On 5 May the Bahraini regime arrested prominent human rights activist and 2012 Index award winner Nabeel Rajab for inciting violence on social networking sites. This is the second time Rajab has been arrested for so-called “cyber crimes”, and last year the regime accused him of publishing false information on Twitter.
These attacks on free speech illustrate how authoritarian regimes can use social media as a convenient “evidence-gathering” tool to prosecute those who dare speak out. Indeed, Rajab’s arrest is a warning shot to others: a reminder that engaging in online activism could result in a prison sentence.
While the fear of arrest is an important concern for many activists using social media, there are other factors at work that might deter people from criticising the Bahraini regime. One of these is trolling, an aggressive form of online behaviour directed at other web-users. It usually comes from anonymous accounts, and its severity can range from death threats and threats of rape, to spiteful comments and personal abuse. It is particularly common on Twitter. Here’s a little taster of what I’ve experienced:
@marcowenjones: ‘don’t you worry, we’ll cross paths one day. You’ll see, and I’ll remind of these days while my cock is inside u’ – Anonymous Troll
Human rights activists and journalists often find themselves being targeted by Bahrain’s internet trolls. Al Jazeera journalist Gregg Carlstrom tweeted: “Bahrain has by far the hardest-working Twitter trolls of any country I’ve reported on”. J. David Goodman of the New York Times writes about how internet trolls are attempting to ‘cajole, harass and intimidate commentators and journalists’ who are critical of the Bahrain government. Bahraini journalist Lamees Dhaif says that much of this trolling panders to Gulf Arab audiences, and that women are often accused of being promiscuous while men are accused of homosexuality.
For the thick-skinned, trolling might have no effect, but not everyone can brush it off so easily. Some users I have interviewed in the course of my PhD research have admitted that trolling has stopped them tweeting anything critical of the regime. Others have “protected” their Twitter accounts, which means that what they write can only be read by users approved by the author, thereby limiting their audiences. Trolling can therefore be seen as a type of bullying, one that uses intimidation to force people to engage in self-censorship. It is especially effective in times of political upheaval, when there is the constant threat of arbitrary detention or even torture. As Global Voices‘ MENA editor Amira Al Hussaini once said: “cyberbullying = censorship! Welcome to the new era of freedom in #Bahrain”.
Trolling in Bahrain has became so severe that a report commissioned to investigate human rights abuses in the country last year actually mentioned it. In particular, it focused on the actions of @7areghum, a Twitter account that “openly harassed, threatened and defamed certain individuals, and in some cases placed them in immediate danger”. The legal experts charged with compiling the report concluded that @7areghum broke Bahraini law and international law. Despite this, the Bahrain government do not appear to have asked the US government to subpoena Twitter to release information about the account.
Even harsh new laws designed to punish those guilty of online defamation seem little more than an attempt to intimidate those thinking of engaging in dissent. The insincerity of such laws is highlighted by the fact that the government are paying enormous amounts of money to PR companies to engage in clandestine activities to improve Bahrain’s image. Indeed, it appears that the managing director of one such company, which received 636,000 USD (approximately 385,000 GBP) to do PR work for the Bahraini government, runs a blog which routinely defames activists. The government seems happy to let this slide, further fuelling the belief that some internet trolls work for PR companies paid by the regime to spread propaganda and marginalise dissent.
Although it can be notoriously difficult to track down trolls and cyber-bullies, the government’s unwillingness to condemn the likes of @7areghum suggest tacit support of such methods. The recent announcement that the government would take action against all those who tarnish Bahrain’s image on social media also corroborates the notion that cyber laws only apply to those who oppose the regime. In the meantime, expect trolling to continue, for it is a useful form of devolved social control, one that allows the government to distance itself from accusations of censorship.
Six months after Tunisia’s first free elections, the country’s newspapers are filled with nostalgic longing for its former dictator. Even if his rule was a “veritable one-man-show”, muses La Presse, “was his dictatorship really harmful to Tunisia?” The accompanying hagiography leaves you in little doubt that this is meant as a question to which the answer is “no”. But there is no call for the dictator himself to be reinstalled. That is because the object of their affection is not the recently ousted President Ben Ali, but his predecessor, Habib Bourguiba, and he died 12 years ago.
At a time when the fundamental basis of the Tunisian state is up for grabs, the invocation of the dead president’s spirit is telling. There is a section of society — perhaps of a certain age — that remains faithful to the memory of Bourguiba as the father of a modern, secular Tunisia. The fact that he was also an autocrat who persecuted the political Islamists now leading Tunisia’s transitional government is not without significance. The tensions between the forces of secularism and the religious right have come to define the post-revolutionary era.
It is important that Tunisians are able to have these debates in public. “Tunisia was almost destroyed by two things, and they both begin with C,” says Afef Abrougui, Index on Censorship’s Tunisian reporter, “corruption and censorship.” Decades of state censorship have left the profession of journalism in a poor state of repair. Nevertheless, the sharp and occasionally shrill criticism of the present government, in print and online, is an obvious sign of progress. Artists and musicians are able to think aloud about politics without the police politique taking front row seats. Whatever the theatrical merits of Facebook!, a sort of cyber-Brechtian dance interpretation of the 2011 protests on show at the Centre Culturel de Carthage, its singular virtue must be that it can be shown at all.
In spite of these advances, there are some worrying noises. In March of this year, some drama students chose to celebrate World Theatre Day by performing on the steps of the Theatre Municipal, the grand art nouveau building in the middle of Avenue Habib Bourguiba in Tunis. At the other end of the street, a group of over-exuberant Salafists decided to put on their own piece of street theatre. As the denouement of their demonstration in favour of a religious constitution, a few of their number decided to clamber up the 120-foot high, wrought-iron clock tower at the end of the street, planting the black flag of the Caliphate at its summit. Their mission accomplished, they made their way down the road and set upon the students, noisily denouncing their “lack of respect for religious sanctity”, and raining down bottles on their heads.
When anyone feels the need to stage a counter-demonstration against theatre, it is time to sit up and pay attention. The craven response of the Interior Ministry, however, was to prohibit demonstrations on Avenue Habib Bourguiba altogether (the ban was subsequently lifted after several violent confrontations between police and protestors). Parts of the street are now semi-militarised zones; government buildings and public spaces are wreathed in barbed-wire. Groups of bored-looking military police sit in canary-yellow buses, waiting for something to happen.
Like Avenue Habib Bourguiba, there are still some areas of free expression that are only entered at acute personal risk. This month, Nabil Karoui, the general director of Nessma TV, was prosecuted and fined for “violating sacred values”. His offence was allowing the animated film Persepolis to be shown on his station (it depicts Allah as an old man with a white beard). The two imams who called for his death are yet to be punished.
A sentence of 7 ½ years imprisonment for two young men who published a satire of the prophet Mohammed was endorsed by President Moncef Marzouki. “Attacks on the sacred symbols of Islam”, he said, “cannot be considered part of freedom of expression.” The literal-minded censorship of the sacred has been accompanied by an equally disturbing increase in private prosecutions for obscenity. Earlier this year, the publisher of the national newspaper Attounissia was charged with “disrupting public order and decency” for printing a picture of a Lena Gercke, girlfriend of Real Madrid footballer Sami Khedira, on its front page. All these prosecutions have been brought under provisions of the Ben Ali-era criminal code, which remain on the statute book.
This creeping moral and religious censorship adds to the impression of a state slouching towards authoritarianism. In the name of national unity, the transitional government has time and again shown itself quick to curtail, and be slow to defend, the right of Tunisians to free expression. In the political turf war that is taking place in the country, there is a real danger that the forces of reaction will be permitted to mark out the boundaries of free speech in a way that imperils the advances of 2011.
Michael Parker is a London-based lawyer and writer on international and legal affairs.
Transport For London has reinstated a banned ad campaign for London’s Mosaic Rooms gallery featuring an image of former British Prime Minister Tony Blair photographing himself on a mobile phone in front of an explosion.
The photomontage “Photo Op”, made in 2005 by kennardphillipps, was promoting a joint show at the gallery for them and Iraqi artist Hanaa’ Malallah called “Iraq: How, Where, For Whom?”
A passenger at Green Park station complained directly to TFL’s commissioner and CBS Outdoor — the company in charge of advertising on the London Underground — was instructed to remove all 100 A3 posters just as they were being put up.
CBS Outdoor claimed the image was in breach of bylaws that prohibit imagery that “contain images or messages that relate to matters of public controversy and sensitivity are of a political nature calling for the support of a particular viewpoint, policy or action or attacking a member of policies of any legislative, central or local government authority [advertisements are acceptable which simply announce the time, date and place of social activities or of a meeting with the names of the speakers and the subjects to be discussed].”
This weekend, when asked about the ban, TFL’s press office claimed no knowledge of it and subsequently issued the following statement:
“Our advertising contractors, CBS Outdoor, were instructed to remove the posters as they depicted a prominent politician during the pre-election period. Should the organisation concerned wish to display the posters again now the election has been held, we would be happy to do so.”
However, nearly two weeks of negotiations between the Mosaic Rooms and CBS Outdoor / TFL had already transpired. This resulted in the creation of an alternate ad campaign design featuring former US President George Bush. When asked if the Mosaic Rooms can now run the entire campaign with the original Blair image, TFL replied “yes.”
Artist Peter Kennard, of kennardphillipps, said at the time of the ban “It seems that for TFL, the Iraq War is not for us to think about and [Tony] Blair is not only beyond criticism, but his actions while he was in office cannot even be acknowledged. What affords him such protection when he is now merely another multi-millionaire businessman amongst many?”
As a charity under the Qattan Foundation, the Mosaic Rooms are entitled to a heavily discounted advertising rate in the London Underground. They contended that their posters asked a question and that TFL’s actions were a “clear act of censorship which removes a poster on purely political grounds while undermining the principles of free artistic expression.”
By saying that the Mosaic Rooms can reinstate the original poster campaign featuring “Photo Op” after banning it on clear political grounds, TFL have shown that they are easily influenced by structures of power. A well-placed passenger with access to the right people in their company can get a campaign taken down — and were the ban not challenged it would have continued. As such, TFL may have set a precedent for other charities and designers seeking to use more political imagery in their work and may think twice before censoring creative expression.
At the time of this writing, CBS Outdoor have still not received instruction from TFL to reinstate the original poster campaign and have proceeded with mounting an alternate image.
As Egypt prepares for presidential elections in less than two weeks’ time, the country is on the brink of chaos. Tensions have been brewing for more than a year and the patience of Egyptians is wearing thin. They yearn for stability and many feel betrayed by the country’s de facto military rulers who have held power since Mubarak was toppled in February 2011.
“The ruling military generals who promised us stability have only delivered brutality and repression,” complained 24-year-old activist Tarek Ali at a protest two weeks ago outside the Defence Ministry in Abbasia.
The violent confrontations between pro-democracy activists and security forces that have erupted sporadically during the transitional period have been the focus of local media, but once again there has been a stark contrast between the independent media coverage of the deadly violence and that shown on Egyptian State TV.
Democracy activists accuse state television of launching a vicious defamation campaign against them — one which, they say, has largely succeeded in turning public opinion against them.
“Right after last year’s mass uprising, everyone was proud of the young activists who started our revolution,” says taxi driver Maher Sobhy. “Now, we hate them for causing chaos and instability.”
The vilification campaign is reminiscent of a similar campaign launched by the state-run broadcaster during last year’s 18-day mass uprising. State TV has long been described by critics as “a propaganda machine” of the ousted authoritarian regime. The broadcaster initially dismissed the anti-Mubarak protests as nonevents, labelling the pro-democracy activists as “foreign agents” and “anarchists.”
When pro-Mubarak rallies were staged on 1 February 2011, state TV channels exaggerated the number of protesters, reporting that “the streets were flooded with thousands of Mubarak supporters” instead of the few hundred who were in fact there. Many Egyptians turned to foreign satellite channels and social networking sites such as Facebook and Twitter to follow the events in central Cairo. Angry protesters in Tahrir Square retaliated by carrying banners that denounced and ridiculed state TV, branding presenters who worked there “liars”.
But halfway through the uprising, state TV made an abrupt turnaround, adopting a more pro-revolutionary tone.
Media analysts saw the change as a sign that the regime was losing its grip on power. But the shift had come too late and state TV had already lost many of its viewers.
For a few weeks after the fall of Mubarak, state television fought to regain credibility. Opposition figures, including Islamists who had not been welcome in the building, were invited to appear on talk shows, and state TV reporters made a noticeable effort to enhance the ratings of their channels through factual, unbiased reporting. But the spell of freedom was short-lived and news editors and anchors soon fell back into their old habits. State employees began practicing self-censorship again after several journalists and talk show hosts working for private channels were summoned to the Military Prosecutors’ office after they criticised the military regime. Two bloggers were convicted in military courts for expressing their views in blog posts and on Facebook — a move that sent a strong message to journalists and broadcasters that the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) would not tolerate criticism.
Tamer Hanafi, a news anchor working for the Arabic state-run Nile TV was investigated a few months after the revolution for refusing to heed calls from the station manager to abruptly cut his programme short after his studio guest, the outspoken activist Bothayna Kamel lashed out at the military rulers on air. Tamer, his face flushed with anger, told viewers that he had been ordered to end the show but that he would continue because he did not see anything wrong with Bothayna’s comments.
Other presenters and reporters who attempted to stand up to censorship have been sternly reprimanded by their bosses in recent months. Finding that the stakes are high — they could lose their jobs — most state employees have reverted to the old ways, obediently following directives from senior management.
News anchors complain that they have to read what their editors write without questioning the source. One senior anchor, who spoke on condition of anonymity said she had had to read that “the Emergency Law was in place to guarantee freedoms” and that “protesters in Kasr El Eini were hurling rocks at the military forces” when there had actually been an exchange of rock throwing. “Any anchor who deviates from the adopted state line lands in trouble,” she lamented. During most of the protests, state TV broadcast exclusive footage of the ongoing clashes shot by the Ministry of Interior, most of it portraying the soldiers and riot police as victims rather than aggressors.
Little has changed at the state broadcaster where the anchor lamented that “SCAF has replaced Mubarak as the red line not to be crossed.” Despairingly the anchor explained that the senior military general who was appointed Minister of Information now exercises control over all broadcasts and ensures that state TV continues to churn out propaganda messages about the lack of security, foreign meddling in Egypt’s internal affairs, the threats foreign-funded NGOs pose to national security or the plummeting stock market.
State TV’s flagrantly biased coverage of the deadly October clashes last year between Coptic protesters and security forces triggered another wave of stinging criticism of the state broadcaster, once again earning it the wrath of the public. The news network was accused of inciting the sectarian violence in which at least 27 people were killed — some of them crushed to death by army tanks — after Channel One’s lead anchorwoman Rasha Magdy urged Muslims “to protect the army from Christian attackers.”Although an investigative committee later cleared state TV of the charge, critics like media expert Hisham Qassem say repeating the mistakes of the past has cost the broadcaster its reputation for life.
Sixteen months after the onset of Egypt’s uprising, Egyptians are still struggling to shed decades of repression and transform their country into a democratic and free society. In a country where 35 per cent of the population is illiterate and relies heavily on the state-run broadcaster for information, a highly politicised, partisan state TV is a major impediment to the democratic process. “The ruling generals who have on several occasions since the revolution turned their guns on peaceful protesters are using State TV as another weapon to kill the revolution,” said 29 year- old activist Waleed Hamdy. They know it is a powerful tool and have used it to further their interests.”
Journalist Shahira Amin resigned from her post as deputy head of state-run Nile TV in February 2011. Read why she resigned from the “propaganda machine” here.
