A man walks past a sign reading 'unjustly persecuted' featuring journalist José Rubén Zamora, former CICIG lawyer Claudia González and Maya leaders Luis Pacheco and Héctor Chaclan in a Guatemala City, 12 May 2026. Credit: Johan Ordóñez/AFP

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Jul 24 2026 (IPS)

José Rubén Zamora, founder of elPeriódico, Guatemala’s now-defunct leading investigative newspaper, spent 1,295 days in detention before a court granted him house arrest on 12 February. He endured long stretches of solitary confinement in a military jail, held in near-constant darkness and subjected to treatment that six UN experts warned could amount to torture. His offence was simply doing his job. For decades, he exposed the corrupt dealings of Guatemala’s economic and political elites. Prosecutors are still trying to send him back to prison.

Police arrested Zamora in July 2022 on a complaint brought by a former banker who was under investigation for financial crimes, following Zamora’s reporting on corruption under then President Alejandro Giammattei. Within months, elPeriódico had shut down following intimidation of its advertisers and criminalisation of its staff. A court convicted Zamora of money laundering in June 2023, and when an appeals court overturned the conviction, a second case kept him in jail anyway. Courts ordered his release several times, and each time appeals chambers reversed those decisions. The Supreme Court transferred a judge who ruled to free him to a court in another part of Guatemala. At least 10 lawyers who took up his defence were forced to abandon it under pressure. Some were prosecuted and jailed.

In May 2024, the UN Working Group on Arbitrary Detention declared Zamora’s detention arbitrary and retaliatory and recommended his immediate release. It took almost two more years for him to be allowed home. In March, the Supreme Court voided the rulings that had returned him to prison, finding they violated due process. The Constitutional Court heard the prosecution’s latest appeal to send him back to jail in June, but has yet to issue its ruling.

The machinery of impunity

Zamora’s ordeal is no aberration; it’s how captured institutions are designed to work. The Guatemalan state has long been in the hands of what Guatemalans call ‘the pact of the corrupt’, a coalition of business leaders, drug traffickers, military officers and politicians that has captured the justice system to guarantee their own impunity. Anyone who threatens that arrangement risks prosecution on fabricated charges, reinforced by coordinated smear campaign. This includes journalists who investigate corruption, judges and prosecutors who pursue it, and Indigenous, land rights and climate activists who mobilise against its consequences. The aim, as a Guatemalan civil society leader put it, is to instil fear so nobody dares question anything. Over 100 people, including around 50 judges and prosecutors, have fled into exile rather than face trumped-up charges.

Because the justice system serves the corrupt pact rather than the law, any serious attempt to dismantle corruption has required external support. In 2006, the UN and the Guatemalan government agreed to establish the International Commission against Impunity in Guatemala (CICIG). Over 12 years, CICIG and the Public Prosecutor’s Office investigated over 70 complex criminal structures and brought charges against more than 1,540 people, including former presidents, ministers, members of Congress and business figures. This challenged the perception that the powerful were untouchable.

But success sealed its fate. When CICIG investigated sitting president Jimmy Morales in 2017, he moved to destroy it, refusing to renew its mandate and appointing a compliant attorney general, Consuelo Porras. President Giammattei reappointed Porras, who prosecuted or forced out dozens of judges and prosecutors who had worked with CICIG. She turned the Public Prosecutor’s Office into an instrument of persecution while dismissing 74 per cent of the complaints filed with it without investigating them. By the time her term ended in May, over 40 states had sanctioned her and some associates. The institution built to prosecute crime had become the state’s key tool for committing it.

New president, same system

Guatemalans elected Bernardo Arévalo in 2023 with a mandate to dismantle this system, but the system has consistently tried to disable him. His unexpected win – he scraped into the runoff largely because the establishment had not seen him as a serious enough threat to block – triggered what civil society described as an attempted electoral coup, with spurious legal complaints, raids on his party’s headquarters and at least two credible assassination plots. It took 106 days of peaceful resistance led by Indigenous authorities to ensure he was sworn in.

But taking office was not the same as taking power. Arévalo’s party had only 23 of 160 congressional seats, and its legal status was subsequently cancelled by judicial order. Congress blocked the legislative change that would have allowed him to dismiss Porras, and the Supreme Court, 13 of whose judges were selected in 2024 through a process stacked with candidates tied to corruption networks, refused to lift her immunity. Throughout Arévalo’s term, the Public Prosecutor’s Office continued to criminalise dissent and repeatedly tried to strip Arévalo of immunity.

A narrow window

But Porras’s term eventually expired, and his successor, Gabriel García Luna, a career judge with no ties to corruption networks, has moved quickly, dismissing prosecutors linked to Porras and closing the special prosecutor’s office that fabricated cases against Zamora and many others. His arrival offers the first genuine opening in eight years. But it’s a narrow one. Congress remains in opposition hands, and the Constitutional Court, the Comptroller General’s Office and the electoral authority are all due for renewal this year. Corrupt interests are well placed to exploit these processes to entrench their grip.

Much now depends on whether Arévalo throws his political weight behind García Luna’s efforts to rebuild the institution Porras weaponised, and whether the bodies up for renewal can be kept out of the corrupt pact’s hands. The clearest sign of change will come if Zamora and the dozens of others criminalised for exposing corruption and defending rights no longer face prosecution, and instead their persecutors face justice.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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Credit: Mauricio Morales Source UNESCO

By Alon Ben-Meir
NEW YORK, Jul 23 2026 (IPS)

Under a new rule proposed by the Department of Homeland Security, the duration of “I visas” for foreign media will be slashed from renewable multi year periods—often up to five years—to a maximum of 240 days, and just 90 days for Chinese journalists. Renewals would no longer be a routine administrative step tied to continued employment and compliance with the law, but a discretionary privilege the government can grant or withhold at will.

Turning Journalist Visas into a Weapon

The Foreign Press Association and other media organizations have warned that such a regime will make it “impossible” for correspondents to do their jobs: they cannot build sources, understand the country’s complex politics, or maintain anything resembling a family life if their legal status expires every few months and is constantly subject to political whim. The Association of Foreign Press Correspondents in the United States rightly calls this a “flagrant attack on press freedom” designed to chill coverage by making unfavorable reporting a potential visa liability.

An Assault on the Spirit of the First Amendment

Formally, the First Amendment binds Congress, not consular officers or immigration regulators. But in substance, the proposed rule is a direct affront to the First Amendment’s core principle: that a free press must be able to scrutinize those in power without fear of retaliation.

By conditioning a journalist’s ability to live and work in the United States on repeated, discretionary renewals, the administration is creating precisely the climate of self censorship that the First Amendment was meant to prevent. If a reporter knows that a critical story about the president or his allies might translate into a denied extension, the line between immigration policy and political reprisal evaporates.

This is not a hypothetical danger. The rule expressly allows the government to scrutinize the “content” a journalist is covering when deciding whether to grant an extension, opening the door to ideological filtering of who gets to report from the United States. That logic is indistinguishable from the methods long used by authoritarian regimes that the United States has historically condemned.

A Tool for Selective Punishment

The proposal also creates a ready made instrument for selective punishment of journalists from countries with which the Trump administration has tense or adversarial relations. The singling out of Chinese journalists for especially harsh 90 day limits is an explicit signal that Washington is prepared to wield visa policy as a geopolitical stick, not a neutral administrative tool.

Once this precedent is established, nothing prevents the administration from tightening the screw further on reporters from other states whose governments it wishes to pressure—or punish. The result would be a two tiered press landscape in which journalists from favored countries enjoy relative stability, while those from disfavored states face constant uncertainty and the implicit demand to “behave.”

Collateral Damage to US Society and Industry

The damage, however, would not be confined to newsrooms. International coverage of the United States is a critical artery for sectors that depend on global visibility and confidence, including finance, higher education, entertainment, sports, tourism, and cultural institutions. If it becomes prohibitively expensive or logistically impossible for foreign outlets to station correspondents in the US for more than a few months, many will simply relocate their hubs elsewhere.

That relocation carries a cost: fewer nuanced stories about American democracy, markets, universities, and culture, and more reliance on second hand or adversarial narratives. For a country that still claims leadership of a “free world,” deliberately undermining the global visibility of its own society is more than self defeating; it is profoundly hypocritical.

Undermining Treaty Commitments and Global Standing

There is an additional, often overlooked dimension: these restrictions risk clashing with US obligations under the UN Headquarters Agreement and related arrangements governing access for foreign journalists covering the United Nations. New York is not only an American city; it is the seat of an international organization whose work depends on open media access from all member states.

For decades, Washington has rightly insisted that host states of international institutions must guarantee access to the press and avoid politicizing visas. If the United States itself begins to weaponize journalist visas, it hands every authoritarian government a ready made excuse to do the same, eroding what remains of an already fragile global norm.

What Must Be Done

This proposal is not inevitable. It is a regulatory measure that can be challenged, delayed, and ultimately defeated through a combination of legal action, congressional oversight, diplomatic pressure, and public mobilization. Media organizations, civil liberties groups, universities, and US industries that depend on international coverage should submit formal complaints, petition Congress to block implementation, and prepare litigation arguing that the rule is arbitrary, discriminatory, and incompatible with the constitutional protection of a free press.

Foreign governments and international bodies, including the UN, should make it clear that undermining foreign press access in the United States will invite reciprocal restrictions on American journalists abroad—further isolating US audiences from the world. And American citizens, who ultimately bear the cost of an information starved public sphere, must insist that their government not abuse immigration law as a backdoor censorship tool.

It is no accident that Trump, who is openly hostile to independent media, now seeks to transform visas into levers of control over who may report on it. If this rule stands, it will not only harm thousands of foreign journalists and their families; it will further entrench a creeping authoritarianism in America that fears scrutiny above all else, and that is precisely why it must be stopped.

Dr Alon Ben-Meir is President, Institute for Humanitarian Conflict Resolution

IPS UN Bureau

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Excerpt:

By Thalif Deen
UNITED NATIONS, Jul 22 2026 (IPS)

A proposal to restrict US visas to foreign journalists assigned to cover the US has triggered a strong protest from the New York-based Foreign Press Association (FPA).

The FPA says it is dismayed by the US administration’s proposals for restricting international press visas. The shortened duration of the press “I” visa would make it impossible for overseas press to maintain consistent coverage of the US, let alone staff a bureau.

The likely administrative backlogs and possible politically motivated visa denials fly in the face of the First Amendment in the US and challenge international media standards.

“The demand for frequent visa renewal obviates any chance that correspondents could maintain any kind of family life, let alone to develop the network of sources and resources essential for professional journalism.”

“The benefits of free press coverage stand in their own right. However, we should also point out that many essential US industries depend on international media coverage.”

Markets, education, entertainment, STEM, sports, and culture are just some examples of industries where companies and institutions could decide to relocate to more cosmopolitan and accessible countries, the FPA said.

The administration rule changes reducing the length of stay for foreign journalist (I) visas to 240 days and 90 days for Chinese journalists harm the international media’s ability to cover the United States. Journalists, who have spent years building relationships and developing a deep understanding of the U.S. economy, people, culture, and politics, would join the millions whose ability to travel to and work in the U.S. is challenged by the administration’s policies.

According to the US State Department, media (I) visas are for representatives of the foreign media, including members of the press, radio, film, and print industries. The media representative must be traveling temporarily to the United States to work in their profession. The individual may only participate in informational or educational activities, essential to the foreign media function.

Activities in the United States while on a media (I) visa must be for a media organization with a home office outside of the United States. Activities in the United States must be informational in nature and generally associated with the newsgathering process and reporting on current events.

Since at least the Second World War, the FPA pointed out, the State Department has set an example for other countries with its untrammelled welcome for the foreign press and its consistent defense of First Amendment rights. The flurry of reflexive xenophobia represented by these proposals reverses all those decades in a way that clearly does not take account of the needs of the press, nor indeed of the USA.

“Many of us can testify to the professional development of journalists from more restrictive countries like China when exposed to a more open press here, which makes it even more illogical that the proposals impose additional restrictions on Chinese media”.

“We recall that the Headquarters Treaty with the United Nations and other international bodies commits the host country, the US, to facilitate entry to press from member countries to cover the work, and cannot see any provisions to ensure that this international treaty obligation is fulfilled. Once again this suggests that these proposals were rushed through without consideration of the realities, and we can testify, with no consultation with the media affected”.

Ian Williams, President, Foreign Press Association of the USA, told Inter Press Service (IPS), “It’s worse than a crime; it’s a screw-up (mistake), as Napoleon’s general didn’t say… They have lumped journalists in with the overall category of foreigners and acted with reflexive xenophobia—perhaps exacerbated because if there’s any group they hate more than foreigners, it’s journalists.”

The proposals, he said, show no sign of intelligent appreciation of the role of journalism or journalists, and they have produced no statistics for journalists and the alleged threat to security or immigration. Their arguments and proposals are an exercise in knee-jerk prejudice, a reflex that operates without the intervention of the intellect.

“One also wonders whether they have given any thought to American interests. Whatever you think of their social utility, NYSE and NASDAQ depend on global media for international investors,” he said

Similarly, as one would expect from a bunch of Philistines with no professional experience, by bundling the media, along with educational visas, they may have muddied the waters. Higher education has a heavy dependence on foreign tuition income, and they will fight back politically and in the courts, maybe joined by the Murdoch Press, which has regularly imported reactionary talent from abroad.

“Ironically one thinks of the foreign press personalities who have come into the USA—people like Rupert Murdoch, Andrew Neill, Douglas Murray, Conrad Black, Andrew Sullivan, and Stuart Varney—and furthered the conservative cause here, but that is not who they are thinking about,” declared Williams, a former President of the UN Correspondents’ Association (UNCA).

Dr. Alon Ben-Meir, President, Institute for Humanitarian Conflict Resolution, told IPS that by conditioning a journalist’s ability to live and work in the United States on repeated, discretionary renewals, the administration is creating precisely the climate of self-censorship that the First Amendment was meant to prevent.

If a reporter knows that a critical story about the president or his allies might translate into a denied extension, the line between immigration policy and political reprisal evaporates, he said.

“This is not a hypothetical danger. The rule expressly allows the government to scrutinize the “content” a journalist is covering when deciding whether to grant an extension, opening the door to ideological filtering of who gets to report from the United States. That logic is indistinguishable from the methods long used by authoritarian regimes that the United States has historically condemned,” said Dr Ben-Meir

The proposal also creates a ready-made instrument for selective punishment of journalists from countries with which the Trump administration has tense or adversarial relations. The singling out of Chinese journalists for especially harsh 90-day limits is an explicit signal that Washington is prepared to wield visa policy as a geopolitical stick, not a neutral administrative tool, he pointed out.

Once this precedent is established, nothing prevents the administration from tightening the screw further on reporters from other states whose governments it wishes to pressure—or punish.

The result would be a two-tiered press landscape in which journalists from favored countries enjoy relative stability, while those from disfavored states face constant uncertainty and the implicit demand to “behave,” he declared.

Dr. Ben-Meir said foreign governments and international bodies, including the UN, should make it clear that undermining foreign press access in the United States will invite reciprocal restrictions on American journalists abroad—further isolating US audiences from the world.

And American citizens, who ultimately bear the cost of an information-starved public sphere, must insist that their government not abuse immigration law as a backdoor censorship tool.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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CIVICUS discusses the prospects for elections in Serbia with Rasa Nedeljkov, Programme Director at the Center for Research, Transparency and Accountability, a civil society organisation that monitors electoral processes and the rule of law in Serbia.

Rasa Nedeljkov

How has President Vučić responded to demands for elections?

Vučić committed to holding early elections in 2026 under pressure from over a year of mass protests. His announcement came with no date for dissolving parliament or his resignation, amid speculation that he could return as prime minister.

Vučić has deliberately dragged his feet because he wants to ensure that when they happen, his party cannot lose. Meanwhile, the government has systematically worsened conditions for elections. Independent media are being suffocated. University professors who supported student protests are being fired. Justice officials who show independence are being replaced by more obedient ones. Hate campaigns against civil society, journalists, opposition parties and students are intensifying. The plan has been transparent: call elections only once the environment is so controlled that they cannot bring real change.

This strategy reveals the fundamental collapse of democratic standards in Serbia. Democracy requires genuine competition, and competition is genuine only when the government can lose. Vučić is building the opposite, putting in place a system where elections are empty rituals that rubber-stamp predetermined outcomes. Every month of delay has bought time to consolidate control and eliminate remaining spaces for independent voices.

What are the challenges with elections in Serbia?

Elections are being voided of substance through the systematic disregard, misuse and selective enforcement of laws and rules, all with the goal of turning elections into empty rituals.

We are witnessing harsher voter intimidation, more elaborate political clientelism, more brazen abuse of public resources and increasingly overt violence on election day. Our observers have been physically attacked, with police looking on.

Elections are still held, but the quality of the process is severely damaged. Electoral corruption takes countless forms, including interference in elections by organised crime and capture of institutions. And it’s protected by impunity. The state apparatus refuses to prosecute it.

Serbia is becoming an electoral autocracy. Unlike democracies, where governments lose elections, in electoral autocracies only opposition parties can lose.

How is the government attacking civil society?

Fourteen months ago, police raided our office and remained on-site for 28 hours, copying almost 10,000 pages of financial documents. This was turned into a spectacle for state-controlled media, which branded us a ‘criminal gang of foreign mercenaries money-laundering millions of dollars’. Three other civil society organisations in Belgrade were raided on the same day. We still haven’t heard from the prosecutor’s office, and we are certain our papers were perfectly clean.

Yet the assault continues through narrative and threat. Senior ruling party officials and pro-government media regularly label us as behind-the-scenes organisers of a ‘colour revolution against Serbia’. We live in constant uncertainty, never knowing if another raid or something worse is coming. The strategy is clear: to exhaust civil society financially and psychologically and make donors and partners fear any association with us. It’s institutional intimidation dressed in the language of law enforcement.

Can protests bring lasting institutional change?

The protests are the best thing that has happened to Serbia in a long time. Sparked by the collapse of a railway station canopy in Novi Sad in November 2024, which killed 16 people, they began as a student-led demand for accountability and grew into a nationwide movement. Our society had sunk into political apathy, a feeling that there was no alternative, not even a slight possibility of change. The endurance of Serbian people in demanding the restoration of the rule of law, in the face of growing repression and toxic propaganda, has been remarkable. Society has been evolving politically, showing more solidarity and resilience. People have begun to imagine that change is possible.

At the same time, the protests have made painfully visible how deep state capture runs, and how far Serbia is from having accountable institutions. How do you translate months of mobilisation into lasting change? Nobody has a complete answer. When we get there, the transition will be complex and exhausting. We should closely watch neighbouring Hungary. Viktor Orbán’s and Vučić’s styles of authoritarian, grand-corruption-driven rule are very much alike. However, Hungary is an EU member, which may make a big difference.

We believe it’s important that this period, rather than the moment elections are officially called, be used for preparation, including by recruiting and training people to serve as election observers and members of polling boards, and building the logistics needed to cover polling stations nationwide. The goal has to be readiness, so whenever elections are called, the infrastructure of oversight is already in place.

What’s the role of the EU in Serbia’s democratic future?

Serbia needs more international support and pressure, and the EU is the most crucial lever. Neighbouring countries are making progress towards EU membership. Serbia is stuck. Without the EU perspective, all potential outcomes for Serbia look murky.

Our current government is far closer to China and Russia than to Europe, as its propaganda and rhetoric make abundantly clear. It wants only the financial benefits of EU membership, not the accountability that comes with it. It wants EU money without EU standards. That’s not a sustainable position, but without stronger international pressure, it may be the path Serbia remains on.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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SEE ALSO
Serbia: ‘Social media are more trustworthy than much of official media, a disturbing sign of state capture’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Marija Babić 29.Jun.2026
Serbia: ‘We haven’t inherited democracy, so we’ve had to reinvent it ourselves’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Mihajlo Matković 06.Dec.2025
Serbia’s suspicious election CIVICUS Lens 26.Jan.2024

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Credit: Connie France/AFP

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Jul 3 2026 (IPS)

Right-wing candidate Keiko Fujimori has won Peru’s presidential runoff, narrowly defeating leftist Roberto Sánchez to become the country’s ninth president in a decade. She inherits a system so engineered for dysfunction that rather than making compromises, she may decide the concentration of power is her only means of survival. The constitution that created this trap was written by her father.

A system built to fail

Keiko, daughter of authoritarian former president Alberto Fujimori, has finally succeeded in her fourth consecutive runoff, having lost in 2011, 2016 and 2021. She won with a margin of roughly a quarter of a percentage point over a candidate who is a close ally of jailed former president Pedro Castillo. Both sides alleged fraud, filed claims and sent their supporters onto the streets.

Peru is often described as a democracy without parties. The party system disintegrated in the 1990s and was never rebuilt. In its place came a sequence of improvised candidacies and personal electoral vehicles that rise and fall with their founders. For the first-round vote on 12 April, the largest ballot paper in Peru’s history listed 35 candidates. Fujimori came first with just 17.19 per cent. Ultimately, most Peruvians didn’t vote for either candidate who made the runoff. A president elected on that basis has a mandate so weak that rivals can dispute it from day one, and they do.

Congressional seats scatter across dozens of parties, none of which dominates. But parties can combine to reach the two-thirds threshold needed to invoke a constitutional clause to impeach and remove a president on the grounds of ‘permanent moral incapacity’, a mechanism Peru’s constitution leaves deliberately vague. The Congress elected in 2021 removed three presidents in one term.

Authoritarian incentives

The constitutional mechanism that enables political instability is the reason Fujimori’s presidency could be dangerous. As she enters office with a razor-thin margin and no congressional majority, she faces an immediate strategic choice. She can seek compromise with her opponents, but this might signal that the threat of impeachment works, inviting it. Or she can move to concentrate power and weaken the institutions that constrain the executive, denying her opponents the tools they could use to remove her.

Everything points towards the second option. Most presidents recently removed by Congress were, at the time of their removal, attempting to govern within the rules, and the rules were weaponised against them. Pedro Castillo tried a different approach, dissolving Congress pre-emptively to forestall his impeachment. He was immediately arrested and removed. A politician who has watched this dynamic consume eight predecessors might conclude that the only way to survive is to change the game.

Keiko’s father ruled Peru from 1990 to 2000 as an elected president who progressively dismantled the institutions that constrained him. Two years into his first term, citing the simultaneous crises of hyperinflation and insurgency, he dissolved Congress and suspended the constitution. The emergency was real, but it was also an opportunity. Fujimori rewrote the constitution to entrench executive power, won re-election in 1995 and then won a fraud-tainted third term before being forced from office within months. His government became synonymous with grand corruption and human rights atrocities, including the forced sterilisation of over 272,000 mostly Indigenous women. After he was forced out in 2000, he was convicted of homicide and kidnapping, and imprisoned.

The constitution Alberto Fujimori wrote to entrench his power is still in force. The moral incapacity clause that the 1993 constitution retained – useful to Fujimori when he controlled Congress – has become the primary weapon congressional majorities have used to remove president after president. The most significant recent constitutional change, the reinstatement of a two-chamber Congress, may end up increasing congressional power. This is the system Keiko now has to deal with.

The costs of dysfunction

Peru’s dysfunction has long been sustained by a comforting fiction: that while politics is chaotic, the economy runs itself. Macro fundamentals have remained relatively stable. Inflation in 2025 ran at around 1.5 per cent, and the economy grew 3.4 per cent in 2024. But economic growth has roughly halved over a decade of turmoil. Poverty, at 27.6 per cent in 2024, remains above pre-pandemic levels. Homicides stand at 10.7 per 100,000 people, alongside an epidemic of extortion.

Freedoms are deteriorating and those who protest pay the highest price. In 2025, attempts to change the pension system triggered Gen Z-led protests that quickly expressed broader anger at corruption, insecurity and political dysfunction. Security forces responded with violence. In December 2024, the CIVICUS Monitor, which tracks civic space conditions globally, downgraded Peru to repressed status, its second-worst rating, citing years of escalating state violence and the systematic harassment of human rights defenders and journalists, who political figures routinely smear as terrorists and traitors.

In March 2025, Congress passed a law giving the Peruvian Agency for International Cooperation extensive powers to control, censor and persecute civil society organisations that receive foreign funding, threatening fines of up to US$720,000 and criminalising any use of foreign funds to support legal action against the Peruvian state. It is, in effect, a law against accountability.

Danger ahead

Keiko Fujimori ran a law-and-order campaign under the slogan ‘Fujimori returns, order returns’, casting the fight against organised crime as a sequel to her father’s 1990s war against insurgency and promising mass deployments of police and military forces. Her party championed a 2025 amnesty law shielding security forces and civilian armed groups from prosecution for disappearances, killings and torture during that conflict, in direct defiance of the Inter-American Court of Human Rights. Keiko has been evasive about her father’s atrocities and has recast human rights as a matter of access to basic services rather than accountability for past abuses. Her record offers no grounds for optimism about civic space or democratic norms.

Keiko’s father justified breaking the rules that constrained him by pointing to insurgency and economic collapse. Keiko faces no insurgency and no hyperinflation, so if she moves to concentrate power, she will have to find her own justification, perhaps in a crime wave, a security emergency or a conspiracy of her enemies. The Fujimorist playbook could come back with a vengeance.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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Collective care should not be reduced to practices that merely keep us strong enough to survive hostile conditions. Collective care should also make us question, resist, and transform the very systems of power that generate harm. Credit: Humanis

By Nisrina Nadhifah Rahman
Jul 2 2026 (IPS)

“To respect strength, never power” is one of my favorite quotes from the acclaimed writer and activist, Arundhati Roy. For years, this quote has stayed with me. It encourages a way of life grounded in compassion rather than dominance.

It was particularly on my mind as I returned from the June 2026 Digital Rights Asia-Pacific Assembly (DRAPAC26) in Manila, an annual forum organized by EngageMedia. Co-hosted by local partners, the Foundation for Media Alternatives (FMA) and DAKILA, it brought together more than 800 digital rights practitioners, researchers, funders, journalists, technologists, and activists from across the Asia-Pacific region.

But my participation in DRAPAC started long before I arrived in Manila. Throughout the first half of 2026, through the Connect, Defend, Act! program, I had been engaging with civil society actors at workshops held across different regions.

Moving in harmony with one another

During a session on collective care at one of them, we asked if abstract principles like human rights, solidarity, resilience, and collective care could be translated into concrete care practices. If so, what would that look like?

One group responded with a local expression: “Na Pada Ajong Ta.” It means to move in harmony with one another, walking side by side and sharing a common rhythm.

I was instantly struck by the phrase.

AI outputs are shaped not only by data, but also by the social, political, and economic structures that determine whose knowledge is collected, whose views and experiences are prioritized, and whose realities are ignored

We are constantly being told to “unite” by both figures of authority and agents of change. But what they want is us to move in the same direction, at the same pace, and with the same voice. Yet perhaps what we need is something closer to “Na Pada Ajong Ta,” walking side by side without marching in lockstep.

Resilience is important, but so is interrogating power

The DRAPAC Assembly took me back to these questions about power, accountability, humanity, and collective care, especially in the discussions on how we frame activists and human rights defenders.

An important discussion revolved around the growing glorification of the “resilience” of activists and human rights defenders. Stories of sacrifice, adaptation, and perseverance are often presented as inspiring accounts of brave individuals fighting for justice in increasingly challenging environments.

Yet I found myself wondering: What happens when resilience becomes an unquestioned virtue? What if our admiration for people’s endurance blinds us to the systems that oppress them? Or traps us in a worldview that celebrates those strong enough to endure, while those who struggle or fall behind are quietly left to fend for themselves?

So, interrogating power in conversations about resilience also means challenging a narrow understanding of collective care. It should not be reduced to practices that merely keep us strong enough to survive hostile conditions. Collective care should also make us question, resist, and transform the very systems of power that generate harm.

AI (just like any other technology) is never neutral

Throughout DRAPAC, countless sessions explored different dimensions of Artificial Intelligence (AI). For me, the most interesting ones treated AI as a political development.

One recurring insight was that AI outputs are shaped by far more than users’ prompts. They are also influenced by invisible system prompts, training datasets, institutional priorities, commercial interests, and political decisions embedded within the technology itself.

In other words, AI reflects the values, assumptions, and most importantly, the power relations built into it.

One of the most well-known principles in computer programming is the phrase “Garbage In, Garbage Out” (GIGO). At its simplest, the principle suggests that the quality of an output depends on the quality of the input.

But after the discussions at DRAPAC, I have come to see GIGO as more than a technical principle. It is also a political one. “Garbage In, Garbage Out” is ultimately a question of power. AI outputs are shaped not only by data, but also by the social, political, and economic structures that determine whose knowledge is collected, whose views and experiences are prioritized, and whose realities are ignored.

The power of the attention economy

Writer and scholar Alfie Bown’s 2022 book, Dream Lovers: The Gamification of Relationships, explores how human desires are increasingly shaped to suit certain economic and political agendas, creating a profound dependency on algorithm-driven technology.

At DRAPAC’s “Algorithm Anonymous” session, we also explored how digital platforms are actually systems of control designed to both capture attention and influence habits, desires, and emotional attachments.

We started off by acknowledging that our choices, behaviors, and things we pay attention to online are often shaped by algorithms. And we examined the deceptive design tricks used by websites and apps that get users to do things they hadn’t planned to, like buying something, sharing more data, or signing up for services.

Then we reflected on how social media, fitness applications, and health platforms create validation loops that encourage continuous engagement, often treating privacy and user agency as an afterthought.

The many forms power takes

As I left DRAPAC, I couldn’t help but think that Arundhati Roy’s reminder to “respect strength, never power,” is perhaps not enough. Because strength, much like power, also has layers that need to be scrutinized and questioned. And while doing so, we also need to re-examine our own roles and individual social and political identities.

We must be clear on where we stand in relation to the systems and structures around us. That doesn’t mean to stop questioning power, but to remain curious about the many forms it takes, including those we may have internalized without realizing it.

A protester holds up a placard thar reads ‘Resist, don’t compromise’ at a mass march held under the slogan ‘The people are hungry, the prisons are full’ through popular neighborhoods in Tunis, Tunisia, on 16 May 2026. Credit: Chedly Ben Ibrahim/NurPhoto via AFP

By Andrew Firmin
LONDON, Jul 1 2026 (IPS)

In May, Tunisian lawyer and journalist Sonia Dahmani was handed her second conviction of the year. Her latest sentence, a two-year jail term, came in reaction to her criticism of poor prison conditions. She previously received an 18-month sentence for calling out the government’s anti-migrant policies. Dahmani faces five more charges under a 2022 cybercrime law that criminalises the spreading of what it calls ‘false information’.

Dahmani is one of many victims of President Kais Saied, who continues to steer Tunisia in an ever more repressive direction. Saied won a free and fair election in 2019, but in 2021 he removed the prime minister and parliament, ruling by decree instead. The following year, he rewrote the constitution to give himself near-absolute power, approved in a low-turnout referendum held after key opposing voices had been jailed. When he won his second term in 2024, credible opponents had been criminalised and barred from running. It’s all a long way from the democracy that sprang into life after the 2011 Jasmine Revolution.

Growing criminalisation

Saied’s repression operates behind a facade of legality, with the criminal justice system serving as a tool of presidential control. In 2022, Saied sacked judges who disagreed with him and gave himself the power to control judicial appointments. Courts now do his bidding and jail opponents. At least nine staff of civil society organisations have received prison sentences so far this year.

Journalists Borhen Bssais and Mourad Zeghidi received three-and-a-half-year sentences on trumped-up money laundering and tax evasion charges in January. In 2025, 37 journalists, lawyers, opposition politicians and other dissidents were found guilty of terrorism and plotting to destabilise Tunisia. Following a mass trial, some were given decades-long jail terms. A November 2025 appeal court hearing that defendants weren’t allowed to attend upheld almost all convictions and increased some sentences.

The latest phase of the crackdown is targeting anti-racism campaigners. Since 2023, Saied has deployed the populist strategy of attacking Black African migrants to distract from the economic problems he’s failed to address. He’s repeatedly accused migrants of being responsible for crime and disorder, fuelling violence against them from security forces and the public.

Saied has branded organisations that stand up for migrants’ rights as traitors and foreign agents. Vilification prepares the ground for incarceration. In March, Saadia Mosbah, president of Mnemty, a Tunisian association that fights against racism, received a staggering eight-year sentence on bogus illicit enrichment and money laundering charges. Five of her colleagues were convicted alongside her.

Mnemty faces the threat of being closed down, part of an assault on associational freedoms that has seen dozens of other civil society organisations suspended. Hundreds more could face the same treatment. In 2024, courts ordered the closure of the Tunisian Council for Refugees. Last November, two of its leaders, Mustapha Djemali and Abderrazek Krimi, received two-year sentences for offences under a 1975 law on passports and travel documents.

No one appears to be beyond the state’s reach. In March, a judge ordered the pretrial detention of seven people on money laundering charges for their involvement in the first Global Sumud Flotilla, which last October attempted to take humanitarian aid to Gaza’s besieged population. Meanwhile being one of the organisations that won the 2015 Nobel Peace Prize offered no protection for the Tunisian League for Human Rights. The group was slapped with a one-month suspension in April.

For civil society organisations, suspension marks the start of a process that can lead to dissolution. Civil society organisations also face asset freezes, lawsuits and tax investigations. The combination of criminalisation, legal harassment and top-down vilification results in a pervasive chilling effect.

Judges that don’t do Saied’s bidding are also at risk. Anas Hmedi, President of the Association of Tunisian Magistrates, has been subjected to criminal proceedings since 2022, with a summons on fresh charges issued in January.

Europe says little

Tunisians continue to protest. Hundreds marched in the capital, Tunis, on 6 June to demand media freedoms and the release of political prisoners. Protesters in May also called out Saied’s failure to address the economic crisis. But they need international support.

Last October, Saber Ben Chouchane was handed a death sentence for criticising Saied on Facebook. Authorities interpreted his posts as constituting crimes of attempting to change the form of government, insulting the president and spreading false information. But this time the repression backfired. The severity of the sentence caused such an international outcry that Saied was forced to pardon and release him. This shows that international criticism can make a difference.

The European Parliament spoke up last November, passing a resolution calling for the release of political prisoners and the repeal of the false information provisions. But such gestures have limits, as shown by Saied’s dismissal of the resolution as ‘blatant interference’.

Resistance to autocratisation takes more than words, but the EU isn’t acting. It’s in a weak position towards Saied because it pays the Tunisian government to help prevent migrants crossing into Europe, and in April 2025, it classified Tunisia as a safe country of origin. This means it believes migrants can be deported there on the basis that they won’t be at risk of persecution, a claim that rings hollow for the many from civil society now in jail.

EU policies have contributed to the rising number of migrants in Tunisia, since people can make it there but no further. This makes them a ready target for Saied’s scapegoating. The EU must acknowledge its responsibility and change course. It must recognise that migrants’ rights in Tunisia aren’t being protected and that, in the current situation, only civil society can do that. In its dealings with Tunisia, it must insist that civil society freedoms are respected and people are free both to defend migrants’ rights and criticise the government’s decisions. Continuing silence will make it complicit in the consolidation of a dictatorship.

Andrew Firmin is CIVICUS Editor-in-Chief, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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People hold electronic candles during a vigil at Liberty Square in Taipei on the anniversary of China’s 1989 crackdown on democracy protesters in Beijing's Tiananmen Square, 4 June 2026. Credit: Cheng-Chia Huang/AFP

By Andrew Firmin
LONDON, Jun 19 2026 (IPS)

When performance artist Sammu Chen tried to tie a red thread to a streetpost, plainclothes police stopped him before he could finish. Chen has twice been detained for his symbolic acts of commemoration of the 4 June 1989 Tiananmen Square Massacre, when Chinese authorities killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, to crush democracy protests.

The day used to one of commemoration in Hong Kong. Tens of thousands used to attend the mass vigil. But authorities banned it during the COVID-19 pandemic and haven’t permitted it since.

Chen’s attempted act of commemoration took place near the former site of the banned vigil. Close by, police moved on another artist marking the anniversary by holding a question mark-shaped balloon. In recent years, other symbolic acts, such as silently holding candles or flowers, have led to arrests. The organisation that used to hold the vigil closed itself down in 2021 following police investigations and prosecution of its leaders.

China’s campaign to stamp out demands for democracy in Hong Kong doesn’t stop at its borders, as events in the UK recently made plain.

UK spy network

Last month, two men with dual British and Chinese nationality were found guilty of spying on Hong Kong democracy activists in the UK. The case showed how far the Chinese state is prepared to go to silence Hong Kong’s diaspora.

Chi Leung Wai, who worked for the UK’s Border Force, and Chung Biu Yuen, who worked for the Hong Kong Economic Trade Office in London, were found to have carried out shadow policing operations to gather information on exiles. The spies also targeted UK politicians critical of China.

One of their targets was Nathan Law. Law was a student leader and politician active in Hong Kong’s democracy movement, which mobilised in mass protests in 2014 and again in 2019. Having spent time in jail in 2017 for his role in protests, he headed into exile in 2020 when the authorities introduced a draconian National Security Law.

In 2023, Law was one of eight activists the Hong Kong police targeted with arrest warrants, with a bounty of around US$130,000 offered as a reward. Hong Kong police took Law’s parents and brother in for questioning, and in 2024, authorities revoked his passport and those of other exiled activists.

Escalating transnational repression

Such is the level of repression China exerts in Hong Kong that activism can only be sustained among the diaspora. But while many states are exerting transnational repression against diasporas and exiles, the spy case shows that China remains the world leader in this field.

Hong Kong police issued a further round of arrest warrants and bounties against six more exiled activists in December 2024 and announced bounties on another 19 in July 2025. Hong Kong authorities have also started targeting exiles with spurious tax demands and may be gearing up to weaponise international anti-money laundering cooperation agreements against them.

Exiles’ families in Hong Kong aren’t spared. In February, Kwok Yin-sang, father of exiled activist Anna Kwok, was handed an eight-month sentence for violating national security laws after he tried to cash in her education savings insurance policy.

Around 100,000 people have fled Hong Kong to the UK, which controlled the territory before handing it over to China in 1997. That makes them a particular target. In 2024, addresses of Hong Kong citizens living in the UK were published online and anti-migrant protesters were encouraged to attack them, in a move that showed all the signs of a Chinese influence operation.

Intensifying domestic repression

As a new CIVICUS report documents, repression has intensified further within Hong Kong. In 2024, authorities introduced the Safeguarding National Security Ordinance, which allows them to criminalise simple acts of dissent by claiming they constitute secession, sedition, subversion and other major crimes. They’ve used this latest law’s sweeping provisions and the 2020 National Security Law to prosecute activists, dissidents and journalists. Since 2020, Hong Kong authorities have arrested at least 365 people and convicted 174 under the two laws. People have been convicted for such trivial offences as wearing T-shirts with protest slogans.

The authorities’ determination to silence dissent was on display again in the aftermath of a horrendous apartment complex fire in November 2025, in which over 160 people died. People were arrested for social media posts calling for accountability . Student Miles Kwan Ching-fung was detained and expelled from university after starting an online petition urging an independent investigation. China’s national security office in Hong Kong warned foreign journalists about negative coverage of the government’s response.

Hong Kong once had one of Asia’s most vibrant media environments, but now it ranks 140th out of 180 on the Reporters Without Borders World Press Freedom Index. In February, media owner Jimmy Lai, whose Apple Daily newspaper championed democracy, received a 20-year sentence under the National Security Law. Lai has been detained under multiple charges since 2019, often in solitary confinement. At 78 years old with diabetes and other reported health problems, he faces dying in jail. Despite Lai’s British citizenship, China has refused international appeals for his release.

The campaign against Lai continues, with four bookshop staff arrested in March on suspicion of selling copies of his biography, deemed a seditious publication. The authorities’ attempts to suppress the book are part of their wider cultural censorship, which extends to banning films, barring publishers from book fairs and demanding the blocking of YouTube videos of the protest anthem ‘Glory to Hong Kong’. In the face of this repression, many civil society organisations, media outlets and political parties have concluded that their only option is to close down.

In these circumstances, it will continue to fall on the diaspora to keep shining a light on the suppression of basic civic freedoms in Hong Kong. States where Hong Kong’s exiles live must be alert to the threats of China’s transnational repression and defend and protect exiled activists. They must confront the full scope of this repression, or be complicit in it.

Andrew Firmin is CIVICUS Editor-in-Chief, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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Thousands gather outside Istanbul City Hall to mark one year since the arrest of Mayor Ekrem İmamoğlu on 18 March 2026. Credit: Yasin Akgul/AFP

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Jun 15 2026 (IPS)

When Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orbán lost by a landslide to a unified opposition in April, Turkey’s President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan was watching. The lesson he drew was not that he should be more moderate; it was that he needed to crack down harder. He had already arrested Istanbul Mayor Ekrem İmamoğlu, the opposition Republican People’s Party (CHP)’s leading presidential contender, in March 2025. After Orbán’s defeat, he has accelerated his campaign to fracture the opposition and rewrite the rules before the next election in 2028.

Electoral autocracy

Erdoğan has been in power since 2003. After surviving a coup attempt in July 2016, he used emergency powers to purge the state at scale. Over 150,000 people were detained, fired or suspended from their jobs. Emergency decrees expanded the government’s power to shut down organisations and remove elected officials. A 2017 constitutional referendum, narrowly approved in a campaign that independent observers found deeply flawed, replaced Turkey’s parliamentary system with a hyper-presidential one.

Independent media has been systematically dismantled. Turkey now ranks 163rd out of 180 countries on Reporters Without Borders’ 2026 World Press Freedom Index. Yet elections have continued, and the opposition has continued to win at the municipal level, most strikingly in Istanbul in 2019 and again by an even wider margin in 2024. That residual competitiveness is what Erdoğan is now moving to close.

İmamoğlu had beaten Erdoğan’s candidate in Istanbul twice, was formally nominated as the CHP’s 2028 presidential candidate and polled strongly against Erdoğan nationally. Authorities arrested him on charges of corruption and links with terrorism as his nomination was under way, triggering Turkey’s largest wave of protests in over a decade. A 4,000-page indictment filed in November 2025 sought to sentence him to over 2,000 years in prison. Espionage charges followed in February 2026. His trial began in March amid continuing protests. He remains in prison, and in the 14 months since his arrest, over 500 more people have been detained, including 16 CHP-affiliated mayors.

With İmamoğlu imprisoned, Erdoğan’s next move was to prevent the CHP from consolidating around anyone else. On 21 May, an appeals court annulled the outcomes of the CHP’s 2023 national congress, ejecting the party’s elected leader Özgür Özel, who had raised the CHP to rough parity with Erdoğan’s Justice and Development Party (AKP) in national polls, and reinstating his predecessor Kemal Kılıçdaroğlu, a divisive figure who lost the last presidential election. Özel condemned the ruling as a judicial coup and refused to leave the party’s headquarters. Three days later, riot police stormed in, firing rubber bullets and teargas. The government denied any involvement, implausibly claiming the judiciary had acted independently. The operation was legal in form and political in substance.

Turkey’s constitution limits presidents to two five-year terms, and Erdoğan’s second expires in 2028. In May 2025, he appointed a legal team to draft a new constitution. It seems clear the goal is to extend his eligibility. The AKP and its nationalist allies fall short of the parliamentary threshold required to change the constitution or call a referendum on it. Some analysts believe the government’s recent initiative to end the decades-long conflict with the Kurdistan Workers’ Party is at least partly designed to attract enough parliamentary votes to clear that threshold.

There is a structural reason the stakes are so high. Turkey’s hyper-presidential system means that, unlike Orbán, Erdoğan would have no safe path back from electoral defeat. For him, losing power could mean political extinction. His crackdown is a response to this threat.

Civil society resistance

Turkey’s civil society has, however, not submitted. Huge protests followed İmamoğlu’s arrest. A mass rally marked his 100th day in jail, and people marched again when the CHP headquarters were raided. Most recently, when Erdoğan ordered the closure of Bilgi University, one of Turkey’s oldest liberal academic institutions, students and staff immediately gathered outside to protest. Within two days the government reversed the closure. This illustrated both the extent of Erdoğan’s repressive urges and their limits when met with swift resistance.

The government has responded to protest with blanket bans on public gatherings, social media restrictions and mass arrests. Four days after İmamoğlu’s arrest, at least 1,879 people had been detained. Police repeatedly intervened forcefully, using teargas and detaining protesters and journalists.

Orbán’s downfall has frightened Erdoğan as much as it has inspired the Turkish opposition. He is moving to eliminate the conditions that made it possible. He has got rid of the most credible and unifying opposition candidate, neutralised the main opposition party and is in the process of dismantling what’s left of an electoral architecture that, however tilted, could still allow the opposition to win.

Turkey’s democracy now depends on whether enough people keep showing up, and on whether they can keep resisting Erdoğan’s campaign to dismantle democracy.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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Afghan media workers face growing restrictions under Taliban rule, with women journalists pushed further from reporting, broadcasting and public visibility. Credit: Learning Together.

By External Source
KABUL, Jun 11 2026 (IPS)

Afghanistan ranks 175th in the Reporters Without Borders Press Freedom Index this year. Out of 180 countries on the list, only Iran, Syria, China, North Korea and Eritrea ranked lower than Afghanistan.

Arrests narrow opportunities for work

The Taliban’s arrests and imprisonment of journalists have further narrowed opportunities for journalism.

Several prominent journalists are currently in prison. They include Shakib Ahmad Nazari, who is reportedly being held for collaborating with international media outlets. He was arrested in 2025 and sentenced to three years in prison according to sources.

Spokespersons for government ministries and agencies are reluctant to speak to female journalists and often do not even provide basic information or short statements. In the past, we had to sit in the last row of benches at press conferences, but recently we have not even been allocated seats anymore

Hamid Farhadi, a prominent freelance journalist, was arrested in September 2024 while working for foreign media outlets and the Afghan Etilaat Roz media outlet. He was sentenced to two years in prison. According to the human rights organization Amnesty International, Farhadi was sentenced without right to legal representation.

His arrest was allegedly related to a report he made for foreign media outlets about the situation of women and girls in Afghanistan.

The media in Afghanistan is overseen by the Taliban-run Audit Commission. Journalist and former member of the commission, Bashir Hatef, was arrested in 2025 for collaborating with foreign media and sentenced to two years in prison.

Self-censorship has become a daily routine

The arrests of male journalists, however, pale in comparison to the situation of female journalists, who face professional restrictions and are subject to gender-based discrimination. Over the past four years, many have been threatened, arrested, banned from work or treated violently.

Samandar (name changed) has 13 years of experience in television and radio. According to her, journalists currently do not have the right to criticize the Taliban, officials or state institutions.

Journalists are also not able to choose their guests freely. Only experts approved by the Taliban can be invited to programs that cover politics. Regular street interviews are practically impossible.

“We are forced to self-censor or our employer gets into trouble and we are threatened with imprisonment. So we remove criticism of the Taliban from our programs,” says Samandar.

Self-censorship is also visible in practice. A well-known television channel in Kabul – whose name will not be revealed for security reasons – was planning a program on the role of women journalists in communication.

Everything was ready and guests had been invited. However, the program had to be canceled because it was feared that the discussion would cause problems for both the channel and the guests.

Female journalists face double restrictions

Salma (name changed) is a female journalist with a journalism degree and nine years of work experience. She describes how spokespersons for government ministries and agencies are reluctant to speak to female journalists and often do not even provide basic information or short statements.

Routine press conference arrangements have also changed, she says. “In the past, we had to sit in the last row of benches at press conferences, but recently we have not even been allocated seats anymore.”

According to her, separate rooms have been built for women, from where they can follow the events but not participate in them equally.

“A partition has been erected in the hall, and we are forced to sit in a separate booth. We can only listen to the speeches of officials but are not allowed to ask questions.”

Even when questions are allowed in exceptional cases, limits are placed on what can be asked. “On rare occasions, when questions are allowed, we are not allowed to ask anything critical.”

Questions can only be asked at certain events where Taliban-approved officials, such as Zabihullah Mujahid, are present. He is considered somewhat more flexible in his approach to female journalists.

According to Salma, the restrictions do not end there. Movement and work are closely monitored.

“At press conferences, officials from the Taliban’s Ministry of Virtue and Prevention of Vice demand to know who we are with and whether we have a male escort.”

Salma also criticizes news directors who favor male journalists. According to her, it is well known in newsrooms that women are practically prevented from doing normal journalistic work and that Taliban representatives do not want to talk to female journalists.

“In most media outlets, we are not treated as employees but rather as interns who are paid only for our travel expenses. The media outlets take advantage of the restrictions imposed by the Taliban on female journalists.”

According to Salma, many women accept the situation because there are few options.

“In addition to the restrictions imposed by the Taliban, we are forced to tolerate this abuse so that we are not completely excluded from editorial and media work.”

No more female journalists in many provinces

Due to Taliban restrictions, female journalists are required to be accompanied by a male guardian even when they are supposed to be at work elsewhere, which is often practically impossible. Some women have left their jobs for fear that their family members could be arrested.

A writer in Kandahar, “Shazia,” uses a pseudonym. According to her, the restrictions on interviews imposed by the Taliban have significantly changed the way they work.

Male colleagues conduct the interviews, and female journalists have to rely on their recordings when writing their articles. Male colleagues are not always willing to cooperate in situations when follow-up questions or supplementary interviews are needed for a story.

Articles written by women are often published under the names of male colleagues. Women’s voices are not even allowed to be heard on the radio.

According to Reporters Without Borders, four out of five female journalists and media workers in Afghanistan lost their positions after the Taliban returned to power.

Before August 2021, there were 2,490 women working in the media, of whom only about 410 continued to work after the Taliban took power. According to the organization, there are no active female journalists in 15 of Afghanistan’s 34 provinces.

Ban on image further tightens surveillance

Freedom of speech in Afghanistan is also significantly restricted by the ban on the display of images of living beings.

According to the Afghan Journalists Center, the ban is in force in at least 23 provinces. Reports indicate that many media outlets have been forced to switch to audio-only format and at least 20 television stations have been closed.

Dwindling female journalists work in the media industry

Recent data highlights the scale of decline in Afghanistan’s media workforce. According to Naeem (not real name), a member of association of media organization, there are currently 4,073 male journalists and 746 female journalists working across the country.

Another female journalist, Nabila (not real name) provided similar figures, estimating that more than 4,700 journalists remain active, around 700 of them women.

These figures reflect a sharp contraction compared to previous years. According to Reporters Without Borders (RSF), there were previously around 700 women journalists working in Kabul alone; that number has now dropped to fewer than 100

Laila (name changed) was previously part of one of three women-led journalist associations and unions that supported female journalists before the Taliban returned to power.

She says none of these groups is active anymore. According to her, institutions and organizations can no longer be officially registered in women’s names under the Taliban regime.

The media sector in Afghanistan is also structurally restricted. There is no clear legal framework, live broadcasts are prohibited, the number of guests on programs is limited, and access to information is difficult.

Excerpt:

 
CIVICUS discusses the outlook ahead of Peru’s runoff presidential election with David Hidalgo, journalist and executive director of OjoPúblico, a Peruvian digital investigative journalism outlet.

David Hidalgo

What were the first round results?

The Peruvian electoral system requires a candidate to secure over 50 per cent of the vote to win. The first round, held on 12 April, produced no clear winner, as none of the parties took over 20 per cent. Consequently, on 7 June there will be a runoff between two candidates who did not secure strong support but have merely cleared the minimum threshold to reach the runoff.

The contest between Fujimori of Fuerza Popular and Sánchez of Juntos por el Perú promises a difficult and polarised election. Meanwhile, Rafael López Aliaga of Renovación Popular, who came third trailing by some 20,000 votes, has persisted with an intense campaign alleging fraud.

It was an unusual election, as over 30 presidential candidates stood and, for the first time in over 20 years, voters also elected a bicameral parliament. The recent constitutional changes that reintroduced the Senate granted it considerable power, including the final say on whether to vacate a president by removing them via a parliamentary mechanism. In a country that has had eight presidents in 10 years, the composition of the new Senate will be just as decisive as the result of the presidential runoff.

Who are the candidates?

Keiko Fujimori is the daughter of Alberto Fujimori, who came to power in Peru in the 1990s and, two years after taking office, staged a coup and ruled autocratically throughout the decade. Fujimori left a legacy of corruption and serious human rights violations, for which he was sentenced to prison. His daughter defends his government and has built her campaign on the promise of a return to order, a message that may resonate with an electorate affected by historic levels of public insecurity.

However, she carries political baggage. She was the subject of a judicial investigation into the alleged illegal financing of her 2021 campaign, a process that made significant progress but was ultimately quashed. She is surrounded by figures who uncritically defend and recycle a hardline rhetoric that includes the passing of laws to grant amnesty for past human rights violations.

Sánchez built his campaign around the figure of ex-president Pedro Castillo, a former schoolteacher who channelled popular frustration and won the 2021 election, but lacked political preparation and ended up attempting a coup. Castillo is now in prison. Sánchez, who served as minister of trade in his government, has indicated that should he come to power, he could use presidential powers to pardon him.

His candidacy also raises concerns due to his closeness to Antauro Humala, a former military officer who spent almost 18 years in prison for leading a revolt in which four police officers were killed, and who holds radical views on various issues.

López Aliaga, a business leader and former mayor of Lima, has an equally controversial profile. Following a contentious tenure as mayor, he ran on a far-right platform that polarised the presidential campaign. He called for an insurgency when the results went against him and suggested the murder of a critical journalist. He constantly invokes conspiracy theories about an alleged state takeover by a supposed left-wing mafia and dismisses anyone who doesn’t share his views, from human rights organisations to Keiko Fujimori.

Was the first round election free and fair?

Although it was a turbulent electoral process, with incidents relating to the distribution of electoral materials and the opening of polling stations, the election was conducted within parameters that have been validated by various observation missions. There’s no evidence of a concerted effort to commit electoral fraud.

The irregularities that occurred are under investigation. The problem is that these gave rise to allegations of fraud put forward by López Aliaga and his party. Distorted versions of events were circulated to give the impression of significant impacts. For example, in some polling stations in southern Lima, electoral materials didn’t arrive on time, which led to false claims that, for this reason, a million people had been unable to vote. False information also circulated that electoral tally sheets were allegedly tampered with. It’s true there were incidents and irregularities, but there’s no evidence of fraud. This was acknowledged by the European Union’s observation mission.

The narrative of fraud is not new. Since the 2021 election, Keiko Fujimori’s party has maintained that she lost due to fraud, and has repeated this in every election since. López Aliaga adopted the same strategy this time and called for the election to be annulled.

What role have civil society and independent media played?

Disinformation and polarisation have reached historic levels, and the media have had to contend with them in situations of hostility and inequality. The landscape has been marked by constant attacks on independent media from the usual political figures and also parts of the press aligned with powerful corporate structures and others within the ecosystem of content creation for social media, which has emerged as the new arena for public debate.

At the same time, an authoritarian political alliance currently controlling the government and the main public institutions has consolidated a sort of legal stranglehold on independent media, which operate as non-profit organisations. The law on the Peruvian Agency for International Cooperation extends state control over civil society organisations working with international funding and requires their projects to be registered in advance with the state and subjected to coercive oversight, with disproportionate and unconstitutional sanctions. This law undermines editorial independence for independent media and creates risks incompatible with international press freedom standards.

On top of this, there’s a practice where some political groups accuse those who denounce state abuses, corruption and anti-rights practices of terrorism. This was particularly brutal following the social unrest that erupted after Castillo’s downfall in December 2022, when state repression of protests left around 50 people dead in southern Peru. The attacks targeted organisations supporting victims.

To tackle disinformation, used as a political tool in the electoral context, OjoPúblico, with the support of CIVICUS and in partnership with 26 organisations, launched an election coverage initiative using verification methods, in partnership with digital media outlets, radio stations and organised groups from different regions of Peru. The aim was to give the public verified information and show how disinformation undermines democracy. In six months, we generated almost three million views and over 180,000 social media interactions.

What’s the cause of instability in recent years?

The current crisis began in 2016, when Keiko Fujimori rejected the election results and pursued a sustained strategy to weaken the elected government, which culminated in it being removed from office by Congress. Since then, polarisation has deepened and Congress has taken on an increasingly destabilising role.

In this context, an unusual dynamic took hold, when parties at opposite ends of the political spectrum began acting in unison to benefit one another, halt investigations against them and advance their control over key state institutions such as the Constitutional Court, the Ombudsman’s Office and the Public Prosecutor’s Office. By appointing like-minded officials, they weakened the mechanisms of democratic control.

Added to this is the infiltration of illegal economies into politics. One example is that, according to revelations by independent journalists, 28 parties included people linked to illegal mining on their lists. This is an activity with an economic weight comparable to that of drug trafficking in past decades.

The combination of polarisation, institutional capture and the infiltration of criminal interests has sustained a system that reproduces itself election after election. Forces change and adapt, but they don’t disappear and instability persists.

What’s at stake in the runoff?

What’s at stake is democratic stability. This is regardless of who wins. Neither of the two candidates has provided sufficient guarantees that they will respect democratic principles and the rule of law. For 20 years, Peruvian voters have had to choose the lesser of two evils.

If Fujimori wins, she will seek to revive her father’s heavy-handed approach under the banner of law and order, one very much in line with the hard-right wave sweeping through Latin America. If Sánchez wins, his alliances with left-wing groups with a history of violence will open up an equally uncertain scenario.

Neither has presented a solid and convincing programme for the next five years. Their proposals rely more on slogans and spending pledges than on structural solutions to urgent problems such as record levels of insecurity, out-of-control illicit economies, and a fiscal situation undermined by disproportionate tax breaks.

But it’s also true that, given this complex scenario, this is not a choice between two equivalent risks. The dilemma facing Peruvian voters lies in understanding which candidate, if elected, will have greater power to pursue their authoritarian impulses without checks from the institutions that should restrain them.

In recent years, various international analyses have ceased to classify Peru as a democracy and now regard it as a hybrid regime. Depending on who wins, this trend will continue or intensify.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Peru: ‘If authorities once again ignore the popular will, accumulated discontent could trigger a new outbreak’ CIVICUS Lens | Anonymous interview 26.May.2026
Peru: ‘The adult public and the mainstream press ridiculed our protests’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Jackelinne Ponce Paredes 07.May.2026
Peru: ‘Young people have lost their fear and realised change requires constant participation’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Wildalr Lozano 21.Oct.2025

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Credit: Africa Center for Strategic Studies

By Kester Kenn Klomegah
MOSCOW, May 18 2026 (IPS)

Under the auspices of the Faculty of Journalism of Lomonosov Moscow State University, the Russian-African Club, in late April, held its IV International Forum of Journalists from Russia and Africa, which marked another historical milestone. According to an established annual tradition, discussions were focused on aspects of the media, its structure, current performance, information contents, and challenges as well as future perspectives.

The shared common purpose was also to critically review whether the media, both in Africa and in the Russian Federation, have played its role in strengthening bilateral relations, and promoted the important goals set out during the first and second Russia-Africa summits. Why Media?

As largely expected, there were in-depth discussions. There were also controversies over the dynamics of media performance, with prominent participating experts raising narratives and criticisms, in the context of the forum’s theme: “Mass Media of Russia and Africa: The Role in Strengthening Friendship and Solidarity among the Peoples of the World.”

Elena Vartanova, dean of the Faculty of Journalism at Moscow State University, pointed to the fact that the media has to build diverse partnerships between Russia and Africa, further emphasized the importance of intercultural dialogue in creating a unified information space amid the complex global transformations of the modern world.

Yaroslav Skvortsov, dean of the Faculty of International Journalism at MGIMO, spoke about his recent unique trip to South Africa, noting that South Africa and the continent as a whole remain a “media blind spot” for Russian media, just as Russia receives very little coverage for African audiences.

The expert emphasized the need for serious, thoughtful, and in-depth reporting work in this area. The necessity to explore more opportunities in building strong ties, deepening the understanding of geopolitical developments, while fostering dialogue among the continent’s public.

Underlining Reasons

The media performance gap between Russia and Africa stems from overwhelming dominance of Western media outlets, a little of direct African reporting in Russia (including a lack of accredited African journalists), and limited institutional investment. These are some of the reasons highlighted during the discussions by an African studies journalist and columnist for the ITAR-TASS Analytical Center, Oleg Osipov, Timur Shafir, Secretary of the Union of Journalists of Russia and Head of the International Department of the Union of Journalists of Russia, and Louis Gowend, chairman of the Commission for Relations with African Diaspora and the Media of the Russian-African Club of Moscow State University, and president of the African Business Club.

Oleg Osipov, unreservedly, expressed concern about information deficit in Russian and African journalism, emphasized the urgent need to expand the network of Russian correspondent offices across the African continent, as well as getting a few experienced African media practitioners to Russia. This is especially important in today’s reality, as geopolitics heightens in the world.

Assessing current global trends, Russia needs to expand its presence in all spheres, and the media space is a crucial component of this process, the Russian expert believes. But for Timur Shafir, the thoughts were on the fact that it was especially important now to find common grounds in the mutual perceptions of the peoples and cultures of Russia and Africa through media communication.

In addition, he further emphasized that the media landscape is currently undergoing significant transformations, with technologies, audiences, and means of communication changing. Therefore, journalism is currently an area of particular responsibility and professional integrity, and direct dialogue between journalists in Russia and Africa has become crucial now.

Search for New Approach

The IV International Forum of Journalists from Russia and Africa, was considered as the new dawn, turning a new chapter with suggestion and paving the path for improving media performance in both regions. The participants offered a deafening applause to this position. The speakers expressed confidence that the Forum will serve as a starting point for many new joint initiatives.

According to Louis Gowend, the RusAfroMedia media platform—an information resource, which was created by the Moscow State University RA Club in 2022, for instance has to undergo serious facelifting, by strengthening cooperation and to improve the image of Russia-Africa cooperation.

This platform provides all the conditions for a free and frank exchange of opinions, relevant useful information, and the promotion of initiatives in all areas of cooperation between Russia and Africa. The speaker expressed concern over the fact that Russian journalists are much less active on the RusAfroMedia platform than their African counterparts and urged those present to make greater use of this resource.

In his contribution, Alexander Berdnikov, executive secretary of the Russian-African Club, distinctively noted that, at a time when new development trends are unfolding in the world, journalism and the entire media sphere are literally becoming a battlefield for information wars and special operations.

The speaker reminded that the Forum, being held ahead of the Third Russia-Africa Summit scheduled for October 2026, indicates how crucial for participants to develop solutions and initiatives for cooperation in journalism between Russia and Africa, and which will form the basis for practical recommendations in preparation for the forthcoming African leaders’ Summit.

Preserving Traditional Practice

Lyubov Sakhno, head of the Protocol and African Section of the TASS International Relations Department, represented Russia’s oldest news agency and spoke about ITAR-TASS’s consistent efforts to provide African media with foreign-language news feeds. But then, Russian media expansion faces limited budget constraints.

According to her, over 400 media outlets in Africa use these resources. She also discussed the organization’s media forum, which traditionally takes place on the sidelines of the Russia-Africa Summit.

Sergey Grachev, deputy director of the Media Research and Analysis Directorate at Rossiya Segodnya International News Agency, agreed with his colleagues that today we are facing unprecedented pressure from Western media. African media, most often, depends on Western sources, which Russian officials argue creates a “vacuum” filled by biased or hostile information.

Despite this, Russian media projects in Africa continue to develop, presenting analytical models of Sputnik’s presence on social media, where it broadcasts in 33 foreign languages.

Editor-in-chief of the African Initiative news agency, Buinta Bembeeva, noted in her discussions that Africa has become noticeably, and more prominent in Russian news in recent years. The speaker discussed the African Initiative’s experience in Africa. The agency is noticeably represented in many African countries through cooperation agreements with local media outlets.

The agency also collaborates with bloggers and organizes a journalism school for young African journalists. This close, on-the-ground, direct collaboration with African media outlets is key to achieving full-scale journalistic activity.

Contributions from Nigerian Academics

Professor Babatunde Joseph, Kaduna State University, spoke about using strengthened strategic communications to strengthen partnerships and unite the cultures of African countries. He agreed with his Russian colleagues on the need to expand the presence of Russian news agencies in Africa and African media in Russia. The expert cited the example of a well-known British radio station that broadcasts in five languages in Nigeria alone: Hausa, Yoruba, Igbo, Pidgin English (called “Najin” there), and plain English. “This is a successful strategy,” the professor was forced to note.

Professor Mohammad Bashir Ali, Kaduna State University (Nigeria), leading the Nigerian delegation to the Forum, discussed at length, the traditional role of media in promoting economic and entrepreneurial cooperation between Russia and Africa. Despite the multiple challenges posed by the complex international environment in both Africa and Russia, there is enormous potential for opportunity in this area. He concluded that greater consolidation in the media sphere is essential.

Professors Yushau Ibrahim Ango and Ayodele Babatunde, both from Kaduna State University, presented a working paper entitled “African Creative Industries and Media Systems in the Context of Digitalization,” analyzing the impact of digital media on entrepreneurship in the Nigerian economy.

The paper, however, concluded that reliance on digital platforms introduces new vulnerabilities, including algorithmic unpredictability, into the economy. This paper contributed to entrepreneurship and media research by theorizing digital platforms as entrepreneurial infrastructure, which has implications for policy, platform governance, and understanding how media shapes economic life in the African context.

Concluding Remarks

Hafiz Basi, chairman of the Youth Projects Commission of the Russian-African Club, seriously echoed the opinion in closing remarks, stating that it is time to change outdated stereotypes that portray Russia and Africa through Soviet political clichés. “We need journalism that brings people together, not further distances,” Hafiz Basi emphasized. He also noted that the lack of accredited African journalists in Russia remains a pressing issue.

Meanwhile, African media outlets write about Russia primarily in political terms, failing to reveal the true depth of Russian culture and the soul of the Russian people. In his opinion, the Russia-Africa Journalists Forum, once more, demonstrated its importance, which discusses the most pressing issues, prospects, and strategies for strengthening media cooperation between Russia and Africa.

This is in reality, important during the time of rapid geopolitical changes, in response to the aggressive rhetoric of Western countries and their satellites, public diplomacy, soft power, and peacekeeping journalism which are becoming increasingly relevant careful analysis and take effective measures in building a solid foundation for Russian-African dialogue.

Kester Kenn Klomegah focuses on current geopolitical changes, foreign relations and economic development-related questions in Africa with external countries. Most of his well-resourced articles are reprinted in several reputable foreign media.

IPS UN Bureau

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Credit: Attila Kisbenedek/AFP

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, May 8 2026 (IPS)

When Péter Magyar took the stage in Budapest on the night of 12 April, he told the crowd they had ‘liberated Hungary’. The hyperbole seemed justified. His party, Tisza, had won a parliamentary supermajority on the highest turnout since Hungary’s first free election in 1990, ending 16 years of increasingly autocratic rule.

An autocracy built in plain sight

Ousted Prime Minister Viktor Orbán boasted of turning Hungary into a model of what he called ‘illiberal democracy’. When he returned to power in 2010, he set about dismantling every institution capable of constraining him. His party, Fidesz, rewrote the constitution, restructured the Constitutional Court and gerrymandered electoral districts so thoroughly that in 2014 and 2018, it won two-thirds of parliamentary seats on under half of the vote.

Public broadcasting became a party mouthpiece, and Orbán-connected oligarchs took over private media. Fidesz captured universities and arts bodies. The government used Pegasus spyware against opponents, demonised migrants and LGBTQI+ people as threats to the nation and passed a law criminalising attendance at Budapest Pride. Civil society organisations faced escalating restrictions on their funding, and the government created a Sovereignty Protection Office to investigate and harass them further. The Varieties of Democracy (V-Dem) index eventually downgraded Hungary to ‘electoral autocracy’ status — the first European Union (EU) member state to receive that designation.

The EU’s blind spot

The EU’s response was inadequate. In 2018, the European Parliament triggered Article 7(1) of the Treaty on European Union, the first step in a procedure that could, in theory, suspend a state’s voting rights. In practice, Article 7 was never fully applied, because doing so requires unanimous agreement among all other member states, and there are always states unwilling to go that far. The Rule of Law Conditionality Regulation, in force since 2022, allowed the EU to freeze up to US$32 billion in funds for Hungary, but this mechanism too was compromised by political calculation. In December 2023, the Commission released around US$12 billion in cohesion funds seemingly in exchange for Hungary lifting its veto on Ukraine aid, effectively trading rule-of-law conditionality for foreign policy compliance.

Ultimately, the EU did not solve its Orbán problem; Hungarian voters did. This suggests structural reforms are still needed to prevent another autocrat from playing the same blocking game Hungary did.

After Orbán

Previous opposition coalitions in Hungary failed partly because Orbán’s machine had a reliable weapon against them: the accusation that they served Brussels, Hungary-born funder George Soros and a cosmopolitan elite detached from Hungarian values. Magyar, a former Fidesz insider who broke with the party in February 2024 following a scandal over a presidential pardon granted to a man convicted of covering up child sexual abuse, was immune to that weapon. His campaign was deliberately post-ideological, focused on corruption, crumbling public services and economic stagnation, while Orbán ran a fear-based campaign centred on the EU and the war in Ukraine. Voters chose economic reality over a manufactured threat. In the end, the electoral architecture Orbán had built to reward the first-placed party converted Tisza’s win into a supermajority of 141 of 199 parliamentary seats.

But Magyar’s victory will not necessarily bring a progressive transformation. He is a conservative politician leading a centre-right party whose platform made no explicit commitment on LGBTQI+ rights. During the campaign, he criticised the Budapest Pride ban as a distraction rather than a rights violation, committing only to protecting freedom of assembly more broadly. His victory speech promised a Hungary where ‘no one is stigmatised for loving someone differently from the majority’, but this was a shift in tone rather than a policy commitment. LGBTQI+ rights are unlikely to regress further under Magyar, but recovery will depend on sustained pressure from civil society.

Orbán may be out of government, but Fidesz appointees remain embedded throughout the state apparatus. Magyar has pledged to invite the European Public Prosecutor’s Office to examine alleged misuses of EU funds, dismantle the Sovereignty Protection Office and drop proposed legislation that would have further extended powers to restrict civil society. Delivering on those pledges and unravelling 16 years of institutional capture will require sustained political will.

Hungarian civil society faces its first genuine opening in 16 years. To make the most of it, it will need to push hard and consistently for the restoration of civic space, the rule of law and LGBTQI+ rights, and not mistake a change of government for a change of direction.

For the EU, Magyar’s victory opens a window to change a decision-making structure that allows a single member state to hold the bloc’s foreign policy hostage. European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen’s call for qualified majority voting for foreign policy decisions may now gain traction. But the broader question of how the EU enforces its democratic standards against a member state determined to flout them remains open. The EU should resolve it before the next challenge arises.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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Hadi Ali Chatha (left) and Imaan Hazir Mazari (right) in the front seat, taking Asad Toor (at the back on the left) home after his release from Rawalpindi’s Adiala Jail, on March 17, 2024. Credit: Asad Toor

By Zofeen Ebrahim
KARACHI, Pakistan, May 5 2026 (IPS)

“We’ve abandoned this couple completely; we have not done even 1% of what they did for us all these years!” said journalist Asad Ali Toor.

Arrested on January 23, 2026, two lawyers, also husband and wife – Imaan Mazari and Hadi Ali Chatha – were sentenced the next day to 17 years under the Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act (PECA), 2016 (amended in 2025) – a law Mazari had described as even more ‘draconian’ than its original version. Fines of Rs36 million (USD129,261) each were also imposed on the two under Sections 9 (glorification of an offence), 10 (cyber terrorism), and 26-A (false and fake information) under the same law.

“They have not violated PECA, and in my opinion the prosecution failed to prove any of the ingredients of any offence under the law,” said human rights activist and lawyer Jibran Nasir. He added that “the military elite and the new chief justice in the Islamabad High Court have taken a personal dislike to Imaan and Hadi.  He noted that “The laws may be inherently flawed, even draconian, but more dangerous is their malicious application by the state.”

The amendments on PECA were pushed through parliament within a week, without debate, and signed into law by President Asif Ali Zardari. The move triggered nationwide protests by journalists and rights groups, who warned that the law lacked safeguards. The government, however, defended it as necessary to regulate social media, arguing that similar frameworks exist globally.

Charges, Judgment and Allegations

The judgment stated that Mazari was accused of “disseminating and propagating narratives that align with hostile terrorist groups and proscribed organisations”, while Chatha was charged with reposting her content. The police report also alleged her social media content portrayed the armed forces as ineffective against groups such as the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) and Tehreek-i-Taliban Pakistan.

Protestors gather outside the Islamabad Press Club to mark 100 days of the two lawyers’ continued detention. Credit: Rana Shahbaz

For Toor, who runs the YouTube channel Asad Toor Uncensored, the case is deeply personal. In 2024, he spent 20 days in Federal Investigation Agency custody and 12 in solitary confinement at Rawalpindi’s Adiala Jail, the same prison where the couple is now held.

Arrested on February 26, 2024, on “digital terrorism” charges linked to his coverage, among other things, of a Supreme Court ruling stripping the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf of its election symbol, he was granted bail on March 17, 2024.

He credits Mazari and Chatha with securing his release. “They argued that journalists should not face criminal charges for “honest criticism” of court judgments, citing then Chief Justice of Pakistan Qazi Faez Isa and Attor­ney General for Pakistan Mansoor Usman Awan.”

But journalists like Toor are not alone in feeling what he describes as “a certain vacuum.”

Rana Shahbaz’s milk stall was demolished by the city administration. Credit: Rana Shahbaz

‘It Feels Like I’ve Lost My Right Arm’

The two lawyers had built a reputation for taking on cases few lawyers would touch.

“Imaan and Hadi have always taken up cases most lawyers shy away from due to their controversial or dangerous nature — including blasphemy accusations, enforced disappearances, and press freedom cases — often representing the most marginalised people, without charging anything,” said rights activist Usama Khilji, director of Bolo Bhi, an advocacy forum for digital rights.

“It feels like I’ve lost my right arm,” said a woman, who requested anonymity, as she struggles to secure the release of her brother and more than 400 others accused of blasphemy, languishing in jail across Pakistan.

“In the past three years, I have met countless lawyers and even judges, but no one fought like Imaan. She missed nothing – every detail mattered; she was relentless,” said the woman, talking to IPS.

Leading the campaign, she said most of the accused came from poor backgrounds. “She didn’t even charge for the photocopying of documents submitted to the court – she paid out of her own pocket.”

An Amnesty International poster protesting the 100 days since Hadi Ali Chatha and Imaan Hazir Mazari were jailed. Credit: Amnesty International

The sense of loss extends well beyond individual cases.

Rahat Mehmood, mother of missing poet and writer Mudassir Naru, who disappeared in 2018 described the couple’s arrest as devastating.

“It’s like my support system has collapsed,” she said over the phone from Faisalabad. “Not just for me—these two were a ray of hope, an anchor for hundreds of mothers, especially Baloch mothers.”

Mazari’s work, she said, was not limited to legal representation.

Her grandson, Sachal, was just six months old when his father was taken and later lost his mother in 2021. Court hearings, Mehmood recalled, became rare moments of relief. “They played hide-and-seek, raced around, and she would bring him toys and candy. Tell me—who does that?”

Although her son’s case has not been heard in over a year, Mehmood said that, with Mazari by their side, they had always had hope. “But now,” she added, “it’s all darkness.”

At the wedding of Imaan Mazari and Hadi Ali Chatha, Sachal (son of Mudassir Naru) sits between the two, on the far right; in black, Rahat Mehmood, Naru’s mother, sits. Credit: Rahat Mehmood

Mazari’s advocacy extended beyond the courtroom. She appeared in two of the three press conferences held by families of the blasphemy accused, which drew “huge crowds and media attention”. Today, more than 120 people are out on bail. “It’s because of the efforts of these two,” said the sister of the accused.

Their absence is being felt acutely among many others with the least protection.

A week after the lawyers’ arrest, Rana Shahbaz, a street vendor, went to visit Mazari in jail but was turned away. “I was told by jail authorities no one was allowed to meet her.” He had brought dry fruits, juices and clothes, which authorities refused to accept.

Shahbaz, president of the Anjuman Rehri Baan, Islamabad (association of street vendors), which represents over 20,000 street vendors, said Mazari had been instrumental in securing relief for them. Despite holding licences from the Metropolitan Corporation Islamabad, they routinely face raids and eviction by city administrations.

“Last year because of Madam Imaan, the Islamabad High Court stopped authorities from removing our stalls. She presented video evidence showing stalls being dismantled despite having permits,” Shahbaz said.

Since their arrest, he added, the pressure has returned.

“The day they were arrested, an official told us, ‘Call your lawyers now — I’ll see who stops me.’ She was right — only Madam Imaan had the courage to stand up for us,” said Shahbaz, whose stall has been destroyed thrice in the past two years.

“It costs Rs150,000 (USD 538) to set up these makeshift stalls – financed through a bank loan with a monthly instalment of Rs7,000 ($25). Each time authorities dismantle them, repairs cost up to Rs40,000 (US$144), making it impossible to keep up with repayments and pushing me toward default,” he said. Last week, despite having a valid licence, his lassi (yoghurt drink) and fresh milk stall were demolished.

The pretext for crackdowns can be anything—from late-night vending to fines for not displaying price lists or even refusing to offer “freebies” to the police. “Madam Imaan knew well that vendors are exempt from the curfew time for regular shops or that we can only display the price list once it comes from the city authorities and it doesn’t until midday,” he pointed out.

Like many others, Shahbaz said, the two lawyers worked for vendors for free. “We didn’t even know what the basic legal processes cost,” he said.

Muted Response

Despite the breadth of their work, support beyond affected communities has been limited.

“I hold both the journalist and legal fraternities responsible for doing virtually nothing,” said Toor. “Individual voices may struggle, but unions and bar councils have the power to pressure the government.”

Toor’s assessment is shared by lawyer Nasir. He acknowledged that the legal fraternity, with “many lawyers, like judges, appear to be motivated by self-preservation as opposed to the preservation of the constitutional and fundamental freedoms” and which has “blunted its effectiveness” and left it “equally vulnerable” in the long run.

Yet, even as this institutional weakness is laid bare, others frame the duo’s actions less as miscalculation and more as conscious defiance. Media development expert Adnan Rehmat argued that while some may see them as having paid a heavy price for their stance, the two have a long history of public-interest resistance. “They consciously chose to risk themselves to highlight state abuses, and their courage should be lauded—and we must continue raising our voices in their favour.”

As a result, sporadic protests have failed to shift the situation. With public pressure waning, the battle has moved to the courts.

An Uncertain Path

But even there, justice has remained elusive.

The Islamabad High Court refused interim relief. “Everyone knows the 17-year sentence is the product of a sham trial. No superior court in any modern judicial system would uphold it,” said senior advocate Faisal Siddiqi, the lawyer representing them.

Undeterred, the defence has moved the Supreme Court of Pakistan after the IHC failed to fix an early hearing for nearly two months – a delay which Siddiqui called “unheard of” and a ploy to “deny Imaan and Hadi their deserved liberty”.

The bail petition has since been accepted by the Supreme Court, offering a glimmer of hope. “It is our only and last hope,” said Siddiqi.

One hundred days on, that hope remains uncertain.

What is clearer, however, is the void left behind – felt in courtrooms, in protest spaces, and in the lives of those who had come to rely on the two lawyers willing to take risks few others would.

For many, it is not just their absence that is being measured in days but also the growing silence it has left behind.

“I cannot fathom why people like Imaan and Hadi are being punished—and for what,” said Mehmood. “They deserve to be saluted, not jailed!”

IPS UN Bureau Report

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Excerpt:

Press freedom is on the retreat across much of the world.

As documented by recent global surveys authored by the UN and media institutes, the erosion of an independent, fearless and diversified press is a trend that has worsened for well over a decade.

Farhana Haque Rahman

Delivering the 2026 Reuters Memorial Lecture on March 9, Carlos Dada, Salvadoran editor of El Faro, now operating in exile, did not mince his words:

“A far-right, populist, autocratic wave is taking the world by storm and breaking all the rules, and journalists, as in every authoritarian regime or dictatorship, no matter its ideological foundations, are labelled as enemies. Journalism is being criminalized, and our colleagues are being imprisoned or killed.”

Just days earlier, El Salvador’s President Nayib Bukele was described by the Autonomous University of Barcelona as imposing one of the most restrictive environments for press freedom in Latin America through a “model of techno-populist authoritarianism”.

World Press Freedom Day, on May 3, has adopted as its declared theme: “Shaping a Future at Peace: Promoting Press Freedom for Human Rights, Development, and Security” – a challenging title given the wars, turmoil and economic crises currently besetting the world.

UNESCO, co-hosting the 2026 conference with the Zambian government in Lusaka on May 4-5, has itself charted a sharp decline in freedom of expression globally. Its 2022/2025 World Trends Report, Journalism: Shaping a World at Peace cites an increase in physical attacks, digital threats, and a surge in self-censorship among journalists.

This crisis is summed up by UNESCO as a “historically significant and unprecedented shift”, noting that for the first time in 20 years non-democratic regimes outnumber democracies. Some 72 percent of the world’s population lives under “non-democratic rule”, the highest proportion since 1978.

This decline in press freedom, plurality and diversity “mirrors broader patterns: weakened parliaments and judicial institutions, falling levels of public trust, and deepening polarization. It has also coincided with setbacks in equality, alongside rising hostility toward environmental journalists, scientists, and researchers”, UNESCO’s report says.

It also warns how “the growing dominance of major technology companies – and the consequences of their shifting policies and practices – have created fertile ground for hate speech and disinformation to spread online.”

In its World Press Freedom Index for 2025, Reporters Without Borders (RSF) says physical attacks against journalists are the most visible violations of press freedom but “economic pressure is also a major, more insidious problem”.

“Much of this is due to ownership concentration, pressure from advertisers and financial backers, and public aid that is restricted, absent or allocated in an opaque manner,” RSF states. “Today’s news media are caught between preserving their editorial independence and ensuring their economic survival.”

“For the first time in the history of the Index, the conditions for practising journalism are ‘difficult’ or ‘very serious’ in over half of the world’s countries and satisfactory in fewer than one in four.”

World Press Freedom Day goes back to a 1993 decision by the UN General Assembly to commemorate the Declaration of Windhoek, a statement of free press principles produced by African journalists in 1991.

But as RSF notes, press freedom in Sub-Saharan Africa is experiencing a worrying decline. The economic score of the index deteriorated in 80 percent of countries in the region.

Overall Eritrea (180th) remained the worst-ranking country. The Democratic Republic of the Congo fell 10 places to 133rd as its economic indicator plummeted. Conflict zones saw sharp declines in press freedom in Burkina Faso, Sudan and Mali with newsrooms forced to self-censor, shut down or go into exile.

“The hyper-concentration of media ownership in the hands of political figures or business elites without safeguards for editorial independence remains a recurring problem,” RSF says, citing issues in Cameroon, Nigeria and Rwanda.

Nonetheless higher-ranking countries, such as South Africa, Namibia, Cape Verde and Gabon “provide rays of hope”, RSF adds.

A clear casualty of the toxic combo of autocratic populists, media-owning cronies and dwindling budgets is coverage of climate change. Even normally heavy-hitting media groups are cutting back their reporting of the global climate crisis in another blow to the key SDG Target of promoting public access to information.

China remains the “world’s largest jail for journalists”, ranking 178th on RSF’s global press freedom index, one place above North Korea.

Bangladesh ranked 149th in the World Press Freedom Index. Following the parliamentary elections in February this year, RSF has urged the new Bangladeshi government to put an end to arbitrary detentions, the instrumentalization of the justice system and impunity for crimes against journalists. Such abuses have caused lasting damage to the country’s press.

Summing up the state of the press following Perugia’s annual International Journalism Festival in April, Carole Cadwalladr, investigative journalist for The Nerve — a “fearless, female-founded, truly independent [UK] media title” – commented: “There’s “not much light in these dark times” while referencing the killing by Israeli forces of over 200 Palestinian journalists and media workers since the Hamas attacks on Israel in October 2023.

But she did feel an “energy” at the festival held in the Italian hill-top city.

“All across the world, there are journalists doing the hard yards of trying to hold power to account,” she wrote. “And increasingly, this is being done by small, insurgent new outlets that are sprouting up because there is a gap that needs to be filled.”

Or as Dada, editor of El Salvador’s exiled El Faro, declared in his lecture:

“We are journalists in resistance. In resistance to the violation of our rights, the shuttering of public information… resistance to limitless power. We practised journalism in democracy for a quarter century. That era is gone. Today, we are a newsroom in resistance.”

Farhana Haque Rahman is Senior Vice President of IPS Inter Press Service and Executive Director IPS Noram; she served as the elected Director General of IPS from 2015-2019. A journalist and communications expert, she is a former senior official of the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization and the International Fund for Agricultural Development.

IPS UN Bureau

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Credit: Zohra Bensemra/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Nwabueze Chibuzor and Mighulo Masaka
ABUJA, Nigeria / NAIROBI, Kenya, Apr 22 2026 (IPS)

In many countries across Africa, people have recently lined up to vote. But in country after country, there has been no real choice on offer. As CIVICUS’s 2026 State of Civil Society Report documents, what has frequently been on display is a procedural ceremony of democracy, orderly enough to satisfy observers, but hollow enough to leave those who hold the reins of power untroubled. Laws and structures that were supposed to promote democratic decisions have been manipulated into compliance checks, ticking all procedural requirements while lacking democratic substance. In too many cases, the ballot box has become a public relations exercise.

Tanzania offered a stark illustration. Once seen as one of the continent’s rising democratic hopes, it held one of the most deeply flawed recent elections. Ahead of the October 2025 vote, President Samia Suluhu Hassan disqualified and detained most opposition figures and imposed a nationwide internet blackout. When people protested, they were severely repressed. Security forces fired live ammunition, killing over 700 protesters, and arrested thousands. Around 240 people, including children, have since been charged with criminal conspiracy and treason.

Uganda’s President Yoweri Museveni, in power since 1986, followed the same script: the 2026 presidential election as marked by widespread rigging, suppression of the opposition, internet outages and a lethal crackdown on protests. These shows of force were also an admission of weakness: governments with genuine popular support do not need them to stay in office.

In Kenya, election outcomes have increasingly shifted from the ballot box to the courtroom and the streets. While legal challenges and judicial oversight can be signs of a healthy democracy, there’s been growing normalisation of post-election uncertainty about whether results will be respected, with the state framing any challenge to outcomes as a threat to national security and stability, and responding to post-election protests with violence.

Further north, Tunisia exemplifies the slow-motion dismantling of a once-promising democracy. Its 2024 presidential election saw the incumbent face only token opposition. President Kais Saied has systematically removed democratic checks and balances, jailed opponents and vilified critics as agents of foreign powers. The country that once kept the democratic promise alive in North Africa has become a cautionary example of how quickly gains can be reversed.

In West Africa, military rule is being normalised. Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger are now led by military juntas, while in Guinea a carefully stage-managed December 2025 election enabled the military leader to retain power with a varnish of legitimacy. Elections in Côte d’Ivoire in 2025 and Togo in 2024 fell far short of competitive standards.

Senegal offered a rare exception: when President Macky Sall attempted to postpone the 2024 presidential election just days before voting, widespread protests and sustained international pressure forced the polls to proceed. Opposition candidate Bassirou Diomaye Faye, released from jail only days before the vote, won a shock victory — proof that electoral integrity remains worth fighting for.

In Central Africa, military rulers have simply changed into civilian clothes. General Oligui Nguema, who ended the 56-year Bongo family dynasty in a 2023 coup, retained power in an April 2025 election marked by the absence of a credible opposition and the abuse of state resources, making the outcome a foregone conclusion. Chad’s Mahamat Déby followed the same path, transitioning from military council head to elected president through a vote held under severe civic space restrictions and minimal competition.

In October 2025, Cameroon’s Paul Biya, at 92 the world’s oldest head of state, extended his 42-year rule through a highly performative election. In both the Central African Republic and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, recent elections have been undermined by the state’s inability to control its territory amid ongoing conflicts, disenfranchising vast majorities and producing winners whose legitimacy is in permanent doubt.

Southern Africa offers a more encouraging picture. South Africa’s 2024 election ended almost three decades of unchallenged African National Congress dominance, with new political parties reshaping the landscape and forcing the formation of a coalition government. Elections in Botswana, Malawi and Namibia were competitive, with power changing hands for the first time since independence in Botswana. These results are a reminder that elections can still serve their democratic purpose.

The pattern across most of the continent is unmistakable. As civic space comes under intensifying attack, Africa’s citizens, institutions and international partners must resist the temptation to confuse orderly processes with democratic substance. Elections must offer genuine opportunities for accountability and be allowed to produce results that disrupt established power, if that is what voters want. Anything less risks normalising the appearance of democracy while hollowing out its content.

Chibuzor Nwabueze is the Programme and Network Coordinator of the Digital Democracy Initiative at CIVICUS.

Mighulo Masaka is the Project Officer, Host Liaison of the Digital Democracy Initiative, working closely with civil society in the global south for election-related activities.

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A view of the rubble in Jabalia, northern Gaza, after heavy Israeli bombardment. Credit: UNICEF/Rawan Eleyan

By Oritro Karim
UNITED NATIONS, Apr 17 2026 (IPS)

Roughly six months after the ceasefire in the Occupied Palestinian Territory went into effect, the humanitarian situation in Gaza remains precariously fragile, despite a relative decline in hostilities. The crisis, marked by ongoing Israeli airstrikes and shelling, continued blockades on humanitarian aid, and widespread displacement, has pushed the majority of Palestinians in Gaza to the brink. Amid the vast scale of needs, basic services are increasingly strained, and humanitarian experts warn that the situation could deteriorate further in the coming months unless sustained aid and funding are secured.

A new report from the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinians in the Near East (UNRWA) on the current conditions in Gaza confirmed a continuation of airstrikes, shelling, and gunfire across multiple areas, including Beit Lahia, Jabalia, Deir al Balah, Khan Younis, Rafah, and Bureij. The Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) estimates that since the eruption of hostilities on October 7, 2023, approximately 72,315 Gazans have been killed and another 172,137 injured.

“The scale and pattern of these actions, occurring alongside mass displacement of Palestinians from their homes and land in Gaza shows once again the ongoing broader policy of ethnic cleansing across the occupied Palestinian territory,” said a group of United Nations (UN) experts on April 13. “This cycle of displacement, terror, and targeted attacks serves an ultimate purpose: to make life unbearable for Palestinians and permanently force them from their land…Targeting areas known to shelter displaced civilians is a grave breach of international humanitarian law and is a grim reminder of the urgent need for international action and accountability.”

According to Palestine’s Ministry of Health, at least 32 Gazans have been killed by Israeli forces in early April alone. Airstrikes, gunfire, and shelling are daily occurrences, with women, children, disabled persons, humanitarian workers, and journalists being routinely targeted. On April 9, a young girl was killed by Israeli gunfire in a crowded classroom-turned-makeshift encampment.

“For the past 10 days, Palestinians are still being killed and injured in what is left of their homes, shelters, and tents of displaced families, on the streets, in vehicles, at a medical facility and in a classroom,” said United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights Volker Türk. “Movement itself has become a life-threatening activity. Incidents of Palestinians killed by Israeli forces while walking, driving, or standing outside are recorded nearly every day.”

The Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) also confirmed that there have been increasing cases of Israeli forces killing Palestinians based on their proximity to the “yellow line”, a line of demarcation that divides the Palestinian-controlled areas of Gaza and the Israeli-controlled areas. “Targeting civilians not taking direct part in hostilities is a war crime, regardless of their proximity to deployment lines,” said Türk

On April 6, Israeli forces shot at vehicles from the World Health Organization (WHO), killing a driver. Two days later, Israeli drone strikes killed Al Jazeera journalist Mohamed Washah in Gaza City, marking the 294th Palestinian journalist to be killed by Israeli forces since October 7, 2023. Additionally, Israel has continued to ban international journalists from accessing Gaza, further compounding the regional decline of journalistic freedom.

“The number of journalists and humanitarian personnel killed in Gaza is unprecedented, and further compounds civilian harm as it makes reporting on the situation and responding to its humanitarian implications life-threatening,” added Türk.

Internal displacement is particularly rampant, with OCHA estimating that routine evacuation orders and bombardment have affected roughly 92 percent of all housing across the enclave, with the vast majority of affected communities having been displaced multiple times. Civilians residing in overcrowded, makeshift encampments are disproportionately affected by insecurity, freezing temperatures, building collapse, and a severe shortage of humanitarian aid and basic services.

Humanitarian movement remains severely constrained, with all UNRWA staff banned from accessing the entire Occupied Palestinian Territory since March 2025. The agency, which has long acted as a critical lifeline for Palestinians, has pre-positioned food parcels, flour, and shelter supplies at Gaza’s borders, which could help hundreds of thousands of Gazans.

Thousands of Palestinians across the enclave are in urgent need of medical care as Gaza’s health system nears the brink of collapse, facing severe shortages of supplies amid an influx of injured and ill patients. Medications are critically short in supply, and UNRWA has reported a sharp uptick in cases of ectoparasitic infections such as scabies and fleas, as well as chickenpox and other skin diseases, which have been linked to disrupted water and hygiene (WASH) services, overcrowding, and pests.

Despite these challenges, humanitarian experts have expressed optimism that the situation in Gaza could improve as access constraints begin to fade. Following nearly 40 days of closure, the critical Zikim crossing reopened in early April, allowing nutritional and health supplies to reach northern Gaza directly. UNRWA is currently supporting over 67,000 displaced individuals across 83 collective emergency shelters, with over 11,000 personnel providing lifesaving care.

UNRWA, in collaboration with WHO, the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), and Palestine’s Ministry of Health, reached almost 2,100 children under three years of age with vaccinations between April 5 and 9. WHO and its partners have also been facilitating dozens of medical evacuations through the Rafah border crossing and providing access to medical care, food, water, and psychosocial services to returning Gazans.

The UN experts stressed that a definitive end to hostilities, an expansion of protection services, and the unimpeded delivery of humanitarian aid are crucial in coordinating an effective return to stability in Gaza. Additionally, the experts called on Israeli authorities to ensure a safe and dignified return to Gaza for displaced individuals, as well as the lifting of restrictions for UNRWA operations.

“We reiterate our call on States to bring Israel’s unlawful occupation to an end and ensure the immediate protection of civilians sheltering in displacement sites across the Gaza Strip, including by scaling up vital humanitarian assistance,” the experts said. “States must comply with their legal obligations. They must bring Israel’s unlawful occupation to an end, refrain from recognising it and withhold assistance to it, and take effective measures to ensure investigations and accountability for grave violations of international law in the occupied Palestinian Territory.”

IPS UN Bureau Report

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CIVICUS discusses the spread of AI-powered surveillance in Africa with Wairagala Wakabi, executive director of the Collaboration on International ICT Policy for East and Southern Africa (CIPESA) and co-editor of Smart City Surveillance in Africa: Mapping Chinese AI Surveillance Across 11 Countries, the latest report by the African Digital Rights Network (ADRN) and the Institute of Development Studies (IDS).

Wairagala Wakabi

How widespread is AI-powered surveillance in Africa?

Under the guise of reducing crime and fighting terrorism, at least 11 governments have invested over US$2 billion in AI-powered ‘smart city’ surveillance infrastructure: Algeria, Egypt, Kenya, Mauritius, Mozambique, Nigeria, Rwanda, Senegal, Uganda, Zambia and Zimbabwe.

Governments are installing thousands of CCTV cameras linked to central command centres, paired with tools such as automatic number-plate recognition, biometric ID systems and facial recognition to track people and vehicles. The largest known investments are in Nigeria (over US$470 million), Mauritius (US$456 million) and Kenya (US$219 million), though the real total is likely much higher, since surveillance spending is often secret and the report covers only 11 of Africa’s 55 countries.

Despite being presented as tools for crime prevention, counter-terrorism, modernisation and urban management, these are not targeted security measures. They represent a broader shift toward continuous, population-level monitoring of public spaces, rolled out over the past five to ten years almost always without clear legal limits or public debate.

Are these systems achieving their stated purpose?

No, there is no compelling evidence that they have in any of the countries studied. Instead, the data points to a pattern of use that raises serious human rights concerns.

In Uganda and Zimbabwe, AI-powered surveillance including facial recognition is being used to suppress dissent rather than ensure public safety. Activists, critics of the government, opposition leaders and protesters are identified and monitored through this system, even after protests have ended. In Mozambique, smart CCTV systems have reportedly been installed in areas of strong political opposition, suggesting targeted rather than neutral surveillance.

In Senegal and Zambia, countries with relatively low terrorism threats, governments have still invested heavily, which calls into question the stated security rationale.

Across the countries studied, the scale of surveillance far exceeds any actual or perceived security threat, and the infrastructure is consistently being used to monitor dissent and consolidate state control rather than address genuine public safety needs.

Who’s supplying this technology?

While firms from Israel, South Korea and the USA supply surveillance technologies, Chinese companies are the primary suppliers and financiers. They typically offer end-to-end ‘smart city’ packages that include cameras, software platforms, data analytics systems, training and ongoing technical support. Many projects are backed by loans from Chinese state-linked banks, which makes them financially accessible in the short term but creates long-term dependencies on external vendors for maintenance, system management and upgrades.

This model undermines transparency. Procurement processes are opaque and civil society, the public and oversight institutions including parliaments rarely have information about how these systems operate, how data is stored or who has access to it. That lack of accountability is what makes abuse not just possible, but hard to detect or challenge.

What impact is this having on civic space?

This large-scale surveillance of public spaces is not legal, necessary or proportionate to the legitimate aim of providing security. Recording, analysing and retaining facial images of people in public without their consent interferes with their right to privacy and, over time, their willingness to move, assemble and speak freely.

The most immediate consequence is a chilling effect, particularly where civic space is already restricted. Knowing they can be identified and tracked, activists and journalists are less willing to attend protests for fear of later arrest or reprisals, and end up self-censoring. Civil society organisations also report heightened anxiety about the risks for their members and partners.

What should governments and civil society do?

None of the 11 countries studied have a legal framework capable of balancing the state’s security needs with its commitments to protect fundamental human rights. That must change. Governments must adopt clear regulations on surveillance, including restrictions on facial recognition and other AI tools, require independent human rights impact assessments before introducing new systems, make procurement and deployment processes transparent and establish strong oversight mechanisms, including judicial and parliamentary scrutiny, to prevent abuse.

Civil society should continue documenting abuses, raising public awareness and advocating for accountability, while also supporting affected people and communities through digital security support and legal assistance.

Technology-exporting states and donors must enforce stricter controls and safeguards on the export and financing of these tools, support rights-based approaches to digital governance and help fund independent monitoring and advocacy across Africa.

Without urgent action, these systems will continue to expand, and the rights of people across Africa will continue to shrink.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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AI governance: the struggle for human rights CIVICUS Lens 11.Sep.2025
Facial recognition: the latest weapon against civil society CIVICUS Lens 23.May.2025

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Credit: Mamunur Rashid/NurPhoto via AFP

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Apr 6 2026 (IPS)

Bangladesh’s first credible election in nearly two decades delivered a landslide win for the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) and its leader Tarique Rahman, son of a former prime minister, just back from 17 years of self-imposed exile.

The election was made possible by a Generation Z-led uprising that security forces sought to repress by killing at least 1,400 people. The protest that began when young people rose up against a job quota system that functioned as a tool of patronage grew into a movement that brought down a government. Many protesters wanted something beyond the ousting of an authoritarian government, calling for old politics to be swept aside and young people to have a genuine say in government. What’s resulted falls short of that, and Bangladesh’s new government should be aware that unless it delivers genuine change, protests could rise again.

The uprising

The 2024 protests that toppled Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina began when Bangladesh’s High Court reinstated a 30 per cent quota for descendants of 1971 independence war veterans, leaving less than half of public sector jobs open to recruitment based on merit. In a country with acute youth unemployment, frustrated young people rejected this system as a vehicle for Awami League patronage. Coordinated by the Students Against Discrimination network, the movement spread nationwide through road and railway blockades.

The government’s response turned a policy dispute into a political crisis. Members of the Awami League’s student wing attacked protesters. Authorities imposed a nationwide curfew with a shoot-on-sight order, shut down the internet and directed security forces to fire lethal weapons into crowds. But the repression backfired. People used their phones to document every incident, and footage circulated widely after internet access was partly restored, directly undermining the government’s narrative that cast protesters as violent agitators. The killing of student coordinator Abu Sayed, filmed as he stood unarmed with arms outstretched before police opened fire, became the uprising’s defining image.

On 5 August 2024, facing a mass march on her residence, Hasina fled to India on an army helicopter. As CIVICUS’s 2026 State of Civil Society Report sets out, Bangladesh’s Gen Z-led uprising went on to inspire subsequent protests in Indonesia, Nepal and beyond.

Reforms in the balance

Three days after Hasina fled, Nobel Peace Prize-winning economist Muhammad Yunus was sworn in as Chief Adviser of an interim government. This was a victory for the student movement, which had made clear it would not accept a military-backed administration. His government established reform commissions covering the constitution, corruption, judiciary, police and public administration, and negotiated the July National Charter with political parties: 84 proposals designed to reduce the concentration of power in the prime minister’s office and make it structurally harder for any future government to capture the state the way Hasina had. Most parties signed it in October 2025.

But the path to the election was neither clean nor consensual. The International Crimes Tribunal, a domestic judicial body reinstated by the interim government, convicted Hasina in absentia for crimes against humanity and sentenced her to death. In May 2025, the interim government banned the Awami League under anti-terrorism legislation. International observers warned that excluding the country’s largest party risked disenfranchising millions and undermining the election’s democratic credibility.

The election timing was also bitterly contested: the BNP, eager to capitalise on its frontrunner status, pushed for an early date, while the newly formed National Citizen Party (NCP), founded by Gen Z protesters, wanted more time to organise and for institutional reforms to be locked in first. The BNP prevailed.

A dynasty returns

The BNP and its allies won 209 of 299 contested seats, securing a decisive two-thirds parliamentary majority. The right-wing Islamist party Jamaat-e-Islami — whose 2013 ban the interim government lifted — emerged as the main opposition with close to 80 seats, its best-ever result. The NCP won just six of the 30 seats it contested.

The NCP’s poor showing had partly structural causes — formed in February 2025, it had barely a year to build an organisation with limited funds and no networks beyond urban centres — and was partly self-inflicted. A decision to ally with Jamaat-e-Islami as part of an 11-party coalition alienated many young voters who had hoped for genuinely new politics. Prominent NCP figures resigned in protest and stood as independents. NCP leader Nahid Islam, just 27 years old, did win a seat, and the party has pledged to rebuild in opposition.

The election itself was a genuine improvement on Bangladesh’s recent history. Turnout reached 60 per cent, up from 42 per cent in the fraud-ridden 2024 poll. Over 60 per cent of voters endorsed the July Charter in a referendum that was held alongside the election, giving the reform agenda a democratic mandate the new government will find difficult to ignore. Yet the vote would have been more legitimate had all parties been permitted to compete freely, and the campaign was not fully free of violence either: rights groups documented that at least 16 political activists were killed in the run-up to polling day.

Now the BNP inherits a state apparatus politicised over decades of one-party dominance and holds a two-thirds parliamentary majority with no meaningful check on its authority. Whether it will govern differently from those it replaced, or simply settle into the same logic of power, remains to be seen. The young people whose uprising made this election possible are watching. They have already brought down one government. The new one would do well to remember this.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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CIVICUS discusses the presidential election in the Republic of the Congo with Ivan Kibangou Ngoy, executive director of Global Participe, a civil society action-research organisation focused on democratic governance based in Pointe-Noire.

Ivan Kibangou Ngoy

How can the 94.8 per cent result be explained?

The outcome of this election was predictable from the outset, and for one fundamental reason: the legal framework gives free rein to electoral fraud. The electoral law lacks the necessary safeguards to prevent manipulation. The ruling party has systematically rigged the electoral process, excluding its opponents and independent civil society from any meaningful participation.

Accreditation for observers was refused to independent civil society organisations (CSOs), evidence of a total lack of transparency. Without independent observers, there’s no external oversight of the conduct of the vote or the counting of votes.

The result was not the outcome of electoral competition; it was the logical result of a system designed to guarantee precisely this outcome. When the legal framework allows for fraud, the opposition cannot campaign, observers are excluded and the government controls all administrative mechanisms, including the electoral administration, the result becomes inevitable. This is not an anomaly but the product of a system designed to produce it and to give it the appearance of democratic legitimacy. So the result was already decided even before polling stations opened.

How was competition restricted?

Opposition parties and independent CSOs were not allowed to organise public meetings or campaign openly among voters. They were denied access to public media, preventing them communicating with people.

The country still operates under a prior authorisation regime: the government must approve all public political activity. This system creates a fundamental imbalance: the ruling party can organise its rallies freely, while the opposition is blocked at every turn. There is an urgent need to move to a simple notification system, in which CSOs and parties would inform the authorities of their activities without needing their consent. Without this change, the opposition has no legal mechanism to participate fairly in an election.

The imprisonment and exile of major opposition figures send a clear message: challenging Sassou Nguesso’s regime is criminalised. Two of the country’s best-known opposition figures have been in prison for nearly a decade. When opponents cannot stand for election, campaign or move about freely, the result is predetermined both by fraud and the physical elimination of alternatives. The election is merely an administrative charade designed to legitimise the retention of power. It’s not a genuine choice but a demonstration of state power over a population reduced to silence.

Why is the internet cut off during elections?

Since the advent of social media, every election has been accompanied by an internet blackout, a deliberate measure the authorities take to control the information circulating during the vote. Internet shutdowns directly reinforce the system of electoral fraud by preventing the spread of information on fraud, irregularities or violations of voters’ rights. Without the internet, people cannot share photos or videos from polling stations, observers cannot report anomalies in real time and citizen movements cannot coordinate monitoring efforts.

The internet blackout effectively transforms the country into an information-controlled zone where only government messages can circulate. This reveals that the regime understands the power of social media as a tool for accountability and mobilisation. It’s an implicit acknowledgement that, without control over information, the regime could not maintain its official narrative. This systematic practice ultimately reveals the fragility of the regime’s legitimacy.

How has civil society mobilised despite restrictions?

Despite systematic restrictions, civil society organised itself by holding press conferences and workshops in private spaces, where the authorities could not intervene directly. These meetings enabled civil society to coordinate strategies and strengthen cohesion between organisations, even with a limited number of participants. Press conferences enabled direct engagement with the media despite restrictions on access to public media. Civil society also used social media to document rights violations, mobilise people and maintain a public conversation on electoral issues.

However, these strategies reveal the limits of resistance in a heavily controlled environment. Meetings in private spaces reach only a limited audience and social media can be shut down at any moment, as happened on election day. We must continue mapping independent CSOs to identify and connect all those working outside the regime’s control. We must also train CSO leaders in techniques for raising awareness and mobilising people.

People must understand the nature of the regime governing Congo-Brazzaville. The current regime is embodied by the Congolese Labour Party, a former Soviet-style party-state ousted from power at the ballot box in 1992, in the only truly free and transparent election the country has ever held. The party returned to power by force of arms after overthrowing the democratically elected government. Understanding this history is crucial: it proves that democratic change is possible. When people understand the mechanisms of power seizure and refuse to accept them, the regime loses its legitimacy even if it retains formal control of the state.

What’s the future for democracy in Congo after 42 years of rule?

Four decades under the same regime amount to the systematic denial of democratic change, of citizens’ fundamental right to choose a different government through the ballot box. Sassou Nguesso’s fifth term consolidates an institutional framework designed to ensure no one else ever comes to power through democratic means.

This framework operates through the systematic contradiction between constitutional promises and practice. The constitution proclaims a multi-party system, but a law recognises only those parties that pledge allegiance to the ruling power. The constitution creates the post of leader of the opposition, but this leader is the head of a party affiliated with the ruling power. The constitution establishes an advisory council of associations, but this institution is attached to the office of the head of state to muzzle civil society. The country is run like a barracks.

We must expose and discredit this regime internationally, by publicly denouncing its supporters, notably the French government and oil multinationals. Independent civil society must step up awareness-raising campaigns, both in person and online. The international community must exert sustained pressure, including diplomatic pressure, sanctions and support for organisations in exile. Without this combination of internal action and international pressure, democratic change will remain impossible. But it is possible. It happened in 1992, and it can happen again.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Credit: Sanjit Pariyar/NurPhoto via AFP

By Andrew Firmin
LONDON, Mar 25 2026 (IPS)

Less than six months after Nepal’s Generation Z rose up in protest, the country has a new prime minister. A 35-year-old former rapper who soundtracked the protests swept to power in a landslide in the 5 March election.

Balendra Shah defeated former prime minister KP Sharma Oli, whose third stint as prime minister was cut short by the protests, beating him in his own turf. After years of fragile coalition governments, in which Sharma Oli and two other men of advancing age repeatedly swapped the role of prime minister, Nepal has chosen to change direction.

Gen Z-led protests

The September 2025 protests were triggered by the government’s banning of 26 social media platforms in an evident response to the ‘nepokids’ trend, in which people used social media to satirise the ostentatiously wealthy lifestyles of politicians’ family members, while most young people experienced daily economic struggles amid high inflation and youth unemployment. In a country where the median age is just 25, the ban was the final straw, activating long-simmering anger about corruption, poor public services and a political system that refused to listen to young people.

When young people took to the streets, the state unleashed violence. The deadliest day was 8 September, when some protesters broke into the parliamentary complex and police fired live military-grade ammunition, shooting many victims in the head. Nineteen people died that day, and overall at least 76 people died in the protests.

Rather than silence the protests, the state’s lethal crackdown swelled them, making clear this was about more than the social media ban; it was a struggle for Nepal’s future. Even more people took to the streets. On 9 September, Sharma Oli resigned. Some protesters turned to violence, while the army took over security and imposed a nationwide curfew. But events soon took a decisive turn. Chief Justice Sushila Karki was sworn in as interim prime minister on 12 September, kickstarting a process that led to the election. The interim government agreed to establish a Gen Z Council, a formal body designed to bridge the gap between the government and young people and enable them to hold it accountable and monitor implementation of reforms.

As the latest State of Civil Society Report sets out, Nepal’s movement inspired many of the year’s other Gen Z-led mobilisations. Nepali activists used the gaming platform Discord, including for a radical exercise in democracy that saw 10,000 people take part in online discussions that put forward Karki as interim prime minister. Morocco’s protesters also used Discord to coordinate their actions, while the Gen Z movement in Madagascar, where the army ultimately forced the government to quit, connected with Nepal’s Discord communities to learn from their organising. Movements in several countries adopted Nepal’s protest symbol, the skull-and-straw-hat flag from the One Piece manga, identifying themselves as part of the same global movement.

Around the world, Gen Z-led protests have commonly faced violent state repression but have forced real concessions: Bulgaria’s government quit, while politicians dropped unpopular policies in Indonesia and Timor-Leste. In Bangladesh, where a Gen Z-led protest movement ousted an authoritarian government in 2024, the country recently held its first credible election in almost two decades.

Time for change

The new energy unleashed by Nepal’s Gen Z-led protests was reflected in the registration of over 800,000 new voters, more parties standing than ever before, a profusion of younger candidates and an election campaign focused on corruption and good governance.

The result was a shock. Coalition governments are the norm in Nepal, but the centrist Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) won an outright majority, taking 182 of 275 House of Representatives seats after a campaign that made intensive use of social media. The three established parties all sustained heavy losses.

Shah used his music to attack corruption and inequality, resonating with the Gen Z movement during the protests, when one of his songs was viewed over 10 million times on YouTube. But he isn’t a completely new political figure, having become mayor of the capital, Kathmandu, in a surprise result when he ran as an independent in 2022. His track record there suggests grounds for concern. He’s rarely made himself available for media questioning, preferring to communicate directly via social media, where he’s known for making controversial outbursts. He also received criticism for deploying police against street vendors and launching ‘demolition drives’ to clear illegally built structures with minimal notice, leading to clashes between police and locals.

Shah now has a mandate to deliver change, and expectations are high. But he faces the challenge of reforming a typically resistant bureaucracy while delivering on his economic promises amid difficult global conditions worsened by the Israeli-US war on Iran, which threatens the remittances sent by the many Nepali workers based in Gulf countries, which constitute one quarter of the country’s GDP. He’ll need to navigate the difficult foreign policy balance between Nepal’s two powerful and often antagonistic neighbours, China and India. The new government must also ensure accountability for human rights violations during the 2025 protests, starting with releasing the report of a commission set up to investigate protest deaths, which hasn’t yet been made public.

The obvious danger, given these challenges and an outsized mandate, is that the government will adopt a heavy-handed approach, pushing through change while failing to listen. This is precisely when civil society is needed, to step in to hold the new government to account and ensure it respects human rights, including the right to keep expressing dissent.

Nepal’s Gen Z movement must guard against co-option by the new administration. The new government must acknowledge the vital role of Nepal’s outspoken young generation by moving quickly to form and resource the Gen Z Council and fully respecting its autonomy. The movement that helped bring Shah to power must stay engaged.

Andrew Firmin is CIVICUS Editor-in-Chief, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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CIVICUS discusses China’s tech-enabled repression with Fergus Ryan, a Senior Analyst at the Australian Strategic Policy Institute (ASPI), where he specialises in how the Chinese Communist Party shapes global information environments through censorship, propaganda and platform governance. His research includes a major study on China’s AI ecosystem and its human rights impacts, as well as investigations into China’s use of foreign influencers.

Fergus Ryan

What AI systems is China developing?

Based on our research, China is rapidly developing a multi-layered AI ecosystem designed to expand state control.

Tech giants are building multimodal large language models (LLMs) such as Alibaba’s Qwen and Baidu’s Ernie Bot, which censor and reshape descriptions of politically sensitive images. Hardware companies including Dahua, Hikvision and SenseTime supply the camera networks that feed into these systems.

The state is building what amounts to an AI-driven criminal justice pipeline. This includes City Brain operations centres such as Shanghai’s Pudong district, which process massive surveillance data, as well as the 206 System, developed by iFlyTek, which analyses evidence and recommends criminal sentences. Inside prisons, AI monitors inmates’ facial expressions and tracks their emotions.

AI-enabled satellite surveillance, such as the Xinjiang Jiaotong-01, enables autonomous real-time tracking over politically sensitive regions. Additionally, AI-enabled fishing platforms such as Sea Eagle expand economic extraction in the exclusive economic zones of countries including Mauritania and Vanuatu, displacing artisanal fishing communities.

How does China use AI for censorship and policing?

China relies on a hybrid model of censorship that fuses the speed of AI with human political judgement. The government requires companies to self-censor, creating a commercial market for AI moderation tools. Tech giants such as Baidu and Tencent have industrialised this process: systems automatically scan images, text and videos to detect content deemed to be risky in real time, while human reviewers handle nuanced or coded speech.

In policing, City Brains ingest data from millions of cameras, drones and Internet of Things sensors and use AI to identify suspects, track vehicles and predict unrest before it happens. In Xinjiang, the Integrated Joint Operations Platform aggregates data from cameras, phone scanners and informants to generate risk scores for individuals, enabling pre-emptive detention based on behavioural patterns rather than specific crimes.

On platforms such as Douyin, the state does not just delete content; it algorithmically suppresses dissent while amplifying ‘positive energy’. AI links surveillance data directly to narrative control and police action.

What are the human rights impacts?

These AI systems erode the rights to freedom of expression, privacy and a fair trial.

Historically, online censorship meant deleting a post. Today, generative AI engages in ‘informational gaslighting’. When ASPI researchers showed an Alibaba LLM a photograph of a protest against human rights violations in Xinjiang, the AI described it as ‘individuals in a public setting holding signs with incorrect statements’ based on ‘prejudice and lies’. The technology subtly engineers reality, preventing users accessing objective historical truths.

AI also undermines the right to a fair trial. In courts that lack judicial independence, AI systems that recommend sentences or predict recidivism act as a black box that defence lawyers cannot scrutinise.

Pervasive surveillance changes behaviour even when not actively used, so its chilling effect may be as significant as direct deployment. Knowing their conversations may be monitored, people self-censor online and in private messaging. Emotion recognition in prisons takes this further: people can theoretically be flagged for their internal states of mind. It’s not just actions that are punished, but also thoughts.

Which groups are most affected?

While AI-enabled surveillance affects all people, ethnic minorities such as Koreans, Mongolians, Tibetans and Uyghurs are disproportionately targeted.

Mainstream LLMs are trained primarily in Mandarin, leaving little commercial incentive to develop AI for minority languages. The Chinese state, however, views those languages as a security vulnerability. State-funded institutions, including the National Key Laboratory at Minzu University, are building LLMs in minority languages, not for cultural preservation, but to power public-opinion control and prevention platforms. These scan text, audio and video in Tibetan and Uyghur to detect cultural advocacy, dissent or religious activity.

Feminist activists, human rights lawyers — particularly since the 709 crackdown in 2015 — labour activists and religious minorities including Falun Gong practitioners face disproportionate targeting. Chinese models consistently adopt state-aligned narratives about such groups, labelling Falun Gong a cult and avoiding human rights framing. Since 2020, Hong Kongers have also been subject to National Security Law surveillance using many of the same tools deployed on the mainland, a reminder that this infrastructure can be rapidly extended.

How can activists in China protect themselves?

Protecting oneself inside China is increasingly difficult. AI leaves very few blind spots. But the system is not perfectly omniscient.

Activists have historically relied on coded speech, euphemisms and satire, the classic example being the use of ‘Winnie the Pooh’ to refer to President Xi Jinping. Because AI struggles with cultural nuance and evolving memes, new linguistic workarounds can temporarily bypass automated filters. But this is a relentless game of Whac-a-Mole: Chinese tech companies employ thousands of human content reviewers whose only job is to catch new memes and feed them back into the AI.

The most practical steps are to use VPNs to access blocked platforms, secure communications apps such as Signal and separate devices for sensitive work. None of these are foolproof. VPN use is technically illegal and increasingly detected and Signal can only be accessed via VPN. It helps to keep a minimal digital footprint and communicate face-to-face on sensitive matters. For activists in Xinjiang, however, surveillance is so pervasive that individual precautions offer little protection. Strong international networks and rigorous documentation practices are essential.

Is China exporting these technologies?

China is the world’s largest exporter of AI-powered surveillance technology, marketing these systems globally, particularly to the global south.

The Chinese state is purposefully expanding its minority-language public-opinion monitoring software throughout Belt and Road Initiative countries, effectively extending its censorship apparatus to monitor Tibetan and Uyghur diaspora communities abroad. Chinese companies including Dahua, Hikvision, Huawei and ZTE have deployed surveillance and ‘safe city’ systems across over 100 countries, with Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates among the most significant recipients. Critically, these companies operate under China’s 2017 National Intelligence Law, which requires cooperation with state intelligence, meaning data flowing through these systems could be accessible to Beijing as well as to purchasing governments.

China is also exporting its governance model through the open-source release of its LLMs, embedding Chinese censorship norms into foundational infrastructure used by developers worldwide.

What should the international community do?

The international community must recognise that countering this requires regulatory pushback.

First, democratic states should set minimum transparency standards for public procurement. This means refusing to purchase AI models that conceal political or historical censorship and mandating that providers publish a ‘moderation log’ with refusal reason codes so users know when content is restricted for political reasons.

Second, states should enact ‘safe-harbour laws’ to protect civil society organisations, journalists and researchers who audit AI models for hidden censorship. Currently, doing so can breach corporate terms of service.

Third, strict export controls should block the transfer of repression-enabling technologies to authoritarian regimes, while companies providing public-opinion management services should be excluded from democratic markets. Existing targeted sanctions on companies such as Dahua and Hikvision for their role in Xinjiang should be enforced more rigorously.

Finally, the international community must recognise that Chinese surveillance extends beyond China’s borders. Spyware targeting Tibetan and Uyghur activists in exile is well-documented, as is pressure on family members remaining in China. Rigorous documentation by international civil society remains essential for building the evidentiary record for future accountability.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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CIVICUS discusses the criminalisation of dissent in the Philippines with Kyle A Domequil, spokesperson of the Free Tacloban 5 Network, a campaign supporting journalist Frenchie Mae Cumpio, human rights defender Marielle Domequil and their co-accused and advocating for their release.

Kyle A Domequil

What were the circumstances of the arrests?

In the early hours of 7 February 2020, police and military forces raided the offices of several organisations in Tacloban City. Five people were arrested: Cumpio, a community journalist and Domequil, a Rural Missionaries of the Philippines lay worker, along with Alexander Philip Abinguna, a member of Karapatan’s National Council, People Surge Network spokesperson Marissa Cabaljao and Mira Legion of Bagong Alyansang Makabayan-Eastern Visayas. They’re collectively known as the Tacloban 5.

The raids followed Karapatan publicly raising concerns about extensive surveillance of its office and other organisations in the city. Days before her arrest, Cumpio reported to the Centre for Media Freedom and Responsibility that masked men had been tailing the staff of Eastern Vista, the local news website where she served as executive director. Cumpio was already being followed and Legion received a very suspicious call from a man saying who just kept saying ‘stop it’. Cumpio was able to publish on Eastern Vista about what was happening to them just a few days before the arrest.

The Tacloban 5 have denounced that evidence was planted during the raid. Ammunition, explosives, firearms and a Communist Party flag were allegedly found where they slept, under pillows and mattresses and even near Cabaljao’s one-year-old child’s crib. They were unable to witness the seizure because they were turned away during the search. Authorities also seized ₱557,360 (approx. US$9,600) in cash.

Cabaljao and Legion faced bailable charges of illegal possession of firearms and were eventually granted bail. On top of that, Abinguna, Cumpio and Domequil faced non-bailable charges of illegal possession of explosives. Since their arrest, they remained detained while facing successive charges widely viewed as politically motivated. Now Cumpio and Domequil have been convicted, while Abinguna remains in pretrial detention six years after being detained.

What evidence did the court rely on to convict Cumpio and Domequil?

The conviction rested almost entirely on testimonies from four ‘rebel returnees’, people who claim to have left armed groups and who receive financial support from the military. They testified that on 29 March 2019, they saw Cumpio and Domequil at a camp of the New People’s Army (NPA), the armed wing of the Communist Party, handing cash, ammunition and clothing to an NPA commander.

There was no corroborating proof or documentary or photographic evidence, just those testimonies from military assets whose credibility should have been questioned. The defence presented evidence that Cumpio and Domequil were elsewhere that day and they also presented documents of their activities, but the court dismissed this.

The court acquitted Cumpio and Domequil of the illegal possession of explosives and firearms charges, ruling the evidence was based on unreliable witnesses and inconsistent narratives and there was indeed an opportunity for planting evidence. Yet on the same lies and perjured testimonies, the same court found them guilty of terrorism financing and sentenced them to 12 to 18 years in prison.

This verdict is particularly troubling given that in October 2025 the Court of Appeals had overturned a civil forfeiture case against them, finding there was little reason to believe they were connected to the NPA. The Court of Appeals even warned against the hasty labelling of human rights workers as terrorists.

How do anti-terror laws and red-tagging enable cases such as this?

They function as tools of political persecution. Red-tagging labels people as linked to insurgent or terrorist groups without credible evidence. Once red-tagged, they face arrest, harassment, surveillance and threats. It creates a climate where suspicion replaces due process.

The anti-terrorism law contains vague, overly broad provisions. Authorities can associate community organising humanitarian work and journalism with armed groups, even without intent to commit violence. Cumpio was reporting on red-tagging and illegal searches before her arrest. Her radio programme was also red-tagged.

Public vilification combined with expansive security legislation produces a repeatable pattern: stigmatise, raid, charge and detain for years. Cumpio and Domequil’s case reflects this architecture of repression.

Who celebrated their conviction, and what does that reveal?

The National Task Force to End Local Communist Armed Conflict (NTF-ELCAC) celebrated the verdict as a ‘decisive legal victory against terrorism’. NTF-ELCAC is a government body that systematically targets activists, human rights defenders and journalists through red-tagging. It has repeatedly accused Karapatan of being a communist front. It labels legitimate civil society organisations as terrorist supporters, creating the pretext for raids, arrests and prosecutions.

When a court convicts a community journalist based on compromised testimony and the government’s counter-insurgency apparatus celebrates, it reveals the conviction’s true purpose: silencing dissent and punishing those who document abuses.

What’s happened to the other members of the Tacloban 5?

Cabaljao and Legion were released on bail, but not without suffering frozen assets, multiple cases, extended detention and relentless red-tagging. Abinguna remains in pretrial detention and his trial continues at Tacloban City Regional Trial Court, where the prosecution has so far presented fewer than half its listed witnesses, effectively delaying proceedings and prolonging his detention.

While detained, Abinguna was hit with additional trumped-up charges: double murder and attempted murder, based solely on testimony from a ‘rebel returnee’ who tried to link him to an alleged NPA ambush in October 2019. Cumpio faced the same charges until a court granted her motion to quash them in November 2025. Abinguna’s motion was denied.

Beyond this case, what does Karapatan’s documentation reveal about the broader pattern?

Karapatan documents arbitrary imprisonment, enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings and militarisation across the Philippines. We conduct fact-finding missions, file cases through courts and international human rights bodies, provide psychosocial support to victims and help organise victims’ families.

Under the current government, the Anti-Terrorism Act of 2020 and the Terrorism Financing Prevention and Suppression Act of 2012 have been aggressively enforced not to protect the public, but to persecute critics and suppress dissent.

The Tacloban 5 case exposes how counter-terrorism laws, fabricated charges, judicial harassment and years of unjust detention silence activists, humanitarian workers, human rights defenders and journalists. It’s not an isolated incident; it’s a deliberate strategy.

According to our latest data, there are around 700 political prisoners in the Philippines. Many face the same pattern: red-tagging, questionable raids, planted evidence, reliance on testimony from military assets and prolonged detention.

What happens next?

The case is under appeal. All available legal remedies are being pursued. The conviction needs rigorous review, particularly of due process violations and evidentiary standards in terrorism-related cases. Courts must ensure national security claims don’t override fundamental rights.

But we need more than case-by-case appeals. Structural reforms are essential. Red-tagging must be explicitly prohibited with those responsible held accountable. The anti-terrorism law must be repealed or fundamentally amended to prevent misuse against human rights defenders and journalists. Safeguards must be strengthened to prevent unlawful raids, evidence-planting and security force abuses. NTF-ELCAC must be held accountable for its role in criminalising dissent.

Ultimately, prevention of similar cases requires the dismantling of mechanisms that treat dissent as crime. Without accountability and structural reform, the criminalisation of activism will continue.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Credit: Georgios Kostomitsopoulos/NurPhoto via Getty Images

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Feb 24 2026 (IPS)

The Islamic Republic of Iran has put down another uprising, with a ferocity that makes previous crackdowns seem restrained. The theocratic regime has survived, but it has done so by substituting violence for the economic security it cannot provide and the political legitimacy it no longer has. Its show of force is also an admission of weakness.

The protests that began on 28 December were triggered by a specific event — the collapse of the rial to a record low — but rooted in years of accumulated grievances. The second half of 2025 alone saw at least 471 labour protests across 69 Iranian cities. Inflation stood at 49.4 per cent. The 12-day war with Israel in June sent the Tehran Stock Exchange down around 40 per cent and cost many people their jobs. The United Nations Security Council reimposed sanctions in September. The government cut fuel subsidies in November and slashed exchange-rate subsidies in December. Over 40 per cent of Iranian households now live below the poverty line and around half the population consume fewer than the recommended 2,100 calories per day.

It was this collapse that brought typically conservative bazaar merchants onto the streets. Within two weeks, the protests had spread to all of Iran’s 31 provinces, drawing in the urban middle class, working-class communities and people from rural provinces who had historically been among the regime’s most reliable supporters. What began as an economic stoppage rapidly became political defiance. For the millions who joined the striking merchants, the plummeting currency and rising cost of food were not market failures; they were proof of the regime’s corruption and ineptitude. Generation Z played a central role, demanding not reform but profound change. Lethal repression provided further confirmation the system was beyond reform.

The state’s response evolved. Initially it offered token economic concessions alongside its usual crowd control violence such as batons and teargas. When it became clear that a widespread movement with political demands had taken hold, it shifted to total attrition. On 8 January, authorities imposed a near-total internet shutdown and authorised security forces to use military-grade weapons against crowds. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) – a parallel military structure, major political force and economic empire with a direct stake in the regime’s survival – spearheaded the crackdown, with its affiliated Basij paramilitary networks playing a central role in street-level violence.

The casualty figures were deliberately obscured by the internet blackout, but all evidence points in the same direction. Hengaw Organisation for Human Rights reported that at least 3,000 civilians — including 44 children — were killed in the first 17 days. Iran Human Rights, citing Ministry of Health sources, documented a minimum of 3,379 deaths across 15 provinces. The US-based Human Rights Activists News Agency reported around 7,000 verified fatalities by mid-February, with 12,000 further cases under review. Time magazine cited hospital records suggesting the toll may have reached 30,000. Even the lowest of these figures vastly eclipses the 537 deaths recorded during the 2022-2023 Woman, Life, Freedom protests. Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei’s concession that ‘several thousand’ had been killed confirmed the order of magnitude.

By 16 January the streets had been cleared, but a quieter repressive campaign continued, with nighttime raids, enforced disappearances and mass detentions in unofficial holding sites outside the legal system, targeting not only protesters but also doctors who treated the wounded, lawyers who provided legal assistance, bystanders who helped and people who posted supportive statements online. Authorities have detained over 50,000 people. Revolutionary Courts have fast-tracked mass indictments through summary trials, often conducted online and lasting mere minutes, with defendants denied independent legal counsel and confessions extracted under torture. Eighteen-year-old Saleh Mohammadi, whose retracted confession was obtained after interrogators broke bones in his hand, has been sentenced to be publicly hanged at the site of his alleged crime. Dozens more face imminent execution.

The regime has, for now, held: its security forces have not fractured, there have been no significant elite defections, and the IRGC has maintained its capacity for suppression. But it rules over a country with a wrecked economy, a battered nuclear programme, weakened regional proxies and a population that has run out of reasons to comply. Each protest cycle has required a higher threshold of state violence to suppress, a sign the regime has no other tool left.

What prevents weakness from becoming collapse is the absence of any alternative. The international response briefly suggested external pressure might tell – but did not. Donald Trump told Iranian protesters that ‘help is on its way’. The European Union listed the IRGC as a terrorist organisation. The UK imposed fresh sanctions. The Iranian diaspora held at least 168 protests across 30 countries. But the international noise simply enabled the regime to spread the narrative that the uprising was foreign-directed.

The exiled opposition is fragmented along ethnic, ideological and generational lines, seemingly more consumed by internal rivalries than the task of converting widespread discontent into sustained political pressure. Inside Iran, the most credible opposition voices — Nobel laureate Narges Mohammadi, reformist politician Mostafa Tajzadeh and veteran leader Mir Hossein Mousavi — are imprisoned or cut off from public life.

A weakened regime facing a leaderless opposition can endure, but what it cannot do is reverse its decay. Violence may clear the streets, but it cannot rebuild the economy, restore trust or give Iran’s young people a reason to stay. The regime has bought time, at an ever-rising price, but the crisis it’s suppressed isn’t going away.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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CIVICUS discusses the recent protests in Iran with Sohrab Razaghi, executive director of Volunteer Activists, a Netherlands-based diaspora organisation empowering Iranian civil society.

Sohrab Razaghi

What sparked the protests, and in what ways were they different from previous ones?

Rising prices and the collapse of the national currency initially sparked the protests, but these quickly expanded beyond economic grievances. At least in part, this is because the economy is no longer seen as a purely technical issue but as a measure of the state’s ability to govern. A central question among social groups now is whether the government can manage crises and provide sustainable solutions.

Anger has built up, reflecting broken promises and lost futures. Over the past three decades, four major protest waves – in 2009, 2017, 2019 and 2022 – were met with repression, denial or superficial reforms. This pattern has produced a strong sense of humiliation and political voicelessness.

But perhaps the most decisive factor in the latest wave of protests has been the role of Generation Z, a generation that did not experience the 1979 revolution or the war with Iraq and does not have the ideological attachments of earlier generations. The dividing line is not just age but also expectations, lifestyles and values. While previous generations used to hope for gradual reform within the system, now many young people see no viable future within the current framework. For them, the most rational responses to what they perceive as a structural dead end are disengagement, migration or radical protest.

Recent protests, particularly those of 8 and 9 January, also reflected shifts in protest dynamics, with higher levels of violence visible in both rhetoric and practice. This escalation likely reflects accumulated frustration and political deadlock, but doesn’t necessarily indicate that the state has weakened. Security forces so far appear cohesive and operationally effective, and there are no clear signs of fragmentation inside the coercive apparatus.

But the rise in violence is troubling for democratic forces and civil society. When violent tactics become prominent, organised civic initiatives are marginalised and security-driven narratives prevail, weakening sustained civic action.

Additionally, Israeli and US statements expressing support for protesters and threatening military action had contradictory and largely negative effects.

While such rhetoric initially generated hope among some protesters, the lack of follow-up produced disillusionment and scepticism. Most importantly, statements by foreign governments, including Israel and the USA, strengthened the regime’s narrative. They enabled the authorities to frame protests as the products of foreign interference and protesters as instruments of external powers, including claims of involvement by Mossad agents. This narrative was very useful to justify securitisation and repression.

How have civil society and the media documented human rights violations amid internet shutdowns?

During near-total internet blackouts, local and community-based groups played crucial roles. They recorded the time and location of incidents, collected testimonies from multiple sources and preserved legal, medical and visual documentation while observing basic digital security principles.

When limited internet access became available, information was shared securely with international partners and diaspora networks. These networks helped archive data, liaise with human rights organisations and media and reduce pressure on activists operating inside Iran. International human rights organisations then cross-checked and verified reports before incorporating them into official documentation. Because communication shutdowns, security risks and restricted access to evidence prevented full documentation, they typically presented casualty figures and details of repression conservatively. At the same time, fake news and baseless casualty figures are also prevalent in diaspora and international media reports. It is essential to interrogate such reporting to preserve the credibility of fact-checked, evidence-based reports.

Under severe restrictions, independent and evidence-based documentation has been essential to preserve truth, counter denial and lay the groundwork for future accountability.

What’s limiting sustained pressure for change?

Recent protests have not expanded into broader forms of social organisation. Participation by labour unions, local networks and professional associations has been limited, restricting the potential for sustained institutionalised pressure. Without stronger organisational structures, documentation of abuses won’t necessarily translate into coordinated civic action. Social media-based coordination and mobilisation are effective for the start and first phase of protests, but on-the-ground leadership, networks and organising capacity are instrumental for sustaining protests and increasing pressure for change.

At the discursive level, significant attention has focused on appeals for foreign pressure rather than on building internal coalitions among social groups. In some cases, rhetoric has centred on state collapse rather than democratic transition, a framework that risks instability and further social fragmentation. The use of profanity and violent language – both inside Iran and among the diaspora community – has also alienated families and moderate groups, narrowing rather than broadening support.

Ultimately, for protests to evolve into movements capable of exerting sustained pressure for change, what’s needed is inclusive organisation, coalition-building and a unifying narrative.

What should the international community do to strengthen Iranian civil society?

Sustainable change will depend on domestic organisational capacity, leadership and representation, not external force. So international leaders should avoid war rhetoric and avoid engaging in any form of military intervention. Historical experience suggests that even limited foreign military intervention is unlikely to weaken domestic repression. Instead, it may well increase regime cohesion, at least in the short term, intensify nationalist sentiment and raise the costs faced by civil society activists, who can be easily portrayed as collaborators and traitors.

When supporting Iranian civil society, international allies should prioritise independent, nonviolent civil society organisations rather than opposition groups advocating violence. Narratives of ‘collapse at any cost’ marginalise civic initiatives and undermine the prospects of democratisation.

Long-term investment in capacity strengthening is essential. This includes supporting civic organising skills, digital security, democratic advocacy, nonviolent action and secure communication tools. Over recent decades, resources and repertoires for change within civil society have been weakened. Sustained engagement is required to rebuild these capacities, with up-to-date resources, techniques and tools.

Monitoring, documentation and evidence-based reporting grounded in credible local sources are among the most effective forms of support. Accurate reporting strengthens prospects for accountability and limits the space for propaganda.

Ultimately, sustainable democratic change in Iran will depend on civil society acting independently, rooted in domestic capacities and supported by context-aware, non-interventionist international engagement.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Credit: Abubaker Lubowa/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Jan 26 2026 (IPS)

When Ugandans went to the polls on 15 January, the outcome was never in doubt. As voting began, mobile internet services ground to a halt, ensuring minimal scrutiny as President Yoweri Museveni secured his seventh consecutive term. Far from offering democratic choice, the vote reinforced one of Africa’s longest-running presidencies, providing a veneer of democratic legitimacy while stifling competition.

Four decades in power

Museveni’s four-decade grip on power began with the Bush War, a guerrilla conflict that brought him to office in 1986. Single-party rule lasted for almost two decades, deemed necessary for national reconstruction. The 1995 constitution granted parliament and the judiciary autonomy and introduced a two-term presidential limit and age cap of 75, but maintained the ban on political parties.

With one-party rule increasingly called into question, Museveni restored multi-party politics in 2005. However, he simultaneously orchestrated a constitutional amendment to remove term limits. In 2017 he abolished the age restriction, allowing him to run for a sixth term in 2021.

Recent elections have been marked by state violence. Museveni’s 2021 campaign against opposition challenger Bobi Wine was defined by government brutality, with over a hundred people killed in protests following Wine’s arrest in November 2020. Another opposition leader, Kizza Besigye, has been arrested or detained more than a thousand times over the years.

Museveni promoted his son, Muhoozi Kainerugaba, to Chief of Defence Forces in 2024. Kainerugaba has openly boasted on social media about torturing political opponents, reflecting a regime that no longer bothers to conceal its brutality. His rise signals a potential hereditary handover.

Civic space shutdown

In the face of a credible opposition challenge, this year’s election required more than constitutional tinkering: it demanded the systematic restriction of civic space. The Trump administration’s dissolution of USAID in early 2025 helped Museveni here, because it was catastrophic for Ugandan civil society. Almost all US-funded Good Governance and Civil Society programmes were cancelled, hollowing out the civic education networks that once reached first-time and rural voters. State propaganda filled the vacuum.

A coordinated assault on dissent followed. Between June and October, climate and environmental activists were repeatedly denied bail, spending months in prison for peacefully protesting against the East African Crude Oil Pipeline. The regime’s reach extended beyond borders: in November 2024, Besigye was abducted in Nairobi and appeared days later at a military court in Kampala, charged with capital offences despite a Supreme Court ruling declaring military trials for civilians unconstitutional. Museveni simply legalised the practice in June 2025.

Intimidation intensified as the vote neared. Authorities arrested Sarah Bireete, executive director of the Center for Constitutional Governance, without a warrant, holding her for four days in violation of constitutional limits. In his New Year’s Eve address, Museveni explicitly instructed security forces to use more teargas against opposition supporters, whom he called criminals. In the days that followed, security forces used teargas, along with pepper spray and physical violence, to disperse opposition rallies. Hundreds of Wine supporters were abducted or detained.

The government dismantled the infrastructure needed for independent monitoring. Authorities suspended five prominent human rights organisations, and two days before voting, the Uganda Communications Commission implemented a nationwide internet shutdown, ostensibly to prevent disinformation. The blackout ensured election day irregularities would go undocumented.

Election irregularities and violence

Election day was plagued by technical failures, but Wine, again the major challenger, also claimed wholesale ballot stuffing and the abduction of polling agents. The Electoral Commission head admitted receiving private warnings from senior government figures against declaring some opposition candidates as winners.

International observers attempted diplomatic language, noting the environment was ‘relatively peaceful’ compared to 2021 while expressing serious concerns about harassment, intimidation and arrests. They recognised that the internet blackout hindered their ability to document irregularities.

Post-election violence claimed at least 12 lives. The deadliest incident occurred in Butambala district, where security forces killed between seven and 10 opposition supporters. Wine was placed under house arrest while the count was held in opaque conditions. Results were announced by region rather than polling station, limiting monitors’ ability to validate them. According to the official count, Museveni won with around 71 per cent, while Wine’s tally dropped to 25 per cent from 35 per cent in 2021. Turnout stood at just 52 per cent, meaning over 10 million eligible voters stayed home.

A generational breaking point

Ugandans’ median age is 17; 78 per cent of people are under 35. Most have known only one president. Wine, a 44-year-old singer turned politician whose music had long resonated with young Ugandans’ frustrations, campaigned on promises of change. But he’s now been defeated twice in a highly uneven race.

Young people have sought other ways to make their voices heard. In 2024, they took to the streets to protest against corruption, but they were met with security force violence and mass arrests.

Avenues for change appear blocked. Opposition parliamentary representation is insufficient for meaningful reform. Civil society groups face restrictive laws and lack international support. International partners are quiet because Uganda is strategically valuable: it provides troops for regional operations, shelters two million refugees, facilitates Chinese and French oil drilling and recently agreed to accept US deportees.

Given his advanced age, Museveni is unlikely to run again in 2031. But with authority increasingly concentrated on a tight inner circle of relatives, democratic transition may be less likely than an eventual transfer of power to his son. Uganda’s young majority faces a difficult choice: accept a status quo that offers no prospects or confront a security apparatus that has spent years perfecting its use of violence.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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CIVICUS speaks with Belarusian activist, blogger and journalist Mikola Dziadok about his experiences as a two-time political prisoner and the repression of dissent in Belarus. Mikola was jailed following mass protests in 2020.

Mikola Dziadok

Why were you arrested following protests in 2020?

I was arrested because I was not silent and I was visible. During the 2020 uprising, I ran Telegram and YouTube channels where I shared political analysis, explained what was happening and gave people advice on how to resist repression. I talked about strategies to protect ourselves, counter state violence and survive under authoritarian pressure. The regime viewed this as extremely threatening.

By that time, I had around 17 years of experience in the anarchist movement, which is a part of a broader democratic movement in Belarus. But most people who joined the protests weren’t political at all: they’d never protested before, never faced repression, never dealt with police violence. They were desperate for guidance, particularly as there was an information war between regime propaganda, pro-Kremlin narratives and independent voices..

Authorities made a clear distinction between ‘ordinary people’ who apologised and promised never to protest again, who were released, and activists, organisers and others who spoke publicly, who were treated as enemies. I was imprisoned because I belonged to the second category.

What sparked the 2020 uprising?

By 2020, Belarus had already lived through five fraudulent elections. We only had one election the international community recognised as legitimate, held in 1994. After that, President Alexander Lukashenko changed the constitution so he could rule indefinitely.

For many years, people believed there was nothing they could do to make change happen. But in 2020, several things came together. The COVID-19 pandemic left the state’s complete failure exposed. As authorities did nothing to protect people, civil society stepped in. Grassroots initiatives provided information and medical help. People suddenly saw they could do what the state couldn’t. From the regime’s perspective, this was a very dangerous realisation.

But what truly ignited mass mobilisation was violence. In the first two days after the 9 August presidential election, over 7,000 protesters were detained. Thousands were beaten, humiliated, sexually abused and tortured. When they were released and showed their injuries, the images spread through social media and Telegram, and people were shocked. This brought hundreds of thousands onto the streets, protesting against both election fraud and violence against protesters.

What’s the situation of political prisoners?

Since 2020, over 50,000 people have spent time in detention, in a country of only nine million. There have been almost 4,000 officially recognised political prisoners, and there are now around 1,200, although the real number is higher. Many prisoners ask not to be named publicly because they fear retaliation against themselves or their families.

Repression has never subsided. Civil society organisations, human rights groups and independent media have been destroyed or forced into exile. Belarussians live under constant pressure, not a temporary crackdown.

Political prisoners are treated much worse than regular prisoners. I spent 10 years as a political prisoner: five years between 2010 and 2015, and another five years after 2020. During my second sentence, I spent two and a half years in solitary confinement. This is deliberate torture designed to break people physically and psychologically.

How did your release happen?

My release was a political transaction. Lukashenko has always used political prisoners as bargaining chips. He arrests people, waits for international pressure to reach its peak and then offers releases in exchange for concessions. This time, international negotiations, unexpectedly involving the USA, triggered a limited release.

The process itself was terrifying. I was taken suddenly from prison, handcuffed, hooded and transferred to the KGB prison in the centre of Minsk. I was placed in an isolation cell and not told what would happen. It was only when I saw other well-known political prisoners being brought into the same space that I realised we were going to be freed, most likely by forced expulsion.

No formal conditions were announced, but our passports were confiscated and we were forced into exile. We were transported under armed guard and handed over at the Lithuanian border. Many deportees still fear for relatives who remain in the country, because repression often continues through family members. That’s why I asked my wife to leave Belarus as quickly as possible.

What should the international community and civil society do now?

First, they should make sure Belarus continues receiving international attention. Lukashenko is afraid of isolation, sanctions and scrutiny. Any attempt to normalise relations with Belarus without real change will only strengthen repression and put remaining prisoners at greater risk.

Second, they should financially support independent Belarusian human rights organisations and media. Many are struggling to survive, particularly after recent funding cuts. Without them doing their job, abuses will remain hidden and prisoners will be forgotten.

Most importantly, activists should not lose hope. We are making history. Dictatorships fall and fear eventually breaks. Freedom always returns – but only if we hold fast to our values and sustain the struggle.

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Belarus: a sham election that fools no one CIVICUS Lens 31.Jan.2025

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Credit: Luc Gnago/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Jan 20 2026 (IPS)

In December, the dust settled on Guinea’s first presidential election since the military took control in a 2021 coup. General Mamady Doumbouya stayed in power after receiving 87 per cent of the vote. But the outcome was never in doubt: this was no a democratic milestone; it was the culmination of Guinea’s denied transition to civilian rule.

Doumbouya has successfully performed an act of political alchemy, turning a military autocracy into an electoral one. By systematically dismantling the opposition, silencing the press and rewriting laws to suit his ambitions, he has made sure to shield his grip on power with a thin veil of electoral legitimacy.

The architecture of autocracy

The path to this moment was paved with precision. In April 2025, Doumbouya announced a constitutional referendum, a move that may have looked like it would herald the beginning of the end of military rule. But it was something else entirely. By June, Doumbouya had further centralised control by creating a new General Directorate of Elections. This body, placed firmly under the thumb of the Ministry of Territorial Administration, reversed previous efforts to establish an independent electoral institution.

The constitution was drafted in the shadows by the National Council of the Transition, the junta-appointed legislative body. While early drafts reportedly contained safeguards against lifetime presidencies, these were stripped away before the final text reached the public. The result was a document that removed a ban on junta members running for office, extended presidential terms from five to seven years and granted the president the power to appoint a third of the newly created Senate.

When the referendum was held on 21 September, it rubber-stamped de facto rule. Official figures claimed 89 per cent support with an 86 per cent turnout, numbers that defied the reality of a widespread opposition boycott and a palpable lack of public enthusiasm.

A climate of fear

With a blanket ban on protests in effect since May 2022, those who’ve dared challenge the junta’s controlled transition have been met with security force violence. On 6 January 2025, security forces killed at least three people, including two children, during demonstrations called by the opposition coalition Forces Vives de Guinée.

The political landscape was further cleared through administrative and judicial means. In October 2024, the government dissolved over 50 political parties. By August 2025, major opposition groups such as the Rally of the People of Guinea had been suspended. Key challengers, including former Prime Minister Cellou Dalein Diallo, remain in exile, while others, among them Aliou Bah, have been sentenced to prison – in Bah’s case, for allegedly insulting Doumbouya.

The atmosphere of fear has been reinforced by a brutal crackdown on the media. Guinea plummeted 25 places in the 2025 World Press Freedom Index, the year’s largest fall. Independent outlets have had their licences revoked and journalists have been detained. Those still working have learned to practise strict self-censorship to avoid becoming the next target. This meant that as voters went to the polls, there was nobody to provide diverse perspectives, scrutinise the process, investigate irregularities or hold authorities accountable.

Coup contagion

Guinea is no outlier. Since 2020, a coup contagion has swept through Africa, with military takeovers in Burkina Faso, Chad, Gabon, Guinea-Bissau, Madagascar, Mali, Niger and Sudan. In each instance, the script has been similar: military leaders seize power promising to ‘correct’ the failures of the previous regime, only to break their promises of a return to civilian rule.

Guinea is now the third country among this recent wave to move from a military dictatorship to an electoral autocracy. It follows in the footsteps of Chad, where Mahamat Idriss Déby secured victory in May 2024 after the suspicious killing of his main opponent, and Gabon, where General Brice Oligui Nguema won a 2025 election with a reported 90 per cent of the vote.

The international community does little. Doumbouya routinely ignored deadlines and sanctions from the Economic Community of West African States, which once prided itself on a ‘zero-tolerance’ policy for coups, and no consequences ensued. The African Union and the United Nations offered rhetorical concern, but their warnings were not accompanied by tangible diplomatic or economic repercussions.

The world’s willingness to maintain business as usual while Doumbouya steered through a fake transition sends a dangerous message to other aspiring autocrats, in the region and beyond.

Democracy denied

When Doumbouya seized power in 2021, he was greeted with a degree of cautious optimism. His predecessor, Alpha Condé, had controversially amended the constitution to secure a third term amid violent protests and corruption and fraud allegations. Doumbouya promised to fix things, but instead became a mirror image of the man he ousted, using the same tactics of constitutional revision and repression to secure his power.

The statistics of the December election – an 87 per cent victory on a claimed 80 per cent turnout – do not reflect a genuine mandate but rather a vacuum: with no independent media to scrutinise the process and no viable opposition allowed to run, the election was a technicality.

The prospects for real democracy in Guinea appear remote. Doumbouya has secured a seven-year mandate through an election that eliminated the essential infrastructure needed for democracy. In the absence of stronger international pressure and tangible support for Guinean civil society, Guinea faces prolonged authoritarian rule behind a democratic facade, with dismal human rights prospects.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

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A man walks past a campaign poster for the military’s proxy party USDP ahead of strictly controlled elections in Myanmar. Credit: Guy Dinmore/IPS

By Guy Dinmore
YANGON, Myanmar and BANGKOK , Jan 6 2026 (IPS)

With thousands of civilians killed in years of civil war and over 22,000 political prisoners still behind bars, no one was surprised that early results from Myanmar’s first but tightly controlled elections since the 2021 coup show the military’s proxy party speeding to victory.

“How can you hold elections and bomb civilians at the same time?” asked Khin Ohmar, a civil rights activist outside Myanmar who is monitoring what the resistance forces and a shadow government reject as “sham” polls.

The junta had already cleared the path towards its stated goal of a “genuine, disciplined multi-party democratic system” by dissolving some 40 parties that refused to register for polls, which they regard as illegitimate, with their leaders and supporters still in prison.

These include the National League for Democracy (NLD) and its leader, Aung San Suu Kyi, who won a landslide second term  in the 2020 elections – only for the results to be annulled by Senior General Min Aung Hlaing, a coup leader and self-appointed acting president. Mass street protests were crushed in early 2021 and war spread across Myanmar.

Although these elections will deliver just a façade of the legitimacy craved by some of the generals, they did succeed in projecting a power and authority that was quickly slipping away just two years ago as long-standing ethnic armed groups and newly formed People’s Defence Forces (PDFs) inflicted a series of humiliating defeats on the junta.

“The tide has turned in favour of the military,” commented a veteran Myanmar analyst in Yangon, crediting China, which reined in the ethnic groups on its shared border, fully embraced Min Aung Hlaing and, along with Russia, delivered the arms, technology and training needed to peg back the resistance.

Campaigners for the pro-military USDP canvas residents and check voters lists in Yangon ahead of the December 28 parliamentary election that excluded major anti-junta parties. Credit: Guy Dinmore/IPS

The regime’s air power and newly acquired drones have been deployed to ruthless effect, often hitting civilian targets in relatively remote areas where the resistance has grassroots support. Air strikes were stepped up as the elections approached. Major cities like Yangon were calm; people subdued.

Bombs dropped on Tabayin township in the Sagaing Region on December 5 killed 18 people, including many in a busy tea shop, AFP reported. On December 10, air strikes on a hospital in the ancient capital of Mrauk-U in Rakhine State were reported to have killed 10 patients and 23 others. The regime accused the insurgent Arakan Army and PDFs of using it as a base.

“I don’t think that anyone believes that those elections will be free and fair,” UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres stated while visiting the region ahead of the polls. He called on the junta to end its “deplorable” violence and find “a credible path” back to civilian rule.

In contrast, the Trump administration declared in November that the junta’s election plans were “free and fair” and removed Temporary Protected Status from Myanmar refugees in the US, saying their country was safe for them to return to.

“I’ll be jailed if I don’t vote,” said Min, a Yangon taxi driver, only half-joking on the eve of voting in Yangon, the commercial capital. “And what difference does it make? We are ruled by China and Xi Jinping, not Min Aung Hlaing,” he added.

With the polls spread over three stages, the first 102 townships voted on December 28. Others will follow on January 11 and January 25 to make a total of 265 of Myanmar’s 330 townships scheduled to vote for the bicameral national parliament and assemblies in the 14 regions and states.

Residents in downtown Yangon check their names on the electoral register and then cast their votes in a polling station on December 28. Credit: Guy Dinmore/IPS

No voting is to be held at all in the remaining 65 townships that the election commission deemed too unsafe.

Voting in the first round in Yangon, an urban and semi-rural sprawl of seven million people, proceeded calmly and slowly on a quiet Sunday – despite intense efforts, and sometimes threats, by the regime to boost the turnout.

In 2020 and 2015 – when Myanmar arguably held the region’s most open and fair elections and the military’s proxy Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP), was soundly defeated – people gaily posted images of their ink-stained little fingers on social media as evidence of their vote after weeks of packed rallies and vibrant campaign rallies.

But not this time. Social media posts hurled insults, some comic and vulgar, at the regime. Those eager to support the resistance’s boycott but who were afraid of reprisals were relieved if they found their names had been omitted by mistake on electoral lists. Electronic voting machines in use for the first time made it impossible to leave a blank.

But as in past elections, a solid core of people close to the military and its web of powerful economic interests turned out to vote for the USDP.

“We are choosing our government,” declared one man exiting a polling station in central Yangon with his family, apparently USDP supporters. One proudly waved his little finger dipped in indelible ink.

How can you hold elections and bomb civilians at the same time? - Khin Ohmar, civil rights activist
Turnout for the first round was put by regime officials at 52 percent. This compares with about 70 percent in the past two elections. China’s special envoy – sent as an official observer, along with others from Russia, Belarus, Vietnam and Cambodia – praised the elections.

On January 2, the election commission unexpectedly issued partial results: the USDP, led by retired generals, had won 38 of 40 seats in the lower house where votes had been tallied to date. No one blinked.

The USDP campaign message focused on two main elements – get out and vote with all your family, and back a USDP government to restore stability and progress to Myanmar.

Its underlying message was a reminder that the last USDP administration, led by President Thein Sein introduced socio-economic and political reforms and ceasefire negotiations with ethnic groups after securing a large majority in the 2010 elections when the NLD and other opposition groups were also absent.

Aung San Suu Kyi, then under house arrest, was released just after the 2010 polls and went on to contest and win a seat in a 2012 by-election ahead of the NLD’s own sweeping victory in 2015. Aung San Suu Kyi governed in a difficult power-sharing arrangement with the military for the next five years and was thrown back into prison in the coup.

For now a large proportion of Myanmar’s population lives in areas under junta control, including all 14 of the state and regional capitals, swollen by an influx of people fleeing conflict.  The military also holds major seaports and airports and – to varying degrees – the main border crossings for China and Thailand.

But in terms of territory, over half of Myanmar is in the hands of disparate ethnic armed groups and resistance forces. Alliances are fluid and negotiable.

The shadow National Unity Government is trying to establish its own authority over liberated territory, looking to cement a consensus around the concept of a democratic and federal Myanmar free of the military’s interference – something that has eluded the country since independence from British colonial rule in 1948.

Front lines shift back and forth as the military struggles to regain control over the Bamar heartlands of central Myanmar, once considered their bastion, while stretched elsewhere after losing vast tracts of border areas since the coup. Several million people have fled the country or are internally displaced.

Once again there is some speculation that a “smooth” election and the formation of a USDP government in April will lead to a gesture signalling the military’s confidence, such as a possible ending of forced conscription and the release of some political prisoners. Project power, then collect legitimacy.

“Political prisoners are used as bait,” said Khin Ohmar, the civil rights activist in Bangkok. “The world would at least have to applaud.”

IPS UN Bureau Report

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Credit: Isabel Infantes/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Andrew Firmin
LONDON, Dec 30 2025 (IPS)

Satellite images show corpses piled high in El Fasher, North Darfur, awaiting mass burial or cremation as the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) militia tries to cover up the scale of its crimes. Up to 150,000 El Fasher residents remain missing from the city, seized by the RSF in November. The lowest estimate is that 60,000 are dead. The Arab militia has ethnically cleansed the city of its non-Arab residents. The slaughter is the latest horrific episode in the war between the RSF and the Sudan Armed Forces, sparked by a power battle between military leaders in April 2023.

Both sides have committed atrocities, including executions, extrajudicial killings and sexual violence. It’s hard to gather accurate figures, but at least 150,000 people are estimated to have been killed. Around nine million people have been internally displaced, and close to four million more have fled across the border. Some 25 million now face famine.

Civil society and humanitarian workers are responding as best they can, but they’re in the firing line. They face death, violence, abduction and detention. Emergency orders impose bureaucratic restrictions on civil society organisations and limit aid operations and freedoms of assembly, expression and movement, while troops also block aid delivery.

Reporting on the conflict is difficult and dangerous. Almost all media infrastructure has been destroyed, many newspapers have stopped publishing and both sides are targeting journalists, with many forced into exile. Extensive disinformation campaigns obscure what’s happening on the ground. Mohamed Khamis Douda, spokesperson for the Zamzam displacement camp, exemplified the dangers for those who tell the truth. He stayed on in El Fasher to provide vital updates to international media. When the RSF invaded, they sought him out and killed him.

The world looks away

Sudan is sometimes called a forgotten war, but it’s more accurate to say the world is choosing to ignore it – and this suits several powerful states. The United Arab Emirates (UAE) is the RSF’s biggest backer. It continues to deny this, even though weapons manufactured by the UAE or supplied to it by its allies have been found at sites recovered from RSF control. Without its support, the RSF would likely have lost the war by now.

In recent years, the UAE has worked to cultivate influence among several African states. It has developed a series of ports around Africa, with one planned on Sudan’s stretch of the Red Sea. It has big agricultural investments in Sudan and receives most of the gold mined there. The UAE has evidently concluded that RSF control is the best way of securing its influence and protecting its interests, regardless of the cost in human lives. In response, Sudan’s government has moved to improve links with Russia. It’s been reported it may allow Russia to develop a permanent Red Sea naval base.

The UAE faces little international pressure because western states that are strongly aligned with it, including the UK and USA, downplay its role. The UK government continues to supply the UAE with arms in the knowledge these are being transferred to the RSF, while a whistleblower has accused it of removing warnings about possible genocide in Sudan from a risk assessment analysis to protect the UAE. The European Union and UK reacted to the El Fasher atrocities by placing sanctions on four RSF leaders and the USA is said to be considering further sanctions, but these measures never reach as far as figures in the UAE government.

The UN Security Council, where the UK is the permanent member that leads on Sudan, has also been predictably ineffective. Russia has said it will veto any resolution the UK brings. Yet in June, the UK refused an offer from African states, serving on the Council on a rotating basis, to take over responsibility, something that could have created more space for negotiation.

Among other countries with regional influence, Egypt strongly favours the Sudan government, and Saudi Arabia is somewhat supportive too. They come together with the UAE and USA in a forum called the quad. Despite competing interests, in September there appeared grounds for hope when the quad brokered what was supposed to be a three-month humanitarian truce, followed by a nine-month transition to civilian rule. Both sides accepted the plan, only for the RSF to keep fighting, causing the Sudanese government to reject the proposal.

Pressure and accountability

Whether fighting halts may depend on the USA’s diplomatic whims. Trump has recently appeared to take more interest in the conflict, likely prompted by Saudi Arabia’s ruler Mohammed bin Salman, who visited the White House in November.

Trump may want to claim to have ended another conflict in his evident quest for the Nobel Peace Prize, but it’s hard to see progress unless the US government proves willing to pressure the UAE, including through tariffs, a blunt instrument Trump has used to force deals on other states. The fact the Trump administration currently applies tariffs at its lowest rate, 10 per cent, shows its continuing warmth towards the UAE.

Campaigners are trying to focus more attention on the UAE’s central role in the conflict. One highly visible focus is basketball: the NBA has an extensive and growing sponsorship agreement with the UAE, part of the regime’s efforts to sportswash its international reputation. Civil society campaigners are calling on the NBA to end its partnership, and their advocacy may help move Sudan up the US agenda.

The international community has the power to stop the killing, but first it must acknowledge the role of the UAE and its western allies in enabling it. All involved in the conflict, within and beyond Sudan, must put aside their calculations of narrow self-interest. The UAE, their allies and the other quad states should face greater pressure to broker a genuine ceasefire as a first step towards peace, and use their leverage with the warring parties to ensure they stick to it.

Andrew Firmin is CIVICUS Editor-in-Chief, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report.

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CIVICUS discusses Generation Z-led protests in Bulgaria with Zahari Iankov, senior legal expert at the Bulgarian Centre for Not-for-Profit Law, a civil society organisation that advocates for participation and human rights.

Zahari Iankov

What sparked recent protests?

Bulgaria has been in a prolonged political crisis since 2020, when mass protests first erupted against corruption and state capture. Although they didn’t immediately lead to a resignation, these protests marked the beginning of a cycle of repeated elections and unstable governments. Since 2021, Bulgaria has held several parliamentary elections, and no political settlement has lasted.

The latest protests, which erupted on 1 December, have probably been the largest since the early 1990s, during Bulgaria’s transition from communism to democracy. They were initially sparked by a controversial 2026 budget that raised taxes to fund public sector wages, but while economic concerns played a role, the protests were primarily centres on values. People reacted to the fact that democratic rules were being openly disregarded and governance was increasingly being shaped by informal powers and personal interests.

Several incidents reinforced the perception that institutions were being systematically undermined. One symbolic moment was the treatment of student representatives during parliamentary debates about education, including proposals for mandatory religious education. Members of parliament publicly shamed student council representatives, which many people saw as emblematic of a broader contempt for citizen participation and government accountability.

Other cases reinforced this perception: environmental laws were weakened without debate, key oversight bodies were left inactive for over a year and proposals that threatened freedom of expression were introduced, and only withdrawn following public backlash. Together, these incidents created a sense that institutions were being hollowed out.

The budget acted as a trigger, but public anger had been building for months. Throughout the government’s short mandate, there was a clear pattern of sidelining public participation and bypassing parliamentary procedures. Laws were rushed through committees in seconds, major reforms were proposed without consultation and controversial decisions were taken at moments designed to avoid opposition.

What made these protests different from previous ones?

One striking difference was the speed and scale of the mobilisation. What began as a protest linked to budget concerns quickly turned into huge demonstrations involving tens of thousands of people. Estimates suggest that between 100,000 and 150,000 people gathered in Sofia, the capital, during the largest protest. For such a small country, this was impressive. Also unlike previous mobilisations, these protests spread well beyond Sofia to many cities across the country, something unusual for Bulgaria’s highly centralised political system.

Another important difference was the strong presence of young people, which led to the protests being described as Gen Z protests. While young people also played a role in big protest movements in 2013 and 2020, this time the generational identity was much more visible and explicitly embraced. Young people were central as communicators as well as participants. Social media campaigns, humour and memes played a significant role in spreading information and mobilising support.

Additionally, these protests were not driven by a single political party. Although one party provided logistical support in Sofia, the extent of participation and the geographic spread made clear this was a broad social mobilisation, not a partisan campaign.

What role did organised civil society groups play in sustaining the protests?

There were a couple of civil society groups that were involved in the organisation of protests, but organised civil society’s main role was not in mobilising but in providing crucial long-term support. For years, civil society groups and investigative journalists have documented corruption, challenged harmful laws and mobilised public awareness around environmental and rule-of-law issues.

As traditional media came under increasing control, civil society helped fill the gap by exposing abuses and explaining complex issues in accessible ways. This helped counter the narrative that ‘nothing ever changes’ and empowered people to believe protest could make a difference.

At the same time, attempts by politicians to discredit or intimidate civil society organisations, including proposals resembling laws to stigmatise civil society as foreign agent, underscored how influential civil society has become.

Who are the figures at the centre of public anger, and what do they represent?

The two key figures are Boyko Borissov and Delyan Peevski, who represent two different but deeply entrenched forms of political power. A former mayor of Sofia and prime minister who has dominated Bulgarian politics for over a decade, Borissov retains a loyal voter base despite major scandals, and has repeatedly returned to power through elections. He built his image on strongman rhetoric and visible policing actions.

Peevski is a different figure. Sanctioned under the Magnitsky Act — a US law targeting people involved in corruption and human rights abuses — he has never enjoyed broad public support but wields enormous informal influence. Despite leading a political party, he operates largely behind the scenes. Over the years, he has been linked to deep penetration of the judiciary, influence over regulatory bodies and media control. His role in governance has become increasingly visible despite his party not formally being part of the ruling coalition.

Together, these two figures embody what protesters see as the fundamental problem: a ‘mafia-style’ system of governance, where access, decision-making and protection depend on proximity to powerful individuals rather than transparent institutional processes.

Does the government’s resignation address the underlying problems?

This was a political response, but it does not resolve the structural issues that triggered the protests. Bulgaria’s institutions remain weak, key oversight bodies continue operating with expired mandates and the judiciary continues to face serious credibility problems.

What happens next will depend largely on voter participation and political renewal. Turnout in recent elections has fallen below 40 per cent, undermining any legitimacy claims and making vote-buying and clientelism easier. Mass turnout would significantly reduce the influence of these practices and could be our only hope for real change.

However, lasting change will require action to restore institutional independence, reform the judiciary and ensure regulatory bodies function properly. Otherwise, any new government risks being undermined by the same informal power structures that brought people out onto the streets.

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Unprecedented protests in Bulgaria’s public media CIVICUS Monitor 27.May.2025
Bulgaria: stuck in a loop? CIVICUS Lens 24.Oct.2022

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Credit: Issei Kato/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Dec 22 2025 (IPS)

Myanmar is heading for an election, beginning on 28 December, that’s ostensibly an exercise in democracy – but it has clearly been designed with the aim of conferring more legitimacy on its military junta.

Almost five years after its February 2021 coup, the regime continues to fight pro-democracy forces and ethnic armed organisations, barely controlling a fifth of Myanmar’s territory. The junta has acknowledged that voting won’t be possible in much of the country.

The upcoming election fails every test of democratic legitimacy. The main democratic parties — the National League for Democracy and the Shan Nationalities League for Democracy — are banned. What remains is the Union Solidarity and Development Party, the military’s puppet party, plus minor groups that won no seats in the democratic election held in 2020. Independent media outlets have been crushed, journalists are arrested and intimidated daily and internet access is heavily restricted. In areas that resist military rule, civilians face escalating violence and arbitrary detention.

This election is designed not to reflect the popular will but to entrench military power. It comes as the regime continues its systematic campaign of violence against civilians: weeks before the junta announced the vote, Myanmar’s air force bombed a school in Oe Htein Kwin village, killing two teachers and 22 children, the youngest only seven years old.

The Assistance Association for Political Prisoners has confirmed 6,231 civilians have been killed by the military since the coup, though true figures could be much higher. Nearly half of all civilian deaths are estimated to have been caused by airstrikes. These are not indiscriminate military operations where civilians are collateral damage; they are deliberate attacks where civilians are the targets. The majority of locations of airstrikes have been sites with protected status under international law: camps for displaced people, churches, clinics and schools, often with no presence of armed groups nearby.

The junta has some powerful international allies. China backs it with billions in aid and advanced weapons. Russia supplies the fighter jets that drop bombs on civilians. India quietly sells arms. The three have long provided diplomatic cover and shielded the junta from international accountability. Meanwhile, the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) continues pursuing its failed Five-Point Consensus agreed with the regime in April 2021, despite its systematic violation of every commitment. Regional powers have negotiated exclusively with the junta without input from the National Unity Government — the government in exile formed by democratically elected lawmakers — effectively treating the military regime as Myanmar’s legitimate rulers.

Now recent decisions by the Trump administration threaten to tip the balance decisively in favour of legitimising military rule. Trump has lifted sanctions, cut independent media funding and eliminated the protections formerly afforded to Myanmar’s refugees in the USA. Consistent with his transactional approach, he’s choosing access to rare earth minerals over democracy.

The concern now is that ASEAN member states may follow suit, using the sham election as justification to normalise relations with the military regime. Some have already started moving in this direction, with the junta leader invited to regional meetings.

Myanmar’s pro-democracy forces continue to resist despite the shifting international context. The People’s Defence Forces and ethnic armed groups maintain coordinated operations across most of the country. Civil society continues documenting violations, providing aid to displaced people and advocating for international action. They deserve better than to watch the world legitimise their oppressors.

The junta’s control on the ground remains tenuous, but its diplomatic position is strengthening. Whether this consolidation continues depends on how the world responds to the election. The international community must be clear that treating the election as legitimate would signal to authoritarians everywhere that democratic institutions can be overthrown with impunity, war crimes carry no real consequences and regimes that bomb schools and imprison elected leaders can secure international acceptance.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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A global crackdown on civic freedoms is intensifying – and women are on the frontlines of the attack. CIVICUS’s 2025 People Power Under Attack report analyses the extent to which freedoms of association, expression and peaceful assembly are being respected or violated. The report reveals that people in 83 countries now live in conditions where their freedoms are routinely denied, compared to 67 in 2020. In 2020, 13 per cent of the world’s population lived in countries where civic freedoms were broadly respected; now it’s more like 7 per cent. Among the most documented violations in 2025 were detention of human rights defenders, journalists and protesters, and women human rights defenders (WHRDs) were among the most affected.

Reylynne Dela Paz

WHRDs are women and girls, in all their diversity, working on any human rights issue, and those who promote women’s and girls’ rights and gender justice. They include people in civil society who might not self-identify as human rights defenders and those who work in fields such as environmental activism, humanitarian response, journalism and peacebuilding.

WHRDs are at a higher risk of being discriminated against and abused not only for what they do, but also because of who they are. By virtue of their gender identity, they challenge societal norms and patriarchal structures. The 2025 People Power Under Attack report, for example, documents numerous examples of online intimidation and threats against women journalists, both because of their journalistic work and because they’re women.

Attacks against women and girls in general and WHRDs in particular are increasingly being fuelled by rising authoritarian rule, fundamentalism and populism. Governments, politicians and non-state groups are taking more confident and strident anti-rights actions, fuelling an environment where repression and violence against WHRDs is not only possible but celebrated.

Anti-rights networks, led by populist politicians and fundamentalist religious groups, are engaging in coordinated, sustained and increasingly influential work to stigmatise campaigns for women’s rights and gender justice and those involved in them. They spread the idea that gender justice and those who strive for it threaten children’s welfare, families, religious beliefs, national security and traditional and cultural norms. They’re manipulating public narratives and weaponising disinformation to gain public support.

This has given rise to decreased support for HIV prevention projects, queer movements, sexual, reproductive health and rights initiatives, women’s and girls’ participation in decision-making spaces and any human rights effort led by women, including those on climate and environmental justice, disability, Indigenous rights and peace and security.

CIVICUS’s Stand As My Witness Campaign, which calls for the release of unjustly detained human rights defenders, shows how brutal the current context is for WHRDs. It documents stories of violent arrests, inhumane treatment and other cruel actions against women who have dedicated their lives to pursuing justice and resisting repressive governments. WHRDs Pakhshan Azizi, Sharifeh Mohammadi and Verisheh Moradi are facing death sentences in Iran. Narges Mohammadi, an Iranian human rights activist and journalist who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2023, has also been imprisoned repeatedly for her work.

Other WHRDs who have been arbitrarily arrested include Chow Hang-Tung from Hong Kong, who advocated for the protection and promotion of labour rights and the rights of persecuted human rights defenders in mainland China, Marfa Rabkova, coordinator of Viasna Center for Human Rights’ network of volunteers in Belarus, Kenia Hernandez, coordinator of Zapata Vive, a peasant movement that defends land rights in Mexico, and Hoda Abdel Moneim, a human rights lawyer from Egypt.

I know a mother who helped farmers learn about their rights but was falsely accused of illegally possessing firearms. She was dragged from her house carrying her newborn child. I recall an old woman who has spent her days helping empower Indigenous people but who was harshly arrested and denied medical treatment while in jail, a trans woman who joined a protest and was arrested for no other reason than being a trans protester, and a girl activist who was harassed online for sharing her thoughts against child marriage.

Beyond commemoration

These few painful stories represent only a fraction of reality. The problem is systemic. The world is dominated by cowardly rulers who draw confidence and power from dominant systems of patriarchy and support from anti-rights networks. The restriction of freedoms online and offline make it more difficult and dangerous to hold those in power accountable.

The intensifying repression of civic space, as documented in People Power Under Attack, demands coordinated and sustained action to defend and support the work of activists, human rights defenders and journalists. Increasing threats against WHRDs demand a proactive response to dismantle the gender discriminatory norms and patriarchal rules that underpin and enable human rights violations.

There’s a great need for intersectional protection mechanisms and gender transformative responses from national, regional and international human rights institutions. It’s time for policies that protect human rights defenders but also recognise the distinct needs and lived experiences of WHRDs in all their diversity.

Multilateral institutions should hold member states to account for the international commitments they have made. Regional and global intergovernmental institutions should invest in closely monitoring the situation of WHRDs and in protecting them, and hold perpetrators accountable for abuses. There should be increased investment and coordinated efforts to promote gender justice as part of human rights and respond to the disinformation and false narratives being spread online by governments and the private sector.

The Sustainable Development Goals, backed by all states when they were agreed in 2015, recognise gender equality as a fundamental part of achieving sustainable development, yet little effort has gone into ensuring the people who strive for this are safe and able to work. Women and girls play a vital role in the pursuit of peace and justice, but they increasingly suffer. They don’t need to be merely recognised and remembered: they need to be protected and supported in the face of growing attacks.

Reylynne Dela Paz is Advocacy Lead at CIVICUS: World Alliance for Citizen Participation.

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CIVICUS discusses restrictions on civic space in Thailand and the detention of activist and human rights lawyer Arnon Nampa with Akarachai Chaimaneekarakate, Advocacy Lead at Thai Lawyers for Human Rights (TLHR).

Akarachai Chaimaneekarakate

Thai authorities are using the country’s draconian lèse-majesté law, which bans criticism of the monarchy, to criminalise dissent and shut down debates about the role of the king and royal family. Arnon Nampa, featured in CIVICUS’s Stand As My Witness campaign, is currently imprisoned simply for giving public speeches questioning the monarchy’s role in a democratic system. His case is one example of a wider crackdown on freedom of expression. Yet despite this pressure, a new generation of activists continues to push for accountability, democracy and equality, mobilising creativity and solidarity to challenge longstanding power structures.

Why was TLHR founded, and what’s its role?

TLHR was established in 2014, just two days after a military coup overthrew Thailand’s elected government. A group of activists and human rights lawyers came together because they knew people would soon be detained, harassed or prosecuted simply for speaking out or criticising the coup, the government or the monarchy. Sadly, they were right. And although the founders expected the organisation to be temporary, assuming elections would soon restore normality, 11 years later TLHR is still working every day to defend people targeted for exercising their fundamental rights.

Arnon Nampa is one of its founders. He is a well-known activist and human rights lawyer who has spent more than a decade defending victims of rights violations, including environmental defenders and activists charged with lèse-majesté. Under Thai law, each count carries a sentence of three to 15 years, so people can end up serving decades in prison.

In August 2020, amid nationwide pro-democracy protests, Arnon delivered a Harry Potter-themed speech that invoked ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ to pose previously taboo political questions about the monarchy and constitutional reform. His speech opened a national conversation about the monarchy’s role in Thai democracy, but it also led to his imprisonment on the same lèse-majesté charges he had previously defended others against.

How widespread are lèse-majesté prosecutions?

Unfortunately, they are very common. The lèse-majesté law is used to silence dissent and punish even the mildest criticism. People have been prosecuted simply for sharing a BBC article about the Thai king, questioning constitutional amendments or raising concerns about public spending linked to the monarchy.

Since the 2020 protests, over 280 people have been charged with lèse-majesté, and the sentences have been extremely harsh. One activist was sentenced to 50 years in prison just for sharing online clips about the monarchy on Facebook, including a segment from John Oliver’s ‘Last Week Tonight’ comedy show.

People have been prosecuted for absurd reasons: one child was convicted for wearing a crop top to a protest after being accused of mocking the king. Another protester was sentenced for wearing a traditional Thai dress said to mock the queen. A further activist was convicted for conducting a peaceful public opinion poll on the king’s royal prerogatives.

How do Thai activists manage to stay hopeful despite such intense repression?

Thai activists keep finding creative ways to make their voices heard. Humour and symbolism have become powerful tools for raising sensitive issues without crossing legal red lines. Arnon’s Harry Potter speech was only one example.

What’s truly inspiring is the solidarity that has emerged among diverse groups. Children, labour activists, LGBTQI+ advocates, rural communities and students are standing together, fighting for free expression but also broader social justice causes including environmental protections, labour rights and the struggle against torture and enforced disappearances.

Society is shifting too. Not long ago, openly discussing the monarchy was unthinkable. Now those conversations are happening everywhere. People are finding new ways to resist in everyday spaces, even in cinemas where many no longer stand for the royal anthem. While the government is still trying to shut down dissent, as shown by the dissolution of the largest opposition party for proposing changes to the lèse-majesté law, it has become clear that once conversations about democracy and equality begin, they are very hard to silence.

What role are young people playing in driving and shaping the democracy movement?

Many older people still hold deep reverence for the monarchy because they grew up under its strong influence. But younger generations are asking direct, fundamental questions that strike at the heart of Thailand’s political order: shouldn’t everyone be equal, and shouldn’t rights stem from our shared humanity rather than bloodlines? For many young activists, the struggle doesn’t end on the streets. It continues at home, around the dinner table, when they discuss politics with their parents who may not support their views.

The 2020 protests showed how powerful young people can be. Middle school, high school and university students led the movement. They were fearless, tech-savvy and well organised, and their creativity, courage and solidarity reshaped activism in Thailand.

This push for change isn’t happening in isolation. Young Thais are drawing inspiration from the global wave of Gen Z-led movements in places like Hong Kong, Myanmar and Taiwan, and the online political movement the ‘Milk Tea Alliance’, where young activists are calling for equality, transparency and real democracy. This way, Thai activists are linking their local fight for democracy to a broader global movement for freedom and justice.

How can real change happen in Thailand?

Change is already underway, but there’s still a lot of work to do. The 2023 election made it clear that people want democracy, and even though the establishment blocked the winning party forming a government, the democratic spirit remains strong.

A recent campaign for a new, people-drafted constitution gathered over 200,000 handwritten signatures in just three days. Small business owners, students and vendors took part across the country, showing they want change and a say in shaping their future.

Civil society is also pushing for an amnesty bill to free people prosecuted for political reasons. It would be a key step towards reconciliation and a more inclusive democracy, because a country can’t claim unity while jailing people for thinking differently.

Arnon once said something that has stayed with me: we’ll definitely reach the finish line. But there’s no rule saying everyone in the movement must reach the finish line together. Some may leave the path, some may pass away. If anyone doesn’t make it that far, we can tell the people standing at that finish line that in this struggle there was a friend who once fought side by side with us. Arnon said, ‘In this movement, there is no hopelessness. If you reach the finish line and don’t see me, then just think of me. And if I reach the finish line and don’t see you, I’ll be thinking of you too’.

His words are a reminder that even in difficult times, this is a shared journey, and people will keep walking it together.

This interview was conducted during International Civil Society Week 2025, a five-day gathering in Bangkok that brought together activists, movements and organisations defending civic freedoms and democracy around the world. International Civil Society Week was co-hosted by CIVICUS and the Asia Democracy Network.

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Thailand: new prime minister, same old problems CIVICUS Lens 21.Aug.2024

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The panelists at the CIVICUS press briefing on the 2025 People Power Under Attack Report. Credit: Oritro Karim/IPS

By Oritro Karim
UNITED NATIONS, Dec 11 2025 (IPS)

Over the course of 2025, global civic space conditions have deteriorated sharply, with most countries experiencing some degree of obstructed civil liberties. As authoritarian governments strengthen their hold and have even escalated the use of military force to suppress public dissent, civilians report facing increasing limitations of freedoms of association, peaceful assembly, petition and religion, as well as notable crackdowns on press freedoms.

On December 9, CIVICUS Global Alliance published its 2025 People Power Under Attack report, which details the current conditions of civic space worldwide. The findings show that residents of 83 countries and territories now live with routinely denied freedoms—a stark contrast from the 67 countries recorded in 2020. Additionally, 15 countries have recorded considerable downgrades in civic freedoms, including the United States, France, and Germany, which were once seen as global models of democracy.

“We see a continued trend of attacks on people’s right to speak up, come together as a collective, and protest for their rights around the world,” said CIVICUS Secretary General Mandeep Tiwana ahead of the report’s launch. “In a context of rising authoritarianism and populism, no country seems immune from this deeply worrying trend.”

Only an estimated seven percent of the global population now live in countries with free or relatively free civic space—a staggering 50 percent decline from last year’s figures. This has raised alarm among humanitarian organizations, which stress the urgent need to safeguard civic freedoms as a foundation for accountable governance and inclusive democratic participation. CIVICUS highlighted three primary areas of concern: the detention of protestors, journalists, and human rights defenders. These trends underscore the accelerating breakdown of accountability for government corruption and human rights violations.

The report notes that governments detained protestors at more than 200 peaceful demonstrations across 82 countries, with authorities also disrupting protests in 70 countries, with 67 instances involving the use of excessive force. These operations targeted protests calling for action on issues such as government corruption, inadequate access to basic services, rising living costs, the climate crisis, and allegations of electoral fraud.

“We see protests as a crucial space where people can challenge injustice and can hold power to account but we are also watching that space shrink at a rate that should alarm us all,” said Joyce Bukuru, the Representative to the United Nations at Amnesty International.

Amnesty International has recorded the increasing frequency in which authorities suppress public dissent through three key trends. The first of which is that the legal environment for protest is “tightening very fast”. “Across the region, governments are adopting overly broad and outright punitive laws that make it harder for people to protest easily,” Bukuru said.

The organization also reported the widespread use of excessive force. Unlawful and violent policing tactics are routinely used by the government to silence dissent, with instances of arbitrary arrests, enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, and the use of weapons such as rubber bullets and stun grenades.

Protestors have increasingly been subjected to increased levels of surveillance, digital repression, and tech-facilitated abuse. Bukuru noted that AI-generated abuse is routinely used against activists, with some stating that they feel like “intimidation follows them everywhere”.

In Uganda and Thailand, Amnesty International recorded the use of tech-facilitated gender-based violence, in which female activists experienced smear campaigns, sexualized doctored images, and threats. “These tactics fundamentally change the risk calculus for anyone considering to engage in activism,” said Bukuru.

In the report, CIVICUS noted that repression of journalists remains pervasive globally. Arrests and detentions of journalists have been documented across 73 countries, with attacks being recorded in 54. Additionally, CIVICUS noted the rise of violations surrounding online freedoms, with roughly 11 percent of all violations occurring online. This includes internet and social media shutdowns, online censorship, coordinated disinformation and misinformation campaigns, and online threats.

The detention of human rights defenders is especially common in Africa south of the Sahara, the Americas, the Asia-Pacific, and the Middle East and North Africa (MENA). Female and LGBTQI+ activists are routinely subjected to threats of violence, attacks, and increased rates of detention.

“When human rights are not part of the conversation, that sends a message to the rest of the world,” said Widad Franco, the UN Advocacy Officer at Human Rights Watch (HRW). “When you see some kind of excessive response [from governments], the lack of human rights makes it much harder to protect people on the ground.”

CIVICUS emphasized the urgent need for stronger protections of civic space within the United States, with Tiwana warning of the significant global ripple effects that the current administration’s actions could trigger. Efforts by the current administration to suppress dissent, undermine freedom of association, and slash funding for foreign assistance risk setting a dangerous precedent for other governments to follow.

“The U.S. plays an outsized role around the world. When the U.S. signals that it no longer cares about democracy or human rights, it sends a strong message to [authoritarian governments] that they can do whatever they like,” said Tiwana. “Secondly, the U.S.’s own dismantling of USAID has triggered a reduction of funding by other wealthy democracies that are now repurposing the resources they give to civil society or democracy support programs towards their own economic interests.”

Tiwana noted that the United States’ current approach increasingly mirrors China’s model of transactional diplomacy, a shift that risks deepening global economic inequalities. This approach enables the wealthy to exert a disproportionate grasp over governance, while marginalized and lower-income groups continue to struggle for access to essential services and remain considerably underrepresented.

“It is unfortunate that the U.S. is following China’s cue and disregarding its long history of ensuring that human rights are a pillar of foreign policy,” said Tiwana. “Wealthy individuals are basically gaming the system and that is what is leading us into 19th century levels of inequality. People are being denied the agency to call out high-level corruption and to call out the denial of basic services.”

IPS UN Bureau Report

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