26 Jun 2025 | Americas, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Czech Republic, Europe and Central Asia, News, Russia, Ukraine, United States
A version of this article was originally published in the British Journalism Review.
Let me tell you about four brave journalists. One morning last May, Farid Mehralizada was arrested by masked police. The Azerbaijani financial reporter later described how the officers put a bag over his head, handcuffed him and forced him into a police car. They accompanied him home, where they searched for incriminating evidence as his pregnant wife watched. He was charged with smuggling and money laundering. Mehralizada has been in prison ever since and missed the birth of the child his wife was carrying. His only crime was exposing Azerbaijan’s overreliance on its reserves of oil and gas. “90% of Azerbaijan’s exports and 50% of its budget revenues depend on the oil and gas sector, which poses significant risks for the country,” he told a Baku court in April. Earlier this month, Mehralizada was convicted and sentenced to nine years in prison following a trial his employer called a “sham”.
Belarusian journalist Ihar Losik was detained in June 2020 in advance of the rigged elections in his country and accused of “organising mass riots” and “incitement to hatred”. In December 2021, he was sentenced to 15 years in prison. Losik was transferred to a labour camp in June 2022 and added to a terrorist watch list. He has since used hunger strikes to protest against his detention but is currently incommunicado.
Ukrainian Vladyslav Yesypenko left Crimea after the Russian annexation of the peninsula in 2014, but he kept returning to his homeland to report on Vladimir Putin’s illegal occupation. He was arrested in March 2021 on suspicion of collecting information for Ukrainian intelligence and later charged with the “possession and transport of explosives”. In February 2022, he was sentenced to six years in prison. He was finally released on 22 June 2025, after more than four years of detention and separation from his family.
In November 2024, Russian freelancer Nika Novak was sentenced to four years in prison on charges of “confidential collaboration” with a foreign organisation. Earlier this year, she was placed in a detention centre usually reserved for prisoners at risk of escape, violent inmates or members of extremist organisations. At the end of March, the court of appeal in Novosibirsk in the far east of Russia upheld her sentence, fined her 500,000 roubles ($6,380) and made her pay prosecution witnesses’ expenses.
What these journalists have in common – apart from their courage and determination to report on authoritarian abuses – is that they all worked for the US Congress-funded broadcaster Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty (RFE/RL) before their detention.
In February, Richard Grenell, presidential envoy for special missions, posted on X [now deleted] that “state-owned” broadcasters such as RFE/RL were “a relic of the past”. Elon Musk, the billionaire former head of Donald Trump’s Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) responded: “Yes, shut them down. Europe is free now (not counting stifling bureaucracy). Nobody listens to them anymore. It’s just radical left crazy people talking to themselves while torching $1B/year of US taxpayer money.”
It’s hard to imagine a more ill-informed statement about the state of liberty in eastern Europe. It would be laughable to describe Mehralizada, Losik, Yesypenko and Novak as “radical left crazy people”, if the consequences of Musk’s words weren’t so catastrophic.
On 15 March, barely a month after Grenell and Musk’s statements, RFE/RL was informed by the US Agency for Global Media (USAGM) that its grant from Congress had been terminated. Lawyers acting for the broadcaster immediately challenged the decision to terminate the funding and Judge Royce Lamberth of the US District Court for the District of Columbia granted the application. He concluded that closure would cause “irreparable harm” and added “in keeping with Congress’s longstanding determination… the continued operation of RFE/RL is in the public interest”.
Despite the ruling, USAGM at first refused to release funds for April, forcing RFE/RL to furlough staff to keep the organisation afloat. Then, on 29 April, Judge Lamberth concluded that USAGM’s refusal to pay the grant on the same terms as the previous month was “arbitrary and capricious”. He rejected USAGM’s argument that it could withhold the funds until a new grant agreement had been signed with amended working conditions. The judge concluded that the actions of the agency could “threaten the very existence” of RFE/RL.
RFE/RL president and CEO Stephen Capus said the ruling meant his journalists could “continue doing their jobs holding dictators and despots accountable”. The organisation will continue to fight for funding to be restored in full.
Meanwhile, at the time of going to press, the future of its 1,300 journalists and support staff hangs in the balance. The fate of its imprisoned staff is even more precarious.
One peculiar and surreal aspect to the Trump administration’s attacks on RFE/RL is that the organisation was traditionally seen by the “radical left” as a propaganda arm of the US government, along with its sister broadcaster Voice of America (VOA), which also faces closure. The soft-power value of these institutions seems lost on those surrounding the US president.
It was not lost on Ronald Reagan. As a young actor in the 1950s, the future Cold War warrior recorded an advert for RFE that recognised its ideological worth in the battle against communism. “This station daily pierces the Iron Curtain with the truth, answering the lies of the Kremlin and bringing a message of hope to millions trapped behind the Iron Curtain,” he said.
It is perhaps not surprising that Musk has conflated the various Congress-funded broadcasters as they are often mixed up in the public imagination. But they have very specific origins and functions. VOA was founded during the Second World War to counter the fascist ideology of Nazi Germany, while RFE was a post-war response to communist propaganda in Soviet-occupied countries. RL had the specific task of broadcasting inside Russia. VOA was designed, as its name suggests, to speak for the US government and the American people, whereas RFE/RL began by representing dissident views from within Soviet-occupied countries. As a mark of its significant role during the Cold War, the Czech president Vaclav Havel, himself a former dissident, invited RFE/RL to move its headquarters from Munich to Prague in 1995.
RFE/RL now operates in 27 languages across 23 countries, with specialist services in Iran and Afghanistan. In recent years, it has made the case for independent journalism in the countries where it operates, part of the reason it is so despised by Putin and other authoritarian leaders across Europe, Central Asia and the Middle East. In February 2024, it was designated an “undesirable organisation” in Russia, forcing many of its journalists to move into exile and operate remotely from Lithuania and Latvia. In April this year, the US government shut off a satellite that transmitted its Russian-language service into Russia.
The move against RFE/RL came as a surprise to the organisation’s management, who had no inkling that it was a potential target. No one within the organisation was consulted and no warning given.
Nicola Careem, vice president and editor in chief of RFE/RL, said: “In some of the places we work, we’re not just one voice among many – we are the media. When every other outlet has been silenced, taken over or driven out, our journalists stay. They keep reporting, often at great personal risk, just to make sure the truth still gets through. I’ve seen what that means on the ground. For millions of people, we’re their only source of trusted news. If RFE/RL disappears, so does independent journalism in those countries. That’s the reality. There’s no safety net – except us.”
One tragedy among many in this miserable saga is that RFE/RL had begun to find a new role for itself in the Putin era. This was especially true after the full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Its Russian-language channels reached a peak of 400 million views on YouTube in February 2022 as the invasion began. This is why the recent blocking of the Russian-language satellite takes on such a sinister edge.
When I spoke to Patrick Boehler, head of digital strategy for RFE/RL, in the summer of 2022 for Index on Censorship, he was full of optimism: “We have fantastic teams serving Russia. And I think it’s really one of those moments where you see our journalists living up to the task and the challenge that they face. And it’s really inspiring.” That optimism has been torpedoed by the news from Washington.
The reality is that in parts of Central Asia, where independent journalists find it difficult to operate, RFE/RL is there to provide an important check on Russian and Chinese misinformation. As a result, its affiliates have been periodically blocked across the region.
Careem said: “Make no mistake – we’re in the middle of an information war. Authoritarian regimes in Russia, China and Iran are standing by, ready to take over any space RFE/RL is forced to leave behind. They will spend billions to capture our audiences, flood the region with propaganda, and fuel instability. This is not the moment for the free world to look away, or to leave the field open. If we step back, they step in. It’s that simple.”
But the picture is complicated. The organisation has not been without its critics, even before the arrival of Trump in the White House. Journalists in the region already expressed their concern in 2023 when the broadcaster announced its Kazakh service (Radio Azattyk) would move away from broadcasting in Russian. The US organisation argued that a combined service operating across Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan would pool resources and produce better journalism. Local journalists, some of whom had been critics of REF/RL for years, were not convinced.
Asem Tokayeva, who worked at Azattyk for 14 years, has been calling for reform of the organisation since she left in 2017. Speaking to The Times of Central Asia in April in response to the grant cut, she said: “The organisation has long had an opaque management system and a culture of mutual protection. Real control over the content and personnel decisions rests with mid-level managers, vice presidents, and regional directors, who actively resist reforms. The leadership shields its own from accountability, allowing the system to remain unchanged.”
RFE/RL’s critics in Washington are not motivated by these criticisms and are unlikely even to be aware of them. The drama playing itself out in the US District Court for the District of Columbia is existential. On 22 April, Judge Lamberth ruled that the decision to require VOA to stop broadcasting was illegal. He ordered the administration to restore VOA and two other independent networks operated by the USAGM – Radio Free Asia and Middle East Broadcasting Networks. He did not make the same order for RFE/RL.
The uncertain situation at RFE/RL raises unsettling questions for the future of independent journalism across Central and Eastern Europe, not least for the exiled journalists who could find themselves stranded and jobless in Prague or the Baltic countries.
As the future of the broadcaster hangs in the balance, the Czech government has led the way by pledging to support RFE/RL’s continued presence in Prague. Prime minister Petr Fiala told the Financial Times in March: “We will do everything that we can to give them the chance to continue in this very important role.” He also emphasised the historical significance of the organisation. ‘‘I know what it meant for me in communist times,” he said. At the same time, Czech foreign minister Jan Lipavský celebrated its relevance to the present global situation on X: “Radio Free Europe is one of the few credible sources in dictatorships like Iran, Belarus, and Afghanistan”.
The Czech government has led calls for the European Union to step in to fill the hole left by USAGM. That is likely to face resistance from the so-called “hybrid democracies” of Hungary and Slovakia, where the leaderships are sympathetic to Russia and independent media are under attack. The UK government has so far not commented on developments, but Index on Censorship has called on the Foreign Office to make representations on behalf of the stranded journalists.
Could there also be a role for the BBC World Service, a historical competitor? There are certainly parts of Eastern Europe and Central Asia where the BBC’s coverage could benefit from the expertise of RFE/RL journalists. Careem is exploring all possibilities: “We’re facing real financial and political uncertainty, but one thing is clear: anyone who values democracy, press freedom, and truthful information has a stake in ensuring RFE/RL survives. We’ve been deeply gratified by the support from our European partners as we work through a range of solutions that would allow us to continue this critical work.”
Meanwhile, the exiled journalists at RFE find themselves in the bizarre position of being double dissidents: in their home countries and now, effectively, in the USA too.
To see Index’s coverage of these broadcasting institutions, click here.
31 Mar 2025 | About Index, Americas, Asia and Pacific, China, Europe and Central Asia, Georgia, Hong Kong, India, News, Newsletters, Russia, United States
I have a recurring nightmare: I somehow find myself in China. I’m having a great time until I realise I work at Index, might be on a blacklist, and could get arrested at any moment. When I tell my nightmare to people who work in the China human rights space they always reply with the same reassurance: “It would never come to that – you’d simply be denied a visa to begin with or turned away at the border.” After all, such has been the case for several people in our field, most notably Benedict Rogers of Hong Kong Watch and Aleksandra Bielakowska from Reporters Without Borders (RSF) – both sent back on a plane from Hong Kong airport before setting foot in the territory.
This isn’t a China story; it’s a global one. In the article Be nice, or you’re not coming in, which featured in the Spring 2024 edition of our magazine, Salil Tripathi wrote about how critics of Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi were being denied entry to the country. Penny Vera-Sanso of Birkbeck University in London, Lindsay Bremner from University of Westminster and University of Sussex’s Filippo Osella – all three were turned away upon arrival. Georgia has also perfected the art of entry denial. Following Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, scores of independent Russian journalists weren’t allowed in, no reason given. The same happened recently to Lithuanian women’s rights advocate Regina Jegorova-Askerova, who was stopped at the border despite Georgia being her home for the past 15 years and her having family there.
Is the USA joining the club? Last week, a French scientist was denied entry to the country. The French government claims it’s because of his criticism of Donald Trump. The US government says it’s instead because he was carrying confidential information on an electronic device, which violated a non-disclosure agreement. A week before this, several members of the British punk band U.K. Subs were turned back at Los Angeles International Airport (LAX). Bassist Alvin Gibbs wondered whether this was because of his public criticisms of Trump or whether that theory was just paranoia. Perhaps we are all jumping to the worst conclusions, but inciting paranoia can be intentional – and it’s certainly infectious. In the past few days, several people have spoken to me about whether they should delete their messaging apps and social media profiles before travelling to the USA, or, for those already there, whether it’s wise to leave, fearing they won’t be allowed back in.
Hong Kong, Georgia, India, the USA – places once regarded as relatively liberal – are now part of a troubling trend where dissenters are kept out with the stroke of a pen. This is the new reality: autocrats share tactics, and the freedom to travel is becoming a privilege, not a right.
28 Mar 2025 | Belarus, Egypt, Europe and Central Asia, Middle East and North Africa, News, Russia
On Sunday 30 March, I and mothers like me across the UK, will be waking up to a chorus of “Happy Mother’s Day!”, handmade cards and flowers thrust in our faces as we curse whoever made the decision to put the clocks forward on today of all days.
As anyone who is a mother knows, it’s a hard job. The balancing of family life, careers and – dare I say it – our own social lives; the emotional and mental load that falls to us; attempting to raise tiny people into well-rounded grown-up humans.
Mother’s Day is an opportunity to recognise all this, in ourselves and in our own mothers. But this Mother’s Day, I’d like to think about those who are mothering in extreme situations. Those who are fighting for the release of their children, who are held in prison in autocratic regimes after raising their voices. Those who are campaigning for the release of partners, after they stood up to autocrats. And those who are behind bars themselves after speaking out, and have been ripped away from their families.
One of those mothers is Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, who ran for president against Alyaksandr Lukashenka in 2020 in Belarus. She is now in exile in Lithuania, where she leads the opposition coalition.
Tsikhanouskaya never wanted to be a politician. She describes herself as having been an “ordinary woman”, where her family was her world. The change of course was thrust upon her when her husband Siarhei Tsikhanouski, who was a willing opposition leader, was arrested in May 2020 then sentenced to 18 years in prison in December 2021.
With her husband incommunicado, Tsikhanouskaya has led the campaign for his release, taken up his political reins and continued to raise their two children.
On Belarus Freedom Day (25 March), just a few days before Mother’s Day, Lukashenka chose the national awareness day to be sworn in after his sham election. Meanwhile, Index on Censorship organised a protest outside the Belarusian embassy in London, writing the names of political prisoners in chalk on the pavement. Meanwhile, Tsikhanouskaya continued to raise the issue of Belarusian freedom on the international stage. From her office in Lithuania, she took time out to talk to me about what happens when the worlds of motherhood and campaigning collide.
“Raising children is a heavy duty, even if you’re an ordinary person,” she told me. And for her, there is an additional toll.
“You always live with the feeling of guilt, because you are not spending enough time with the children,” she said. A relatable feeling. “Very unexpectedly for them, I became […] the person who is defending their daddy, who is defending the country, the leader that had to travel a lot just to raise the alarm about the situation in Belarus.”
She tries to pack in time with her children when she can, but is conscious of not overwhelming them.
“All these years, we are also living with the pain,” she said. Her daughter was only four when her father was imprisoned, and Tsikhanouskaya does everything she can to make sure she remembers his voice and what he looks like. Her daughter writes letters, but they go unanswered.
“It’s very painful for her, and she’s asking, ‘Mum, maybe he is not alive anymore, and you are lying to us, or maybe he doesn’t love us anymore’,” she said.
Tsikhanouskaya is forced to have conversations with her children that no mother would ever want to conduct, about brutality and torture in prisons. Meanwhile her son, who is older, tries not to ask painful questions. He doesn’t want to write letters to his father, because he doesn’t want to flaunt his own freedom.
“I hope, I really believe that they’re learning a lot from these difficult lives. They’re learning how people can sacrifice their lives, their freedoms, a comfortable life, just for something bigger and more important,” Tsikhanouskaya said.
Beyond this, she said she feels the Belarusian people are learning something – that women can lead movements. This, she said, is not the message that was left to them from their Soviet Union past. Meanwhile, she is nourished by the Belarusian people, and by international communities.
This Mother’s Day, Tsikhanouskaya has a message for other mothers fighting similar battles: “Don’t even dare blame yourself that you are a bad mother because you have to be a good leader of your campaign. Your example is the best lesson your children can learn.”
She spares a thought too for the mothers who are political prisoners themselves, and describes how this tactic of separating mothers from their children is “like they cut a piece of your life”.
One of those women is Antanina Kanavalava, a member of Tsikhanouskaya’s campaign, who was sentenced to five and a half years in prison for preparing to take part in a mass riot, related to her role in running a Telegram channel. Her husband was also detained for the same reason, leaving behind their son and daughter, who are both under the age of eight and were taken abroad by their grandmother.
“Dictators know that children are the most effective leverage,” Tsikhanouskaya said.
In fact, Tsikhanouskaya herself had her children used against her. She was told to leave the country, and was threatened with prison if she refused.
She said that she was told: “Your husband’s already in prison. Your children will be in an orphanage.”
The winner of the Trustees Award at our Freedom of Expression Awards in 2024 also knows what it means to campaign for your husband’s release while continuing to raise children. Russian human rights activist Evgenia Kara-Murza, the advocacy director of the Free Russia Foundation, continued to raise her three children while she took up the campaign to fight for her husband’s release.
Vladimir Kara-Murza was arrested and jailed by Russian President Vladimir Putin in April 2022, after he’d already been poisoned twice. His wife spent the next two years travelling the world and speaking out against her husband’s imprisonment and Putin’s regime. In August 2024, he was finally freed as part of a prisoner exchange.
In Turkey, the Saturday Mothers have held sit-in vigils in Istanbul since 1995, for loved ones who have been forcibly disappeared or murdered. They have spent more than 1,000 Saturdays conducting peaceful demonstrations. After their 700th vigil in August 2018, they faced a crackdown, their peaceful protest broken up with tear gas, water cannons and arrests. Finally in March 2025, 45 members of the Saturday Mothers who had been arrested were acquitted.
Elsewhere in Turkey in 2024, mothers of Crimean political prisoners held a series of exhibitions called I Will Always Wait For You, My Child, demonstrating how their lives had been devastated by the Russian occupation of Crimea. Photos and captions were displayed on easels and online, each with the photo of a mother whose child was ripped away from her, detained and taken to Russia.
The exhibition was supported by Ukrainian NGO Human Rights Centre ZMINA, the Office of the Ombudsman of Ukraine, the Ukrainian Embassy in Turkey, and the Crimean Tatar diaspora.
“My children are my air. I will fight for them until my last breath,” wrote Dilyara Abdullaeva, a 70-year-old mother whose sons Uzeir and Teymur were sentenced to 12.5 and 16.5 years in a strict regime colony.
On the UK’s shores, Laila Soueif has been putting her life at risk for her son, British-Egyptian activist Alaa Abd el-Fattah.
El-Fattah has been in and out of prison in Egypt for the last decade, after becoming a vocal pro-democracy campaigner. When his most recent sentence of five years came to an end last September, he was not released. His mother went on a hunger strike for the next five months, and was eventually told by doctors that her life was at risk.
When British Prime Minister Keir Starmer finally made a call to Egyptian President Abdel Fattah al-Sisi in February this year, she switched to a partial hunger strike, to give the negotiation process time to take its course.
Soueif spoke to me over a video call this week, and she described herself as “functioning”.
“I realised that both the Egyptian and the British government are not going [to act], except when there is a crisis. So, I decided to create the crisis,” she said.
While in the past she has felt enthusiastic about campaigning, albeit sometimes exhausted and bored by the situation, since September she has felt very angry.
Soueif’s hunger strike lasted an incredibly long time before she deteriorated, but she doesn’t think that what she has done is particularly extraordinary.
“I really believe that most mothers would be willing to take that kind of risk for their kids,” she said. She is probably right. Regardless, it’s a position no mother wishes to be in.
A hunger strike was not Soueif’s first port of call. She had taken legal routes, staged demonstrations and spoken to the British government.
“In the end, none of it worked,” she said.
She is now worried she made the wrong choice coming off her hunger strike, as the momentum seems to have been lost. She is considering taking it up again, and can only hope there are motions of clemency from the Egyptian government around the end of Ramadan in a few days’ time. If she does go back on a hunger strike, she will be putting herself at huge risk.
Her message to other mothers fighting for their loved ones is this: “If you start a fight, don’t give up. Because however hard the fight is, to give up without achieving your objective will probably be much, much harder.”
In this fight, she has never been alone. She spoke about the incredible solidarity she has had, and the difference it has made.
From exile in Lithuania, Tsikhanouskaya acknowledged that mothers like herself need some time, care and a listening ear too. While she fights for freedom in Belarus, she also continues to be an ordinary woman.
“Save yourself first, and then go and ruin dictatorships,” she said.
Mothers, even when they’re not fighting autocrats, have incredible strength and resilience. Perhaps, as some of these women show, it is the mothers who will get dissidents out of prison, and take down oppressive regimes.
12 Feb 2025 | Belarus, Europe and Central Asia, News
When a dictator wants to publicly overcompensate for an election loss five years earlier, his ego must be very bruised. This is what happened in Belarus during the presidential “election” on 26 January 2025.
Belarusians still live in the reality of the fraudulent 2020 election when Russia-backed dictator Aliaksandr Lukashenka jailed or exiled his opponents, crushed mass pro-democracy protests, and launched a crackdown that has now been continuing for nearly five years.
Ahead of the 2020 election, hope was high as new politicians emerged, and informal polls on Telegram showed that 97% of people in Belarus wanted political change in the country, leaving Lukashenka with just 3% support. A meme was born: “Sasha 3%”. But his Central Election Committee “counted” 80% of votes for him, sparking mass protests and ongoing resistance.
Lukashenka waited nearly five years to respond to the meme that highlighted his woeful support. During his “re-election” on 26 January, he claimed that he received the support of 86.82% of voters. Conveniently, this was just under 1% lower than Putin had during his last elections in 2024 – so the dictatorial race remains friendly and, let’s say, respectful.
But jokes aside, no democratic country or institution could call it anything other than a sham election. Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, the president-elect of Belarus, told Index: “For the first time, the democratic world made statements of non-recognition of Belarus’s ‘election’ even before voting day. It’s clear that Lukashenka’s attempts to legitimise himself have failed. We can call it a self-reappointment, a farce, a circus – but not an election.”
The Belarusian dictator completely ignored all fundamental principles of free and fair elections. Moreover, he continues mass repression in the country every day. “The crackdown on the people only intensified ahead of the ‘election’,” said Tsikhanouskaya. “Lukashenka continues to behave as if hundreds of thousands are marching outside his palace, just like in 2020. But resistance against him is impossible in Belarus right now – you are immediately jailed and handed harsh sentences.”
This year’s election was an easy and relaxed “win” for Lukashenka, unlike in 2020 when he had to face public unrest and didn’t know how to respond – for example, to crowds of factory workers chanting “Lukashenka into prison van” or “Go away”.
One trick Lukashenka’s Central Election Commission has been using for decades is forcing people into early voting – changing the real ballots is easier this way rather than doing it on Sunday, the main election day. The Central Election Commision claimed that early voter turnout was a record 41% this time. Students and workers of the state sector are often persistently called and even brought in groups to do early voting. Independent observers often see this process as a tool to manipulate votes. Moreover, the human rights centre Viasna reported that at one polling station in the Ivatsevichy region in Southern Belarus, the commission members followed voters to booths and sometimes showed people where to mark the ballot for Lukashenka.
But another rigged election and the seventh term of the dictator doesn’t mean the fight is over. Belarusian activists, independent journalists, and exiled democratic forces refuse to let Lukashenka’s regime ignore the will of the people and silence their voices.
“For over four years, the people of Belarus have been showing the dictator that they want him gone,” said Tsikhanouskaya. “They see no future for the country with Lukashenka clinging to power. But their voices are silenced – it’s a situation where nine million people are held hostage. So our goal remains unchanged since August 2020: we keep working tirelessly for freedom and democracy in Belarus, the release of all political prisoners, and an end to violence and repression.”
While it is crucial for all Belarusians to have the support of the international community, the country’s free media are in special need of help and solidarity. Firstly, there are still many media workers inside the country who suffer severe repression from the regime.
There are many known names like Katsiaryna Bakhvalava (Andreyeva), a Belsat journalist who was sentenced to eight years and three months in prison; Ihar Losik, blogger and Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty (RFE/RL) journalist, sentenced to 15 years; or Andrei Aliaksandraŭ, a BelaPAN journalist and former Index employee, sentenced to 14 years.
The independent organisation Belarusian Association of Journalists (BAJ) counts 41 media workers as political prisoners currently. But the real numbers are higher, as many cases of repression are intentionally not made public.
BAJ deputy chairman Barys Haretski explains the pressure people face from the regime: “Repressions against journalists in Belarus remain at a high level. Many of those behind bars prefer not to be spoken about publicly to avoid even more severe persecution. During the elections, pressure on the media only intensified – entire editorial offices were shut down, such as Intex-Press in Baranavichy, where the entire team ended up in pre-trial detention on criminal charges.
“The situation for journalists in the country remains critical. The authorities preemptively wiped out independent media even before the elections, and many media professionals who stayed in Belarus had to endure constant searches and detentions.”
Many independent media managed to leave the country and relaunch their work in exile in Lithuania and Poland, as the crackdown against civil society in Belarus aimed to decimate the whole field of those not controlled by the state. Having colleagues held hostage in Belarusian prisons, whilst trying to establish work in a new country and constantly fighting for the right of Belarusians to receive true and accurate news creates a very challenging environment.
Following the election, the situation became even more challenging for Belarusian free media. But this crisis came from an unexpected direction – the decision of newly-elected USA President Donald Trump to freeze foreign aid last month.
The dismantling of the United States Agency for International Development (USAID), and the 90-day freeze on funding for overseas aid projects, meant that many Belarusian exiled journalists, media workers, and NGOs face an uncertain future. This directly affects all Belarusians, as well as journalists.
“The organisations that had USA support were often well-established, producing high-quality media content with significant reach inside Belarus,” said the Belarusian Association of Journalists’s Haretski. “ Many of them are now on the verge of shutting down but in the Belarusian media sector, we are used to crisis situations. And BAJ is engaged in a very large number of products, projects, and support for the media sector as a whole. This includes everything from psychological support to fact-checking and education”.
Often, Belarusian media in exile are the only ones able to provide balance against the state propaganda machine of Lukashenka. People inside the country continue secretly reading these media outlets using virtual private network (VPN) services, despite these being blocked and labelled extremist in Belarus, with criminal penalties for following their websites and social media.
“Belarusian independent media maintain a huge audience within the country – around three million people, or even more,” added Haretski. “Despite forced migration, blockages, and the criminalisation of media consumption, their influence remains significant.
“Losing this influence would mean handing the audience over to state-run Belarusian and Russian propaganda, which are eager to fill this vacuum. This would also affect attitudes towards the war in Ukraine – without independent information, propaganda would quickly brainwash the population, making Belarus a more loyal ally of Putin. So far, this hasn’t happened, largely thanks to the work of independent media.”
