We must build on momentum toward this. African journalists must investigate the surveillance industry. Who buys the tools? Who sells them? And at what cost to democracy?.. Surveillance silences whistleblowers. It chills reporting. It hides corruption. And it sends a message to citizens who might speak out: You are not safe… This is a call to action — not just for journalists, but for everyone who believes in accountability and the public’s right to know.
Acclaimed Nigerian writer, Wole Soyinka, once said, “Books and all forms of writing have always been objects of terror to those who seek to suppress truth.”
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That terror persists today through the censorship and intimidation that result from surveillance.
Across Africa and around the world, journalists are being monitored — not to protect public safety, but to shield political power and suppress uncomfortable truths.
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Surveillance is dangerous because privacy is essential to press freedom. Journalism depends on private communication, especially in an era of increasing digital intrusion. Undermining such privacy doesn’t just impact individuals — it weakens and harms societies.
In Nigeria, police have repeatedly accessed journalists’ telecom metadata — who they called, when, and for how long — without a warrant. Regulatory loopholes contradict constitutional protections and enable these tactics. These tools are not used to protect the public but to lure journalists into arrest and retaliation.
Although the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) raised these concerns in a letter to President Bola Tinubu, no reforms have followed.
As surveillance tools become more sophisticated and invasive, legal safeguards must grow stronger.
Worldwide, hundreds of journalists, including those in Africa, have been targeted by spyware — malicious software that can infiltrate devices, giving the attacker near-total access to messages, contacts, and photos. Additionally, it can activate the device’s camera and microphone, capturing information about the surrounding environment and nearby conversations.
In Togo, spyware has been used against journalists and the civil society. Some describe the threat as “torture,” and they have “no private life.” Even in exile, the surveillance threat continues — an example of transnational repression. Veteran journalist Ferdinand Ayité called it “permanent fear.”
I have felt that fear. In 2018, I was detained with a colleague in Tanzania. During the raid on our hotel rooms, I successfully alerted our New York headquarters.
CPJ quickly initiated emergency protocols and changed our passwords remotely. But the agents weren’t worried. They boasted about Israeli technology that could overcome those protections.
Across the continent, journalists face sophisticated threats — from malware that lives inside phones to police using forensic tools to extract data from confiscated devices.
Under apartheid, Section 205 of South Africa’s Criminal Procedure Act was used to compel journalists to reveal their sources — those who refused were jailed. After Nelson Mandela became our first democratically elected president in 1994, an understanding was reached between the SA National Editors’ Forum and authorities that Section 205 would not be used in this way.
In Botswana, Ghana, and elsewhere, reporters have been arrested and their phones seized — not only to intimidate them but to access information.
As a rookie reporter during South Africa’s democratic transition in 1992, I was taught to protect confidential sources at all costs — even if it meant being arrested.
Under apartheid, Section 205 of South Africa’s Criminal Procedure Act was used to compel journalists to reveal their sources — those who refused were jailed. After Nelson Mandela became our first democratically elected president in 1994, an understanding was reached between the SA National Editors’ Forum and authorities that Section 205 would not be used in this way.
But today, that understanding is effectively obsolete. Section 205 is still used — not to subpoena journalists directly but to compel telecom companies to hand over reporters’ call records.
This data can expose sources and compromise investigations, all without the journalist ever knowing. Private actors have also illegally deployed surveillance tools against journalists.
It is secret surveillance with minimal oversight, and their powers are enhanced with spyware and other digital intrusion technologies. Governments no longer need to knock on your door — they can just reach into your phone.
A court filing in the lawsuit between WhatsApp and NSO Group revealed that Pegasus spyware had targeted individuals in 51 countries, 13 in Africa.
This isn’t isolated misuse. It’s an industry. A business model. And journalists are paying the price.
The situation calls for a response and presents an opportunity. African journalists must investigate the surveillance industry: Who is buying this technology? Who profits? And who is harmed?
Governments also have a role to play. In Botswana, a proposed surveillance bill would have allowed the warrantless interception of communication. But after a strong pushback — from local, regional, and international groups — the bill was revised to require judicial oversight.
That’s the power of collective action.
The principles at stake here aren’t foreign. They are African values. The African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights has enshrined strong protections for privacy and expression. The Declaration of Principles on Freedom of Expression and Access to Information in Africa is a powerful, homegrown standard.
In 2021, South Africa’s Constitutional Court declared that the government’s mass interception of communications violated the Constitution. The court ordered reforms to RICA — the country’s surveillance law — and mandated interim protections for journalists and their sources.
Sam Sole of the amaBhungane Centre for Investigative Journalism brought this case. For several months, the state had been monitoring his communications. He went to court — and won.
The principles at stake here aren’t foreign. They are African values. The African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights has enshrined strong protections for privacy and expression. The Declaration of Principles on Freedom of Expression and Access to Information in Africa is a powerful, homegrown standard.
Our governments must now live up to it.
We must build on momentum toward this. African journalists must investigate the surveillance industry. Who buys the tools? Who sells them? And at what cost to democracy?
Surveillance silences whistleblowers. It chills reporting. It hides corruption. And it sends a message to citizens who might speak out: You are not safe.
This is a call to action — not just for journalists, but for everyone who believes in accountability and the public’s right to know.
We owe it to the reporters who are jailed. To the sources who are silenced. We owe it to the societies that rely on a free press.
As Soyinka reminded us, “The greatest threat to freedom is the absence of criticism.”
Let’s ensure that freedom endures.
Angela Quintal is the regional director, Africa, at the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) and a former South African journalist and editor with more than two decades of newsroom experience.
This was adapted from her 13 July keynote speech at the Wole Soyinka Centre for Investigative Journalism to mark Professor Soyinka’s 91st birthday.
