Ukrainian journalist Vladyslav Yesypenko was released on June 20 after more than four years of detention in Russian-occupied Crimea, Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty reported.

Yesypenko, a freelance contributor to Crimea.Realities, a regional project of RFE/RL's Ukrainian Service, reported on various issues in Crimea before being detained by Russia’s FSB in March 2021.

He was accused of espionage and possession of explosives, charges he denied, and later sentenced to five years in prison by a Russian-controlled court.

Yesypenko said he was tortured, including with electric shocks, to force a confession, and was denied access to independent lawyers for nearly a month after his arrest.

RFE/RL welcomed his release, thanking the U.S. and Ukrainian governments for their efforts. Yesypenko has since left Russian-occupied Crimea.

“Vlad was arbitrarily punished for a crime he didn’t commit… he paid too high a price for telling the truth about occupied Crimea,” said RFE/RL President Steven Kapus.

During his imprisonment, Yesypenko became a symbol of press freedom, receiving several prestigious awards, including the Free Media Award and PEN America’s Freedom to Write Award.

His case drew support from human rights groups, the National Union of Journalists of Ukraine, and international advocates for media freedom.

Russia invaded and unlawfully annexed Crimea in 2014, cracking down violently on any opposition to its regime.

Following Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, the Kremlin toughened its grip on dissent, passing laws in March 2022 that prohibit what authorities label as "false" criticism of Russia's war.

Crimean Tatar freed from Russian captivity: ‘Recognizing Russia’s control of Crimea would legitimize crime’

For nearly two years in Russian captivity, Leniie Umerova clung to a single hope: that one day, she would return home — to Crimea. “I thought about Crimea all the time,” Umerova told the Kyiv Independent. “I dreamed of going there without the permission of the occupying forces, without going through

The Kyiv IndependentDaria Shulzhenko

The administration of U.S. President Donald Trump has issued layoff notices to over 600 employees of Voice of America (VOA), dramatically reducing the outlet's staff to fewer than 200, the New York Times (NYT) reported on June 20.

VOA, launched in 1942 to counter wartime propaganda, has long been a central pillar of U.S. public diplomacy, broadcasting in 49 languages to more than 360 million people worldwide.

Trump's crackdown against Voice of America has been celebrated by Russian propagandists, who welcomed the cuts to the network.

The dismissals, described as reductions in force, affect both journalists and support staff, who will remain on paid leave until Sept. 1. The cuts are the biggest rollback of the federally funded broadcaster in decades, reducing its staff to one-seventh of what it was at the start of 2025.

The Trump administration's move follows months of attrition at the agency. In February, the outlet employed approximately 1,300 staff. Since then, programming has been slashed, with broadcasts now limited to just four languages.

The decision to dismantle VOA has met legal challenges.

On April 22, a U.S. federal judge ordered the administration to reinstate all employees and contractors, ruling that the mass dismissal likely violated U.S. law. However, a federal appeals court overturned that order, allowing the layoffs to proceed.

The Trump administration temporarily reinstated several staff members from VOA's Persian-language service amid the escalating conflict between Israel and Iran. But at least two of those individuals also received layoff notices on June 20, according to the NYT.

Trump has repeatedly attacked U.S.-funded media outlets over their coverage, often referring to them as "fake news." His administration has framed the VOA cuts as a cost-saving measure and a response to what it views as politically biased reporting.

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The new game is the first to focus on Russia’s war in Ukraine, featuring real battles and characters.

The Kyiv IndependentKateryna Hodunova

In early April, I found myself in the breathtaking Chiesa di San Francesco al Prato in Perugia, Italy talking about men who are on a mission to achieve immortality.

As sunlight filtered through glass onto worn stone walls, Cambridge Analytica whistleblower Christopher Wylie recounted a dinner with a Silicon Valley mogul who believes drinking his son's blood will help him live forever.

"We've got it wrong," Bryan Johnson told Chris. "God didn't create us. We're going to create God and then we're going to merge with him."

This wasn't hyperbole. It's the worldview taking root among tech elites who have the power, wealth, and unbounded ambition to shape our collective future.

Working on “Captured: The Secret Behind Silicon Valley's AI Takeover” podcast, which we presented in that church in Perugia, we realized we weren't just investigating technology – we were documenting a fundamentalist movement with all the trappings of prophecy, salvation, and eternal life. And yet, talking about it from the stage to my colleagues in Perugia, I felt, for a second at least, like a conspiracy theorist. Discussing blood-drinking tech moguls and godlike ambitions in a journalism conference felt jarring, even inappropriate. I felt, instinctively, that not everyone was willing to hear what our reporting had uncovered. The truth is, these ideas aren’t fringe at all – they are the root of the new power structures shaping our reality.

“Stop being so polite,” Chris Wylie urged the audience, challenging journalists to confront the cultish drive for transcendence, the quasi-religious fervor animating tech’s most powerful figures. 

We've ignored this story, in part at least, because the journalism industry had chosen to be “friends” with Big Tech, accepting platform funding, entering into “partnerships,” and treating tech companies as potential saviors instead of recognizing the fundamental incompatibility between their business models and the requirements of a healthy information ecosystem, which is as essential to journalism as air is to humanity.

In effect, journalism has been complicit in its own capture. That complicity has blunted our ability to fulfil journalism's most basic societal function: holding power to account.

As tech billionaires have emerged as some of the most powerful actors on the global stage, our industry—so eager to believe in their promises—has struggled to confront them with the same rigor and independence we once reserved for governments, oligarchs, or other corporate powers.

This tension surfaced most clearly during a panel at the festival when I challenged Alan Rusbridger, former editor-in-chief of “The Guardian” and current Meta Oversight Board member, about resigning in light of Meta's abandonment of fact-checking. His response echoed our previous exchanges: board membership, he maintains, allows him to influence individual cases despite the troubling broader direction.

This defense exposes the fundamental trap of institutional capture. Meta has systematically recruited respected journalists, human rights defenders, and academics to well-paid positions on its Oversight Board, lending it a veneer of credibility. When board members like Rusbridger justify their participation through "minor victories," they ignore how their presence legitimizes a business model fundamentally incompatible with the public interest.

What once felt like slow erosion now feels like a landslide, accelerated by broligarchs who claim to champion free speech while their algorithms amplify authoritarians.

Imagine a climate activist serving on an Exxon-established climate change oversight board, tasked with reviewing a handful of complaints while Exxon continues to pour billions into fossil fuel expansion and climate denial. 

Meta's oversight board provides cover for a platform whose design and priorities fundamentally undermine our shared reality. The "public square" - a space for listening and conversation that the internet once promised to nurture but is now helping to destroy - isn't merely a metaphor, it's the essential infrastructure of justice and open society.

Trump's renewed attacks on the press, the abrupt withdrawal of U.S. funding for independent media around the world, platform complicity in spreading disinformation, and the normalization of hostility toward journalists have stripped away any illusions about where we stand. What once felt like slow erosion now feels like a landslide, accelerated by broligarchs who claim to champion free speech while their algorithms amplify authoritarians.

The Luxury of Neutrality

If there is one upside to the dire state of the world, it’s that the fog has lifted. In Perugia, the new sense of clarity was palpable. Unlike last year, when so many drifted into resignation, the mood this time was one of resolve. The stakes were higher, the threats more visible, and everywhere I looked, people were not just lamenting what had been lost – they were plotting and preparing to defend what matters most.

One unintended casualty of this new clarity is the old concept of journalistic objectivity. For decades, objectivity was held up as the gold standard of our profession – a shield against accusations of bias. But as attacks on the media intensify and the very act of journalism becomes increasingly criminalized and demonized around the world, it’s clear that objectivity was always a luxury, available only to a privileged few. For many who have long worked under threat – neutrality was never an option. Now, as the ground shifts beneath all of us, their experience and strategies for survival have become essential lessons for the entire field.

That was the spirit animating our “Am I Black Enough?” panel in Perugia, which brought together three extraordinary Black American media leaders, with me as moderator.

“I come out of the Black media tradition whose origins were in activism,” said Sara Lomax, co-founder of URL Media and head of WURD, Philadelphia’s oldest Black talk radio station. She reminded us that the first Black newspaper in America was founded in 1827 - decades before emancipation - to advocate for the humanity of people who were still legally considered property.

Karen McMullen, festival director of Urbanworld, spoke to the exhaustion and perseverance that define the Black American experience: “We would like to think that we could rest on the successes that our parents and ancestors have made towards equality, but we can’t. So we’re exhausted but we will prevail.”

And as veteran journalist and head of the Maynard Institute Martin Reynolds put it, “Black struggle is a struggle to help all. What’s good for us tends to be good for all. We want fair housing, we want education, we want to be treated with respect.”

Near the end of our session, an audience member challenged my role as a white moderator on a panel about Black experiences. This moment crystallized how the boundaries we draw around our identities can both protect and divide us. It also highlighted exactly why we had organized the panel in the first place: to remind us that the tools of survival and resistance forged by those long excluded from "objectivity" are now essential for everyone facing the erosion of old certainties.

The Power of Protected Spaces

If there’s one lesson from those who have always lived on the frontlines and who never had the luxury of neutrality – it’s that survival depends on carving out spaces where your story, your truth, and your community can endure, even when the world outside is hostile.

That idea crystallized for me one night in Perugia, when during a dinner with colleagues battered by layoffs, lawsuits, and threats far graver than those I face, someone suggested we play a game: “What gives you hope?” When it was my turn, I found myself talking about finding hope in spaces where freedom lives on. Spaces that can always be found, no matter how dire the circumstances. 

I mentioned my parents, dissidents in the Soviet Union, for whom the kitchen was a sanctuary for forbidden conversations. And Georgia, my homeland – a place that has preserved its identity through centuries of invasion because its people fought, time and again, for the right to write their own story. Even now, as protesters fill the streets to defend the same values my parents once whispered about in the kitchen, their resilience is a reminder that survival depends on protecting the spaces where you can say who you are.

But there’s a catch: to protect the spaces where you can say who you are, you first have to know what you stand for – and who stands with you. Is it the tech bros who dream of living forever, conquering Mars, and who rush to turn their backs on diversity and equity at the first opportunity? Or is it those who have stood by the values of human dignity and justice, who have fought for the right to be heard and to belong, even when the world tried to silence them? 

As we went around the table, each of us sharing what gave us hope, one of our dinner companions, a Turkish lawyer, offered a metaphor in response to my point about the need to protect spaces. “In climate science,” she said, “they talk about protected areas – patches of land set aside so that life can survive when the ecosystem around it collapses. They don’t stop the storms, but they give something vital a chance to endure, adapt, and, when the time is right, regenerate.”

That's what we need now: protected areas for uncomfortable truths and complexity. Not just newsrooms, but dinner tables, group chats, classrooms, gatherings that foster unlikely alliances - anywhere we can still speak honestly, listen deeply, and dare to imagine.

More storms will come. More authoritarians will rise. Populist strongmen and broligarchs will keep fragmenting our shared reality.

But if history has taught us anything – from Soviet kitchens to Black newspapers founded in the shadow of slavery - it’s that carefully guarded spaces where stories and collective memory are kept alive have always been the seedbeds of change.

When we nurture these sanctuaries of complex truth against all odds, we aren't just surviving. We're quietly cultivating the future we wish to see.

And in times like these, that's not just hope - it's a blueprint for renewal.

The post The capture of journalism and the illusion of objectivity appeared first on Coda Story.