8 May 2025 | Europe and Central Asia, News and features, Turkey
The alarming escalation in the persecution of Turkey’s media workers is part of a calculated strategy. With the detention of Istanbul’s democratically elected mayor Ekrem İmamoğlu on 19 March, the Turkish government has sent a chilling message to the public: nobody is safe, anyone can be arrested, so everybody should take caution.
Journalists make up a significant sum among the more than 1,879 detained in last month’s protests, 260 of whom were formally arrested. A further 382 people were reportedly arrested in Istanbul last week for “non-authorised demonstrations”.
Photographers, reporters, videographers, YouTubers, and social media commentators have been detained. Many have been taken into custody following dawn raids. Wearing visible press badges hasn’t helped reporters and videographers who filmed scenes of clashes outside the İstanbul Metropolitan Municipality building in Saraçhane, where the opposition party, the Republican People’s Party (CHP), had organised week-long protest rallies. Covering the events became a crime as government officials warned that TV networks that gave airtime to these events would be shut down.
This was not an empty threat. On 24 March, 11 journalists were arrested in one day, including Yasin Akgül of the French news agency Agence France-Presse (AFP) and Bülent Kılıç, a World Press Photo award winner and one of Turkey’s most accomplished photographers. BBC’s long-time Istanbul correspondent, Mark Lowen, was taken from his hotel in Istanbul on 26 March, held for 17 hours, and expelled from the country where he had lived for five years.
Arbitrary releases have followed the arbitrary arrests. After being released, the AFP photographer Akgül and his colleagues were reportedly re-arrested the same day, before being re-released a few days later.
Turkey’s Information Technologies and Communication Authority (BTK) and Radio and Television Supreme Council (RTÜK) have used these arbitrary shock-and-awe tactics over the past weeks.
On the day of İmamoğlu’s detention, BTK imposed widespread restrictions on social media and messaging platforms in Istanbul, including YouTube, Instagram, X, and TikTok.
Because of the restrictions, neither locals nor tourists could use messaging apps like WhatsApp, Telegram, and Signal for days. The impact was significant, given that Istanbul has a population of more than 15 million residents, making it the most populous and wealthiest city in Turkey.
BTK achieved the digital shutdown through bandwidth throttling, which significantly slows down internet access. The global internet censorship watchdog NetBlocks confirmed the use of bandwidth throttling.
The government, meanwhile, neither accepted nor denied throttling the internet for more than 15 million citizens, adding an air of mystery to the technical operation. Imposing restrictions without any announcement or explanation is part of the same political strategy that placed İmamoğlu behind bars.
A few days later, RTÜK issued a 10-day broadcast suspension for the leading opposition network, Sözcü TV. The TV channel’s coverage of protests “incited hatred and enmity among the public”, according to RTÜK.
Officials from the board continue to threaten the opposition media by revoking their licences. This means they could be shut down for good if network editors don’t abide by the government’s rules.
“Let’s see what will happen tomorrow morning,” mused Fatih Portakal, the Sözcü TV anchor, during a news bulletin shortly following the announcement of the 10-day suspension. Portakal told viewers his channel would go dark and display RTÜK’s decision for ten days. Sözcü continued its YouTube broadcasts and is now back on air on cable television.
The Turkish government already controls 90% of the media. From TV channel CNN Turk to newspaper Hurriyet, once respected mainstream media brands now operate as government mouthpieces. The government’s biggest concern is the remaining pockets of free expression: media outlets such as Bianet, Agos, Açık Radyo, and Medyascope have been demonised by the right-wing press, charged with serving foreign interests. In response, readers and viewers have been supporting these publications through donations.
But the level of government oppression has reached new heights, even by Turkey’s standards. In March, after the opposition party CHP launched a boycott campaign against firms with links to the government’s financial networks, a court shut down BoykotYap.com, the website containing the list of boycotted firms.
Hours later, the CHP launched a new website with an altered web address, BoykotYap.net. “Transform your consumption power into resistance. We will not see those who do not see the people!” CHP MP Pınar Uzun Okakın posted on X after announcing the new website’s URL.
In the eyes of the government, the unrest that followed the jailing of Istanbul’s democratically elected mayor is an opportunity. RTÜK recently announced that it would require two YouTube channels to register with the government to continue their streams, or their accounts would be blocked. Neither channel has applied for a licence and RTÜK hasn’t yet closed them down.
Fatih Altaylı, one of the targeted journalists, has nearly 1.5 million subscribers on YouTube, several times larger than pro-government channels like Yeni Şafak (712,000) and Sabah (373,000). The move follows RTÜK announcing last September that, under new regulation, YouTubers would need to obtain a licence in order to broadcast news. While the law is yet to be fully implemented, it is clearly already being used as a threat, and licenses can already be obtained. In the ideal world of the Turkish government, its bureaucrats would be permitted to censor content about Turkey regardless of platform.
The reaction to this vision of opacity and widespread censorship has been immense. Mass street protests and social media campaigns included a boycott against government-controlled media channels CNN Türk, the Turkish Radio and Television Corporation (TRT), and the news agency Demirören News Agency (DHA).
As government intimidation continues to increase, Turkey’s media workers will likely develop new outlets: YouTube channels, Substacks, websites, anything that allows them to reach a growing audience hungry for objective news that is produced by reporters on the ground, despite all dangers.
7 May 2025 | Europe and Central Asia, Israel, Middle East and North Africa, News and features, Palestine, United Kingdom
In today’s world of hot takes and moral outrage, we all want clear answers – good, bad, right and wrong – and people we can easily rally behind or blast – villain, victim, hero, heretic. But the cases of Kneecap, Jonny Greenwood and Dudu Tassa have resisted such clarity, and they’ve forced us to reckon with an uncomfortable truth: freedom of expression, especially in moments of deep political pain and division, isn’t always neat, easy or even popular.
First a recap for those who might have missed the stories or got lost in the details:
At the end of April, Belfast band Kneecap came under fire following the circulation of videos in which the group appears to endorse political violence, declaring “The only good Tory is a dead Tory. Kill your local MP,” and another showing apparent support for Hezbollah and Hamas, both proscribed as terrorist organisations in the UK. Kneecap insists their remarks were taken out of context, that their tone was satirical and that they do not in fact support these groups. Nevertheless, they are under police investigation and have had several of their shows dropped, following political pressure from MPs including Kemi Badenoch, leader of the Conservative Party.
Meanwhile Jonny Greenwood, best known as a member of Radiohead, and his collaborator, Israeli musician Dudu Tassa, said this week that they were scheduled to perform two concerts in the UK in June. The events have since been cancelled due to serious and credible threats that made the performances unsafe. The cancellations followed calls from organisations aligned with the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) movement. Tassa and Greenwood had previously performed together in Tel Aviv in 2024 and Tassa had performed for the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) in Gaza at the end of 2023. The Palestinian Campaign for the Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel, who have called them out in the past, criticised the planned UK concerts as a form of “artwashing genocide” and welcomed news of their cancellation.
Greenwood has denounced the cancellations as censorship, while prominent artists such as Massive Attack have rallied behind Kneecap, framing the backlash they faced as part of a broader attempt to suppress dissent.
These are not simple cases. In the case of Kneecap, their rhetoric was inflammatory and, in invoking violence against politicians, reckless – two MPs have been murdered in this country in recent years after all. Their potential valorisation of Hamas and Hezbollah was far from funny – these groups are guilty of grave human rights violations. Kneecap have tried to deflect attention from their actions by saying that they are not the story and that Gaza is, but people should be free to challenge them and their views. It’s reductionist to say that doing so is somehow taking the focus away from Gaza.
And yet irreverence, political provocation and even transgressive speech have long been cornerstones of artistic expression. Search bands with the word “kill” in their name or album title and you won’t walk away short on examples. Whether Kneecap’s comments were satire or poor judgment, a response in the form of a criminal investigation raises important questions about proportionality and the appropriate limits of state intervention. The European Court of Human Rights has made clear that criminal sanctions should be a last resort in speech cases, and indeed the UK’s legal structures place a high bar on what constitutes incitement. Have the members of Kneecap met this threshold? It’s hard to see that they have.
Likewise, while boycotts are a legitimate form of protest, and protest is an essential pillar of free expression, they too can become a vehicle for coercion. The Greenwood–Tassa concerts were not silenced by public disagreement but by threats credible enough to endanger the performers, venue staff and audiences. That is not protest, it is intimidation.
Cultural boycotts specifically have other free speech complications too: while they typically target authoritarian regimes with the intention of effecting positive change, they can silence the very voices that are most helpful to the cause. In 1975, Index surveyed artists on their views about boycotting Apartheid South Africa and the general response was that it would do more harm than good. “Governments would not go to such lengths to secure silence if they did not fear speech,” said one respondent. “It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness,” said another.
The truth is neither of the current UK situations present a clean clash between good speech and bad. Instead, they sit in an uncomfortable space where moral outrage, political solidarity and artistic freedom collide. Kneecap’s defenders are right to argue that Gaza must remain in focus; they’re wrong to say that this exempts artists from accountability for everything they say. Conversely, critics of Israel and its supporters must be free to speak and protest, but not through threats that endanger lives or undermine the very democratic principles they claim to defend.
At Index, we believe in a broad and inclusive approach to free expression. The right to speak must extend even to those whose views we find offensive, provocative or politically inconvenient. While this does not mean freedom from criticism, it does mean freedom from coercion and violence.
No artist is entitled to a stage and venues shouldn’t be beholden to host certain acts if the situation changes. However, when access to platforms is denied because the views, or even the identity, of the artists are politically contentious, something essential is lost. It becomes harder for culture to serve as a space of honest confrontation and productive dialogue, and easier for fear and conformity to set the limits of what is permissible.
Ultimately, for freedom of expression to mean anything, it must apply to everyone, not just those with whom we agree. Ideas must be challenged, yes, and artists held accountable too, but never through threat and only through the justice system when a high bar has been met. Greenwood said he was sad that those supporting Kneecap’s “freedom of expression are the same ones most determined to restrict ours”. His words are a warning: if you cheer shutting down space for one group, don’t be alarmed when the space of those you want to hear is shut down too.
6 May 2025 | Europe and Central Asia, News and features, Newsletters, Russia, Ukraine
Victoria Roshchyna had two strikes against her: she was Ukrainian and she was a journalist. Roshchyna frequently reported from Russian-occupied territories, which was and is incredibly dangerous work. In 2022, she was detained, which she wrote about for Index. A year later, she vanished once again. It took nine months for Russian authorities to confirm she was in custody, held without charge. As with much of Russia’s penal system, the details remain murky. But we know she was alive as recently as summer 2024, when she spoke to her father from custody and told him she was on hunger strike. Months later, she was dead.
In February, Moscow handed over the bodies of 757 Ukrainians to Kyiv. Roshchyna’s body was among them. This week the details of a forensic examination were revealed: they showed visible signs of torture. Several organs were missing too, which pathologists believe was a deliberate attempt to hide the cause of death. The leading theory is strangulation.
Saturday marked World Press Freedom Day. Index, alongside many others, raised the alarm about the state of global media freedom. Violations are mounting and too many journalists are paying the ultimate price simply for doing their jobs. Each of them deserves to be remembered as more than just a statistic. Victoria Roshchyna was one of them.
Known to those close to her as Vika, she was strong-willed and fearless, which comes across in her article for us. “I had no fear. I knew they were trying to break me,” she wrote defiantly when recounting the death threats she received during her first detention.
When Roshchyna later disappeared in Russian-occupied Melitopol, she was gathering evidence on the treatment of Ukrainians imprisoned by Russian forces. In honour of her tenacity, Forbidden Stories – an organisation committed to continuing the work of silenced reporters – picked up her investigation. The work the outlet has done is extraordinary, and it’s likely Roshchyna would be proud that her stories have not been buried.
Since she was committed to giving a voice to Ukrainian political prisoners, it feels only fitting that we highlight them too. According to the Ukrainian parliament’s commissioner for human rights, as of April 2024, 16,000 civilians have been disappeared. Included in that number are many who have spoken out against Russia, including Oleksandr Sizikov. A Crimean Tatar, last year Sizikov was forcibly transferred to a prison in Siberia. At the end of April, in a rare move, Russia’s prison service filed for his release, citing that he is blind and entirely dependent on assistance. If granted, it would mark an unusual flicker of compassion from a system known for its cruelty.
Such compassion was never afforded to Roshchyna. Instead, her name will forever be associated with both the best of journalism – utter dedication to exposing injustice and pursuing truth – and the worst of authoritarian cruelty from Vladimir Putin’s Russia.
6 May 2025 | Europe and Central Asia, Greece, News and features, Volume 54.01 Spring 2025
This article first appeared in Volume 54, Issue 1 of our print edition of Index on Censorship, titled The forgotten patients: Lost voices in the global healthcare system, published on 11 April 2025. Read more about the issue here.
In August 2022, one of the largest surveillance scandals in modern Greek history came to light. Often referred to as the Greek Watergate, it revealed that officials within the government and the National Intelligence Service (EYP), including associates of prime minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis, had been involved in deploying Predator – a spyware tool developed by former Israeli military personnel.
Intellexa, the founding company, had sold multiple licences to the EYP and, according to reports from The Guardian, Reuters and elsewhere, the EYP had subsequently sent messages intended to infect mobile phones and enable electronic surveillance of certain individuals.
Hundreds were targeted, including political opponents of the ruling New Democracy party, journalists, and even government ministers. Among those targeted, the most prominent politician identified was Nikos Androulakis, leader of the Panhellenic Socialist Movement (PASOK) and leader of the opposition.
The Greek government continues to deny ever having purchased or used Predator spyware. On 5 August 2022, during a live television address, Mitsotakis responded to revelations of wiretapping. His inability to provide credible explanations for how the EYP obtained the spyware, combined with his denial of any knowledge of the scandal, heightened suspicions among politicians and journalists. Notably, he had restructured the EYP on the first day of his premiership in 2019, placing it directly under the control of the prime minister’s office. Consequently, many questioned how he could have been unaware of such activities.
Nearly three years have passed since the scandal emerged, yet most questions remain unanswered. The prosecutor investigating the case closed the probe last July and refused to further grill individuals linked to the deployment of Predator.
The government allegedly interfered with aspects of the inquiry – including the deliberations of certain committees – and hindered the work of oversight bodies such as the communication security regulator, reported Politico.
Meanwhile, courts have declined to prioritise journalistic and investigative efforts that continue to uncover evidence related to the wiretapping activities.
Unsurprisingly, the government’s actions extended beyond covert surveillance. Many people allegedly investigated for their involvement – including Mitsotakis’s nephew Grigoris Dimitriadis, the former secretary-general in the prime minister’s office – fought back by aggressively pursuing lawsuits against journalists and media outlets investigating the scandal, including Efimerida ton Syntakton and Reporters United.
These weren’t just ordinary lawsuits but strategic lawsuits against public participation (Slapps) – deliberately-initiated legal actions aimed at intimidating and silencing critics.
The party filing a Slapp – in this case Dimitriadis – typically does not intend to win the case. The objective is to overwhelm the defendant with legal expenses, fear and exhaustion, ultimately compelling them to cease their reporting or opposition.
Nevertheless, while investigating how the surveillance activities were carried out, Greek journalists managed to uncover something far more significant than they had anticipated – a system that undermines the democratic standards typically upheld by EU member states.
In this regard, Mitsotakis closely resembles Hungary’s prime minister Viktor Orbán, who has systematically controlled media organisations by placing them under direct supervision, suppressing criticism and dissent.
Since 2019, corruption has flourished under Mitsotakis’s administration and the government appears to have engaged in favouritism and a deliberate dismantling of fundamental human rights – undermining the very foundations of democracy in Greece.
He also allocated funding to the press – both during the Covid-19 pandemic and amid the Ukraine-Russia conflict – in ways that were widely condemned as attempts to financially control specific media outlets.
The funding excluded certain newspapers that were critical of the government, raising concerns about selective support for government-friendly sources, but did include far-right publications affiliated with Kyriakos Velopoulos (an MP known for spreading disinformation) and even non-existent news outlets.
The government has been accused of deploying an extensive network of online trolls on X and TikTok for damage control, including a dedicated war room called Omada Alithias which serves as its mouthpiece. These operations systematically target and suppress dissenting voices, critical media outlets and investigative journalists – particularly those who have exposed the wiretapping scandal – through co-ordinated attacks and gaslighting tactics. These have included downplaying the scandal and dismissing investigative work as fake news.
The impact on press freedom has been dire, with Reporters Without Borders (RSF) confirming some of the worst fears expressed by journalists. In the RSF index, Greece plummeted to 107th position in 2023 before improving somewhat in 2024, rising to 88th. Despite RSF’s concerns, Mitsotakis has dismissed the organisation’s findings and labelled any criticism of Greece’s press freedom as “crap”.
Research demonstrates that democratic backsliding invariably begins with media manipulation and the imposition of excessive control – tactics that Mitsotakis has prioritised since the start of his tenure.
The situation in Greece reveals a complex phenomenon, described by Dutch political scientist Matthijs Rooduijn as a “snowball effect”. Centrist parties previously perceived as moderate, such as New Democracy, are increasingly cloaking themselves under a liberal façade with the explicit intent of undermining democratic norms.
Instances such as those seen in Greece illustrate that Europe is confronted not only with an existential threat to its democratic institutions but also with the danger of normalising illiberal policies. This troubling trend is underscored by the EU’s increasingly permissive approach to surveillance, where the potential consequences are acknowledged yet policy measures remain inadequately implemented.
Additionally, the sustained erosion of press freedoms further exacerbates the vulnerability of democracy. These developments indicate a systemic weakening of safeguards, and the issue is further illustrated by the close and often opaque connections among elected officials which undermine transparency. Without decisive and comprehensive interventions, Europe risks undermining the very foundations that ensure its democratic resilience and integrity.
Greece serves as a prime case study of this troubling trajectory. The country endured a military dictatorship from 1967 to 1974, before democracy was re-established. It has also experienced a serious socio-economic crisis from 2010 to 2019, the subsequent neoliberal restructuring of its economy and a recent resurgence of neo-Nazism. Some of these phases of extreme instability are common in post-authoritarian countries that struggle to uphold the rule of law and democratic principles.
The legacy of the wiretapping scandal cannot be underestimated or overlooked. New Democracy and its successors may attempt to preserve these tools of suppression, potentially leading to further democratic backsliding. Without determined efforts to eliminate such practices, freedom of the press will continue to deteriorate, lacking the legal safeguards needed to prevent unconstitutional measures that can cause long-term damage.
