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50 years of impunity

What has changed since the death of Spanish dictator Francisco Franco?


26/11/2025

This article is followed by an interview with Emilio Silva, president of the Association for the Recovery of Spanish Historical, which locates and identifies the victims of Francoism in mass graves. The Association’s work seeks truth, justice and reparation for the families of the disappeared.

Anti-fascist activist Nicolás Sartorius said: “Franco died in his bed, but the dictatorship died in the streets.”. Months before and after the death of dictator Franco on 20 November 1975, following 36 years of fascist military dictatorship, the people of Spain took to the streets to demand their rights. There they encountered the unpunished use of state violence typical of a fascist regime in its final throes.

The social, neighbourhood, workers’, nationalist and student movements that had been fighting for their rights and freedoms for decades during the dictatorship took to the streets during the years of the ‘transition’ after the dictator’s death. They faced the brutality of police violence and armed right-wing gangs fighting for a return to the previous regime.

In Spain, the mainstream discourse of the forces of the old Franco regime has attempted to idealise and whitewash this phase as a largely calm and peaceful period, albeit ‘tainted’ only by terrorism (particularly attributed to ETA). In this, they have been joined by  part of the democratic and left-wing forces which negotiated the conditions for the transition from dictatorship to a regime with political freedoms. But the truth is that between 1975 – the year of Franco’s death – and 1982, when the Spanish Socialist Workers’ Party (PSOE) won the parliamentary elections, there was a period of intense social struggle, first against the Franco regime and then against its laws, which still remained in force. 

This social struggle was brutally repressed by an “emerging democratic” state that refused to purge either torturing and murdering police officers or fascist judges. During those years, the old repressive apparatus, recycled as something new and democratic, killed hundreds and injured thousands of democrats. The people killed were fighting against the law on Freemasonry and communism and for freedom of thought, organisation, assembly and expression in the press and on the streets.

The workers’ movements in factories and the countryside fought for fair laws that would redistribute the profits of an elite group of Francoist landowners and capitalists who had profited from their collusion with the regime. Workers’ strikes, demonstrations and occupations spread throughout the whole of Spanish territory.

Women fought to win the rights that had been denied them for so many decades. It took women who had been controlled by the patronato de protección a la mujer (women’s protection board) 10 years after the dictator’s death to put an end to this element of repression that persecuted any woman who was somewhat free and not submissive. The continuation of this feminist struggle throughout the country has made the feminist movement in Spain one of the strongest and most socially influential in Europe.

The LGTBIQ+ rights movement fought against the law on social dangerousness, which replaced the law on vagrancy and thuggery, which persecuted and criminalised people for their sexual orientation. This law was finally abolished on 26 December 1978. However, the Spanish LGTBIQ+ movement has continued to slowly win rights by bravely confronting a significant part of society which uses Christianity to justify its backwardness and ignorance.

Students at universities and schools fought for freedom of thought and for public, secular and universal education. Public education, which for decades has allowed for a certain degree of social mobility, is now under attack by both liberal and fascist right-wing parties in Spain that represent those who refuse to accept the loss of their privileges.

The youth movement fought to lower the voting age from 21 to 18, giving the democratic forces 2 million more votes.

Neighbourhood movements fought for the right to fair housing and for the creation of social, recreational and sports centres in their neighbourhoods. These neighbourhood movements are still fully active today, confronting vulture funds and banks that are speculating on housing and evicting tenants and owners from their homes. The evictions are made possible by the help of armed fascist gangs and the police (forgive the redundancy).

National movements fought for the self-determination of their peoples and reclaimed their culture and the use of their languages, which had been banned under the Franco regime. Today, their languages are recognised as co-official languages in the Spanish state, and they continue to demand the exercise of self-determination for their peoples.

All these struggles created the political and social fabric that still endures throughout Spain today and culminated in the 15-M (Spanish Revolution) movement.

In contrast to these hard-won advances, other political reforms and laws were merely cosmetic changes that did not touch the worst aspects of the regime. The Tribunal de Orden Público (TOP), the court responsible for prosecuting political prisoners, simply changed its name to the Audiencia Nacional, and remains a symbol of what has come to be known as the ‘Regime of ’78’.

As Joan Pinyana of Memoria Libertaria – CGT states, the 1977 amnesty law, which was partly sold as something that would release anti-fascist political prisoners from the regime’s prisons and bring peace and justice, did nothing more than cement the impunity of all those who maintained the Franco regime. Judges, prosecutors, police officers, military personnel, prison guards, ministers and the rest of the state administration officials who maintained Franco’s regime of terror were exonerated from all the crimes they had committed with the stroke of a pen, and most of them remained in their jobs.

As a result, and despite the two historical memory laws passed by the Spanish state (in 2007 and 2022), we continue to have Francoist symbols and streets named after coup leaders throughout the country. Meanwhile, notorious torturers have gone unpunished, mass graves are still being opened and the remains of the disappeared exhumed by civil organisations. An unknown number of our dead are still buried in ditches.

“Against Fascism Workers Self-defence ” Liga Comunista Revolucionaria (now Anticapitalistas) Madrid 1. May. 1979. Photo: Txemi Martínez

Interview with Emilio Silva, president of the Association for the Recovery of Spanish Historical Memory

50 years after the death of dictator Francisco Franco, there are still Francoist symbols and streets named after fascist military figures. What are the obstacles to removing these symbols and names?

Regarding the symbols, I would say that there is no obstacle to removing them. What there is, is a great lack of political will. This is represented by the fact that 1,300 metres from the official residence of all the presidents of the Spanish government from 1977 to the present day, there is a large victory arch celebrating the victory of Franco, Hitler and Mussolini – the three armies that paraded through Madrid on 1 May 1939. That arch has been illegal since the Memory Law banned it in December 2007, but all the ministers and presidents of Spain since then have passed through it. No one has wanted to comply with the law. 

However, 17 years ago, in this same city, the Carabanchel prison, which was one of the great centres of repression of the dictatorship, was demolished. Carabanchel was infinitely larger than the arch, so there was no problem in making the arch disappear. It must be that politically the arch is much larger than the cells of that prison.

Your association has participated in multiple exhumations. How many mass graves are estimated to still remain in Spain? And what have the different governments done about it?

Well, it is very difficult to know how many graves remain in Spain because we do not have the data. The government is working with a figure of around 10,000 people still to be exhumed, but we do not know the source and we are not given the technical details of that investigation. Spain is the only country in the world in which people have disappeared due to political violence and the state has to award grants to associations to search for them [interviewer’s note: instead of having a dedicated state-led institute]. 

It is regrettable that the government does not allow the families this right. It does not take care of them. In fact, we have just learned from a video that Pedro Sánchez’s government has exhumed 9,000 people and only 70 of them have been genetically identified. This is part of the lack of attention shown to the families. 

As an association, we began the search for the disappeared because a family asked us to. It should be shameful for the government that an association like ours, which does not receive a penny of public aid, because it does not want it, has identified more disappeared persons in the last six years than the Spanish government.

For decades, Spanish schools have taught that Franco’s dictatorship was not a dictatorship – that word was always avoided. What issues remain unresolved in Spanish education?

In many school books and school programmes, Franco’s dictatorship was aseptically referred to as “the Franco era”. But it is not only a question of language, of not calling it a dictatorship. Until six years ago, textbooks were not required to say that the coup d’état of 1936 had been a coup d’état. There was a political will to generate ignorance among young people, to hide the crimes of the dictatorship, to avoid creating new witnesses and new citizens who knew about that past. 

Fundamentally, this was because the Spanish elites, who have their origins in the political and economic corruption of Franco’s dictatorship, carried out a major whitewashing of their participation in Francoism and wanted to use this whitewashing to achieve democracy. To do this, they needed a lot of help from the media, educational policies and parliamentary silence.

Which are the main Spanish companies that benefited from the dictatorship and are still active today?

There are quite a few Spanish construction companies, such as Fomento de Construcciones y Contratas and Ferrovial, that grew under the protection of Francoism, but for me there is one paradigmatic case, which is Naturgy. Naturgy is one of the largest energy companies in Spain and was born out of the murder of a Galician Republican MP named José Miñones. Miñones was a progressive man and owner of the main electricity company in Galicia. After he was assassinated by the fascists in December 1936, a friend of Franco’s, Barrié de la Maza, took over the company at gunpoint, changed its name to Unión Fenosa. Today it is called Naturgy

In another country, Naturgy might have to pay compensation to the family of the original owner’s descendants and hold some kind of public event to acknowledge that it was born at gunpoint. This is an example of how the Spanish economic structure is linked to the dictatorship. 

About four weeks ago, a report was released stating that only 26% of Spanish millionaires are so because of their own initiative, which means that 74% inherited their wealth. Within that 74% there is a very high percentage of people who have inherited businesses that were created or strengthened by the corruption of the Franco regime.

Nazi concentration camps are well known. Much less well known are the concentration camps of other fascist regimes, such as Franco’s. It is estimated that there were some 300 camps between 1936 and 1947. What was their main function and have there been any reparations for the victims of these camps?

We now know that there were more than 300 concentration camps, mainly thanks to the research of a journalist, Carlos Hernández. Years ago, I visited some of them with prisoners who had been interned there, such as Félix Padín, an anarchist who was in the Miranda concentration camp. 

We can say that they were not biological extermination camps, but rather civil and political extermination camps. The aim was to educate those who had opposed the coup – the people who had taken up arms against fascism before any other people in Europe. The aim was to instill enough fear in them so that they would work to rebuild the country and be the labour force of the victors. 

In some, such as Miranda Castuera or Puerto de Santa María in Cádiz, atrocities and murders were committed. In Castuera in particular, they used the Indian rope, tying two groups of prisoners together with a rope, the larger group in front and the smaller group behind, then throwing the front group down a mine shaft, which ended up dragging those tied behind them. 

The aim was to terrorise that part of the population that had, let’s say, political awareness and political participation in order to design a society where certain behaviours had been exterminated and obedience through fear was the norm throughout society.

Red Flag: Nation states belong to the bourgeoisie

In his weekly column, Nathaniel Flakin looks at a socialist answer to national oppression.

Nation states belong to the bourgeoisie

For the last two years, the global Left has been mobilizing against national oppression. In Gaza, we are witnessing the horrific results when the imperialist powers and their local vassals attempt to deny the right to self-determination. Every people has a basic democratic right to live free of foreign domination.

Yet what is our goal as leftists? The world might seem like it is made up of a certain number of nations, with justice requiring that each nation has its own state. We do indeed fight for independent homelands for the Palestinians, the Kurds, the Sahrawis, etc.

Yet bourgeois society tends to project nations back into the ancient past, as if they were natural phenomena that have always existed and will always exist. The German bourgeoisie will talk about “Hermann the German” fighting against the Romans in AD 9, as if inhabitants of the Roman province of Germania had anything in common with Deutschland

Products of the Capitalist Era

Nations are actually a product of the capitalist era, and their myths—like Hermann—were created in the 19th century. Before that, cultures tended to be local, with no media or schools working to ensure that the population of a given territory spoke the same language as its rulers. Nation states emerged at the end of the feudal era, when the new capitalist system required large markets. In Germany, for example, upwards of 300 principalities—each with their own borders and customs duties—were replaced with a single national market, allowing capitalist firms to expand enormously.

The formation of nation states, far from being natural, entailed extreme violence, wars, and ethnic cleansing. “Germany” might appear like a self-evident category today. But who decided that Bavaria would be a component part and Austria would not? This was a product of intrigues by emperors and diplomats, and not of popular will. A few coincidences could have turned Prussia into a separate nation with a separate culture from Germany, or Denmark into a German province with a strange dialect. 

In 1913, Joseph Stalin attempted a Marxist definition of a nation:

A nation is a historically constituted, stable community of people, formed on the basis of a common language, territory, economic life, and psychological make-up manifested in a common culture.

(It might seem strange for me to quote Stalin. But this pamphlet, ghostwritten by Nikolai Bukharin, is actually quite good.) 

Stalin emphasized the historic character of nations: each “has its history, its beginning and end.”

Lenin and Self-Determination

More than any other socialist, Lenin stood for fusing the working-class struggle for socialism with the struggles of oppressed peoples against imperialism. Yet Lenin made no concessions to nationalist ideology:

Marxism cannot be reconciled with nationalism, be it even of the “most just”, “purest”, most refined and civilised brand. In place of all forms of nationalism Marxism advances internationalism, the amalgamation of all nations in the higher unity, a unity that is growing before our eyes…

Nation states represented progress when they were replacing feudal patchworks with large national communities with some sense of common purpose—yet these were always states led by the bourgeoisie, and thus always marked by some degree of expansionism, colonialism, and genocide. Creating a national community means excluding someone. As we see today, the German Staatsvolk is not simply given, but pruned with racist ideology and brutal deportations.

In any case, nation states have long outlived their usefulness: capitalism has distributed production around the globe, and dividing humanity along fairly arbitrary borders is a hindrance. 1914 represented the turning point, when the destructive side of nation states came to the fore. As Leon Trotsky wrote in 1934: 

The national state with its borders, passports, monetary system, customs and the army for the protection of customs has become a frightful impediment to the economic and cultural development of humanity. The task of the proletariat is not the defence of the national state but its complete and final liquidation.

In place of nation states, socialists advocate a world socialist republic—which would only represent a transition toward a classless society with no need for a state of any kind, not even a democratic one.

More than Self-Determination

While we fight for self-determination of oppressed peoples, without any conditions, we need to embed that in a larger strategy for socialism. Our goal is a free Palestine—but would a Palestinian nation state, after the dismantling of Zionism, actually be free? Most people in the Middle East do not live under direct colonial occupation. But we see how bourgeois forces—the leaders of their respective nations—continue to exploit and oppress the people in the interest of imperialism.

As long as capitalism exists, formally independent nation states will remain under imperialist and neocolonial dominance. No amount of “international law” will overcome this fundamental inequality. So a free, bourgeois Palestine would still be oppressive for most Palestinians.

True freedom, true self-determination, means that workers, peasants, and poor people must be able to determine their own destiny. This requires not only kicking out imperialism and its vassals, but also toppling the “national” bourgeoisie—the rulers of the nation. Once the working class is in power in any country, workers have no interest in sealing off “national” cultures against the workers of other territories.

In place of narrow nationalisms, socialism will see global collaboration of working people, so that culture becomes infinitely more free and varied, and is not tied to any particular border. When we say “Free Palestine,” our goal is this kind of universal human liberation.

Red Flag is a weekly opinion column on Berlin politics that Nathaniel has been writing since 2020. After moving through different homes, it now appears at The Left Berlin.

 “I hope my film is seen by right wing people”

Interview with Walid Abdelnour, director of the film ‘Lebanon by Night’


25/11/2025

Hi, Walid, Thanks for talking to us. Can you first start by introducing yourself?

My name is Walid Abdelnour. I work a bit in videos and films, and I have a part time job to survive. I have just finished making the film Lebanon by Night.

Can you explain quickly what the film is about?

It deals with the curfew that has been imposed on Syrian workers in Lebanon. They put up banners in a lot of villages telling foreign workers that they are not allowed to go out at night. They don’t specifically mention Syrians, but they’re the ones being targeted.

Who are the Syrian workers who are being targeted? Is it because of their political activities?

I think they’re a very diverse group, and they are mostly economic migrants, not political refugees. Some of them could even go back home, if they still had a home. A lot of the ones I’ve met don’t have any strong political opinions. They don’t live in that binary of opposition or pro regime.

If they’re not politically active, why has the Lebanese government imposed a curfew?

It’s not the Lebanese Government. The curfew has been imposed illegally with tacit approval and even encouragement of the Ministry of Interior.

It started happening at a period when there was no Lebanese Government, there was no president, just a caretaker government. Right before, in 2013, there were a lot of explosions in Beirut, especially in the southern suburbs. This was connected to Hezbollah joining the war in Syria.

The state does not actively impose the curfew. There are theories that they would lose funding from the West if they impose it themselves. So they just pretend they don’t know.

They are workers. A lot of them have been working in Lebanon since before the war. We also always had a big portion of Syrian seasonal workers in agriculture.

The curfew is officially against all foreigners, not just Syrians. How does it work in practice?

Signs were put up saying that the curfew was on male workers. Everybody had to register in the municipality that they live in. It was a way to control them.

This became internalised, and slowly they didn’t need the signs anymore. All the workers knew their place in society. They must stay at home and not make any trouble, otherwise they’re kicked out of the village or beaten – it was a way of control and it worked.

People now think it’s not happening anymore, but it’s just that regular, bourgeois, normal people don’t know that this is happening. The people who are concerned know this violence very well.

‘Lebanon by Night’ is not a didactic film: it sits back and shows us what’s happening. What are your intentions here? What do you want people to get out of it?

From a negative sense, it was very important for me that people don’t have strong reactions of: “oh, it’s just racist”. People in the film are of course racist but I also show all the different layers of why and how people deal with these things and that we can all identify with at least some aspects..

A lot of the things they say make a lot of sense; they just come from a wrong premise. But what they feel is legitimate. Maybe my intention would be that I wanted to show all these things and show the logic of things that are so absurd in the end.

People care about security, they care about rights, but then they do these things. And my question is always – which world do I want to live in? This is not a world I would like to live in.

And certainly, at the start of the film, you’re talking to people who are not consciously racist, but they’re maybe xenophobic, maybe nationalist. They’re worried about protecting what they have. Later on, you talk to actual fascists. Firstly, why? And then, how did you get to do this?

The security situation in Lebanon at the time was very sensitive. Let’s say there was a lot of repression. So we were not allowed to film wherever we wanted. And we didn’t have any budget. So we just chose areas around where I grew up. 

I know these kinds of people. I didn’t know any of them personally, but I was interested in the first village, where there’s a party called the Syrian Nationalist Social Party. It’s a party that believes in a Syrian Nation, one where Syria, Lebanon, Palestine and maybe Jordan are one country. It’s an ethno-nationalist party. I found it interesting that this place, which believes that Lebanon and Syria should be one country, is still imposing the curfew. So racism in itself was not the most interesting entry point.

The second village is a summer village – a rich suburb of Beirut. There are a lot of rich Syrians there, so it’s different politics. They’re not clearly political; they’re just normal right wing conservatives. There are a lot of rich Syrians who can do what they want, of course, but they project onto the workers stuff that the Syrian army had done when they invaded this village at the beginning of the nineties.

In the last village there are the fascists who are also working class and defending the same system that is crushing them.It all goes back to the idea that if we accept taking basic rights from some people – like the right to walk – then we accept that anything can happen to them. The people in the first villages are nice, and there’s no real physical violence, but they allow the fascists to do what they want, which we somehow accept.

Do you worry that the film might be misinterpreted, and people might say: “the fascists are saying something interesting here”?

I’m more interested in us saying that they do say something interesting, but look at what they’re doing. That’s horrible. I still didn’t get the chance to show the film to many right wing Lebanese people, so I’m interested in how they would see it. I aimed at avoiding them being too triggered by it.

I grew up in a Christian majority area, and I was in a Christian university, where I made a film about the youth who still justify the massacres that were performed by the Christians against the Palestinians. When I made that film, I got so much aggression against me in the university – like my teacher screaming at me. I thought that if I make another film where I criticize Christians, I should be careful that the audience doesn’t immediately get too angry. I wanted to build up a mirror effect, where they actually see themselves for what they are doing.

You’ve said that the film’s not just about race and nationality – it’s also about class. How are rich and poor Syrians in Lebanon treated differently?

There’s no curfew on rich Syrians. In the film, I talk to a policeman, and ask him: “how do you know which cars to stop?”; to which he replies “I just know. By the face I can know”. I then asked about people with cars, and he said: “No, no. It’s not these people.” Of course, they don’t make their lives very easy, but there’s a huge difference in how they are treated. I’m interested in how capitalism uses race and classism to exploit people among other things. I am interested in how there is no idea of solidarity among working class people. I also find it interesting to look at the different mechanisms of control and exploitation.

Do you think the police are under orders, or are they just prejudiced?

I don’t think it’s very clear. In the end, they’re working class people, but they are not conscious about being fucked by the same system. It’s interesting to see all these people who actually internalize this. I don’t know what it is, but they feel that poor Syrians are their enemies, and they feel superior to them.

Who has seen the film so far, and how have they reacted?

It has only been shown twice so far [this interview was made on 10th November]: once in Lebanon, once at the Unframe festival. I am now going to France to show it, and there will be more Lebanese people coming. When it was shown in Lebanon, I got good reactions. I think some Syrians were watching it and felt very angry. But this anger probably comes from having to accept and identify as well as their own experiences.

Most of the audience were more like me. They found some parts funny, some quite sad, and some people who are a bit more conservative were there. I think they just were in denial. They thought “this doesn’t happen anymore”, which is not true.

Who did you make the film for? Is it for people like you, who agree with you? Or are you trying to reach an audience which disagrees with what the film is saying?

Ideally, it’s made for both. I had in mind all the time that the easiest part would be to do something for me and people like me, to focus more on the cinematic language, or the filmmaking. But I also wanted the people in the film to be able to watch it and follow it and relate to it. I wanted to make them think. So somehow, without also giving up on my political thoughts and reasoning, I’m very much hoping that it will be seen by the biggest possible audience, especially more working class people. I also hope that it’s seen by right wing people and that it creates some sort of debate.

If someone in Germany sees it, how would you like them to react?

My hope is that they also know that this is happening in Germany, where there’s no curfew, but the conversations are the same. I showed the first scene at a festival, and there was an Austrian guy who said: “if I go to my village, you listen to people talking about refugees, this is the exact conversations they will have.”

In Germany, there’s a lot of migrant people who live in smaller towns. They tell me how people bump into them and are aggressive with them – even around Berlin, which is also part of a system of control. I know refugees to whom it has happened too. There are people on the border between Poland and Germany, waiting to catch the refugees or to kick them out.

That’s an interesting point. It’s not just a film about Lebanon, it’s a film about refugees and where the world is going at the moment. Are there any other parallels you could draw with developments in Lebanon, and those in Germany and the USA?

I said earlier that if we don’t respect the rights that people fought and died for, if we accept losing them, it will lead to us losing much, much more.

I was having this conversation with a friend the other day, about how Islamists in Germany had their media closed and none of the left cared, not even the Arab left. They said: it’s the Islamists, and they’re not secular like us.

Then it starts happening with the Palestine movement, and the Antideutsche and the white German leftists don’t care. And then it starts happening to them. You can’t pick and choose what is good and pretend that some things don’t affect you.

And then there was the Beirut port explosion. The Army made a curfew on everybody in Beirut. With Covid, there was another curfew. It’s not like these things will not reach Lebanese people.

Something you said reminded me that one of the more conservative people being interviewed said: “we need these curfews to protect our women”. Now I saw the film the same week that Friedrich Merz made a very similar statement, saying that there are areas where migrants live that are not safe to live: “Just ask your daughters”. How much is the curfew used to similarly enforce divisions in society in the name of protecting women’s rights?

It’s a big part. It’s patriarchal – not asking women what they need and portraying them as people who need this kind of protection from men. They’re pretending that they are protecting women in the same way that they say the curfews are there to protect workers.

And who can we count on to protect women and workers?

Depends on what is the real risk we are facing? What does security do or mean? Are we really supposed to be 100% safe all the time? Do we project unsafety sometimes, because what we are told is a threat or not? And what about the security of the Syrian workers who were not allowed to work? They didn’t have anybody to protect them. The Syrian Embassy didn’t care about them. And UNHCR only deals with refugees. Because they are mostly not refugees.

What’s next for you? Have you got more, more films planned?

Not really, at the moment. This film didn’t get any funding. Each time I got a refusal I thought this is not meant to be, or this is not good enough. There were whole years where I didn’t work, and producers told me to talk more about myself while I was talking about other people. All of this was very discouraging. Now that I just managed to finish it, I don’t have that much energy. It was a lot of collective work. A lot of people worked for free. It was not me doing it alone. I would love to have another project, but I’d like to have a team first. I don’t need to carry it – I can also just be helping.

Is there anything we haven’t talked about that you’d like to say?

I hope I didn’t simplify the ideas too much. The film is not me saying something; it’s mainly listening to people, and showing all the layers of the Syrian occupation, and of Lebanon – the internalized racism, the classism, and the way people just absorb the narrative of the state.

30 November 1999: The Battle of Seattle

This week in working class history

On Tuesday, 30th November 1999, 30,000 people demonstrated outside the World Trade Organisation (WTO) conference in Seattle. It was not the largest demonstration ever, although it did manage to bring the conference to a halt as delegates were unable to reach the venue. Yet the protest had an importance far beyond its size. The “Battle of Seattle” is now widely seen as the birth of the international anti-capitalist movement.

The WTO symbolised a whole series of grievances raised by different activist groups. Its trade policies damaged the environment; its debt programmes reinforced post-colonial inequality; and its support for multinationals and tolerance of child labour contributed to poor wages and dire living conditions. Since the previous Friday, several campaigns had been organising demonstrations and teach-ins across the city.

Tuesday morning began with an action by a few hundred activists blocking the crossroads leading towards the conference centre. Some protestors dressed as sea turtles, referencing a WTO ruling that threatened several species with extinction. The “turtles” were joined by students, activists from the Global South, and black bloc anarchists. These relatively small gatherings were brutally attacked by police using percussion grenades, rubber bullets, and tear gas.

Across town, 25,000 workers were attending an official rally organised by the Teamsters Union, which union leaders had deliberately separated from the other protests. First small groups, then crowds, broke away from the union rally to support the demonstrators facing police violence. The police were unable to break this newly forged unity, captured in the slogan: “Teamsters and Turtles together at last.” The mayor of Seattle declared a state of emergency, and the WTO conference was shut down.

Ten years before Seattle, the fall of the Berlin Wall had led some over-eager historians to proclaim the “end of history” and the death of socialism. The Battle of Seattle lit a spark that showed history was far from over, and the Left was not dead. In the following years, tens of thousands met at World and European Social Forums, 300,000 took to the streets in Genoa, and millions mobilised against the Gulf War. What began in Seattle helped give birth to a new international movement.

“Community whistleblowing reframes accountability as a collective process”

Interview with investigative journalist Lynzy Billing


24/11/2025

Lynzy Billing is an award-winning investigative journalist of Afghan-Pakistani origins. She published The Night Raids in 2022, which exposed how Afghan forces, backed by the CIA, killed hundreds of civilians. The Left Berlin spoke to her at the Technoviolence conference in Berlin, during which she was one of the keynote speakers. A recording of the talk on Secrecy, Surveillance and Grassroots Resistance can be found here.

The media landscape has always amplified some voices and silenced others, which has been made even more obvious through the coverage of the genocide in Palestine. What advice would you give to people fighting systemic racism and general ethical failures in media environments?

It’s a vital and urgent question especially today as the vague and politically flexible label of “terrorism” continues to be used to justify state violence with near-total impunity.

When media systems fail ethically, people and communities must hold tight to their values and their own ethical voice, be rigorous and transparent about where info comes from—sourcing, context, and truth. 

The media landscape has always played a powerful role in shaping public perception—amplifying certain narratives while silencing others. This is painfully clear in the coverage of Gaza, but it has always been clear throughout the so-called “war on terror”. 

Today we are witnessing how the language of “counterterrorism” and “national security” is routinely used to justify state violence and excuse and obscure violations of international law. We see protest movements being labeled as “extremist” to justify crackdowns. My advice to those confronting systemic racism and ethical failures in media is to remain relentlessly critical of the language being used—which is often deployed to criminalize dissent, suppress marginalized communities, and legitimize mass surveillance or military action. 

It’s crucial to challenge the frameworks that normalize state violence. Both authoritarian and democratic governments have used this ambiguity to act with near-total impunity. As a result, protest movements are branded as dangerous, while actual war crimes are downplayed or ignored. 

Fighting back means uplifting alternative sources of information, holding media institutions accountable, and refusing to accept national security as a blank check for violence, without accountability, and with global norms eroding as a result. It also means building solidarity across movements and borders. Media bias isn’t just a failure of journalism—it’s a structural issue that reflects broader systems of power. We need to disrupt those systems, not just critique them.

We have also seen an increase in civil disobedience on the streets. Some scholars have argued that whistleblowing would also fall under the umbrella of that term. Would you agree?

I think it’s perhaps more useful to ask what even constitutes “whistleblowing” in 2025. I believe that expanding our notion of “whistleblower” to include community whistleblowing is critical in today’s context, especially when it comes to investigating national security policies and programs. Traditional whistleblowing often relies on an individual acting alone—frequently at great personal risk—to expose wrongdoing. While those individuals remain vital, we also need to acknowledge that structural injustices often require collective insight and action to uncover and challenge.

Community whistleblowing recognizes that harm—particularly within the realm of national security—often impacts entire communities, whether it’s through surveillance, immigration enforcement, or military interventions. These harms may not be fully visible from within an institution, but are deeply felt and documented by those on the outside.

In practice, expanding our concept of whistleblowing means valuing grassroots documentation, community organizing, and independent investigative journalism as forms of truth-telling. It also means creating protections and platforms for groups—not just individuals—who bring attention to abuses of power.

Most importantly, it reframes accountability as a collective process rather than a heroic act by a lone insider. In doing so, it broadens the scope of what we can investigate, who we can hear from, and how we can act to make systems more transparent and just.

Expanding the idea of whistleblowing from individuals to communities is crucial, especially in a national security context. Through my work in Afghanistan, I saw how entire communities were affected by deadly night raids conducted by CIA-backed Afghan units and they were the first to notice and document the harm against them. The people in these communities who witnessed night raids were just as much whistleblowers as the soldiers and intelligence officials who came forward to share their truths.

Community whistleblowing means recognizing grassroots efforts and journalism as valid forms of exposing wrongdoing. It shifts accountability from being an individual act to a collective process, which I believe makes investigations more inclusive and impactful.

With today’s overflow of information/content, leaking documents or breaking a big story doesn’t have the impact it used to. What can journalists do to make sure their stories are seen?

In today’s oversaturated media environment, breaking a big story or leaking documents isn’t enough on its own. Information moves fast, attention spans are short, and powerful institutions have become skilled at burying or spinning even the most damning revelations. So the question isn’t just how to break a story—it’s how to make sure the story actually has an impact in the real world.

Collaboration can play a key role. Journalists can amplify impact by working across platforms, geographies, and disciplines. It’s also not enough to publish in one outlet and hope it catches on. Journalists today need to think of ways to grow or expand their stories—using social media, partnerships and public events to bring stories to wider audiences and communities directly affected.

But of course, persistence is crucial. After publishing, journalists should return to important investigations, follow up, send them round to anyone who may be interested to read about the subject and most importantly those who are in a position to make change, and refuse to let them fade from public memory just because the news cycle has moved on.

There is also a growing distrust in legacy media. Is it still worth it to you to break a story with them or would you rather go another direction? And where should people be getting news and analysis these days?

Great question. It’s also a question that I think more people are asking as mainstream media outlets lose credibility, often due to censorship, false balance, state-aligned narratives, or outright disinformation.

The growing distrust in legacy media is real, and often deserved. Many mainstream outlets have failed to hold power accountable, and reproduced harmful narratives, or only responded to injustice when it became too loud to ignore. That said, breaking a story with legacy media can still be worth it, but they shouldn’t be the default or the only route.

Some journalists have become more interested in hybrid models—partnering with independent media, grassroots outlets, and even community organizations that are deeply trusted by the people most affected. These spaces often do the work with more integrity, nuance, and accountability than many big-name outlets. The priority should be: who will handle the story with care, and who will help make sure it lands where it matters?

As for where people should get their news and analysis: diversify your sources.There’s no perfect source, but there are many excellent options, if you’re willing to think critically and diversify your intake.

I find it deeply concerning how American politics continues to dominate international media. But what we are seeing in response is how people are following journalists whose work they respect and trust and reading their work, wherever it is published rather than just following legacy publications. I see people choosing to support independent journalism and resisting sensationalism.

So I would say, follow independent journalists, local reporters, and people on the ground. Look at investigative platforms that center marginalized voices. And most importantly, develop the habit of media literacy—ask who is telling the story, who benefits from the framing, and what, if anything, is being left out.

Trust isn’t something the media is owed; it’s something it has to earn every day. As audiences, our attention is now a valuable commodity, and we have the power to demand better based on where we give that attention.

How can we try and make our media consumption as unbiased as possible?

To make our media consumption as unbiased as possible, we have to start by diversifying our sources. No single outlet, or perspective, has the full picture. I often remind myself to read from a range of voices, especially those outside dominant institutions or mainstream narratives, because I think that reading from a wide range helps us recognize our own blind spots and resist falling into echo chambers. I think it’s important to read from sources and opinions you don’t agree with too, because this helps with justifying and clarifying your own perspectives.

But it’s not just about where we read—it’s also about how. We need to make space for complexity, both in how we understand the world and how we relate to each other. In a time of deep polarization, it’s easy to default to binary thinking. But real justice requires nuance. That means listening deeply, especially to those whose experiences don’t fit neatly into dominant or simplistic narratives. 

We also have to actively challenge the structures, media, politics, and algorithms that flatten stories and reward outrage over understanding. Resisting bias isn’t about finding a perfectly “neutral” source—it’s about holding space for contradiction by allowing for disagreement without dehumanization, by insisting that empathy is not the same as equivalence, and refusing to devalue lives because they don’t fit neatly into our worldview. Ultimately, making our media habits less biased is about building a political and ethical culture that values curiosity—and refuses to let complexity be a barrier to action or compassion.