Cuba: Free Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara
Freemuse urges on the Cuban authorities to immediately and unconditionally release performance artist and human rights activist Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara, given grave concerns over his deteriorating health, personal safety and the legality of his ongoing imprisonment. On 6 April, Otero Alcántara ended an eight-day hunger strike at Guanajay maximum-security prison where he has been held for over five years. The hunger strike was triggered by mounting threats and systematic violations of his rights in detention. According to Cubalex, an independent Cuban legal organisation, Otero Alcántara has been subjected in recent weeks to death threats by State Security agents and prison officials. These threats were reportedly made during a prison inspection on 27 March, when officials threatened him and other political prisoners with lethal violence. This is the seventh hunger strike Otero Alcántara has undertaken since his arbitrary detention in July 2021, when he was arrested following his participation in nationwide protests against the Cuban government, amid widespread shortages of food and medicine. His health is a matter of serious concern. He previously suffered partial facial paralysis as a result of earlier hunger strikes, raising alarm about the cumulative and potentially irreversible impact on his physical integrity. There are growing fears that authorities may seek to extend his sentence beyond its expected completion in July 2026, further abusing the justice system to silence dissent and suppress freedom of expression. Otero Alcántara’s case reflects a broader and well-documented pattern of repression in Cuba, which the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR) and its Special Rapporteur for Freedom of Expression have consistently flagged — including the use of arbitrary detention, threats and judicial harassment to target artists and individuals perceived as critical of the government. Freemuse calls on the Cuban authorities to immediately and unconditionally release Otero Alcántara; ensure he receives urgent independent medical care and guarantee his safety and physical integrity. It also urges the authorities to end all threats, harassment and reprisals against him, and calls on international and regional human rights mechanisms to closely monitor his situation and take urgent protective action. By Diana Arévalo, Freemuse’s Latin America regional researcher.
Músicos cubanos en prisión: un llamado a la visibilidad y la solidaridad
Diana Arévalo* Con al menos 17 artistas cubanos encarcelados, la visibilidad internacional sostenida y la solidaridad resultan esenciales para evitar que el silenciamiento de artistas termine por normalizarse. Hoy es necesario insistir en un hecho simple: hay músicos cubanos que permanecen en prisión. Y con el paso de los meses, aumenta el riesgo de que su encarcelamiento deje de provocar indignación y empiece a asumirse como parte de la normalidad. La profundización de la crisis social y económica en Cuba ha deteriorado las condiciones de vida en toda la isla. La escasez de combustible, las fallas en los servicios de salud y agua, y los prolongados cortes de electricidad afectan el acceso a alimentos, medicamentos y agua potable. La Oficina del Alto Comisionado de las Naciones Unidas para los Derechos Humanos ha advertido que estas condiciones impactan gravemente el disfrute de derechos fundamentales, incluido el derecho a la vida y el acceso a servicios esenciales. En paralelo, Amnistía Internacional ha documentado que miles de personas salieron a las calles en las mayores protestas antigubernamentales registradas en décadas. Desde las manifestaciones nacionales de julio de 2021, miles de ciudadanos protestaron contra el autoritarismo gubernamental, las restricciones a las libertades civiles, las estrictas medidas adoptadas durante la pandemia y la falta de reformas económicas y políticas prometidas. Las autoridades cubanas respondieron con detenciones masivas y procesos penales contra manifestantes, artistas y voces críticas, utilizando figuras amplias como sedición y desorden público. Muchos han recibido condenas desproporcionadas en procedimientos que generan serias dudas sobre el respeto a las garantías del debido proceso. Según el Observatorio Cubano de Derechos Culturales, al cierre de 2025 al menos 17 artistas seguían privados de libertad como consecuencia de su práctica artística o de su participación en la vida cívica Maykel Castillo Pérez, rapero conocido como Maykel Osorbo, fue detenido en mayo de 2021 y condenado el 24 de junio de 2022 a nueve años de prisión por el Tribunal Municipal de Centro Habana. Fue declarado culpable de desacato, difamación de instituciones y organizaciones, de “héroes” y “mártires”, atentado y desorden público. Su proceso judicial se produjo en el contexto de su actividad artística y su posicionamiento público, incluida su participación en la canción Patria y Vida, que se volvió viral y se asoció con las protestas de julio de 2021. El 3 de diciembre de 2025, la Comisión Interamericana de Derechos Humanos emitió el Informe No. 251/25 (Caso 14.264), en el que concluyó que el Estado cubano recurrió al derecho penal para sancionar su expresión artística y su participación en protestas. La Comisión determinó violaciones a la libertad de expresión, la libertad personal y las garantías judiciales, y llamó a cesar el hostigamiento en su contra. Castillo Pérez permanece en prisión. Fernando Almenares Rivera, rapero y artista visual conocido como Nando OBDC, fue detenido el 31 de diciembre de 2024 en La Habana tras un allanamiento policial en su vivienda. Durante el registro, los agentes fotografiaron sus obras y confiscaron objetos personales. Inicialmente se informó a su familia que estaba siendo investigado por presuntos vínculos con actividades terroristas, aludiendo a supuestos contactos con personas en el extranjero. En Cuba, con frecuencia se señala a la diáspora, a organizaciones de derechos humanos y a medios internacionales como promotores de “terrorismo”. Semanas después, la acusación fue reformulada como “propaganda contra el orden constitucional”, por acciones que incluían colocar pancartas en espacios públicos exigiendo respeto a los derechos humanos y difundir mensajes críticos de políticas gubernamentale. Durante los primeros días de detención habría permanecido incomunicado y sin acceso a su familia. En enero de 2026, las autoridades confirmaron que fue condenado a cinco años de prisión por propaganda contra el orden constitucional relacionada con la difusión de mensajes en defensa de los derechos humanos. Como coordinador del proyecto independiente Arte Prohibido, había impulsado iniciativas en favor de la libertad artística. Su condena evidencia cómo la protesta simbólica y el activismo cultural pueden terminar siendo objeto de persecución penal. Wilmer Moreno Suárez, cantante y compositor conocido como Mister Will D’Cuba, fue detenido en julio de 2021 tras las protestas en La Güinera, La Habana. Posteriormente fue condenado a 18 años de prisión por “sedición”, una de las penas más severas impuestas a manifestantes vinculados a las protestas del 11 de julio. Su perfil artístico y presuntos contactos en el exterior habrían sido utilizados como elementos incriminatorios en su contra. Moreno ha impugnado su condena y ha denunciado condiciones especialmente duras de detención en la prisión Combinado del Este. A pesar de ello, continúa componiendo música. Muchos de los artistas procesados en casos relacionados con las protestas provienen de barrios populares y comunidades afrodescendientes. Su música recoge experiencias vividas desde los márgenes sociales de Cuba. El perfil social y racial de quienes han sido condenados plantea preocupaciones sobre una aplicación desproporcionada de la ley y sobre la criminalización de voces urbanas críticas. Diversas organizaciones e iniciativas independientes de la sociedad civil continúan documentando estos casos. El Observatorio Cubano de Derechos Culturales registra las vulneraciones en curso, mientras que la Mesa de la Juventud Cubana impulsa la campaña Exprésate, orientada a promover la visibilidad sostenida y la solidaridad. En el Music Freedom Day, el paso del tiempo no puede profundizar el silencio. La visibilidad interrumpe la normalización de la represión y la solidaridad rompe el aislamiento al que suelen ser sometidos quienes crean y disienten. Hoy conviene recordar un hecho simple: hay músicos cubanos en prisión. La urgencia radica en no permitir que esa realidad se vuelva cotidiana. Links de algunos temas de los artistas: *Diana Arévalo es investigadora regional para América Latina de Freemuse e investigadora y productora multimedia de Bulla, el radar de libertad artística de la Fundación Cartel Urbano. https://cartelurbano.com/bulla/musicos-cubanos-en-prision-un-llamado-la-visibilidad-y-la-solidaridad
The Trap Has New Rooms: Art, Freedom and Resistance in Georgia
By Musa Igrek In Tbilisi, exhibitions are closing. The organisations that funded them are shutting down. Artists are leaving. The dismantling of Georgia’s cultural life has come gradually, and it is not finished. Lali Pertenava watches it from the inside. A curator, researcher, founder of the Public Art Platform and board member of the International Association of Art Critics (AICA) Georgia, she spoke to Freemuse about what remains. Her work rests on the idea that art and civic life are inseparable. The word she reaches for, before any other, is “trapped”. She says it the way people say words they have been living with for a long time. The trap, as she describes it, has a specific architecture. Since 2023, Georgian Dream – the ruling party founded by the oligarch Bidzina Ivanishvili, a French citizen who is widely understood to retain control over the Georgian state – has passed a succession of laws that have made independent civic and cultural life functionally impossible. A report submitted to the United Nations in December 2025 by Freemuse and AICA put Georgia’s artistic freedom crisis on the international record. The laws that produced the crisis are worth naming. The “foreign agents law” has become the signature instrument of governments seeking to supress civil society while maintaining the appearance of legality. Georgia’s version, the Law on Transparency of Foreign Influence arrived in 2024 with the same intent. Known locally as the ‘Russian law’, it requires any organisation receiving more than twenty percent of its funding from abroad to register as pursuing the interests of a foreign power. A separate Foreign Agents Registration Act followed in 2025, adding criminal penalties of up to five years. There is also the Grants Law, amended repeatedly, which requires government approval before any foreign donor can issue a grant to a Georgian recipient. Non-compliance carries up to five years in prison. Human Rights Watch has called this a mechanism to curtail peaceful protests, independent media, and free speech. Since we spoke with Pertenava, the trap has acquired new rooms. On 4 March 2026, the Grants Law was extended further – receiving unauthorised funding now carries up to six years in prison. New amendments extended criminal liability to anyone receiving foreign support for broadly defined political purposes. A new article in the criminal code went further still: “extremism against the constitutional order”, carrying up to three years for those who decline to recognise Georgian Dream as a legitimate authority. “As members of Georgia’s civil society”, Pertenava says, “we are punished and criminalised without cause”. “Artists are only permitted to participate in pro-government activities or produce lovely, non-critical works.” The consequences for the arts have been particularly acute, because the arts in Georgia had never been insulated against shock. Contemporary Georgian art developed not through state patronage but through a patchwork of international support: foreign agencies, diplomatic missions, local Civil Society Organisations (CSOs), the occasional residency programme. Artists were not eligible for social protection or professional tax advantages. Most relied on local CSOs or international funding, two streams that the new legislation have been, in Pertenava’s phrase, “eliminated”. The majority of independent organisations have shut down or suspended operations. Georgia’s independent cultural ecosystem, Pertenava says, has been largely extinguished. There is an irony that Pertenava notes. In a country where the independent contemporary art world has been effectively legislated out of existence, the most popular, and state supported museum in the country is dedicated to Stalin, who was born in Georgia. The museum has been drawing visitors since 1957, more reliably, it turns out, than anything built since. But the ironies of the situation are not her primary concern. What weighs on her more are: the people who have left, and the conditions facing those who have stayed. Most LGBTI+ artists, she says, have left the country, driven out by a combination of a new family values law that makes it problematic to publicly acknowledge their existence and a rate of community violence that makes life itself precarious. Actors, poets, and other artists have been prosecuted, or given criminal records, for expressing opinions at protests. The Georgian Orthodox Church, as Pertenava describes, has long been an instrument of cultural pressure – closing exhibitions and its affiliated groups disrupting events. Georgian Dream inherited that hostility and gave it the force of law. Those patterns continue. For artists who remain, the options have been reduced to a stark binary. “In reality”, Pertenava says, “artists are only permitted to participate in pro-government activities or produce lovely, non-critical works”. State-funded theatres require government approval for their productions. Street groups affiliated with Georgian Dream disrupt or destroy individual artistic actions, an informal enforcement mechanism that operates alongside, and reinforces, the formal legal one. The atmosphere, she says, is one of pervasive intimidation. On 29 January, artists and activists in Tbilisi watched Georgia’s Universal Periodic Review before the UN Human Rights Council, witnessing the government’s delegation repeat “obvious lies”. Sketch: Ana Riaboshenko. And yet, what continues, in the middle of all this, is music. Every Saturday, professors from the Tbilisi State Conservatory and professional musicians stage protest marches, playing drums and traditional Georgian instruments as they go. The music, Pertenava says, has become something new in the process. The experimental percussion of protest finding its way into the practice of classically trained musicians, producing what she calls a “potent symbiosis” between performance and the sounds of the street. One of the participating musicians told her that the experience had liberated her from the constraints of academic music, that her sense of what performance could be had expanded. Necessity, as it tends to do, has proven generative. Anonymous acts of defiance appear and then vanish. Enormous banners bearing lines of poetry, “The people’s river will never end, flowing from the heart of homeland”, are hung in public places by cultural workers and artists, then quietly taken down. Civil society workers and artists have drawn together, Pertenava observes, in ways they had not before, speaking what she describes as the same language, finding that their concerns and their methods have converged.
Lucky Star: When a Uyghur Rapper’s Voice Became a Crime
In Chengdu, in southwest China, in late 2022, people gathered on a street by a river. Most wearing masks and dark clothing. Candles were lit. Blank sheets of A4 paper were out. Held at chest height. Raised overhead… The kind you might tear from a notebook and never expect to use as a sign. But the empty page said everything. The gathering belonged to the wave of White Paper protests that followed a deadly apartment fire in the Xinjiang city of Urumqi. Crowds in Shanghai, Beijing, and elsewhere tested the limits of the stringent Zero-Covid policy by holding up the white paper, a symbol of the silence enforced by the authorities. The paper signified, as one protester explained, “everything we want to say but cannot say”. A young man stepped forward and sang in Uyghur, the Turkic ethnic minority language of China’s Xinjiang region, a lament for the dead. The song didn’t last long before the police stepped in. Yashar Shohret, a Uyghur rapper and songwriter who performs as Uigga (lucky star), was detained for about twenty-one days , on suspicion of “gathering a crowd to disrupt social order”. Shohret is from Bole, in Xinjiang. He went to university in Chengdu. He made music tracks, uploading them online where young musicians share their work, with the ordinary hope of being heard. He rapped in Uyghur. Not as a political act because it was the language he dreamed in. The language he spoke at home. The language that made him. His creative process mirrored that of other rappers: personal experience, poetic narrative, melody. What the State Cannot Silence In 2017, sharing Uyghur songs online in China required Yashar to translate lyrics into Mandarin to prove they were “harmless”. When he posted an early song, he attached a note to the translation and appealed to the reviewers for understanding of his motives. He listed what the song was not. No pornography. No violence. No political subversion. Then what it was. A genuine reflection of his inner thoughts. He signed off with “Peace & Love”. In his home in Xinjiang, the state’s counter-extremism framework has been used to police ordinary cultural life. Amnesty International describes widespread abuses since 2017 and notes that vague official definitions of “extremism” enable the targeting of Uyghurs for peaceful expressions of identity. Authorities have banned numerous Uyghur songs, including traditional folk ballads and newer tunes, deeming them problematic for promoting religious extremism. Yashar’s story then moves the way these stories move, by gaps. He was released, to return to ordinary life that is not quite ordinary anymore. Attention that lingers under surveillance. A sense of being watched not just for what you do but for what you are. In August 2023, he was again arrested in Chengdu, and then, according to later reporting, disappeared into a process that became accessible only] from the outside, via activists, lawyers, fragments of paperwork. The Crime of Creating On 20 June 2024 the state eventually supplied its reasons for his arrest. Shohret was convicted and sentenced to three years, for “promoting extremism” and “illegally possessing extremist materials”, charges that Amnesty International links to his creative work in Uyghur and to his possession of Uyghur-language books. Shohret reportedly suffers from bronchitis and needs regular medication. Prison is already punishment. Bronchitis in prison is a different kind of sentence. A verdict obtained by WOMEN我们 magazine, reports that prosecutors treated Shohret’s creative output as evidence: 51 songs on NetEase Cloud Music, 42 flagged as “problematic” and eight e-books purchased via VPN that were deemed extremist. Even after he was detained, the songs he had posted online remained accessible. The state didn’t bother to erase the music. Only the man. In October 2025, UN experts urged China to end repression of Uyghur and minority cultural expression. And they cited Shohret’s case. They described the pattern: culture treated as a threat, creativity treated as evidence, identity treated as material. Weeks before his arrest, as his birthday on July 25 approached, Shohret did what he often did and released a short track. “How I long for a normal life”, he rapped, “but the script I’ve been handed is a tragedy”. His sentence runs out in the summer of 2026. He will be twenty-eight. Music Freedom Day arrives with its familiar language. The right to sound like yourself. The right to sing in the language that made you. Shohret’s story turns that language literal. The one he wrote as Uigga, lucky star. Listen to the artist’s music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0MBS3vpvuU&t=65s By Musa Igrek, Researcher at Freemuse.
Mehdi Yarrahi: Music, Protest, and the Cost of Artistic Expression in Iran
As the Middle East escalates into wider conflict following U.S. and Israeli attacks on Iran and Iran’s retaliation, we are deeply concerned for civilians caught in the crossfire, especially those in Iran.In times of crisis, freedom of expression matters more than ever. On Music Freedom Day, we celebrate the courage of Iranian musicians, people like Mehdi Yarrahi, whose case reflects both the intense pressure artists face and the resilience they show in the face of censorship and punishment. Mehdi Yarrahi, born in November 1981 in Ahvaz, Khuzestan province, is an Iranian pop singer and songwriter who performs in both Persian and Arabic. His albums Mano Raha Kon (2011), Emperor (2013), Mesle Mojassameh (2015), and Ayeneh Ghadi (2016), along with numerous singles and television theme songs, established his professional standing and brought him widespread success. Yarrahi began openly criticising government policies through political messages and symbolic content. As issues such as environmental degradation, economic injustice, war, and civil rights became more prominent in his lyrics, his artistic activity came under growing scrutiny and surveillance by the authorities. In 2018, during protests by workers of the Ahvaz National Steel Company, Yarrahi appeared on stage wearing the workers’ uniform in a symbolic gesture of solidarity. Shortly afterward, he released the song and music video Pareh Sang (Stone Fragment), an anti‑war piece that draws attention to hardship and damage in Khuzestan province as a result of the conflict in the region. The act, together with the song, drew criticism from conservative media and reportedly led to temporary restrictions and performance bans. In August 2023, after releasing the song Roosarito (Your Headscarf) honouring the Woman, Life, Freedom movement that followed the killing of Jina (Mahsa) Amini, judicial actions against him intensified. Yarrahi was arrested by order of the Tehran Prosecutor’s Office, and he was sentenced to two years and eight months in prison, and 74 lashes. Part of his prison sentence was later converted to one year’s electronic monitoring with an ankle tag. In March 2025 it was announced that his flogging sentence, had been carried out. Yarrahi’s latest work, Auschwitz, released after the government crackdown in January 2026, demonstrates his continued commitment to making music as a platform for social responsibility despite the danger. The song evokes the historical memory of systematic human extermination and challenges the normalisation of violence and mass killings In Iran. He describes how spaces meant to be safe, such as homes and everyday life, can be turned into instruments of surveillance, oppression, and fear. The lyrics were written by Hossein Shanbehzadeh, an editor and translator known as the Dot Prisoner after he placed a single dot under a tweet by Ayatollah Khamenei on X (formerly Twitter), an act that drew widespread attention from hardliners and ultimately resulted in a harsh prison sentence. The collaboration between Yarrahi and Shanbehzadeh amplifies the power of music and words as tools for social critique. By combining evocative lyrics with rich musical textures, Auschwitz turns historical reflection into a contemporary call for social awareness and accountability, challenging official narratives while honouring lived experiences. Yarrahi’s case reflects both the intense pressure faced by artists and the resilience many show in the face of censorship and punishment. Because of this reach and influence, music is often perceived by authorities as especially sensitive and therefore threatening. On Music Freedom Day, cases like Mehdi Yarrahi’s remind us that music is not merely entertainment; it is a form of collective action and a manifestation of an artist’s social responsibility, and musicians are frequently among those who pay the highest price for exercising their right to artistic expression. Listen to the artist’s music: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCb28I3daH17j4fV8EiYFyqA https://www.instagram.com/mehdiyarrahi By Parvin Ardalan, Freemuse’s researcher on Iran.
Kenya’s Sounds of Resistance
Kenya’s 2024 and 2025 Gen-Z protests were more than episodic moments. As police teargas saturated the air and the screams of protesters echoed through the smoke, there was a “raw, loud and tense” rhythm that had long embodied that resistance, with every music beat headlining itself as a “banner of everyday protest,” explains Javan the Poet. Javan is an established Kenyan performer from Nairobi’s high-density neighbourhood of Dandora, a musician and poet whose experience with police brutality, socio-economic struggles and police profiling has fuelled his relentless passion for reform. In an interview with Freemuse, he expressed how having grown up alongside the influential hip-hop group Ukoo Flani Mau Mau has shaped his own sound. This sound, he says, has given him a home for free expression, allowing him to “capture lived realities in their rawest form, call out violators as they are and humanise victims, especially of police brutality.” Every vivid recollection of his earlier experiences with police brutality is an anthem of resistance. With memory of how his heart pounded as he and fellow musicians were cornered in an alley and slammed against iron sheet walls by police, when he was still an emerging musician, he penned lyrics that personified his pain, vowing to use them as a protest chant. Armed with an acute understanding that his profiling in the informal settlements had been rooted in the authorities’ belief that these spaces are a hotbed of criminality in the context of one in five young Kenyans being unemployed, Javan knew there was urgency for his music to revolt against proposed tax hikes. Increased taxes, according to his understanding, would have further plunged young people into not only a situation of increased socio-economic precarity but legitimised their continued profiling. “During the tax protests, my music became a rallying point for my fans and listeners, giving them both the space and power to speak out boldly. I banked it all on my master poetic piece, Killer Breed, which for the longest time has spoken about police killings that stem from police profiling of young people in informal settlements, youth who are often pushed into crime by lack of livelihood opportunities, a situation only made worse by rising taxes and government neglect.” New waves of resistance The suffering emanating from these harsh socio-economic realities, while morphing itself into a new and unique sound of Arbantone and Gengetone, has carried on its shoulders the spirit of resistance pioneered by prominent musicians such as Juliani, the GidiGidi MajiMaji duo and Eric Wainana, Javan further explains. “Arbantone, derived from the word urban, is an attempt to represent the realities and aspirations of the country’s youth. It is often described as a more polished evolution of Gengetone, with greater emphasis on branding and public image. Rather than focusing heavily on themes such as sex and drugs, Arbantone artists tend to highlight youth lifestyles, social experiences, and urban culture. Musically, this genre combines elements of classic Kenyan genge sounds with Jamaican riddims, creating a distinctly contemporary Kenyan urban sound.” While these urban beats reverberate, activating the hopes and aspirations of Gen-Z movements, Javan and his fellow musicians grapple with constant surveillance, fearing that they would be the next targets of abductions, intimidation and charges of terrorism, as experienced by other artists, for daring to speak creatively. Their resolve remains clear and sacrificial. Their “struggle is not just personal but a part of a wider fight for artistic freedom and basic human dignity.” Listen to the artist’s music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Hff78Pd7XQ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uBgbg5EIHc https://www.instagram.com/javan_thepoet https://www.linkedin.com/in/javan-the-poet-8a91071ab By Lisa Sidambe, Freemuse’s Sub-Saharan Africa researcher.