Censorship and Freedom of Expression

Nolan Quinn contributed to this post. Twitter and other social media platforms have suspended or restricted President Donald J. Trump's access, mostly because of his and his followers’ use of them to incite violence, though their stated, precise reasons vary from one to another. They are all private companies, and thus are subject to few restrictions [PDF] on what content they choose to moderate or remove. Mainstream American opinion is outraged over the assault on the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C. on January 6 and many Americans are incensed by related efforts to suborn the Constitution in blocking the certification of President-Elect Joseph Biden’s electoral victory. Barring the president from social media platforms has not been seen as an infringement on his constitutional right to free speech. The legal argument runs that companies are free to enforce their own standards and policies regarding the content they host. Further, President Trump remains free to make his views known by the myriad other means of mass communication that exist in the United States such as the press, television, radio, and other social media sites. Polling data shows [PDF] that a majority of Americans do indeed favor increased regulation of social media. But reactions to the moves by Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, and others to limit Trump’s social media access have followed a familiar partisan split. An ongoing debate about how much governments should regulate social media and what the boundaries are (or should be) between free speech and incitement to hatred and violence has been made more pressing by the events of January 6. This same debate is underway in sub-Saharan Africa, where social media is of growing importance and other types of media are weak or even absent. In some states trending toward authoritarianism or worse—Uganda, Tanzania, and Ethiopia, for example—regimes seek to limit social media to enhance their power by muzzling the opposition. But in others, especially those riven by ethnic and religious conflict, there is legitimate concern that media, now including social media, are a means to incite violence.  Nigeria is a case in point. The country is besieged by an Islamist revolt in the northeast, conflict over land and water in the middle of the country that often acquires an ethnic and religious coloration, and a low-level insurrection in the oil patch. The government is weak and commands little popular support. Under these circumstances, Nigeria is ripe for social media incitement to violence. Weak African governments are often heavy-handed and resort to draconian punishments which are difficult to carry out in practice; their responses to incendiary social media posts have been no different. In Nigeria, the government has introduced legislation to regulate social media that includes the death penalty for certain types of violations. Human rights organizations, many of which are suspicious the administration of Muhammadu Buhari is moving towards authoritarianism, see the legislation as infringing on free speech and stifling the ability to criticize the government. In Nigeria, as elsewhere in Africa, while social media is strong, more conventional media is less so. Hence restrictions on access to social media would, indeed, impede the flow of news and information to a greater extent than in the United States. Though it remains to be seen, major social media platforms’ barring of Donald Trump is likely to be cited in the Nigerian debate by those that favor the proposed legislation. In commentary by outside friends of Nigeria, it will be important not to impose on Nigeria the circumstances of the United States, which are not necessarily parallel.

Nolan Quinn contributed to this post. Omoyele Sowore, human rights activist and former presidential candidate of the African Action Congress, was arrested New Year’s Eve following a peaceful protest in the capital, Abuja. According to Nigerian media, he has been denied bail and arraigned at the Magistrate Court in Abuja; he and other activists are now being held in Kuje prison. Initially he and a small group of fellow protestors were taken to Abattoir police station, formerly a facility of the Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS), the police unit whose brutality ignited the October anti-SARS protests in Lagos that led to the notorious police murder of protestors at the Lekki Toll Gate. (Abattoir is the formal name of the police station, which is situated in a defunct abattoir.) SARS has officially been disbanded, but critics fear that it has merely been reconstituted with a new name. Though he has been a thorn in the side of the Buhari administration, why did the police arrest Sowore in the aftermath of a small, peaceful protest? He is an internationally known human rights activist and founder of Sahara Reporters, a well-regarded news site based in New York. He is a permanent resident of the United States; his family lives in New Jersey. His 2019 detention of 144 days without charge attracted the protest of Sen. Bob Menendez (D-NJ). Sowore is a fierce critic of Nigeria's political economy in general and President Muhammadu Buhari in particular. He has called for a “revolution” and organized peaceful protests across the nation. Some critics see his use of “revolution” as evidence that he is trying to overthrow the government extralegally, though his protests have been peaceful. He is at present charged with “treason” and had been out on bail following his previous arrest; one of the conditions was that he could not leave Abuja. Just before New Year's he was calling for nationwide “crossover protests” against bad government, the Lekki massacre, and other human rights grievances. In Nigeria and elsewhere in Africa, opposition to a government may be construed as treason. Because the protests were to be nationwide, the authorities (or some of them) may have seen Sowore as violating the provision of his parole that restricts him to Abuja even though he had not left the city. For them, that could be a pretext for jailing him. From media accounts, the arrests were heavy-handed: multiple police vans appeared and Sowore is reported to have been beaten.  Many of those who benefit from Nigeria's political economy, not least the police, detest Sowore. Instigation for his arrest could have a variety of sources, not necessarily including the presidency. The episode, if not quickly resolved, could further damage Nigeria's international reputation—particularly among the diaspora living in the United States. The incoming Biden administration has signaled that it will be deeply concerned about human rights issues. The arrest of Sowore and the denial of bail is a poor representation of Nigeria to the incoming administration.

There are signs that as the Nigerian army and the police continue to fail to meet the security needs of the Nigerian people, they will turn toward repression. In November, Chief of Army Staff Tukur Buratai called on all troops to put themselves in a “war mode.” An internal army communication obtained by the media exhorted Nigerian soldiers to treat all individuals in the region where Boko Haram is active as suspected jihadis until they are “properly identified.” The door is opening to yet more human rights abuses by the security services. Fears that the Buhari government may revive shelved legislation that would seek greater control over social media—including the death penalty for spreading “fake news,” as defined by the government—are also surfacing. Meanwhile, the Coalition of Northern Groups (CNG), a civil society organization that focuses on the welfare of northern Nigerians, is calling on local communities to defend themselves against Boko Haram and “bandits” because the Buhari government is failing to protect them. Last week, before the resolution of the kidnapping of hundreds of schoolboys at Kankara, CNG’s national coordinator said “northern Nigeria has been abandoned at the mercy of various insurgents, bandits, kidnappers, armed robbers, rapists, and an assortment of hardened criminals,” with a “huge vacuum in the political will and capacity of government to challenge” such violent actors. Around the country, numerous state governors are organizing and supporting more-or-less informal militias, ostensibly in support of the army and the police. In the current climate, such groups are likely now acting independently more often than in conjunction with security forces. Some evidence suggests that security service abuses contribute to the alienation of the population from the government, helping drive jihadi recruitment. With the growth of militias, the Nigerian state is losing an attribute of sovereignty: a monopoly on the legal use of violence. The government is also failing to fulfill its obligation to provide security for its people.

President Trump has threatened to veto a major defense funding bill over a law that protects social media companies from liability for what their users post. Why is it controversial?  

Human rights advocates in Nigeria and abroad are concerned that the Buhari administration is adopting a policy of repression following the demonstrations against abuses by the police’s Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS). The October demonstrations ignited in Lagos and later spread to other cities. The centerpiece was the police killing of a dozen demonstrators at the Lekki Toll Gate on October 20. Initially, the Buhari administration promised to abolish SARS, as had some of its predecessors. Vice President Osinbajo said that the government accepted responsibility for police brutality and affirmed that dialogue was the way forward. Thus far, however, there has been no public accounting for the Lekki Toll Gate killings or, more broadly, for police human rights abuses. Nor is there a public dialogue. Whether SARS has been disbanded or merely rebranded is unclear. The demonstrations, the largest since 2012, have fizzled out; how and why is not clear and would require studying. A strong law-and-order response, or repression, has played a role. According to Nigerian media, the bank accounts of twenty activists have been frozen for 180 days, pending "an investigation." The passport of at least one human rights lawyer was seized. A few days later, it was returned without explanation. Support for the demonstrations could have been weaker than appeared at the time. The demonstrations were concentrated in the south, especially Lagos, and among youth who adopted the rhetoric and style of the Black Lives Matter protests in the United States. At least at first, the demonstrators appeared to be relatively privileged. (Poor people in Nigeria do not have bank accounts that can be frozen.) The Nigerian diaspora, especially in the United Kingdom and the United States, vocally supported the demonstrations. However, SARS is not as hated in other parts of the country as it is in Lagos and the south. Demonstrations in the predominantly Muslim north were not extensive. Over time, broader support for the demonstrators appears to have melted away. The demonstrations had no designated leaders and no equivalent of a politburo. Demonstrations started spontaneously and were coordinated by social media. This decentralization at first appeared to be a source of strength: the movement had no leaders that the authorities could pick off. However, over time, it could have inhibited the sustainability of the protests much beyond a relatively narrow demographic. The Buhari administration is already being accused of repression. Muhammadu Buhari was among the military offices that overthrew the civilian government of Shehu Shagari and he was military chief of state from 1983 to 1985, when he, in turn, was overthrown in another military coup. As military chief of state, he was known for his "war against indiscipline," which many Nigerians, especially in Lagos, found repressive. Even after he was elected civilian president a generation later in 2015, some Nigerians are suspicious that he remains authoritarian at heart.

What can the quick rise—and equally quick fall—of a state-approved app that allows Chinese netizens limited access to western social media tell us about the CCP’s evolving approach to information, censorship, and internet governance?

Tear gas is banned in international warfare, and its health risks are well-documented. Still, it remains a crowd-control agent of choice for police worldwide.

In response to internet censorship by governments across the continent, Africans have turned to technologies of freedom to access blocked content online.

Maurice Kamto is the leader of the Cameroon Renaissance Movement (MRC) and was the main challenger in Cameroon’s 2018 presidential election. He was imprisoned by the government from January to October in 2019. Nearly one year ago, on August 2, 2019, journalist Samuel Ajiekah Abuwe—better known as Wazizi—was arrested and detained by government forces in Buea, located in the South-West region of Cameroon. Since 2017, Buea has been home to unrelenting violence between the government and separatist fighters. For three hundred days after his arrest, despite numerous domestic and international calls to produce Wazizi, authorities in Cameroon remained silent about his fate. This detention was indeed a textbook case of enforced disappearance. Despite holding out bleak hopes that Wazizi might eventually emerge alive, our worst fears came true when we learned he had died in custody following torture.  Like many other critics in Cameroon—including additional journalists—Wazizi was accused of “collaborating with separatists,” though his lawyers claim he had not been charged with any offense prior to his disappearance. I personally experienced this treatment. In early 2019, I was charged by a military court with rebellion and “hostility to the homeland” after my political party—the Cameroon Renaissance Movement (CRM)—staged peaceful protests in major cities, following a rigged presidential election in October 2018. Since that time, I have been repeatedly intimidated by the government and its associated militia groups, often being threatened with arrest and death. Luckily, I am alive today and can raise my voice, while Wazizi can no longer. His commitment to basic freedoms, and his legacy, will surely live on. Importantly as well, his death at the hands of Cameroonian authorities raises major questions about the future of our country. Just last week—for the second year in a row—Cameroon topped the Norwegian Refugee Council’s list of “most neglected crises” worldwide. Our country is hemorrhaging under the boots of a dictatorship. More than ever, we need international assistance. Indeed, for Cameroon to meet the long-subdued aspirations of its people, we must implement a democratic agenda—a viable path forward. The situation demands leadership and it is evident that the current ruling regime is unwilling to exercise the necessary courage. First and foremost, all political prisoners incarcerated in Cameroon must be released—this would include Ayuk Tabe, the Anglophone separatist leader, and Mamadou Yakuba, our first Vice-President at the CRM. Secondly, to ensure that Wazizi’s death is not in vain, the government and key political and civic actors, should agree to a consensual political roadmap that principally includes an overhaul of the electoral system to end the ongoing post-electoral crisis. Lastly, we must agree to definitively end our country’s ongoing civil war in the Anglophone regions. Too often over the years, the government has used conflict to justify the incarceration of journalists like Wazizi and opposition leaders like myself and my colleagues. This is why the international community must organize an all-inclusive dialogue with Cameroonian leaders across the political spectrum. This initiative would ideally fall under the auspices of the United Nations and cooperate directly with African Union leadership and Cameroon’s development partners. For now, it is not yet too late to act. But act we must.

Yesterday (U.S. time), editor Maria Ressa, one of the most prominent journalists in the Philippines, and indeed in the world—she was selected as one of Time’s people of the year in 2018 and featured on its cover—was found guilty by a Philippine court on charges of cyber libel. The charges related to a story about the former chief justice of the Philippines’ top court. Reynaldo Santos Jr., who wrote the story, also was found guilty of cyber libel. Though the two were released on bail, they face up to six years in jail on the charges. The charges are extremely controversial. The story Santos Jr. wrote actually was published before the Philippines even had a cyber-libel law, and Santos Jr. and editor Ressa were charged after Rappler, their publication, updated the article online to fix a typo after the law came in effect. The cyber-libel law is also easily used to try to silence independent journalists. And Ressa faces a load of other charges too, which seem designed to silence her and Rappler. The Guardian notes: Ressa also faces another libel prosecution, two criminal cases alleging illegal foreign ownership in her companies, and investigations into her old tax returns. The various allegations made against Ressa could lead to about 100 years in prison. After a career at CNN, Ressa, a dual citizen of the Philippines and the United States, now runs Rappler, one of the toughest, most groundbreaking, and independent reporting outlets in the Philippines, a country with a tradition of a vibrant press—and also of brutal crackdowns on journalists. Reporters Without Borders regularly ranks the Philippines as one of the most dangerous places in Asia to work as a journalist, and in 2009 the country witnessed what the Committee to Project Journalists has called the worst single massacre of journalists in history, when 34 journalists (and 58 people total) were slain in Maguindanao province. Journalists throughout the country are regularly threatened by local politicians and businesspeople, and often attacked. Even given this history, since Rodrigo Duterte’s election as president in 2016, the situation for the press has worsened. Under Duterte, the Philippine government has worked to suffocate the free press more than under any Philippine president since dictator Ferdinand Marcos. For years Duterte has been targeting Rappler, which has aggressively reported on the massive number of extrajudicial killings and other abuses in Duterte’s drug “war.” And for years he has singled out journalists for verbal abuse, and suggested that journalists could be assassinated.  But overall, this effort against the press seems to have been ramped up in recent months, as the coronavirus pandemic has allowed Duterte—like many other illiberal leaders—to amass greater powers and crack down on all sorts of opposition. The legislature, controlled by Duterte allies, has passed an anti-terror law so broad it could be used to potentially detain a vast array of people without charges, including journalists. Last month, the Duterte administration effectively shut down ABS-CBN, one of the most important broadcast networks in the country, and one that also had reported independently about the president. Now, a guilty verdict against Maria Ressa, probably the most famous journalist in the Philippines and someone with a high-profile international legal team and extensive networks of allies around the world, must surely suggest to lower-profile journalists, and anyone in civil society in the Philippines, that no one in the country is safe. Ressa’s case also illustrates the rapidly deteriorating climate for press freedom across Southeast Asia, where governments are backsliding from democracy, and cracking down on reporters in numerous ways—trends that have increased since the outbreak of COVID-19. In Myanmar, the National League for Democracy-led government has aggressively tried to curtail independent journalism, while autocratic governments like Vietnam have aggressively pursued writers and bloggers, and Cambodia’s government has destroyed most of the country’s independent press. Overall, in the past two years, Reporters Without Borders has reported declines in press freedom in many Asian states, including the Philippines, Myanmar, and Singapore. Since the COVID-19 outbreak, as The Economist reports, Indonesia and Malaysia, two of the freer countries in Southeast Asia, have been arresting people for supposedly spreading false stories about COVID-19, and the Malaysian government is investigating a reporter for the South China Morning Post for reporting on COVID-19.    Now, an emboldened Duterte, empowered by the COVID-19 emergency, is likely to take further steps to crush press freedom in the Philippines.

Southeast Asia has never been an easy environment for reporters. The region contains two of the most repressive states in the world, Laos and Vietnam, which are ranked by Freedom House as “not free” in terms of freedom of the press. Less repressive regional states, like the Philippines and Thailand, still are difficult, often highly dangerous places to work in journalism. The Philippines has one of the highest numbers of journalists killed of any country in the world, and the International Federation of Journalists actually ranks the country worse, in terms of impunity for attacks on the media, than states like Cambodia whose overall media climate is more constrained. At least thirteen journalists have been killed in attacks related to their work since Rodrigo Duterte became president in 2016, but even before Duterte, killings of journalists were common in the country. Most infamously, in 2009 the Philippines witnessed what is considered the deadliest single attack on journalists in history, when thirty-two reporters and other media workers were killed in a massacre in the southern Philippines, along with twenty-five other people. Yet even by the region’s already-low standards, press freedom has taken a hit in Southeast Asia over the past two years. The decline in press freedom is one sign of the region’s overall political backsliding, with Malaysia and Timor-Leste being notable exceptions. Beyond the broader political backsliding, countries in the region have taken advantage of international disinterest in press freedom, and growing global concerns about disinformation, to use laws about online speech against journalists, or to pass new laws that could make it harder to report. The region’s worst offenders, like Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam, have remained just as closed, if not more so, for journalists than they were in the middle of the decade. But the freer states have cracked down on reporters as well. It appears that in his second term in office Indonesian President Joko Widodo will be no more committed to rights and freedoms than he was in his first term. Last week, for instance, the Indonesian government released an American journalist, Philip Jacobson, from prison on a visa violation and reportedly planned to deport him—though he remains under city arrest in Central Kalimantan as of this time. Jacobson works for a groundbreaking environmental reporting site, Mongabay, that often reported on thorny issues in Indonesia like graft, the Jokowi administration’s environmental record, and the powerful palm oil lobby. Jacobson had been arrested because the government claimed he was doing reporting while traveling on a business visa, but he had been in Indonesia to attend a conference, and the arrest was condemned by international press freedom organizations. His arrest was part of a broader trend in the country; press freedom has declined under Jokowi. Press have largely been banned from West Papua, journalists regularly face intimidation from the security forces, and the stepped-up enforcement of blasphemy laws chills reporting as well. In Myanmar, the Philippines, and Thailand press freedom also is getting worse. Both the Myanmar military and the civilian government led by Aung San Suu Kyi have tried to crack down on journalists, often by accusing them of defamation under a section of the draconian Telecommunications Act. Myanmar’s score in Reporters without Borders’ annual press freedom index has dropped in the past three years, in part also because of the jailing of two Reuters reporters. In the Philippines, while reporting was dangerous before the Duterte administration, Duterte’s administration has singled out journalists as enemies of the state and specifically targeted some of the most prominent journalists in the country, like the outlet Rappler and its head, Maria Ressa, which published multiple exposes of the Duterte administration’s war on drugs. And in Thailand, journalists from neighboring states have been abducted, while the government has suspended critical outlets like Voice TV, intimidated journalists, and used every tool possible to shut down independent reporters.

In the immediate aftermath of the State Security Service’s invasion of an Abuja court room and its re-arrest of Nigerian journalist Omoyele Sowore, the Lagos daily newspaper the Punch announced that it will prefix President Muhammadu Buhari’s name with his military rank, Major General, and will refer to his administration as a “regime,” until “they purge themselves of their insufferable contempt for the rule of law.” In its announcement, Punch draws parallels between Buhari’s government and his “ham-fisted military junta in 1984/85,” when he was military chief of state. For Punch the “regime’s actions and assaults on the courts, disobedience of court orders and arbitrary detention of citizens reflect the true character of the martial culture.” The Punch announcement also attacks the military and the police because they “fail to understand that peaceful agitation and the right to associate are fundamental rights.” In addition to Sowore, Punch refers specifically to the detention of the leader of the Islamic Movement of Nigeria, Ibrahim el-Zakzaky, and his wife, and of former National Security Advisor Sambo Dasuki, all in violation of various court orders. It also refers to various governors that have sought to curtail media freedom and the right to demonstrate. Punch claims to be the largest circulation daily in Nigeria. In addition to the daily, it publishes Saturday Punch, Sunday Punch, Punch Sports Extra, and digital platforms, of which the best known is Punchng.com. During the period of military rule, Punch was known for its democratic and human rights activism. The military closed it three times and imprisoned its editor and deputy editor. It remains to be seen how the Buhari government will respond. The newspaper is based in Lagos, and it and its readership has long been critical of northern Nigerian governance. Its criticism of Buhari is not surprising, but it is worth noting that Zakzaky and Dasuki are both northern Muslims. What is different this time is the parallelism between military rule and Buhari’s civilian administration. Buhari’s supporters are likely to find the Punch stance infuriating. Nigeria’s foreign friends will be hoping that the government takes no move to limit Punch’s freedom of expression. The SSS assault on a court room and the re-arrest of Sowore has already damaged the country’s international reputation. 

On December 6, the Department of State Security (DSS) stormed into an Abuja courtroom and illegally detained journalist Omoyele Sowore. The episode is deeply disappointing to American friends of Nigeria who are invested in that country’s democratic trajectory. The DSS flagrantly violated the rule of law and the sanctity of a courtroom by violently manhandling Sowore and causing the judge to flee her own chambers. The episode unfurled in full view of national and international media, dragging Nigeria’s international reputation through the mud. Sowore is a Nigerian citizen, but his wife and children are American citizens. He lives in New Jersey, where he publishes the well-regarded online newspaper “Sahara Reporters.” New Jersey’s two senators have issued blistering statements on his arrest. Senator Bob Menendez characterized Sowore’s seizure as a “blatant miscarriage of Justice…symptomatic of closing political and media space in Nigeria.” He promised to work with the American ambassador in Nigeria to secure Sowore’s release. Sen. Corey Booker, a candidate for the Democratic presidential nomination, called on Nigeria to “cease its attacks on freedom of expression.” The U.S. State Department tweeted “respect for the rule of law, judicial independence, political and media freedom, and due process are key tenets of #democracy.” Others denouncing the episode have included Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka and Amnesty International.  On Monday in Nigeria, a coalition of civil society organizations issued an ultimatum, promising mass protests if their demands are not met in fourteen days. Among other things, they are asking the government release detained journalists, obey court orders, and stop restricting free speech. The Punch, a daily Nigerian newspaper, published a scathing article detailing the Buhari administrations past abuses against other journalists and public figures. The newspaper promised that, henceforth, in all of its publications, it will refer to Buhari by his military rank, major general, and to his administration as a regime.  Sowore has long been a democratic activist and a thorn in the side of Nigerian governments, and Sahara Reporters regularly reports on the corruption of Nigerian political figures. In 2019, Sowore ran unsuccessfully for the presidency. In the aftermath of those flawed elections, he organized a protest dubbed “Revolution Now,” and called for “Days of Rage.” This seems to be the nominal basis for his arrest, with the government in response accusing him of treason and seeking to overthrow the government, among other fanciful charges.  The Nigerian government’s response thus far has been lame: Garba Shehu, media spokesman for President Muhammadu Buhari, excused DSS by saying that Sowore is a “person of interest” and DSS accordingly acted properly. In fact, this latest episode is the culmination of months of extra-legal government steps against Sowore. The DSS has refused to release him on bail twice, contrary to court orders. Further, there have been numerous attacks on journalists, and there is a bill in the National Assembly that would make “hate speech” a capital offense. In January, for example, security services stormed multiple offices of an influential newspaper after it had reported on military setbacks in the fight against Boko Haram. President Buhari moved quickly to end the occupation, suggesting he had lost control. It is unclear whether Sowore is being held for his political activity, his journalism, or both. In any event, the episode is a public relations disaster for the Buhari administration. Either the administration is, indeed, moving to restrict freedom of the press in Nigeria or the DSS is operating outside the president’s authority. Either is bad for Nigeria. 

Last week, when U.S. Ambassador to Zambia Daniel Foote expressed his dismay about a Zambian court ruling sentencing two men to fifteen years in prison for the crime of conducting a same-sex relationship, Zambian President Edgar Lungu was quick to take offense. He and his administration rebuked Foote, claiming that the American diplomat’s remarks were disrespectful and constituted inappropriate interference in internal affairs. In response, Ambassador Foote released a remarkable statement, that goes well beyond defending the rights of the LGBTQ community in Zambia, also noting the government’s lack of transparency regarding state corruption and the pall cast broadly over freedom of expression throughout the country. The dust-up is revealing. Lungu welcomes the chance to cast himself as a defender of Zambian values and of Christianity itself, in part because this narrative distracts from desperate efforts by Zambian civil society to protect what is left of civil and political rights in the country. For years, Lungu and his inner circle have been shrinking political space, harassing political opponents, and silencing the independent press. Now they are pressing for passage of Bill 10, a package of constitutional changes that would dramatically strengthen the power of the presidency. In the meantime, Zambia’s economic growth is anemic, government debt has soared to staggering levels, and the country is struggling to cope with drought and draconian power cuts. It’s easier to rally support for a firm hand at the top by vilifying minorities and appealing to prejudice than it is to run on the record or try to convince citizens that the country is on the right track. It’s also interesting to note that Ambassador Foote’s statement suggests that the United States’ generous record of providing foreign assistance to Zambia gives it special standing to raise concerns about Zambia’s direction. It is undoubtedly true that healthy, productive development partnerships require honesty and shared commitment, and that major assistance donors may have more leverage to press their case than others. But it is important to remember that that there is no required price of admission to defend human rights, to shed light on corruption, or to defend democracy. Governments, civil society organizations, and individuals speak out against injustice at home and abroad because they believe it is the right thing to do. Often voices in the United States and elsewhere complain about the reluctance of African leaders to condemn or even acknowledge state-sponsored abuses in their neighbors. The United States should be careful not to suggest that it’s the act of providing development assistance that gives one license to do the right thing.

Jeffrey Smith is the founding director of Vanguard Africa, a nonprofit organization that partners with African leaders to advocate for free and fair elections and ethical leadership. On November 7, a Magistrates Court in Tanzania postponed for the seventh time the case of journalist Erick Kabendera, who has voiced criticism of the country’s president, John Pombe Magufuli. After initially being violently abducted from his home and later investigated over his citizenship status, Mr. Kabendera is now facing a host of economic charges, including “assisting an organized crime racket” and money laundering.  The multiple court postponements are the ostensible result of still “incomplete investigations” on the part of the government, as no evidence has yet been produced by prosecuting authorities. Independent lawyers, human rights groups, and press freedom organizations have rightly labeled this for what it truly is: a politically motivated show trial meant only to instill fear in would-be critics and dissidents in Tanzania. During the four-year tenure of President Magufuli, the country has moved toward full-on authoritarianism.  Since taking power following a deeply flawed election in 2015, President Magufuli and his regime have ruthlessly clamped down on the country’s media fraternity, with harassment, intimidation, arrests, and even disappearances becoming commonplace. Perhaps the most troubling example is that of investigative journalist Azory Gwanda, who this month will have been missing for two years. Draconian cybercrime laws and the effective silencing of critical newspapers and independent bloggers have led to a further deterioration of the country’s media landscape ahead of next year’s scheduled elections, according to reports by Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International, respectively.  But President Magufuli’s disregard for the basic tenets of democracy reaches well beyond the media sphere. By means of legislation, and often through extra-legal means, the regime has sought to muzzle independent voices, particularly those of the political opposition, but also members of civil society, the business community, and organized religion.  Almost invariably, critics of the Magufuli regime have been charged with non-bailable economic offenses, such as money laundering, tax evasion, or corruption. In many of these cases, assets and bank accounts have been seized or emptied without a court order. In an alarming number of instances, the government has failed to present evidence in court, resorting instead to perpetual adjournment on grounds of “incomplete investigations,” such as in the case of Mr. Kabendera. This strategy of “persecution by prosecution” is indeed a hallmark of modern dictatorships; Zimbabwe is a prime example. It often fails to garner the global attention and condemnation that baton-wielding security forces otherwise would.   The cumulative effect of Magufuli’s war on democratic freedoms has hurt Tanzania’s economy. Hundreds of vital businesses have closed down or scaled back their operations. By all independent accounts, economic growth has declined, unemployment is higher and economic hardships have worsened.  The reality of Magafuli’s authoritarian turn should be acknowledged and properly addressed. Tanzania’s main development partners, including the United States, should stand up and speak out, putting the government on notice that further repression is unacceptable. This is an especially crucial juncture for Tanzania, as the country is once again barreling toward an election. In addition, Magufuli seems to be exploring the option of staying in power beyond his constitutional mandate. Less than a year from today, Tanzanians will queue to vote in a general election. If needed reforms remain ignored, and if patriotic, independent voices like Erick Kabendera remain captive, the hopes of anything resembling a free and fair election will remain an illusion. This outcome would have wide-ranging ramifications, not only for the future of Tanzania, but also for the region—one that is desperately in need of a democratic champion.