On that partly cloudy yet ominous day, Carlos Calony and the cameraman from JoyNews, a division of the Multimedia Group, calmly carried their camera, microphone, and phones to report on the ongoing “deconstruction” of a warehouse situated on a disputed piece of land along Spintex Road.
Little did they know that they would become the story, rather than tell it. The news bearers were transformed into the newsmakers.
A soldier decided, in that moment, to invert the natural order—choosing instead to make the reporter the subject of the news.
Beaten. Arrested. Forcefully removed from the scene. Driven away to an undisclosed detention facility.
What, then, was Mr Calony’s crime?
The dictionary defines a crime as “an action or omission which constitutes an offence and is punishable by law.”
A breakdown of that definition reveals the following:
- Action or Omission: Crimes involve acts committed (such as theft) or failures to act when duty demands.
- Contrary to Law: These acts must be expressly prohibited—whether by statute, regulation or common law.
- Harm or Damage: Crimes typically involve injury to persons (e.g., assault), damage to property (e.g., vandalism), or loss (e.g., fraud).
- Punishment: Our legal system prescribes penalties, from fines and community service to imprisonment.
So again, what crime did Mr Calony commit? Under what legal authority did the uniformed officer feel emboldened to act as judge, jury, and enforcer?
Journalism: never a crime
From dawn till dusk, Ghanaian journalists labour to fulfil three constitutionally enshrined duties: to inform, to educate, and to entertain. All in a bid to contribute their quota towards the construction of a just, enlightened, and progressive Ghana—the Ghana envisioned by all well-meaning citizens.
In the intricate tapestry of Ghanaian life, the journalist is not an interloper, but a critical thread—one who weaves the narratives that bind society together.
Ours is a sacred trust—handed down through generations and carried into the future—a solemn commitment to illuminate the shadows, to amplify the whispers of the voiceless, and to scrutinise power under the ever-vigilant journalistic lens.
And yet, the ink from our pens, the words that traverse screens and scroll across platforms, are increasingly met with cold hostility and chilling retribution.
So again, what is the crime?
The hands that seek only to inform, to enlighten, and to empower have been met with iron cuffs. The open laptops, the digital recorders, the poised microphones—all silenced by fear. The noble quest for truth obstructed by the creeping shadows of impunity.
When Mr Calony’s cameraman’s camera hit the ground, it captured nothing—its lens darkened, its view extinguished. The journalist’s only weapon had fallen.
And in that power vacuum, the assailant struck—unafraid, undeterred, unpunished.
We comfort ourselves too often with the refrain “Never Again”. But the callous among us have stripped the phrase of its first word. And “again” repeats. And repeats. And repeats—without restraint.
This is not the Ghana our forebears fought for. This is not the promise carved into the tablets of our national identity.
For any nation to truly thrive, its people must be nourished by unfiltered truth—a truth that blossoms only in the fertile soil of a free press.
Journalism is not a crime. It is the lifeblood of democracy, the oxygen of liberty, the sentinel that guards against the encroaching night of misinformation, abuse, and injustice.
A society that criminalises journalism commits a slow, tragic suicide. It blinds itself to its own failings, denies itself the tools for reform, and snuffs out the candles of conscience lit by those called to report.
May the dark pages of our past remind us that the suppression of truth is always the first act of tyranny.
Journalists are not enemies of the people; they are the people’s fiercest allies. The steady eyes that scrutinise power, ensuring the scales of justice remain in equilibrium.
The blow of impunity: a cry from the heart
The cold grip of unlawful arrest. The bruises of physical assault. The quiet torment of psychological abuse. The insidious venom of online harassment. These are the weapons wielded against those who dare to speak truth to power.
Each assault on a Ghanaian journalist is not just an attack on a lone individual—it is a violation of every citizen’s fundamental right to be informed. It is a rip in the very fabric of our democracy.
The impunity that surrounds these assaults casts a long and dangerous shadow. When those who brutalise the press walk free, a chilling message is sent: that truth can be silenced; that accountability is optional.
This breeds fear. Journalists begin to self-censor. Vital stories go untold. And the public, denied full sight, must navigate a fog of half-truths and hidden motives.
The emotional toll is immense. These brave professionals step out daily with little more than notebooks, cameras, and microphones. They know full well that their mission might lead to injury, to arrest, to shattered livelihoods, or to the anguish of their families.
And yet, they press on—propelled by duty, by conviction, and by a deep belief in the sacred right to know.
That courage must be met with protection—not persecution.
Let us not forget Latiff Iddrisu of the Multimedia Group, viciously assaulted for merely doing his job. Or Emmanuel Ajafor Abugri, unlawfully detained and threatened while investigating a story. Or Kwabena Banahene of the EIB Network, slapped by a senior police officer. The list continues.
This year alone, no fewer than 12 Ghanaian journalists have faced harrowing attacks.
These are not anomalies. They are scars upon our national conscience.
Each time a journalist is attacked and the perpetrators roam free, it affirms a terrible truth: that some believe violence can erase accountability. That silence can substitute for justice.
But let the spirit of Ubuntu guide us. An attack on one is an attack on all. When a journalist’s voice is extinguished, our collective voice is diminished.
A call to courage, a pledge of protection: a spiritual plea
The time for silence has passed. The hour of indifference is over.
The drumbeat of Ghanaian democracy calls us to rise—to shield the truth-tellers, to stand with the guardians of public accountability.
We must amplify their voices. Fortify their safety. Protect their right to tell the stories that shape our lives.
To our brothers and sisters in the security services, we appeal with utmost respect and unwavering hope: recognise the irreplaceable role of a free media in a free society. See not a threat in the journalist, but a partner in the just nation we all seek.
Your duty to protect must include them, as it includes us all.
Hold yourselves to the highest standards. Investigate every incident of abuse. Deliver justice with urgency and integrity.
To our fellow citizens: become defenders of press freedom. Demand transparency. Challenge the culture of impunity. Let your voice echo in defence of the truth-tellers.
To Ghana’s journalists: your bravery is a national treasure. Continue to shine your light into the corners others fear to tread. Continue to amplify the unheard. Know this—you do not stand alone. We stand with you.
Let the world see a Ghana where the pen is mightier than the sword. Where truth is not punished but protected.
Let ours be a land where journalism is not a crime—but a cornerstone of democracy, a beacon of freedom, and a testament to the enduring power of information in building a better tomorrow.
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