Last Monday, just over thirty minutes after publishing the latest entry in her widely read blog, Maltese investigative journalist Daphne Caruana Galizia was murdered in a car bomb not far from her home in the sparsely populated rural village of Bidnija.
Known more globally for her forefront work in the investigation and exposure of the biggest data leak in history, otherwise known as the Panama Papers, Caruana Galizia, recently described by Politico as a “one-woman Wikileaks” was a fiercely independent journalist, with no political agenda bar exposing undercurrent networks of corruption and financial laundering, predominantly in her home country of Malta.
The choice to end the life of Caruana Galizia using the scare weapon of a car bomb, was of course, motivated not by a generalised opposition to her work, but by a wider reaching desire to both silence reporting that interferes with her killer’s interests, and to reverberate a message of fear throughout the journalistic community. But as poignantly written by journalist Jonathan Freedland, “if Caruana Galizia’s death is a reminder of the risks such reporters take, her life is a reminder of the value of their work.”
Caruana Galizia has been accumulating evidence as well as publishing investigative writing that exposes and accuses Malta of becoming a mafia country, where the Prime Minister, Joseph Muscat – of whom she was consistently critical – and his wife have alleged links to the Panama Papers, alongside the usual elite corruption, money laundering and widespread gang violence.
We’re living through a time when brave investigative journalism is both rare and met with the risk of journalists’ careers, at best and lives, as we’ve now witnessed, at worst. With the President of the United States declaring that it’s “frankly disgusting the press is able to write whatever they want”, in conjunction with his ongoing war on the press, it’s paramount we continue fighting, and marching, and protesting for free speech and media that is fearless.
Caruana Galizia’s son, a journalist himself said “This was no ordinary murder and it was not tragic. Tragic is someone being run over by a bus. When there is blood and fire all around you, that’s war. We are a people at war against the state and organised crime, which have become indistinguishable.”