The morning light in Addis Ababa often arrives softly, sliding across hills and concrete, catching antennas and minarets before settling into the streets. Radios hum awake, papers are unfolded, and the quiet labor of telling the world what happened yesterday begins again. It is in this ordinary rhythm—so familiar it almost disappears—that absence is first noticed. A desk left unused. A voice no longer calling in from the field. The quiet can feel heavier than noise.
This week, that quiet widened when Ethiopia’s authorities withdrew the press accreditation of journalists working for Reuters. The decision, communicated through official channels, removed the legal permission required for the reporters to operate in the country, effectively ending their ability to gather news on the ground. The agency said it had been informed that the accreditation had been revoked, without a public explanation that matched the gravity of the move.
Such administrative gestures often arrive wrapped in procedural language, but their effects ripple outward. Accreditation is the thin card that allows a journalist to cross checkpoints, attend briefings, speak openly, and remain present without fear of sudden expulsion. Without it, reporting becomes a shadow exercise—fragmented, distant, and uncertain. In Ethiopia, where recent years have been shaped by conflict, humanitarian strain, and political recalibration, access itself has become part of the story.
The government has previously pushed back against international coverage it considers inaccurate or unbalanced, particularly during periods of unrest. Officials have emphasized national sovereignty and the need for responsible reporting, arguing that narratives formed abroad can distort local realities. In this framing, the removal of credentials is presented as a corrective act, a tightening of the lens through which the country is viewed.
Yet for many observers, the decision echoes a broader pattern felt across parts of the continent and beyond, where the space for independent journalism narrows quietly rather than collapsing all at once. It is rarely marked by dramatic raids or public trials. More often, it is the slow erosion of permissions, the revocation of visas, the unanswered email requesting renewal. Each step is small; together, they redraw the boundaries of what can be seen.
For Reuters, one of the world’s largest wire services, the loss of accredited reporters in Ethiopia means relying more heavily on sources at a distance—official statements, regional contacts, satellite images, and secondhand accounts. For readers elsewhere, it means a country of more than 120 million people becomes slightly harder to understand, its daily complexities filtered through fewer direct witnesses.
In Addis Ababa, life continues as it always does. Buses surge forward in the afternoon heat. Coffee beans crackle in small roadside roasters. Conversations unfold in cafés, rich with opinion and humor. But the absence of certain observers subtly changes how these moments travel beyond the city’s limits. Some stories will still be told; others will remain local, untransmitted, like songs sung only once.
As the news settles, there is no single dramatic endpoint—only the fact itself. Ethiopia has withdrawn the accreditation of Reuters journalists, and with it, a particular channel between the country and the wider world has narrowed. In an era defined by noise and speed, the significance lies not in what was said loudly, but in what may now go unwritten.
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Sources Reuters Committee to Protect Journalists Human Rights Watch Ethiopian government statements