Win, lose or draw: the Iranian cartoonist Mana Neyestani was jailed in 2006
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Doodles with death: the brutal mistreatment of cartoonists in the Middle East

The experience of cartoonists like Ali Ferzat, whose hands were broken in 2011, provides a bleak backdrop to the Charlie Hebdo massacre.

Clutching his bulging suitcase, Bashar al-Assad jerks his right thumb out to hitch a ride. He is gesturing to Muammar al-Gaddafi, frenziedly chugging towards him in a getaway car.

It was this simple drawing – calling on the Syrian president and the former Libyan leader to flee during the Arab spring – that led to a brutal act of censorship by Syrian security forces. The man behind the sketch, one of the Arab world’s best-known cartoonists, Ali Ferzat, was beaten up before dawn in Damascus in 2011. The masked gunmen removed the one weapon on his person: they broke his hands.

The experience of cartoonists such as Ferzat, doodling with death in the Middle East, provides a bleak backdrop to the Charlie Hebdo massacre in France. The attack provoked a collective shock that journalists in a western democracy could lose their lives exercising their right to free expression. Imagine, then, the risks that their counterparts are taking in nations that are less respectful of human rights, where they encounter not only censorship but imprisonment, beatings, exile and execution.

In Iran, the cartoonist Mana Neyestani was imprisoned in 2006 for depicting a cockroach speaking Azeri. He fled the country at the first opportunity and now lives in exile in France. Another Iranian cartoonist who riled the authorities, Kianoush Ramezani, a political refugee since 2009, calls cartooning “the art of danger”. He fled when the government began to arrest his friends: bloggers, activists, journalists. “We just had to leave the country,” he says grimly.

Ramezani is particularly scathing about self-censorship, in which fear and financial necessity force some to acquiesce. “There is no free or independent media inside my country,” he says. “If you want to work, you need to accept some red lines. Then, in my opinion, you’re not a cartoonist. You do propaganda for a regime.”

His recommendation to those who wish to draw with integrity is to “leave the country”. Last year, he said in a Tedx talk: “In order to do my job, I need some things: pen, paper, maybe a hand – and a secure society to give me freedom of expression.”

Also on hand for advice is Robert Russell, the founder and director of Cartoonists Rights Network International. He calls the Middle East “the most dangerous place in the world for cartoonists” and insists that those who “stick their big toe over the red line really have to have some alternatives”.

“We recommend they have what we call a ‘bail bag’,” he says: “a suitcase with an airline ticket in it, $1,000, a way to get out quickly, or to go to a safe house easily . . . collect their most trusted friends and relatives and be prepared to disappear for a while.”

It is poignant that cartoons are a more potent political tool in the Middle East than they are in the west. The Turkish-born academic Fatma Müge Göçek, a sociology professor and the editor of Political Cartoons in the Middle East, argues: “In countries where there is no freedom of expression, where to think things that are revolutionary or destabilising is in itself a crime, text is easier to punish. A cartoon has much more legal space within which to define oneself than something you write.”

Russell points out that there is a double jeopardy for cartoonists drawing in non-or pseudo-democratic states: terrorist groups and ruling regimes alike “are equal-opportunity oppressors”, in his eyes. “It just depends who the cartoonist is bothering that day.” 

Anoosh Chakelian is deputy web editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 January 2015 issue of the New Statesman, The Jihadis Among Us

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The joy of only winning once: why England should be proud of 1966

We feel the glory of that triumphant moment, 50 years ago, all the more because of all the other occasions when we have failed to win.

There’s a phrase in football that I really hate. It used to be “Thirty years of hurt”. Each time the England team crashes out of a major tournament it gets regurgitated with extra years added. Rather predictably, when England lost to Iceland in Euro 2016, it became “Fifty years of hurt”. We’ve never won the European Championship and in 17 attempts to win the World Cup we have only won once. I’m going to tell you why that’s a record to cherish.

I was seven in 1966. Our telly was broken so I had to watch the World Cup final with a neighbour. I sat squeezed on my friend Colin’s settee as his dad cheered on England with phrases like “Sock it to them Bobby”, as old fashioned now as a football rattle. When England took the lead for the second time I remember thinking, what will it feel like, when we English are actually Champions of the World. Not long after I knew. It felt good.

Wembley Stadium, 30 July 1966, was our only ever World Cup win. But let’s imagine what it would be like if, as with our rivals, we’d won it many times? Brazil have been World Champions on five occasions, Germany four, and Italy four. Most England fans would be “over the moon” if they could boast a similarly glorious record. They’re wrong. I believe it’s wonderful that we’ve only triumphed once. We all share that one single powerful memory. Sometimes in life less is definitely more.

Something extraordinary has happened. Few of us are even old enough to remember, but somehow, we all know everything that happened that day. Even if you care little about the beautiful game, I’m going to bet that you can recall as many as five iconic moments from 50 years ago. You will have clearly in your mind the BBC commentator Kenneth Wolstenholme’s famous lines, as Geoff Hurst tore down the pitch to score his hat-trick: “Some people are on the pitch. They think it’s all over. It is now”. And it was. 4 - 2 to England against West Germany. Thirty minutes earlier the Germans had equalised in the dying moments of the second half to take the game to extra time.

More drama we all share: Geoff Hurst’s second goal. Or the goal that wasn’t, as technology has since, I think, conclusively proved. The shot that crashed off the cross bar and did or didn’t cross the line. Of course, even if you weren’t alive at the time, you will know that the linesman, one Tofiq Bakhramov, from Azerbaijan (often incorrectly referred to as “Russian”) could speak not a word of English, signalled it as a goal.

Then there’s the England Captain, the oh-so-young and handsome Bobby Moore. The very embodiment of the era. You can picture him now wiping his muddy hands on his white shorts before he shakes hands with a youthful Queen Elizabeth. Later you see him lifted aloft by his team mates holding the small golden Jules Rimet trophy.

How incredible, how simply marvellous that as a nation we share such golden memories. How sad for the Brazilians and Germans. Their more numerous triumphs are dissipated through the generations. In those countries each generation will remember each victory but not with the intensity with which we English still celebrate 1966. It’s as if sex was best the first time. The first cut is the deepest.

On Colin’s dad’s TV the pictures were black and white and so were the flags. Recently I looked at the full colour Pathe newsreel of the game. It’s the red, white and blue of the Union Jack that dominates. The red cross of Saint George didn’t really come into prominence until the Nineties. The left don’t like flags much, unless they’re “deepest red”. Certainly not the Union Flag. It smacks of imperialism perhaps. In 1966 we didn’t seem to know if we were English or British. Maybe there was, and still is, something admirable and casual about not knowing who we are or what is our proper flag. 

Twelve years later I’m in Cuba at the “World Festival of Youth” – the only occasion I’ve represented my country. It was my chance to march into a stadium under my nation’s flag. Sadly, it never happened as my fellow delegates argued for hours over what, if any, flag we British should walk behind. The delegation leaders – you will have heard of them now, but they were young and unknown then – Peter Mandelson, Trevor Phillips and Charles Clarke, had to find a way out of this impasse. In the end, each delegation walked into the stadium behind their flag, except the British. Poor Mandelson stood alone for hours holding Union Jack, sweltering in the tropical sun. No other country seemed to have a problem with their flag. I guess theirs speak of revolution; ours of colonialism.

On Saturday 30 July BBC Radio 2 will commemorate the 50th anniversary of the 1966 World Cup Final, live from Wembley Arena. Such a celebration is only possible because on 16 occasions we failed to win that trophy. Let’s banish this idea of “Fifty years of hurt” once and for all and embrace the joy of only winning once.

Phil Jones edits the Jeremy Vine Show on BBC Radio 2. On Saturday 30 July the station celebrates the 50th anniversary of the 1966 World Cup Final live from Wembley Arena, telling the story of football’s most famous match, minute by minuteTickets are available from: www.wc66.org