Global Free Speech

Global Free Speech covers international stories and trends affecting the right to speak, publish, and share ideas across borders. From government crackdowns to grassroots movements, this category highlights the global fight for free expression in diverse political and cultural landscapes.

Malak Mattar is a Gazan artist based in London This article first appeared in the Winter 2025 issue of Index on Censorship, Gen Z is revolting: Why the world’s youth will not be silenced, published on 18 December 2025. The tortuous process that led to the signing of the 1993 Oslo Accords only came about after sustained Palestinian resistance to Israel’s occupation of the West Bank and Gaza, beginning with the First Intifada of 1987-91. This pushed the international community into action, the subsequent negotiations including several Arab countries alongside Israel and representatives of the Palestinian nation. But the Oslo Accords did not live up to their promise, and did not end the conflict between Israel and Palestine. Thirty-two years on, and two years into Israel’s genocidal war in Gaza, President Trump’s 20-point peace plan similarly seeks to bring about a new Middle East. The cessation of hostilities presents an opportunity for comparing the two plans, and to ask a crucial question: Will this new initiative fare any better in bringing peace, justice and security to the region? Two groups were opposed to the Oslo Accords from the start: Israel’s right wing, and the Islamic resistance group Hamas. Today, the two groups are in control of their respective territories. Hamas holds sway in Gaza, and the ultra-nationalist religious parties have held the Israeli government hostage since the last parliamentary elections in 2022. In 1991, as the International Peace Conference that ultimately led to the Oslo Accords convened in Madrid, I was visiting Geneva, attending a meeting of the Palestinian Welfare Association. In different ways, many of us living in the Occupied Territories had struggled to bring an end to Israel’s occupation of our land. I took the path of human rights, exposing Israel’s repeated violations of international law. The Intifada of 1987-91 was Palestine’s war of liberation; collectively, we were proud of our success in bringing Israel to negotiate with the Palestinians. After my meetings in Geneva, I travelled to the town of Brunnen, to begin a three-day walk around Lake Lucerne. I needed to be by myself and to have some time to reflect. I was expecting that we were at the cusp of a period of peace and an end to our long-lasting struggle. I wanted to think about where this would leave us. Passing through the attractive city of Lausanne, I recalled visiting there with my parents in 1971, when I was 20. My father had often mentioned visiting the city in 1949, when he took part in the conference of the UN Palestine Conciliation Commission. Of the conference itself I knew very little, and I didn’t think to ask him more. As we entered the city, I could tell that my father was wistful, yet I still did not try to inquire what was going on in his mind. How I regret this, especially as the struggle for the right of return of Palestinian refugees forced out of their homes between 1948 and 1949 is still continuing. I was more interested in visiting the prison dungeon in the Château de Chillon, near Montreux on Lake Geneva. It was more than half a century before I learned fully about my father’s role while writing my book, We Could Have Been Friends, My Father and I. I left on the nine o’clock boat from Brunnen to Treib, and then started my hike. The Swiss, I had heard, would be doing their traditional annual walk around the lake, this year commemorating the 700th anniversary of their federation. I expected to find many walkers along the path but soon realised that those who had wanted to walk the route had already done so and gone. I was the only one hiking, and so I had the path to myself. Forty-two years after my father’s participation in the conference at Lausanne, another conference was taking place, this time in Madrid. Perhaps because the earlier conference in Lausanne had failed, the organisers of this new initiative wanted it to take place somewhere else. Spain, with its famous history of Arabs and Jews producing a rich civilisation together, was certainly a more auspicious venue. I did not know what one could reasonably expect from Madrid. James Baker, US Secretary of State, had consumed public attention with his lengthy deliberations about the procedure to be followed. At the time, it was claimed that Baker did not show the list of Palestinian participants to Israel in advance of the conference. A small gesture, but enough for Faisal Husseini, a recognised local leader, to claim a meaningful victory. We, he said, had the final say about our representatives, not Israel. But these were hollow words. Israel had, after all, excluded the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) and Palestinians from Jerusalem. But somehow, it was deemed good for morale if the Palestinians believed that Israel had not chosen their delegation for them. I hoped that this was not indicative of what was to come. On the eve of the Madrid conference, Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Shamir addressed the European Parliament. Highlights from his speech were broadcast on Israeli television’s evening news programme. It was not Palestinian self-determination that was an obstacle to peace, he told the parliamentarians, but rather the refusal of the Arab states to recognise Israel. Benjamin Netanyahu, more recently, has repeated similar claims. The broadcast then cut to Yigal Karmon, an adviser to Shamir on counter-terrorism affairs. No one – no one – would get to Madrid without Israel’s approval, he declared. “It is man by man,” he added, in his bad English. Karmon’s depressing words notwithstanding, the conference did take place. The floodgates of hope were ready to burst, and Israeli intransigence could not stop this. After Saddam Hussein’s defeat in the First Gulf War, a massive defence mechanism against the very notion of hope had emerged. And yet. The Palestinian Land Registration Department was packed with people buying land. Palestinians who were living in Kuwait were in Amman, waiting for the return. Before the selection of delegates, we had felt a long way from the march of events. Everything seemed to be happening above our heads. It is much the same today, the disillusion that has emerged from negotiations over Trump’s plan seeming very much like it did in 1991. But then, every peace conference must seem like a letdown. What war has ever brought satisfaction to everyone? Peace conferences, at best, are compromise agreements. Thereafter, everything depends on what the parties are able to make of them. Even so, there were objective indicators in the Oslo Accords pointing to disaster. First, the illegal Jewish settlements on our land were to remain in place, with no agreement on freezing their expansion. And then, there were no guarantees concerning the creation of an independent Palestinian state at the end of the process. Trump’s plan echoes these uncertainties. The withdrawal of the Israeli Defence Force (IDF) from Gaza is to be “based on standards, milestones, and timeframes linked to demilitarisation”, to be agreed upon by the IDF and the International Stabilisation Force created for Gaza. What does this mean in fact? That “Israel will retain security responsibility, including a security perimeter for the foreseeable future”. It also means that as of now, there is no end envisaged to the siege of Gaza. This means, amongst other things, that Gaza will not be able to import machinery required for reconstruction. The other problematic area in the plan relates to Palestinian statehood. The plan states that “while Gaza re-development advances and when the PA reform program is faithfully carried out, the conditions may finally be in place for a credible pathway to Palestinian self-determination and statehood”. Translation: even if the Palestinian Authority carried out the prescribed reforms, there is no guarantee that these will be followed by a Palestinian state. Palestinian interests, once again, were being determined without the input of Palestinians themselves. Back to 1991 and Lake Lucerne. Having reached the top of the first ascent, I began the descent. The lake was framed by steep cliffs, and the walk was not as easy as I had anticipated. But at least I had no worries about finding the path, as this was well marked. A refreshing wind blew as I walked and breathed in the crisp clean air. How different it was, I thought, to walk in this Swiss terrain rather than the familiar hills of Ramallah. Around Lake Lucerne, nature is washed and rejuvenated regularly. The rains collect in streams and waterfalls, or remain on the peaks in the form of snow or glaciers. I remembered, on my first visit to the region with my parents, being impressed with the rushing water. I was nervous, but also emboldened, by the powerful thrust of the water, gushing down forcefully. In Ramallah, where the rains are far less frequent, everything remains in place for years. A thin layer of lichen grows on rocks, giving them a leaden and ancient presence. But the most striking difference between Lake Lucerne and Ramallah is that their mountains are majestic: imposing, remote, safe from human domination. Ours are mere hills, easily reached, vulnerable to the greed of jealous suitors. As I continued my descent, the words of Haidar Abdul Shafi, head of the Palestinian delegation to Madrid, came back to me. In his speech he was addressing, “the Israeli people with whom we have had a prolonged exchange of pain.” What a brilliant way to put it. The tragedy, as I felt it, was that even if peace should be reached it would be impossible to undo the pain that had been inflicted and suffered up to this point. Before the whole world, Haider had pronounced: “We, the people of Palestine, stand before you in the fullness of our pain.” He was offering our adversary hope, by declaring that the Palestinian nation was willing to live side by side with them in peace, sharing the land as equals. Now that my wife Penny and I are older, I no longer think that everything is possible. Time has become a pivotal factor in my life. Sometimes one succeeds, and sometimes not. I have had my share of both. Either way, I have had to learn how to accept failure as failure, rather than as a temporary setback that I may still get a second chance to rectify. Will the wheels finally turn, I wondered? Abdul Shafi had indeed said what the Israelis claimed that they were hoping to hear. I wanted to believe that peace, in some form, was on its way. I was already beginning to think about what would come next.But while Abdul Shafi was speaking, Yitzhak Shamir had looked on with cold eyes. Most of what Abdul Shafi had said was forward-looking. The deeply-felt pain of the Palestinians had been given ample expression, but he had also paid recognition to the solidarity of those Israelis who had shared our pain with us. There was a reaching-out for the Israelis, and for the world, to accept our aspirations for self-determination, to correct the injustices caused to generations of Palestinians. But all the while Shamir looked on with a deadpan face, unimpressed and unmoved. But while Abdul Shafi was speaking, Yitzhak Shamir had looked on with cold eyes. Most of what Abdul Shafi had said was forward-looking. The deeply-felt pain of the Palestinians had been given ample expression, but he had also paid recognition to the solidarity of those Israelis who had shared our pain with us. There was a reaching-out for the Israelis, and for the world, to accept our aspirations for self-determination, to correct the injustices caused to generations of Palestinians. But all the while Shamir looked on with a deadpan face, unimpressed and unmoved. When it was his turn to speak, the Israeli prime minister began by decrying the attempts of others to re-write history. But then, he went on to do exactly that. He repeated the famous Zionist claim, that “hundreds of thousands of Arabs who lived in Mandatory Palestine were encouraged by their own leaders to flee from their homes.” He did not even deign to call us Palestinians. And then to what he deemed to be the “root cause of the conflict”: “Arab refusal to recognise the legitimacy of the State of Israel”. Shamir denied the Occupation, refused to acknowledge either the fundamental rights of the Palestinian nation or their suffering. The West Bank, for Shamir, was Judea and Samaria; he belittled our aspirations for a nation, declaring that while “the Arab nations” controlled a landmass of 14 million square kilometres, Israel (in his estimation including the Occupied Territories) controlled a mere 28,000 square kilometres. “The issue is not territory but our existence,” Shamir concluded There was nothing new in Shamir’s speech. If anything, it merely served as proof of Israel’s intransigence, the only difference being that it was now being proclaimed from the podium at the opening of the historic peace conference. This did not bode well for the future. Today, this same Israeli intransigence persists, Shamir’s rhetoric replaced with Netanyahu’s bluster.After my return from Switzerland that winter of 1991, a third snow of the year fell on Ramallah. I decided to take a walk on a street behind the Evangelical Home, on a path that ran parallel to Tireh Road. The hill ahead seemed colossal, as though the houses on it were perched atop a huge edifice. It was engulfed in fog, permitting only a blurred view of the limestone houses and the dark rock of the gardens behind. Towards the east, the sun (which I could see blurred like a shiny chalk ball in the west) was reflected in the clearing sky. Beneath that clear cap, the clouds and the fog below were still thick. The features of the familiar landscape were altered, the horizon redefined as a line slicing the eastern sky into thick stratus clouds and the clear sky. Beneath, one could spot here and there the hills behind, covered by a shimmering sheath of fog, milky white clouds shrouding the familiar hills in mystery. On my way back, I could not resist walking down towards the wadi. Every level I reached opened up the view, the fog receding. But the mystery ahead remained, elusive and out of reach. What, I wondered, would be the future of these hills if Israel were to get its way? What would happen if negotiations could not stop the Israeli intentions that even then I knew so well? Twenty-five years on, I now know this future. The hills where I had once enjoyed walking have now been militarised, with Israeli settlements perched atop. Armed settlers in balaclavas brandish machine guns, attacking farmers and peaceful villagers in their homes. There is nothing in Trump’s plan that is likely to alter any of this depressing reality. Apartheid has only been given a boost, and the new initiative will not bring peace to the Middle East. The Trump plan has been described as “sugar-coated neocolonialism” – not only a moral atrocity but a policy one, too. Like the earlier experiment of the Oslo Accords, the 20-point Trump peace plan is likely to only mark another dismal failure. And so, we will continue to suffer war after war, without hope of reprieve. All illustrations by Malak Mattar, a Gazan artist based in London READ MORE

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At the time, it was claimed that Baker did not show the list of Palestinian participants to Israel in advance…

Jafar Panahi’s 2025 thriller It Was Just an Accident. Photo: Handout “We are worried about what is going to happen. Every morning, we wake up to the sound of explosions. Many places have been destroyed, and I know that some civilians have been killed as well. However, the Islamic Republic does not give us any accurate information, and the domestic news agencies are only propaganda centres for the regime. Because of this, we truly don’t know what is really happening or what awaits us.” These are the words of an Iranian dissident who has managed to contact us from inside the country after Israel and the USA started bombing Iran. They are too concerned for their safety to be named. Iran’s internet has been blocked for days now. There are reports of people protesting from their homes being shot at. The UN has warned that imprisoned Iranian protesters face “expedited” executions. There are fears about conditions deteriorating in Evin prison where a lot of political opponents of the regime are being held. Nobel Peace Prize winner Narges Mohammadi is currently in a jail in Zanjan, a city northwest of Tehran, and her situation is unknown. It is impossible to know exactly what is happening. In war the truth only comes out later – if at all – and disinformation is king. What is worrying is that there is such uncertainty about the outcome, and concern now that the USA and Israel don’t much care about the freedom of the people of Iran. Tens of thousands who bravely came out on the streets earlier this year to protest the regime were brutally murdered, many more arrested. Most shockingly, verified accounts have documented how the Revolutionary Guard swarmed hospitals, prevented medical care, took people off ventilators. Some doctors have even reported that wounded protesters who were being treated were later found with bullet holes in their heads. On Monday Index screened Jafar Panahi’s new film It was Just an Accident in advance of it coming out on Mubi this Friday, 6 March. It is a must-see if you want to understand the varying points of view of ordinary people in Iran. One of the people who talked on our panel discussion after the screening, Tara Aghdashloo, an Iranian writer, director and poet, wrote on Instagram of the current dilemma of those watching what is happening from afar: “Whoever we blame – this moment is overwhelming. There is pain, hoping for something good out of it, more pain, terror, remembering the mass murders by the regime yet fearing what these missiles and bombs could do to family and friends and innocent people, to our environment, infrastructure, our historic sites. Elation, even daring to hope that this fascist dictatorship might be gone once and for all. But remembering that the safety of my people is now in the hands of the same leaders, and that we’re expected to bet that our liberation is in a series of missiles that is shaking the city.” To be an Iranian dissident must be profoundly lonely and confusing. The autocratic ayatollah has been killed. But there is no succession plan for democracy. At Index we have always stood up for the people who want Iran to be finally free, for the women and young people, for the rappers, poets, artists and writers and all those who have put have themselves again and again in the firing line for the right to express their full selves without fear of torture and death. READ MORE

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“We are worried about what is going to happen. Every morning, we wake up to the sound of explosions. Many…

Investigative journalist Saddia Mazhar (right) documenting women arrested on International Women’s Day. Photo: Saddia Mazhar All over the world, International Women Day is celebrated to recognise the achievements and rights of women. But unfortunately, in Pakistan, that recognition means nothing. The reason: on that same International Women’s Day, in Islamabad, the federal capital of Pakistan, 44 women taking part in the annual Aurat March (a non-violent demonstration by women’s rights activists demanding social and economic rights) were detained by the police. The were held simply because they were planning to celebrate and put on a rally in the capital to recognise the achievements and challenges of women in Pakistan. The Aurat March activists were picked up by the police under Section 144 of the Criminal Procedure Code (CrPC), which was imposed in the federal capital Pakistan is a deeply patriarchal society where women lag behind in everything, which is why women face discrimination, violence, and sexual harassment on a daily basis. Perhaps unsurprisingly Pakistan was ranked bottom amongst 148 countries such as Sudan, Chad, Iran, and Guinea in the World Economic Forum’s (WEF) Global Gender Gap Report 2025, with only 56.7% gender parity. This is even worse than in 2022, when it ranked 145th out of 146 countries, above only Afghanistan. The Aurat March organisers stated on X that they “were peacefully exercising their right to protest.” Three women journalists who had gone to cover the protests, including investigative reporter Saddia Mazhar (pictured), were also arrested. Reports suggest the women marchers, before being arrested, were dragged, beaten up, and had their arms twisted by the police. Shahbana Zafar, the wife of Harris Khaliq, Secretary General of the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP), and others went to the Women Police and Child Station to meet the arrested marchers and they too were detained After their release, the Aurat March organisers held a press conference at the National Press Club. They stated that the theme of Aurat March Islamabad was a feminist constitution, among other things. As a result of the arrests, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif’s message on International Women’s Day drew strong criticism from female social media users. His message on X read: “On International Women’s Day, I wish to reiterate my government’s commitment to ensuring a safe, equal and enabling environment for women. The government is taking steps to empower women, protect their rights and provide them opportunities to excel in every field.” READ MORE

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All over the world, International Women Day is celebrated to recognise the achievements and rights of women. But unfortunately, in…

Access to the global internet is now restricted to loyal servants of the Iranian regime. Photo: Rahadiansyah/Unsplash In wartime Iran, connecting to the internet is now a perilous act, viewed as a crime against the state. Since hostilities erupted between Iran, Israel, and the United States on 28 February 2026, authorities have unleashed one of the most comprehensive internet shutdowns in history, cutting off millions from the rest of the world. Iranian authorities are now warning citizens that sharing photos of bombed locations or even trying to access the global internet could get you prosecuted for “collaborating with the enemy”. Against this backdrop, using a search engine or VPN is no longer innocent – it can be seen as a threat. Following massive airstrikes that killed the Supreme Leader and senior commanders, the state responded not only with anti-aircraft fire, but also activated a “kill switch” – severing international internet infrastructure. According to NetBlocks, connectivity dropped to just 1% of normal levels. For more than 280 hours, 90 million people have endured enforced silence, with over 40% of 2026 so far (up to 10 March) spent under internet shutdown. This calculated effort intends to isolate the population from information, not just a simple malfunction. A text message from an Iranian mobile operator calling on users to report people sharing images or information In a climate of heightened state paranoia, the SMS has become a tool of direct psychological warfare. Most frequently, messages from mobile operators to Iranian users characterise the sharing of images from bombing sites or “anti-government” sentiment as a “security violation”, effectively deputising mobile phones as tracking devices for dissent. More alarming are the rare reports of messages carrying direct judicial weight. These warn that “repeated connection to the international internet” will result in the immediate suspension of the phone line and referral to the judiciary. By criminalising attempts to bypass a firewall, authorities equate digital access with espionage. Notably, while these systems are used to threaten citizens, they have remained silent when issuing air-raid or public safety warnings. The architecture of the “class-based internet” The blackout is not total. Instead, authorities have enforced a “whitelisting” system that grants global web access only to pre-approved, loyal users. This system works because Iran has built its own internal internet, separating local traffic from the rest of the world. When the government turns on the whitelist, most people can only use local sites, while a small, approved group can still access the global internet. Instead of just blocking certain websites, the government now blocks most people entirely, letting only trusted insiders through. On 10 March, government spokesperson Fatemeh Mohajerani – representing an administration that, ironically, had campaigned on a pledge to reduce filtering – confirmed this graded reality. She stated that the government is working to provide limited access specifically for those who can “convey the voice of the system to the world”. This allows the regime to dominate the narrative reaching the outside world, drowning out civilian experiences with state propaganda. The digital underground: Configs and cat-and-mouse Despite threats, the Iranian people have not surrendered their right to speak. An underground network of “configs” now sustains resistance. Software like V2Ray, Xray, or Trojan is essentially an engine that does nothing on its own. To function, they require a specially formatted text file that specifies which server, protocol, and path to use. What users receive as links or files in private Telegram channels are actually encoded versions of these settings. Because the state’s deep packet inspection technology is constantly hunting for these connections, these files often have a very short lifespan. The challenge of keeping connections alive has created a high-risk black market. Short-lived configs are bought at high prices, making communication expensive and risky. For many users, especially those with limited technical knowledge, the situation creates new vulnerabilities. People searching for a way to contact relatives abroad often rely on unknown sellers or unverified software, exposing them to scams, malware, and surveillance risks. Some turn to Starlink, but owning such hardware adds further dangers of arrest and confiscation. Doxing as statecraft: The “spy hunters” The crackdown isn’t just online. Some Telegram channels linked to security forces now encourage people to report on each other, calling it an effort to find spies. These channels employ open-source intelligence tactics to identify citizens. When a video of an airstrike is posted, these groups inspect metadata and visual details to pinpoint the photographer’s location. Their personal information is then exposed, and they are labelled as enemy collaborators. This vigilante-style digital hunting is supported by the highest levels of the judiciary. Chief Justice Gholam-Hossein Mohseni-Ejei has publicly warned of “no leniency”, while state television has discussed punishments ranging from property confiscation to the death penalty for media actions that “damage national security”. The humanitarian cost of silence The human rights implications are catastrophic. Human Rights Watch has warned that the shutdown violates international law. When the IDF issues evacuation warnings on social media, those warnings fall into a digital vacuum. Because the general population cannot access the global web, they cannot see the maps or the warnings intended to save their lives. Centuries ago, the Persian Empire pioneered the Chapar-khaneh, a sophisticated postal system that revolutionised communication. Today, the heirs of that civilisation are being forced into a digital dark age. This is not the first time a nation has been stripped of its right to the global digital commons, nor will it be the last. But this crisis must serve as a provocation for the next generation of internet giants. As satellite-to-mobile technology advances, internet providers face the question of whether global access should be guaranteed in places where governments restrict connectivity. Preventing the criminalisation of communication may require new technical solutions. Securing open access remains a challenge for the global community. READ MORE

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In wartime Iran, connecting to the internet is now a perilous act, viewed as a crime against the state. Since…

Journalists from the state broadcaster RTK will meet members of the mission. Photo: Arianselmani From 24 to 25 March 2026, partner organisations of the Council of Europe Platform on the Safety of Journalists and other organisations will conduct a two-day fact-finding mission to Prishtina, Kosovo. The purpose of the mission is to assess the challenges to media freedom in the country and to discuss the possible solutions with media stakeholders and authorities. During the mission, the delegation will address political pressure on the media; the safety of journalists; journalists’ working conditions; legislation, including the media law and proposed amendments; the public broadcaster and the Independent Media Commission; journalists’ access to public information; legal threats, including abusive lawsuits (SLAPPs) and proposals to re-criminalise defamation; and the transposition and application of the European anti-SLAPP Directive, the European Media Freedom Act (EMFA), and the Digital Services Act (DSA). Prime Minister Albin Kurti has confirmed a meeting with the delegation. The delegation will also meet editors and journalists, members of the parliamentary media committee, judicial authorities, police representatives, regulatory bodies, and representatives of the public broadcaster. Following the two-day mission, the partners will present their initial findings at a press conference in Prishtina on 25 March 2026 and will subsequently publish a report on media freedom alongside a set of recommendations. The report will be shared with relevant national and international organisations. A similar fact-finding mission to Kosovo was organised by the Platform in 2022. The mission is supported by the Association of Journalists of Kosovo. Participating organisations European Centre for Press and Media Freedom ⁠European Federation of Journalists ⁠Reporters Without Borders ⁠International Press Institute ⁠Osservatorio Balcani Caucaso Transeuropa ⁠Association of European Journalists ⁠Index on Censorship READ MORE

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From 24 to 25 March 2026, partner organisations of the Council of Europe Platform on the Safety of Journalists and…

The Russian messenger app MAX has been castigated for its aggressive gathering of metadata and wide-ranging requests for permissions. Photo: Imago/Bode/Alamy The fifth year of Russia’s full-scale war against Ukraine grinds on, with its unvarying backdrop of devastated Ukrainian cities and extensive casualties among the non-combatant population. Meanwhile the Russian authorities exploit the war as justification for constantly tightening the screws of their repressive policies at home. In the last few years, criminal prosecutions for speaking out have become common, everyday occurrences. The definitions of “extremism” have become increasingly vague, and the pressure applied to the independent media and civil society initiatives has become systemic. Alongside these developments, another, less visible, but equally significant process has been gathering momentum: the restructuring of the digital environment in such a way as to induce people to modify their own behaviour themselves – frequently without even realising. Six months ago a law came into force in Russia making it an offence punishable by law to search for extremist materials online. This law, which was widely publicised in the media, functions as a “bogeyman”. That is, the security men’s little lamp won’t light up if you have entered “Navalny” in Google, but if they confiscate your computer and discover a search query like that in it, you can be charged with a crime. In the news, however, they don’t tell you about fine details like that. In the news they simply say that those who search for extremist materials online will be punished and that is what remains imprinted on people’s minds – that googling anything against the authorities is prohibited. For a long time, the Russian state’s approach to control of the internet was overt and unsubtle: ban a site, block a platform, restrict access. This didn’t work well. It annoyed people, provoked resistance and rapidly spawned solutions that bypassed restrictions. But in the fifth year of a war which, in regions under attack by drones, is accompanied by constant interruptions to mobile internet services, a solution has been found. Whitelisting. The implications of the whitelist model are simple: stable access is only assured to services approved in advance by the state. All the rest can operate, but with outages or restrictions, and without any guarantees. At the same time, Roscomnadzor (the Federal Supervisory Agency for Information and Communications Technologies) has decided to block calls via WhatsApp and Telegram – and this affects everybody. WhatsApp is the most popular messenger app in Russia, with 96 million users. People, especially the older generation, like it because it is simple. It’s good for everyday and family use, for off-the-cuff calling. Telegram is good for other things: it’s a connection to a field of information, news, politics and alternative points of view. They tried to block it as early as 2018, but when it became clear that direct prohibitions don’t work, the strategy changed. They no longer block apps completely but simply render them inconvenient. And to replace them they offer the “national messenger app” MAX. Celebrities who are loyal to the authorities advertise it on TV and urban billboards. “Great reception even in the car park,” a pro-government female rapper declares as she posts a MAX advertising video in stories, while the other apps beside it can no longer provide any access at all. MAX is rapidly becoming the compulsory communications channel in schools and nursery schools, universities and colleges, state and municipal institutions, as well as in “house chats” for residents of apartment blocks, facilitated by the management companies. Its introduction is only rarely achieved by means of public command: in most instances it is a case of word-of-mouth instructions and surreptitious pressure – from warnings about “unpleasantness” to threats of disciplinary reprimands or dismissal. MAX is whitelisted by definition. It is stable in situations where other applications are “temporarily unavailable”. MAX has to be preinstalled on all the mobile devices offered for sale in the country. But MAX is not attempting to become everyone’s “favourite” all at once. It is enough for it to become compulsory. There is no attempt to persuade people – they are simply transferred under the pretext of “convenience”. MAX’s most crucial characteristic is its profound integration with the platform Gosuslugi (State Services). This is an individual’s digital profile: passport, taxes, fines, medical record, welfare payments. MAX can be used to confirm a person’s identity or age, and it can be used as a digital document – for instance when purchasing alcohol. This changes the very nature of the messenger app. It ceases to be a space for networking and socialising and becomes part of an ID system. MAX’s very interface suggests that it is the Russian equivalent of the Chinese app WeChat. The Russian authorities are looking to China more and more nowadays – not as a model that can be copied point for point, but as proof that control can be built into everyday reality. The Chinese system doesn’t work by means of incessant prohibitions, but by virtue of people’s habituation to limits. They know in advance what the boundaries are and they act within them. And Russia’s digital policy is gradually leading people in the same direction. However, WeChat was never designated a “national messenger app”, and people were not herded into it by the threat of being sacked: it defeated the competition on its own terms – thanks to its convenience, ecosystem of services and the early effect of scale. Initially it was simply a messenger app, then a payment instrument, and then a portal to municipal amenities, the media, taxis and state services. The process of habituation was organic, and the infrastructure of control was only constructed around already familiar elements. MAX was immediately castigated for its aggressive gathering of metadata and wide-ranging requests for permissions – access to contacts, photos, call history, screen – and the absence of end-to-end encryption (E2EE) by default: this means that all messages are saved on servers in readable form, creating the risk of their being accessed by third parties or state agencies. But it is not the technical details that are most important. The most important thing is the effect: the individual becomes accustomed to the idea that risk, not privacy, is the norm. That it is safer not to discuss anything superfluous. That it is simpler not to ask questions. In this way a new model of social behaviour is taking shape. Despite the official declarations, MAX has not become massively popular by choice. People use it because they need to. Because otherwise it’s impossible to manage. This is a fundamental difference from messenger apps that have become integrated into life in an organic fashion. And this is the point at which the most disturbing question of all arises. The war might come to an end, but will the blocking of the mobile internet also end? An infrastructure of social control is rarely temporary. When public money has been invested in it, when it has been built into schools, state institutions and people’s everday activities, it starts living a life of its own. New justifications for it will always be found: security, stability, new threats. Not coercion, but habituation. When social interaction becomes cautious, there is no longer any need for constant intervention by the censor. Censorship is already built into daily life. In this sense, what is happening now resembles ever more closely Michel Foucault’s theory of the Panopticon – an “open prison” in which control is effected, not by means of constant surveillance, but by the possibility of surveillance. Individuals do not need to know that they are being observed at this moment. It is sufficient for them to be uncertain whether they are. In this system the walls become invisible and discipline becomes internal. A digital infrastructure organised.around whitelists, identification and unstable means of communication reproduces precisely the same logic:  individuals start behaving cautiously, not because they are being punished, but because it’s simply safer that way. It is also important to note that this behaviour does not remain within the ambit of the application. It is inevitably extrapolated to life offline – to conversations in public spaces, to spontaneous discussion, to the way in which people speak out loud. When communication in digital space becomes cautious and functional, the same model is gradually carried over into ordinary life. The open prison has no need of bars or guards: it inculcates the habit of self-limitation. And that is precisely why such systems remain stable long after the formal reason for their appearance disappears. READ MORE

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The fifth year of Russia’s full-scale war against Ukraine grinds on, with its unvarying backdrop of devastated Ukrainian cities and…

The Al Quds march in London in 2018. Photo: City Bloke/Alamy Earlier this week the UK government approved a request from the Metropolitan Police to ban the al-Quds Day march. The Met requested the ban due to safety concerns. They also said the march’s organisers were “supportive of the Iranian regime”. We have issue here, not with any of these suggestions, but rather with the idea that they are grounds enough for an outright ban, which can easily then be used against others later. Al-Quds Day – named after the Arabic word for Jerusalem – was first held in Iran shortly after the 1979 Revolution. It was created by the then leader Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini to show Iran’s solidarity with Palestinians and to emphasise Jerusalem’s importance to Muslims. Events for the day, which is now held worldwide, typically on the last Friday of Ramadan, are often accompanied by venomous anti-Zionist and anti-Israel sentiment. The London march – which has taken place for many years now – is organised by the UK al-Quds Committee, which comprises several organisations, with the Islamic Human Rights Commission (IHRC) playing a central role. The organisers insist the event is peaceful. In the past, however, the Met say there have been “arrests for supporting terrorist organisations and antisemitic hate crimes”. Whether the march would be more violent than other protests is impossible to say. What is certainly true, however, is the connection to Iran. Some of those involved do not hide their admiration for the Iranian regime. The IHRC recently described Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, the former leader of Iran killed in an Israeli/US airstrike two weeks ago, as a leader who “resisted oppression and stood on the right side of history”. This about someone who presided over the brutal massacre of tens of thousands of protesting Iranian citizens this year alone. Yet it is not illegal in this country to express support for the Iranian government. It may be deeply distasteful, but distasteful and illegal are not the same thing. Levels of violence are also difficult to predict and all protests inevitably carry risks. At the march organised by the far-right activist Tommy Robinson in September 2025, 26 police officers were injured while policing a demonstration that brought 150,000 people onto the streets of central London. Twenty-four people were arrested. It was likely clear in advance that there would be some violence, but the march still went ahead. Ultimately, we have laws in place to criminalise violence and to legislate against incitement and hate speech. These laws aren’t suspended during protests and they should be used and are used. This is the first time a march has been banned in London since 2012, and a static protest will take place instead. The Metropolitan Police have been keen to emphasise that the decision was not taken lightly: the Commissioner Mark Rowley says that he recognises the importance of the right to protest and freedom of speech. We can only hope this ban is as unique as he and the government say. Unfortunately, the broader atmosphere provides little reassurance. Successive laws in the UK have chipped away at the right to protest. And now we have more and more instances of the “heckler’s veto”, a situation in which any group can shut down an event simply by citing a threat of disorder. A film about the far right was cancelled at the Southbank Centre in 2024, for example, because of fears of violence from extremists; Maccabi football fans were banned from an Aston Villa game citing safety (it later transpired the evidence was manipulated). It’s a slippery slope here, where banning one event on safety grounds creates a precedent to ban more. It’s useful to look to history here for other examples. Perhaps no better is Skokie. In 1977, the National Socialist Party of America – a group of self-styled Nazis – planned a march through Skokie, a town near Chicago. Skokie was home to around 40,500 Jews, many of them Holocaust survivors. When the town denied the group a permit, the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) stepped in. One of their lawyers, a Jewish man named David Goldberger, chose to represent the Nazis on free speech grounds. The case eventually reached the United States Supreme Court, which ruled in ACLU’s favour. The march was permitted. In the end, it was a pathetic affair. The Nazis moved their demonstration from Skokie to Chicago. Around 20 members turned up for a rally that lasted barely 10 minutes. They were met by roughly 2,000 counter-protesters. With hindsight, most agree it was the right decision to allow the march. The Nazis were allowed to exercise their First Amendment rights, but they failed to persuade anyone of their message. Nor were they granted the underdog status they might have exploited to attract sympathy and support. At the time though, ACLU’s position was deeply unpopular. Many were outraged that the principle of free speech was being evoked in the name of Nazism. ACLU lost members. It was not an easy case to fight. Today we find ourselves in a similar predicament. Across the political spectrum and across the world, people are marching – some for causes that align closely with universal human rights and others that do not. In some instances, the causes being championed are in fact in direct opposition to freedom of expression. More worrying still, illiberal causes are increasingly being cloaked in the language of human rights and social justice. Some protest movements borrow the vocabulary of tolerance while aligning themselves with groups or regimes that have little regard for it. A report released this month even exposed several UK charities as having links to the Iranian regime. Some protests don’t even hide the language of hate and instead seek to justify it in the name of an otherwise worthy cause. We must be clear-eyed about the nature of certain protests. But we can still argue that they should be allowed to go ahead. As with Skokie, it is often better to allow people their moment in the open – where their views can be scrutinised and challenged, and policed when they do cross a legal threshold – than pre-emptively stopping them altogether. READ MORE

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Earlier this week the UK government approved a request from the Metropolitan Police to ban the al-Quds Day march. The…

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