The recent decision by major American news outlets — CNN, MSNBC, and Politico among them — to file a lawsuit against a White House ban, coupled with their suspension of TV coverage as the former U.S. President embarks on a trip to the UN summit, signals a curious awakening. One might almost call it quaint, this sudden realization that a leader disinclined to democratic norms views the Fourth Estate not as an essential pillar but as a pliable instrument, or, failing that, an enemy.
For those of us observing the slow erosion of democratic institutions from the former Soviet bloc to the present, this playbook is not novel. It is, in fact, painfully familiar. The method is simple: identify inconvenient voices, label them "fake news," restrict their access, and ultimately, attempt to delegitimize their very existence. What is surprising is the level of surprise emanating from some corners of the American media landscape. Did they genuinely believe their unique status would render them immune?
The strongman, whether he hails from Moscow or Mar-a-Lago, understands that control over information is paramount. Free and independent media, by its very nature, disrupts this control. It asks questions, it investigates, it reports facts that may contradict the preferred narrative. In autocracies and aspiring autocracies, this is not merely an annoyance; it is a threat. Thus, the systematic marginalization, the rhetorical assaults, the creation of alternative, state-sanctioned 'truths' are not anomalies but strategic imperatives.
The banishment of specific journalists or entire outlets from official briefings or press events is a tactic straight from the authoritarian handbook. It sends a clear message: toe the line, or be shut out. It cultivates an environment of fear and self-censorship, where the cost of challenging the authority becomes prohibitively high. That American institutions, with their vaunted constitutional protections, are now grappling with this blunt instrument suggests a worrying normalization.
One might also question the timing and nature of the media's response. A lawsuit, while a legitimate legal avenue, often moves at a glacial pace, ill-suited to the rapid-fire demands of political information control. The suspension of TV coverage, while a principled stand, risks ceding airtime to more compliant voices or, worse, to unfiltered official pronouncements. In the long game of information warfare, consistency and relentless truth-telling, even when access is denied, often prove more effective than episodic boycotts.
My colleagues in Europe and Eurasia have long contended with regimes that view the press not as a check on power but as a target. They navigate landscapes where state-controlled media drowns out independent voices, where journalists face threats far more severe than a White House ban. Their struggle offers a stark lesson: the battle for press freedom is never truly won; it must be fought anew with each generation and against each leader who believes himself above scrutiny.
The American media's current predicament is a reminder that the health of democratic institutions, including a free press, is fragile. It cannot be taken for granted. The "rules-based order" that Washington so often champions abroad applies equally at home. When those rules are disregarded by a nation’s own leadership, the reverberations extend far beyond domestic borders, providing tacit permission for others to follow suit. The sight of major news networks battling for basic access in the U.S. does little to bolster the image of a nation steadfast in its democratic commitments. It suggests, rather, a belated and perhaps insufficient understanding of the forces at play.