The mass surveillance scandal in Togo has reached a decisive turning point in the political and media frenzy. Thomas Dietrich’s latest revelations directly accuse President Faure Gnassingbé of collaborating closely with the Yatom family. Dany Yatom, the family patriarch, once headed Israel’s powerful intelligence service, and now their private espionage firm is allegedly providing services to Lomé. While these claims expose the dangerous liaisons of Togo’s leadership, they also raise a critical question about journalistic methods. This confrontation highlights a double failure: a dictatorship outsourcing its security to foreign contractors, and a journalism of immediacy that undermines its own scoops through excessive theatrics.

Faure Gnassingbé: privatising repression with the Yatom family

The accusation against the Togolese regime goes beyond technological suspicion; it describes a concrete system of covert operations. The disclosures indicate that Faure Gnassingbé has crossed a critical line by entrusting part of the country’s security and surveillance infrastructure to the Yatom family. Hiring former high-ranking Israeli intelligence officers to lock down Togo’s public sphere reveals a state paranoia pushed to its extreme.

This collaboration with private foreign espionage outfits serves no national defense need. It fits squarely into the tradition of desperate dynastic regimes, ready to do anything to track opponents, monitor civil society, and perpetuate a power structure nearly sixty years old. After the global Pegasus software scandal, this alleged collusion with the Yatom clan shows that Lomé has institutionalised spying on its own citizens. By placing Togo’s security destiny in the hands of external private interests, the government tramples national sovereignty for the sake of political survival.

Thomas Dietrich: the risk of scoop-as-spectacle and digital noise

Yet the heavier the scandal, the more flawless the investigation must be. This is where Thomas Dietrich’s approach draws criticism. By releasing names as prominent as those of the Israeli security apparatus, the journalist too often adopts the codes of online ‘clash’ and buzz on social platforms rather than the rigorous formalism of major investigative reporting.

Launching accusations of this magnitude on digital networks without simultaneously publishing the supporting evidence—contracts, financial flows, official organisational charts, or leaked documents—weakens the impact of the revelation. Known for his lone-wolf methods and constant self-staging of his battles with African dictatorships, Dietrich repeatedly flirts with ego journalism. The immediate danger is clear: by prioritising sensationalism and privatising the fight, he gives Lomé the perfect opportunity to dismiss the whole affair as a Western media conspiracy and manipulation. In doing so, he undermines the cause of Togolese journalists and activists who risk their lives on the ground to document these same abuses with quiet rigour.

Two actors in a sterile mirror

Ultimately, the Lomé palace and the foreign reporter feed off each other. Faure Gnassingbé uses the frontal attacks of expatriate journalists to wave the red flag of foreign destabilisation and justify the security crackdown by his services. Meanwhile, Thomas Dietrich finds in the figure of the hyper-connected dictator the perfect antagonist to boost his audience and craft his image as a white knight of information.

While this duel plays out under the spotlight of social media, one victim remains in the shadows: the Togolese people. Surveilled by foreign technology, deprived of healthy democratic debate, citizens endure the harsh reality of a police state. The struggle for transparency and freedoms in Togo can be satisfied neither by the secret liaisons of a paranoid power nor by the virtual circus of emotional journalism. It demands cold facts, unshakeable evidence, and a dignity that both protagonists sometimes seem to forget.