AMMAN: The King of Jordan approved a bill Saturday to punish online speech deemed harmful to national unity, according to the Jordanian state news agency, legislation that has drawn accusations from human rights groups of a crackdown on free expression in a country where censorship is on the rise.
The measure makes certain online posts punishable with months of prison time and fines. These include comments “promoting, instigating, aiding, or inciting immorality,” demonstrating ”contempt for religion” or “undermining national unity.”
It also punishes those who publish names or pictures of police officers online and outlaws certain methods of maintaining online anonymity.
With the approval of King Abdullah II, the bill now becomes law — set to take effect one month after it is published in the state newspaper, Al-Rai. The newspaper is expected to publish the law tomorrow.
After amending the bill to allow judges to choose between imposing prison time and fines, rather than ordering combined penalties, the Senate passed the bill Tuesday, Jordan’s state-run news agency reported. The measure was passed by Jordan’s lower house of parliament in July.
Lawmakers have argued that the measure, which amends a 2015 cybercrime law, is necessary to punish blackmailers and online attackers.
But opposition lawmakers and human rights groups caution that the new law will expand state control over social media, hamper free access to information and penalize anti-government speech.
The president of Jordan’s press association also warned the language could infringe upon press freedom and freedom of speech.
King of Jordan approves a bill to criminalize online speech harmful to national unity
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King of Jordan approves a bill to criminalize online speech harmful to national unity
- The bill makes certain online posts punishable with months of prison time and fines
- Lawmakers have argued that the measure, which amends a 2015 cybercrime law, is necessary to punish blackmailers and online attackers.
Refugees, migrants in Lebanon find rare sanctuary from Israeli strikes in Beirut church
- Beirut church offers safe haven for displaced migrants, refugees
- Many refugees lived through 2024 war, but are now more vulnerable
BEIRUT: When Israeli strikes began pummelling Beirut’s southern suburbs early on Monday, Sudanese refugee Ridina Muhammad and her family had no choice but to flee home on foot, eventually reaching the only shelter that would accept them: a church.
Eight months pregnant, Muhammad, 32, walked with her husband and three children for hours in the dark streets until they found a car to take them to the St. Joseph Tabaris Parish, which has opened its doors to refugees and migrants.
They are among 300,000 people displaced across Lebanon this week by heavy Israeli strikes, launched in response to a rocket and drone attackinto Israel by the Lebanese armed group Hezbollah.
Just 100,000 of the displaced are in government shelters. Others are staying with relatives or sleeping in the streets. But migrants and refugees say government shelters were never an option for them, saying they were turned away during the last war between Hezbollah and Israel.
Muhammad’s oldest daughter, now seven, stopped speaking after the 2024 war.
This time, they are even more vulnerable: their home was destroyed in this week’s strikes and Muhammad is due to give birth at the end of the month.
“I don’t know if there’s a doctor or not, but I’m really scared about it because I haven’t prepared any clothes for the baby, nor arranged a hospital, and I don’t know where to go,” she told Reuters as her younger daughter leaned against her pregnant belly.
Muhammad said she was registered with the United Nations’ refugee agency (UNHCR) but had not received support.
“Us, as refugees, why did we register with the UN, if they are not helping us in the most difficult times?” she said.
Dalal Harb, a spokesperson for UNHCR Lebanon, said the agency had mobilized but reaching everyone immediately was extremely challenging given the scale and speed of displacement. The UNHCR operation in Lebanon is currently only around 14 percent funded, she said.
The Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS), which helped the church host displaced in 2024, is doing so again.
Michael Petro, JRS’ Emergency Shelter Director, said the church was full within the first day of strikes, with 140 people from South Sudan, Ethiopia, Bangladesh, and other countries sheltering there.
“There are many, many more people coming than there were in 2024, and we have fewer and fewer places to put them,” he said.
Petro said he was told weeks ago that government shelters would be open to migrants if war erupted.
But when the strikes began and even Lebanese struggled to find shelter, the policy seemed to change, he said.
“We’re hearing from hotlines up to government officials and ministries that migrants are not welcome,” Petro said.
Lebanon’s Minister for Social Affairs Haneen Sayyed did not respond to a request for comment. On Thursday, Sayyed said Beirut shelters were full.
When Israeli strikes began, Othman Yahyeh Dawood, a 41-year-old Sudanese man, put his two young sons on his motorcycle.
They drove 75 kilometers (46 miles) from the southern Lebanese town of Nabatieh to St. Joseph’s, where they had sheltered in 2024.
“I know the area is safe and there are people who will welcome us,” he said.
“We don’t know where to go; there’s war there (in the south), war here (in Beirut), war in Sudan, and nowhere else to go,” he said.
Eight months pregnant, Muhammad, 32, walked with her husband and three children for hours in the dark streets until they found a car to take them to the St. Joseph Tabaris Parish, which has opened its doors to refugees and migrants.
They are among 300,000 people displaced across Lebanon this week by heavy Israeli strikes, launched in response to a rocket and drone attackinto Israel by the Lebanese armed group Hezbollah.
Just 100,000 of the displaced are in government shelters. Others are staying with relatives or sleeping in the streets. But migrants and refugees say government shelters were never an option for them, saying they were turned away during the last war between Hezbollah and Israel.
Muhammad’s oldest daughter, now seven, stopped speaking after the 2024 war.
This time, they are even more vulnerable: their home was destroyed in this week’s strikes and Muhammad is due to give birth at the end of the month.
“I don’t know if there’s a doctor or not, but I’m really scared about it because I haven’t prepared any clothes for the baby, nor arranged a hospital, and I don’t know where to go,” she told Reuters as her younger daughter leaned against her pregnant belly.
Muhammad said she was registered with the United Nations’ refugee agency (UNHCR) but had not received support.
“Us, as refugees, why did we register with the UN, if they are not helping us in the most difficult times?” she said.
Dalal Harb, a spokesperson for UNHCR Lebanon, said the agency had mobilized but reaching everyone immediately was extremely challenging given the scale and speed of displacement. The UNHCR operation in Lebanon is currently only around 14 percent funded, she said.
The Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS), which helped the church host displaced in 2024, is doing so again.
Michael Petro, JRS’ Emergency Shelter Director, said the church was full within the first day of strikes, with 140 people from South Sudan, Ethiopia, Bangladesh, and other countries sheltering there.
“There are many, many more people coming than there were in 2024, and we have fewer and fewer places to put them,” he said.
Petro said he was told weeks ago that government shelters would be open to migrants if war erupted.
But when the strikes began and even Lebanese struggled to find shelter, the policy seemed to change, he said.
“We’re hearing from hotlines up to government officials and ministries that migrants are not welcome,” Petro said.
Lebanon’s Minister for Social Affairs Haneen Sayyed did not respond to a request for comment. On Thursday, Sayyed said Beirut shelters were full.
When Israeli strikes began, Othman Yahyeh Dawood, a 41-year-old Sudanese man, put his two young sons on his motorcycle.
They drove 75 kilometers (46 miles) from the southern Lebanese town of Nabatieh to St. Joseph’s, where they had sheltered in 2024.
“I know the area is safe and there are people who will welcome us,” he said.
“We don’t know where to go; there’s war there (in the south), war here (in Beirut), war in Sudan, and nowhere else to go,” he said.
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