The Gambia stands at a crossroads. One path leads toward a vibrant democracy where journalists investigate without fear, where citizens debate freely online, and where power is held accountable through the light of public scrutiny. The other path, the one we have tragically walked before, descends into silence, self-censorship, and the dark comfort of authoritarian control.
The Broadcasting and Online Content Regulations (2025), together with the National Press Accreditation Policy proposed by the Ministry of Information, Media and Broadcasting Services, point ominously toward the second path. Dressed in the language of professional standards and public protection, these instruments would systematically dismantle the constitutional guarantees of free expression, media independence, and privacy that Gambians fought so hard to reclaim.
These Regulations and the Policy take the country back to 2002 when the Tinpot Dictator introduced the Media Commission Bill into law requiring media houses to register with the Commission. The Commission was given the same powers as a high court. It was only after so much relentless resistance led by journalists such as Deyda Hydara, Pap Saine, Sam Sarr, Baba Galleh Jallow and DA Jawo that in 2004 that obnoxious law was repealed. With these 2026 proposals, the aim is beyond the media but also social media and commercial content creators making these proposals even more dangerous.
The regulations introduce mandatory registration for journalists. They create a new category of “Social Media Users with Significant Public Reach” (SPURs), ordinary citizens who must now register with the state if their online following grows too large and they dare to monetize their content. They empower the Public Utilities Regulatory Authority (PURA), a body designed to oversee telephone tariffs and electricity rates, with sweeping discretionary powers over what Gambians may say, publish, or broadcast.
In effect these proposals are nothing but the architecture of control as expressed in its provisions. For example, they define “prohibited content” in language so vague that almost anything critical could be swept into its net: “graphic violence without editorial justification,” “gratuitous” sexual content, material that might “incite” or “offend.” Who decides what is justified? Who determines what is gratuitous? In practice, the Minister and PURA will decide. And when regulators hold such subjective power, journalists learn quickly which stories are safe to tell. These proposals are indeed well-documented mechanics of censorship.
The cruel irony is that these policy and regulation directly contravene the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights Declaration of Principles on Freedom of Expression, adopted right here in Banjul in 2019. That declaration, which the Gambia helped shape, affirms that freedom of expression is not a gift of the state but a fundamental right and a cornerstone of democracy. Hence these proposals are a stark betrayal of Banjul’s own principles!
International law, as interpreted by the UN Human Rights Committee, establishes a clear standard: any restriction on expression must be provided by law, serve a legitimate aim, and be strictly necessary and proportionate. The vague, sweeping prohibitions in these regulations fail every test. They are not “foreseeable”, meaning ordinary Gambians cannot reasonably predict what speech might land them in trouble. And when laws are unpredictable, self-censorship becomes the only safe strategy.
The Minister argues that journalist registration is merely administrative, not a licensing scheme. This is false and disingenuous. When registration requires a “certificate of good character,” when portfolios must be reviewed, when fees must be paid, and when the state can suspend or cancel registration for vaguely defined breaches, you have created a licensing system by another name. ARTICLE 19 and UN have repeatedly affirmed that such schemes violate international guarantees of free expression. Thus, when Minister Ceesay sat at the radio talking about “voluntary registration” it was just a myth knowing very well that his proposals are mandatory! The ECOWAS Community Court of Justice has been equally clear. In multiple rulings against overly broad laws in West Africa, including the Gambia, the Court has found that criminalizing “false news” or creating vague speech restrictions violates fundamental rights.
Most alarming is the requirement for security clearances as part of press accreditation. Subjecting journalists to vetting by state intelligence services creates a direct pipeline for political interference. It resurrects the practices of the Gambia’s authoritarian era, when journalists understood that asking certain questions or naming certain names could bring men in plain clothes to their doors. We have been here before. We know where this road ends.
The regulations do not only target traditional journalists. Their expansive definition of SPURs and commercial content creators captures human rights defenders, activists, anti-corruption campaigners, and ordinary citizens who document protests or public events. If a young Gambian uploads footage of an anti-corruption demonstration to YouTube and enables monetization, they become subject to registration and content restrictions. The message is unmistakable: document dissent at your own risk.
We are told these measures protect children, promote local content, and ensure professional standards. These are worthy goals. But they are pretexts, not justifications. Protecting children does not require registering journalists. Promoting Gambian culture does not require security clearances. Professional standards do not require vague prohibitions on speech that might “offend” or “incite.” Hence these proposals are nothing but fake promises of protection.
Genuine media development happens through investment in training, through strong ethical codes developed by journalists themselves, through public media literacy, and through the organic growth of independent institutions, not through state registration and discretionary censorship. Media development entails reforming laws and policies to make them friendly and rights-based with strong safeguards against repression as recommended by the TRRC.
The Gambia’s democratic transition was never guaranteed to succeed. It requires constant vigilance, active defense, and the courage to resist the seductive appeal of order over freedom. Every authoritarian temptation comes wrapped in the language of stability, protection, and national interest. Every erosion of rights is justified as a necessary measure for some greater good.
The Broadcasting and Online Content Regulations, 2025, and the National Press Accreditation Policy represent a choice. We can accept this slow suffocation of free expression, this incremental rebuilding of the machinery of control. We can tell ourselves that registration is just paperwork, that vague laws will be reasonably applied, that security clearances are mere formalities. Or we can recognize these instruments for what they are: a direct assault on the fundamental rights that distinguish democracy from dictatorship. We can demand that our government honor the Constitution it swore to uphold. We can insist that the ACHPR’s Banjul Principles mean something in the country where they were adopted.
The voices that need killing are not those of journalists, activists, and ordinary citizens speaking truth to power. The voices that need silencing are the ones whispering that freedom is dangerous, that order requires control, that rights can be sacrificed for stability. The Gambia has heard those whispers before. We know where they lead. It is time to speak more loudly, before speaking becomes a crime.
For the Gambia, Our Homeland
