Two federal judges reviewed the government’s case against journalist Don Lemon last week and refused to authorize his arrest. Still, Attorney General Pam Bondi pressed ahead, seemingly determined to satisfy her authoritarian superior regardless of constitutional limits, legal standards, or her ethical duties as a lawyer.
The arrests of Lemon and independent journalist Georgia Fort on Thursday—following the recent raid on Washington Post reporter Hannah Natanson—highlight the administration’s increasingly aggressive and unlawful campaign against basic journalistic work. Under normal circumstances, even when a journalist’s actions might technically touch on a minor legal violation—such as briefly stepping into the street to film a protest—prosecutors are expected to use common sense and avoid enforcing the law in ways that threaten press freedom.
That expectation no longer holds. Now, even when journalists clearly commit no crime, prosecutors strain to invent excuses to harass them, no matter how weak or absurd the claims may be. Chilling journalism is not an unintended consequence—it is the goal. If the administration decides it wants to punish a reporter, there is no limit to the far-fetched legal theories it might try. The Constitution and the rule of law barely matter anymore; the real rule appears to be simple: don’t anger Trump.
The federal statutes reportedly used to charge Lemon and Fort do not apply to their conduct at all. One law targets conspiracies to prevent people from exercising constitutional rights. The journalists did no such thing. They did not coordinate wrongdoing with anyone—they documented events of public interest. Ironically, the charge describes the administration’s own behavior far more accurately: using intimidation to deter people from exercising core constitutional freedoms, including press activity. Notably, the very next provision in the criminal code prohibits government officials from violating constitutional rights “under color of law.” Those responsible for these arrests might want to consider their own legal exposure.
The second statute being used is equally misplaced. It requires intent to interfere with religious services or access to reproductive health care facilities—not to lawfully record news events. Journalists do not organize protests or choose their locations; they cover what happens. Protesters in Minneapolis gathered at a church because its pastor held a senior role in ICE—an agency widely feared in the community—not because journalists directed them there.
For those who track press freedom violations at the local level, this pattern is nothing new. While these actions are unprecedented at the federal level—never before has an attorney general personally pursued retaliatory criminal charges against journalists simply for covering protests—they mirror tactics long used by local officials. At the Freedom of the Press Foundation, which maintains the U.S. Press Freedom Tracker, we’ve seen this playbook repeatedly.
When Natanson’s home was searched, we pointed to earlier examples: the 2023 raid on the Marion County Record in Kansas based on flimsy identity theft claims, and the same year’s raid on Florida journalist Tim Burke over baseless computer crime allegations tied to publishing publicly available information.
Another case that comes to mind is that of North Carolina journalists Matilda Bliss and Veronica Coit of the Asheville Blade, a small, openly leftist news cooperative that has long clashed with local authorities.
On Christmas night in 2021, Bliss and Coit went to a public park to document the clearing of a homeless encampment. The reporting itself was entirely routine. The problem, according to police, was that the park technically closed at 10 p.m.—even though officers chose to conduct the sweep after that hour. The journalists were arrested, charged, and ultimately convicted, sparking outrage among press freedom advocates. After all, reporters do not control when or where news unfolds.
The cases against Lemon and Fort are arguably even weaker, given the specific requirements of the laws cited. Yet the same illogic applies. If police had used deadly force during the encampment sweep—an unfortunately plausible scenario during protests in Minneapolis—would journalists have been expected to ignore it because of a curfew?
It’s easy to assume that attacks on small outlets like the Asheville Blade won’t affect major news organizations. Clearly, that assumption is wrong. The Trump administration isn’t especially inventive; these tactics were tested for years in smaller communities, far from national attention.
The Blade is just one example. Before federal prosecutors targeted Lemon and Fort with a conspiracy theory linking their First Amendment-protected reporting to alleged crimes by protesters, Atlanta prosecutors tried—and failed—to convict people who had merely handed out flyers or held press conferences opposing the “Cop City” police training facility. Last year, Trump’s Justice Department attempted a similar strategy by indicting Texas activist Daniel “Des” Sanchez, accusing him of conspiracy for transporting anarchist literature after a protest where someone else allegedly shot a police officer.
Time and again, what begins at the margins eventually reaches the national stage. If local officials who once pursued journalists out of personal grudges are troubled by the Trump administration’s actions, they should reflect on their own behavior. Journalists, meanwhile, must continue holding power accountable—even when doing so means becoming part of the story themselves. It is not reporters who create these controversies; it is the government.
Today, journalists face more than accusations of self-absorption. The fear of arrest is real and understandable. Yet the administration’s unconstitutional prosecutions have consistently collapsed in court, rejected by judges and juries alike. While courts have so far been reluctant to discipline government attorneys who disregard the law, there is hope that accountability will come—perhaps beginning with the cases of Lemon and Fort.
Recent events in Minneapolis show that public pressure still matters. Resistance has proven far more effective than silence or surrender, which only emboldens further attacks.
Seth Stern is the director of advocacy at the Freedom of the Press Foundation and a First Amendment attorney.