Μake us preferred on Google When a journalist is murdered, public condemnation is the bare minimum. A meaningful response begins where the statements end: with investigating the crime, holding those responsible to account and protecting those who continue to investigate.
On 2 November 2026, UNESCO released findings that leave little room for easy commemorative speeches. The impunity rate for the killings of journalists it monitors has reached 86%, rising for the first time since measurement began in 2012. It also recorded 189 journalists killed in 2024–2025, most of them in conflict zones. Behind these figures lies a question that concerns far more than those who work in the media: who bears the cost of the truth, and who benefits when that cost becomes unbearable?
A journalist investigating corruption or documenting a war does something most citizens cannot do for themselves. They seek out documents, check testimonies and persist with questions left unanswered. They are neither infallible nor above criticism. But their ability to work without fear is part of our own ability to scrutinize those in power.
That is why violence against them cannot be treated as a tragedy that concerns their profession alone. It also concerns the citizen who will never learn how public money was spent, who made a critical decision or what happened where there was no other independent witness. The loss of a life cannot be contained in any political metaphor. Yet with that life, an investigation may also be lost because no one will dare to continue it.
Impunity deepens precisely this fear. The next journalist does not think only about whether they are in danger. They wonder whether anyone will protect them when they are threatened, whether their news organization will stand by them and whether the authorities will persist once the case fades from public attention. Sometimes self-censorship can begin long before any ban is imposed. At the moment when a legitimate question starts to seem disproportionately dangerous.
Precision, however, matters. An unresolved case is not, in itself, evidence of a state cover-up. Nor does every journalist’s death in an armed conflict establish a targeted killing. UNESCO itself distinguishes between trends in countries affected by conflict and those that are not. Ignoring these differences would undermine the credibility of our criticism. Demanding accountability means examining the evidence, not deciding the conclusion in advance.
Such caution does not justify giving up on the questions. The difficulties of an investigation may be real, particularly during a war. They must be explained, not turned into a permanent exemption from the responsibility to investigate. The public is entitled to ask for updates on a case, with due regard for the confidentiality the investigation genuinely requires and the rights of everyone involved.
Likewise, protection cannot begin only after an attack. There must be reliable ways to report threats and assess risks promptly, without protection becoming a pretext for surveillance of journalistic work. Investigations need adequate resources and independence, and must also examine, where the evidence warrants it, whether others ordered the crime. News organizations have a concrete responsibility too: a dangerous assignment must come with meaningful support, not the expectation that an employee’s courage will make up for every gap in safety.
And we, as readers, cannot defend press freedom only when we like what we read. The test begins when an investigation exposes the party we vote for, challenges something we hold to be certain or troubles someone we trust. We can demand evidence, corrections and professional accountability. We cannot regard intimidation as acceptable simply because we dislike its target.
Insisting on verifiable information matters especially at a time when producing and spreading content is becoming ever easier. However easily an answer can be generated, it cannot replace the person who went to the scene, cross-checked the information and took responsibility for publishing it. If we allow these people to disappear from public life, we will still have abundant content. But we will have fewer ways to establish what is true.
Admiring those who refused to remain silent is not enough. We must demand conditions in which their persistence does not require self-sacrifice. They must be able to return home, continue their investigations and publish what they have substantiated, even when it makes others uncomfortable. The freedom of the press is measured not just by the courage of those who serve it, but also by how safe it is for them to ask the difficult questions.
If someone must risk their life for us to learn the truth, can we still claim that the press is free?
