping media blackout and revoked accreditations. Independent media outlets were shut down. Journalists attempting to report from the conflict zone were detained, beaten, or deported.
The press was among the war’s earliest casualties.
The once-heralded Abiy government began using the same tools of repression employed by its predecessors: anti-terror laws, vague hate speech charges, internet shutdowns, and brute force. The government claimed journalists were spreading misinformation, sowing division, or worse—acting as agents of rebel groups. It arrested reporters without warrants. In some cases, entire newsrooms were raided. Staff at Addis Standard, one of the country’s leading independent publications, were detained multiple times and forced into temporary shutdown.
Those who weren’t imprisoned faced other pressures. Harassment by security agents, threats to family members, and constant digital monitoring became routine. Several journalists received death threats. Two were killed. Dozens went into hiding. For many, exile was the only path to survival. Nairobi and Kampala became hubs for Ethiopian reporters on the run.
Even foreign journalists were not spared. Reporters for major outlets such as the BBC and Reuters were expelled or had their credentials revoked. One New York Times correspondent was briefly detained in Addis Ababa and held incommunicado. This not only robbed the world of on-the-ground reporting but also underscored how far the country had regressed in just a few years.
The chilling effect has been profound. Self-censorship is now a survival instinct. Reporters are steering clear of sensitive topics, particularly anything related to ethnic conflict, the military, or internal power struggles. Several formerly outspoken columnists have gone quiet. Editors speak in cautious tones, often off the record. The vibrant media ecosystem that bloomed in 2018 has been hollowed out by fear.
Despite this climate, the Ethiopian government insists that media freedom remains intact. Officials routinely claim that arrests are based on legal violations, not political retribution. They cite laws meant to combat fake news and hate speech. But critics argue that these laws are so vaguely worded that they provide a blank cheque for repression.
The timing is also politically charged. With general elections looming in 2026, the government appears eager to control the narrative. Misinformation is indeed a problem in Ethiopia, especially on social media. But instead of countering falsehoods with transparency, the state is leaning into authoritarian tactics.
Civil society is fighting back where it can. Legal aid groups are challenging arrests in court. Human rights organisations are documenting abuses. Exiled journalists are continuing their work from abroad, publishing under threat of reprisal. But the space is shrinking.
Ethiopia now ranks 145th out of 180 countries in the 2024 World Press Freedom Index. That’s a 32-place drop from just three years ago. For many inside and outside the country, the fall is both heartbreaking and infuriating. Ethiopia once showed the world what was possible. Now it serves as a stark reminder of how fragile freedom really is.
In a place where ink once flowed freely, it is now met with iron. The promise of press freedom in Ethiopia has not just been betrayed—it has been buried, one byline at a time.
