Press freedom in jeopardy in Afghanistan as journalists are targeted in assassination campaign

When Sidiqullah started out as a journalist in 2007, hopes of stability in Afghanistan were already waning, but losing several close friends and being forced to relocate for his own safety was far beyond what he imagined his career would look like.

“Being a journalist was something I was interested in even as a child,” says Sidiqullah, who used a pseudonym to protect his identity.

“It is, for me, about providing a service to my country. It is my job to give ordinary people a voice that will be heard by the Afghan government and by the international community.”

That passion has come at a high cost. Media workers, human rights defenders and intellectuals are being targeted amid a surge in violence. Throughout 2020, threats and violence against 132 journalists and media workers were documented, including murder and kidnap, according to a report published by the Afghan Journalist Safety Committee. This is a 26 percent increase compared to 2019.

A terrifying assassination campaign against journalists was unleashed at the end of last year, beginning with the death of Yama Siawash who had previously been a television presenter at Tolonews before going on to work at the country’s Central Bank. No group took responsibility for the attack – as is the case in many of the recent attacks – but the government frequently blames the Taliban.

Throughout last year, dozens of journalists were threatened by various groups including government officials, the Taliban, ISIS and militia groups, forcing many to flee their homes in fear of their lives. Sidiqullah is among them – he is now living in a safe house in another city, having left Helmand three months ago.

During the Taliban regime years in the 1990s, the only access to news was the BBC news bulletins played out over radios, recalls Sidiqullah.

“Just as we pray five times a day, listening to the BBC became an important ritual. Everybody came to listen to the news. It’s how we got to learn what was happening in the rest of the world, how we came to know about education, human rights, things like owning cars and mobile phones.”

It was over these same radios that Afghans learned the United Nations would be establishing an assistance mission following the 2001 US Army invasion.

“It was a dream come true. At that time we didn’t have any hospitals, schools, there was no agricultural industry, no infrastructure,” he says.

“Education was possible again; every day both children and adults were going to school. We had hope day by day that things were improving. It was an exciting time.”

By the time Sidiqullah began his career as a journalist, the reality on the ground was quite different. 

Now in his late thirties, the father-of-five was among a group of young journalists undergoing the first ever IMS media safety training course in 2008, run by the International Safety Committee in Afghanistan in Helmand.

“I’ve got a bit less hair now,” he jokes.

But on a more serious note, he says this training taught him and his colleagues vital skills.

“We learned how to plan properly, how to conceal equipment, how to deal with threats and how to keep safe as much as is possible.”

What the training did not prepare the young reporters for was the devastating loss of colleagues.

“I’ve lost five colleagues,” says Sidiqullah, who recounts an attack he was involved in which killed his friend and peer Nematullah Zaheer, formerly a television reporter at Afghanistan’s Ariana news.

“I had gotten out of the car that we were in and walked a few metres away from it. All of a sudden there was an almighty blast.”

In November, Sidiqullah’s childhood friend and fellow journalist Aliyas Dayee was killed by an IED attached to his car.

“He was like my brother, we never went anywhere without one another. I’ve found his death particularly difficult.”

The grief and stress Sidiqullah is faced with means he often forgets things, some days he finds it impossible to work, he is constantly worried about being followed and is now too scared to drive his own car. He and Dayee had formed a plan to buy land to grow fruit trees and keep animals on – an escape from the madness.

“We had a plan but the land is now under the control of the Taliban and Dayee died,” he says with a deep sigh. 

Increasing self-censorship is a major repercussion of these targeted attacks as journalists fear reprisal for covering certain topics. There are also concerns by both media and civil society groups over the future of freedom of speech and press freedom – that these constitutional rights may not be protected or prioritised as part of the Intra-Afghan peace talks.

A new Media Law drafted by the government in early 2020, which could significantly restrict press freedom, in addition to accusations of security forces failing to properly investigate journalists’ murders, is also cause for alarm.

Also seeking refuge in a safe house is Mohsen, a 28-year-old journalist from Ghazni. He seems uneasy as he sits down at the table.

“I’ve just had a call from the police commander to tell me my wife and children are now safe,” says Mohsen, who only gives one name.

His home had been surrounded by armed men, who were suspected Taliban, the previous evening. The commander who called was letting him know his officers had secured the area.

When journalists are placed into secure housing it often means they lose their jobs – being in a different city means it is impossible to continue their work. For some, including Mohsen, not only do they face the financial pressure of needing to support their family but also the stress of knowing they may have put their family at risk, while having to deal with not being with them to try to protect them.

“My brothers and sisters were also there. They were all very scared,” he says.

Mohsen admits he is struggling with depression.

“It’s a difficult situation to deal with. I want us to leave the country but the Journalism Safety Committee doesn’t have the funds at the moment,” says Mohsen.

“I’m worried about my family’s safety, but I’m also concerned about my people.”

Another major concern of his is the future of local media because of the level of risk currently involved in working as a journalist.

“I think it’s very possible that we will lose local media in the next 12 months,” he says.

“We need to keep publicising the voices of our communities. If we are silenced, then society is silenced.”

Charlie Faulkner is an independent journalist and photographer currently based in Afghanistan.