Creativity Under Rubble: Art, Culture, and Rights on the International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People
Freemuse joins people around the world in marking the United Nations’ (UN) International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People on 29 November and reaffirming their UN-recognised rights, including self-determination, the right of return, and an independent state free from occupation. After generations of dispossession beginning with the 1948 Nakba and decades of occupation and blockade, the past two years have brought devastating genocide in Gaza and escalating violence and repression across the occupied Palestinian territory. Tens of thousands of lives have been lost many of them children. Entire communities have faced displacement, hunger and deep trauma. The October 2025 ceasefire agreement offers small but important signs of hope. As UN Secretary-General António Guterres said, ‘The Palestinian people have a right to dignity, to justice, and to self-determination. Yet over the last two years, these rights have been violated beyond comprehension’. We recognise that the International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People must extend to protecting artistic freedom. While reporting has centred on humanitarian, health, and education crises, the impact on artistic and cultural life has received far less attention. Among the approximately 67,000 Palestinians killed, dozens were artists, writers, and cultural operators. It is estimated that 80% of all structures in Gaza were damaged, this includes archaeological sites, libraries, galleries, art centres, and cultural institutions. ‘The Palestinian people do not need a peace plan; what we need is a justice plan’ As Freemuse’s State of Artistic Freedom 2025 report, Censorship of Commentary on Palestine in Germany – Art in the Crossfire: Navigating Censorship in Turbulent Times, highlights artistic freedom around the world has come under intense pressure since the 7 October 2023 attacks in Israel and the subsequent bombardment of Gaza. Exhibitions, performances and installations related to the war have been censored or cancelled in many countries. Political expression has been closely policed, and artists have faced attacks for opinions shared recently or even many years before a work was presented. This climate has created a global chilling effect on cultural expression. Freemuse’s data shows a wide impact, especially in Germany, as well as in the United States and the United Kingdom. Since the report was written the situation has not improved in any meaningful way. At a UN meeting on 25 November for the International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People, poet and Pulitzer Prize winner Mosab Abu Toha said Palestinians ‘do not need a peace plan; what we need is a justice plan’. Born in a refugee camp, he spoke of surviving the genocide and read from Forest of Noise (2024), including “Under the Rubble”: ‘He left the house to buy some bread for his kids. / News of his death / made it home, / but not the bread. / No bread. / Death sits to eat whoever remains of the kids. / No need for a table, no need for bread.’ On this International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People, Freemuse commemorates the lives Palestinian artists who have been killed in the last 12 months and whose stories reveal what it means to create under siege, during war and genocide. Their lives ended too soon, but their work shows how creativity finds a way to survive even in the darkest moments. Walaa Jumaa al-Afranj’s detailed calligraphy, Dina Zaurub’s portraits and Durgham Qreiqeh’s neighbourhood workshops all sought to preserve memory at a time when those keeping the record were themselves under threat. Amna al-Salmi and Ismail Abu Hatab, who were killed together in an airstrike, used their craft to express resilience and humanity. As Mosab Abu Toha reminds us, when souls remain under the rubble, the world must act so that no child, no story, and no future stays buried.
Maja Smrekar: When politics and religion control women’s bodies, they control art
Slovenian artist Maja Smrekar is suing the right-wing Slovenian Democratic Party (SDS), for misusing her work – a performance in which she breastfed her puppy – during a referendum campaign on pension reforms. In a video interview from her studio in Ljubljana, she speaks with Musa Igrek of Freemuse about how her performance on kinship and care, K-9_topology: Hybrid Family, was turned into propaganda when an image from the exhibition was appropriated by the party. Smrekar explains why she is suing to defend artistic freedom for herself and the wider artistic community, and she reflects on how artists are increasingly pressured to self-censor while institutions hesitate to defend them. I want to hear about the nature of your artistic practice. How do you describe your works to your family and friends? And what can you tell us about K-9_topology: Hybrid Family, especially for readers who only saw the SDS billboard or just the photo? My artistic practice is an exploration of the kinship between humans and non-humans, including nature and technology. Through my art, I want to research and expose the dynamics of power between social order and politics, using the lens of ecological statements. Hybrid Family is a project that is part of my broader series of works under the umbrella title K-9_topology. These works, created between 2014 and 2017, a cycle of four works in which I examined the relationship between humans and dogs—beginning with research into our parallel evolution with wolves, and moving through scenarios that imagine dogs as family and reframe our relationship to wilderness in contemporary times. Formally, Hybrid Family involved a four-month process that began in autumn 2015 and ended in winter 2016. During this time, I followed a strict diet and specific physical training in order to induce lactation in my body, without pregnancy. I carried out this process in seclusion, but it culminated in a public performance where I breastfed my puppy. What message were you hoping to put forward with this act? There are a few levels to the statement in this project. On a universal level, especially connected to Europe, the work reimagines the Roman founding myth, where the she-wolf breastfeeds Romulus and Remus, the twins who then survived thanks to her and were able to build the civilisation on which much of humanism is still based. Through my work, I wanted to reverse that myth: a human nourishing a self-domesticated wolf that through evolution evolved into a dog. In the ancient myth, humans depended on nature to survive. I wanted to suggest that now nature depends on us to care for it, for its survival, and consequently, for ours as well. I staged an act of kinship that moved beyond the human order: nourishing not for the continuation of the nation, family, or species, but as a gesture of solidarity across boundaries. This is where the resistance to the cynicism of our times lies. Hybrid Family insists that the maternal body cannot be captured or reduced to reproduction alone. It proposes a form of abundant motherhood that can extend into wider forms of care, solidarity, and co-creation among humans and non-humans alike. I wanted to expand the notion of kinship beyond my own experience, beyond the nuclear family. Not as an opposition to the nuclear family, but as an extension of its possibilities. This expansion doesn’t only apply to animals, of course, but to everyone we consider as “the other”: migrants, for example, and people who are different from us in terms of class, gender, nationality, religion, and so on. On another level, the work was also deeply personal. I grew up in a family that didn’t have much time together, to share conversations or emotions. But I always connected strongly with dogs. My parents bred them, so I grew up surrounded by dogs, and they became family to me. They were the ones who helped me survive emotionally, because they were always present, and so caring. Your K-9_Topology: Hybrid Family won the Golden Nica in 2017 and Slovenia’s Prešeren Foundation Award in 2018. When did you first discover your Hybrid Family image on referendum posters, and what immediate impacts did you experience? In both cases, celebration was very much intertwined with anxiety. Whenever a major award is given in the field, institutions generate a lot of PR, which usually reaches audiences beyond the usual “tribe” of artistic institutions, artists, and curators. So, in both cases, my work found itself in the wrong place at the wrong time. The first was in 2017 in Austria, just a few months before the elections. Right-wing populists, the so-called Freedom Party of Austria (FPÖ), picked up on my work because they found the topic useful for their agenda. They even submitted parliamentary questions to the Minister of Culture at the time, Thomas Drozda, directly targeting my K-9_topology series. In their nine-point document, FPÖ deputies Werner Neubauer and Walter Rosenkranz asked in Parliament whether my projects had been funded with Austrian public money. They had not. The prize I received (€10,000) did include Austrian money, and this deeply troubled them. Their narrative became: taxpayer money is going to a Slovenian artist who is breastfeeding dogs. What mattered was evoking disgust and very primal feelings in their target audience. Instead of engaging with all the exhibitions, lectures, publications, even documentaries around the work, they chose, in Austria and also later in Slovenia, to strip it completely of context and focus on a single photo, taken from a much larger body of work. They weaponized it as propaganda. So when the controversy reached Slovenia, how did it unfold? In Slovenia, the first wave of attacks began with Janez Janša, the leader of the far-right, the Slovenian Democratic Party (SDS) for 35 years, in 2018, after I received the Prešeren Foundation Award, the highest national award for arts. The campaign also extended to my colleague, Simona Semenič, a performer and playwright. The attacks were amplified across social media and far-right newspapers. At the time, I naively believed it was just a one-time event that
Freemuse’s 2025 Report: Latin America section and overview now in Spanish
Freemuse’s partner, Cartel Urbano, has published a Spanish translation of our annual State of Artistic Freedom 2025 overview, along with the Latin American section titled Creating and Resisting Under Multiple Threats in a Turbulent Latin America. Written by Diana Arévalo, the section highlights how, in 2024, Cuba and Venezuela intensified crackdowns on artists and dissenters, while Nicaragua used forced exile and the revocation of citizenship to silence critics. In Mexico, Peru, Haiti, and Colombia, systemic violence and organised crime claimed the lives of at least 10 artists and cultural leaders. Read the Spanish translation of the overview and the Latin American section here Agradecemos a nuestros colegas de Cartel Urbano por la traducción al español del Resumen Ejecutivo y del capítulo sobre América Latina del informe sobre el Estado de la Libertad Artística en el Mundo (SAF 2025). Léelo aquí
Cartoonist Zehra Ömeroğlu: “We were left with dry, empty pages”
After Zehra Ömeroğlu was acquitted in the obscenity case, LeMan magazine, where she illustrates, faced new censorship issues that resulted in the arrest of four of its employees in Istanbul. Ömeroğlu discusses with Freemuse the exploitation of caricature as a political instrument, the intolerance towards humour, and the pressures faced by women in Türkiye. On June 26, Zehra Ömeroğlu, a cartoonist for LeMan magazine, was acquitted of obscenity charges related to her cartoon “Sex in the Pandemic.” She had been on trial for nearly five years. That same day, LeMan magazine faced a new censorship controversy over a cartoon by Doğan Pehlevan. After the cartoon circulated on social media on June 30, religious extremists attacked the magazine’s office. They claimed that the cartoon depicted the Prophet Mohammed. LeMan magazine stated that the cartoon illustrates the futility of war through the figures of Mohammed and Moses ascending to the sky, names that are often used in both Palestine and Israel. Despite this the cartoonist and three magazine employees were arrested on charges of “insulting religious values” and “inciting hatred and hostility.” Recent developments have undeniably impacted Türkiye’s long-standing tradition of humour, leading to more significant setbacks. Deniz Özen, one of Ömeroğlu’s lawyers, shared his thoughts after the news of her acquittal. He noted that the trial lasted 4.5 years, which highlights the slow nature of the judicial process in Türkiye, even for relatively straightforward cases. “Ultimately, the expected outcome was achieved, and Zehra Ömeroğlu was acquitted. The prosecution had argued for a different outcome, suggesting she should be sentenced. We will see in the coming days whether she decides to appeal this judgment. However, it is important that this verdict is upheld and finalized,” Özen added. In an interview for Freemuse following the acquittal, Zehra Ömeroğlu expresses her belief that increasing polarisation lies behind the growing intolerance towards humour: “Caricature is a powerful art form; it is easy to understand and spreads quickly through social media. Unfortunately, these traits can also make it a target for criticism. In the past, society had a culture of tolerance towards caricatures, particularly in the 1990s; however, we have lost much of that tolerance. Today, there is a significant polarisation regarding various issues, alongside fuelled by rhetoric that exacerbates it.” Self-censorship has permeated so deeply that artists barely notice Ömeroğlu emphasizes that a similar underlying reason contributed to the prosecution of her cartoon titled “Sex in the Pandemic,” which was deemed “contrary to public morality.” She faced a potential three-year prison sentence, and her case lasted for nearly five years. She notes, “‘Sex in the Pandemic’ was created to lighten the mood during the difficult times of the pandemic, depicting a simple moment; however, it was prosecuted for obscenity. Those who are deeply entrenched in the polarisation I mentioned often categorize you based on your work because you represent something in their eyes. As a result, the content of your expression becomes irrelevant.” As a female cartoonist, she believes that the charges of obscenity against her were intentional and gender-based. “My male colleagues did not face such treatment for creating similar content. While some have been prosecuted for defamation or political cartoons, I, too, have produced harsh political commentary. However, I was judged not for this but for obscenity. I suppose they believe my morality is below their standards for women!” she states. The baggage of being censored is quite heavy. Being targeted, facing trials, the threat of punishment, the lengthy legal process, economic censorship, and isolation are all significant challenges. What upsets her the most is hearing statements like, “But this cartoon is a bit too much,” even from those who claim to defend freedom of expression. “We already know the government and its general approach, but the attitudes of people who profess to be open-minded and flexible are what make me despair,” she says. Although she emphasizes that she has entered a more productive phase over the past five years, she notes that self-censorship has insidiously taken over the art scene: “Don’t touch this, don’t touch that; we were left with dry, empty pages. Self-censorship has permeated so deeply that I don’t think most artists are even aware of it. It’s essential to recognise this and strive for balance; otherwise, one may become unable to express anything at all.” By Özlem Altunok, Freemuse Researcher, Türkiye
Iran’s repression of artists in ongoing assault on freedom of expression
At the United Nations Palais des Nations in Geneva on 1 July, the Islamic Republic of Iran came before members of the Human Rights Council to defend its human rights record under the Universal Periodic Review (UPR), the Council’s mechanism that requires each member state to undergo a peer review of its human rights every 4.5 years.[1] The review had been carried out in January 2025, and the report on the UPR outcome was presented for approval of the Council. In its oral statement, the Islamic Republic of Iran gave an orchestrated display of defiance towards human rights, as it refused to support over half of the 346 recommendations for improvements that had been made by over 100 UN states. It’s worth noting that only 16 recommendations related to freedom of expression and freedom of assembly, issues of special concern to Freemuse, of these just three were supported.[2] The Israeli military attack on Iran and the 12-day war between Israel and the Islamic Republic of Iran from 13 to 25 June 2025—marked by missile exchanges and intense airstrikes—escalated the longstanding hostility between the two countries from proxy wars to direct war. Iran asserted this aggression threatens its ability to implement human rights obligations under the UPR. This confrontation, which involved large-scale attacks by both sides and resulted in significant casualties and damage, further complicated the situation for freedom of expression and art in Iran. Restricted internet access, bans on citizens taking photos and videos, arrests for these actions, and charges of espionage have narrowed the space for cultural activity. Under the pretext of insecurity and with an emphasis on national security, strict control, a war atmosphere prevailed in the cities, and the judicial system of the Islamic Republic of Iran has intensified the atmosphere of repression in the war atmosphere that has emerged. The law has expanded the definition of espionage and intensified the legal prosecution of individuals, groups, religious and ethnic minorities. 12 Day War escalates attack on freedom of expression and the arts During the same 12-day war, Reza Daryakenari, a designer, graphic artist, and artistic photographer, was arrested on June 22 in a café in Tehran. So far, no information about his condition or whereabouts has been provided to his family. According to security officials, over the 12 days of war, more than 700 people have been arrested in Iran on charges of collaborating with Israel. Among the consequences of war are increased self-censorship and a shrinking space for freedom of art, expression, and activity. The war has not only weakened Iran’s international standing, but has also deepened the suppression of artistic freedom of expression within the country such as seen with the ongoing trial of rapper Toomaj Salehi who has faced renewed prosecution after being released from prison. He appeared before the Revolutionary Court in Isfahan July 1st, charged with “inciting people to war and killing each other with the aim of undermining the country’s security, propaganda against the system, and insulting sanctities.” The reason for these charges is the release of a critical music track called Typhus. During the 12-day war between Israel and Iran, he was also detained for several hours. The cases of Toomaj Salehi, Maryam Moghadam, Behtash Sanaiha, and Zara Esmaili, among others, demonstrate violations of artists’ rights, freedom of expression, and art. Despite international protests against the sentencing of Behtash Sanaeeha and Maryam Moghadam, the directors of the film My Favourite Cake, and Gholamreza Mousavi, the film’s producer, their sentences were upheld unchanged in the appeals court. In the initial trial, they were collectively sentenced to five years and four months in prison, along with fines. The Islamic Republic of Iran continues to intensify its suppression of artistic freedom of expression, targeting musicians, filmmakers, and visual artists who challenge official narratives or address sensitive social and political issues by using a wide array of tactics to silence dissenting artistic voices, including arbitrary arrests, harsh prison sentences, torture, travel bans, asset confiscation, and forced confessions. These measures are often justified with vague charges such as “propaganda against the system,” “spreading lies,” or “insulting Islamic values.” The targeting of artists is part of a broader crackdown on civil society that intensified after the 2022 “Woman, Life, Freedom” protests. These protests, sparked by the killing of Jina Mahsa Amini by the morality police, gave rise to an unprecedented uprising against compulsory hijab and state control over women’s bodies, as well as other restrictive laws, with many artists joining and emerging from within this movement. Besides participating in the debate of July 1, NGOs could submit written statements to the UPR system, which are included in a report published by the UN Human Rights Council. The Islamic Republic´s proxy groups took advantage of this process to flood the review with a wave of false information. Almost half of all the statements submitted came from government-organized NGOs (GONGOs) based in Iran and controlled by the regime, and their misleading claims are now part of the UN’s summary report. The unwillingness of the Islamic Republic of Iran to reflect upon the recommendations at the UPR and its suppression of artistic freedom of expression and nowadays—post 12-day war—arbitrary arrests on charges of collaborating with Israel, is yet another display of their classic “3D’s” of avoiding accountability: to deny, deflect and diffuse from the human rights abuses. By Parvin Ardalan, Researcher on Iran at Freemuse [1] For details of the UN UPR process visit: https://www.ohchr.org/en/hr-bodies/upr/upr-home [2] A state may ‘support’ a recommendation, indicating its agreement to consider the suggested improvements. Otherwise, it will ‘note’ the recommendation—effectively a refusal to consider its content.
Who’s With The Band?: Labour of Care for Musicians
The case of banned Indonesian punk band Sukatani This music censorship case demonstrates censored artwork’s tenacity: banned music always finds its way to reach its listeners. However, while a song might ironically – go viral thanks to the censorship, the musicians — especially women — often suffer severe consequences. This raises the question of what resources are needed to care for the wellbeing of the artists? On 20 February 2025, Indonesian punk band Sukatani posted an apology video addressed to the Indonesian National Police on their Instagram account @sukatani.band, stating that they had removed their song, ‘Bayar Bayar Bayar’ (‘Bribe, Bribe, Bribe’), from all streaming platforms. They also asked their fans to delete videos containing the song on social media saying Sukatani “will not be responsible for any issues arising in the future.” The song criticises police officers who abuse their authority. The lyrics capture a reality experienced by many Indonesians who are forced to bribe corrupt police officers: from obtaining a driving license, securing gig permits, reporting lost belongings, “negotiating” prison terms, to obtaining logging licenses. Sukatani’s fans were shocked by the apology video because in it the previously anonymous duo — known only by their stage names Alectroguy and Twister Angel — appeared without masks for the first time. People blamed the police for forcing them to make the video and for exposing the duo’s real identities. Predictably, both the National Police and the Central Java Regional Police at first denied the accusations. The National Police said it is a modern institution that welcomes public criticism and that no orders were issued to Sukatani to remove their songs from streaming platforms. However, the National Police subsequently apologized offering the honorary title of “Police Ambassador” to the Sukatani duo and giving them permission to reupload their song. The Regional Police followed suit, issuing a statement that everyone was free to express their opinion. The ban, to the police’s chagrin, had only served to make the song go viral. ‘Bayar Bayar Bayar’ had gained 200K streams before the ban, but now it was everywhere, online and offline. The video also went viral alongside various reinterpretations in memes and videos mocking the police. Many musicians made cover versions of the song. Other bands performed the song and offered public support to Sukatani at their own concerts. During the Iklim Fest music and arts festival in Jakarta, Balinese eco-punk band Navicula featured images of Sukatani on their stage backdrop, reminding the audience that “in this dark era we are entering, we should not be afraid to scream louder.” The hashtag #kamibersamasukatani (We are with Sukatani) also went viral. One of the most popular video memes was posted on X by Kementerian Kegelapan (The Ministry of Darkness) portraying police officers doing their exercises with the song playing in the background. It has so far gained 2.7 million views. Human rights organisations, led by the Indonesian Legal Aid Foundation, offered their support by providing legal consultation. Other organisations and individual activists initiated campaigns to support Sukatani on social media. On 24 February 2025, the Detik.com news portal reported that Sukatani’s vocalist, Twister Angel, had been fired from her job as a public-school teacher apparently for violating the school’s Code of Ethics. Teaching was Twister Angel’s main source of income, and she had intended to build a career as a teacher. The Sukatani case went viral at a moment when the Indonesian civil movement needed a figure to strengthen their resistance. Students and activists rallied on the streets of many cities in a series of protests dubbed ‘Dark Indonesia.’ Their main targets of criticism were the government’s recent “budget efficiency” drive that has impacted state education funds, healthcare and various ministerial programs. They also resisted the government’s attempt to reinstate the military and police’s “dual function,” that would allow active military and police officers to take up civilian positions in the government, by revising the Indonesian National Military and Police Law. During the street rallies, protesters performed ‘Bayar Bayar Bayar’ in front of police and military officers. Sukatani became a symbol of hope that ordinary Indonesians longed for. On 1 March 2025, Sukatani issued a public statement that they had indeed faced intimidation by the police. They uploaded a post on their Instagram account detailing the incident that happened in July 2024. According to the statement, the duo said they had suffered from both financial and psychological damages from which they were still recovering. They said Twister Angel’s termination of employment was an example of unfair workplace treatment, with the reason given for the termination was her being a member of a punk band. The school did not explain why that was considered as a “severe violation of the code of ethics.” The Sukatani case illustrates how artists can be intimidated and pressured into apologizing for their creative expressions by a police force unwilling to tolerate criticism. However, it also demonstrates how censorship efforts can backfire, igniting public outrage and drawing even more attention to the very works authorities seek to suppress—elevating their creators to cause célèbre status. Yet for the artists, the consequences of censorship often extend far beyond the initial controversy. They risk being blacklisted and, as in the case of Twister Angel, losing their livelihoods. At the same time, the case prompts reflection on the unintended consequences of turning artists into symbols of resistance, raising questions about the risk of glorifying them as “martyrs” for a larger cause. As cultural rights defenders we are aware that we have very limited resources to provide care for artists at risk. This area needs more support urgently. Labour of care exists side by side with labour of love (for culture, music, and the arts). To sing louder, we need deeper investment in long-ignored care work. Ratri Ninditya Coordinator for Research at Koalisi Seni, a partner organization of Freemuse.