Marginalized journalists face the brunt of online hate—but the people behind the screens are hard to catch
“Okay, ma’am,” a crackling voice interrupts the caller. “Ma’am, can I talk?” Minutes into her report to the Ottawa Police hotline, journalist Rachel Gilmore feels exasperated. She is reporting a violent email sent to The Hill Times’ Erica Ifill—a name-dropping salad of verbal abuse such as “woke,” “cunt,” and racial slurs—including death threats. She has already explained she was not the direct recipient but was named in the email, and that the harasser named her one of the journalists who needs to be “silenced.” The officer doesn’t listen and, instead, asks redundant questions about information already laid out in painstaking detail. She clicks her tongue, waiting for Gilmore to finish repeating herself. “So, was it directly sent to you, or were you just made aware of it?” A day later, police informed her the email “doesn’t meet the legal threshold” to be considered a threat to her.
In August 2022, when Gilmore made that call, her DMs, email inbox, and comment sections were flooded with sexist insults and violent threats, this time in response to her Global News investigations into Conservative party leader Pierre Poilievre’s ties to the anti-vaccine “freedom convoy.” It wasn’t the first time. Since then, she has seen the same deluge of harassment each time she reports on conservative or far-right figures. In 2023, her attackers escalated, impersonating her on dating apps and stalking her in person. A photo of her, taken from behind, was shared in a WhatsApp group chat belonging to members of the white supremacist group Diagolon, along with her location.
Gilmore is not the only journalist receiving such attacks. In the months following the Freedom Convoy coverage, online abuse against journalists spiked. Most of the victims have been women of colour, causing many to consider leaving the industry. The Toronto Star’s Saba Eitizaz, for instance, told Agence France-Presse that the sheer volume of hate messages forced her to take a medical leave.
Much of the abuse comes from burner accounts—anonymous trolls hiding behind default usernames like @brian2819470. Researchers studying this phenomenon say online violence takes various forms and is often encouraged by public figures such as right-wing influencers and politicians. Poilievre’s pre-campaign attacks on the media— from brandishing Orwell’s 1984 in the House of Commons to cozying up to The Daily Wire’s Jordan Peterson—have encouraged supporters to target reporters who challenge him and his ilk. In 2022, Poilievre labelled Global News a “Liberal mouthpiece” and dismissed Gilmore as a “so-called journalist.” Soon after, her hate campaign peaked.
For targeted journalists, harassment comes in waves. Two years later, in November 2024, Gilmore was again in the crosshairs. A right-wing influencer filmed her through a bar window while she was out with her partner in Montreal, later confronting her on the street. The video, posted on X to nearly 60,000 followers, reignited sexist vitriol. A doctored, sexually explicit image of her, which she had reported to police years earlier, resurfaced in the replies.
Journalists who cover social justice issues or criticize conservative figures are prime subjects of harassment campaigns. These attacks often escalate from hateful messages to doxxing, and even in-person violence. The burner accounts and anonymizing tools of social media makes journalists easy to reach but attackers nearly impossible to track.
Harassment of marginalized journalists is a global issue. According to a 2021 UNESCO survey, 73 percent of women journalists have experienced online violence, and 20 percent have been attacked or abused in connection to online threats. Racialized and/or 2SLGBTQIA+ journalists face the highest rates and most severe abuse.
“It’s a very practiced tactic to create a chill for journalists,” says Nora Loreto, journalist and president of the Canadian Freelance Union. The union provides freelancers with strategies to navigate online harm, an increasingly common workplace hazard for independent journalists who rely on social media to build professional connections.
Loreto has been a frequent target for her coverage of COVID-19 policies and racism in newsrooms. Fuelled by finger-pointing conservative pundits, tabloid journalists, politicians, and right-wing forums on X and Reddit, she and her colleagues have witnessed these attacks expand to days-long deluges on multiple platforms. “It wasn’t like this in 2010, because it was a different internet,” she says. “Certainly the last eight years have just been this constant hatred machine.”
As for-profit businesses, most social media platforms have little incentive to provide accurate media or equitable treatment
Last October, PressProgress associate editor Rumneek Johal published a column in the Toronto Star detailing the rise of anti-Sikh and South Asian hate crimes throughout Canada. It opened by emphasizing that racist “stereotypes, conspiracy theories, slurs, and memes” have become a frequent feature of social media timelines for her and many other racialized users. This claim was reinforced by data from the Global Project Against Hate and Extremism, which reported a 150 percent increase in online slurs targeting South Asians that year. Shortly after publication, the Star disabled the article’s comment section due to an influx of racist posts.
As an Indian woman, Johal often covers issues of racism that affect her personally. Her reporting has highlighted how political rhetoric fuels anti-immigration rhetoric and xenophobic hate. The impact on racialized journalists is clear: The Canadian Association of Journalists’ 2024 Canadian Newsroom Diversity Survey found that within the 270 responding outlets, people of colour make up just 25 percent of overall news staff. Digital harassment only reinforces this silencing effect. “I see a lot of racialized journalists leaving the industry,” says Johal. “You can only let it roll off your back for so long.”
“The game has changed immensely,” says Sarah Krichel, social media and audience development manager at The Tyee. From her home office, Krichel manages the newspaper’s platforms to draft, post, and moderate its content daily. She’s been with the B.C.-based publication since the start of the covid-19 pandemic, guiding its audience through Meta’s news ban and the platform shift to TikTok. As online hostility toward journalists critical of Canada’s right-wing politics intensifies, her role includes fending off “onslaughts of online abuse.”
In January, The Tyee added guidelines in its freelancer agreements to protect independent writers from on-screen abuse. Krichel and her editors keep a list of potentially controversial topics, including trans rights, Indigenous sovereignty, and the Freedom Convoy, to anticipate backlash. When posting articles on these subjects, she omits the author’s username, limits replies, and monitors the post for hateful messages. Mostly though, she tests her digital environment on a case-by-case basis. Even if a story’s content isn’t controversial on paper, she says, “There is a very specific type of language and angle that I can just tell will attract trolls.”
To prevent the escalation of online hate directed at Tyee freelancers, Krichel has learned to adapt to its ebbs and flows. As expected, online hate responds to changes to the status quo—including changes for the worse.
Meta CEO Mark Zuckerberg clasps his hands atop a conference table at his sunlit office, speaking to the phone camera set up in front of him. “I started building social media to give people a voice,” he says, “but a lot has happened over the last several years.” The story-style vertical video posted in January was Zuckerberg’s soft-spoken announcement of Meta’s move to dismantle its faulty fact-checking department in favour of user-generated “community notes.” That same day, Meta updated its content moderation policy to permit exclusionary language “when discussing transgender rights, immigration, or homosexuality,” including, explicitly, “allegations of mental illness or abnormality” directed at 2SLGBTQIA+ users. Absent from Zuckerberg’s announcement was a purge of staff from the diversity, equity, and inclusion departments.
Meanwhile, between 2022 and 2024, former CEO Elon Musk removed X’s safety policies prohibiting hate speech, reinstated accounts previously banned for violating content moderation policies, and cracked down on those critical of far-right influencers. As Musk embraced Trumpism during the 2024 U.S. election, many journalists announced their departures from X.
As for-profit businesses, most social media platforms have little incentive to provide accurate media or equitable treatment. “We always used to believe that there was a role for the government in regulating communications and media technologies,” says freelance tech journalist Paris Marx, whose podcast, Tech Won’t Save Us, critically analyzes the tech sector’s developments.
In spring 2023, Parliament introduced Bill C-18, an effort to promote and compensate Canadian news organizations hosted by big tech companies. Instead, it resulted in Meta blocking all Canadian news content on Facebook and Instagram, causing an unintended downturn in local news reach.
While social media platforms have grown substantially since the mid-2000s, Canadian legislation has failed to contain their toxic elements. Now, reining them in without economic consequences may not be possible. We’re “feeling the effects” of the federal government’s lax approach to big tech’s influence on news media, Marx says. “It’ll take some work to push through these notions and these norms that were built up over so long, to recognize that maybe that was the wrong approach.”
In February 2024, Bill C-63, the Online Harms Act, proposed requirements for online platforms to prevent and mitigate harms, including content that incites self-harm, extremism, terrorism, or hatred. Conservatives and Canadian civil liberties groups criticized this bill, framing it as a threat to free speech. Poilievre promised to scrap it if elected prime minister. The bill also proposed creating a Digital Safety Commission to penalize platforms for hosting hate targeting marginalized groups. If implemented properly, experts say Bill-63 could streamline the reporting and legal process for victims of social media–facilitated harassment, including journalists.
In The Tyee, Krichel analyzed the bill’s mixed reception. A spokesperson for the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs worried that “being a defender of Zionism could land someone in legal trouble.” Others supported the bill’s potential for justice against online hate. Trans activist Fae Johnstone, who faced harassment after participating in Hershey’s 2023 International Women’s Day campaign, said the bill would have helped her report threats. (With a federal election called for April 28, Bill C-63’s status is unclear.)
After spending years fending off hate comments on “the everything app,” Krichel was intrigued by the user migration from Musk’s platform to its sparsely populated competition, Bluesky. She revived The Tyee’s dormant Bluesky account and immediately noticed a difference: replies were no longer vitriolic or AI-generated slop, but earnest, thoughtful conversations. “People are super-engaged there right now,” she says. “It’s a professional community of people who really care about the issues that The Tyee and other progressive publications cover.”
As X’s policies continue alienating users, Bluesky is gaining traction. While X lost over 100,000 users the day after the U.S. election in November, Bluesky reportedly surpassed 15 million accounts that same month. This winter, less than a year from beta-testing, it exceeded 30 million users. Krichel saw a familiar pattern in the platform’s growth:
“Update: I’m already seeing more trolls on Bluesky, lol.”
In the fall of 2021, Iman Kassam reported from a Wet’suwet’en solidarity protest for CTV News Montreal. The next morning, pro-Israel organization HonestReporting Canada (HRC) published an article condemning the broadcast for “smearing” the state of Israel. The segment itself had no connection to current events outside of Canada, except that one interviewee wore a keffiyeh and held a Palestinian flag. HRC’s article ended with “Take action now!” in bold text, urging followers to email and post online to “condemn” Kassam’s reporting and position at CTV.
What followed was an “onslaught” of violent emails and DMs, including threats. According to Kassam’s 2024 essay in The Rover, their multiple requests for help from superiors were “met with silence or indifference.” Months later, despite their objections, Kassam alleges CTV succumbed to HRC’s pressure and deleted the story.
The combination of online hate from interest groups and newsroom leadership’s reluctance to stand firm on progressive journalism creates a chilling effect. “The mob understands that there are seven journalists waiting for your job,” says Loreto. “If you’re gone, it doesn’t matter to the boss, because there are other people ready to replace you.”
Sarah Ladik, domestic programs manager at Journalists for Human Rights (JHR), has long recognized the need for a proactive industry-wide approach to digital harassment. In spring 2024, JHR facilitated focus groups with journalists experienced in digital harassment, culminating in the report, Together We Stand. While observing the study’s virtual roundtables, Ladik noticed a common frustration. Training materials, developed within news publications for employees to understand tech-specific scenarios, became outdated almost immediately. “There’s no point trying to teach some fifty-something-year-old middle manager about the ins and outs of Twitter DMs,” says Ladik, “when it’s going to change in a couple of weeks anyway.”
Traditional reporting structures often leave journalists to fend for themselves, with little to no guidance. They have been their own watchdogs for years, self-reporting traumatic experiences, including interactions with their disinterested bosses. Where newsrooms and government policy shifts are slow-moving, advocacy organizations have stepped up where government policies have lagged. Since 2022, the Canada Press Freedom Project (CPFP) has tracked press freedom violations, including online threats reported by journalists.
When going through official channels is not possible, CPFP offers an alternative. As HRC targeted Canadian journalists in 2024, CPFP encouraged reporters to submit their experiences, recognizing that freelancers and staffers alike may not feel safe discussing their organization’s practices. “The threats people receive as a result of these campaigns count,” says CPFP managing editor Steph Wechsler. “We want to make sure people understand that.”
“Given the scale of online hate we concede that the things we’ve attempted to put in place are not enough”
Dana Coester
Online hate feeds on lonely victims, isolating and overwhelming its targets. For freelancers with industry connections and newsroom staff with support colleagues, community care can help insulate against digital strikes, even if it is not a sufficient antidote. During JHR’s virtual focus groups, Ladik and the moderator noticed a throughline. “We would look at each other on-screen the first time somebody brought up collective action, and it just got brought up earlier, and earlier, and earlier,” Ladik says. “By the end, people were saying it in their introductions.”
JHR’s research team compiled industry-wide recommendations: emergency funds for journalists in crisis, peer-led support groups, and leveraging collective power on governments and digital platforms to enact meaningful change. Shifting from reactive crisis management is possible, but it requires human power in a fast-paced, underfunded industry.
“There are many, many orgs, and many, many individuals who are working on this problem,” says journalist Dana Coester, an advisor for the Coalition Against Online Violence (CAOV). “Given the scale of the problem, we have to concede that even the things that we’ve attempted to put in place are not enough.”
Coester has studied the effects of social media leadership on the proliferation of news media and disinformation. CAOV reports on online hate against women journalists worldwide. Its Online Violence Response Hub connects journalists with organizations that provide financial and security support.
Some groups are taking a more hands-on approach. As director and executive editor of 100 Days in Appalachia, a non-profit news publication focused on the issues of rural Appalachian communities, Coester opted for on-the-ground, in-person campaigns from the start. Last winter, 100 Days hosted a concert and roundtable discussions on issues pertinent to youth in the region. She says, “That felt way more worth the time and resource investment than any dumb social media post could do.”
Coester recently deleted all her social media accounts after watching the big platforms become virtual environments riddled with bots and hate. Data-farming revenue models, which to her encourage divisive content and misinformation, aren’t built to last. “Either people move on or you get regulated. You think of companies that lasted 100 years—there’s not going to be a 100-year platform.”
For all the animosity Johal has encountered, every wave of hate still feels like “a punch in the gut.” Despite this, she still finds hope. “Even though it hasn’t happened yet, we can get more people in newsrooms who see that as a priority,” she says. “Many of us are coming into this with good faith, wanting to create positive change.”
Hope for the future extends to Johal’s response to violent messages, which she recites off the top of her head: notify the employer, save screenshots, block individuals, and “when necessary,” involve law enforcement. “I’ve gotten good at letting this stuff roll off my back, just because it happens so often,” she says. “Which is very awful to say.”
sidebar:
Staying Safe
Online harms can’t be stopped alone—but preventative measures can reduce your chances of receiving them. To increase privacy on your public accounts, incorporate these habits into your social media routine.
Don’t Hesitate to Block
Blocking users, hiding replies, and turning off comments can help protect you from repeated harassment. It also prevents hateful messaging from gaining traction. “A lot of trolls are attracted to replying to our socials,” says Sarah Krichel, social media manager at The Tyee. “It’s not only to harass the person who’s behind the account. It’s also to spread the message to people reading them.”
Keep Your Location to Yourself
Most phones and computers allow location tracking to be manually disabled. Browser settings provide options to block specific websites from accessing location data, while phone settings offer similar controls for individual social media apps. Beyond technical adjustments, location privacy also involves “being mindful about certain types of posts that might be identifiable as to where you are,” says Evan Vipond, research officer at the Open Digital Literacy and Access Network. For example, check photos for identifiable landmarks before uploading them.
Look Up and Lock Up Your Info
Data broker sites scrape and compile publicly available data from various sources, making it easy to track down personal details (like a home address!) through a simple name search. Some paid services specialize in removing this information, while many of these sites offer free opt-out mechanisms. For step-by-step guidance, The New York Times’s “Guide to Doxxing Yourself” provides useful recommendations. – Jay Ashdown
