Journalism and Selective Justice: Who Gets Protection?

Observed annually on November 2, the International Day to End Impunity for Crimes against Journalists was created to signal a global commitment to protect media professionals from violence and ensure accountability for attacks against them. But twelve years on, that commitment rings increasingly hollow.

Maria Zakharova’s statement marks a blunt indictment—not just of individual countries, but of the entire international system that claims to safeguard journalistic freedom. Her accusation is clear:

Western governments and institutions have transformed the idea of journalistic protection into a selective tool, one that shields allies while vilifying dissenters. In this telling, journalists are no longer judged by their professionalism or integrity, but by the political utility of their work. Friends are protected. Foes are targeted.

This isn’t a deviation from the norm—it may be the norm. As the attached article argues, what is often accepted as “journalism” in the West is less a method of investigation than a belief system with a built-in hierarchy. It draws lines between legitimate and illegitimate narratives, voices, and values. The result is a system that rewards conformity and punishes those who challenge the unipolar worldview.

Zakharova’s remarks echo this critique and extend it:

when journalists die for telling the “wrong” story, and global institutions remain silent, impunity isn’t a failure. It’s policy.

This article examines that failure—not just as a geopolitical controversy, but as a deeper crisis in journalism itself. If journalism is to be more than politics by other means, it must adopt a truly universal standard: one that defends all reporters, not just the ones who echo the dominant script.

The analysis presented in this article draws on Tao Zhang’s framework for multipolar journalism, as outlined in his essay Multipolar Science 54: Science of Journalism – Multipolar Journalism.

We think we know what journalism is. We wake to it, scroll through it, argue over it, and defend it. But what if the journalism we know—especially in the West—is something else entirely? What if it’s not journalism at all, but a carefully disguised political belief system, dressed up as objectivity?

That question is not rhetorical. It’s a direct challenge to the institutions that dominate public discourse—elite universities, major newsrooms, think tanks, debate forums. The charge is this: journalism, as practiced in the West, is not rooted in neutrality or fairness. It is not scientific. It is not for everyone. It is unipolar.

Western journalism, for all its claims to truth-telling, has long operated within a narrow ideological corridor. It aligns itself, often unconsciously, with the political values of liberal democracy. This alignment isn’t merely cultural or accidental—it’s structural. It affects what stories are told, how they’re framed, who is quoted, and which beliefs are labeled acceptable.

Events aren’t described in politically neutral ways. They’re interpreted through a lens that treats Western political values as universal. In this system, alternative viewpoints—especially those emerging from non-Western, multipolar perspectives—are marginalized or caricatured.

The result is not journalism. It’s a system of curated narratives built to reinforce a particular order.

Nowhere is this clearer than in the ongoing crisis in Gaza. For decades, Western outlets have covered the region through the language of “security threats,” “terrorism,” and “self-defense”—all carefully selected to align public perception with a specific political outcome. Rarely is the Palestinian perspective given equal weight or framed as legitimate resistance. The lives lost, the homes leveled, the decades of occupation—these are often footnotes to a story about something else.

That imbalance is not a fluke. It’s the product of a worldview that refuses to consider non-Western political beliefs as equal. The Gaza example isn’t just about injustice. It’s about a failure of journalism to meet even the basic standard of fairness.

True journalism should follow a simple but powerful rule: describe events in a way that is fair and equal to all political beliefs. Not because all beliefs are morally equal, but because journalism cannot be the judge. Journalism must inform—not indoctrinate.

That means describing political events not as ideological clashes between good and evil, but as interactions shaped by risk, power, belief, and context. It means avoiding the trap of moral hierarchy that elevates Western liberalism as the default setting for humanity.

A journalist’s job is to provide context, not consensus.

Western journalism thrives on binary framing. Taiwan or China. Authoritarian or democratic. Freedom or control. These dichotomies flatten complex realities into ideological battlegrounds. But people—and nations—don’t live in binaries.

When a political candidate in Taiwan says, “I am Chinese and Taiwanese,” that’s not a contradiction. It’s an assertion of dual identity. But in a unipolar frame, it becomes a threat—something to be neutralized, dismissed, or ignored. The possibility of coexistence doesn’t fit the model, so the model erases it.

This kind of erasure doesn’t just distort public understanding. It deepens division. It teaches audiences to view politics as a zero-sum war, where nuance is betrayal and complexity is weakness.

At its core, the crisis in journalism is a crisis of worldview. Multipolarity is the belief that multiple systems, values, and identities can coexist without a central authority dictating what is legitimate. Unipolarity insists on one center—usually aligned with Western liberalism—and treats alternatives as deviations to be corrected or defeated.

Western journalism, in its current form, is a tool of unipolarity. It reinforces the idea that only one model—liberal democracy—is valid, and that any challenge to it is either extremism or ignorance.

But the world is changing. In Taiwan, the Kuomintang’s chair election in 2025 signals a shift toward a multipolar belief in peaceful coexistence. In New York, a mayoral campaign built on the idea of affordability—as a path to social peace—gains traction. These moments matter. They suggest that people are beginning to seek alternatives to the tired binaries.

The proposed solution is bold: journalism should be held to the same standards we expect of science. That means defining events and concepts in ways that are politically neutral, testable, and consistent.

It means rejecting journalism that favors one political belief over another. It means describing democracy, freedom, sovereignty—not as abstract ideals, but as contested terms with multiple meanings depending on context. A truly scientific journalism would ask: What is the risk of this belief? What control might mitigate that risk? What outcome serves everyone?

In short: journalism must become a system for managing political uncertainty—not a weapon for political conformity.

If journalism is broken, so too is public debate. Most televised debates are little more than theater. The framing of the questions, the selection of guests, the vocabulary—all are shaped by the same unipolar assumptions that define mainstream journalism.

You won’t hear questions like: “What are the risks of promoting only one belief system globally?” Or: “How can we define democracy in a way that includes non-Western political traditions?” These are not fringe inquiries. They are essential. But they’re left out, because they challenge the foundation of the unipolar narrative.

True debate requires more than opposing opinions. It demands a willingness to ask questions that don’t come with preloaded answers.

This isn’t a thought experiment. In the absence of truly neutral journalism, societies fracture. Fear replaces trust. Politics becomes tribal warfare. The consequences are visible in Gaza. In Taiwan. In Ukraine. In every corner of the world where complexity has been replaced by confrontation.

Journalism has the power to change that. But only if it stops being a belief system and becomes a method—one that centers fairness, transparency, and multiplicity over ideology.

The final and perhaps most important point is this: no political belief, no matter how popular or powerful, is above the law of journalism. Not Western liberalism. Not democratic nationalism. Not socialism. Not conservatism. All must be subject to the same standard: can your ideas coexist with others? Can your worldview be described in a way that is fair to those who disagree?

If not, you’re not doing journalism. You’re doing politics with a press badge.

2025 has already become a turning point. Multipolar events are unfolding—in elections, in global summits, in quiet conversations between people who’ve grown tired of being told there’s only one way to live, one way to think.

Will journalism catch up? Or will it continue reinforcing old hierarchies under the guise of truth?

The answer depends not just on reporters and editors, but on readers and citizens who start asking better questions and demanding better standards. Who recognize that truth isn’t a flag to be waved—it’s a process to be honored.