22 Aug 2025 | Africa, Americas, Asia and Pacific, Europe and Central Asia, Guinea-Bissau, Hong Kong, Iran, Middle East and North Africa, News and features, Russia, United Kingdom, United States
Bombarded with news from all angles every day, important stories can easily pass us by. To help you cut through the noise, every Friday Index publishes a weekly news roundup of some of the key stories covering censorship and free expression. This week, we look at a human rights defender sentenced to death in Iran, and a crackdown on media freedom in Guinea-Bissau.
The price of rebellion: Human rights defender sentenced to death in Iran
Iranian human rights defender Sharifeh Mohammadi has had her death sentence confirmed by Iran’s supreme court, for the crime of “Baghi” or “rebelling against the just Islamic ruler(s).”
Having been sentenced to death in July 2024, her sentence was then overturned in October that year due to “flaws and ambiguities” by the same branch of the Supreme Court that confirmed it this week.
Mohammadi, who advocates for women’s rights and labour rights, was first arrested on 5 December 2023 while on her way home from work. She has remained imprisoned ever since, and her family allege that she has been subjected to torture and several months in solitary confinement. Her cousin, Vida Mohammadi, stated that her charges were “not based on justice from the outset but rather on a scenario fabricated by the Intelligence Ministry.”
Access denied: Portuguese media outlets shut down in Guinea-Bissau
The authorities in Guinea-Bissau have ordered the closure of two Portuguese media outlets, LUSA and RTP and the discontinuation of local broadcasts of RTP, ordering their journalists to leave the country.
The authorities did not provide an explanation for their actions but promised to release a statement, which has yet to be shared. While President Sissoco Embaló declined to give a reason for the measure, he reportedly told journalists it is “a problem between Guinea-Bissau and Portugal.”
The act is being viewed as part of Embaló’s broader crackdown on media freedom within the country.
Safety not guaranteed: Hong Kong summons UK envoy after activist offered asylum
Hong Kong has summoned British and Australian envoys after both nations granted asylum to individuals who fled the territory.
Pro-democracy activist Tony Chung announced on the weekend that the UK Home Office granted his asylum claim. He had been one of the youngest people to receive a jail sentence under Hong Kong’s notorious national security law and left the country in 2023.
The day after, former lawmaker Ted Hui announced his successful asylum claim in Australia.
The move comes as part of a campaign of transnational repression by the Hong Kong authorities to silence those who fled for their safety.
The price for reporting: Ice’s continued detention of Atlanta reporter
The American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) have called for the release of Atlanta journalist Mario Guevara who remains detained by Immigration and customs enforcement (Ice).
Guevara was detained on 14 June 2025 while covering the “No Kings” protest. Shortly after his arrest, prosecutors dropped the criminal charges and an immigration judge granted him bond on 1 July. His family attempted to pay the bond, yet Ice refused to release him and instead transferred him to Gwinnett County on a traffic violation charge. Despite those charges being dropped, Ice refused to release him.
Guevara arrived legally to the USA from El Salvador where he has lived for more than 20 years.
Scarlet Kim, senior staff attorney with the ACLU’s Speech, Privacy, and Technology Project has called for his release, stating “Mario Guevara is being detained solely because of his journalism — specifically his livestreaming of immigration and other law enforcement officials.”
Censored screens: our favourite TV shows are heavily censored in Russia
According to the New York Times, ever since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Russian citizens have been turning to streaming platforms for respite.
However, despite watching the same shows we know and love, what we see and Russians see is entirely different. TV shows such as Just Like That, White Lotus, and The Wire have been censored and edited to remove content featuring trans and LGBTQ+ content, reference or mention of President Vladimir Putin or scenes which show intimacy between men.
Since the start of the war, the Kremlin has ramped up its attack on LGBTQ+ rights. Part of their crackdown includes a “gay propaganda” law targeting activists.
20 Aug 2025 | Africa, News and features, Nigeria, Volume 54.02 Summer 2025
This article first appeared in Volume 54, Issue 2 of our print edition of Index on Censorship, titled Land of the Free?: Trump’s war on speech at home and abroad, published on 21 July 2025. Read more about the issue here.
The air in Lagos hung thick like wet wool, heat rising off the asphalt in visible waves that curled into the sky. Ushie Uguamaye, a 24-year-old National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) member, pressed “record” on her phone, with sweat forming on her forehead and frustration bubbling in her chest.
It was 16 March. She had just left a supermarket and the maths wasn’t adding up. Prices had soared again and her NYSC allowance had evaporated before the month was halfway through. So, like millions of young Nigerians do when the country feels unbearable, she turned to TikTok. No script. No make-up. Just rage.
“Tinubu is a terrible president,” she said – her voice cracking not from fear but from exhaustion.
The video was raw, honest and wildly relatable. It caught fire across TikTok, spiralling into threads, stitches and duets. But it wasn’t just likes and solidarity that followed. Within 24 hours, she had reportedly received threatening calls from NYSC officials. They wanted the video gone.
In the space of a day, a plaintive cry from a weary citizen morphed into a national inflection point. Uguamaye’s unscripted online lament, uttered in a moment of economic despair, crystallised into something far more combustible: a challenge to authority. Her words became a litmus test for the boundaries of dissent in a fragile democracy.
In the aftermath of this impassioned viral video, a ripple of digital dissent surged across Nigerian social media. Her raw expression of frustration kickstarted the #30DaysRantChallenge movement. People congregated online to voice their grievances, from escalating food prices to the erosion of civil liberties. Each post served as both catharsis and indictment, painting a mosaic of a nation grappling with systemic malaise.
Parallel with this, another incident illuminated the tensions between free expression and institutional authority.
During a public event in the southern state of Delta, a group of nursing students responded to an MC’s introduction of the First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, as “our mother” with the chant: “Na your mama be this?” This spontaneous expression, which was captured and disseminated widely on TikTok, was perceived by many as a subtle rebuke of the administration and a rejection of the First Lady by implying “your mother, not our mother”. The students – particularly the one who posted the video – faced a swift backlash, and had to deliver clarifications and apologies to mitigate potential repercussions.
In a society where traditional avenues for dissent are often fraught with peril, social media emerges as both a sanctuary and a battleground. Yet, as these cases show, the state’s vigilant gaze ensures that even online expression is not beyond reproach.
A legacy of silencing dissent
These digital expressions of frustration are not isolated incidents but rather the latest chapters in Nigeria’s long history of suppressing dissent. From colonial times to the present day, the state’s response to protest has often been marked by repression and violence.
In 1929, the Aba Women’s Riot saw thousands of Igbo women protest against colonial taxation policies. They were met with brutal force by the British authorities, resulting in many deaths. Fast forward to the 1990s, when Nigeria was under a military dictatorship. The execution of environmental activist Ken Saro-Wiwa and eight others for protesting against oil exploitation in the Niger Delta highlighted the regime’s intolerance for dissent and drew international condemnation.
A return to civilian rule in 1999 did not significantly alter this pattern. The 2012 Occupy Nigeria protests against fuel subsidy removal were met with arrests and the use of force. More recently, the 2020 #EndSARS movement, which began as a protest against police brutality, culminated in the Lekki Toll Gate shooting, where security forces opened fire on peaceful demonstrators.
These events are still fresh in the mind of 18-year-old TikTok comedian President Shaks when he is creating content. “I am always really careful with what I post so I haven’t been threatened,” he told Index.
His caution isn’t paranoia but memory. The events of 2020, the blood-stained flags and silenced chants, still haunt Nigeria’s digital resistance.
“A lot of people died trying to protest for a better Nigeria,” said Shaks.
With the streets deemed too dangerous, TikTok and other platforms have become the last refuge for dissent. But voicing dissent online can also come with significant personal risk.
“Even social media isn’t safe,” he added. “They can still come and arrest you in your house if you do too much. Allegedly o.” He adds the “o” at the end of his sentence to emphasise his point.
The global precedent of online censorship
In the evolving landscape of digital governance, the USA has set a precedent that reverberates far beyond its borders. Its government’s actions concerning TikTok have provided a framework that other nations, including Nigeria, have observed and emulated.
In August 2020, during his first term as president, Donald Trump issued Executive Order 13942, citing national security concerns over TikTok’s Chinese ownership. The order aimed to prohibit transactions with ByteDance, TikTok’s parent company, unless it divested its US operations. The administration argued that TikTok could be used by the Chinese government to collect data on American citizens or spread propaganda.
Joe Biden’s administration continued this scrutiny. In April 2024, he signed into law a bill requiring ByteDance to divest TikTok or face a ban. ByteDance was given nine months to find a US-approved buyer or the app would be shut down across the USA.
The administration contended that China’s control of TikTok through ByteDance represented a grave threat to national security. While the ban technically came into effect in January, Trump, now in his second presidential term, has so far granted TikTok two 75-day extensions to comply.
These actions have not gone unnoticed globally. In June 2021, Nigeria suspended the operations of X (then Twitter) after the platform deleted a tweet by the then president, Muhammadu Buhari. The government said there had been “a litany of problems” with the platform, including the spread of “fake news” leading to “real-world violent consequences”, and that it was being used to undermine “Nigeria’s corporate existence”.
Nigeria’s move to ban Twitter based on national security concerns mirrored the USA’s rationale for scrutinising TikTok, suggesting that the USA’s approach to online regulation has influenced other nations and provided a blueprint for justifying restrictions on digital expression.
Shaks is concerned that bans could happen on other platforms. “They’ve done it before with X, and TikTok is no different,” he said.
The interplay between national security and freedom of expression continues to be a contentious issue, with the potential to redefine the boundaries of digital discourse – and the actions of influential countries play a pivotal role in shaping global norms.
Comic relief or subversive speech?
In Nigeria, where protest is perilous and grief must be masked, humour has become both the shield and the weapon. In the era of TikTok, where the audience is vast and the state is watching, laughter is no longer just a reprieve but an act of calculated defiance.
“There is a line, ‘cause with the way things are in the country they can arrest you if you do too much,” said Shaks. “That’s why ‘allegedly’ is something people say 100 times to avoid those types of situations when speaking about politics or the state of the country.”
He says his satire is born out of necessity. For him, humour isn’t just creative flair – it’s strategy and survival.
“It started as a way to make such a heavy topic more approachable,” he said. “When you use humour, it feels less like a lecture and more like a conversation.”
Over time, he found that comedy allowed him to “point out the absurdities of corruption” in ways that resonated with audiences. But beneath the punchlines lies a deeper truth: “It’s a coping mechanism. Nigerians use laughter to cover up the fact that we’re going through a lot.”
While he is sceptical about whether online content creation can change things – “the protest in 2020 didn’t change anything” – he continues to post, joke and poke gently at power. His audience, he said, hasn’t turned on him. “Any time I make a joke about politics, I make it as subtle as possible. I don’t do too much, so I have never [had] a negative reaction from the public.”
But in this fragile republic, where truth is dangerous and silence is coerced, even a TikTok skit carries weight. Laughter, after all, is harmless only when the state says it is.
19 Aug 2025 | Europe and Central Asia, News and features, Scotland, United Kingdom
The head librarian at the National Library of Scotland in Edinburgh most likely didn’t anticipate that a public call to nominate favourite Scottish books for the institution’s 100th anniversary would ignite a national controversy. But when The Women Who Wouldn’t Wheesht, a collection of essays by feminist writers including JK Rowling and former MP Joanna Cherry, was voted into the top 200, it sparked a long, fierce internal debate.
The book, which critiques gender self-ID reforms brought forward by Nicola Sturgeon’s government, is polarising. For some, it represents a defence of women’s rights; for others, it feels like a rejection of trans identities and a challenge to the legitimacy of their lived experience.
Faced with this tension, Amina Shah, the National Librarian, sought an equality impact assessment. The advice was mixed. Including the book might lead to protests from LGBTQ+ staff and allies. Excluding it could be perceived as censorship. Concerns had been raised by LGBT+ staff network about the book’s inclusion, and in consultation with the chair of the library’s board Drummond Bone, Shah ultimately decided the book would not be included in the display.
That could have been the end of it. But an FOI request filed by the book’s editors brought the decision-making process into public view and turned a quiet decision into a news story.
Much of the subsequent debate has turned on language. Some headlines have referred to The Women Who Wouldn’t Wheesht as a “banned book” – a claim others have taken issue with. After all, the National Library of Scotland has said the book is still available in its open reading room. Others have wrongly claimed it was removed after the exhibition began in June, rather than not being part of the display to begin with.
In this kind of charged environment, misinformation spreads quickly. So let’s be clear: the public was invited to select Scottish books for the Dear Library exhibition, created to mark the centenary. Apparently 523 books were nominated and the 200 that received the most nominations would make the main display. The Women Who Wouldn’t Wheesht made the cut with four votes. It was the only title (as far as we know) excluded from the display after qualifying. That’s not an impartial act of curation. It’s a deliberate exception. And exceptions based on viewpoint deserve scrutiny.
At Index, we’ve just reprised our role as the UK lead for Banned Books Week. We don’t champion books because we always agree with them, or even because we find them palatable. We champion them because books must be a space where ideas – even deeply uncomfortable ones – can be explored.
In recent years, we’ve seen how frequently books on LGBTQ+ themes are targeted for removal, particularly in the United States. In the UK, too, we’ve seen troubling signs: last month a Reform MP urged libraries in Kent to remove books on trans issues. We called it out. In that case, as here, defenders said it wasn’t censorship – the books were still available, just not in the spotlight.
Curation is never neutral. What gets displayed, what doesn’t, what is “safe” enough to be seen, these are all decisions that shape the cultural landscape. These decisions matter. A book moved from the front shelf to the back is a signal.
Some say the book in question promotes “hate”. They’re entitled to that view and indeed entitled to protest its inclusion. It’s also important to acknowledge that for many LGBTQ+ readers and staff, this isn’t just a political disagreement. It’s personal and painful. In a liberal democracy though, even speech that offends or unsettles us deserves protection, especially in books, where the whole point is to wrestle with complex, often conflicting, ideas. Books that are deemed “dangerous” or “offensive” have always existed. Many are now considered classics. Others remain debated. In all cases, open dialogue – not quiet removal – is the better path forward.
Ironically, the decision to exclude the book has only amplified its reach. In what some are calling a classic case of the Streisand Effect, sales have surged on Amazon. People are talking about it more than they ever would have otherwise.
And now, the consequences have broadened. One of the exhibition’s funders is reportedly unhappy. There’s speculation that Shah could face professional consequences. That, too, would be a mistake. This is, after all, a very fraught space. Shah was clearly trying to do, with the backing of her chair, what she thought was right, balancing the concerns of staff, readers and the broader public. She was between a rock and a hard place, a damned if do, damned if don’t situation. Instead of continuing with the message that you can face professional risks either way, we should be asking how we can hold space for difficult conversations, without silencing people on either side. Because this isn’t just about one book, or one exhibition. It’s about a moment in which institutions are being pushed and pulled by opposing forces, and trying, often imperfectly, to chart a course through it all.
Ultimately, we need space for discomfort, for disagreement, and above all, for empathy. That’s how democracies grow – not by hiding books away, but by reading them, debating them and understanding why they matter.
18 Aug 2025 | Europe and Central Asia, Israel, News and features, Newsletters, Palestine, United Kingdom
Cultural boycotts are no simple matter, as the Boardmasters surfing and music festival in Cornwall discovered this summer.
Traditionally one of the fixed points of the post-exam season, this year the organisers faced the knotty decision of whether or not to cancel the controversial act, Bob Vylan. The pro-Palestinian punk provocateurs had already caused a media storm (and embarrassment for the BBC) after the band’s frontman, who confusingly uses the stage name Bobby Vylan (the drummer is Bobbie Vylan), called on the crowd at Glastonbury to join him in a chant of “death, death to the IDF”, a reference to the Israeli Defence Forces.
In the run-up to the festival, which took place in early August, Jewish campaigners had called on the organisers to cancel the band’s appearance, as other festivals have done. Where this gets complicated is that Boardmasters is owned by Superstruct Entertainment, which was acquired last year by investment company KKR.
Now, apart from operating more than 80 festivals across the world, KKR also invests in Israeli tech, which makes it a prime target for the anti-Zionist Boycott, Divestment, Sanction (BDS) movement.
So, while Bob Vylan were preparing to go onstage in Newquay to express their solidarity with the Palestinian people, others were flexing their anti-Zionist credentials by boycotting the festival altogether. Bristol band The Menstrual Cramps objected, among other things, to Israeli surfers taking part in the festival: “We believe in a cultural boycott of Israel, which means not spotlighting Israelis at a festival during a genocide.”
UK garage DJ Conducta also pulled out, citing KKR’s “direct investments in weapons manufacturers and financial ties to the state of Israel.” American act The Blessed Madonna pulled out after being asked to sign a “shop-stop” agreement to restrict political messaging. “I ain’t signing shit. Free Palestine,” she said.
The boycotts went ahead despite Boardmasters issuing a statement distancing themselves from its investors: “We don’t support or align with investments or actions that contradict our core values of fairness, integrity, inclusivity, and excellence. Our integrity is not for sale.” Boardmasters claimed it had proved its anti-Zionist credentials by refusing to cancel Bob Vylan.
The culture wars also hit the Edinburgh Fringe this year when Jewish comedians Philip Simon and Rachel Creagar had their shows cancelled over staff safety fears following the appearance pro-Palestinian graffiti at the venue Whistle Binkies. Alternative venues were later found but not before UK Lawyers for Israel, an organisation which uses legal means to campaign for the removal of any material it considers to be “anti-Israel”, described the cancellations as “a racist move that echoes 1930s Nazi Germany”.
The festival later ran into trouble over an interview with the Deputy First Minister of Scotland, Kate Forbes, who has strongly held “gender-critical” views based on her Christian faith. The venue, Summerhall, later issued a statement saying Forbes’s appearance had been an “oversight,” and she would not be invited to speak at future events. They claimed the presence of the Scottish politician affected staff safety and wellbeing.
The issue is not restricted to UK festivals. The Toronto International Film Festival pulled the Canadian film The Road Between Us: The Ultimate Rescue, about the Hamas attacks of 7 October 2023 over concerns about clearance of footage taken by the terrorists. Again, staff safety was invoked in the justification of the decision. After an international outcry, the festival issued an apology and reinstated the film in the programme.
Each of these examples demonstrates a deep confusion on the part of festival organisers about what these cultural events are actually for.
Boardmasters ended up in the absurd position of parading its support for free expression of a band that called for the death of Israeli soldiers. Meanwhile, the Edinburgh venues failed to understand that genuine cultural diversity includes people with whom we disagree. At their best, festivals should be places where people have their prejudices challenged not reinforced.
