I wish to state here unequivocally that I had not the faintest intention to be incendiary or to pose a racist question, and regret deeply that it has been perceived as such. I also wish to state that I did not intend to agitate any community — be it the Malays, Chinese, or Palestinians — and I unreservedly regret that my lack of sensitivity has caused tension among Malaysians. I therefore beseech the public for restraint, and to refrain from sharing, creating, or further commenting on posts that perpetuate this misunderstanding, which may further inflame public discourse. Despite his apology and his promise to cooperate with authorities, he was still detained on January 17 after being summoned by the police to face a sedition probe. He was released on bail, but his phone was seized for the ongoing investigation. If found guilty, he could be sentenced to up to three years in prison. In a media interview, Home Minister Datuk Seri Saifuddin Nasution Ismail urged the public to stop harassing the journalist, as he and his family were being threatened, doxxed, and harassed online. At the same time, he reminded the media to be more circumspect in their statements. Using social media platforms to issue threats benefits no one.


It only adds to the tension. At the same time, the message is that we must respect sensitivities in a multiracial country so that we can continue to live in peace and harmony. Media and human rights groups sounded an alarm over Tan’s arrest and his sedition probe. The newly-established Malaysian Media Council said his arrest and detention “ appear unnecessary and punitive .” …this case raises serious questions about the risks faced by media practitioners: can a journalist be deemed to have committed sedition or caused public mischief simply by asking a question at a public forum? Heavy-handed and punitive action against a journalist has a chilling effect on the media and public discourse, and reflects poorly on a government that has repeatedly committed itself to upholding freedom of expression and press freedom. The Center for Independent Journalism said authorities should have allowed the Council to resolve the issue. Given the Malaysian Media Council has also offered its services to facilitate conciliation in good faith, we must question why the authorities have not allowed them to reconcile this matter as is their role.


Its position and the abilities it has been equipped with would allow them to deal with this matter in line with international standards whilst meeting the public interest. Media advocacy group Gerakan Media Merdeka (Geramm) warned that Tan’s arrest could set a dangerous precedent. Geramm takes the stand that Tan’s arrest risks future criminalisation of journalists who are accused of asking ‘sensitive,’ ‘controversial’ or ‘ignorant’ questions. Geramm reiterates our position that regardless of differing views on reporting or questioning, media workers should not be subjected to actions that compromise their safety, dignity or ability to work freely. Global media watchdog Reporters Without Borders said the incident is the latest “episode in the misuse of the country’s Sedition Act, which continues to pose a serious threat to press freedom in Malaysia.” “It is shocking that in democratic Malaysia, a journalist could be charged on suspicion of ‘sedition’ for simply asking a controversial question in public,” it added . This is not the first time that Malaysian journalists have faced a sedition probe in the course of doing their work. In 2023, a book author and publisher was briefly arrested for allegedly disrespecting the country’s coat of arms.


War, bloodshed, and legitimacy: Is Iran witnessing another internal coup?

In the aftermath of recent mass killings in Iran , the atmosphere inside the country shifted palpably. This time it was not only about political outrage or routine repression. There was shock. There was grief. And there was a silence that felt heavier than usual. In that silence, a phrase began circulating among some political insiders and observers: a “ systemic coup.” Of course, contrary to the mentality created in Iran, this white coup was carried out more by conservatives, revolutionary forces, and those close to the leadership in Iran than by opponents of the regime. This is not the first time. It has happened before during moments of extreme stress for the Islamic Republic. Even Supreme National Security Council secretary Ali Larijani alluded, in the context of the recent 12-day confrontation with Israel , to the need for internal recalibration under pressure. What some now call a systemic coup does not necessarily imply tanks in the streets. Rather, it suggests an internal reshuffling of authority — a quiet consolidation shaped by crisis. The argument got more heated after reports that Israeli airstrikes killed a number of high-ranking Iranian military leaders. Questions about deterrence and foreign policy suddenly became irrelevant.


Discussions on social media grew to include errors in intelligence , unclear networks of patronage , and claims of corruption in parts of the military and security system. Online debates started to bring up names like Ali Shamkhani repeatedly. Official institutions denied wrongdoing, but the fact that these claims were so public showed that there was a deeper problem: a breach in the perception of unity. At the same time, the government’s legitimacy appears more fragile than before. Many Iranians are not analyzing strategy; they are mourning. Conversations have shifted from geopolitics to disbelief, and families are still processing news that feels destabilizing both personally and nationally. Executions continue, and reports of repression have not ceased. In such an atmosphere, any elite restructuring takes place under the weight of public mistrust—a markedly different environment from the revolutionary fervor of the 1980s. Looking back to the late 1980s This is not the first time Iran has faced a convergence of war, uncertainty, and leadership transition. During the final years of the Iran–Iraq War , the country was exhausted—militarily and economically. Khomeini's health was deteriorating.


Acceptance of UN Resolution 598 marked not only the end of a brutal war but also the beginning of a new political question: what would happen next? The 1988 mass executions of political prisoners remain one of the most debated episodes in modern Iranian history. At the time, Ayatollah Hossein Ali Montazeri, who had been designated as Khomeini’s successor, protested the killings. His objections did not end quietly; they contributed to his eventual removal from the line of succession . Years later, the release of audio recordings from internal meetings suggested that power consolidation had been underway well before his formal dismissal. Hashemi Rafsanjani , who played an important role in the Islamic Revolution and was one of the key figures in electing Ali Khamenei as leader , had memoirs from the mid-1980s hint at conversations about potential leadership transition and even collective decision-making proposals. Succession was not an abstract fear—it was already being negotiated behind closed doors. French diplomat Christian Graeff, who served as ambassador to Iran between 1988 and 1991, later published a book recounting conversations he claimed took place in 1988.


In it, Mohammad Javad Larijani , a member of the influential Larijani family in the power structure of the Islamic Republic, reportedly spoke of a “white coup” designed to curb Khomeini’s ultimate authority and pivot Iran toward ceasefire and diplomatic normalization. Whether Graeff’s account is fully reliable remains debated. But the mere fact that such conversations were recorded by a foreign diplomat underscores how intensely the question of authority was contested in Khomeini’s final years. A pattern that never quite disappears The Islamic Republic’s early history was turbulent. The resignation of Prime Minister Mehdi Bazargan’s provisional government sidelined nationalist-religious currents. The 1981 bombing of the Islamic Republic Party headquarters , which killed Ayatollah Mohammad Beheshti and many senior officials, reshaped the political order almost overnight. The bombing was officially attributed to opposition militants , yet its aftermath facilitated the rapid tightening of security structures. Other traumatic events followed. Suspicious airplane crashes involving senior military figures during wartime. Broad purges within the army and later within segments of the Revolutionary Guard . In the late 1990s, the so- called chain murders of intellectuals —crimes eventually attributed to rogue elements within the Ministry of Intelligence —reignited debates over “internal elimination.” Deaths of prominent political figures have often generated questions that linger.


Former president Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani died in 2017, and the cause was officially declared cardiac arrest, but some family members publicly sought greater clarity. Ahmad Khomeini's death in 1995. T he son of Ayatollah Khomeini, he was one of those who had the chance to succeed him and was known as the treasure trove of secrets of the Islamic system . His death, which was similarly blamed on heart disease, is still a politically sensitive topic for certain people. Official answers have held up, but doubt remains. The house detention of Mir Hossein Mousavi , former Iranian prime minister, who remains under house arrest today, and Mehdi Karroubi , who was under house arrest along with Mousavi after the Green Movement and has recently been released, also show this. Following the 2009 protests , people thought even more that dealing with crises often means keeping internal enemies in check instead of reconciling with them. Reformist leaders are still being pushed out of politics or facing legal problems. Weaponized history and ideological consolidation The 1986 Iran–Contra affair wasn't the only time Iran and its enemies used secret or semi-secret routes to talk to each other.


Over the years, there have been times when open animosity and indirect conversations have happened at the same time. Reports say that Iranian and U.S. officials worked together a little bit on Afghanistan in the early 2000s . Later, secret talks in Oman led to the 2015 nuclear deal . Even when there were public fights, regional security issues have typically required indirect contacts or mediated agreements. This lengthy history of fighting and negotiating at the same time is the larger framework in which people in Iran today understand rumors of meetings or covert talks. Historical narratives have transformed into instruments in modern political conflict. Hassan Abbasi , who is renowned for his strong ideological views and ties to pro-Supreme Leader groups, made statements regarding a supposed encounter between Hassan Rouhani , the former moderate Iranian president who sees himself as a chance to succeed Ali Khamenei, and Israeli counterterrorism official Amiram Nir in 1986. Critics see these kinds of actions as efforts to strengthen a Khamenei-centered story while denigrating reformist opponents . Supporters say they bring to light things that are not obvious.


History in Iran rarely remains neutral, frequently serving political purposes. War, succession, and public grief Israel's June 2025 attack and the alleged deaths of high-ranking officers have brought back memories of the late 1980s, when there was a lot of pressure from outside the country to go to war and a lot of confusion about who was in charge. But Iran today is not the same as it was in 1988. The zeal for revolution has evaporated. Hard times are quite bad. The Supreme Leader is getting older. The ways that succession works are still unclear. And maybe most crucially, people don't trust the government anymore. The tragic murders caused more than just political shockwaves. For many Iranians, they felt like a break. Sadness and worry blended together. While the elites talk about recalibration, regular people are still dealing with loss and feeling weak. In this emotional climate, the term “systemic coup” not only serves as a political theory but also raises concerns about potential hidden agendas. It is still not obvious if a concerted internal restructuring is really happening.


But history shows that when the Islamic Republic is going through many problems at once, like war, succession, and legitimacy strain, power doesn't often change hands through open competition. It makes changes to itself, sometimes gradually and sometimes decisively. At times, this situation results in a state of misery characterized by foreign and internal war, along with widespread mismanagement that we often overlook. On one hand, there is a massacre and a corrupt system; on the other hand, there is foreign intervention and a future resembling that of its neighbors, all while the people lack the right to choose, resulting in self-inflicted misery. Today, as military confrontation, ideological consolidation, elite rivalry, and social fracture converge, Iran appears once again at an inflection point. The question is not simply whether there is a coup or not. The question is whether the system is preparing to reshape itself—before events reshape it instead. The pattern does not suggest chaos. It suggests something more structured: when under stress, the system tightens internally. Is it really shrinking, or is it trying to increase repression and the shadow of war with another white coup?


Pakistan jails two lawyers for 17 years over old tweets

Imaan Zainab Mazari-Hazir and Hadi Ali Chattha , a couple who both worked as human rights lawyers in Pakistan, were sentenced to 17 years in prison on January 24, 2026. What was their crime? Between 2021 and 2025, they tweeted about the Pakistan military abusing people in the abuses of Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa provinces. There has been a separatist insurgency in Balochistan for nearly 80 years , alongside persistent allegations by families and human rights groups that the military has carried out enforced disappearances and so-called “ kill and dump ” cases against people in the region. Authorities deny these claims, describing their actions as counterterrorism operations. In justifying the hefty sentence, the court cited Pakistan’s Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act ( PECA ), legislation which was first introduced to combat cybercrime, but is increasingly being weaponized to silence dissent, according to rights advocates . Mazari , 32, graduated from the University of Edinburgh and has worked extensively on cases involving enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, and the defense of people accused of blasphemy.


She has taken on many of these cases on a voluntary basis. Her mother, Shireen Mazari , served as Pakistan’s human rights minister from August 2018 to April 2022 before leaving politics, reportedly due to pressure from the military. Chattha worked with the Asma Jahangir Legal Aid Cell , Pakistan’s first and leading legal aid organization providing free legal representation to vulnerable populations, where he defended survivors of sexual violence and individuals facing rape charges or accusations under Pakistan’s blasphemy laws. He represented more than a dozen people he maintains were falsely accused. The country’s blasphemy provisions were significantly expanded during the rule of General Zia-ul-Haq in the 1980s and have been abused in the subsequent decades. The couple married in December 2023 and often collaborated on cases that challenged powerful state institutions. They represented Baloch activists, families of missing persons, and journalists facing legal harassment — work that increasingly placed them under scrutiny. The couple denies any wrongdoing and claims they are being targeted for their activism.


The charges and the (lack of) evidence The Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act ( PECA ), which governs online content and cyber-related offenses, was cited by prosecutors, who charged them under Sections 9, 10, 11, and 26A. Section 10 addresses cyber terrorism. Section 9 targets the glorification of offenses. Section 26A criminalizes spreading false information that harms national security. The complaint was filed by the National Cyber Crime Investigation Agency (NCCIA) on August 12, 2025, and the court formally indicted them on October 30, 2025, in connection with their social media activity. What did they actually say? According to court records, Mazari criticized security forces over enforced disappearances in Balochistan. She put the blame on the military, stating that it was not able to effectively combat armed separatist militant groups, including the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) and Tehreek-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP). Chattha retweeted and amplified some of her posts and also shared content from Mahrang Baloch , a prominent Baloch rights activist, including material linked to a demonstration organized by the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC).


Prosecutors claimed that these posts echoed narratives associated with banned organizations and undermined public confidence in the military. The evidence presented in court reportedly consisted of screenshots, reposts of tweets, and witness statements. Four prosecution witnesses testified. Defense lawyers later said they were not given adequate opportunity to cross-examine them. The full text of the social media posts was not publicly disclosed , beyond general descriptions. The proceedings moved quickly, limiting the defense’s ability to prepare its case. The trial and its flaws The trial moved from indictment to sentencing in less than three months, while most cases brought under the Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act (PECA) take years to complete. This one advanced at an unusual speed. On January 23, 2026, police arrested Mazari and Chattha as they were driving to court, despite having been granted protective bail by the Islamabad High Court. According to their lawyers , officers used force during the arrest. In subsequent hearings, the judge at times proceeded without producing the accused in court. Mazari was reportedly unwell during parts of the proceedings.


The couple boycotted the final sentencing hearing, alleging mistreatment in custody. The judge delivered the verdict in under a minute . Defense counsel said they were denied full access to case files. At one stage, court-appointed lawyers appeared without the couple’s consent. Meanwhile, the Islamabad High Court had pending orders to consider transferring the case, yet the trial court continued with the proceedings. Pakistan’s bar associations announced a three-day strike in protest. Amnesty International and the International Commission of Jurists described the trial as a miscarriage of justice. Legal observers pointed to what they said were clear violations of due process. The right to cross-examine witnesses and the right of an accused person to be present at their own trial are cornerstones of a fair hearing in Pakistan. In this case, critics argue, both were curtailed . PECA as a weapon When PECA was first introduced in 2016, it was supposed to combat hacking , online fraud, and genuine cybercrimes. Instead, it has become a tool to silence dissent.


The law’s vague language allows authorities to prosecute anyone who criticizes the state. Section 10 on cyber terrorism does not require proof of actual terrorism. Section 26A criminalizes the spread of “false information” harmful to national security, yet the law does not clearly define what constitutes falsehood. Members of the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), an opposition political party in Pakistan, have been charged with violating the PECA, as have journalists such as Farhan Mallick, Sohrab Barkat, and Ahmad Noorani, as well as human rights activist Jalila Haider. Previous reporting has also documented the use of sedition-related provisions in digital cases, suggesting a pattern in which critics of state institutions are pursued under cybercrime legislation. The Islamabad High Court has previously raised constitutional concerns about the application of PECA against journalists, noting that freedom of expression and the right to information are protected under Articles 19 and 19A of Pakistan’s Constitution. In one ruling , the court directed the Federal Investigation Agency (FIA) to establish clear guidelines before summoning journalists under the law. Those guidelines were never operationalized.


Several journalists — including Asad Ali Toor (2021), Bilal Ghauri (2022), and Absar Alam (2023) — received FIA summonses over YouTube videos critical of the military or addressing sensitive aspects of Pakistan’s political history. A 2021 report documented at least 23 cases in which journalists were targeted under PECA for reporting on or criticizing state institutions. The Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) has described this trend as a pattern of intimidation carried out under the guise of law enforcement. International condemnation The UN Human Rights Office and the European Union both condemned the sentencing , describing it as judicial persecution and an apparent weaponization of the justice system. The EU criticized Pakistan for applying cybercrime legislation in ways that appear to penalize legitimate advocacy and free expression. Pakistani officials rejected the criticism, calling the matter an internal affair. According to legal professionals , criminalizing criticism of institutions goes against international standards. The UN Human Rights Committee has repeatedly stated that governments cannot use defamation or cybercrime laws to shield themselves from scrutiny. Public institutions must tolerate criticism. That is what separates democracy from authoritarianism.


Mazari had previously represented Mahrang Baloch , who is now also in detention. Supporters believe the sequence of events is significant. Mazari was known for openly challenging military officials in court and for refusing to moderate her criticism. To her backers, the severity of the 17-year sentence suggests the case extends beyond social media posts. They see it as a warning directed at those who openly defy powerful institutions. The broader threat Amnesty International described the sentencing of Imaan Mazari and Hadi Ali Chattha as “an alarming misuse of the justice system,” warning that it could deter lawyers and activists from speaking out. Human Rights Watch said the case “sends a chilling message to journalists, lawyers, and civil society actors across Pakistan.” The Express Tribune reported that lawyers staged walkouts in protest, arguing that the verdicts threaten the ability of legal professionals to take on sensitive cases and represent marginalized communities. For years, Mazari and Chattha represented individuals who alleged abuse by powerful institutions. Today, they are the ones behind bars. Pakistan’s government maintains that it respects human rights and freedom of expression. Yet this case has drawn sustained international scrutiny.


After alleged racist insult, an Argentine tourist faces the possibility of prison time in Brazil

On February 6, a 29-year-old Argentine lawyer was arrested in Rio de Janeiro. A few days earlier, on January 14, Agostina Paez was recorded on video leaving a bar with two other women, yelling “mono” (monkey in Spanish) at staff members while making gestures and sounds mimicking the animal. Paez, who was visiting the city as a tourist , was later released with an ankle monitor , but is still being prosecuted for her actions and cannot leave Brazil while awaiting trial. As told in the report registered by one of the workers at a police station, the actions indicating a racial slur came after a disagreement about the bill. He was also the person who recorded the video, reports Agência Brasil . Paez posted a video on her Instagram account on February 5, after learning an arrest order had been issued, saying her rights were being violated and that she was desperate and afraid. To the Argentine TV channel El Trece , she said she never meant to be racist. “I'm an Argentinian.


It was an emotional reaction, but I could never imagine the seriousness of it and of all that came afterwards,” she declared. She also told the news outlet she had been receiving threats. The story surprised people online with how strictly Brazilian law treats racism as a criminal offense. It is written in the country’s 1988 Federal Constitution . Since 1989, under Brazilian law, racism has been a non-bailable and imprescriptible crime. If found guilty, a person could be sentenced to two to five years in prison. Since 2023, a racial insult — when the offense is directed to a specific individual rather than a collective — also had its penalty increased and equated to racism in the legislation. Paez was arraigned for the latter. The country had its first law making racial discrimination an offense in the 1950s, prior to the advances that only developed after the military dictatorship (1964–1985) . The law was named after Afonso Arinos , a Congressman who introduced the proposal in the parliament when his Black driver suffered discrimination at a bakery in Rio.


The bill gained momentum in public opinion after an African-American dancer and activist, Katherine Dunham , publicly denounced a hotel for denying her a room. The penalties , however, were lighter than those under the current legislation. The myth of racial democracy For decades, Brazilians sustained the myth of their country as a racial democracy , despite its history of miscegenation, violence and the ongoing discrimination after centuries of colonization and slavery . The country received the largest number of enslaved people in the Americas and has the largest African-descendant population outside the African continent. According to the 2022 census , the latest one published, out of its 213 million population , 45.3 per cent of Brazilians self-identify as mixed-ethnicity (“ pardo ”), 10.2 percent as Black and 0.8 per cent as Indigenous. Even with laws against racism and affirmative action policies in place, structural racism is still ingrained in Brazilian society, and this was acknowledged by a unanimous vote by the Federal Supreme Court (STF) in December 2025.


“We say Brazilian racism is structural because our entire society is seated on a racist basis. Here, it’s such a normalized phenomenon that constitutes the normal functioning of our society,” explains an article by Brasil de Direitos . Yet, social movements and the growing impact of news stories have brought progress in learning about and discussing the issue among Brazilians over the last decades, as Aline Miklos , an activist and advocacy director at Vladimir Herzog Institute , told the Argentinian news outlet Página 12 . Tanto Brasil como Argentina fueron países construidos sobre la explotación sistemática de la mano de obra indígena y africana, lo que dio lugar a procesos de genocidio y etnocidio contra estas poblaciones. En Brasil, un factor histórico que contribuye a que los delitos de carácter racial sean tratados con mayor seriedad, es que los grupos racializados se encuentran cada vez más organizados y, proporcionalmente, representan un número mayor de personas que en Argentina. Esta organización les permite ejercer presión sobre el Estado.


Both Brazil and Argentina were countries built upon the systematic exploitation of Indigenous and African labor, which took place amid processes of genocide and ethnocide against these people. In Brazil, a historical factor that contributes to crimes of a racial character being treated with greater seriousness is that racial groups are more organized and, proportionally, represent a greater number of people than in Argentina. This organization allows them to put pressure on the State. Pagina12 also compares the case faced by Paez in Brazil with what it would have been in her native country. Journalist Dolores Curia writes that it’s likely “it wouldn’t have caused her any trouble” there. “The difference with Argentinian legislation is that, here, racism is not recognized either as a legal figure, or as a structural phenomenon,” she stated. Red card The difference in how each country in South America acknowledges and deals with racism has been more evident in the past few years, especially on football pitches. There have been a number of recent cases involving clubs from Conmebol (the South American Football Confederation).


In March 2025, for example, fans from Paraguay’s Cerro Porteño made monkey gestures and spat towards Luighi, a footballer from Brazilian club Palmeiras. In 2024, the women’s team of Grêmio, another Brazilian club, left the pitch in protest after an athlete from Argentina’s River Plate team made racist gestures towards a ball boy during the Brasil Ladies Cup. Four River players were arrested for racial insult afterwards. The latest case, also involving “monkey” as a racial slur in a sports context, took place in a Champions League match between Real Madrid and Benfica football clubs on February 17 in Lisbon, after Vinicius Junior , a Brazilian and one of Real Madrid’s star players, scored a game-winning goal . He went to the referee to activate FIFA’s anti-racism protocol after saying he heard the word from Argentinian player Gianluca Prestianni. The Benfica athlete, who covered his mouth with the jersey while saying something to Vinicius Junior, avoiding lipreading, claimed he was misinterpreted and denied using racial slurs. The Portuguese club backed his version.


Because of other racist attacks he has suffered in his career in Spain, “Vini Jr” has become one of the main voices fighting racism in football — since arriving in Madrid, eight years ago, he reported 20 cases of alleged racist abuse against him. His critics often point him out as someone who plays a victim, blaming his provocative style for it. A couple of years ago, another video went viral among South Americans. A boy wearing the Argentina national team’s jersey sees a monkey walking on the electric wires in his backyard, while a woman records him. The child proceeds to say: “Vinicius! Vinicius Jr.! You're going to be electrocuted,” and imitates a monkey. He also grunts and corrects himself: “No, this is how pigs do, which is Mbappé,” referring to the French player, Kylian Mbappé , who also suffered racist abuse throughout his career. According to CNN Brasil , f ollowing Agostina Paez’s arrest, Argentine newspapers published guides warning travelers about Brazil’s racism laws, and offering tips on gestures and words to avoid while visiting the country.


‘Shame must change sides’: Gisèle Pelicot’s tremendous message of hope and courage sweeps the world

Frenchwoman Gisèle Pelicot has become an international symbol of courage after fearlessly speaking out about her now ex-husband subjecting her to countless rapes while unconscious over their 50-year marriage. Following the conclusion of the high-profile criminal trial against her ex-husband, Pelicot released her memoir, “A Hymn to Life: Shame has to Change Sides,” on February 17, 2026. The book documents her experience and has gone international. The translations of her book and various interviews on international media have made her an icon of women’s resilience against the worst forms of sexual violence . The Pelicot Rape Case, also known in France as the Mazan Rape Trial, named after a village in southeastern France where the Pelicot family lived , began in 2020 following the summons of Gisèle Pelicot’s husband, Dominique, to the local police station for allegedly taking indecent photos of women in public without their consent . Investigators then discovered that from 2011 to 2020, Dominique Pelicot chemically sedated his wife so that he and at least 50 other men, ranging from 21 to 68 years of age , could rape her and film the incident, bringing the investigation to a conclusion.


In such cases, it is possible to request a closed trial to protect the victims’ anonymity. However, contrary to usual practices, Gisèle Pelicot decided to waive her anonymity to warn French society as a whole about the scale of the sexual violence and bring to light the consequences of toxic masculinity. She explained this decision in this Radio France interview : J'ai traversé la honte au moment de la révélation des faits, c'est-à-dire le 2 novembre 2020, quand je me suis rendue compte de toute l'horreur qu'on m'avait fait subir. J'ai mis du temps […] il m'a fallu quatre ans. Je me suis dit qu'il fallait penser à toutes les victimes de viols qui n'osent pas s'opposer au huis clos parce qu'elles ont cette honte, qui pour nous est une double peine, une souffrance que nous nous infligeons. Je n'imaginais pas que ma parole trouverait un écho aussi large, y compris au-delà de nos frontières. I felt ashamed when the incidents came to light on November 2, 2020, when I first became aware of all the horrors I had experienced.


It took me a while. It took me four years. I told myself we had to consider all the rape victims, who don’t dare reject a closed trial out of shame, which is a dual hardship for us, a suffering we inflict on ourselves. I never imagined that my voice would resonate so widely, including beyond our borders. In France, a woman suffers a rape or attempted rape every two and a half minutes , a figure that is likely an underestimation, as many victims do not report these offenses, which are often committed by close relations. In October 2025, the French parliament and Senate ratified an amendment to the law defining rape, adding the concept of non-consent of any victim of sexual assault. Article 222-22 of the Penal Code now states: Constitue une agression sexuelle tout acte sexuel non consenti commis sur la personne d’autrui ou sur la personne de l’auteur […]. Any nonconsensual sexual act committed on another person or on the perpetrator constitutes sexual assault […].


The Mazan Rape Trial shook French society and officially ended in December 2024 with the condemnation of all those accused. It had an indelible influence on the change in the definition of rape in the 2025 Penal Code. On July 14, 2025, the French State appointed Gisèle Pelicot a knight of the Legion of Honor . A global symbol and now literary icon In deciding to speak publicly about the horrors she faced, Gisèle Pelicot opened a global debate in 2020 . She is not only immediately recognized as a symbol of violence against women and the impunity of men who commit such acts of violence , including in liberal societies that protect gender equality by law, but also as an inspiration in social and political discourse . On February 17, 2026, following the conclusion of her trial, Gisèle released her memour which she co-wrote with the journalist Judith Perrignon . She first presented her book on the prime-time literary TV show La Grande Librairie broadcast on a public channel on February 11, 2026, attracting more than half a million viewers .


In this almost 50-minute-long interview , she reaffirmed her main message : shame must change sides, that is to say, it must no longer be the victims who are ashamed to report sexual assault, but those who commit it: She tells how, despite having some suspicions, several visits to the doctor didn’t reveal that she was being drugged. She underscores that she refuses to be a “broken victim,” how the support of thousands of women has helped her, and how she is rebuilding her life at age 73. As the French feminist historian Michelle Perrot said on the same TV show, “Gisèle Pelicot is inspiring.” While this was her first interview since the trials began, she has since been interviewed by journalists and outlets around the world. From El País to the New York Times, and from the BBC to Vogue Magazine and Der Spiegel , her book will be published in 22 languages, confirming her status as a global feminist icon. Her image is already being featured in various exhibitions and engaged works of art, like this mural by the artist Maca :


Ethiopia’s urban renewal projects and turn toward aesthetic propaganda

After Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan visited Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, on February 17, it wasn’t the diplomatic and geopolitical importance of his visit that captured the internet’s attention. It was a video of his motorcade racing through a newly completed boulevard in Addis Ababa, with wide, clean streets, surrounded by high-rises and bright lights. Amassing more than five million views in a day, the footage quickly spread to far corners of the world. Ethiopians shared the video — and several others like it — with pride. Commentators from African countries as well as places as far as Iran and Pakistan expressed admiration and contrasted it with dilapidated streets in their own countries. Addis Ababa’s urban transformation narrative This is the second time Addis Ababa’s cityscape has gone viral in recent months. In January, a visit by renowned US influencer Darren Watkins Jr. , known online as IshowSpeed, garnered 10 million views in a day and similar buzz about Addis Ababa’s urban transformation, with his YouTube livestream and snippets of clips from it going viral on X and TikTok. Many saw the video as a direct challenge to outdated Western stereotypes of limited African infrastructure, and evidence that the country is transforming at a breakneck pace.


The corridor development project , an urban transformation project “aiming to improve infrastructure, housing, and public spaces,” has become the centerpiece of the Ethiopian government’s agenda. Over the past three years, Addis Ababa’s corridor project has added and expanded walkways, bike lanes, green spaces, and vibrant streetlights, complemented by an associated riverside development. The project has also come under criticism regarding the forced eviction of the urban poor, the erasure of cultural heritage, and the lack of transparency. More importantly, it has been criticized for misprioritizing and misallocating government resources, given the socio-economic and political challenges Ethiopia faces. Large swaths of the country are experiencing civil wars and remain outside government control, with 4.5 million people internally displaced, and 10 million citizens requiring humanitarian aid in 2025. Additionally, 9 million school-age children are out of school due to conflict and resource scarcity. Aesthetic propaganda In the face of such a systemic crisis, urban renewal and accompanying imagery pushed by state actors and supporters — and amplified by a willing and unsuspecting assemblage of influencers, travelers, and social media users — have become an important source of aesthetic propaganda.


To push back against criticism, state actors and their digital proxies resort to visually striking transformations of urban spaces as proof that the government is succeeding despite naysayers. Aesthetic propaganda thus expands the toolkit of what has invariably been described as network propaganda , computational propaganda , and, recently, influencer propaganda . This turn to aesthetic propaganda is borne out of shifting technological trajectories. Images and short-form videos have emerged as the predominant features of social media. This has especially been the case since the launch of TikTok in 2018, quickly becoming one of the largest video-sharing platforms globally. Scholars have argued that visual media tends to be “attention-grabbing, emotion-eliciting, and easy-to-digest,” making it versatile in the digital age of information overload. Authoritarian states have recognized this visual turn in social media and have adapted their propaganda efforts accordingly to appeal to wider and younger audiences. Propaganda by the state and beyond the state Unlike traditional propaganda, in which the state tends to be the sole producer and amplifier of material, aesthetic propaganda is produced in a distributed manner, including by state actors, influencers, tourism agencies, travelers, and citizens themselves.


A large portion of content related to the corridor project comes from government social media accounts, including those of the Prime Minister’s Office and the Addis Ababa City Administration, which share high-production-value video footage, including drone shots, on X and TikTok. Snippets of these videos are then clipped and amplified by supporters and followers. However, the state is not the only source. International influencers like IshowSpeed , African influencers such as Wode Maya , and lesser-known local influencers produced visual content highlighting the city’s transformation. This trend is not limited to Ethiopia. Influencers have increasingly become important in popularizing selective authoritarian stories from Dubai to China , and thereby legitimizing authoritarian narratives. In addition to supplying the underlying content, state actors also amplify content created by influencers and leverage accidental virality, as the motorcade video of Erdoğan’s visit illustrates. The moment the video went viral and garnered international attention, state actors worked to amplify it and spread it further. Thus, diplomatic missions , ministers, and pro-government accounts not only retweeted this viral video but also added additional visual material of urban corridor projects throughout the country, further solidifying these images as the official story.


In some cases, it also receives amplification through traditional state-owned media and feeds government propaganda beyond the internet. Presenting the reality of Africa These visuals are also powerful because they are presented as authentic accounts of Ethiopia’s reality, thereby bypassing stereotypical Western representations of Africa. Of course, Western media has severe credibility issues on the continent as it has historically represented Africa and Africans as less than, by amplifying stories of violence and poverty and deprioritizing uplifting stories. In this context, the visual content of African skylines feels emancipatory. However, this is an illusion. Instead of presenting the reality of Africa and Africans as it is, it simply replaces foreign/Western framing with domestic elitist framing, while the majority of society remains invisible. And by doing so, it undermines critical interrogation into the socio-economic and political realities. While it feels — and looks — uplifting, it reproduces state legitimacy at the expense of the underprivileged and invisibilized populations. Aesthetics as legitimacy While these videos of urban transformation do not misinform, they still displace criticism through compelling visual narrative.


They decontextualize the image from the country’s underlying political economy. Short-form content also discourages critical and causal questioning, as it emphasizes the repetitive display of roads, skylines, and streetlights. As video becomes the dominant political medium, propaganda shifts from narration to visualization, making aesthetics central to authoritarian legitimacy. Of course, it is important to recognize that such visual material aimed at boosting tourism and popularizing destinations is neither new nor unique to Ethiopia. The Ethiopian case becomes concerning when situated within the broader political context, where a political crisis is tearing the country apart, and a spectre of a new war looms, in addition to multiple growing insurgencies . In this context, aesthetics does more political work of legitimizing the political elite and obfuscating the reality on the ground. While most of the literature on digital propaganda focuses on superpowers such as China, which marshals unparalleled surveillance capacity and narrative control, the Ethiopian case illustrates that a fragile state whose monopoly of violence is challenged can also resort to such visual propaganda to legitimize itself and distract from multiple political, economic, and military challenges.


The marble mirage: Ashgabat’s record-breaking facade contradicts Turkmenistan’s reality

Turkmenistan’s capital, Ashgabat, does not feel like a living capital; it feels like a high-budget film set where the actors have gone missing. In 2013, the city secured its place in the Guinness World Records Book for the highest density of white marble-clad buildings — a staggering 543 structures shrouded in 4.5 million square meters of sparkling Italian stone. Under the relentless Central Asian sun, the city is blinding — a monochromatic landscape of ivory towers and gold-leafed statues that project an image of absolute, unshakeable perfection. Videos from the ground reveal a city that is eerily “picture perfect,” yet strangely devoid of the chaos typically found in a national capital. However, this aesthetic choice is more than mere architecture; it is a state-driven manifesto. The regime of President Serdar Berdimuhamedow, a de facto dictatorship, uses this “White City” as a visual tool to project power and stability to the outside world, masking the country’s deep isolation and economic woes. By creating a sprawling, sterile environment of “perfection,” the government attempts to manufacture a narrative of national prosperity, even as the streets themselves remain silent and disconnected from the people they were supposedly built for.


The USD 14 billion paradox The urban transformation of Ashgabat has come with a staggering price tag, estimated at over USD 14 billion . This financial titanism is fueled by “Blue Gold,” Turkmenistan’s natural gas reserves , the fourth-largest in the world. While the government receives 85 percent of its revenue from energy exports to China, Russia, and potentially Europe, this wealth rarely trickles down to the populace. Instead, it is funneled into vanity projects. From the world’s largest indoor Ferris wheel to the world’s largest horse-shaped stadium , the government’s priorities are clear. This obsession with grandeur dates back to the country’s first president, the late Saparmurat Niyazov, who famously ordered an ice castle to be built in the middle of a desert. Today, this legacy continues under a rigid system where the state claims nearly 99 percent of election votes while maintaining an unemployment rate estimated at 60 percent . The result is the “City of the Dead”: a record-breaking capital that only legally registered citizens can inhabit, leaving the new districts eerily empty .


The scarcity behind the shine While Ashgabat boasts the record for the most fountain pools in a public place , flowing day and night in celebration of state power, the rest of the country is parched. Turkmenistan is currently facing a worsening hydrological and humanitarian crisis . The survival of the nation depends on the Amu Darya River, a vital artery that is rapidly retreating due to the dual pressures of climate change and regional mismanagement. In the rural provinces, water is a disappearing luxury, yet in the capital, it remains a decorative plaything, used to maintain the lush, artificial parks of the “White City.” This disparity extends to a worsening food security crisis. Despite its marble exterior and the wealth generated from natural gas, Turkmenistan imports 60 percent of its food . The average Turkmen family is caught in a vice of hyperinflation and scarcity, often spending 70 to 80 percent of their total income on basic groceries. Literal “bread lines” have become a fixture of daily life. Citizens wait for hours in front of state-run stores for a chance to purchase subsidized flour or oil, only to be turned away when stocks inevitably run out.


While begging and scavenging for food have become increasingly common in the provinces, the state-run media broadcasts a parallel reality of abundance. Paradoxically, even as citizens struggle to eat, the regime is planning to close subsidized food schemes , claiming the population is prosperous enough to navigate a “free market.” This systemic neglect is coupled with exploitation; thousands of public sector workers, including teachers and doctors, are forced into the cotton fields every season as manual labor to sustain the regime’s agricultural quotas. The marble of Ashgabat is, in a very literal sense, built on the parched earth and hungry labor of its people. The digital and physical microscope This glaring discrepancy between the sparkling marble-clad capital and the population struggling to make ends meet remains unchallenged due to the totalitarian rule established in 1991 , when the country gained independence from the Soviet Union. Turkmenistan is one of the most closed societies on earth, equalled in its isolation and restrictions perhaps only by North Korea. The KNB (secret police) eavesdrops on every digital move, and using a VPN is a punishable crime .


Information is strictly rationed; foreign publications and libraries have been systematically shut down, replaced by state propaganda like the Ruhnama — a spiritual guide written by the former dictator, Niyazov, that was once compulsory for job interviews and driving tests. The surveillance is also physical and highly gendered. Women have been fired from government jobs for wearing makeup, false eyelashes, or “Western” outfits, as opposed to traditional clothing. Young men are detained and forced to shave if their beards are deemed “too radical.” Even travel is weaponized; the state maintains an extensive blacklist of citizens banned from leaving the country, effectively trapping them inside the country. Those who dare to challenge this narrative often “disappear.” The campaign “Prove They Are Alive!” documents over 120 cases of enforced disappearances , including former Foreign Minister Boris Shikhmuradov and journalist Ogulsapar Muradova , whose body showed clear signs of torture upon return. In jails like Ovadan-Depe , dissent is silenced through isolation and starvation, far away from the sparkling fountains. To the international observer, Ashgabat serves as a modern-day “Theresienstadt” — the city Adolf Hitler used to fool Red Cross inspectors — a facade built to hide a decaying interior.


Similarly, Ashgabat is a masterpiece of misdirection, a place where architectural grandiosity is weaponized to hide a nation with a 1 out of 100 freedom score . The tragedy of the “Marble Mirage” is that it is a vanity project built on a foundation of scarcity. As climate change accelerates and the Amu Darya river continues to retreat, the lush, fountain-filled parks of the capital will become even harder to justify. It is a cautionary tale for the 21st century: a regime can import the finest materials from Italy and Turkey, but it cannot import a soul for a city that remains hollowed out by fear . Ultimately, a nation’s greatness cannot be measured by the metric tons of marble it imports or the record-breaking height of its monuments. True prosperity is found in the well-being, food security, and digital freedom of the individuals who walk its streets. Ashghabat may glitter brilliantly under the sun, but without the foundation of human rights and dignity, it remains a fragile and empty monument to excess.


Inside Bangladesh’s Rohingya camps where fire continues to shape the existence of refugees

Mohammad Ali had already lost everything once. On March 22, 2021, a Disaster Management Unit volunteer rushed toward the flames engulfing Camp 9 in Ukhia, Cox’s Bazar, the largest refugee camp in Bangladesh, his extinguisher raised like a weapon against the inevitable. “As we were dousing it, fire engulfed the other side,” he would later recall. “When our extinguishers ran out, we rushed home. We couldn’t take any belongings. We just took our children and ran.” By the time the inferno subsided that evening, fifteen people were dead, 45,000 refugees were displaced, and more than 10,000 shelters had vanished into ash and memory. What stands out in the humanitarian record is not just this catastrophe but the sheer recurrence: between May 2018 and December 2025, 2,425 documented fires have struck the world’s largest refugee settlement in Southeast Bangladesh, affecting over 100,000 individuals and destroying more than 20,000 shelters. This is not the story of accidents. Rather, it chronicles how a refugee crisis has metastasized into something more insidious — an infrastructure of permanent crisis.


The mathematics of vulnerability Consider the spatial layout of Camp 5 in Ukhia, where on January 7, 2024, flames consumed 900 shelters in several hours , displacing around 5,000 refugees, including 3,500 children. The fire challenged responders not merely through its intensity but through the very design of the settlement itself: strong winds funnelled flames through narrow corridors, water hydrants depleted within minutes, access roads too cramped for fire trucks, and households resisting the demolition of their shelters to create firebreaks even as flames approached. “We were all asleep when fire broke out,” Rasheda, a 42-year-old mother of five, told Save the Children after losing her home in that same January blaze . “I quickly woke my husband, elderly mother-in-law, and children — we left the shelter, and that saved our lives. We could not save any belongings. Have nothing left to wear this winter.” Within Cox Bazar, fire is not a risk to be managed. Instead, it becomes an inevitability engineered into the settlement’s DNA. Every shelter is made of of bamboo, tarpaulin, and plastic rope, with no fire resistant materials.


The population density exceeds 95,000 people per square kilometer in some blocks of the camp, and most families cook with open flames inches from their neighbors in structures that become tinder-dry each winter. Lance Bonneau, IOM’s chief of mission, articulated this with careful bureaucratic precision : “When fires strike overcrowded camp settings, the impact extends far beyond damaged infrastructure. Families lose shelter, essential belongings, and access to basic services.” What remains unspoken is that such impacts are not unfortunate externalities but predictable outcomes of political decisions — to warehouse nearly one million people on inadequate land with far too few resources. Fire as a weapon: The arson economy However, not all fires emerge from structural inevitability. Increasingly, flames have become tactical instruments in a shadow war for territorial control. In March 2023, a Bangladesh Ministry of Defence investigation concluded that the fire that destroyed 2,800 shelters and displaced 12,000 people was “ planned sabotage .” Htway Lwin, a Rohingya community leader, described how gunfire between rival factions preceded the blaze: “There was a gunfight between two gangs. As soon as the huts were set on fire, members of one gang did not allow the refugees to put out the fire.”


Cox’s Bazar Police Chief Mahfuzul Islam confirmed that “several Rohingya sources reported how insurgent group ARSA men set fire,” referring to the Arakan Rohingya Salvation Army , one of at least ten armed groups operating within the camp. Killings of refugees by militant organizations rose from 22 in 2021 to 90 in 2023 . Meanwhile, abductions increased nearly fourfold, with over 700 kidnappings in the first nine months of 2023 alone, compared to approximately 200 in 2022 and 100 in 2021. “Someone from ARSA threatened [ Camp 11 ] residents just ten days ago,” explained Nurul, a Block C resident, to The New Humanitarian . “We complained to the police, who told us to be watchful and conduct night patrols.” Ten days later, fire consumed his neighborhood. Groups like ARSA and the Rohingya Solidarity Organization (RSO) wage turf wars through flame , transforming the camps into what one humanitarian official called “a city of a million people — there are nice neighborhoods and bad neighborhoods.” These are not organic urban divisions but militarized zones where forced recruitment, extortion, and disappearances have become routine.


The political economy of ashes Understanding fire in Cox’s Bazar requires mapping its economic architecture. When flames swept through Camp 11 on March 5, 2023, the immediate humanitarian response cost included emergency shelter materials, non-food item kits, water trucking, medical services, and food distributions for 16,000 affected refugees. Each fire triggers a cascade of hidden costs: families lose identification documents and are forced to undergo months-long bureaucratic battles for replacement . Children miss education when learning centers burn — in January 2024, at least 1,500 students lost access to schooling overnight. Medical records vanish, complicating disease management. Social networks fragment as families relocate to different blocks. This fire safety theater reveals the system’s central paradox. Humanitarian actors optimize for emergency responses — training volunteers, positioning extinguishers, and conducting awareness campaigns — that rarely arrive in time while the root of the fires remains unaddressed. Plans for 50,000 semi-permanent fire-resistant shelters, announced with fanfare, now languish unfunded after the international aid cuts in early 2025. Barbed wire and blocked exits Nowhere does the fire-security paradox manifest more lethally than in the barbed wire fencing that encircles the camps.


Installed ostensibly for security, these barriers became death traps during the March 2021 inferno. At least fifteen people perished , with hundreds injured attempting to climb or cut through the wire as flames approached. The fencing remains. It prevents unauthorized movement to maintain camp security. However, what this security apparatus actually secures is a population rendered maximally vulnerable — contained enough to prevent flight, but not protected enough to ensure survival when disaster strikes. The sustainable solution mirage How many times must these refugees witness fire consuming their lives? The question haunts every humanitarian briefing, every donor appeal, every investigative report. Omar Khan, a 35-year-old teacher in Camp 5, placed responsibility squarely on camp authorities after the January 2024 blaze : “Camp authorities are responsible for the scale of devastation.” Others accused officials of failing to ensure adequate access to basic assistance and emergency services, despite the camps experiencing over 300 fires in six years . Following the March 2021 catastrophe, António Vitorino, IOM’s Director General, declared , “This disaster is a terrible setback that exacerbates the humanitarian needs. We will need to start from zero to rebuild.”


Starting from zero, however, is precisely what humanitarian architecture in Cox’s Bazar has perfected — not as a failure but as an operating system. Kaiser Rejve, CARE Bangladesh’s Head of Programs, described the organization’s response after a January 2026 fire displaced 2,185 people : “Beyond immediate response, we are committed to strengthening prevention efforts. We will incorporate dedicated fire safety sessions into shelter upgrade and maintenance modules to raise awareness and promote safer practices.” This fire safety theatre reveals the system’s central paradox. Humanitarian actors optimize for theoretical emergency responses — training volunteers, positioning fire extinguishers, and conducting awareness campaigns — while the fundamental conditions that guarantee fires remain untouched. Sustainable solutions exist in theory: relocate families to less-dense configurations, construct fire-resistant shelters using concrete and metal, create adequate firebreaks, remove barbed-wire fencing, and establish professional fire services within camps. Each of these interventions, however, collides with the fundamental political reality. The Bangladesh government does not intend for these settlements to be permanent, despite housing people for eight years and counting, so any significant, long-term investment faces steep political obstacles.


‘Are refugees being traded?’ UN questions the UK-France asylum swap

A controversial “one in, one out” agreement between the United Kingdom and France linking forced returns of people arriving in small boats to matched legal admissions has drawn sharp criticism from United Nations human rights experts. In a letter published in early February 2026, the experts highlighted documented cases where people who had fled war, torture and trafficking (including from Sudan and Gaza) were placed in detention and subjected to force before being sent back to France under the arrangement. Human rights advocates say the pilot, intended to reduce irregular migration across the English Channel, is treating asylum seekers as “parcels, not people” and risks turning an individual human right into a commodity traded between states for political convenience. A deal built on exchange, not protection Under the UK-France “one in, one out” scheme, people who arrive in the UK by small boat and are selected for return can be sent back to France.


In exchange, the UK agrees to admit a matched number of people from France through designated safe routes. International refugee law recognizes the right to seek asylum as an individual entitlement based on personal risk and persecution, not as a negotiable quota or an accounting exercise. Critics argue that by tying a legal admission to every deportation, the arrangement commodifies people seeking protection. The written concerns from the nine UN human rights experts — including special rapporteurs — describe cases where people awaiting removal were detained prior to deportation and raise questions about arbitrary selection criteria and eligibility. The letter warned that the process “may in itself amount to cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment.” Reports of force during removals Rights organisations have also documented distressing treatment during detention and removals. A joint statement by refugee support groups notes that people with histories of torture, trafficking or severe violence have been held in prison-like centres and subjected to restraints, segregation and force while being prepared for removal. For survivors of trauma, such practices risk retraumatisation and aggravate mental health conditions.


One advocacy group report described cases involving survivors of torture and extreme violence being pushed into removal procedures without proper safeguards. These include people from conflict zones such as Sudan and the Gaza Strip, where war and genocide have displaced millions. Civil society voices Civil society organisations spanning the UK and France have urged airlines and companies involved in deportation flights to reconsider their role in the scheme. In coordinated letters, 28 NGOs urged carriers to stop cooperating with removals, calling the deportations “cruel and forced” and highlighting the involvement of survivors of trafficking and modern slavery. A spokesperson for one rights coalition said the policy “is a dehumanising way to treat people who came here to seek safety from war and persecution,” arguing that the system effectively trades people to meet political targets rather than protect rights. Legal and ethics questions Governments implementing the agreement say it complies with domestic and international law and can help reduce dangerous sea crossings.


However, rights groups question whether key protections have been upheld, and whether adequate assessment of protection needs has taken place before removals. UN experts asked both governments detailed questions about unpublished aspects of the pilot, including how decisions are made on who is returned and what safeguards exist to prevent onward refoulement — the return of people to a place where they could face danger. What this means for universal rights When asylum policies are structured around bilateral exchange rather than individual protection needs, critics say the very concept of universal human rights is weakened. The UN experts’ warnings and civil society responses point to a broader debate about whether such pilot schemes uphold the spirit of the 1951 Refugee Convention and related human rights obligations. As the UK-France arrangement continues, questions persist about how far states can go in balancing migration control with obligations to safeguard the dignity and rights of those seeking refuge. If protection becomes contingent on political exchange, the right to asylum may be reshaped into a ledger entry rather than an inviolable individual entitlement.


Beyond words: Incarcerated women’s responses to punitive systems in Peru

In recent years, there has been growing support for tough-on-crime rhetoric. In Peru, for example, in 2025, there was a shift in the representation of prisons driven by the government. The visibility of social reintegration projects decreased, and the focus shifted towards intensifying restrictions and constantly exposing control mechanisms towards prisoners and those who maintain links with them through visits. While dominant media coverage focuses on prison management policies that dehumanise prisoners, alternative initiatives have existed for years, opening up spaces for expression for incarcerated people. These initiatives come from different fronts: from staff on the ground, who, knowing the day-to-day reality, guide their work proposals by internal dynamics rather than top-down institutional guidelines; from the experiences of prisoners themselves, who seek to create positive or at least more bearable spaces during their period of incarceration, and from external organizations committed to the rights of prisoners, among others. In a women’s prison in Lima, Peru, in 2024–2025, the dynamics developed through a collage-based artistic creation workshop revealed how a group of incarcerated women counter the dynamics and effects of imprisonment through individual reflection, creative practice, and the sustaining of collective bonds.


Experiences of suffering during imprisonment are often silenced for various reasons: lack of people willing to listen, concern about overburdening those close to them who are willing to accompany them, fear of institutional punishment, among others. Faced with this, prisoners seek other forms of expression and resistance to punishment on top of punishment. In the case of the workshop, the women adopted collage as a technique that allows them to express themselves beyond words and thus, appeal to the audience’s disposition to receive their messages through feeling. So many eyes watching us. What are they looking at? P and C attend the workshop every Friday, punctual and well-groomed. At the beginning of the workshop, they came from the same prison block, but after a few weeks, the prison carried out an evaluation and, while P progressed to a lower security block, C remained in the maximum security block, where, week after week, control measures were intensified. The two-hour art workshop became one of the few spaces where they could meet once a week. In one session, as they create their collage of gazes together, they comment on the pressure of gazes as an exercise in control.


But the gazes chasing them did not control their dangerousness within the establishment, nor their process of resocialization for a return to society without the risk of returning to prison. The institutional slogans that validate the existence of prisons and constant surveillance do not appear in her collage. The focus of control was female sexuality, especially homoerotic sexuality. P and C met in prison and have been a couple for several years. They are a couple who coordinate their outfits on special occasions, give each other handmade gifts, and dream of starting a family when they regain their freedom. They are a couple who feel that the stares from prison staff and other women can be so intense that they make them feel sick. “They stare at you. You stay calm, and they stare at you here. You’re not allowed to be happy.” My universe is more than this T is a young woman who started the art workshop a few weeks after being confined. Initially, her collages were filled with wild animals on the prowl.


As T chose the figures to represent her story in a collage, L guided her in how to survive imprisonment: don't fall in love with someone who doesn't love you back; if you need clothes appropriate to your gender identity, you must submit a formal request so that they are not confiscated from your family at the entrance; don't think too much; don't trust easily. L had daughters the same age as T. She had been imprisoned several times and knew how important it was to have information and ears willing to listen in order to cope emotionally with the first few months of confinement. She also knew that, in order to survive, it was essential to take a leap: to move from those first moments when the pain of imprisonment clouds one's vision and prevents one from seeing beyond, to a second stage, where prison is recognised as part of a broader story, the label of “criminal” as one layer in a much more complex identity, and where ties to the outside world do not end with imprisonment. While searching for and finding images for their collages, T and L shared memories of their lives before prison, their current feelings, and their fears about the future.


They found words for what, in the everyday life of the wing, a monotonous, repetitive space, found no way to be expressed. Overflow as a tool for expression Hypercontrol of the body, movement, and interpersonal relationships between those inside and outside the prison is a well-known punishment strategy. Nations that have been proudly displaying their fight against crime in recent years have been exploiting this to showcase their work. As part of the collage workshop introduction, various collages were shown as examples of artistic production. Z picked up an image of a woman’s head from which many elements emerged: ‘This is how we all feel here, unable to stop thinking about a thousand things at once.’ Meanwhile, K chose a collage that included a rock and said, “Prison has made me a tough person. I find it hard to express myself. Art will help us express what cannot be put into words.” There is a central aspect of female incarceration in overcrowded and chaotic prisons, such as most Peruvian prisons: despite how overwhelming the experience may be, despite the intensity of control and punishment, incarcerated women often preserve mental space for many other concerns.


Between memories of pasts marked by stories of suffering and uncertain futures, there are presents laden with responsibilities of care, of children, of mothers, of relationships with partners outside, which deteriorate with distance and are difficult to maintain. In the workshop, collages often show the multiplicity of dimensions of life and the lives of significant people who occupy every corner of incarcerated women’s minds. Represented in overloaded collages that do not accept the limits of the chosen surface, they extend beyond the margins of the paper like someone searching for breathing space in the midst of an overcrowded prison, suffocating and constantly bombarded with visual and auditory stimuli. Thus, the aesthetics of excess developed by the women in the workshop, with overlaps and jumps between themes, spaces and times, serves as a means of representing the overwhelming nature of confinement, as well as the ways in which incarcerated women’s thinking connects what prison isolation seeks to pigeonhole and keep apart: the woman of today from her past, the imprisoned woman from her significant others, the woman with initiative from her projects and ambitions.


Joining the voices of incarcerated women The experiences of K, Z, P and C, T, and L, along with 20 other women, invite us to recognize that the increase in forms and intensities of punishment is not necessarily aimed at reducing crime. On the contrary, it focuses on weakening spaces of potential well-being, such as the experience and expression of sexualities, the integration of different layers of identity, and resistance to sources of suffering. As long as there are interlocutors willing to connect, women deprived of their liberty will continue to find ways to express how the control over their bodies, minds and identities exercised in prisons oppresses them through social mandates rather than through planning focused on building a life in society. The authors thank their team — Luisa Pariachi, Camila Rodrigo, and Giovana Fernádez — as well as the women who participated in the workshop, for their valuable commitment.


The normalization of Uyghur repression in the name of ’social governance’ in China

In recent years, Chinese official discourse has increasingly used the term “social governance” (社會管治) to describe policies in the Uyghur region (Xinjiang) of China. This seemingly neutral administrative language is quietly reshaping people’s perception of repression, genocide, forced assimilation, and social control. The Uyghurs are a native people of the Uyghur region (in northwestern China), known in modern history as East Turkestan. They have a distinct language, ethnicity, and culture that differ from those of the Han people, who make up approximately 92 percent of the population of the People’s Republic of China. In the eighteenth century, the region became a colony of the Manchu Qing Empire. It was later ruled by the Republic of China and is now governed by the People’s Republic of China. In the twentieth century, Uyghurs fought wars against the rule of the Republic of China and established the independent East Turkestan Republics in 1933 and again in 1944. For decades, the Uyghurs have faced persecution from the People’s Republic of China.


Since 2016, the plight of the Uyghurs has drawn widespread international attention due to reports of mass detention , forced disappearances , extensive surveillance systems, and restrictions on religious and cultural life . Leaked government documents, testimonies from camp survivors, and multiple international investigations have made the region a central issue in global human rights discussions. Chinese authorities have consistently described these policies as necessary measures to combat terrorism and maintain stability. However, United Nations human rights experts and international human rights organizations have repeatedly expressed serious concern about the scale of repression and its impact on Uyghur society. In recent years, the official narrative surrounding the region has begun to shift. Detention facilities have become less visible in state media coverage, tourism campaigns highlighting the region’s landscapes and cultural heritage have re-emerged, and official reports increasingly portray the region as peaceful, prosperous, and harmonious. Within this evolving narrative, one concept has become particularly prominent: “social governance.” On March 1st, the state-run newspaper Xinjiang Daily published an article titled “ Uniting Hearts and Minds, Advancing Through Governance ” (凝心聚力向治而行).


The report described discussions among grassroots officials reviewing governance practices and planning future administrative priorities. It portrayed the Uyghur region as a model of effective governance, social stability, and public satisfaction. Phrases such as “Party leadership,” “closed-loop petition systems,” “volunteer service networks,” and “grassroots governance” appear repeatedly throughout the article, constructing an image of orderly and efficient administration. Yet within this seemingly neutral language of governance, the uppermost political concerns regarding the cultural, religious, and social autonomy of Uyghur disappears. “Social governance” replaces ethnic and political concerns When decoding Chinese official documents, a major key is to look for what officials avoid saying. This particular piece makes little reference to ethnic rights, religious freedom, language use, or cultural continuity. Nor does it acknowledge the concerns repeatedly raised by international observers. The conflicts in the Uyghur region are not merely a matter of governance but also stem from history, demographic change, and political power structures.


According to data from China’s National Bureau of Statistics, the population of the Uyghur region in 1953 was approximately 4.87 million, of whom about 3.64 million — roughly 75 percent — were Uyghurs, while Han Chinese accounted for only about 6 percent. By 2010, however, Han Chinese made up roughly 40 percent of the population, while the Uyghur share had declined to around 46 percent. Many researchers link this demographic transformation to decades of large-scale migration policies that encouraged settlement from China’s interior. Although China formally operates a system of “regional ethnic autonomy ( 民族區域自治制 ),” the political structure tells a different story. The most powerful position in the region — the Communist Party secretary — is appointed by the central government, while the regional chairman, who is typically Uyghur, holds far less real authority. Under such a structure, autonomy often exists more as a symbolic arrangement than as meaningful self-governance. As a result, Uyghurs have increasingly been marginalized in their own homeland, not only politically but also in areas such as education, employment, and language use.


Party leadership and the shrinking of independent social space The article published in the state-run outlet further consolidates the asymmetrical power structure and repeatedly emphasises the efficiency of “Party-led social governance.” Under such rhetoric, the ruling party is positioned as the central organizer of social life, leaving little space for independent social organizations. Religious institutions, community-based mutual aid networks, traditional authority structures, and informal social organizations are replaced by a state-directed governance system engineered through a decade-long set of security policies. After 2016, large numbers of Uyghurs were sent to facilities officially described as “vocational education and training centers.” International researchers estimate that at the peak of the campaign, hundreds of thousands to over one million Uyghurs may have been detained. At the same time, authorities constructed an extensive surveillance infrastructure that includes biometric data collection, digital monitoring systems, and neighborhood-level grid management . Large-scale social control programs were also introduced.


One example is the so-called “pairing to become family program” (結對認親), in which government officials were assigned to stay in Uyghur households to monitor daily life and strengthen political oversight. These policies have not only reshaped the region’s administrative structures but also deeply affected everyday life for Uyghur communities. The governing logic of the party-led control system is expressed in the article by another key concept, “stability,” which is used alongside the phrase “long-term peace.” Stability is framed as the highest public good, and governance policies are presented as preventive measures designed to eliminate potential risks, which may cover acts including: speaking the Uyghur language, participating in religious activities, communicating with relatives overseas, studying or travelling abroad. United Nations human rights experts have described aspects of governance in the region as a form of preventive oppression , in which individuals may face restrictions not because of specific actions but because of their identity, beliefs, or social networks. The article’s official narratives also praise the expansion of volunteer service networks as an achievement of social cohesion and civic participation.


Yet, in reality, the party-organized networks, which have increasingly become the only acceptable form of collective activity, have replaced traditional forms of social support within Uyghur communities, including religious charity and community-based mutual aid networks . Through this process, everyday social life becomes increasingly integrated into governance structures. The soft language of assimilation The official article concludes by emphasizing the importance of cultivating a “a shared sense of Chinese national identity” (中華民族共冋體意識). This implies that while cultural differences may exist, the Chinese national identity should be prioritized above all other identities. Such a principle is translated into a set of assimilationist political practices, which often mean that ethnic cultures may be displayed, but not independently organized; ethnic l anguages may exist, but not dominate public life; r eligion may be practiced, but only within strict political boundaries. Some policies have been geared to Ugyhur’s family structures, including campaigns encouraging interethnic marriage and the centralized management of children whose parents have been detained. Critics argue that such policies represent a profound attempt to reshape Uyghur cultural and social life.


The tone of the article “Uniting Hearts and Minds, Advancing Through Governance” is moderate, rational, and optimistic, and thus, powerful. It has renamed control into governance, repression into service, and assimilation into integration. S tructural coercion is presented as responsible public administration. Governance in the post-violence era The governance model emerging in the Uyghur region also reflects a broader transformation in contemporary authoritarian politics. Repression does not always rely on visible coercion, as a dministrative systems, data technologies, social engineering, and policy language can gradually reshape social reality. For many Uyghur families, the defining experience of recent years has not been open conflict but disappearance: a cross the Uyghur diaspora, countless people have lost contact with relatives back home. Many have been detained, sentenced, or simply vanished from public life. The social governance system, presented as rational, benevolent, and successful in Chinese official discourse, is precisely engineered to deprive people of the ability to organize themselves, express their identity, and sustain their cultural life, thereby quietly normalizing repression in society.


Forbidden movies: Russia bans films that reject so-called ‘traditional values’

On March 1, 2026, a Russian law prohibiting the distribution and screening of movies that may be viewed as discrediting “traditional Russian spiritual and moral values” came into effect. According to the new rules, the Ministry of Culture will have the authority to refuse distribution licenses to screen movies deemed contrary to these values or which “[promote] their rejection.” The law also applies to online streaming services and social media. According to some Russian media, the law will apply to both foreign and domestic films. Many well-known Hollywood movies are considered to be at risk, including works by directors like David Fincher, Quentin Tarantino, and Martin Scorsese. Authorities will pay particular attention to movies that may be interpreted as promoting “non-traditional relationships” or “rejecting family values”. In Russia, foreign streaming services have not worked since the start of the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine. However, domestic streaming services remain popular, and illegal streaming of pirated material is also on the rise ; Putin signed a law in June 2024 that eased punishment for copyright infringement. Streaming services may well have to delete a lot of movies.


As Radio Svoboda noted , “traditional values,” according to this law, include patriotism, civic-mindedness, service to the fatherland and responsibility for its fate, high moral ideals, a strong family, productive labor, and the priority of the spiritual over the material. It is not yet known which particular movies are being targeted, although the film distribution company World Pictures confirmed that 2025’s “ Nuremberg ,” which had been scheduled to premiere in Russia on March 19, 2026, will not be released in Russian cinemas, since the Ministry of Culture did not provide a distribution licence. Explaining its decision, the ministry referred to paragraph 19, subparagraph Z of the rules governing the issuance of distribution certificates, which mentions “other cases defined by federal laws.” The historical drama by director James Vanderbilt tells the story of the criminal trials of Nazi Germany’s leaders following World War II. Based on the book “ The Nazi and the Psychiatrist ” by Jack El-Hai, the film’s plot follows psychiatrist Douglas Kelley, who must determine whether Hermann Göring and other associates of Hitler are fit to stand trial.


The Sundance Film Festival ’s hit “ Splitsville ” was one of the first movies that was reportedly denied release in Russia under the new law, based on its alleged “discrediting of traditional spiritual and moral values.” The movie is a humorous reflection by director Michael Angelo Covino on open relationships after forty, the midlife crisis, and sexual experimentation. According to Film.ru , just a year ago, a film like this would likely have made it onto the list of Russian releases without any problems. Russian audiences also missed the new movie by Iranian director Jafar Panahi , “ It Was Just an Accident ,” which won the Palme d’Or at the most recent Cannes Film Festival. Its official cinema release in Russia had been planned for October 2025. “It Was Just an Accident” did not receive approval for several reasons — Ministry of Culture officials stated that the film “contains materials that violate Russian legislation,” including the promotion of violence, extremism, and non-traditional sexual relationships. The story follows Vahid , a former political prisoner who gets an opportunity to take revenge on his abusers. One day, a family brings their car to the auto repair shop where he works, and Vahid clearly recognizes one of them.


After devising a plan for revenge, he begins to doubt whether carrying it out is the right decision. “ Parents Are Here ,” a documentary by film scholar, director, and founder of Seans magazine Lyubov Arkus , was also denied a Ministry of Culture distribution license in 2025. It is the first and only documentary film — publicly known, at least — to have been denied the license. Arkus herself described the situation on social media: “This film of mine did NOT receive a distribution certificate. It was removed from festival programs where it had already been announced and even included in catalogs. That doesn’t upset me very much. The real horror is that I am not allowed to show it.” “Parents Are Here” is a prequel to another documentary, “ Anton’s Right Here ” (2012), which told the story of a young man living with autism spectrum disorder. Arkus is the founder of Russia’s first support center for people with autism. The Russian release of the romantic comedy “ The Threesome ,” starring Zoey Deutch, which had been scheduled to premiere in early September 2025, was also canceled.


As was the case with “Splitsville,” the official reason for refusing to grant the license has not been announced. The film revolves around Connor (Jonah Hauer-King), who becomes relegated to the “friend zone” by Olivia (Zoey Deutch). Hoping to make her jealous, Connor decides to start courting their mutual acquaintance Jenny (played by Jenny Brooks). The love triangle unexpectedly results in two unplanned pregnancies. According to Film.Ru , officials were not troubled as much by the idea of open relationships as they were by the chaotic lifestyle of the characters themselves, which can also fall under the definition of “non-traditional spiritual and moral values.” Several other movies were banned even before the law was in place. The Ministry of Culture refused to issue distribution licenses to Armando Iannucci’s comedy “ The Death of Stalin ,” for instance, as well as “Love” by Gaspar Noé, films from Ilya Khrzhanovsky’s “DAU” project — allegedly because they contained “propaganda of pornography” — and Paul Verhoeven’s film “ Benedetta .” “Fairytale” by Alexander Sokurov was banned on the same grounds as “Nuremberg,” with officials citing “other cases defined by federal laws.”


Concerns grow as Jamaica ends Cuban medical programme

Perhaps Jamaicans should have seen this coming when the government, back in 2025, announced it would be reviewing the decades-old programme that brought hundreds of Cuban medical personnel to its shores — an unusual move, especially for a programme that had been running smoothly for 50 years. The current U.S. administration of Donald Trump, however, has been painting the Cuban medical brigade programme as one of “forced labour” — a perception many regional territories initially resisted . As Jamaica’s minister of foreign affairs and foreign trade, Senator Kamina Johnson Smith, emphasised on March 20, 2025, “Given the MOU’s expiration last year, we had already begun a review process before international concerns were raised. While we have identified a few areas for alignment with our own overseas labour programmes, we are confident that the Cuban programme is a legitimate bilateral cooperation programme, not an example of trafficking.” Yet, changes to the arrangement seemed inevitable.


Following a media briefing with U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio on March 17 last year, Minister of Health and Wellness Christopher Tufton hinted at what was to come: “There is a conversation that is taking place looking at the existing MOU, looking at the possibilities for change, and so there is an opportunity, given the recent discussions coming out of the U.S. […] for us to clarify issues and maybe adjust elements of the agreement.” At the time, the Cuban Embassy in Jamaica shared an article detailing the benefits of the flagship Jamaica-Cuba Eye Care Programme , noting that Cuban medical personnel “bridged the gap” in Jamaica’s health care programme: Fast-forward to the announcement by Jamaica’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Foreign Trade on March 5, 2026: “The Government of Jamaica has taken the decision to discontinue the current arrangement concerning the deployment of medical professionals in the public health sector by the Government of Cuba […] as both governments were unable to agree on the terms and conditions of a new technical cooperation arrangement, following the expiration of the previous agreement in February 2023.”


The statement added that Jamaica was willing to engage medical professionals in the country “on an individual basis, in keeping with local labour laws,” until the end of their scheduled stay. Minister Kamina Johnson Smith said in parliament that the decision was not influenced by the United States. In a second press release , her ministry pointed out that the Cuban government had not responded to Jamaican officials’ proposals, adding , “You would have heard us defending the programme in various contexts, because when the [Cuban medical professionals] come here, we do our very best to be respectful and ensure that our treatment of them accords with the laws of Jamaica and best international labour law practice. Where the programme came into conflict with those things, unfortunately, we were not able to reach agreement on correcting them and that is why the programme has ended. […] There were issues that were easily solved. We were going to put the Eye Programme and the General Medical Programme together in one document. We were going to look at the issue of the ability to celebrate Cuban National Days here.”


The Cuban Embassy in Jamaica shared its response to this second press release widely and promptly: “With this action,” its tweet states, “the government of Jamaica yields to the pressures of the government of the United States, which is not concerned about the health needs of the Caribbean brothers. Cuba deeply regrets that in this way a history of fruitful and sustained collaboration is disregarded, one that has brought countless benefits to the Jamaican people, who are now deprived of receiving the basic and specialized health services that Cuban collaborators provided. In response to the step taken by the government of Jamaica, the government of Cuba has made the sovereign decision to proceed with the return of the Cuban Medical Brigade. These health professionals leave behind an indelible mark and return to Cuba with the satisfaction of a duty fulfilled and the permanent willingness to assist wherever their spirit of solidarity is required.” Jamaicans expressed varying degrees of regret, annoyance, and cynicism at their government’s announcement, pointing to what they view as the likely influence of the Trump administration in the decision.


Others took a slightly more nuanced view, with one X user posting archival video footage of fiery speeches by former Jamaican Prime Minister Michael Manley defending the country’s relationship with Cuba: Another Jamaican commentator observed how much the narrative had gradually changed in the past year: A related, successful partnership with Cuba, under which 44 Jamaican students (among a total of 320) are currently studying medicine on scholarship in Cuba, appears to be intact, though in these uncertain times, the warm, long-standing relationship between Cuba and Jamaica may face more disruptions in the future. Jamaican-American actor Sheryl Lee Ralph simply tweeted: In another post, she asked whether the U.S. might supply the medical staff so badly needed in Jamaica. In a similar vein, Jamaican diaspora member Dr. Leo Gilling observed on Substack that “many Jamaicans are asking a practical question: if the United States is encouraging Caribbean countries to reduce their reliance on Cuban healthcare workers, will there be support to help fill the gap those doctors leave behind? Jamaica is already experiencing significant migration of its own healthcare professionals, many of whom leave the island in search of better opportunities abroad. Removing hundreds of medical personnel without a clear replacement strategy could widen an already existing strain on the healthcare system.”


Another Jamaican shared a common reaction: Suggesting that Jamaica is facing a “Hobson's Choice,” a local podcaster referred to a popular meme showing Jamaican Prime Minister Andrew Holness bending his knee to an approving President Trump. On social media, meanwhile, Jamaicans tried to make sense of the sequence of events and the existing details of the arrangement over the years: For her part, Minister Johnson Smith continued to stress that labour laws and other legal concerns were the reasons for the cessation of the programme, saying “the continued lack of response had the practical effect of preserving an arrangement that Jamaica could not justify. Given our legal obligations, our duty to ensure fairness to workers in Jamaica, and the need for compliance with our own laws and international conventions, the Government ultimately concluded that continuation on the existing terms was untenable.” In a long tweet on the topic, political commentator Clyde Williams posited, “I hear talk about cowardly conduct etc and crawling on our knees. I disagree, who amongst us picks a fight with someone bigger, badder and not restrained by rules or laws? The Jamaican proverb ‘cockroach nuh bizniz in a fowl fight’ is apt.


Our best resistance is through Regional Institutions like the OAS and overtures through third parties to Moscow, Beijing and the Democratic Party in the US. And even then…” Among many other commentators, Kennie Williamson of Caribbean News Network urged Caribbean countries to reject U.S. pressure: “By rejecting these claims, Caribbean governments affirm that the real exploitation lies in U.S. attempts to weaponize human rights rhetoric for regime-change goals in Havana, rather than genuine concern for workers.” A political science student shared an emotional video from a Cuban in Jamaica, who explained the conditions under which Cuban medical personnel work, how they are paid, and how much they are appreciated by Jamaican patients: So, what of the cherished Jamaica-Cuba relationship? Dr. Gilling concluded , “With a relationship that has spanned generations and touched so many areas of national life, the conclusion of this chapter invites both reflection and careful consideration of what comes next.” The Guyanese government has also ended its long-standing relationship with the Cuban Medical Brigade, stating that it was the Cubans who withdrew their medical workers from the country. Other regional nations have also made moves to either terminate or renegotiate their existing agreements with the Cuban medical programme.


How I overcame the Taliban’s ban on education for girls in Afghanistan

This article was written by Asma in 2025. It is published with her consent under the special coverage that tells the stories of young women and girls from Afghanistan following the Taliban takeover in August 2021. The fate of Afghan girls and women under the Taliban rule closely mirrors the dystopia portrayed in Margaret Atwood’s “The Handmaid’s Tale.” Just like in the novel, a religious and extremist regime has stripped women of all social, economic, and human rights. In the past three and a half years, the Taliban have done the same to us, depriving us of our most basic rights. Why? What is our crime? Being born a girl? Yes, we were born girls, but we are not criminals. I remember I was in the eleventh grade, slowly preparing for my exams, when we heard the news: Ashraf Ghani, our fugitive president, had fled , and the Taliban had taken the capital.


For a teenage girl like me, full of dreams and hopes for my education and future, that news was a nightmare — one that hasn’t ended, even after all this time. It is a nightmare I live through both day and night, and it has now become a part of my life — and the lives of millions of Afghan girls. At first, the Taliban allowed us to take our exams, and we held onto a small hope that schools and universities would remain open to girls. But that hope quickly turned into despair. The gates to knowledge and opportunity were shut tight and have never opened again. I used to go to the school gate just to catch a glimpse of my classmates, my teachers, my classroom, and even my old school desk. But I wasn’t allowed in. I would stare longingly from afar, then walk home with a lump in my throat. During that time, I constantly asked myself, my family, and my friends: What was our crime? Why is a girl’s basic and natural right so easily denied?


Why must we, as teenagers, mourn the loss of our rights instead of living freely? I often compared myself to girls in other countries — how lucky they were to attend school, go to university, walk freely, visit libraries — while I, and millions of others, are denied these simple, fundamental rights. As time passed, the shadow of despair grew heavier. Every girl I met asked the same heartbreaking questions, and none of us had answers. Because ignorance, by its nature, offers no logic. It was hard, as a teenager, to climb out of that dark place. But with the support of my family, I found a way. I joined a secret English language center in the eastern city of Herat, but in reality, our brave teachers were quietly teaching English to girls. After a year of hard work, I achieved an excellent level of English. At the suggestion of the center’s director, I even became a teacher and taught English to girls my age and younger. Gaining knowledge is fulfilling, but sharing it is even more rewarding.