18 Jun 2019 | Events, News and features, Saudi Arabia
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image=”107402″ img_size=”full” add_caption=”yes”][vc_column_text]On 17 June 2012, blogger Raif Badawi was arrested in Saudi Arabia for “criticising Islam through electronic means” and for apostasy (the abandonment of Islam by a Muslim). He was convicted and sentenced to seven years in prison and 600 lashes, which was later extended to 10 years and 1,000 lashes. Seven years later, his imprisonment continues to spark outrage around the world.
“I think it’s important to show to the Saudi Arabian government that we’re still highlighting these cases even though it’s been seven years since Raif’s imprisonment,” Perla Hinojosa, fellowships and advocacy officer at Index on Censorship said at the vigil held for Badawi outside the Saudi embassy on Monday 17 June.
Badawi started one of the only fora on which Saudi Arabians could communicate freely, especially about issues related to secularism, atheism and liberalism. Though he never formally denounced the Saudi government, his website, Saudi Liberal Network, eventually caught the government’s attention for his posts questioning the country’s adoption of Sharia Law and theocracy. After his arrest, the website was shuttered by the Saudi government. On 30 July 2013, Badawi was convicted, and one and a half years later, on 9 January 2015, he received the first 50 of his lashes.
“In particular it was the lashes that drew widespread international condemnation to what has happened….it does take something particularly horrific to mobilise that kind of action,” said Rebecca Vincent, UK bureau director for Reporters Without Borders. Badawi’s case highlights the Saudi government’s media suppression and harsh corporal punishment.
Badawi’s health declined after his first 50 lashes. The remaining 950 were indefinitely postponed and remains incarcerated. His wife, Ensaf Haidar, and their three children escaped to Canada shortly before his arrest, where they advocate for his release and have legal status as refugees. Badawi faces a 10-year travel ban after his release from prison, though he hopes to one day rejoin his family.
Though Badawi is the face of the struggle for free press in Saudi Arabia, he is far from the only one to be targeted. His website lists four others who have been targeted by the governments of Saudi Arabia or Bahrain for speaking out against government abuses, and there are reports of countless others who have received violent or even capital sentences for offenses as benign as tweeting about atheism. Cat Lucas, programme director of the Writers at Risk Programme at English PEN, explained that “being able to use him to highlight other cases is very helpful.”
Though drawing attention to the issues through personal stories like Badawi’s is important, there has been minimal progress in securing his release. “Even though it was initially condemned internationally we’ve not really seen anything happen as a consequence,” says Vincent. Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman of Saudi Arabia has made changes in certain areas, like granting women the right to drive, however the small improvements have not extended to media freedom, Lucas noted. Vincent said that though the Crown Prince’s policies may have initially inspired hope in many Saudis, “when you look at… [policies like] the right of women to drive, many of the activists who campaigned for that are behind bars themselves.”
Lucas said that though–after seven years of protesting for Badawi’s release–the fight for media freedom in Saudi Arabia might seem like an uphill battle, it is important not to lose hope. “It’s the role of organisations like English PEN and Index on Censorship to keep up the pressure on governments including our own, even when it’s many years after the initial arrest or detention of one of our colleagues around the world,” she said.[/vc_column_text][vc_basic_grid post_type=”post” max_items=”4″ element_width=”6″ grid_id=”vc_gid:1560855350907-6af08b0a-d8a9-4″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
12 Jun 2019 | Events
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Join English Pen, Index on Censorship, Reporters Without Borders, the Society of Authors, ALQST and other supporters on 17 June for a special vigil to mark seven years since the arrest of blogger Raif Badawi who remains in prison, with the threat of 950 lashes still looming over him.
Raif bin Muhammad Badawi is a Saudi writer, dissident and activist, as well as the creator of the website Free Saudi Liberals.
Badawi was arrested in 2012 on a charge of “insulting Islam through electronic channels” and brought to court on several charges, including apostasy. In 2013 he was convicted on several charges and sentenced to seven years in prison and 600 lashes. In 2014 his sentence was increased to 10 years in prison, 1000 lashes, and a fine. The flogging was to be carried out over 20 weeks. The first 50 lashes were administered on 9 January 2015. The second flogging has been postponed more than twelve times. The reason for the most recent postponement is unknown, but the previous scheduled floggings were delayed due to Badawi’s poor health. Badawi is known to have hypertension, and his health has worsened since the flogging began.
His wife, Ensaf Haidar, who took refuge in Canada after her life was threatened in Saudi Arabia, has said Badawi will not be able to survive further flogging.[7] Ensaf Haidar has given a series of televised interviews about Badawi’s plight, including at the 2016 Geneva Summit for Human Rights and Democracy.
(NB supporters are asked to meet at the Curzon Street side of the Embassy).[/vc_column_text][vc_column_text]
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11 Jun 2019 | Global Journalist, Media Freedom, media freedom featured, News and features, Turkey
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]This article is part of Index on Censorship partner Global Journalist’s Project Exile series, which has published interviews with exiled journalists from around the world.[/vc_column_text][vc_column_text]
When Turkish journalist Arzu Yildiz reported a major scoop in 2014, she had little idea that the story might lead to the end of her journalism career, the loss of her home, and separation from her family.
Yildiz, then a reporter for the Turkish news site T24, was the first to report that local prosecutors in southern Turkey had intercepted a convoy of trucks bearing Turkish arms heading for Syria.
The disclosure had put Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s government in an awkward position, since Turkey had long denied that it was sending aid to rebels fighting Syrian President Bashar al-Assad’s government.
When Yildiz later published footage of the of the prosecutors being put on trial, she herself was sued by the government. In May 2016, she was stripped of the guardianship of her two young children and sentenced to 20 months in jail – a decision which was stayed pending the approval of an appellate court.
But then Turkey’s climate for the press, already bad, took a sharp turn for the worse. In July 2016, a group of dissident Turkish military officers attempted to overthrow Erdogan in a coup. When it failed, Erdogan’s response was ferocious. Tens of thousands of soldiers and government workers were purged and media outlets viewed as critical of Erdogan were shuttered. In the aftermath, more than 300 journalists were arrested. As for Yildiz, after security forces appeared at her home with a warrant for her arrest, she and daughters Emine, then 7, and the infant Zehra, went into hiding. They lived in secrecy in a single room for five months.
“I could not continue living in this one bedroom,” she says. “It begins to affect you psychologically. Every time the door is knocked, you would think it was the police.”
In November 2016, Yildiz left both girls with their grandparents and fled across the border to a refugee camp in Greece. She was quickly given asylum in Canada and moved to Toronto by herself. In 2018, her eldest daughter Emine joined there, but Zehra, now 3, remains in Turkey.
Now working in a pizzeria in Toronto, Yildiz, 39, spoke with Global Journalist’s Lara Cumming about her career and the high personal cost of doing independent journalism in Turkey. Below, an edited version of their interview:
Global Journalist: How did you get into journalism?
Arzu Yildiz: After I finished school, I was a court reporter for a long time. I reported on the police and the justice system. I never cared about politics or the government I only focused on justice. I worked with Taraf [a liberal Turkish national newspaper] for over five years. After this I tried doing journalism independently at T24 for a couple of years.
For two months I worked [for a newspaper] close to Erdogan’s party, a big newspaper called Türkiye. But they censored my news. After that I quit. All this time, I may be the only woman court reporter who knows the law as much as a prosecutor or judge. When I was doing journalism, I was studying the law. Some prosecutors didn’t read as much as me. I was interested in not only the justice system of Turkey but also the justice [systems] of the world.
GJ: How did you know it was time to leave Turkey?
Yildiz: Two days after the July 15th [2016] coup attempt, the police came to my house. After the coup attempt, a lot of [arrested] people faced torture and no one would have written about it. If I continued to be a court reporter, I would write what is really going on in court and why people were detained.
After the police came, I lived an underground life for five months. One of my daughters was just 7 months old and the other was 7 years old. We lived in one room together.
[Later] I realized that this is no life. I tried to give them a chance. I could not continue living in this one bedroom. It begins to affect you psychologically. Every time the door is knocked, you would think it was the police.
GJ: Are you still in contact with your family in Turkey?
Yildiz: The little one doesn’t know me or who I am, she has no mother. She is in Turkey with my parents. I saw her birthday only through video. I have no contact with her, no telephone calls, no nothing. I divorced my husband and I have no contact with my mother and father also. They lost their daughter too. I didn’t only lose mine.
The [eldest] one had a U.S. visa before. She came to the U.S.A. alone [in September 2018]. One of my friends took her to the Canadian border. My other daughter had no chance to come to Canada. They will not give her a passport because of me.
My mother is 73-years old, when this situation is over I don’t know what will happen. I may never see them [my parents] again. The Canadian government will not issue them a visa.
Some say: “Meet them in another country.” They must think I’m very rich. I cannot go to Ottawa right now because I am working two jobs and only just paying my rent. All of the family is affected, three generations. My oldest daughter, who is with me, always asks why we are separated from her grandparents. My children referred to my mother as their mother.
GJ: What issues did you see with journalism in Turkey before you left?
Yildiz: My goal as a journalist was seeking truth. We have no goals to be heroes or to be famous. We are not actors. We are not singers. We are journalists. The goal is to tell what’s right and who the heroes are through our stories. And if the world starts talking about them, I can say I did my job well.
My problem is with the bureaucracy. I cannot trust politicians, but I should be able to trust the judges. For example, if people drive unsafely in Canada they will be punished by the justice system. They are not scared of the politicians, they are scared only of the justice system. In Turkey there is no trust of the judicial system.
I am not a religious person and I do not believe in any religion. Religion and racism are just the tools the politicians use for their benefit. I believe only in humanity. If I am dying, I do not want someone to define me only as a Turkish journalist but as a human. I do not care how a person looks or what they believe, only if they are honest. If you are a court reporter – like me – your only focus is if someone is innocent or if they are a criminal.
GJ: Do you have any plans to return to Turkey?
Yildiz: Before I came to Canada, I spent time in a refugee camp. The real meaning of being a refugee is not only the loss of the country, but loss of a family and being alone. I came with one t-shirt and no shoes. Believe me, I lost the shoes in the refugee camp.
I came with only cheap things. No mobile phone no nothing. Maybe $200 and that’s it. I will not be able to return to Turkey as they will put me in prison.
GJ: Has the pursuit of your work been worth it? You have done such brave work but also lost so much.
Yildiz: I lost so many things, no one can imagine. If I had the chance to return to the past, I would do this again. But one thing is broken: my heart.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_video link=”https://youtu.be/6BIZ7b0m-08″][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_column_text]Index on Censorship partner Global Journalist is a website that features global press freedom and international news stories as well as a weekly radio program that airs on KBIA, mid-Missouri’s NPR affiliate, and partner stations in six other states. The website and radio show are produced jointly by professional staff and student journalists at the University of Missouri’s School of Journalism, the oldest school of journalism in the United States. [/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”Don’t lose your voice. Stay informed.” use_theme_fonts=”yes”][vc_separator color=”black”][vc_row_inner][vc_column_inner width=”1/2″][vc_column_text]Index on Censorship is a nonprofit that campaigns for and defends free expression worldwide. We publish work by censored writers and artists, promote debate, and monitor threats to free speech. We believe that everyone should be free to express themselves without fear of harm or persecution – no matter what their views.
Join our mailing list (or follow us on Twitter or Facebook). We’ll send you our weekly newsletter, our monthly events update and periodic updates about our activities defending free speech. We won’t share, sell or transfer your personal information to anyone outside Index.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column_inner][vc_column_inner width=”1/2″][gravityform id=”20″ title=”false” description=”false” ajax=”false”][/vc_column_inner][/vc_row_inner][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row full_width=”stretch_row_content”][vc_column][three_column_post title=”Global Journalist / Project Exile” full_width_heading=”true” category_id=”22142″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
6 Jun 2019 | Asia and Pacific, Global Journalist, Media Freedom, media freedom featured, News and features, Sri Lanka
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]This article is part of Index on Censorship partner Global Journalist’s Project Exile series, which has published interviews with exiled journalists from around the world.[/vc_column_text][vc_column_text]
Sonali Samarasinghe remembers the last words of her husband Lasantha Wickrematunge on the day he was killed in 2009: “Don’t worry, I got it under control.”
Threats weren’t new to Wickrematunge. As the editor of The Sunday Leader, a Sri Lankan newspaper that published articles exposing government corruption, he’d been followed, attacked with clubs and received a funeral wreath at his office.
Samarasinghe was the chief investigative journalist and consulting editor for the newspaper and also the founding editor-in-chief of its sister paper, The Morning Leader.
Like other journalists, the couple worked in a difficult environment, as their newspapers competed with state-owned newsrooms and faced constant pressure for criticising the government of then-president Mahinda Rajapaksa. In late 2008 and early 2009, Rajapaksa’s government was in the final months of a brutal decades-long civil war with Tamil Tiger rebels. Still, Wickrematunge’s assassination shocked the south Asian nation and would force Samarasinghe into years of exile.
“For the Mahinda Rajapaksa administration, Wickrematunge was the biggest thorn in their flesh,” Samarasinghe wrote in a blog post. “He investigated corrupt military procurement deals, spoke out strongly and passionately for a negotiated settlement to the ethnic conflict and debunked blatant government propaganda on the war.”
Indeed Wickrematunge’s first wife, Raine, was so fearful for her family’s safety that she left Sri Lanka for Australia in 2002 with the couple’s three children. Samarasinghe worked for Wickrematunge for years before the couple married in 2008, just two months before his death.
She too made powerful enemies. Samarasinghe was once interrogated for more than four hours by Sri Lanka’s Criminal Investigations Department in an attempt to get her to reveal her sources in an investigation into the central bank’s dealings with a company accused of running a Ponzi scheme. In another incident, an article about tsunami relief accused Rajapaksa and other top officials of siphoning off millions in aid money. The Morning Leader’s printing presses were attacked and copies of the paper burned in 2007 by 15 gunmen after a separate exposé on the family of cabinet minister Mervyn Silva.
On 8 January 2009, Samarasinghe and Wickrematunge received a call from the newspaper while returning home from the pharmacy. It was a warning: they were being followed.
As they got out of their car, two men wearing black fatigues on a black motorcycle sped past them, staring them down, says Samarasinghe in an interview with Global Journalist. The couple went into the house and closed all their doors. Samarasinghe says she tried to keep Wickrematunge at home, but he was determined to go to the office to write his well-known political column.
On his way to the newspaper during rush hour, Wickrematunge was ambushed and killed in broad daylight by motorcycle-riding attackers, one of at least 19 journalists slain in Sri Lanka for their work since 1992, according to the Committee to Protect Journalists. Wickrematunge had been prepared for this outcome. He’d already written his own obituary, which included the line: “…when finally I am killed, it will be the government that kills me.”
“We were up against an administration that had taken impunity to the level of a martial art,” Samarasinghe says.
Samarasinghe continued receiving threats even after Wickrematunge’s assassination. Ttwo weeks later, she escaped to New York.
She became a Nieman Fellow at Harvard University in August 2009 and started the independent Lanka Standard news site in 2011. After Harvard, she spent time as a journalist in residence at City University of New York and Ithaca College.
Then in 2015 came an opportunity for justice. Rajapaksa suffered a surprise defeat to former ally Maithripala Sirisena in presidential elections. The six-year-old investigation into Wickrematunge’s death, which had yielded no convictions, was reopened. Samarasinghe was hired by the new administration to work in New York at Sri Lanka’s mission to the United Nations.
In 2016, a former soldier was found dead with an apparent suicide note in which he claimed responsibility for killing Wickrematunge’s. A police report implicated a special military unit led by Rajapaksa’s brother and defence secretary, Gotbaya Rajapaksa.
Yet progress stalled. Gotbaya, who is also being sued by Wickrematunge’s daughter in US courts for her father’s death, has announced he’s running for president to succeed Sirisena in elections later this year. Both Rajapaksas have denied involvement in the editor’s death. Meanwhile, after a wave of terrorist bombings in April killed more than 250 people, President Sirisena said that investigations into human rights abuses during the Sri Lankan Civil War had weakened the security forces and left the country at risk.
Samarasinghe spoke with Global Journalist’s Seth Bodine about the killing of her husband, the threats against her, and the prospect of those responsible escaping Sri Lankan justice. Below is an edited version of their interview.
Global Journalist: What was it like being a journalist in Sri Lanka around the time of your husband’s death?
Samarasinghe: We were up against an administration that had taken impunity to the level of a martial art. It had incrementally closed the democratic space, the space for freedom of expression. This didn’t happen overnight. It happened incrementally.
One by one private media organisations were being bought by businessmen or acolytes of the president at the time, Mahinda Rajapaksa. Even his own family.
Those who were not bought up chose to associate themselves with the ruling regime because then they could engage in lucrative business with the government. The state-controlled media was really state-controlled. It included the nation’s largest newspaper group. So, you could not compete with that.
At the time, when we were working, there was no freedom of information act. Speaking to journalists was actively discouraged by the government.
Even though the constitution provided for freedom of expression, that freedom of expression right was infringed upon by other laws. With emergency power regulations, anything could happen. There was the Prevention of Terrorism Act, which was another draconian piece of legislation which really curtailed freedom. And there were other laws, giving the government and the armed forces power to arrest without warrant.
So you could be detained at that time for up to 20 months without charge. Officials were shielded from prosecution so you couldn’t even challenge them.
The culture of impunity was just staggering. I mean, at that time white vans would go around abducting journalists and activists. Some of them never to be seen again, some of them beaten to a pulp and thrown on the side of the road.
GJ: Was there any warning of the danger to you and Lasantha?
Samarasinghe: We weren’t given any warning about the motorcyclists except a few minutes before when someone from the office called to say that he was being followed. But before that, there were certain things that were happening.
For instance, he received a cutting of a newspaper which was drenched in red ink. This was like a week before. He himself knew. He was talking to me, and he said, “It’s very dangerous now.”
Then, two days before Wickrematunge’s death, a very independent TV network was destroyed. They came in and they burned the place down.
GJ: What led you to flee?
Samarasinghe: It was the trauma of going through the death of my husband in such a violent manner. Then, neighbours let us know that the motorcyclists had come back and were circling the premises.
So I immediately left my home. My mother didn’t know where I was, I didn’t tell anyone where I was, and I stayed with a friend.
Meanwhile things were happening at home. Two men walked into the house, and despite my mother’s protest, they very aggressively started taking photos of the inside and outside of my home. They photographed my little niece. Then they rushed out of the house. So, within two weeks I realised I had to leave.
Both the Australian and American ambassadors reached out to help. And ultimately, I fled to Europe and found shelter in the home of a European ambassador who took me in for two months.
GJ: What happened at The Sunday Leader after Lasantha’s death?
Samarasinghe: For the two weeks I was in charge of the newspaper following the assassination of my husband, I wrote the political column focusing on his death, the then-president’s reaction, and the immediate aftermath. I also had other journalists intensely focus on the investigation.
We ran half-page ads on a black background of threats made by president Rajapaksa to Lasantha. However, I was compelled to flee the country. The newspaper ground to a halt and understandably diluted itself and went into survival mode.
GJ: How did you feel when you left?
Samarasinghe: You really feel like your country has betrayed you. And you also have to face so many emotions. Those who knew Lasantha just denied knowing him. Everyone was scared. It was such a horrid time.
Some of my friends and family would no longer ride in the same car with me because I had to drive to work in those two weeks, fearing that they would be collateral damage, that I would be the next obvious target. For a long time, I couldn’t even convince a caretaker or friend to check in on my house because they were just scared people were watching it, or that they could be attacked or targeted.
Superstition was doing its bit. Nobody wanted to rent or buy a home they felt was one of tragedy – because it was a home of a couple whose dreams were dashed within two months of marriage. So they thought it was bad luck.
All these things, all of these cultural and political issues were just swirling around. It was a really torrid time because of that.
It was just the panic of having to leave and having to look undefeated for the cameras because you have to look strong. The panic of not seeing familiar faces, the stress of coming to an unknown place.
Language had failed me. And I was a journalist who wrote 10,000 words or more a week. It was then that I learned and was relieved to know that it was post-traumatic stress disorder.
GJ: Before Rajapaksa surprisingly lost the 2015 election, did you imagine that you would ever go back to Sri Lanka?
Samarasinghe: I had just abandoned all hope of getting back to Sri Lanka. I thought this was going to go on forever. In 2015, before the election, even the New York Times had an editorial that said the regime is going to remain. None of us expected this to happen. The next day, we all bought tickets to go back to Sri Lanka. Everyone was buying tickets.
GJ: Gotabaya Rajapaksa, who was defence minister at the time of your husband’s death, and who was linked to his killing by a police report, has announced he will run for president this year. Are you upset that the people responsible for his death are still free?
Samarasinghe: Investigations into Lasantha’s murder are still continuing. It is not for me to comment at this time. The people of Sri Lanka will decide in democratically-held elections.
I will say this: I believe in the rule of law and I believe in divine justice. As Dr. King noted: “Evil may so shape events that Caesar will occupy a place and Christ a cross, but that same Christ will rise up and split history into AD and BC, so that even the life of Caesar must be dated by his name…the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” [/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_video link=”https://youtu.be/6BIZ7b0m-08″][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_column_text]Index on Censorship partner Global Journalist is a website that features global press freedom and international news stories as well as a weekly radio program that airs on KBIA, mid-Missouri’s NPR affiliate, and partner stations in six other states. The website and radio show are produced jointly by professional staff and student journalists at the University of Missouri’s School of Journalism, the oldest school of journalism in the United States. [/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”Don’t lose your voice. Stay informed.” use_theme_fonts=”yes”][vc_separator color=”black”][vc_row_inner][vc_column_inner width=”1/2″][vc_column_text]Index on Censorship is a nonprofit that campaigns for and defends free expression worldwide. We publish work by censored writers and artists, promote debate, and monitor threats to free speech. We believe that everyone should be free to express themselves without fear of harm or persecution – no matter what their views.
Join our mailing list (or follow us on Twitter or Facebook). We’ll send you our weekly newsletter, our monthly events update and periodic updates about our activities defending free speech. We won’t share, sell or transfer your personal information to anyone outside Index.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column_inner][vc_column_inner width=”1/2″][gravityform id=”20″ title=”false” description=”false” ajax=”false”][/vc_column_inner][/vc_row_inner][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row full_width=”stretch_row_content”][vc_column][three_column_post title=”Global Journalist / Project Exile” full_width_heading=”true” category_id=”22142″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
