And truth ...becomes a target by Gabriele Schmitt

There was a time when press freedom was something politicians paid lip service to, even as they quietly resented it. Now, in the long shadow of the Trump era, hostility toward journalism has shed any pretence of subtlety. It is loud, unapologetic and more dangerously contagious.

World Press Freedom Day used to feel like a reaffirmation of shared democratic values, a ritual nod to the idea that truth matters and that those who pursue it deserve protection. Today it reads more like an obituary-in-progress.

The transformation did not begin with Donald Trump but his presidency sharpened and legitimized a rhetoric that had long simmered beneath the surface. Labelling journalists “enemies of the people” was not just an insult, it was a signal. It told strongmen, oligarchs and opportunists around the world that the rules had changed. Or perhaps more accurately that the rules no longer needed to be followed.

In some parts of the world, this shift has had brutally literal consequences. Journalists are no longer merely harassed or censored; they are imprisoned, disappeared, or killed. The act of reporting has become indistinguishable from an act of defiance. A notebook can be as dangerous as a weapon, a question as threatening as a protest.

But the erosion of press freedom is not confined to authoritarian regimes. In wealthier democracies, where the methods are more polished, the outcome is often the same: silence. Not through violence, but through ownership. Billionaires, with interests sprawling across industries and borders, increasingly control the platforms through which information flows. Their influence is rarely overt. It does not need to be. A subtle shift in editorial priorities here, a quiet dismissal there, and the boundaries of acceptable discourse begin to contract.

What emerges is not censorship in the traditional sense, but something more insidious, self-censorship. Journalists learn, often unconsciously, which stories are worth pursuing and which are better left alone. The calculus is rarely stated outright. It is felt, in the hesitation before pitching an idea, in the careful phrasing of a headline, in the stories that never make it past the brainstorming stage.

This is how freedom erodes in the modern age. Not always with a bang, but with a series of small, almost imperceptible concessions.

The irony is that we are living in what is often described as an age of unprecedented access to information. News is constant, immediate, and ubiquitous. Yet the abundance can obscure a deeper scarcity: the scarcity of independent, fearless reporting. Noise is not the same as truth. Volume does not guarantee integrity.

Social media has further complicated the landscape, amplifying both legitimate journalism and deliberate falsehoods with equal enthusiasm. In this environment, the authority of the press is not just challenged, it is diluted. When every voice claims legitimacy, distinguishing between fact and fabrication becomes an exhausting exercise, one that many people eventually abandon.

And that exhaustion is precisely what makes the current moment so precarious. A tired public is easier to mislead. A disillusioned audience is less likely to defend institutions that, however imperfect, remain essential to democratic life.

So what does World Press Freedom Day mean now? It cannot simply be a celebration. That would feel disingenuous, even cynical. Instead, it should serve as a reminder; an uncomfortable one that press freedom is not a fixed achievement but a fragile condition. It requires constant vigilance, not just from journalists, but from the societies they serve.

The question is no longer whether the press is under threat. That much is obvious. The real question is whether enough people still believe it is worth defending.

Because once truth becomes a target, it does not take long before it disappears altogether.