On World Press Freedom Day 2026, the Free Speech Collective (FSC) does not commemorate the occasion with abstract affirmations of media freedom. Instead, it poses a stark and uncomfortable question: what does press freedom mean to those who are imprisoned for practising it? Through two detailed and emotionally charged narratives—one by Ipsa Shatakshi, activist and spouse of incarcerated journalist Rupesh Kumar Singh, and another by an anonymous colleague of Kashmiri journalist Irfan Mehraj—FSC constructs a layered, ground-level portrait of how the architecture of repression operates in contemporary India.
At the heart of FSC’s report lies a central claim: that the crisis of press freedom in India is no longer episodic or incidental, but structural. It manifests not only through spectacular acts of violence—murders, assaults, targeted attacks—but equally through the slow, grinding violence of the legal system. Arrests under expansive national security laws, prolonged pre-trial detentions, repeated transfers across prisons, and endless procedural delays together form a continuum of control that ensures dissenting voices are not merely challenged but systematically neutralised.
This broader climate is reflected in India’s ranking of 157 out of 180 countries in the 2026 World Press Freedom Index published by Reporters Without Borders (RSF), which categorises the country’s press conditions as “very serious.” FSC contextualises this ranking by pointing to the consolidation of media ownership, the overt political alignment of major news platforms, and the increasing vulnerability of independent journalists who operate outside institutional protection. In such an ecosystem, the cost of critical reporting has escalated dramatically.
Even the apparent absence of journalist killings in official records for 2026, FSC notes, is misleading. The killing of Andhra Pradesh-based journalist Jaganmohan Reddy, reportedly targeted for his investigative work on red sanders smuggling, occurred just days before the RSF report was released. His death, along with the severe injuries inflicted on his colleague, underscores the persistent dangers journalists face when exposing entrenched criminal-political nexuses. This incident joins a disturbing continuum that includes the killings of Mukesh Chandrakar in Bastar and Rajeev Pratap in Uttarakhand, as well as the deeply disconcerting acquittal of powerful figures in the long-pending murder case of journalist Ram Chandra Chhatrapati. The message, FSC suggests, is unmistakable: impunity remains the norm.
Yet, the report is careful to emphasise that the contemporary threat to press freedom is not limited to physical violence. Increasingly, repression operates through what FSC identifies as “lawfare”—the strategic deployment of legal frameworks to intimidate, harass, and incapacitate journalists. In this paradigm, the law is not merely an instrument of justice but a mechanism of control. Criminal provisions, anti-terror laws, defamation suits, and regulatory processes are mobilised not necessarily to secure convictions, but to entangle journalists in protracted legal battles that drain resources, erode morale, and ultimately silence dissent. The process itself becomes punitive.
It is within this framework that the cases of Rupesh Kumar Singh and Irfan Mehraj acquire particular significance.
Rupesh Kumar Singh: Incarceration as extended punishment
Through Ipsa Shatakshi’s deeply personal account, FSC offers a rare and intimate glimpse into the lived experience of a journalist’s incarceration—not only from the perspective of the detainee but from that of the family left behind. Rupesh Kumar Singh, known for his uncompromising reporting on state violence and the marginalisation of Adivasi communities in Jharkhand, has been imprisoned since July 17, 2022, under the UAPA. His work, which exposed alleged excesses committed in the name of anti-Naxal operations, placed him in direct confrontation with state narratives.
What emerges from Shatakshi’s account is a pattern that goes beyond mere detention. Rupesh’s incarceration has been marked by a series of punitive administrative decisions: multiple cases filed in succession, repeated transfers across prisons in Jharkhand and Bihar, and prolonged confinement in high-security cells typically reserved for the most dangerous offenders. These measures, FSC suggests, are not incidental but deliberately designed to isolate, disorient, and weaken.
The material conditions described are stark. Solitary confinement, inadequate nutrition, lack of proper medical care, and a monotonous, nutritionally deficient diet point to systemic neglect, if not outright cruelty. The description of inmates being served the same vegetable—jackfruit or radish—for days on end is emblematic of a deeper disregard for dignity within the prison system.
Equally significant is the impact on the family. Shatakshi’s inability to communicate with her husband for extended periods, the bureaucratic opacity of prison authorities, and the sheer logistical difficulty of arranging prison visits across distant locations together create a regime of extended punishment. FSC underscores that in such cases, incarceration is not confined to the individual—it radiates outward, affecting families, relationships, and support networks.
Irfan Mehraj: Pre-trial detention and the silencing of Kashmir’s narrative
The account of Irfan Mehraj presents a complementary but distinct dimension of the same phenomenon. Arrested on March 20, 2023, by the National Investigation Agency after being summoned for questioning, Mehraj has spent over three years in pre-trial detention, with proceedings yet to meaningfully commence. His case exemplifies a central feature of UAPA prosecutions: the inversion of the presumption of innocence through stringent bail conditions and indefinite delays.
Mehraj, a journalist deeply engaged with Kashmir’s political, cultural, and human rights landscape, was not merely reporting events but documenting lived realities—particularly allegations of torture and state violence. His work with the Jammu and Kashmir Coalition of Civil Society (JKCCS) and his role in producing meticulous human rights documentation positioned him as a critical voice in a region already marked by intense contestation.
FSC situates Mehraj’s arrest within the broader transformation of Kashmir’s media environment, especially following the abrogation of Article 370 in 2019 and the introduction of the 2020 media policy. Journalists in the region now operate under pervasive surveillance, with routine summons, interrogations, and implicit threats forming part of their professional landscape. The boundaries between reporting, dissent, and criminality have become increasingly blurred.
The personal consequences of Mehraj’s detention are equally severe. Lodged in Delhi’s Rohini prison, far from his home in Srinagar, he remains physically cut off from his family, including a father in declining health and a spouse with whom he had barely begun his married life. The structure of prison mulaqats—conducted through glass partitions and intercoms—further underscores the emotional distance imposed by the system.
FSC also highlights the broader chilling effect of such arrests. Mehraj’s detention sent ripples across the Kashmiri media community, reinforcing a climate of fear and self-censorship. Statements of concern from national and international organisations—including journalists’ bodies and human rights groups—contrast sharply with the silence of many mainstream media institutions within India, a silence that FSC implicitly critiques.
UAPA and the normalisation of exceptional power
A recurring thread across both accounts is the role of the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act as a central instrument in the state’s approach to dissent. FSC’s report engages critically with the law’s expansive scope, arguing that it enables the state to construct broad and often ambiguous categories of “threat,” within which journalists, activists, and human rights defenders can be easily subsumed.
Crucially, FSC points out that while convictions under UAPA remain relatively rare, the law’s true power lies elsewhere—in its ability to justify prolonged detention, delay trials, and effectively remove individuals from public life. The legal process, in this sense, becomes indistinguishable from punishment. Years lost in incarceration, professional disruption, and social isolation achieve what formal convictions may not.
Memory as resistance
The report concludes on a note that is both sombre and quietly defiant. In the face of systemic silencing, what remains is memory—the act of remembering those who have been removed from public discourse. As one of Mehraj’s colleagues poignantly observes, remembering political prisoners becomes a form of resistance in itself.
Through its detailed documentation and narrative depth, the Free Speech Collective does more than chronicle individual injustices. It exposes a pattern—one in which violence, law, and institutional inertia converge to create an environment where journalism itself becomes a risky, even punishable act. The stories of Rupesh Kumar Singh and Irfan Mehraj are not outliers; they are emblematic of a broader democratic unravelling.
On a day meant to celebrate the ideals of a free press, FSC’s intervention serves as a sobering counterpoint. It forces a reckoning with a difficult truth: that in contemporary India, the freedom to report, to question, and to dissent is increasingly contingent, fragile, and, for some, altogether absent.
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