By Lamara Garba
There is something sacred about ink when it refuses to lie.
There is something stubborn about truth when it insists on being heard, even in the presence of guns, prisons, and power.
And there is something profoundly human about the journalist, who stands between silence and society, choosing again and again to speak.
Perhaps we often forget how this day itself came to be. It was the United Nations, at its 1993 General Assembly, that proclaimed every 3rd of May as World Press Freedom Day, a date set aside not for ceremony alone, but for reflection, resistance, and renewal of commitment to the ideals of a free press.
This year’s theme, “Shaping a Future at Peace,” is not a slogan to be admired from a distance. It is a challenge. It is a responsibility. It is a warning. It reminds the world that journalism, free expression, and access to information are not just democratic ornaments but powerful instruments for peace, security, sustainable development, and economic recovery. At a time when global press freedom is increasingly under pressure, the theme speaks directly to a fragile world struggling to hold itself together.
Peace is not built in silence.
Peace is built in truth.
On this year’s World Press Freedom Day, the words of the European Union arrive not as distant diplomacy but as a moral echo of a world in distress: democracy cannot exist without a free press. That is not poetry. That is not theory. That is survival.
A nation without a free press is not a nation at all. It is a carefully managed illusion.
The European Union reminds us, with the clarity of law and the urgency of conscience, that independent media is not a luxury. It is not decoration. It is the spine of democracy. Freedom of expression is not a polite suggestion; it is a fundamental human right. And when that right is bruised, beaten, or buried, the entire body of society limps.
Yet, across continents and conflict zones, the journalist has become both witness and victim.
In the rubble and fire of Gaza, no fewer than over 100 journalists have been killed since the escalation of war, making it one of the deadliest places on earth for the press in modern history. These were not soldiers. They carried no weapons. Their only armour was a camera, a notebook, and courage. Still, they fell.
In the long and grinding war in Ukraine, more than 15 journalists have lost their lives, caught in the crossfire of a conflict that has redrawn maps and erased lives. Each death is a page torn from the book of truth, each silence a victory for darkness.
And beyond the bombs and bullets, in quieter but no less dangerous ways, journalists across the world face abuse, harassment, detention, and exile. Hundreds, well over 300 annually, are subjected to intimidation, a chilling reminder that repression does not always wear the uniform of war. Sometimes it wears a suit, signs a law, or hides behind a keyboard.
The UNESCO has repeatedly warned that the world is witnessing an alarming rise in attacks on journalists, especially women, who endure not only professional risks but targeted gender-based violence and online abuse designed to silence them.
Silence, after all, is the ultimate goal.
And yet, silence is what the journalist refuses.
In Nigeria, the story is painfully familiar.
We recall the troubling case of Agba Jalingo, a journalist who was arrested and detained for months over his reporting on alleged corruption. His ordeal was not just about one man. It was about a system uneasy with scrutiny. It was about the price of asking questions in a space where answers are often guarded like state secrets.
But even within this difficult landscape, voices of reform continue to rise.
The President of the Nigeria Union of Journalists, Alhassan Yahaya Abdullahi, has re-echoed the urgent need for a truly free press in Nigeria, insisting that democracy in the country will remain fragile without journalists who can operate without fear. He has also drawn attention to a quieter crisis within the profession itself: the poor working conditions faced by many Nigerian journalists.
From irregular salaries to the absence of adequate insurance and welfare packages, the reality for many practitioners is harsh and discouraging. Abdullahi’s call is clear and necessary that the dignity of the journalist must be restored, that media owners and stakeholders must rise to their responsibility, and that no society can expect courage from a press that is neglected and unprotected.
Because a hungry journalist is vulnerable.
And a vulnerable journalist is easily silenced.
The European Union’s statement goes further, pointing to a dangerous trend: the rise of Strategic Lawsuits Against Public Participation, legal weapons used not to seek justice, but to intimidate journalists into silence. Add to that the growing flood of disinformation, propaganda disguised as news, and the deliberate erosion of trust in credible media, and one begins to see the battlefield has expanded.
Truth itself is under siege.
And in this siege, the journalist stands as both witness and shield.
There is a philosophical burden here, one that goes beyond headlines and deadlines. The journalist is not merely a recorder of events but a custodian of memory. When societies forget, it is often because someone was prevented from writing. When injustice thrives, it is often because someone was stopped from reporting.
So, to attack a journalist is not just to harm an individual. It is to wound history. It is to distort reality. It is to gamble with the future.
The European Union, in reaffirming its commitment to defending free and independent journalism, aligns itself with institutions like the Council of Europe and the OSCE, recognizing that this fight is not regional but universal.
Because truth does not belong to Europe, or Africa, or Asia.
Truth belongs to humanity.
And here lies the deeper meaning of this year’s theme: a future at peace is not negotiated in secrecy, nor manufactured through propaganda. It is shaped in the open, through credible information, fearless reporting, and a society willing to confront its own realities.
Without a free press, there is no informed citizenry.
Without informed citizens, there is no accountability.
And without accountability, peace itself becomes an illusion.
So today, we do not merely celebrate the press.
We remember its martyrs.
We honour those who wrote until their last breath.
We stand with those who continue to report under threat.
And we ask ourselves, quietly but urgently: what kind of world do we want to live in?
One where truth is negotiated, edited, and suppressed?
Or one where it is pursued, protected, and proclaimed?
The answer lies not just in the newsroom, but in the conscience of every society.
For as long as a single journalist dares to write freely, hope remains alive.
And as long as hope remains alive, democracy still has a fighting chance.
Lamara Garba, a veteran journalist, is Director of Public Affairs at Bayero University, Kano
