Somewhere in my study at home lies a box full of old press cards and passes.
Part memento, part reference documents should I ever need to apply for them again, together they represent a kind of reporter’s gazetteer, gleaned from government ministries, the military, and other authorities across the globe.
South Sudan, Angola, Afghanistan, Iraq, Bosnia, Israel, Ukraine, and so the list of countries from where they were issued goes on.
As one of the biggest stories of modern times now makes its mark on the world, that box of passes and permission letters got me thinking as to how my journalist colleagues and their ability to work is being impacted upon by the coronavirus pandemic.
Like many of us during these lockdown days, I’ve resorted to Zoom or Skype calls for talking to my friends and colleagues, many of them based in far-flung places.
What I’m hearing during these chats are often troubling and at times alarming accounts of how press freedom is faring and the threats to the industry in which I have spent most of my adult life.
For a long time now, in the eyes of some among the general public, journalists have generally been regarded as being about as worthy as something you would scrape off the sole of your shoe. Personally, I’ve lost count of the times individuals have rolled their eyes and given me contemptuous looks on hearing that I was “a hack”.
What especially sticks in the craw is that rarely, if ever, do they bother to ask what, if anything, I specifically do as a journalist. Simply being one is enough to warrant their disdain.
A few days ago, on Twitter, I noticed a colleague urging people to buy a newspaper.
His appeal was an existential one highlighting how some titles might disappear given the economic impact of the coronavirus.
“Help newspapers survive,” he implored in his tweet. “You can buy one for the price of a coffee.”
Some of the replies bore all the hallmarks of those smugly ignorant of what’s truly at stake here.
“I’d rather buy a coffee,” replied one person sarcastically.
"Good riddance if they do disappear,” dismissed another casually.
Concern over the loss of people’s livelihood aside, it strikes me that some detractors of the media need to step back and examine whether their motives are often shaped more by the fact they simply don’t like being told things they disagree with.
I’m the first to admit that within the media’s ranks there are those whose behaviour has cast an unfavourable shadow on the profession.
But there’s an obvious injustice and even danger in tarring all journalism with the same brush, or blithely believing that all reporters are prepared to ride roughshod over the people whose stories they cover.
Critics must realise too that journalism in the right hands is not just a positive tool, but a necessity when the cacophony of political opinion, ideology and downright lies threatens to drown out the space reserved for facts and truth.
Within a growing climate of blanket cynicism, prejudice and criticism towards the press there remains little room these days, it seems, for asking the vital question: why does journalism – especially good journalism – matter?
Personally, I’ve always felt the answer is perfectly summed up in the words that run across the front page of one of the world’s great newspapers; The Washington Post.
“Democracy Dies in Darkness,” the motto on the masthead declares, in a warning as resonant right now as it could ever be.
Speaking with international colleagues, what I repeatedly hear is how the pandemic is testing the resilience of journalists and independent media almost everywhere. What worries them even more is how this works to the detriment and danger of many ordinary citizens likely to become infected.
There are historical parallels here. As the same Washington Post highlighted last week, as far back as 1918 during the virus that then swept Europe killing tens of millions, the newspapers in Europe told readers of the “Spanish flu”.
They told readers too that King Alfonso XIII of Spain was one of many stricken, but what they didn’t report was that their own populations were being simultaneously decimated.
This was all down to wartime censorship in many European countries, meaning few citizens even knew that the largest pandemic in modern history was already culling countless numbers in their midst.
It was only Spain, a nation neutral in the fight, that allowed its press to work largely uncensored, and so it was that stories of the contagion reached the wider world.
If this sounds familiar then perhaps it’s because in January, despite efforts by the Chinese authorities to clamp down on reporting of what became identified as coronavirus in the country, journalists doggedly investigated the story – and the rest of the world as a result slowly woke up to what was happening.
If that story had remained stifled even longer by Chinese government censorship, chances are the world would have been even slower in responding as the virus spread. There’s a lesson here for us all, one that shows how media freedom sits at the heart of helping tackle a fast moving crisis.
Those like the “commentators” who replied so dismissively to my colleague on Twitter the other day as to the importance of the media’s role in this crucial process might do well to ponder that.
They might also consider the sacrifices journalists globally are making to ensure their own citizens and those in the wider world are not kept in the dark. This too despite some governments’ efforts to exploit concerns over coverage of the pandemic to further hinder press freedoms and consolidate political rule.
Already in some places there is widespread evidence of authorities resorting to constraining the movements of reporters or using imprisonment and violence to prevent them working. As citizens of a world inextricably connected, that should concern us all.
As European Commission president Ursula von der Leyen warned last week, “now, it is more important than ever that journalists are able to do their job freely and precisely, so as to counter disinformation and to ensure that our citizens have access to crucial information”.
The same day that Von der Leyen issued her warning, several international press freedom organisations jointly wrote a letter to the Strasbourg-based Council of Europe, a rights watchdog to help protect the free flow of information.
Pointing to recent events in Hungary, where prime minister Viktor Orban under the pretext of addressing the Covid-19 public health emergency gave himself unlimited power, the press freedom groups highlighted how other governments have used swift moves to criminalise “promoting false information”.
The organisations also expressed serious concern about “excessive restrictions on media access to government officials, decision makers, medical experts”, with many governments reducing or eliminating the physical presence of journalists at press conferences. Examples cited included Slovenia and the Czech Republic, which have announced an end to press conferences altogether.
The letter from the press freedom groups also pointed out that unchecked and enhanced surveillance, to combat the spread of the virus, “endangers privacy and data rights and journalists’ ability to protect sources”.
Hungary’s autocratic PM Viktor Orban is far from alone in using the current crisis to curb press freedoms. As Rachael Jolley, editor-in-chief of Index on Censorship brought to attention last week, Brazil’s right-wing president, Jair Bolsonaro, has suspended the country’s Freedom of Information Act.
In South Africa, meanwhile, the government there has stopped epidemiologists, virologists, infectious disease specialists and other experts from commenting in the media on Covid-19, and insists that all requests for comment be directed to the National Institute for Communicable Diseases.
Elsewhere, though, there is evidence that the restrictions on reporting and actions taken against journalists, in the name of “security,” have been totally disproportionate and often politically motivated.
In Africa, since lockdowns began, journalists across the continent are reporting a sharp rise in physical attacks by security forces as they attempt to report on Covid-19. Many reporters say they are fearful for their lives.
“I saw a parked military vehicle. A female military officer got out and came towards me. She called me and asked: ‘Are you guys writing stories about us? Why are you doing that? We aren’t happy about that, I’m warning you.’”
This was how Ghanaian journalist Yussif Abdul-Ganiyu, the local correspondent for the German public international broadcaster Deutsche Welle (DW), recently told of what he experienced.
Moments after being approached by the female soldier, Abdul-Ganiyu was severely clubbed from behind, before being taken into police custody where soldiers confiscated his recording equipment.
It was only later that he established what had triggered the attack on him and his arrest. Three days earlier, based on victim statements and eyewitness accounts, he had broadcast a report about an alleged case of military brutality against civilians during a coronavirus lockdown operation. The military insisted, however, he was spreading false information.
Across the world countless similar reports of violence against reporters have been lodged with press and media rights monitoring groups.
In Iran, a country where coronavirus cases have soared, authorities have moved to aggressively contain independent reporting about the virus by harassing and detaining journalists. Iranian officials have also ordered that the media only use official statistics when covering Covid-19.
In China, freelance journalist Chen Quishi, who was covering the outbreak in Wuhan, has not been seen since early February, when he told family members he was planning to report on a temporary hospital.
Elsewhere, in places like the Philippines, journalists may face jail sentences of up to two months for “spreading false information” about the virus and a fine of up to $20,000.
Even in larger Western democracies the media finds itself the scapegoat and target. In the US, President Donald Trump has continued to belittle the press for its coverage of the virus at live press conferences and on Twitter. Last week,Trump actually deflected blame onto the Washington Post when asked about allegations that China – as well as Russia and Iran – is spreading coronavirus misinformation. Even right here on our doorstep in Scotland there have been concerns about limits being imposed on freedom of information access
Only last week, Catherine Stihler, chief executive of the Open Knowledge Foundation which campaigns for openness across the world, criticised a Holyrood vote that was seen as a weakening of Freedom of Information (FOI) legislation in Scotland during the coronavirus crisis.
Under normal circumstances, the Scottish Government, the NHS and local authorities have 20 days to reply to FOI requests.
As a result of the passage of the Coronavirus (Scotland) Bill, this has been extended to 60 days.
The Scottish Government argued the changes were necessary to relieve pressure on public bodies during the crisis.
But others argued that restricting FOI would reduce transparency of government at a time when an open approach is essential.
Both at home and overseas there are concerns that while in times such as these emergency legislation is sometimes necessary, it can often pass through parliamentary process with alarming speed – removing hard-won rights.
And as if all these challenges were not enough for a free and functioning press, some also point to the economic impact of the pandemic on the media. As news outlets rapidly lose advertising revenues, many are bracing themselves for a massive downturn, threatening journalism globally.
Certain countries to their credit have already recognised the longer-term implications of such a threat. Last week, Denmark’s government focused on allocating around €24 million to save its media.
As in other sectors, job losses, salary cuts and political pressure in the media are all taking their toll during the current crisis, but it’s what’s left of our journalism in its wake that is perhaps the biggest worry.
In times of extraordinary crisis, governments often take the opportunity to roll back media freedom. The question now, however, is to what extent journalism can stave off such current threats and in future continue to right wrongs, hold power to account and cast much-needed light into the darker recesses of our world.
That capacity cannot solely be dependent on the goodwill and commitment of those in power to do so. I’d like to think that many reading this would know that already, and, if not, all the more reason for supporting a global press that reminds us of it.
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