Standing on a stage in Tehran, donning a black headscarf and a Palestinian keffiyeh draped across her shoulders, British media personality Bushra Shaikh addresses an audience that has gathered to hear what she has to say.

“I am so sorry to see what your country is suffering because of the Epstein empire, the Zionist empire,” she tells a crowd waving Iranian flags.

“There are millions, billions of people outside of Iran who support you, who love you, that detest Donald Trump, Bibi Netanyahu, for what they are trying to do inside of your beautiful country.”

It’s clearly a pro-regime rally, where some participants are also waving the yellow Hezbollah flags—and it’s the latter that has got Ms. Shaikh into potential trouble with the British authorities.

In May, she was reported to counter-terror police after addressing the rally where several people in the crowd were holding the yellow flag of the Iran-backed Lebanese militia. It is proscribed in the UK as a terrorist organization.

It is also believed that Shaikh may have violated the National Security Act, which requires individuals to register with the UK Government if they are “directed by a foreign power to carry out political influence activities.”

But the controversy raises a more fundamental question: what, if anything, has Shaikh actually done that is unlawful?

And if not, what exactly can the British authorities do?

One area of scrutiny is whether Shaikh’s activities could fall within the scope of the UK’s Foreign Influence Registration Scheme (FIRS), introduced in July 2025 under the National Security Act.

The scheme was created to increase transparency around covert foreign influence by requiring individuals to register political influence activity carried out in the UK at the direction of foreign states or state-controlled organizations.

Home Office guidance states that registration is usually required for activities conducted in Britain, though activities undertaken abroad that have an effect in the UK may also fall within scope.

There are two tiers: a public political influence tier and an enhanced tier, which is not public. For the latter, registration is required within 10 days of formal or informal arrangements made with a “specified foreign power or entity” (namely, Iran or Russia).

Guidance specifically notes that social media content aimed at UK audiences may be covered, including material posted while overseas.

Failure to comply may result in a sentence of up to five years’ imprisonment and/or an unlimited fine.

But does Shaikh’s conduct meet the legal threshold for registration?

An investigation by Factnameh, an Iranian fact-checking organization, has alleged that Shaikh played a “highly active role in reproducing the [Iranian] government’s narrative” after taking part in two press tours this year organized by IRIB World Service, the international arm of Iran’s state broadcaster.

Fereidoon Bashar, the executive director of ASL19, which created Factnameh, said cultivating friendly journalists and public figures had been part of Iran’s strategy for some time. “There has been a long tradition of having prominent Western figures to Iran who are aligned with anti-imperialist, anti-colonial frameworks,” he said.

But since the 12-day conflict between Iran and Israel in June 2025, he said, there has been a “major shift in Iran’s communication approach.”

Factnameh identified more than a dozen participants in the tours, including a number of US journalists.

Another apologist for the Iranian regime is Calla Walsh, the co-founder of Palestine Action U.S. She was one of several handpicked delegates who were taken to Iran, where she expressed solidarity with the Islamic Republic following the 12-day war with Israel.

“It is the greatest honor of my life to be visiting the Islamic Republic of Iran right now, at this moment, while it is under genocidal siege by the United States and the Zionist entity,” said Walsh, standing at the IRGC aerospace expo, with missiles in the background.

During her two visits to the Islamic Republic, Shaikh appeared on Iran’s Press TV social channels, interviewed senior Iranian political figures, and posted material supportive of official Iranian narratives.

In one Instagram video, she described meeting the chief rabbi at Tehran’s Abrishami Synagogue, saying he “condemns Israel and affirms that the Jewish community in Iran is free to practice their religion—despite what gets told by nefarious political actors.”

In another post, alongside Iranian foreign ministry spokesman Esmaeil Baghaei, she wrote that she had been invited to Iran’s foreign ministry “to discuss possible next steps in the U.S.-Iran negotiations.”

Yet legal experts and security analysts say the threshold for action under FIRS may be considerably higher than public perception suggests.

Roger Macmillan, a security analyst and former director of Iran International, a London-based Persian-language channel, says the central question is not whether Shaikh amplified pro-Iranian messaging, but whether she was operating under the direction of the Iranian state.

“If she says she’s just echoing what she’s seeing on a press trip, there’s very little you can do,” he says.

“What makes a difference is the fact she’s on a documented state-organized trip. She’s putting opinions across at a time when internet access to ordinary Iranians is effectively nil, and she’s a regular on state-owned Press TV.”

If an individual denies being directed or paid, authorities would likely need evidence of an arrangement, instruction, payment trail or coordination to show activity was undertaken on behalf of a foreign state.

“If she has been paid, there are ways around detection,” says Macmimllan, arguing informal payments or verbal understandings could leave little documentary evidence.

“This is how the Iranians operate—slightly under the parapet.”

The burden ultimately rests on the individual to declare themselves under the scheme, limiting the government’s ability to intervene unless evidence emerges.

“There are no individuals listed on there, so the question is: what does FIRS really do?” Macmillan continues. “If the government can’t actually do anything with it, it just means we know who they are.

“Does FIRS stop someone carrying out political influence on behalf of a foreign state? No. It just shows how weak FIRS is.”

He argues the scheme risks becoming transparency without the necessary deterrence, adding: “It’s great that we’ve got FIRS, but do we want political activists on behalf of a foreign country operating at this level, conducting hostile communications on behalf of foreign states from the UK? My answer is absolutely not.”

The challenge is balancing national security concerns with legal thresholds and free speech.

Supporting a foreign government narrative, however controversial, is not itself unlawful. The legal issue is whether an individual has crossed into undeclared political influence activity directed by a foreign state.

After Shaikh’s visit, a Home Office spokesperson told a British newspaper that ministers were “clear-eyed about the threats posed by Iran” and that the government would not hesitate to use powers available where activities threaten UK national security.

“This includes the Foreign Influence Registration Scheme,” the spokesperson said. “Anyone acting in the UK at the direction of the Iranian state faces a choice: register their activities or risk prosecution.”

Bushra Shaikh has denied receiving payment from any state actor and has dismissed reports about her conduct as “baseless accusations.”

In one video, she said: “I report on what I see… It is a duty upon every one of us to make sure the news we’re getting is accurate and correct.”

Whether Shaikh’s activities run afoul of the law may depend on evidence unlikely to be visible in public. But her case has already exposed a broader problem for British authorities—whether laws designed to tackle covert foreign influence are equipped for an era in which social media personalities can shape opinion for hundreds of thousands of followers while operating in the murky space between activism, journalism, and propaganda.

When the Taliban introduced a new “National Keyboard” for smartphones, it was marketed as a homegrown technology project for Afghan users. Cybersecurity experts, however, warn that the app may serve a very different purpose by expanding the regime’s ability to monitor the digital lives of ordinary citizens.

Developed through Radio Television Afghanistan (RTA), the keyboard has attracted scrutiny from digital rights advocates and security researchers. A recent analysis identified serious privacy concerns and raised fears that the software could be used for surveillance in a country where independent voices are already under intense pressure.

Sources say the project was developed jointly by the Taliban and the Islamic Republic of Iran. One Afghan cybersecurity expert described it plainly: “My phone, but under Mullah’s control.”

In a risk assessment conducted by Alex Moses from the RaazNet team at Holistic Resilience, the keyboard was flagged as a high privacy and security risk. This assessment follows the compilation of key findings in a more comprehensive Static Security Analysis Report. RaazNet said that, even though they “did not conclusively confirm deliberate spyware activity, the identified behaviors and architectural decisions create a high-risk environment for potential misuse, surveillance, or unintended exposure of sensitive user information.”

In practice, this means the Taliban could access all text typed on the National Keyboard, expanding their power to monitor dissent and quash opposition. The keyboard has a hardcoded Application Programming Interface (API) that connects with ChatGPT, possibly for translation, which risks the capture and storage of all communications.

The National Keyboard also highlights the Taliban’s growing reliance on Iran for technical support. Sources say the Islamic Republic assisted RTA in both developing and deploying the software. With decades of experience building surveillance infrastructure and restricting digital freedoms at home, Iran possesses expertise that the Taliban has historically lacked but increasingly appears eager to acquire.

​The Islamic Republic has extensive mass surveillance tools, including the National Information Network (Halal Internet), Deep Packet Inspection (DPI), a nationwide CCTV system equipped with facial recognition technology, and a citizen-reporting app called Nazer, which strictly monitors dissent. Taken together, these developments suggest increasing cooperation between the Taliban and the Islamic Republic on surveillance and information control. In Iran, a sophisticated monitoring apparatus relies in part on Chinese-made technology. The Taliban’s recent investments in surveillance infrastructure suggest it may be following a similar path.

Since returning to power in 2021, the regime’s General Directorate of Intelligence (GDI) has overseen a dramatic increase in monitoring capabilities. Taliban officials claim that between 90,000 and 100,000 CCTV cameras have been installed across Kabul alone, effectively placing much of the capital under constant observation. Under the previous leadership, that number stood at just over 800.

A BBC report documented a central monitoring station in Kabul where CCTV feeds converge and are analyzed by AI-powered systems equipped with facial recognition and license plate-reading technology. The Taliban insists these measures are necessary for national security, but critics argue they are part of a broader effort to intimidate citizens into compliance with their ideology.

Technology is only one part of the equation. According to Hasht-e Subh, the Taliban also relies on more old-school intelligence-gathering methods, deploying agents disguised as beggars and street vendors to gather information in public spaces. Together, these tactics point to an increasingly sophisticated surveillance apparatus that reaches far beyond the digital sphere.

The space for independent journalism and the free flow of information in Afghanistan is shrinking rapidly. Journalists face increasing obstacles to reporting, operating in an environment defined by surveillance, censorship, and intimidation.

The consequences are reflected in Reporters Without Borders’ 2026 World Press Freedom Index, which ranked Afghanistan 175th out of 180 countries. Only Saudi Arabia, Iran, China, and North Korea ranked lower. Before the Taliban’s return to power in 2021, Afghanistan was ranked 122nd.

Journalists who challenge the regime risk harassment, arbitrary detention, torture, imprisonment, and, in some cases, death. At the same time, sympathetic Western influencers and media personalities have been given privileged access, helping amplify Taliban narratives to audiences abroad.

As the regime tightens its grip on information, independent reporting has become both more difficult and more essential. Access to reliable information is one of the few tools available for documenting abuses and holding the Taliban accountable.

Last month, the Taliban’s newly appointed telecommunications minister ordered internet service providers to cut off household Wi-Fi access across Afghanistan, a move that drew widespread criticism from citizens and digital rights advocates. While the directive was striking, it was not unprecedented.

The Taliban has repeatedly sought to tighten its control over internet access since returning to power. Last year, supreme leader Hibatullah Akhundzada ordered a nationwide internet shutdown that lasted four days before being reversed by the prime minister. The decision exposed tensions within the Taliban leadership, with officials in Kabul effectively overruling an order issued from Kandahar.

Although internet access was ultimately restored, the episode laid bare the regime’s willingness to restrict digital communications in pursuit of greater control over the flow of information—but even the Taliban cannot fully govern a modern country through total digital isolation.

Despite worsening conditions, journalists, activists, and digital rights groups continue to find ways to document abuses and keep information moving. Organizations abroad are working to help people in authoritarian states communicate more safely, while Afghan reporters continue to risk their lives to expose the truth.

The Taliban’s growing reliance on surveillance mirrors the tactics of other authoritarian regimes, including Iran, China, and Russia. As global attention shifts elsewhere, the suffering of ordinary Afghans risks being forgotten. That makes the work of those resisting censorship, documenting abuses, and defending access to information all the more urgent.

The National Keyboard may appear to be a simple smartphone application. In reality, it represents a regime’s determination to extend its reach into every aspect of daily life, including the devices people carry in their pockets. Whether the software will succeed as a surveillance tool remains to be seen. But the trajectory is deeply troubling. As the Taliban invests heavily in technologies designed to monitor its population, those seeking to preserve privacy, free expression, and independent journalism are fighting to ensure Afghanistan does not disappear behind a digital curtain.

The ongoing war between Hezbollah and Israel has deepened despair across Lebanon, worsening an already dire economic crisis and forcing many families from their homes. As Muslims around the world celebrate Eid al-Adha, many in Lebanon are struggling to experience the joy and sense of togetherness that usually define the holiday.

Eid al-Adha, or the “Festival of Sacrifice,” commemorates Prophet Ibrahim’s willingness to sacrifice his son, Ismael, as an act of obedience to God, according to the Quran and Hadith. Observed on the 10th day of Dhul Hijjah, the final month of the Islamic lunar calendar, the holiday is traditionally centered on the sacrifice of a lamb and gatherings with family and friends. While animal sacrifice is not one of the five pillars of Islam, it remains a widely observed Sunnah rooted in the traditions of the Prophet Muhammad.

Many Muslims in Lebanon, however, are finding it difficult to uphold the practice this year. For some who have been forced to flee their homes, displacement and financial uncertainty have pushed long-held traditions out of reach, shifting the focus from celebration to meeting basic daily needs.

“Eid is not [about] joy and celebrations this year,” said Abir Fakih, a displaced woman who evacuated her home from the southern Lebanese city of Nabatieh. “Eid this year is about nostalgia and silent longing.”

Fakih is one of more than a million Lebanese who have been internally displaced in recent months. Much of the South has become uninhabitable, rendering many without access to their homes. Fakih lived north of the Litani River, a militarized frontier, where Israeli soldiers have created a buffer zone. Hezbollah attacks are launched from north of the river toward Israeli soldiers, who swiftly return fire. The back-and-forth between the two parties has created a dangerous situation for locals in the surrounding areas, including Fakih and her family.

“I evacuated my home with my family around 3 am on March 2nd,” said Fakih. “My village was bombed heavily since it was just north of the Litani River, and almost all villages behind it are fully demolished.”

She is currently renting a small studio with her family in northern Lebanon, but the uncertainty has dampened their Eid celebrations.

“We are trying to make the most out of Eid,” Fakih said. “Maybe we will go out and have a special meal, but at the end of the day, we need to create hope with the resources available.” She and her family eventually spent Eid at their studio, enjoying a home-cooked meal and calling some of their friends in the process.

Others expressed that they have yet to experience the Eid spirit at all this year. A resident from Tripoli, a Sunni-majority city in northern Lebanon, has lost her sense of joy that typically accompanies the holiday. She spoke to Middle East Uncovered on the condition of anonymity.

“One thing I noticed is the lack of Takbir [religious chants] over the speakers by many mosques,” one resident said. “I remember them being more prominent in previous Eid seasons, but maybe they [imams] are not in the mindset.”

Tripoli is far from the conflict in southern Lebanon, but it is still impacted by it. In order to avoid Israeli bombardment, thousands of families have fled southern Lebanon and Beirut’s Dahieh region toward Tripoli and other regions in the north. The city has become a hotspot for the internally displaced, but lacks sufficient resources and proper shelters. A number of those families currently occupy public schools that have been converted into shelters. Others are experiencing difficulty finding housing, especially given the heightened sectarian divide many described as escalating.

“The overall climate is that people are a bit too occupied with lots of worries to even be thinking about Eid,” said another resident. “I have overheard that many citizens might not be able to afford sacrificial lambs, and I think that some [people] are promoting a kind of presumably cheaper alternative to the practice.”

He ultimately visited a few of his relatives during Eid, but said the occasion felt casual and far from special.

Many who celebrate Eid typically buy date-stuffed pastries and sweets in addition to sacrificial lambs. According to local reports, the price of lamb now ranges from $350 to $570, depending on the breed and weight of the sheep. Some prices can be even steeper, making it difficult to purchase in a country where the average monthly income is often estimated to be below $500.

Many families traditionally buy new clothes for Eid. This year, however, soaring costs and limited availability of imported goods have put the tradition out of reach for many.

Another resident who works closely with displaced families described a similar mood. People in the shelters, she said, are consumed by uncertainty and longing for the homes they left behind—few are thinking about Eid. She, too, said she feels none of the usual Eid spirit.

“It honestly doesn’t feel like Eid, and I think that the work I do is impacting my feelings about the occasion and my psychological well-being.” She said. “I really like celebrating Eid and buying new clothes for the occasion. However, it doesn’t feel like Eid this year, and I’m not planning on buying new clothes because things are becoming more and more expensive.”

Lebanon is not the only country in the region where economic hardship has overshadowed Eid celebrations. Similar reports have emerged from Syria and Tunisia. But in Lebanon, the crisis is compounded by the war.

For some, Eid this year has become an exercise in remembrance—a longing for the homes and traditions they once knew. Others say they will only celebrate once they are able to return to homes now destroyed, abandoned, or occupied.

In the meantime, a shared meal in a shelter, a phone call to relatives, or a visit with loved ones is all that they have to preserve a sense of the holiday while they wait for more stable days ahead.

Translation for this interview was provided by . Middle East Uncovered uses pseudonyms to protect sources living in Afghanistan.

When Nadia was 14, her father told her she was getting married. A night watchman in Kandahar province, he had met a man through work—a nearly 30-year-old driver who offered 400,000 Afghanis, about $4,600, in exchange for his daughter.

“My mom was very sad; she was crying a lot,” she said. “I didn’t know what was happening, or what marriage was.”

The family had been living in crushing poverty. Nadia remembers a time when they all slept in a tent.

With this substantial lump sum, Nadia’s father was able to acquire a property through a system called qabza, in which a person pays a certain amount of money to the owner in exchange for living in the property rent-free for a set period. At the end of the term, the landlord returns the full deposit.

“My dad told me, ‘I don’t have a house or somewhere to stay. I have to marry you off.’”

Today, at 20, Nadia has two children and speaks with an ambivalence that reflects the impossible calculations many Afghan girls are forced to make.

“On the wedding day, I was afraid,” she says. “But at the same time, I was happy that my family would be better off. They would have somewhere to live.”

Afghanistan has long struggled with child marriage, forced marriage, and the practice of families selling off their daughters.

According to Girls Not Brides, 29 percent of Afghan girls marry before the age of 18 and 10 percent before the age of 15.

Since the Taliban’s takeover in 2021, poverty has worsened dramatically, pushing millions deeper into hunger and insecurity. According to Too Young To Wed, 95 percent of Afghans are not consuming enough food, which has increased the likelihood that more girls will be sold into marriage.

Meanwhile, the list of human rights violations against Afghan women and girls continues to grow.

In interviews conducted by Middle East Uncovered, three women from Kandahar described a system sustained not only by desperation but by tradition, family pressure, honor culture, misogyny, and the belief that daughters are mere assets to be transferred.

Far from a recent phenomenon, selling daughters is an old Afghan tradition. The difference now is that the Taliban has legally endorsed this practice.

Sara was sold at the age of 17 to a man twice her age to pay for her father’s medical treatment.

Her mother died when she was five, and her father had gone on to remarry a widow in her thirties. The marriage itself was transactional—her older sister, only six years old, was effectively exchanged and promised to the widow’s son.

Another custom under traditional tribal law (part of Pashtunwali) is badal, which is the exchange of pairs of blood relatives in marriages between families to resolve conflicts or to avoid paying a dowry if a family can’t afford it.

Sara’s own marriage came later, after her father became seriously ill and needed money for treatment.

“He sold me for 330,000 Afghanis ($5,600),” she says. “When they told me about it, I couldn’t eat. I was crying all the time.”

Two months after the wedding, her father died.

Her husband, 40, works shining shoes. Sara became his third wife after one wife died during childbirth, and he divorced another due to her “mental health issues.” Sara believes he married her because he wanted children and needed someone to care for his elderly mother.

“For the first few weeks, I cried every day,” she says. “My in-laws would tell me. ‘This is your destiny now.’”

Despite the beatings she gets from her husband and the abuse from her mother-in-law, Sara still thinks this is better than the life she had growing up.

“At least in my husband’s house I can eat properly,” she says. “I have some control.”

Her childhood home had been harsh, especially with the new step-mother. Sara described being sent on errands at dinnertime so food would be gone when she returned; sleeping on a cold kitchen floor in winter; and watching step-siblings receive new clothes for Eid while she wore cast-offs collected from other homes. She wasn’t even allowed to go to school, spending her days cleaning the home and looking after her step-siblings.

Her view of fathers who marry off daughters is blunt. Asked if she feels any sympathy, she replied: “This tradition treats girls as belongings of men, and that the sooner you get rid of your daughter once she hits puberty, the better off you are.”

She described intense social pressure around girls’ sexuality and family honor. If a family doesn’t get their daughter married off early, “They blame the mother or accuse the girl of having a secret relationship,” said Sara.

For Zakira, another woman from Kandahar, poverty explains only part of why this happens.

Her sister’s husband, she says, sold six of his daughters, aged around 12 and 13, to much older men in their 40s, 50s, and even 60s.

“My sister’s husband was a bricklayer, and his work was seasonal,” Zakira said. “But this was not only about money.”

Her brother-in-law regularly attended bandars—male gatherings where men disappear for days to socialize, gamble, and use drugs—and often returned having made major decisions about family life, without consulting his wife.

“When the eldest daughter was 14, he came home and told my sister he’d married her off,” Zakira said. “There were so many arguments and fights.”

While her sister opposed the decision—the couple would regularly argue and fight—she had little power to stop it.

“My dad was old. We didn’t have an older brother,” said Zakira. “No one listens to women.”

She remembers the engagement day of one of her eldest nieces, and it was horrible: “Everyone around her was crying and shouting. But she was confused. She didn’t know what a husband or marriage was.”

Another niece was married to a 45-year-old man in Karachi.

“When she came back, she cursed her father,” Zakira says. “She said, ‘He ruined my life. He married me to a grandfather.’”

Like Sara, Zakira rejects the notion that all fathers who marry off daughters are victims of circumstance.

“I’m sympathetic to fathers struggling to make ends meet,” she says. “But not my brother-in-law. He was lazy. He saw his daughters as quick cash.”

Nadia still struggles with what happened to her. Though her husband is not abusive, she wishes she had been old enough to understand what was happening.

“I should have waited until I was mature enough,” she says.

What troubles her most is how normalized the practice remains.

“Even when families aren’t poor, they still do it,” she says. “People say it is tradition or religion. They think it is shameful for girls to stay home after puberty.”

All three women describe girls too young to understand marriage being treated as though consent were irrelevant, or assumed.

Under the Taliban’s horrifying new rules, child marriage has effectively been legalized. A girl who later says she was married against her will won’t be permitted a divorce if her husband disagrees. The regulations also state that the silence of a “virgin girl” may be interpreted as consent to marriage.

It has legalized child rape.

“Silence is never consent for children who are too young to understand,” said Sara. Some mothers try to intervene quietly, the women said, hiding their daughters with relatives in desperate attempts to delay marriages. Many, however, fail.

They also described girls running away, fleeing to other provinces, and accepting permanent estrangement from families to escape forced marriages. Some, they said, resort to suicide.

According to Afghan Witness, an independent open-source investigation project, there has been a surge in female suicide rates linked to forced marriages since the Taliban takeover.

Things did improve for women and girls after the US-led invasion. In 2009, during the US occupation, Afghanistan passed the Law on the Elimination of Violence Against Women (EVAW), which guaranteed penalties for domestic violence, abuses against women, and forced child marriage. The legal age of marriage was 16 for girls and 18 for boys.

However, in places like Kandahar—the power base of the Taliban—the law wasn’t always enforced.

“If you complained to the police, the families would simply say, ‘This is a personal matter.’ At most, they would be jailed for a day or two before being bailed [out], if the police were bribed,” She explained. “Now the Taliban are 100 percent on the side of these men.”

Her fear is for the next generation of girls who have even fewer options.

“We don’t want the lives of the next generation ruined like ours,” Sara said quietly.

Nadia, meanwhile, spoke with the quiet pragmatism of someone holding two difficult truths at once—gratitude that her family escaped poverty, and grief at what it cost.

She was a child who did not understand marriage, a daughter exchanged for survival.

Now a mother herself, she simply said: “I wish I had been old enough to know what was happening.”

On May 16, just days before the Islamic holiday of Eid al-Adha, hundreds of Tunisians took to the streets of the capital to protest deteriorating economic conditions and what demonstrators describe as democratic backsliding. The demonstrations were the second major wave of protests in less than six months, following similar unrest in December 2025.

Tunisia has often been hailed as the only country to emerge from the Arab Spring protests as a democracy. However, a widening crackdown on Tunisian civil society, combined with the suspension of parliament and the ouster of then-Prime Minister Hichem Mechichi in 2021, has cast doubt on Tunisia’s democratic standing.

Many critics argue that Tunisia is slowly regressing toward authoritarianism, potentially relinquishing a decade of democratic progress achieved after the 2011 revolution. Since the Sousse suicide attack in 2015, which killed 38 people, Tunisia has been in a state of emergency. President Kais Saied extended the state of emergency for 11 months, starting in January 2026, granting the interior ministry sweeping powers, including banning public gatherings and monitoring the press.

According to a 2026 report by Human Rights Watch (HRW), arbitrary detention and politically motivated trials have become the norm. In November of 2025, HRW reported that 34 people from different backgrounds—including activists, lawyers, and political opponents—were sentenced to between five and 45 years in prison on vague terrorism and state security charges under what became known as the “Conspiracy Case 2.” The latter has been dubbed a “misuse” of the criminal justice system by Amnesty International’s deputy regional director for the Middle East and North Africa, Sara Hashash.

In 2024, four journalists were reported to have been behind bars by The Committee to Protect Journalists, the highest number since 1992. In 2023, a wave of arrests targeted at least 11 individuals, including lawyers, ministers, and former judges, whom Saied accused of “conspiring against the state and against the president.” While it is unclear whether future protests will take place, the absence of any signs of prospective reforms will likely generate more opposition. According to Reporters Without Borders, Tunisia’s press freedom ranking dropped by 11 places in 2025, to 129th out of 180 countries.

“We took [to] the streets for employment, freedom, and national dignity,” one of the protesters told Middle East Uncovered on the condition of anonymity. “[The administration’s] gap between rhetoric and reality could not be wider in today’s Tunisia,” added the protester.

President Saied rose to power in 2019, winning the election in a landslide. What was described as a “self-coup” in 2021 established Saied’s one-man rule. In July of that same year, parliament was dissolved, and its members stripped of immunity, followed by a suspension of the constitution. In June 2022, Saied ruled by decree, granting himself “absolute power” to dismiss judges, and fired 57 of them. Amnesty International described the move as a “deep blow to judicial independence.”

The 68-year-old former law professor effectively consolidated executive power and, subsequently, undermined the authority of an independent judiciary.

Saeid’s re-election in 2024 recorded the lowest voter turnout in Tunisia since 2011, with participation falling to just 28.8 percent. Despite the general public’s disillusionment with politics, Saeid still managed to amass 90.68 percent of the votes.

“What brought me out on May 16 is the hope for a better Tunisia and the refusal to stay silent,” said the protester. “I witnessed that hope in the eyes of merchants and neighborhood locals, who were chanting along as we passed by their streets during the protest.”

Protesters held signs reading, “The people are hungry and the prisons are full,” linking Tunisia’s worsening economic conditions to growing political repression. Others carried signs condemning rising poverty and soaring lamb prices ahead of Eid.

Many Muslims around the world traditionally celebrate Eid al-Adha by sacrificing a sheep and eating its meat. According to Lutfi Al Riahi, the president of the Tunisian Organization for Defense of Consumers, sheep prices have risen by 300 Tunisian dinars (roughly $100) compared to last year. According to the World Bank, poverty rates declined marginally, standing at 16.0 percent in 2025 compared to 16.6 percent in 2024.

“Sentiment is being most directly shaped by rising prices and decreasing purchasing power,” Adrienne Todd, a partner at the Tunis-based Dispatch Risk Advisory, told Middle East Uncovered. Todd believes that economic grievances will likely remain at the core of future protests. “While political issues were cited by protesters on Saturday [May 16], the overall populace is focused on economic pressures,” she added.

Over the past decade, Tunisia’s economy has been in dire straits. From 2011 to 2022, the purchasing power of the Tunisian dinar gradually depreciated, losing 52 percent of its value against the US dollar. It continued to decline from 2021 to 2024, losing 7.7 percent of its value. In the fourth quarter of 2025, the unemployment rate stood at 15.2 percent, a marginal decrease from the average of 15.66 percent over the past couple of decades.

Economic grievances were at the core of the Tunisian revolution that ousted Dictator Zine El Abidine in 2011. The anonymous protester does not believe any of the revolution’s goals have been achieved, blaming the system for failing to implement reforms and adding that many promises have been made by the administration, but never fulfilled.

In 2025, Tunisia’s public debt surpassed the 80 percent mark of its GDP, 2 years after Saied rejected an IMF bailout package worth approximately $2 billion. Saied stated that if the package were accepted and subsidies were eventually removed, it would destabilize the country. Saied’s rejection, however, has not led to sufficient progress to remedy economic woes, as the current situation seems to benefit the rich more than the poor.

Saied will likely stay in office until the end of his five-year term, where elections are set to take place in 2029. Whether or not further demonstrations will be held remains to be seen.

As Eid al-Adha begins tomorrow, many Tunisians are entering a holiday traditionally centered on sacrifice, family, charity, and communal celebration while facing mounting economic pressure and shrinking political freedoms. For many families, even the cost of buying a sheep for Eid has become unaffordable, turning what is usually a moment of joy and generosity into a reminder of financial insecurity and frustration. At the same time, growing fears over repression, arbitrary arrests, and democratic backsliding have deepened the awareness that Tunisia’s post-revolution promises remain unfulfilled.

For many protesters, the anger expressed in the streets ahead of Eid was not only about rising prices, but about the feeling that both economic dignity and political freedoms are steadily slipping away.

In the Gaza Strip, where much of the cityscape has been reduced to rubble and rows of tents for displaced families, a different kind of sound echoes through the air. Not the whistle of a projectile or the rumble of a bulldozer, but the sharp, rhythmic “thud” of boxing gloves hitting improvised pads. The sound comes from the Gaza Boxing Women club, an organization offering structure, community, and a rare sense of control to Gazan women.

Since the outbreak of the war involving Israel, the United States, and Iran, much of the world’s attention has shifted to the broader regional escalation. But Gaza is still in crisis. Despite the ceasefire that has largely held since last year, violence has continued sporadically, humanitarian conditions are dire, and access to food, medicine, and aid is severely limited.

Still, the club recently reopened its Gaza City branch. Like its southern branch, it now operates out of a temporary tent.

“In addition to the Al Mawasi branch based in a tent, we recently reopened a branch in Gaza City, also housed in a tent,” said coach Osama Ayoub, one of the trainers. What he told me painted a picture of extreme scarcity: “In recent months, I have received only two tents from UNICEF and no other help or equipment. We train to keep the spirit alive, even if the walls are gone.”

The athletes use pillows as punching bags and plastic chairs for drills. Most of the original equipment is gone.

The club’s journey began in 2020. Founded by Rima Abu Rahma, then 21, it was born out of a desire to challenge social taboos in a conservative society that views boxing as a strictly male sport. Rima chose to take up boxing as a means of self-protection, rejecting the societal notion that women must rely solely on men for their defense. She started with private sessions, but as her story spread on social media, more women joined. Initially, the group was forced to split into two separate sessions to accommodate rapid growth, eventually reaching 45 active athletes. As more women joined, the club became both a training space and a support network. When the war intensified, the physical gym was destroyed, but the community relocated to the tents of Al Mawasi, near Khan Younis.

Rima currently coordinates the club’s ongoing operations from France, after moving there from Egypt to continue her academic pursuits. From this remote vantage point, she is the project’s primary coordinator, navigating the challenges of displacement and bearing witness to the girls’ daily struggles. She traveled abroad shortly before the war to pursue a master’s degree in entrepreneurship, intending to bring back management skills to the club. “I am now homeless, waiting for the borders to open so I can go back and rebuild,” she explained. From abroad, she manages the club’s digital presence and fundraising, ensuring the project does not fade from view. While some members are still in Gaza, others have been displaced to Norway or Egypt, yet the club strives to keep everyone connected through video calls to maintain their essential support network. In addition to coach Ayoub, the project is powered by female volunteers who manage key operations, including media and communications.

The club is a vital outlet for grief. Sisters Razan and Nouran Al-Louh, just 13 and 15, were killed by sniper fire while at home with their father. Malak Musleh, 21, was killed in a bombing at a beachside café. The loss of Ali Abdellshafi, vice president of the Palestinian Boxing Federation, also left a void. “Ali taught us that boxing is not just about throwing punches in the ring; it is a lifestyle, a way of resisting,” Rima noted. For these women, every training session is a tribute to those who can no longer fight.

At the height of the famine in Gaza, the club became a support network. “During the famine, we made sure to eat together so that the girls would have at least one healthy meal a day,” says Rima. “We couldn’t control the bombings, but we could share food so we wouldn’t lose more people to starvation.” This mutual aid allowed the athletes to maintain their health and hope in the face of extreme deprivation.

The international community has not been entirely blind to their struggle. In 2025, the Gaza Boxing Women Club was honored at the WEmbrace Awards in Milan, Italy. Recognized in the International “World” category, the award highlighted the club’s role in empowering women and promoting perseverance.

Today, the club continues to train girls and women from ages 7 to 46. Participants are grouped by weight and height, allowing women of all ages to step into the sand-covered, makeshift ring. The presence of adult boxers is a formidable example for younger girls, demonstrating that they do not have to abandon their passion as they grow up or succumb to the pressures of a society that would prefer they get married and hang up their gloves.

For at least one hour a day, the club offers a brief break to women and girls who desperately need an outlet, a community, and a purpose. As Gaza City slowly rebuilds, the reopening of the club—even from inside a tent—is a small step toward something better for the community. “Our goal is to return to Gaza City to reconstruct the destroyed club,” Rima said.

Until then, the ring might just be a patch of sand, but the fight for restoration and healing continues, one punch at a time.

The recent clashes between Hezbollah and Israel, following the death of Iran’s Ali Khamenei, have rendered much of southern Lebanon uninhabitable. The fighting between the two parties continues today unabated, and Hezbollah’s latest incorporation of low-tech drones is posing a new challenge to Israel’s campaign. For the Christian minority in the south, the situation is becoming more dire by the day. But despite the uncertainty, many families are committed to staying, unwilling to relinquish their ancestral land.

“It felt like a more intense continuation of the 2024 war,” said Judith Sleiman, a Christian Lebanese Pharmacist who lives in Southern Lebanon’s Burj Al Molook, a village in the district of Marjayoun. “The moment Lebanon became involved again, memories and flashbacks from those days immediately came rushing back.” Sleiman told Middle East Uncovered.

Southern Lebanon’s Christian villages are concentrated mainly in the districts of Marjayoun, Bint Jbeil, and Hasbaiyya. Some, including Rumaysh and Ain Ebel, have grown increasingly isolated by the fighting. Others, such as Burj Al Molook, face regular bombardment.

“The constant loud sounds of daily bombings returned once again,” Sleiman said. “You would wake up to them and fall asleep hearing them, too. Even sleep no longer gave your body the rest it desperately needed.”

Sleiman’s family home in the south dates back many generations. Despite the difficulty of their current living situation, her family continues to cling to it. According to Sleiman, they rarely leave home due to safety concerns, and rely on humanitarian aid delivered to churches and distributed to local families.

“Many people urged us to leave and find safety elsewhere, but that never felt like the right choice,” Sleiman told Middle East Uncovered. “Even while living with fear and danger, leaving would have meant losing something even deeper—our villages, our olive trees, and our sacred land, the land that Jesus Christ walked on.”

Further south in the village of Rumaysh, Tony Elias, a priest at St. George church, is another member of the Christian community committed to staying. According to Elias, there are a total of 6,200 Christians in Rumaysh in addition to the 75 families from the villages of Yaroun and Quozah.

“How could I not stay in a land that has been blessed with the footsteps of Jesus?” Said Elias. “This land has been inherited to us by our forefathers, and it is our duty to preserve it for the generations to come.”

Elias says it has been particularly difficult for farmers in the south, who face difficulty accessing their land used for tobacco farming. Only some have managed to access it. Since Elias and his community live within the Israeli “yellow line”—a military buffer zone that extends 10 kilometers into southern Lebanon from the border—their movement is heavily restricted.

Outside of the neighboring villages of Ebel and Debl, Elias needs prior authorization to visit other zones. “Despite the hardship, we are still trying to live a normal life that is motivated by faith and the desire to further cement our presence in the land,” Elias said.

Since the outbreak of the conflict in early March, More than a million Lebanese have been displaced. Some southern villages have either been destroyed or occupied by the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). Many of those who have been displaced are currently housed in public schools, which have been transformed into shelters by the state of Lebanon. The shelters, however, are overflowing, leaving many without housing.

Mahdi Hallal is one of the thousands who have left the south. Prior to leaving, Hallal lived in the Shia-majority city of Nabatieh. He left with his family on March 2^nd of this year, a couple of hours after the IDF started targeting towns in the south. This was the second time they were displaced, having previously fled in September 2024.

“The most horrendous sight that my eyes ever witnessed was on the road when we were leaving,” Hallal told Middle East Uncovered. “A building that was no more than 10 feet on our left got obliterated into rubble and dust. All you could see was fire and ash, and my first thought was ‘hell’…hell was the perfect description of the whole experience.”

As the sound of warplanes and bombardment grew closer, Halal and his family said it was psychologically unbearable. Expecting their town to be targeted next, he and his family fled shortly before it was struck, roughly 30 minutes after they left. They now live in Mount Lebanon, though he says he often thinks about those who had no way to leave.

“There are thousands of people who stay in their homes under daily and continuous danger because they can’t afford to rent somewhere else.” Hallal told Middle East Uncovered. “It is less about pride in the face of the enemy, and more about not wanting to go through humiliation and the possibility of having to sleep in tents and on the streets. They prefer death over the suffering of uncertainty.”

As the war drags on, many displaced Lebanese face an uncertain future. Entire towns in the south have been damaged, emptied, or isolated by the fighting. For the Christian minority in southern Lebanon, however, leaving is about more than safety. Many see it as abandoning a generations-old connection to the land, rooted in family history and religious faith.

For them, preserving their presence in the south is nothing short of a religious calling—a deeply held belief that they belong there—and not even bombardment will uproot them from the land where Jesus once walked.

Iraq suspended online visa applications for several weeks following the kidnapping of American journalist Shelly Kittleson in March. The incident prompted Iraq to tighten security measures and triggered a noticeable escalation in diplomatic tensions with the United States amid the ongoing war with Iran, according to officials and diplomatic sources.

Kittleson was abducted in Baghdad by Iran-backed group Kata’ib Hezbollah and released after eight days, in an incident that once again underscored Iraq’s ongoing security challenges.

In response, Iraqi authorities have increased monitoring of foreign nationals and introduced precautionary measures aimed at preventing similar incidents. Security and intelligence units are now providing what officials describe as “discreet protection,” including surveillance and, in some cases, tracking foreign visitors traveling between cities.

“These measures are not meant to restrict movement but to ensure rapid response in case of threats,” one security source told Middle East Uncovered.

Iraq’s Interior Ministry denied reports that electronic visas had been suspended for foreign nationals. However, Iraqi security official Colonel Mohammed Jabbar confirmed the changes were directly linked to the kidnapping.

“The online visa system was stopped because of what happened with Shelly,” he said. “The government will continue assessing the situation until we are sure that foreigners are safe.”

He added that broader regional tensions were also a factor: “As long as the war involving Iran continues, the danger to foreigners will remain.”

In recent years, Iraq has expanded its electronic visa system for citizens of multiple countries, including the United States, the United Kingdom, Schengen Area nations, China, Japan, Russia, Australia, and Canada. However, diplomatic sources say access has become more restricted in practice following the kidnapping, with additional scrutiny applied to applications.

Relations between Washington and Baghdad have grown increasingly strained during the ongoing regional conflict with Iran, which has intensified the risk to US citizens in Iraq. In early April, the U.S. Embassy issued an alert warning Americans to leave the country amid heightened concerns over attacks from Iran-backed groups on US interests in Iraq.

Due to these developments, the U.S. State Department announced a $10 million reward for information on Haydar Muzhir Ma’lak al-Sa’idi, a key figure in the Reconstruction and Development Coalition led by Prime Minister Mohammed Shia al-Sudani.

Al-Sa’idi, known as “Haider al-Gharawi,” is the Secretary-General of Iraqi militia group Ansar Allah al-Awfiya, which Washington has accused of attacking US diplomatic facilities and military personnel.

The announcement signals a significant escalation in Washington’s posture toward armed groups operating within Iraq’s political landscape.

Further intensifying tensions, a statement from the U.S. Chargé d’Affaires sharply criticized Iraqi political actors, particularly within the Coordination Framework, accusing them of legitimizing figures Washington considers tied to militant networks.

The statement specifically referenced the invitation of “Abu Ala” to participate in political consultations over the next prime minister, describing it as evidence of “a profound misunderstanding” of U.S. concerns regarding Iraq’s trajectory. Abu Alaa al-Walaei is a key commander within the Islamic Resistance in Iraq (IRI), a network of Iran-backed militias.

It also names armed factions such as Kata’ib Hezbollah, Harakat al-Nujaba, Kataib Sayyid al-Shuhada, and Ansar Allah al-Awfiya, stating that these groups have contributed to destabilizing Iraq and pose a broader threat to regional stability.

According to the statement, the reward announcement “makes unequivocally clear” where certain political actors stand and highlights what it described as tolerance toward the financing and support of armed groups.

Washington also warned that it will continue to take action against individuals and groups responsible for attacks on U.S. personnel and interests, emphasizing that it will act “at a time and in a manner of its choosing.”

Under the leadership of President Donald Trump, the statement added, the United States will continue to take necessary steps to protect its citizens and strategic interests.

The kidnapping incident and the subsequent U.S. response may carry serious political implications for Prime Minister Sudani. Diplomatic sources indicate that growing dissatisfaction in Washington over security issues and militia influence could affect his future political prospects, although no official position has been announced.

More broadly, analysts say the developments highlight a deeper strategic question facing Iraq: whether it will position itself as a partner to the United States or drift further into alignment with armed factions that complicate its international standing and put foreign journalists at significant risk.

While Iraqi officials have not formally linked the kidnapping to broader policy shifts, the incident has clearly intensified scrutiny over Baghdad’s ability to balance security, sovereignty, and its increasingly strained foreign relations. Managing internal power dynamics while maintaining external partnerships is becoming harder—and the cost of getting it wrong is rising.

The 2019 uprising, the subsequent collapse of the currency, and the outbreak of COVID-19 shook the state of Lebanon. This trifecta of misfortunes led to major interruptions to the flow of education, especially for international students. Today, the Israeli campaign against Hezbollah has revived similar interruptions, causing institutions to adopt alternative modes of learning.

“There was this point where I seriously thought about dropping out,” said an international student from Libya under US sponsorship. The student, who spoke on condition of anonymity to Middle East Uncovered, is currently pursuing their degree at the Lebanese American University. “One week you’re focused on exams, the next you’re checking the news more than your notes.”

Lebanon’s American institutions of higher learning have long attracted foreign students. The American University of Beirut (AUB) and the Lebanese American University (LAU) carry a long history of delivering quality education. Over the years, both regional and international students have enrolled at either institution. However, the ongoing Israeli strikes have further exacerbated the instability of Lebanon, putting a strain on the delivery of education. For international students, the situation has raised serious concerns.

“The war made me think more seriously about leaving and exploring other options abroad,” added the Libyan student. “Then I realized that even leaving comes with its own uncertainty.”

Israel’s campaign against Hezbollah began after the horrific events of October 7, 2023. The subsequent US-Israeli war on Iran, which resulted in the death of Ali Khamenei in February of this year, further intensified the fighting between Hezbollah and Israel. Southern Lebanon became a hotbed for clashes between the two, leading to major destruction of the south’s infrastructure and displacing over 1 million people. The conflict culminated in the “largest coordinated wave of strikes ” in Lebanon on April 8, tormenting the city of Beirut and triggering shockwaves across the country. The truce, which would ostensibly stop the fighting, did not prevent Israel from continuing its air strikes.

To navigate this series of events, the Lebanese Ministry of Education and Higher Education (MEHE) blended in-person and online learning, hoping to cater to as many individuals as possible. However, these alternative modes of learning made the situation even more unsettling, especially for international students. “Sometimes classes shift online,” said the Libyan student. “Sometimes, you’re physically there, but mentally somewhere else.”

According to the Senior Director of International Services at LAU, Ms. Dina Abdulrahman, 10% of the student population primarily comes from the Southwest Asia and North Africa (SWANA) region. It is unclear, however, how many of these students are under US sponsorship, as Ms. Abdulrahman did not want to disclose that information.

The situation is no different at AUB. Iran’s threats to bomb American institutions in the region have raised a number of concerns for international students. “With threats of bombing the university, it became much worse, especially since I live in dorms on campus,” said an international student from the Middle East under US sponsorship. “This period was very emotionally draining, and it was difficult for me to focus and stay motivated to work on my thesis and my studies,” added the student.

According to AUB’s official website, 17% of the student body is international as of the fall of 2025. The Associate Director of the US-Middle East Partnership Initiative at AUB, Melisa Ajamian, was contacted about the number of students under US sponsorship. Middle East Uncovered did not receive a response.

“I was supposed to attend an important conference that could have helped with my future plans, but because the airspace was closed, I couldn’t travel,” said the student from the Middle East. “That made me start questioning whether Lebanon is even the best option for my education and career.”

International students in Lebanon have faced similar challenges in recent years. The Beirut port blast, “the largest non-nuclear blast in modern history”, impacted a number of international students at the time. The blast, which resulted in the death of 200 people and displaced over 200,000 individuals, caused $15 billion worth of damage.

Amer Haj Ahmad, a Syrian who graduated from LAU, was near the port when the explosion occurred. Haj Ahmad was out celebrating his graduation after enduring a challenging year that started with an uprising and ended with online learning during the pandemic. He was with fellow international students when the blast hit them. “As primitive as this may sound, we were all collectively aligned into thinking about surviving,” said Haj Ahmed to Middle East Uncovered. “The damage was nothing like anything I’ve seen with my own eyes, and it was chaotic navigating Mar Mikhail Street at the time.” He left Lebanon soon thereafter, but the events of that day are seared into his memory. He currently resides in Canada.

The academic year at both AUB and LAU is coming to an end this month, and neither has revealed a strategy for the upcoming academic year, which begins in the fall of 2026. Lebanon’s MEHE has yet to reveal what its plans are for the future of education in the country. Still, the reality on the ground remains precarious for both the students and institutions involved.

“The situation made me see my future as more uncertain and pushed me to think more about stability and security,” added the student from the Middle East at AUB. The same rhetoric was echoed by the student from Libya at LAU. “The situation made me start asking where I can actually build something stable.”

Stability is one of the primary challenges Lebanon faces, and it is unclear whether or not cessation of hostilities between Israel and Hezbollah will take place in the near future. However, interruptions to the educational delivery in Lebanon are likely to persist, impacting both domestic and international students.

Lebanon’s universities still carry academic weight, but for many international students, that is no longer enough. Repeated disruptions—economic decline, explosions, and now war—have made higher education unpredictable and, at times, untenable. As the next academic year approaches without a clear plan, students are left weighing degrees against safety. For some, the question is no longer how to study in Lebanon, but whether to stay at all.

Ruth Topper was asleep in bed when the phone rang shortly after midnight on April 19. Thinking it was a family emergency, she answered the call. Someone had tried to “firebomb” Kenton United Synagogue, of which she is the chair.

She and her husband rushed to the scene. Miraculously, only minor damage was caused to the building, and no one was injured. It could have been much worse.

Footage later posted online showed a figure in dark clothing setting a bottle of liquid on fire and throwing it through the window of the shul in north-west London.

It was enough to keep Topper awake for most of that night. “It was not easy to go to sleep after something awful had happened,” says Topper. “I was still trying to process it.”

A 17-year-old boy was subsequently arrested and charged with arson.

It’s now painfully evident that Jewish spaces are being deliberately singled out.

When two worshippers were killed outside Heaton Park synagogue in Manchester last October, the nation’s Jews feared it would not be the only terrorist attack.

Six months on, that has proven to be the case.

In March, four Jewish charity-owned ambulances were set on fire in a synagogue car park in Golders Green, an area in north London home to one of the largest Jewish communities in the country.

Across April, a pattern of intimidation and hostility toward Jewish institutions became hard to dismiss as isolated incidents. Within days, synagogues in Finchley and Kenton were targeted by arsonists. The government’s terrorism advisor is now calling the sharp rise in antisemitic attacks a “national security emergency.”

By the end of the month, even a memorial in Golders Green, honoring victims of both the Iranian regime and the October 7 attack, was targeted in a suspected arson attack. And then on April 29, two Jewish men were stabbed in Golders Green. The knifeman, Essa Suleiman, was arrested at the scene. He came to the UK from Somalia in the early 1990s.

Following the attack, the UK’s terrorism threat level was raised from “substantial” to “severe.”

Ephraim Mirvis, the Chief Rabbi, said that “words of condemnation are no longer sufficient.”

He’s right. Many British Jews will now feel that such words ring hollow if no meaningful, decisive action is taken to combat antisemitism, as well as the climate that has allowed it to fester.

Yehudis Fletcher, a mother of three in north Manchester, worries about the safety of her boys, who are visibly Jewish.

Does she ask them to hide their kippahs and tzitzis—tassels that hang out of men’s shirts—or ask them to defy and be proud of who they are? It’s something she has to now wrestle with.

“There has always been an awareness of risk,” she tells me. “Previously, we were aware of kippahs knocked off children’s heads, eggs thrown, muggings. Now, this risk is car ramming, arson, or stabbing.”

While it’s not yet clear who is behind the stabbing, other attacks in recent months against Britain’s Jews have been claimed online by one organization: Harakat Ashab al-Yamin al-Islamia (HAYI).

Meaning the “Islamic Movement of the Companions of the Right,” the group emerged publicly in March after a series of attacks on Jewish institutions in Belgium and the Netherlands.

This has raised concerns that Iran is ramping up its activation of sleeper cells and proxies recruited online to wage a campaign of retaliation against Western countries.

“It is highly likely that Iran is behind some of these attacks,” says Roger MacMillan, a counter-terrorism and security specialist. “The M.O. is always the same. Whether it’s a warning, an attack, and then a video posted online claiming responsibility for the attack. HAYI follows the same pattern as other Islamic resistance groups.”

While HAYI’s attacks have been poorly executed, their intention is also to spread fear, Macmillan adds. It’s clearly working.

The British government is now moving to proscribe the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) as a terrorist organization. Accountable only to Iran’s Supreme Leader, the IRGC has been accused of supporting militant groups and destabilizing activities across the Middle East. Iran refutes all allegations.

“I do think the IRGC ought to be proscribed,” says Ruth Topper. “There’s a lot of hate coming from abroad.”

Many Jews have also reported feeling unsafe going into central London when there were marches against the war in Gaza. Although the Stop The War Coalition insists that they are not “hate marches,” but “expressions of solidarity and support for those under attack,” Fletcher is concerned about some of the rhetoric heard at these events—phrases like “globalize the intifada,” for example.

“‘Words are violence’ is an accepted position that the Left holds. But that doesn’t apply to all words equally,” says Fletcher. “When we are violently attacked as an extension of these words, there seems to be no reflection, reflection, or responsibility.”

If the trajectory of the past six months has shown anything, it’s that each incident has been followed by another, and then another. What once seemed unthinkable is now a reality.

For many British Jews, it’s no longer the issue of “if,” but rather “when” and “where.”

And the next phone call in the middle of the night following an attack might not end with just minor damage, but something far worse.

2026 was set to be a good year for Hakam Hesham. His ride-hailing startup, Lygo, secured a $30,000 investment, supporting expansion into two new cities and the launch of a new app on Android and iPhone.

Momentum across the wider market was growing as well. The entry of major global players such as BYD, the world’s leading manufacturer of New Energy Vehicles (NEVs) and power batteries, reflected rising confidence in Iraq’s economy amid an upswing in innovation across different sectors. “Food delivery services have also been expanding, which has positively impacted smaller businesses,” Hesham said.

The startup scene was finally taking off. Despite ongoing economic challenges, new investment funds and entrepreneurial programs had emerged amid a push to diversify the economy, with organizations like Rwanga, Takween, Vim, Orange Corners, and Ideas Beyond Borders supporting aspiring entrepreneurs.

“The entrepreneurial scene in Iraq has been progressing gradually since 2021, witnessing the birth of many startups, especially in tech, and the entrance of a number of regional and international players into Iraq,” says Dr. Mohammed Al Samarrai, Co-founder of QAF Lab, an innovation hub for entrepreneurs in Mosul. “Many investors have been looking into Iraq as the next hub.”

That changed on February 28, when the US and Israel launched airstrikes on Iran and triggered a regional war. Iraq, home to dozens of Iranian-backed militias, quickly became a second front, shattering several years of security progress and returning the country to a conflict zone.

Hopes that tentative economic growth, a construction boom, and rising investor confidence were starting to shape a new Iraq fell flat in the face of familiar frustrations. Across the country, businesses ground to a halt. The closure of airports and shipping routes shuttered supply lines, and foreign financial transactions were disrupted, making it difficult to pay suppliers abroad.

For many small businesses, the impact was immediate. Limited funding and diminished capacity to absorb losses leave startups vulnerable to economic shocks, with some forced to lay off staff and scale back operations as they wait out the war. “Many startups cannot sustain themselves for more than three months without revenue…. As a result, they begin to lose their position in the market, and company valuations have been steadily declining,” Hesham said.

In the Kurdistan Region of Iraq, Naska Rifaat’s workflow has slowed amid long power outages, travel disruptions, and the fear of being hit by drone strikes if she goes to work. “The office is in an apartment, and it feels risky to be in a tall building at the moment,” she says.

After almost six years in business, Rifaat’s jewelry brand Nask has a strong reputation for quality pieces inspired by Kurdish heritage, with her latest line—a capsule collection for the Kurdish New Year Nowruz—due to launch last month. Six weeks later, her stock remains stuck at the factory.

Prior to the war with Iran, signs of economic recovery and relative internal stability were positioning Iraq as an emerging hub for startups in the region. The country has been leveraging its strategic location in the heart of the Middle East and its young, tech-savvy population to turn reconstruction needs into an opportunity for growth.

An article in The Economist last year described Baghdad as a “boomtown”, citing the surge in construction projects after years of war. Foreign investment rose in early 2026, with a $100 billion reconstruction plan that pledged improvements to infrastructure and services.

Mounting confidence in the security situation has trickled through to the startup sector, where small businesses are looking to play a part in Iraq’s growth.

Now, Al Samarrai fears the sector will be dragged back several years. “The Iraqi ecosystem is still very young, risky, and lacking the proper support from the government in terms of access to finance and an adequate infrastructure,” he said. “Some startups will be innovating their way out of this dilemma, some will pivot innovatively, but a good number will lose their compass as the business demand goes down.”

As consumer confidence ebbs, Rifaat is bracing for a 50 percent drop in sales. If transport routes, airports, and financial transfers continue to be restricted, the short-term impacts of the production drop will be difficult to reverse. For now, promotional offers can help persuade cautious shoppers to spend while she scouts for new suppliers in Turkey, where the border with Iraq remains open.

She has also been exploring European markets to offset local challenges. “I am using this slower period to focus on developing the business strategically,” she says. “Businesses that remain flexible and use this period to restructure, diversify markets, and improve their systems may come out stronger once stability returns.”‎

These strategies can help manage the situation for now, but Rifaat fears the impacts of a prolonged war. “Conflicts affect investor confidence, international partnerships, and operational stability, all of which are essential for startups to grow,” she says.

Longstanding weaknesses in the Iraqi economy threaten further instability as civilians bear the cost. Iraq is one of the most oil-dependent countries in the world, and the blockade on the Strait of Hormuz has all but halted its oil exports, which account for around 90 percent of government revenue.

Protests were already brewing over jobs and services before the war began. Now, rising food and energy prices have exacerbated the struggles faced by ordinary Iraqis, who fear the consequences of long power outages as the hot summer approaches, when temperatures regularly rise above 45 degrees celsius.

Hozan Ibrahim is using generators to supplement the energy supply and relying on customer goodwill to navigate delivery delays—measures he hopes are temporary.

Raw materials for his leather goods company, Carox Leather, come from Turkey and Europe, so he hasn’t faced supply issues like many product-based businesses, but sales are down. “There’s a decreased desire to purchase luxury items due to fears of escalating conflict,” he says.

For now, Iraq has around $97 billion in reserves to fall back on, but the Iran war has amplified an urgent need for economic reform. The startup sector has a key role to play in the country’s shift away from over reliance on oil, but with minimal government support, entrepreneurs need creative solutions to survive the setback.

Namo Hassan has focused on staying calm and accepting that, for now, it’s impossible to plan ahead. “I’m trying to focus on what I can control rather than reacting emotionally to everything happening around us. That means being more careful in planning, protecting the brand, staying close to customers and partners, and continuing to build step by step instead of making rushed decisions.”

While developing his novelty sock brand, Namosocks, he has been encouraged by the evolving entrepreneurial scene. “There is more ambition, more creativity, and more young people trying to build something of their own,” he says. The current conflict may dampen this progress, but in a country where small businesses are used to navigating barriers, he believes the ecosystem will adapt. “I think Iraqi entrepreneurs are very resilient. The scene may slow down, but I don’t think the spirit of entrepreneurship will disappear.”

If you speak with Iranians in the diaspora these days, you will notice something strange: people have started to count time differently.

Not in days or weeks, but in missed phone calls.

“How long has it been since you last spoke to your parents?”
“Two weeks.”
“Three.”
“…I don’t know anymore.”

Some parents in Iran spend money they cannot afford—money meant for groceries that are becoming more expensive by the hour—on costly phone packages to call their children abroad, only for the connection to last a few seconds. Every word carries weight. You try to hold on to each sentence while keeping your voice steady, aware the line could drop at any moment.

Others manage to scrape together enough for a single gigabyte of internet—just enough for a message, a voice note, some proof that they are still there.

It is nearing the end of April 2026, and Iran has experienced more than twelve weeks of severe internet disruption since the beginning of this year.

What is happening in Iran is often described as an “internet shutdown.” That sounds like a switch being flipped on and off. But what’s really happening is something more precise. Iran’s National Information Network (NIN), also known as Iran’s intranet system, is designed to ensure the country remains digitally connected, even if cut off from the world.

What Iranians are left with is a network that appears to be online but is not connected to anything beyond Iran’s borders. Rather than serving as public infrastructure, the internet in Iran is wielded as a tool of control.

The first shutdown phase began on January 8, during widespread anti-regime protests in which thousands of innocent civilians were massacred. Around twenty days of severe internet disruption followed.

Then came the second phase.

At the end of February, after regional escalation, connectivity was cut again—this time to near-zero levels. In some places, traffic fell to 1 or 2% of normal usage. Fifty days followed. By April, the shutdown had continued for twelve weeks of continuous or repeated blackout conditions.

This is the longest nationwide internet shutdown ever recorded. But even this description is slightly misleading.

While most Iranians remain cut off, a small segment of society is being offered something new: monitored access. Known as “Internet Pro,” it is not open or universal and requires identification, approval, and registration; it comes at a high cost and is limited, controlled, and selectively granted.

Certain groups—business elites, approved professionals, and select institutions—are granted restricted access to the global internet, while the rest are confined to the NIN. The result is a layered, class-based system where access itself becomes a privilege reserved for those willing to comply with the regime.

The NIN was not built overnight. It has been tested, refined, and honed for years. What began as an infrastructure project is now being used a political cudgel.

Every connection can be blocked and monitored, and in moments of crisis, the internet is treated less as a means of communication and more as a security risk. It is shut down not because it stops working, but because it works exactly as intended.

These shutdowns follow a clear pattern and coincide with spreading protests, escalating violence, or moments when the state needs time to regroup. Restricting access reduces visibility, which in turn limits accountability and makes violence easier to carry out.

Inside Iran, people are arrested for using satellite internet. Shops are seized, citizens detained, and equipment confiscated. Using global internet access without permission is treated as a crime threatening national security. At the same time, the regime is busy steadily producing propaganda for the outside world.

Videos of armed women framed as “empowerment,” children in staged military displays, and pink patrol vehicles filled with women saluting with weapons all project a single message: the system is intact and supported from within. But behind that performance, ordinary people cannot even send a message.

Why would a regime need to censor its citizens if it has widespread support?

While all this is happening, I sit in Germany watching a political talk show called Maybrit Illner. The topic: Iran and the Strait of Hormuz.

One of the guests is Thorsten Frei, head of the Federal Chancellery under Chancellor Friedrich Merz. He says we are dealing with a criminal regime. And then comes the sentence that drives me mad:

“Regime change cannot be organized from the outside. It must come from within the population itself.”

It sounds reasonable until you think about it. How does a population organize without communication? How do people coordinate without the internet?

Imagine how this sounds to someone inside Iran trying to speak out—stepping outside each day to armed patrols, loudspeakers, uniforms, and guns, knowing there is no internet, no way to reach others, no way to organize, and no clear sense of what is happening even a street away.

Against that reality, calls for “change from within” ring hollow. It is difficult to see how people are expected to organize under these conditions, though it is far easier to make such arguments from a studio in Germany, where they carry no immediate cost and require no action.

I started blogging in Iran a few years before the Green Movement of 2009. Back then, we used dial-up internet—the sound of connection that everyone from my generation still remembers. Slow, unstable, but revolutionary.

For the first time, we could speak beyond borders. Not just to each other, but to the world. Years before Instagram, WhatsApp, or Telegram, we wrote blogs, documented what was happening, and created a space for Iranian voices outside state control.

After being expelled from university because of my beliefs, other expelled students and I wrote letters to ministries and published them online. We documented our dadkhahi—our search for justice—through blogs.

What is taking shape in Iran is not exactly a closed system like North Korea, but something more adaptive. The internet still exists, but access is switched on or off depending on political need.

This extends beyond periodic shutdowns. War, economic strain, and digital restrictions now reinforce each other, tightening control and further isolating Iranian society from the outside world.

Within this system, satellite internet has taken on a different role. It is no longer a convenience or upgrade, but one of the few remaining ways to bypass state-controlled infrastructure. At scale, it offers a rare form of independent access.

That access, however, carries risk. Users can be arrested if caught. Equipment is costly and often obtained through informal channels. Businesses that provide access are shut down, and users can be tracked through signals, devices, and digital activity.

Even so, people continue to find ways to connect.

Because the need to be heard is stronger than the fear of the consequences.

This is the point where the international community has to decide what it actually stands for. If access to information is a fundamental right, then it cannot stop at borders where it becomes politically inconvenient. If freedom of speech matters, then it must also apply to those who are systematically cut off from speaking.

Statements are not enough. What is needed is infrastructure.

Satellite internet is a technical and political solution. It bypasses state control, restores communication, and enables people to organize, document, and speak.

Without it, calls for “change from within” are abstract and feckless. It is a demand made in full knowledge that the means to act have been deliberately taken away.

You cannot ask people to change their country while denying them the ability to communicate. If there is serious intent to support the Iranian people, expanding independent internet access should already be underway at scale. In the meantime, Iranians will continue to measure time in missed calls, cut connections, and messages that never go through.

A few seconds on the phone. A single voice note. Proof of life.

The longest internet shutdown in human history must end. The future of the Iranian people depends on it.

Rows of low concrete houses emerge through the haze of spring heat at the end of a dusty road, some 30 kilometers south of Erbil, in the Kurdistan Region of Iraq (KRI). A line of workshops and shops sits almost empty; their owners stand at the doorway waiting for customers who rarely come.

This is Kawa, an informal settlement of poorly managed roads and small concrete units—the epicenter of a suspended existence. Home to hundreds of Iranian Kurdish families, here it feels like time has stalled.

Raheem

In the shade of a storefront, a woman sits watching the street. Behind her, inside a small workshop, Raheem Abdulmuhamad Mahmoud is at work.

Now in his fifties, Raheem arrived here in 2005 from Anbar, in southern Iraq. Like thousands of others, he left Iran as a child following the 1979 Revolution. “I was about six years old when we got here from Iran, during the Iraq-Iran war,” he recalls.

Raheem’s journey mirrors that of the thousands of Iranian Kurds who fled persecution under Ayatollah Khomeini. Most were settled at the Al Tash camp near Ramadi, which hosted over 12,000 people across two decades. Built in the mid-1980s by the Iraqi government, the camp became home for families later recognized as refugees by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR).

For many, the journey was a long arc toward Kawa. Following the 2003 fall of Saddam’s regime, the lack of safety in central Iraq—exacerbated by Al Qaeda and intense fighting—pushed them to flee once again.

As Al Tash became hostile ground due to constant attacks and deteriorating services, residents sought shelter elsewhere.

By 2005, the UN refugee agency and the Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) agreed to create the Kawa settlement. Tents sprang up 30 km south of Erbil with support from a local NGO; what began as a temporary refuge quickly became a permanent home.

Yet, decades later, the legal status of these families remains frozen. According to UNHCR data from March 2026, there are approximately 8,953 Iranian refugees and asylum seekers in Iraq today.

Survival in Kawa is a permanent struggle for daily wages. Raheem cleans chickens for his neighbors, a job demanding on his health. “I don’t even sell chickens; I just clean them for 1,000 IQD ($0.65),” he explains.

After nine years, the toll is evident. “I got an allergy from the feathers, and I’m not supposed to be doing this job anymore, but I’m forced to, because there are no other options for me here.”

After decades of being displaced, Raheem faces the harsh reality of statelessness. His only official document is his Iqama—the residency card issued by the Kurdistan Region of Iraq (KRI) to foreigners. While it grants a legal presence, the lack of full citizenship limits employment opportunities, leaving essential healthcare financially out of reach.

“We have no citizenship, no rights,” Raheem says. “I need an eye surgery very urgently, and I cannot afford it; I am just waiting, and no one has helped me.” He blames the UN for treating his community as a closed case. “The UN has mistreated us.”

Hiwa

Born into displacement, Hiwa—whose name has been changed for security reasons—runs a small butcher shop. In his early thirties, he is part of a generation that has never known Iran, a place his family left behind long before he was born. Born in Iraq, he arrived at Kawa as a teenager around 2007, spending seven years in a tent before moving into a concrete unit. Today, he bears the scars of a life belonging nowhere.

“My parents are both Iranian, but I am stateless,” he says, his voice carrying a long-held frustration. “What is the sense in me being stateless? I haven’t made any mistakes.”

Because his family lacks Iranian documentation, they cannot return, even to visit. “We only have the Iqama,” he says, his reality stark: ‘We are stuck here because Iran doesn’t want us and Iraq doesn’t take us; we feel stuck in the middle.”

Maintaining an Iqama is a hurdle, requiring a local sponsor and a yearly fee. While it grants rights to housing and private-sector employment, it forbids movement into Federal Iraq. For those without it, the only link to the system is a UNHCR certificate—a document required for legal residence—yet many here dismiss it as “useless”.

Like his neighbors, Hiwa has a young family and struggles to make ends meet. He opened his shop at 5:00 am, but by midday, he had barely any customers.

“People are living completely hopeless,” he says. “If there were a chance, they would go to Europe walking.” He describes a neighborhood where men work in construction, street cleaning, or painting, earning a meager 300,000 IQD ($228) per month. But even this small income is precarious. “Some days they don’t make any money because it all goes to transportation,” Hiwa explains. “If we were not hard workers, we would have died starving.”

Saeed and His Wife

Inside a spacious living room, a woman reflects on a life spent in suspension while her husband is busy with the midday prayers.“We are burned with displacement,” she says.

The couple, parents to six children, crossed into Iraq in 1980. They describe the ensuing forty years as a single, decades-long struggle. “We have had no future at all,” she explains. “Our children cannot get jobs, and we cannot obtain any official documents, so we don’t have any rights to work. We just manage with day-to-day labor.”

Originally from the Kurdish province of Kermanshah, their lives were upended by the outbreak of the Iran-Iraq war. Veterans of Al Tash, they found themselves starting over again in 2006 upon reaching Kawa.

The reality of their status soon set in: without recognized documentation, their children—now aged 13 to 22—are ghosts in the system. Their educational certificates are not recognized, and they cannot pass any checkpoints outside the Kurdistan Region. “We have nothing here,” Saeed Ahmad says bluntly. “My kids have a UN paper to go to school. But our future is lost.”

Their reliance on casual labor brings in less than 10,000 IQD ($8) per day, leaving them in debt and falling behind on electricity bills.

Saeed blames the UN for their “permanent limbo”, recalling the 2005 move as a betrayal rather than a rescue. Here, the feeling among many is one of abandonment. “The UN threw us here, left us alone, and they didn’t care,” his voice sharpens. “It’s been seven or eight years; they haven’t even visited us.” He notes that the Kurdish government warned the UN at the outset that they could only provide land and school enrollment, not ongoing aid.

Today, the couple renews their UN documents every two years but has lost all faith in the paperwork. “We cannot even go through a checkpoint with it. We cannot get jobs, education. It’s useless—just a piece of paper.”

Saeed’s frustration is palpable. “It’s not logical that we have been here for 47 years and don’t have any rights,” he says. “We want Iraq either to give us citizenship or throw us back to Iran.”

While Iraqi law theoretically offers a path to citizenship after 10 years’ stay or marriage, administrative hurdles make it impossible for Iranian Kurdish refugees.

When asked about returning home, the couple is hesitant regarding political shifts in Iran; what they need are practical reassurances of safety. “We don’t care if the regime falls or not,” Saeed says. “But if they compensate us, take us back legally, and pass an amnesty law, it would be better than living here.”

Ultimately, Saeed and his wife only wish to exist within the law, whether here in Iraq or back in Iran.

Hussein

The reality of a double displacement is the story of a people who, after fleeing Iran, found themselves packing again when life became dangerous even in Iraq. Hussein Gholam Ali, an elderly man, experienced the loss of security a second time in Iraq firsthand. While the Iranian Kurds in Ramadi had been provided three-month food parcels by the government, that support ended abruptly in the summer of 2003.

For Hussein, now living in a house built by an NGO, survival is a matter of collective charity. He points at his belongings, noting that almost everything was donated. “Some people bring us money and donations every month,” he says; it is the only way his family carries on.

Sitting on a rug, he shows his bruised legs. “I have many diseases—heart surgery, blood pressure issues,” he says. His condition prevents him from working, leaving his son as the sole breadwinner for a family with no safety net.

Hussein has no intention of returning to Iran. With family connections long since severed and the ongoing tensions, a future in Iran is impossible to imagine. ”They are being bombed, everything is way too expensive,” he notes. “And we have been here very long.”

For now, Hussein’s life depends on the kindness of strangers. While he holds an Iqama, his lack of stable income means he cannot afford the medications he desperately needs. He expresses deep gratitude toward a doctor who provides his medicine for free—a small mercy in a life defined by instability.

In Kawa, reality is a fragile existence where survival depends on the solidarity of individuals, rather than in local institutions or a UN system that has failed people. Residents continue to lean on one another, waiting for a rights-based future that remains out of reach.

Stella Martany contributed translation and local research for this report.

From war, repressive governments, and armed extremist groups, journalists across the Middle East have faced a slew of deadly risks for many years.

Last week, this danger reached as far as London.

Three men were arrested after an attempted attack near the offices of Iran International, a Persian-language broadcaster that has long been in the cross-hairs of the Islamic Republic and many of their apologists. For years, its staff have lived under threat, just as many other journalists across the region are right now.

On the evening of April 15th, a suspicious vehicle was reportedly refused entry at the site. Shortly after, incendiary devices were reportedly thrown into the car park of an adjacent building. The suspects then fled, driving away in a black SUV before being arrested after a police pursuit.

The message is unmistakable. Distance offers no protection from the Iranian regime. Criticize the regime? They, or their lackeys, will come for you. For dissenting Iranians, this has been the norm for years.

And now, that risk is spreading across the region.

Take Iraq. The American journalist Shelly Kittleson was abducted in Baghdad in late March. She was held by her captors—the Iranian regime-backed Kata’ib Hezbollah—for a week before being released. Her kidnapping was a troubling reminder that Iraq is still a place where armed actors will seize Iraqi civilians and Western visitors alike. Journalists are particularly at risk of abduction.

Kittleson’s case is similar to an even longer ordeal: the kidnapping of Elizabeth Tsurkov. Tsurkov, a Russian-Israeli woman, was seized in Iraq in 2023 and held for more than two years by the same group that abducted Kittleson.

Tsurkov is an academic researcher rather than a journalist. But her case is part of an escalating pattern. Researchers, writers, and reporters travel. They ask questions. Sometimes these questions make people uncomfortable. That can place a target on one’s back.

Tsurkov wrote about what she experienced in a piece for The Atlantic titled: “I Was Kidnapped By Idiots”

In Kuwait, too, Ahmed Shihab-Eldin, a Kuwaiti-American journalist, has reportedly been detained since early March. He was charged with spreading false information, harming national security, and misusing his mobile phone. The case appears to center on social media posts connected to the current war between the United States and Iran. This includes footage of a U.S. fighter jet crash near a U.S. air base in Kuwait, which he posted on his Substack.

During the recent escalations between the Israeli military and Hezbollah in Lebanon, there have also been journalists threatened and harmed. Three American freelance journalists told the Committee To Protect Journalists they were assaulted while reporting on civilians evacuating from Beirut’s southern suburbs. The alleged assailants have not yet been publicly identified.

Each of these cases should concern anyone who cares about the future of the Middle East.

Journalism, it bears repeating, should never be treated as a crime or a transgression. Harsh criticism of governments is one of the few effective checks on corruption and abuse. Reporting aggressively, commenting sharply, and exposing corruption, incompetence, repression, or violence are among the best catalysts for a society to correct itself.

Research shows that this matters for both liberty and prosperity. Societies in which journalists are allowed to investigate and speak freely tend to be better-governed. They tend to be less corrupt. They also tend to be more capable of sustained development. A free press makes it much harder for incompetence and state failure to hide and plague us in the dark.

These motivations inspired me to work as a writer and a journalist myself. My colleagues across the Middle East deserve to do their jobs freely without the threat of kidnapping—or worse.

If the targeting of journalists in the Middle East continues, the consequences will be tangible. Fewer reporters will take risks. Fewer stories will be told. The record will thin out, replaced by rumor, propaganda, and silence. That is exactly the outcome these actors want.

Journalists are being targeted because they are effective. They document what others try to hide. They force uncomfortable facts into public view. That is why they are threatened, detained, and, in some cases, hunted across borders.

This cannot be treated as background noise to the regional conflict. It is part of the conflict. Governments that claim to value stability and order cannot look away while armed groups and state-backed actors turn reporting into a liability punishable by violence and false imprisonment.

A region where journalists are silenced is a region where abuse goes unchallenged, and power operates without restraint. That is the direction this is heading unless there is a real cost for those who make journalists their targets.

In the forest-covered slopes of Mount Lebanon, hundreds of people gathered last week for the funeral of Pierre and Flavia Mouawad. Two days earlier, an Israeli airstrike on Easter Sunday killed the couple and their neighbor in an attack on Ain Saade, a town northeast of Beirut, sending shockwaves across the country.

The conflict, which began soon after US-Israeli strikes on Iran, has intensified calls for the disarmament of Hezbollah as critics accuse the group of dragging Lebanon into another devastating war with Israel. Supporters say the Lebanese army is too weak to defend Lebanon in the face of Israeli aggression. As a 10-day ceasefire agreement between Lebanon and Israel gets underway, the controversy over Hezbollah’s weapons is expected to be a critical sticking point in direct negotiations between the countries.

Pierre, an official in the Lebanese Forces (LF), was a staunch opponent of Hezbollah. Israeli media claimed the intended target of the strike was a member of Iran’s elite Quds Force, which is closely aligned with Hezbollah. However, the attack never killed the alleged Quds Force member. Instead, it took the lives of three innocent civilians.

In the wake of the Ain Saade strike, LF followers and other Lebanese blamed Hezbollah for the tragedy, accusing the group of hiding its affiliates among civilians. Supporters of Hezbollah blamed Israel for targeting a residential building. The ensuing debate has highlighted mounting division in Lebanon over Hezbollah and its role as an armed resistance movement.

Hezbollah emerged as a Shia militia in the 1980s amidst the chaos of the Lebanese civil war. It gained popularity and support as it waged a years-long insurgency against Israeli troops occupying the country, culminating in their withdrawal from Lebanon in 2000. Alongside its military feats, Hezbollah also entered into Lebanon’s political scene, providing political representation to the Shia community along with essential services in sectors like health and education.

But while those efforts proved successful in winning over much of the Shia community in Lebanon, not all of the country is so fond of Hezbollah. The group has long been criticized for acting above the state, especially in matters of war and peace. Such criticism has grown louder in recent years, especially in the wake of Hezbollah’s decision to enter into two wars with Israel since 2023.

Anger towards Hezbollah was still raw two days after the death of the Mouawads as family, friends, party officials, and political allies gathered for the funeral in Pierre’s home village of Yahchouch. On the stairs of Saint Simon Church, LF parliamentarian Chaouki Daccache lambasted Hezbollah as he criticized the government for failing to stop the group.

“The one who dragged Lebanon into a destructive and futile war, committing a crime first against the state and against all Lebanese—it is Hezbollah, the agent implementing Iran’s agenda at the expense of Lebanon and its people,” Daccache said.

Earlier that day, the Lebanese military published the findings of an investigation that cast doubt on whether the alleged Quds Force member had really been staying among the Mouawads. Fouad K, a member of the local LF branch and a friend of Pierre, was skeptical. “Things are more complicated than that,” he said. “The Lebanese army, while it is a national army, has been infiltrated over 30 years by Hezbollah,” he added, emphasizing that his views are personal and not representative of the Lebanese Forces.

In the weeks prior to the Ain Saade strike, Israel carried out similar attacks in parts of Beirut that were once considered safe. Such attacks have deepened widespread opposition to Hezbollah, which many Lebanese have long accused of acting above the state. That criticism has deepened since Hezbollah attacked Israel on March 2, igniting the second war that Lebanon has faced in less than two years.

More than 2,100 people have been killed in Israeli strikes, which have continued in the face of widespread condemnation. In recent weeks, Israel has bombed huge swathes of the country and launched a ground incursion into southern Lebanon, displacing 20 percent of the population.

Despite the devastation, some Lebanese say there is no other way to disarm Hezbollah. “Israel is not doing us a favor. They’re doing themselves a favor. But we are benefiting from that,” said Fouad, who described the group as “a cancer infiltrating everything in Lebanon.”

Pointing across a deep valley, he picked out Shia and Christian villages dotted along the mountain slope. “People live together, but the poison is Hezbollah’s ideology,” he said. “It poisoned them over three generations.”

After the Easter Sunday attack, tensions bubbled over. Shia families who had been renting homes in Yahchouch left. Those who refused “were forced out by the people who rented (to) them,” Fouad said.

Since the start of the war, local officials and residents have placed restrictions on renting homes to Shia families in case they are affiliated with Hezbollah. Communities say they are afraid of being targeted by Israel if Hezbollah members or allies stay among them.

Less than 24 hours after the funeral in Yahchouch, there was a brief sense of relief as US President Donald Trump announced a two-week ceasefire with Iran. Hours later, however, Israel carried out its largest attack on Lebanon since the start of the war, killing at least 357 people and wounding another 1,223 others, according to the Lebanese health ministry.

As debate raged over Lebanon’s inclusion in the ceasefire, Israel announced that it would enter into direct negotiations with Beirut to discuss the disarmament of Hezbollah. The talks marked the first conversation between Lebanese and Israeli leaders in 34 years. The two countries do not have diplomatic relations.

While the Lebanese government has already taken steps since the last war to disarm Hezbollah, many people are skeptical of its ability to carry out the job.

On Friday and Saturday, Hezbollah supporters took to the streets in Beirut to protest the talks. “We want peace, we want a ceasefire,” said Ali, a middle-aged father displaced from Dahiyeh, a Shia-majority suburb south of Beirut. “Let Israel withdraw and mind their own business and let us mind our own. But to sign a peace agreement with them is impossible. They killed half of our people. It’s impossible to sign a peace agreement with them.”

Ali is staying in a tent on Beirut’s Corniche, which has turned into an unofficial displacement camp for people uprooted by Israeli strikes across the country. Unable to find work since the last war, Ali said he can’t afford to rent a place for his family of seven. The restrictions on renting to Shia families are a further barrier.

“Some people are scared. You can’t blame them… But it’s not the fault of women and children. Rent at least to women and children,” Ali said.

Ali’s only other option is one of Tripoli’s displacement shelters, which are typically overcrowded and underequipped. Not wanting to subject his family to these poor conditions, he took them to the waterfront.

Rain trickled on an overhead tarp as he ate and drank coffee with family and friends who were also displaced. Other than initial cash assistance from Lebanon’s Ministry of Social Affairs, Ali and his friends said they had not received any support from the government.

“The government is not seeing us at all,” Ali said. “The state is with Israel against us. They’re killing us.”

Following the attack on Wednesday when Israel bombed more than 100 targets across Lebanon in less than 10 minutes, Lebanese Prime Minister Nawaf Salam declared a day of mourning. To Ali’s family and friends, it seemed hypocritical. “How many martyrs (from southern Lebanon) have gone so far, and he hasn’t done any mourning day?” said Ali’s wife, Wafaa.

“People in Beirut are Lebanese, but people in Dahiyeh, the South, and the Beqaa are not,” her friend Susan added, pointing to areas across the country that are home to large Shia communities.

As she spoke, news broke of an Israeli airstrike on the southern city of Nabatieh. The attack killed 19 people, including 13 members of Lebanon’s state security.

In a country repeatedly battered by war, ordinary Lebanese are forced to find an increasingly unlikely path to peace. For some, Israeli attacks are the only way to dispel Hezbollah’s hold over the country. For others, each strike deepens opposition to disarming Hezbollah. Across society, there is little faith in the ability of Lebanon’s military to defend the country, whether from foreign incursion or internal unrest. While the ceasefire agreement announced on Thursday by US President Donald Trump offers hope of some respite for battered Lebanon, it is a far cry from resolving the issues that brought the country to this point in the first place. If Lebanon is to reach lasting peace, it will have to confront its most divisive challenges, particularly those pertaining to national security.

“How will the army protect me now? They can’t protect me. Only the Resistance can protect me,” said Ali, referring to Hezbollah.

Lebanon is at war, and the most dangerous front isn’t at the border—it’s inside the state itself, where threats are now turning inward.

Since the start of the war in Iran, Hezbollah’s senior political rhetoric has moved from contempt to something far more explicit. Mahmoud Qamati, deputy head of Hezbollah’s political council, invoked the fate of the infamous Vichy government.

The Vichy regime (July 1940–August 1944) was an authoritarian state based in southern France, headed by Marshal Philippe Pétain, that cooperated with Nazi Germany during World War II. Formed after France’s military defeat, it replaced the Third Republic and implemented an anti-Semitic agenda under the banner of the “Révolution nationale,” while formally maintaining a stance of neutrality.

He said Vichy “arrested the resistance and executed them,” was later overthrown, and “the traitors in it were executed,” adding: “God willing we don’t get there.” He followed it with a promise that “Based on the current facts and positions, it appears that a direct confrontation with this political authority is inevitable after the war ends, regardless of its outcome. The government in Lebanon is no longer fit to run the country, and its positions only serve the Israeli enemy. Therefore, confrontation is coming, and the traitors will pay the price for their betrayal.”

This is a blatant death threat, delivered through historical analogy, so it can be denied later with a smirk. It places an elected government in the category of traitors and elevates Hezbollah to the role of judge and executioner. And it suggests—without even bothering to hide it—that Lebanon’s leadership may be forcibly executed if it attempts to behave like a state.

If Lebanon still had any illusion that Hezbollah can be treated as a normal Lebanese political actor, it should die here.

Hezbollah’s Vichy rhetoric is a weapon designed to justify violence.

“Vichy” is not shorthand for “weak” or “corrupt.” It means collaboration with an occupying enemy. It is one of the most morally loaded accusations in modern political memory because it turns opponents into legitimate targets. By placing the government in the “Vichy” category and speaking about how “traitors were executed,” Hezbollah is doing three things at once:

1. delegitimizing the state as a treasonous instrument,

2. sanctifying itself as the only authentic national actor, and

3. preparing the public for physical punishment against anyone who challenges its war decision.

It’s also a grotesque inversion.

A collaborator regime is one that enforces an external occupier’s will against its own people. Hezbollah is the actor in Lebanon that has long operated as a parallel sovereignty: deciding war and peace outside the state’s control, maintaining its own security apparatus, and aligning its strategic priorities with Iran. The Vichy analogy does not describe the Lebanese government. It describes the relationship Hezbollah wants Lebanon to accept: a country that exists to serve an external project, while anyone who resists that project is branded a traitor.

Lebanon’s postwar era has been stained by political assassinations. Some were solved; many were not; most have been swallowed by impunity. The most consequential example was the 2005 assassination of former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri. A UN-backed tribunal later convicted a Hezbollah member, Salim Ayyash, for his role in that assassination. Hezbollah rejected the tribunal and refused to hand him over.

Around the same period, Lebanon witnessed a wave of assassinations targeting prominent critics of Hezbollah’s terror axis. (Samir Kassir, Walid Eido, Gebran Tueini, and Pierre Gemayel among them.) These murders deepened the country’s belief that politics is enforced by bullets, not ballots. In many cases, the perpetrators were not brought to justice. That impunity becomes part of the threat ecosystem: when killers are not punished, threats become credible by default.

So when Hezbollah’s official rhetoric flirts with “executions,” it does not matter that the sentence ends with “God willing we don’t get there.” The message is already delivered: we can get there, and you should behave accordingly.

The threats have expanded from political discourse into direct intimidation of media and public speech.

A Lebanese TV station reported “death threats and intimidation messages” targeting officials and staff, describing it as an attempt to “silence the media by force” and subject free speech to “the logic of weapons.” The accusation attached to these threats was familiar and poisonous: claims that the station’s reporting on Hezbollah’s illegal activities “gave coordinates” to Israel.

Then came the digital enforcement arm. The station’s website was hit by a cyberattack that took it offline. A group calling itself the “Fatimiyoun Electronic Squad” claimed responsibility and described the outlet as “Zionist,” adding that the attacks would not be limited to denial-of-service and that the station’s databases would be exposed “successively.”

Speech in Lebanon has become a frontier of the ongoing war, and it carries penalties. If you report, you may be branded a traitor. If you are branded a traitor, threats become “patriotism,” and Lebanon knows very well that those threats are often realized.

This is how a militia governs when it cannot persuade: it makes fear a public utility.

There is a deeper scandal here than Hezbollah’s threats. The scandal is the state’s slow, cautious, and evasive response.

A state is not a state if it cannot defend the basic right to disagree without being threatened with death. When officials are publicly compared to Vichy traitors who deserve “execution,” and the state does not respond with firm action, it sends a message to every Lebanese citizen that the militia has more authority than the republic.

When journalists receive death threats, and the response is not immediate prosecution, it teaches every newsroom that survival requires self-censorship.

And when cyberattacks are claimed publicly with escalation promises, and the state still behaves as if this is a “media dispute” rather than a political intimidation operation, it signals institutional surrender.

This is how Lebanon is trained into submission. Not with one coup, but with a thousand small retreats.

For years, Lebanese officials and foreign diplomats hid behind timid vocabulary: Hezbollah’s actions were “uncoordinated,” “unregulated,” “outside the state.” Even when the results were catastrophic, the language stayed polite, as if Hezbollah’s problem were administrative rather than existential.

That framing has expired.

When a movement declares war without the state’s consent, threatens an elected government with the language of execution, and cultivates an ecosystem that threatens journalists with death and enforces fear through cyberattacks, this is no longer merely “illegal.” It is terror politics.

And that is why the next conclusion is unavoidable.

A political party does not threaten to “execute traitors.” A political party does not wrap an elected government in the language of treason and imply it may deserve the fate of collaborators. A political party does not tolerate an ecosystem where journalists receive death threats for reporting. A political party does not cultivate punishment through cyberattacks and threats of database exposure.

This is the behavior of a terrorist organization.

Hezbollah has benefited from Lebanon’s greatest national delusion that it could be treated as both a militia and a party for decades. That hybrid model is what trained the state to hesitate and society to accept intimidation as “normal politics.”

If Lebanon wants to survive this war with anything resembling sovereignty, it has to stop entertaining the fantasy of coexistence with a movement that treats disagreement as treason and treason as a pretext for death.

Hezbollah’s threats are not only about today’s government or today’s newsroom. They are about tomorrow’s Lebanon.

They are training a population to believe that citizenship has conditions: don’t speak too loudly, don’t question the war, don’t investigate the militia, and don’t oppose the chain of command.

The most frightening line in Qamati’s speech is not the reference to Vichy, but the calm assurance that the confrontation with the state is “inevitable.” That is a militia announcing it intends to discipline the republic after the war, and informs how the citizenry and its leaders will behave in the interim.

Lebanon’s answer to the current moment cannot be another season of silence. We have had enough. If the state remains inert now, then Lebanon is not heading toward a crisis. It is already living inside one and is now heading towards the end of Lebanon’s existence.

To put it plainly: Lebanon is being held hostage, and the state is suffering from Stockholm syndrome.

Concern is mounting over the safety of US journalist Shelly Kittleson, whose whereabouts remain unknown more than five days after she was abducted from a busy street in Baghdad. The group responsible, Kata’ib Hezbollah, has demanded the release of several members involved in attacks on the US embassy, a source close to the Iraqi Interior Ministry in Baghdad told Middle East Uncovered.

“Shelly has become a card between America and Iran,” the source said, adding that Kata’ib Hezbollah is seeking to use the hostage situation as leverage against the United States to influence the escalating conflict in the Middle East.

Security officials told the New York Times that representatives of the powerful Iraqi militia group, which is allied with Iran, contacted government figures on Wednesday, offering to free Kittleson if its demands are met.

The group was also behind the kidnapping of an Israeli-Russian academic Elizabeth Tsurkov, a doctoral student at Princeton University, was abducted in March 2023 and held for nearly three years.

Kittleson received kidnapping warnings in the days leading up to her abduction, but believed that her wide network across Iraqi society would afford protection. For the 49-year-old freelance journalist, security came from the relationships she formed, sometimes staying with families rather than in hotels and traveling to remote corners of Iraq to document stories on the ground.

“Shelly is a courageous field journalist who does not settle for reporting news from closed rooms,” said Osama Al Maqdoni, an Iraqi photojournalist who worked with Kittleson in Sinjar, Mosul, Erbil, and Baghdad. Over the years, she built up a “rare ability to access all sides,” visiting areas of western Nineveh and western Anbar to interview the leaders of Iranian-backed armed factions, he added.

“She does not chase ‘scoops’ as much as she pursues the truth—even when it is complex or uncomfortable,” Al Maqdoni said.

Iraq has long been a high-risk environment for journalists but the escalating conflict in the Middle East following the launch of US-Israeli strikes on Iran last month has deepened an ongoing security crisis as the country becomes a proxy battleground for outside powers.

Kittleson’s location remains unknown, but reports indicate that Kata’ib Hezbollah has secured the transfer of a hostage to Jurf al-Sakhr, a major stronghold of armed factions south of the capital, the Baghdad source said. The area, which was recaptured from ISIS in 2014, is difficult to access, posing complications for a potential rescue operation.

“The group aims to impose a number of demands, including pushing the United States to reduce the frequency of airstrikes targeting its positions and those of the Popular Mobilization Forces (PMF) inside Iraq, as well as pressing for the release of several of its members detained by security forces,” the source added.

The PMF, also known as al-Hashd al-Shaabi, is an Iraqi paramilitary force of mainly Iran-backed Shia militias that was formed to combat the rise of ISIS in 2014. Kata’ib Hezbollah is among the most powerful of these factions. Designated as a terrorist group by the US, the group operates simultaneously as part of the state-sanctioned PMF and independently to pursue Iranian-aligned agendas beyond the government’s control.

These blurred boundaries allow Iran-backed militias to act with apparent impunity, attacking US military and diplomatic sites in Iraq and targeting human rights campaigners, protesters, journalists, academics, and political leaders.

Kittleson’s abduction is “a tragic reminder of the extremely dangerous working conditions faced by reporters, and especially freelance reporters, in areas where armed groups are active,” said Martin Roux, head of the Crisis Desk at Reporters Without Borders (RSF).

Footage of the kidnapping at a busy intersection in central Baghdad showed Kittleson being pushed into a car by several men and driven away. The Iraqi Ministry of Interior said in a statement that security forces had launched “an operation to apprehend the perpetrators” and confirmed that one of the suspects had been arrested and a vehicle used in the kidnapping had been seized.

The incident, in broad daylight, reflects the “alarming levels of impunity with which militants and aggressors threaten and harm journalists,” said Kiran Nazish, founding director of the Coalition for Women in Journalism (CFWIJ) and Women Press Freedom.

Hundreds of mostly local reporters have been kidnapped, killed, and arrested in Iraq since 2003, when the chaotic aftermath of the US-led invasion of Iraq created a power vacuum that was filled by armed militias, sectarian groups, and terrorist organizations. According to UNESCO, 198 media professionals were murdered in Iraq between 2006 and 2018.

More recently, Iraq’s position in the World Press Freedom Index has risen from 172 out of 180 countries in 2023 to 155 in 2025. However, the security situation remains volatile and complex, with the current regional conflict exacerbating the risks of reporting in Baghdad.

Sara Qudah, director of the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) warned that “Iraqi authorities must act swiftly to secure (Kittleson’s) safe release and hold those responsible to account, while ensuring the dark era of journalist kidnappings and assassinations does not return to Iraq.”

The last kidnapping of a journalist in Iraq took place in 2020 when Tawfik Al-Tamimi, editor-in-chief of the daily newspaper Al-Sabah, was abducted and forced into a car on his way to work. This followed several abductions of journalists after the Tishreen protests in October 2019.

“Such incidents risk creating a climate of fear that undermines the press and journalists’ ability to work safely,” Qudah said.

An experienced journalist who has reported from Afghanistan, Syria, and Iraq, Kittleson has spoken about the risks facing freelancers operating on shoestring budgets, telling the Imperial War Museum in an interview that it was difficult to secure protective gear while covering the war in Syria.

Her articles have appeared in publications including Politico, New Lines Magazine, and Al-Monitor, which on Tuesday called for her release in a statement, saying “We stand by her vital reporting from the region and call for her swift return to continue her important work.”

Describing her as “persistent and resilient,” Al Maqdoni recounted how Kittleson almost lost her life on numerous occasions while reporting on the battle against ISIS in the narrow alleyways of Mosul’s Old City. “She does not write from behind barricades, but from within them,” he said.

Prior to her disappearance, Kittleson was covering civilian reconstruction in the Karrada district of Baghdad. Her commitment to on-the-ground reporting saw her build relationships with actors from across the political spectrum in Iraq, including security leaders, tribal sheikhs, government officials, and leaders of Iranian-backed armed factions.

“This made her a trusted figure, and increased her sense of safety—believing she would not be subject to kidnapping or threats,” Al Maqdoni said.

Hours before her abduction, sitting down with another journalist friend at one of the few places she could find vegetarian food in Baghdad, Kittleson dismissed warnings of a possible threat against her. “She said she loved Iraq and didn’t expect anyone to hurt her,” the journalist, who asked not to be named, said.

Nevertheless, she took steps to minimize the risks of her work, completing a security training course for freelance reporters in Baghdad last month and telling our Middle East Uncovered editor she needed to find secure channels to share information as her American passport had placed “a target on my [her] back.”

Posting on X, Alex Plitsas, a CNN national security analyst and Kittleson’s designated US point of contact, confronted “callous” posts regarding her response to these warnings. “She’s a well-known front-line reporter in conflict zones providing valuable and insightful coverage.”

“People like Shelly provide sourced and vetted reporting where transparency and truth are scarce. She has been at the forefront of world events for decades and is among the most selfless people I’ve ever met.”

Colleagues have criticized the accusatory tone of some of the comments and coverage surrounding Kittleson’s abduction.

Writing on Substack about her friend’s disappearance, journalist Lauren Wolfe called out the media portrayal of Kittleson “as some kind of renegade journalist because she’s a freelancer… as if she brought this on herself because of it.

“Most journalists working abroad today are freelance—there are no staff jobs to be had in the industry,” Wolfe wrote.

In a statement on Tuesday, Dylan Johnson, U.S. assistant secretary of state for public affairs, said, “The State Department fulfilled our duty to warn this individual of threats against them, and we will continue to coordinate with the FBI to ensure their release as quickly as possible.”

Calling for the State Department to do everything in its power to secure her release, Seth Stern, Chief of Advocacy at Freedom of the Press Foundation, said: “We hope the government is taking this matter extremely seriously and that its statements blaming Kittleson for allegedly not heeding warnings are not an attempt to evade responsibility.”

As pressure mounts for her release, colleagues warn that Kittleson’s case underscores a culture of impunity that allows armed groups to target journalists in Iraq. Petitions calling for her release demand that, this time, those responsible be held to account. More than three days after her abduction, fears for her safety are growing. “Any failure to act swiftly and responsibly will result in harming our colleague,” the CFWIJ said in a statement.

“These concerning circumstances…reflect the dangers journalists are facing today to tell the story of humanity.”

When the US and Israel launched large-scale airstrikes on Iran, killing Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, the regional spillover was swift. Within days, Hezbollah fired rockets into Israel, opening a new front in Lebanon amid a widening conflict that has disrupted global energy markets and sparked warnings of a global recession.

In a country familiar with the ramifications of war, the effect on businesses was immediate. “The moment the attacks started, we received notice upon notice from our clients in the GCC wanting to cancel their contracts,” said Natheer Halawani, who owns a creative agency in Lebanon. “Right now, the company is running on fumes, and I don’t have enough to pay salaries.”

As the conflict escalates, concern is mounting over the economic toll of what US President Donald Trump described as a “limited operation,” which has killed over 3,000 people across the Middle East since strikes began on February 28. Gulf oil flow has plunged, sending prices soaring as production facilities across the Gulf become targets and Iran maintains its chokehold on the Strait of Hormuz.

While Gulf economies absorb the immediate shock, the consequences are reverberating in fragile states like Lebanon, where the financial fallout is already devastating livelihoods.

Entrepreneurs like Halawani, who turned to the UAE for stability and security, are watching that promise wither as clients freeze contracts and place projects on hold. “It takes chunks out of your life to keep rebuilding something that someone else destroyed,” said Halawani, who steered his company, The Cabinet, through multiple crises in Lebanon before pivoting to focus on Gulf markets in 2025, after President Trump shut down USAID, his biggest client.

Unable to rely on Lebanon’s faltering economy, small business owners are now considering their future in a region where nowhere seems safe. “The Gulf was supposed to be stable and secure—everything we lacked in Lebanon,” said Halawani, who worries it may be months before business picks up again while weaker economies like Lebanon plunge deeper into debt.

Years of financial crisis and institutional paralysis have gutted Lebanon’s start-up scene. The country is hampered by one of the world’s highest debt burdens, compounded by decades of fiscal mismanagement and excessive borrowing. Denied growth opportunities at home, Lebanese startups have increasingly adopted a hybrid solution. Staff and ideas are based at home, while business expansion is concentrated in the GCC, particularly the UAE, which has become a hub for entrepreneurship in the region.

For Farah Ghanem, Dubai was the obvious choice for scaling her business. The 30-year-old runs CNSLT Lab, a corporate consultancy that draws 70-80 percent of its business from the Gulf. The UAE’s attractive regulatory environment, infrastructure, and access to regional markets make it “a natural extension for Lebanese businesses that cannot fully grow locally,” she said.

The turmoil triggered by the current conflict has forced her to reconsider. “Rather than changing my perception entirely, it has reinforced the importance of diversification, rather than relying heavily on a single region,” she added.

The scale of Iran’s response to the war has sent shockwaves through the region, with the UAE, Qatar, Bahrain, Kuwait, Jordan, Oman, and Saudi Arabia subject to a bombardment of retaliatory strikes.

Over 20 people have been killed in Gulf states, including 11 in the UAE, where authorities reported more than 2,000 missile and drone attacks in recent weeks. While most have been intercepted by air defense systems, the onslaught has punctured the country’s peaceful image, posing a threat to its reputation as a safe haven for investors and a global hub for business, travel, and tourism.

Commentators have been quick to predict the demise of Dubai, but analysts say recovery is within reach if hostilities end soon.

“The UAE’s value proposition—stability, connectivity and access to capital—remains intact, but the perception of predictability, which underpins it, has been tested,” said Carole Nakhle, CEO, Crystol Energy and Secretary General of the Arab Energy Club. “In the short term, this may lead businesses to adopt a more cautious approach, but it does not fundamentally alter the UAE’s role as a key platform for regional activity.”

The conflict has dealt a financial blow to the UAE and other Gulf countries, which remain heavily reliant on oil, despite efforts to diversify their economies away from petrochemicals. Disruptions to energy exports, aviation, tourism, and shipping routes alongside higher insurance premiums and freight costs are likely costing the region hundreds of millions of dollars a day in economic activity, according to Khaled Almezaini, an associate professor of politics and international relations at Zayed University in Dubai in the United Arab Emirates.

While the risk of a recession rises as the war continues, “if tensions de-escalate relatively quickly, the region is well placed for activity to normalize faster than many expect,” he told Al Jazeera.

Nakhle said most businesses will focus on “diversification and resilience” rather than relocating, maintaining a foothold in the UAE while exploring complementary bases.

It’s a familiar pattern for many Lebanese business owners. Alia el Khatib built adaptability into her business model after the collapse of the country’s banking sector wiped out her savings in October 2019. She relocated to Spain in August 2020 after the Beirut port explosion finally shattered her confidence in Lebanon. Since then, El Khatib has navigated ongoing instability remotely, working with Lebanese freelancers while spreading her client base across the MENA region and further afield.

“After the 2019 collapse, I made a clear decision not to depend on the Lebanese economy,” said El Khatib, who emphasized the personal and emotional toll of running a business as the country lurched from one crisis to the next.

Living abroad has cushioned her from some of the stress at home, but this time, there is no escape. MENA clients account for 70 percent of El Khatib’s business, and most have halted investment in growth and marketing while the war is ongoing. “In the past, instability was more contained. Now, the entire region feels like it’s on pause,” she said.

In Beirut, Karakna, the coffee shop Ghanem launched in 2023, still bustles with customers, but her costs have surged. Rising fuel prices affect all levels of the business, from supply chains to delivery, but she cannot increase prices for a community that’s already under economic pressure.

During the previous escalation, when Hezbollah and Israel exchanged fire over Gaza, Ghanem transformed her coffee shop into a central kitchen and distributed meals to displaced families. This time, she plans to remain open and shift the focus to delivery while moving her consultancy to online training. “Today, in Lebanon, it feels like adaptation is the only constant we live by,” she said.

While Lebanese businesses are accustomed to operating under pressure, Ghanem detects a deeper despair about the current setbacks. With no time to recover between economic shocks, the constant need for resilience is becoming unsustainable, creating a cycle in which survival replaces growth. “Lately, there’s a phrase I keep hearing in everyday conversations between business owners and entrepreneurs: ‘بس هالمرة تعبنا’ (‘but this time, we are tired’),” she said. “It’s not a lack of resilience, but rather the accumulation of continuous crises.”

For a community that has survived multiple setbacks, the impact of regional war could be a tipping point. As businesses that relied on the Gulf lose their lifeline, Lebanon looks increasingly unviable for a generation exhausted by constant blows.

Ahmed al-Sharaa shaking hands with Sir Keir Starmer on the steps of 10 Downing Street was probably not on anyone’s bingo card for 2026.

Yet the interim Syrian president, once known as Abu Mohammad al-Jolani, strolled along Downing Street on Tuesday morning, suited and booted, for bilateral talks with the British prime minister—a remarkable turnaround in his international standing.

The landmark meeting reflects the enormous shift in UK-Syria relations since the fall of longtime autocrat Bashar al-Assad in December 2024.

Later that day, al-Sharaa visited Chatham House for a conversation about his government’s position on Iran (he said he would remain neutral unless attacked), Israeli strikes on his country, and whether he was still on track to hold elections (“certainly,” he said).

Yet not everyone gave the Syrian leader a warm welcome.

Outside, dozens stood opposite the think tank in St James’ Square, waving placards and chanting “Jolani terrorist” and “shame on Chatham House.”

“There is a big terrorist inside,” a man named Daleel said. “They’re giving him legitimacy. Shame on them.”

Demonstrators, including members of the Syrian diaspora and Kurdish activists, pointed to al-Sharaa’s past as the leader of Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS). The group, which played a central role in the overthrow of Assad, had until recently been designated a terrorist organization due to its origins as an al-Qaeda affiliate.

For many critics, that history remains unresolved. Al-Sharaa himself is a former member of al-Qaeda, who once had a $10 million bounty on his head. His transformation into a Western-suited head of state has been viewed by some as unconvincing.

The protest attracted counter-demonstrators who were broadly behind their president. Some were draped in revolutionary flags, emblazoned with the date of Assad’s overthrow: 8/12/24.

“I don’t think a single one of those people is even Syrian; the majority are from Turkey,” said Muhammad, looking at the protesters. A few started chanting the anthem of the Syrian revolution: “Raise your head high, you are a free Syrian.”

Many of the people on this side of the protest had personal stories of loss and suffering under Asaad’s regime. For them, al-Sharaa is already an improvement.

“I think he is doing a good job,” said another man who declined to give his name. “Given the circumstances, he’s the best option. Our president has given them [the Kurds] more rights than they have had in 60 years, so I’m not sure what they’re complaining about.”

When al-Sharaa’s convoy left Chatham House, his supporters rushed towards him, but a police blockade kept them at least 50 meters away as they chanted “qaedna”—our leader—and “al-shab al-soori wahid”—the Syrian people are one, drowning out the opposition voices.

The demonstrations also reflected broader anxieties about the direction of Syria’s post-Assad transition, particularly among minority communities who fear the new regime is insufficiently accountable.

In March 2025, around 1,400 people, mostly civilians, were killed in coastal regions in western Syria. Alawites were the primary targets, and conflict monitors reported instances of “revenge attacks.” Bashar al-Assad was from the same sect.

That summer, a local dispute in Sweida quickly escalated into intense clashes between Bedouin tribes and Druze fighters, further inflamed when the interim government forces attempted to enter the southern province. Around 1,500 Druze were killed, with reports of women and children being kidnapped.

Members of the diaspora were planning to attend the protest, but dropped out at the last minute due to safety concerns.

However, one Druze man, Emad, did come along. He told me about three of his uncles who were killed by government forces, and several family homes that were burned.

“The Druze are still not allowed to go to Damascus, because his people have threatened them. There is no oil, food, or medicine in Sweida. Their excuse is that the Druze are supported by Israel,” he said, referring to Israel’s recent air strikes on Syrian government infrastructure, claiming it was doing so in response to attacks on Druze civilians. “But the killing started before Israel got involved. This ISIS ideology is being spread throughout Syria now—because of al-Sharaa.”

And, most recently, church leaders have canceled public Easter celebrations following a recent outbreak of sectarian violence in the predominantly Christian town of Suqaylabiyah, in the west.

Then there’s the question of Kurdish autonomy. In January 2026, fighting between Syrian government forces and the Kurdish Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) led to Damascus reclaiming much of the territory previously held by the autonomous northeast region. Once backed by the US in its fight against ISIS, the SDF has now been sidelined as Washington shifts support toward the Syrian government’s push for national reunification. While some concessions have been made—such as integrating SDF units into the army, retaining civil servants, and recognizing Kurdish rights—the loss of territory, resources, and US backing leaves the SDF in a weakened position with an uncertain future.

“I look at actions on the ground, and when you disarm a population, that doesn’t mean you support them,” says Jonathan Hackett, a US Marine Corps veteran specializing in counterintelligence and the author of Iran’s Shadow Weapons: Covert Action, Intelligence Operations, and Unconventional Warfare. “The Kurds have lost the sovereignty that they fought for.”

While violence and extremist influence continue on the ground, the international response has moved toward renewed engagement.

In July, Britain fully re-established diplomatic relations with Syria, 14 years after severing ties with Assad’s government. Starmer’s government then moved to de-proscribe HTS the following October.

Al-Sharaa’s visit is expected to accelerate that normalization process. Plans are underway for the full reopening of Syria’s embassy in London and the British embassy in Damascus, while the UK government is also preparing to announce a new export finance scheme to support British companies seeking to do business in Syria.

While al-Sharaa has swapped his khaki fatigues for a suit and tie, questions remain over whether this transformation represents a genuine ideological shift or a pragmatic rebranding designed to secure international legitimacy.

“If you noticed in the speech, he didn’t mention Turkey at all. He talked about Russia, he avoided talking about Russian bases, he talked about Israel, but very conspicuously left out any mention of this major player on its northern border…that essentially brought him to power,” says Hacket. “I think he doesn’t want to acknowledge that, he wants to portray himself as a neutral player who came through meritocracy… but that’s not what’s going on here.”

As for Ankara’s motives, “This has been a Turkish masterstroke in the region, regaining some ground in that former Ottoman space that Turkey wishes so much to reintegrate,” says Hackett.

Immediately after the fall of Assad’s regime, Russia started a large-scale withdrawal of its forces from Syrian territory. Among dozens, two remain—al-Sharaa announced at Chatham House that he was trying to turn them into training bases for the Syrian army. The Russian naval base at Syria’s port city of Tartus has been a particular focus due to its strategic significance in affording access to the Mediterranean.

Al-Sharaa also said there would be parliamentary elections, with the first session beginning soon. But “he picked one third of the parliament himself,” says Hackett. As for presidential elections, “I’ll believe it when I see it; or will it be someone that al-Sharaa handpicks?”

So what would proof of change look like?

“An alignment between statements he made—on rights and elections—and what is implemented,” says Hackett. “Even an attempt would be positive. Let’s have a referendum on al-Sharaa’s presidency. If his support is strong, let’s see.”

The London visit followed a stop in Berlin, where al-Sharaa addressed one of the most politically sensitive issues facing Europe: the future of Syrian refugees.

He suggested that Syrians who had fled to Germany should consider returning to help rebuild the country.

“These are Syrians who have studied at German universities, acquired German expertise, and are now working in German companies,” he said. “Through investments in Syria, they can then bring this expertise back to Syria.”

German Chancellor Friedrich Merz, who took office in May, has argued that with the war now over, Syrians may no longer have grounds for asylum.

Hackett, however, says, “There’s a big concern for their safety. Is Syria even ready to repatriate these people who have been gone for a long time? I think the West would like to forget the Syrian war, and they’re willing to make poorly thought-out concessions to be able to achieve that.”

Nevertheless, regional powers, including Qatar and Saudi Arabia, recognize both the strategic importance of Syria and the opportunity to shape its post-war future.

Al-Sharaa’s European tour illustrates the complex and often contradictory dynamics at play—a leader seeking international legitimacy while still facing deep skepticism at home and among diaspora communities.

The arguments playing out in St James’ Square offered a glimpse of the divisions that still define Syria’s future. For some, Ahmed al-Sharaa represents stability and a break from Bashar al-Assad’s despotic rule, while many others are still asking whether anything fundamental has really changed.

All individuals involved in the kidnapping of American journalist Shelly Kittleson have been identified, and a search is now underway, a senior Iraqi Interior Ministry official said, noting that the perpetrators belong to Kata’ib Hezbollah, including some who work for the group’s affiliated Al-Etejah media outlets.

Kittleson, a freelance journalist based in Rome who reports on Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan, was kidnapped outside a hotel in central Baghdad’s Saadoun Street on Tuesday evening. Video footage of her being abducted and driven away in broad daylight circulated on social media shortly after the incident.

A statement from the Iraqi Ministry of Interior said security forces had launched “an operation to apprehend the perpetrators” and confirmed that one of the suspects had been arrested and a vehicle used in the kidnapping had been seized.

The vehicle overturned near a checkpoint in the town of Musayyib, about 60 kilometers south of Baghdad. Kittleson’s press bags were found in the vehicle as well as identification documents belonging to some of the kidnappers, the interior ministry source said.

Preliminary findings suggest that Kittleson had been transferred to another car before the crash and taken to Jurf al-Sakhar, a vast rural region known for its orchards and lakes. The area, which has been under the control of Kata’ib Hezbollah since 2014, was largely depopulated during the ISIS period.

In recent weeks, the area has been subjected to near-daily airstrikes by U.S. forces targeting sites linked to Kata’ib Hezbollah, an Iraqi Shia militia group. Iraq quickly became a proxy battlefield after the US and Israel launched strikes on Iran a month ago, in what has since widened into a regional war that has killed more than 2,000 people, primarily in Lebanon and Iran.

Kata’ib Hezbollah is one of the primary groups accused of carrying out attacks against U.S. interests, including the attack on the U.S. Embassy and the Diplomatic Support Center at Baghdad International Airport. The group was behind the kidnapping of Elizabeth Tsurkov in Baghdad in 2023.

Following intense diplomatic pressure, Tsurkov—a Princeton graduate student with Israeli and Russian citizenship—was released in September 2025 after nearly three years in captivity, during which she was subjected to torture and sexual assault.

Al Monitor released a statement saying it was “deeply alarmed” by the kidnapping of Kittleson, who was a contributor to the publication. “We stand by her vital reporting from the region and call for her swift return to continue her important work,” the publication said.

Kittleson is a longstanding freelancer in the Middle East and has reported extensively from Iraq. She arrived in the country 10 days ago from Syria, where she contributed to Middle East Uncovered. She had plans to pitch further stories to our editor from Baghdad, telling her that she needed to find secure channels to share information as her American passport had placed “a target on my [her] back.”

She was aware of security risks, but was focused on covering the ongoing regional escalation and its impact on Iraq.

“She said she loved Iraq and didn’t expect anyone to hurt her,” a journalist friend based in Baghdad, who asked not to be named, said.

Dylan Johnson, U.S. assistant secretary of state for public affairs, said on X that “The State Department previously fulfilled our duty to warn this individual of threats against them, and we will continue to coordinate with the FBI to ensure their release as quickly as possible.”

US officials are understood to have contacted Kittleson to warn of threats against her in the days leading up to the abduction.

“An individual with ties to the Iranian-aligned militia group Kata’ib Hezbollah, believed to be involved in the kidnapping, has been taken into custody by Iraqi authorities,” Johnson added.

A statement from the U.S State Department said: “The Trump Administration has no higher priority than the safety and security of Americans.”

Shelly’s reporting has brought clarity and depth to stories that are often overlooked, and her safety is of urgent concern to all of us at Middle East Uncovered. We call for her immediate and unconditional release. No journalist should be targeted for doing their job.