The ongoing struggle against misinformation in Ethiopia is a harrowing tale of dedication, resilience, and immense personal sacrifice, especially for those working as fact-checkers. Imagine being a frontline soldier in a war fought with words and images, where every false post could ignite real violence, displace families, or even lead to death. This is the reality for individuals like Rehobot Ayalew and Ermias Mulugeta, who, armed with little more than sharp minds and unwavering commitment, stand against a relentless tide of deceit. Their organization, HaqCheck, found itself thrust into one of the most dangerous information environments imaginable during the 2020-2022 civil war between the Ethiopian government and Tigrayan fighters. In a nation where 130 million people rely on information, Ayalew, one of fewer than ten full-time fact-checkers, faced a monumental task. When internet and phone lines were severed, and independent reporting was largely shut down, the only fragments of information that broke through were often manipulated images and videos. Ayalew vividly remembers how a single false rumor about a rebel advance caused an entire community to flee, struggling for months for no reason. This isn’t just about correcting an error; it’s about holding back chaos, preventing panic, and saving lives in a country where the line between online rhetoric and real-world bloodshed is perilously thin.
The challenges faced by these truth-seekers are not merely technological or logistical; they are deeply human. The conflict, which tragically claimed hundreds of thousands of lives and caused a severe humanitarian crisis, exposed the fragility of peace and the devastating power of
misinformation. Even after a ceasefire in November 2022, renewed clashes reignited fears that the information vacuum and the accompanying misinformation could return, as quickly as the violence itself. Ayalew and her small team in Addis Ababa became digital detectives, meticulously sifting through a daily deluge of social media claims, often just images and videos weaponized to inflame ethnic tensions. They encountered recycled footage from other conflicts presented as current events, fabricated stories of territorial gains, and propaganda crafted to provoke fear. The case of a university professor, falsely targeted with ethnic slurs online and later murdered, tragically highlights the dire consequences of unchecked hatred amplified by social media. As Ermias Mulugeta, a research editor at HaqCheck’s parent organization, Inform Africa, profoundly puts it, “Fake information has claimed the lives of many Ethiopians. That is why fact-checking is crucial here.” Yet, their vital work often goes unsupported, underappreciated, and even actively obstructed. Independent journalism in Ethiopia is
increasingly seen as a criminal act, with journalists facing accreditation denials, travel bans, and even imprisonment for simply doing their job. This climate of fear and repression, where access to information is tightly controlled and independent reporting is stifled, creates a fertile ground for false narratives to flourish, making the fact-checkers’ work both more essential and more perilous.
One of the most paradoxical challenges is reaching the very people most affected by misinformation. With only about 21% of Ethiopia’s population having internet access, mostly in urban centers, rumors still spread like wildfire through traditional word-of-mouth networks. A lie posted on Facebook in Addis Ababa can, within days, be retold and distorted in a rural village square hundreds of miles away, transforming with each retelling. This means HaqCheck’s meticulously researched online fact-checks, available in English and Amharic, primarily reach an urban, educated, and often already skeptical audience – not the vulnerable communities most susceptible to the initial misinformation. Ayalew poignantly observes that those who were being misinformed were often the least likely to see a correction, creating a feeling of working in a vacuum. Moreover, in Ethiopia’s deeply polarized society, simply presenting facts is often not enough to settle disputes. When HaqCheck challenged claims from one side of the conflict, they were inevitably accused of bias by the other, leading Ayalew to question whether fact-checking alone could truly minimize harm in such a fraught context. This was further compounded by the fleeting hope for media freedom that emerged after Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed came to power in 2018. Mulugeta describes this period as a brief “honeymoon,” where press freedoms improved after years of repression. However, this window of opportunity slammed shut with the outbreak of the Tigray war, ushering in a renewed era of repression where journalists face threats not just from the government, but from online communities, political factions, armed groups, and even fellow journalists, forcing them to “walk on sharp rice” in their daily work.
The personal toll of this relentless struggle is immeasurable and often unspoken. Journalists and fact-checkers in Ethiopia operate under constant threat of imprisonment, harassment, and violence. Mulugeta recounts colleagues being “abducted and vanish,” only to reappear weeks later in informal prisons, denied access to legal counsel or family. Ethiopia ranks among Africa’s worst jailers of journalists, with many facing terrorism charges for their critical reporting. Beyond incarceration, there are reports of journalists being threatened with violence, like the Tigray militia threatening to shoot a journalist filming a protest, and tragic instances of journalists being gunned down or killed. This perilous environment has led to a significant exodus, with at least 54 journalists and media workers fleeing the country since 2020, highlighting the severe pressure they face and the lack of legal protection. Adding to this complex crisis are profound ethnic divisions that permeate even newsrooms. In a nation where ethnic identity heavily influences political alignment, maintaining journalistic neutrality becomes an incredibly delicate balancing act. Mulugeta confesses he often has to discern the ethnic or political allegiances embedded in reporters’ stories, as these biases can subtly shape narratives and agendas. This internal struggle, combined with external pressures, creates a harrowing landscape for those striving for factual integrity.
During intense periods of conflict, when misinformation surges dramatically, the HaqCheck team becomes overwhelmed. Their only safeguard against accusations of bias is radical transparency: every verification includes a detailed explanation of their methodology, sources, and tools. Yet, even this rigorous approach doesn’t protect them from backlash. Fact-checking government-attributed claims often drew accusations of sympathy for rebel groups, just as verifying opposition claims led to counterattacks branding them as state propagandists. Ayalew candidly admitted, “There was no winning. If you checked one side, the other side attacked you.” This constant barrage of criticism and online harassment, often from across the political and ethnic spectrum, led some staff to quit, while others disengaged to avoid becoming targets. Mulugeta notes that being labeled can lead to sustained online attacks, affecting not just the journalist but also their loved ones. For Ayalew, being attacked by both sides became a perverse validation of their impartiality, implying they were doing their job correctly. However, the attacks went beyond mere accusations of bias. As the only woman regularly hosting HaqCheck’s YouTube program, Ayalew was subjected to deeply personal, gendered abuse, with comments questioning her appearance, criticizing her for speaking about politics, and making crude sexual references, while her male colleagues went largely unchallenged. This grim reality of technology-facilitated gender-based violence, as Ayalew experienced it, opened her eyes to the dangers women face when they become visible in public discourse, especially in high-stakes, polarized environments.
Perhaps the most insidious and often overlooked crisis is the severe mental health toll on these dedicated individuals. In Ethiopia, mental health is often a taboo subject, dismissed as a luxury. Fact-checkers like Ayalew and her colleagues work long hours, immersed in violent imagery, enduring coordinated harassment, and all without adequate psychological support. During the peak of the conflict, with only a handful of fact-checkers at HaqCheck, taking a break felt impossible, a betrayal to overwhelmed colleagues. Ayalew recounts how her health deteriorated, leading to significant weight loss and eventually a diagnosis of stress-induced illness. She resigned after a doctor advised her to slow down. Other colleagues have turned to alcoholism, and Mulugeta knows a journalist who attempted suicide. Despite his repeated attempts to secure pro bono psychosocial support for his team, Mulugeta has never succeeded. The constant fear of arrest or harassment, the question of “Will I be the next?” further compounds the stress, leading to widespread burnout. Mulugeta himself once left journalism due to exhaustion, only to return like a “phoenix,” now relying on his faith to sustain him. Ayalew, too, now passionately advocates for mental health in every training she conducts, striving to break the silence that nearly broke her. The struggle is also economic and institutional. Ethiopia’s restrictive financial system makes it incredibly difficult for fact-checkers to access essential tools, making them rely on manual verification methods. Organizations like Inform Africa, once a pillar of fact-checking, are now “on hold” due to financial constraints, leaving the country with even fewer resources at a critical time. These organizations rely on unpredictable grants, which hinder their ability to staff up and respond effectively to surges in misinformation. Ayalew, now running Niqu Ethiopia, focuses on prevention through media literacy, believing that true solutions lie in healing political grievances and ethnic divisions. Despite all these hardships, Mulugeta’s love for journalism, for “voicing the voiceless” and “shedding light on issues,” keeps him going. He acknowledges that journalism doesn’t pay well and that the work is full of hardship and uncertainty, but he views it as a profound responsibility. “There is no other option,” he insists, urging young journalists to be ready for everything, stressing the importance of mental well-being, and concluding with a powerful truth: “The work matters.”