17 Nov 2025 | Asia and Pacific, India, News and features
For years, many of the world’s most polluted cities were in China. I was in Beijing during the “airpocalyse” peak and it felt like living in an ashtray. Everyone could see the problem. Except not everyone could talk about it. The US Embassy’s popular and trusted air quality data feed – a constant source of irritation for the authorities, contradicting as it did the government’s own data – was sporadically blocked, including in 2014 during the Apec summit. Viral jokes, memes and photos posted on particularly bad days were frequently removed.
Then in 2015 a documentary was produced. Under the Dome challenged the government’s inadequate response and confronted head on the line that what citizens were experiencing was simply fog. The film was initially endorsed by Beijing and within days of its release it had been viewed by hundreds of millions. Except its success was its flaw. One week in and the film was taken offline.
The thing about air though is that it largely doesn’t discriminate. Yes, the wealthy can buy top-of-the-range air filtration systems but eventually everyone needs to go outside. And so as much as the Chinese Communist Party might have felt uncomfortable by the popularity of the film, they felt more uncomfortable about the shoddy quality of the air. They acted. Today air quality in China is seismically better than a decade prior.
There’s a sense of déjà vu looking at India today. In Delhi, where pollution now kills more people than obesity or diabetes, residents are frustrated that they might not be getting the full truth – allegations have even been made that the BJP tamper with the city’s pollution data, claims they have denied. And the population is frustrated that the government is doing little to deal with the issue. So last weekend a protest was planned. A striking poster for it read “We Rise While We Choke”, accompanied by a picture of a two people in heavy-duty masks embracing. The protest didn’t go as planned. In the days leading up to it, Delhi police made hundreds of calls and home visits to those who were galvanising crowds. On the day itself, the police shut down India Gate, the meeting point, and detained close to 100 protesters. The next day, a police case was filed against the organisers.
One of the main organisers of Sunday’s protest, Saurav Das, told Index that the police’s actions were “completely uncalled for”.
India has form more broadly when it comes to threatening people speaking out on the climate. In Tamil Nadu in 2018 police fired into crowds of protesters who were opposing the expansion of a copper smelting plant, killing 13. In 2021 Disha Ravi, a founder of Fridays for Future India, was arrested and accused of sedition. These are just two examples in a pattern of increasingly hostile and dangerous conditions for environmental defenders under Narendra Modi.
For Das, Sunday’s protest “was a small act of resistance against the taking away of their democratic spaces”.
Free speech should not be a luxury. Nor should clean air. The sooner Indian politicians realise this the better.
24 Oct 2025 | Asia and Pacific, News and features, Pakistan
Inside the National Press Club (NPC) of Islamabad stands a column topped with a hand cast in iron and holding a pen, which shows the concept of a free press. But unfortunately, realities on the ground are quite different in the capital, let alone other parts of Pakistan. The proof: On 2 October 2025, the police carried out a raid at the NPC and assaulted journalists present inside the press club.
Journalists’ unions and human rights bodies have condemned the assault by the Islamabad police in the strongest terms with the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) demanding an immediate inquiry and saying that those responsible should be brought to book.
During my visit to the press club this month, I met journalists, photographers, and cameramen who were assaulted by the police. One of them was Mohammad Shezad. According to him, he was beaten up by officers carrying out the raid.
“The cops grabbed me by my shirt,” he told Index on Censorship. “As I resisted, they ripped my shirt across the back.”
Dawn, Pakistan’s largest English-language daily broadsheet, condemned the raid the very next day in an editorial, calling it “a trend that one associates with authoritarian regimes, which crush protest and cannot tolerate even peaceful dissent”.
“On that very day, there were three demonstrations at the press club,” recalled Azhar Jatoi, the president of the NPC, during an interview with Index. “The JKJAAC (Jammu Kashmir Joint Awami Action Committee) had issued a call for a demonstration at the press club, and they were surrounded by the police as soon as they started demonstrating.”
The JKJAAC is an alliance demanding civil liberties and political rights in the Kashmir region in Pakistan, an end to special privileges for government officials, the restoration of student unions, access to free and quality healthcare and education, among other things.
The organisation had engaged in talks with the government which failed, and that is why they called for a region-wide strike on 29 September. In the lead up to the strike, the government shut down all mobile, landline and internet services in the region, but unfortunately, the protests soon turned violent. According to a report by Reuters, eight were killed in the protests.
As a result, the JKJAAC protestors went to demonstrate outside the National Press Club in Islamabad, so their demonstrations could be peacefully recorded.
According to Jatoi, the police started assaulting the journalists to stop them reporting on how the protesters were being beaten and dragged away.
Rashed Ahmad, who works at the press club, said while talking to Index that he too was beaten up by the police when he wanted to close the gate.
Most of the journalists present at the NPC complained about the police raid, calling it an attack against the press freedom in Pakistan. One of them was Ishaque Chaudry, a senior journalist in Islamabad who said that there had been attacks on the press club before.
“This is not the first time that the journalists have been assaulted at the press club. In the past, these kinds of incidents have taken place too,” he told Index. He added that these attacks were happening when Pakistan had a democratic government, and not when the country had been under military rule.
Other journalists echoed the same claims. Afzal Butt, the president of PFUJ (Pakistan Federal Union of Journalists), termed the assault “one of the darkest days” in Pakistan while talking about the press club raid.
It is interesting to note that Islamabad used to be a safe place for journalists. But over the last few years, it has become unsafe. According to an annual press freedom report by Freedom Network, Islamabad was termed in 2024 as the “second most dangerous place to practise journalism” in the country with a quarter of all attacks on journalists happening in the capital.
This is not something surprising. The most senior journalists, known nationally in the country, have been attacked in Islamabad for years. In 2017, a senior investigative journalist of The News Ahmed Noorani was assaulted by knife-wielding assailants along with his driver in Islamabad. Due to the persistent threats to his life, he fled the country.
In 2021, prominent Pakistani journalist Asad Toor was assaulted by three unidentified men who broke into his apartment in Islamabad. In the same year, senior journalist Absar Alam too was shot and injured in an attack in Islamabad.
The list of assaults against journalists in Islamabad goes on. But the reporters this time around were lucky enough to survive. They are lucky in the sense that Pakistan is still one the deadliest countries for journalists to work in the world according to the latest figures from Reporters without Borders. At least 138 journalists have been killed in the country since 1990.
Instead of protecting journalists, government-sponsored advertisements appeared in media on the same day as the police carried out the raid on the press club, portraying journalists, freelancers, and others as anti-state.
Farooq Sulehria, a teacher at Beaconhouse National University in Lahore and author of the books on the media in Pakistan, told Index that the raid on the press club was part of “a creeping authoritarianism in Pakistan”.
He further explained that by creeping authoritarianism he meant the increasing repression of the state in Pakistan, which was affecting aspects of life where it was not present before. “For instance, the police carried out a raid inside the press club in Islamabad which people could hardly think that could happen,” he said.
In his concluding remarks, journalist Ishaque Chaurdy comes up with a disconcerting view while talking about police raid at the club: “If this is the case in the capital for journalists, then the situation for journalists is obviously quite worse than we can imagine in rest of Pakistan.”
15 Sep 2025 | About Index, Asia and Pacific, Nepal, News and features, Newsletters
It’s been a week of political violence and while many might still be glued to news about the murder of Charlie Kirk (my response here), I want to turn attention to another unfolding crisis – the growing war on digital freedoms. This week that war flared dramatically in Nepal.
The story moved fast. Thousands of people, mostly young, took to the streets at the start of the week to protest the government’s decision to ban 26 social media platforms. Scores of unarmed protesters were killed and government buildings torched. The prime minister and other officials then resigned. The social media bans were lifted. Writing for Index from the country this week, Gary Wornell spoke of his horror and sadness at what unfolded. “The Nepal I had known as my second home for the last 13 years would never be,” he said. His piece is both a good explainer and a deeply emotional witness account.
The government tried to justify the bans as necessary to tackle fake news, hate speech and platform accountability. The youth saw it differently, and called it censorship, plain and simple. We agree, not least because we’ve heard this line before, many times. Across South Asia (and for that matter the world) governments use the pretext of “online safety” to roll back digital rights and, by extension, civil liberties.
In India, we’ve closely tracked how Narendra Modi’s government has tightened control over digital platforms through legislative and regulatory measures, often under the guise of combating fake news or protecting national unity and security. The ruling party has also benefitted from the mob veto, where right-wing groups and influencers have lodged a blizzard of police complaints about errant social media posts. These have resulted in prominent individuals, such as commentator Dr Medusa and journalist (and Index award winner) Mohammed Zubair, being charged with sedition. In Pakistan a bill was passed in January that gives the government sweeping controls on social media. Users can now be sent to prison for spreading disinformation. Sri Lanka’s Online Safety Act allows the government to take down content critical of it to apparently protect national security interests. Bangladesh has the Digital Security Act, which has been criticised for its breadth. I’ll park the UK’s Online Safety Act but we have concerns about that too, as we’ve frequently highlighted.
Not all legislation is cynical or censorious. Several voices from our South Asia network reminded us this week that digital spaces are indeed being used to incite hate and violence. The amplification of hateful content against the Rohingya in Myanmar on Facebook is a tragic example. But here’s a distinction: recognising and responding to harm is not the same as justifying an authoritarian response. Even those most concerned with digital hate in South Asia condemned Nepal’s actions.
The fury has died down in Nepal. Still, as the above pattern shows, it’s unlikely this woeful chapter will be the end of government attempts to shut down digital discourse.
27 Aug 2025 | About Index, Europe and Central Asia, News and features, Newsletters, United Kingdom
Far too often in Britain and elsewhere governments claim the price of countering extremist threats is limiting free speech. The latest example in the UK is proscribing Palestine Action as a terrorist organisation, which has led to hundreds of people arrested for peacefully holding up banners supporting the organisation. On the other side of the aisle, people are exercising their right to protest against the use of hotels to house asylum seekers, actions justified by the shadow home secretary Chris Philp, who said they had “every right to protest”. But there is a fear by some that that “cordon sanitaire” between peaceful protesters and extreme far right neo-Nazis is being breached, with Byline Times identifying known supporters of extremist groups taking part.
That balance between free speech, protest and extremism is a delicate one and the instinct of some politicians to demonstrate grip, or respond to what they see as the consensus, can be to ban things and even label them terrorist or extremist activities. We at Index were warning about this 10 years ago.
Round the world, we know that terrorism legislation is often used to stop journalists reporting and opposition parties standing for election. Anti-terrorism laws can be a catch-all which criminalises opponents and scares off criticism. In some countries clamping down on so-called “terrorism” serves to close down interference from abroad: “Don’t criticise us with your liberal ideas, we are keeping you safe by locking up people who could blow you up.”
Mostly governments really don’t want to discuss these messy nuances. So it might be somewhat surprising that the Home Office, on its website, has decided to publish a series of essays commissioned by the outgoing Commissioner for Counter-terrorism, Robin Simcox entitled: Countering Terrorism: Defending free speech. In his introduction Simcox explains why he commissioned these thought pieces: “One, freedom of speech matters greatly to me. Two, I think it is under sustained attack. Three, counter-extremism work too often forms part of the offensive.”
One of his points, and an argument made in many of the essays, is that freedom of expression is uncomfortable. He writes: “We defend it because freedom of expression is the route by which we discover the truth; because testing conflicting opinion can be challenging but ultimately makes our discourse healthier; and because we learn to accept and indeed cherish those with differing viewpoints. The alternative – a coerced, ‘acceptable’ consensus of the day – offers a bleak vision of the future.”
The idea of “tolerance”, one essay argues, leads to a flattening of robust argument where we censor ideas and conversations in order not to offend others. Meanwhile Liam Duffy’s essay, titled Don’t Do Anything I Say in This Song: Countering Extremism with Candour, Not Censorship, is an interesting insight into how government works. He argues that there is a “complacency and cavalier attitude to freedom of expression” among those who deal with counter extremism with “concerns over free speech too often dismissed as being advanced with cynical motivations”.
Our very own editor-at-large Martin Bright’s essay, which you can read here, looks at the challenges journalists face when reporting on extremism and community relations.
Hopefully government ministers will read these essays before the end of the summer break and reflect on whether they have got the balance right in the UK.
