Access blocks are no longer targeting individual news items, but media outlets, journalists, and digital archives. The application of Article 8/A, which should be exceptional, is in effect turning into a permanent mechanism of censorship

ALİ SAFA KORKUT

In Turkey, access blocks have now gone beyond being an exceptional measure and have become a routine tool of intervention. We have seen this once again over the past three weeks. Indeed, in the context of the Pride March and the NATO Summit, access to over 300 social media accounts and nearly 200 social media posts have been blocked, and blocking continues even as this article is being written. This demonstrates that the issue is not merely a matter of individual “objectionable” pieces of content.

Accounts belonging to journalists, independent media outlets, rights organizations, representatives of political parties and their offices, youth organizations and opposition users are being blocked on the same grounds. Moreover, the account holders are often unable to even find out the reason for the decision. The blocking of the Susma Platformu’s “@susma_24” X account — under Article 8/A of Law No. 5651, which regulates the grounds of “protection of national security and public order,” is one of the most striking examples of this new phase: It is no longer just the publications alleged to be in breach that are being silenced, but also the mechanisms that record these breaches.

A distinctive feature of recent blocking decisions is the scope of intervention targeting accounts and posts. Whereas in the past, the focus was mostly on a specific news link or social media post, today the entire domain name and/or social media account where the news was shared is being blocked outright. Indeed, as in the case of the Özgürüz platform founded by journalist Can Dündar, all channels of a media outlet across different platforms can be blocked simultaneously. To such an extent that Özgürüz’s domain name, along with its X, Instagram, Facebook, TikTok and YouTube accounts, were blocked by a decision of the Ankara 10th Criminal Judgeship of Peace on 4 July. Similarly, the collective blocking of the domain names and X accounts of Ajansa Welat, Azadiya Welat and NuMedya24 on 1 July, pursuant to a decision by the Ankara 9th Criminal Judgeship of Peace, also clearly demonstrates this shift. The blocking orders issued against all X accounts of Cumhuriyet newspaper, Sendika Org and soL Haber – whose combined follower counts exceed millions – demonstrate the boundless nature of this evolving form of intervention.

Another feature of this wholesale and comprehensive model of intervention is that it does not let up on the person being censored. This is because the person blocked faces another access ban very shortly after opening a new domain name or account.

The blocking of access to the social media accounts of the Mezopotamya Agency in Turkish, Kurdish and English—15 this year alone—as well as those of Jinnews (7), journalist Doğan Cihan (6), Ruşen Takva (5), Furkan Karabay and İdris Sayılgan (4), and Ali Ergin Demirhan (3), are among the first examples that spring to mind. This systematic censorship interferes not only with the publisher’s existing archive but also with their efforts to reach readers once again. The fact that the social media platforms hosting the blocked accounts do not share the relevant access restriction decision with the affected users further undermines the right of defense of those subject to censorship right from the outset.

From exception to rule: “National security” censorship

Blocking an account entirely rather than removing the specific post in question—if there is one—is not only unlawful but also a very severe intervention. This is because an account consists of more than just the content published on that particular day. News items, documents and images accumulated over the years, the connections established with sources, the network of followers and the publisher’s future ability to reach the public are all eliminated as a result of the access ban. For this reason, the wholesale blocking of social media accounts by domain name functions not only as a retroactive erasure but also as a ban on future publication. Consequently, as journalists are silenced, citizens’ access to news, documents and public debate is also blocked.

It is therefore important to remember that press freedom is not merely a “professional privilege granted to journalists.” Freedom of the press primarily safeguards the public’s right to access information, receive news and hold those in power to account. This is because when an access restriction order is issued against a digital newspaper’s website and/or social media account, a vast archive—ranging from previously published information about public officials to the collective memory of social movements—becomes inaccessible. Moreover, just as in the NuMedya case on 1 July, when the specific news content leading to such decisions is not disclosed, the publisher does not know what to defend against, nor does the reader know why they cannot access the information. This uncertainty not only complicates legal defense but also creates a powerful pressure for self-censorship amongst journalists, fueled by the anxiety of “which news story might trigger a new access blocking order?”

At the heart of this system lies Article 8/A of Law No. 5651. According to the law, this article provides for rapid intervention in situations where delay would be detrimental in areas such as the protection of the right to life, and national security and public order. However, the routine application of a measure that should be “urgent and exceptional” – to journalistic activities, human rights advocacy, political criticism and even news reports announcing access blocking decisions – turns the exception into an established rule. When the justifications of “national security” and “public order” are repeated without demonstrating a concrete threat, they cease to be legal grounds and instead become a general template that can be applied to any content.

The Constitutional Court (AYM) has also explicitly identified this issue. In its ruling on Artı Media dated 14 September 2023, the Court emphasized that the exceptional procedure under Article 8/A can only be applied in situations where unlawfulness and imminent harm are immediately apparent at first glance. Nevertheless, it stated that administrative and judicial authorities had failed to demonstrate the necessary social need, urgency, and proportionality with relevant and sufficient grounds; on the contrary, it noted that an “established practice of misuse” had emerged. The AYM also concluded that Article 8/A lacked the fundamental safeguards to prevent arbitrariness and that the violation of freedom of expression stemmed directly from the law itself.

Appeals are fruitless; new avenues for censorship are being found

The role of criminal judgeships of peace becomes particularly contentious at this very point. This is because decisions to block access are mostly issued on the basis of the case file alone, without the publisher being heard, and within a very short timeframe. Appeals against these decisions, however, are examined within the same closed system by a different criminal judgeship of peace. There is no officially published data on the rejection rate for appeals but based on my many years’ experience in this field, I can say that only one in every 10 appeals is upheld.

The Constitutional Court also drew attention to this structural problem in its ruling dated 11 October 2023. The Court annulled Article 9 of Law No. 5651, which provides for the issuance of blocking orders on the grounds of “violation of personal rights.” The ruling stated that freedom of expression and freedom of the press had been violated due to the absence of adversarial proceedings, the potential for decisions to have indefinite consequences, the lack of graduated intervention options, and the absence of safeguards to prevent arbitrariness. Furthermore, it was found that the appeal mechanism was not functioning effectively, and that first-instance and appeal decisions were predominantly based on grounds containing general statements that did not sufficiently relate to the specific case.

Article 9 of Law No. 5651 was the legal provision most frequently cited as grounds for access blocking decisions up until 2024. However, the Constitutional Court’s annulment decision did not resolve the fundamental problem in practice. Similar interventions have now begun to be issued under Article 8/A of Law No. 5651, which regulates the grounds of “protection of national security and public order.” Today, nine out of every 10 decisions are issued on this ground. In other words, whilst one avenue in the legislation is being closed off, another—one that gives rise to more severe and far-reaching consequences—is being normalized.

The only exception that has come to public attention in the past year, as far as journalists are concerned, was the decision regarding Diren Yurtsever’s account. The access blocking decision issued on 3 December 2025 for Yurtsever’s X account under the username “@diren_besta” was lifted on 17 February 2026. However, this example does not demonstrate the existence of an effective legal remedy. This is because Yurtsever’s account was blocked again on 24 June 2026. Thus, even if a ruling is overturned, censorship continues through new rulings or fresh access restrictions imposed on newly created accounts. Journalists are forced, each time, to start from scratch in building up their follower base, to lodge fresh appeals and to pursue appeals to higher courts – a process that can take months. Whilst legal victories remain on paper, the practical outcome remains unchanged.

ECHR: “Blanket blocking is unlawful”

The European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) had in fact drawn the line on the scope of access blocking years ago in its rulings concerning Turkey: the Ahmet Yıldırım case of 18 December 2012 and the Cengiz and Others case of 1 December 2015.

The ECHR determined that the wholesale blocking of broad platforms such as Google Sites or YouTube, on the grounds of a single piece of content, results in a “side effect” that renders a large amount of lawful content inaccessible, thereby infringing freedom of expression. According to the ECHR, internet blocking measures must be based on a clear legal basis, their scope must be kept narrow, and courts must assess on a case-by-case basis whether a less restrictive measure would suffice.

Council of Europe standards also state the same: a measure targeting specific content must not become a general tool for blocking information, must not create side effects that render large amounts of lawful content inaccessible, and the decision must be subject to independent and effective judicial review. Users must be informed of the reasons for the blocking, and a swift, accessible appeal process must be provided. The current practice in Turkey, however, runs counter to these criteria: the grounds are vague, the scope is broad, the measure is often indefinite, and the appeal process yields no practical results.

The new phase of digital censorship in Turkey is not merely a matter of “blocking access to certain accounts.” The state is increasingly determining, through ever-broader decisions, which journalists may speak in the public sphere, which news stories may be seen, which newspapers may survive, and which archives may remain accessible.

For this reason, the issue is not merely one of journalists’ freedom of expression. It is also directly linked to the public’s right to information, the preservation of public memory and access to the truth.

To reverse this trend, criminal judgeships of peace must comply with the rulings of the Constitutional Court and the European Court of Human Rights, whilst the authorities must take Council of Europe standards into account. Otherwise, it will not only be websites and social media accounts that are blocked; society’s collective memory will also gradually diminish.