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At its best, journalism is a fearless pursuit.
When journalists challenge power, ask difficult questions, and bring to light concerns and corruption, they sometimes put themselves in precarious situations.
While we may hope to see journalism succeed despite political pressure and threats of violence, that is simply not always the reality. Where corruption festers and journalism pursues, danger is almost always a possibility.
And with the potential of danger, fear is never far away.
Fear is insidious. It shapes and reshapes behavior, informing choices subtly, even invisibly. In the worst cases, it inches individuals toward silence and compliance.
For journalists, fear can mean strategically avoiding topics perceived as dangerous, declining to investigate corruption, or simply deciding not to ask certain questions. Of course, that can be catastrophic for a democracy predicated on checks and balances. If those charged with bringing to light the happenings of the world are paralyzed in their pursuit by fear of retribution or their lives, we all lose.
For sources and subjects, fear translates into silence and secrecy. They may be unwilling to come forward, speak openly, or stand up against injustice. Fewer may be willing to share their thoughts, write opinion pieces in newspapers, and vocalize their dissent.
While stories of journalists and whistleblowers facing dire straits abound, fear does not require explicit violence to assert itself. The mere threat or possibility of retaliation is often enough to cultivate widespread self-censorship. A climate of fear, once established, becomes self-perpetuating. It changes not only how we report and write but also how we perceive what is even reportable or writable.
Consider student journalism, for instance. Students who are just beginning their careers and still finding their voices are encouraged to question the status quo and to be active and engaged members of a global society. While they are navigating how to interview, investigate, and write, how to responsibly handle sources, and how to discern the ethical from the sensational, these early lessons are shadowed by concern over what can happen if a powerful interest objects to their reporting. In the past, this might have meant a healthy albeit nerve-wracking, debate with University administration. These days, that can mean dismissal from school, or in some cases, deportation. When stakes are that high, self-censorship for self-preservation is often inevitable.
When incidents like this happen, reporters, especially young and vulnerable ones, question whether voicing their truths is worth the personal risk.
Fear does not only silence individual voices, it erodes journalism’s collective power. Each act of self-censorship reinforces the perceived risk of speaking out. Sources who might otherwise share critical information retreat behind closed doors. Reporters second-guess themselves, anticipating consequences before they even begin their work. Editors, too, become cautious, wary of the threats that accompany controversial reporting.
When fear dictates journalism, we lose accountability and transparency.
However, the solution cannot simply be demanding that every journalist take profound personal risks. Realistically, not everyone can, or should, be expected to face imprisonment, exile, or violence in pursuit of a story.
Acknowledging the role of fear in journalism is an essential first step toward managing its impact. Instead of silently allowing fear to drive self-censorship, we should actively create conditions that reduce its power. This includes better legal and institutional infrastructure that protects journalists and their sources. We have some of this in place already, but when the government or other entities infringe on these rights, we should be willing to engage in strong public advocacy and international solidarity. It includes teaching young journalists to recognize fear, talk openly about risk, and understand where the line between caution and self-censorship truly lies.
Journalism, like democracy, is inherently fragile. It depends on people who are willing to speak and willing to write. The presence of fear signifies journalism’s importance as a force that can unsettle the powerful. Our response to fear shapes not only journalism but also society itself.
We cannot erase fear, and we cannot guarantee safety for every journalist, every source, and every student who dares to speak truth to power. But we can acknowledge it and grapple openly with its implications. We can foster environments — educationally, professionally, and institutionally — that resist the normalization of silence.
