May 3 is marked around the world as World Press Freedom Day, a day that underscores the fundamental role that journalism and free expression play in human progress. Established by the United Nations in 1993, it draws upon Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and calls on states to uphold and defend the right to freedom of opinion and expression. But it is also a day of remembrance — a moment to honor the lives of journalists who have been silenced in pursuit of truth.
From 1992 through December 2024, more than 2,250 journalists have been killed around the globe. Most of these deaths were not accidents of war, but targeted killings — deliberate acts meant to silence professional voices who threatened power with truth.
The road to press freedom has never been smooth. It is a path strewn with obstacles — political, religious, ideological — and often paved with sacrifice. As the poet Hafez wrote, “From every direction I turned, I gained nothing but fear / Beware this endless wilderness.” The struggle for freedom, especially of speech and press, is an endless journey, one that humanity has carried forward only at great cost. Freedom of expression has always threatened the foundations of unjust power — and thus, it has always been resisted.
Those who sit atop the machinery of authority often forget why they are there. Bertrand Russell once warned that power has been the central moral challenge of human history. Karl Marx believed the root of human conflict was a perpetual class struggle — the contest between those with power and those without. In either case, it is rarely those in power who extend the gift of speech to the governed. Rather, it is extracted — fought for — in the shadows of repression.
Freedom of expression has never been handed down. It emerged as an antidote to tyranny — a hard-won right wrested from authoritarian societies, religious absolutists, and totalitarian states. Where voices were silenced, resistance found other forms.
In Persian culture, where formal dissent was dangerous, poetry became protest. Symbol and metaphor disguised meaning but delivered the message. Saadi’s Gulistan and Bustan are classics not only of literary beauty but moral counsel, subtly instructing rulers to embrace justice. Other poets and intellectuals used veiled allegories to critique the powerful, to stir public thought, to keep the ember of resistance burning.
Later, fiction and storytelling played this role in many societies. Where news could not circulate, novels carried meaning. Characters bore the weight of public feeling. In deeply traditional societies, these forms of storytelling also served as the people’s journalism — reporting what could not be said plainly. Art has always been a catalyst for understanding injustice and imagining something different.
But the history of journalism is still a history of struggle — a story filled with sorrow and sacrifice. And yet, it is also a story of purpose: the belief that without truth, there is no justice; without justice, no peace.
In the 20th century, both the horrors and hopes of freedom sharpened. It was a century of contradiction — one that produced extraordinary scientific progress, but also some of the most monstrous political regimes in history. As Isaiah Berlin wrote, it was “Europe’s most dreadful century.”
From Hitler in Nazi Germany to Stalin in the Soviet Union, brutal ideologies took root, armed with new tools of propaganda and surveillance. The 20th century witnessed totalitarian systems that sought to control not only speech but thought. Yet it was during this same century that modern journalism evolved into a global force.
The pressures of war accelerated journalistic innovation. In the trenches of World War I and II, reporters shaped the “inverted pyramid” — writing their most important points first, knowing that telegraph wires could be cut at any moment. These innovations weren’t just stylistic; they were born of necessity. They reshaped how we communicate under pressure and became the architecture of modern newswriting.
In the wake of two world wars and waves of decolonization, journalism became essential to rebuilding and democratizing societies. Even as dictators rose again in various forms — under the banners of fascism, communism, or nationalism — a free press remained a powerful check on abuse. The growth of press freedom was one of the 20th century’s most meaningful achievements.
Even today, despite setbacks, many indicators show that life on Earth has improved. In a 2015 Munk Debate in Canada, psychologist Steven Pinker made a controversial case: that by nearly every measurable metric — lifespan, literacy, health, security, gender equality — human life has advanced.
He cited data showing that the global average lifespan has risen from 30 to over 70 years; extreme poverty has fallen from 85 percent of the global population to less than 10 percent; and global violence, war, and crime have declined in many regions. These changes were not just due to economic shifts, but to the spread of knowledge and information — the ability of people to know what is happening in their world and demand better.
Which is why the story of press freedom in Afghanistan is so tragic — and so urgent.
Afghanistan’s journey with media has been marked by turbulence. If we trace it from the first issue of Seraj-ul-Akhbar in 1905 under Abdul Raouf Kandahari — quickly censored and shut — through Mahmoud Tarzi’s reformist revival of the paper in 1911, we see how fragile and contested the space for free expression has always been. Religious conservatism and authoritarian regimes have taken turns suppressing that space.
In modern times, Afghanistan saw two notable openings: the constitutional decade of the 1960s, and the republican period from 2001 to 2021. The latter was especially vibrant. Hundreds of outlets, radio and television stations, online platforms, and investigative journalists emerged. Women joined the profession in unprecedented numbers. Critical reporting reached rural areas and international audiences alike.
But it was short-lived. The fall of Kabul in August 2021 brought a swift reversal.
Within just three months, the Taliban forced the closure of 43 percent of Afghan media outlets. By six months, that number had climbed to over 50 percent. In at least 17 provinces today, there is no visual media at all. What remains is tightly controlled and used as a vehicle for state messaging.
The Taliban treat journalism as a threat, not a public good. They have banned images of living beings from TV broadcasts, restricted female journalists from working, and surveil and punish reporters who deviate from the approved narrative. Independent media have either shut down or become unrecognizable — drained of content, voice, and credibility.
There are echoes here of other totalitarian regimes. In 1984, George Orwell’s imagined “Ministry of Truth” controlled the population by rewriting facts and manufacturing lies. In today’s Afghanistan, the Ministry of Information and Culture performs a similar function. It tells citizens what to believe. It criminalizes dissent. It chooses which voices get heard.
And yet, journalism endures — because truth is stubborn.
Even under this new regime, Afghan journalists continue to report — in secret, in exile, under threat. Some publish from abroad. Others share news anonymously. A handful remain inside the country, trying to keep the flame alive. But the cost is high. The space is shrinking. And the silence is growing louder.
The Afghan people deserve better. Our history proves that the thirst for knowledge, for participation, for truth — has always been part of our identity. Even when crushed, it resurfaces.
The international community must not look away. Solidarity is not enough. There must be pressure. There must be support — financial, legal, technological — for Afghan journalists, especially women, working in exile or underground. There must be red lines. And there must be accountability.
World Press Freedom Day is not a celebration. It is a checkpoint — a reminder of how far we’ve come and how far we still must go.
In Afghanistan, the lights of press freedom may have dimmed — but they have not gone out.
Ahmad Azizi is a journalist with extensive experience reporting across Afghanistan’s media outlets.
The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Amu.
