Dr. Jean Linis-Dinco is an activist-researcher working at the intersection of human rights and technology. Born in the Philippines and shaped by firsthand experience with inequality and state violence, Jean has spent her life pushing back against systems that profit from oppression. She refuses to accept a world where tech is just another tool for corporate gain. Instead, she fights for technologies and policies that put people before profit and justice before convenience. Jean earned her PhD in Cybersecurity from the University of New South Wales, Canberra, where she exposed how governments weaponized propaganda and disinformation during the Rohingya crisis in Myanmar. She currently serves as the Digital Rights Advisor for the Manushya Foundation.

David Greene: Welcome. To get started can you just introduce yourself to folks?

Jean Linis-Dinco: I'm not very good at introducing myself and I rarely do so within the context of work because I always believe that people are more than their jobs.

But first, I would like to thank you for this opportunity to share my thoughts. I've learned this kind of introduction from Kumu Vicky Holt Takamine in Hawai’i. She taught me how to introduce myself beyond titles.

So, my name is Jean, my waters are the West Philippine Sea, and I was born and raised in the land of resistance, one of the original eight provinces that revolted against Spain as they are represented by the eight rays of the sun on the Philippine flag. My ancestors fought for the freedom of the Filipino people against Spanish colonial rule, before we became subjugated once again, this time under the United States for another 48 years. The impacts of that history continue to reverberate through the domestic and international policies that ultimately pushed me out of my own country as an overseas Filipino worker.

DG: Can you tell us a bit about Manushya Foundation?

JLD: Absolutely. Manushya Foundation is a women-led organization that works with activists and human rights defenders who are targeted, who face harassment and transnational repression for their work. My work with them is on the policy and advocacy side in relation to their digital rights portfolio. It involves challenging laws and policies that criminalize freedom of expression or freedom of speech online.

It also means confronting the role of private corporations and private platforms. Because that power is rarely transparent. Big tech power is often unaccountable, as we've seen in recent years. Working in a civil society organization like Manushya, you get involved with the work on the ground and take part in grassroot-led advocacy confronting corporate abuse.

In my work, I have met people from all sorts of backgrounds. And across those encounters, I've noticed some troubling trends in some civil society organizations. There are heaps of civil society leaders who are very keen to have a seat at the table with big tech companies. It’s often hidden behind the language of ‘stakeholder engagement’. We refuse to do that at Manushya Foundation. We don’t want to be used as a rubber stamp for decisions that have already been made behind NDAs or decisions where communities most affected by these technologies were never even in the room to begin with.

I think civil society organizations should not allow themselves to be drawn into that orbit. That is very contentious in this era, because I feel like civil society bought the story that big tech could be partners in progress. We walked into their boardrooms, signing NDAs as if proximity to power meant that we were shaping it. And we've seen how in the end we're actually just giving them legitimacy. They turn our critiques and our statements to endorsements. I don't think there is any progressive form of collaboration with big tech companies that is not extractive, because the uncomfortable truth is that not everyone who wants a seat at the table is there to change what is being served.

DG: I, as someone who participates in multi-stakeholder things all the time, I completely hear that criticism. One of the things I've said is, multi-stakeholder engagement as a member of civil society takes a few forms. One, you're in the room, but you don't have a seat at the table. Two, you have a seat at the table, but you don't have a microphone. And three, they give you a microphone, but they leave the room when you talk. When we as civil society do engage, we have to be very, very intentional about ensuring it’s effective engagement. We've left many things that were “multi-stakeholder” because it was actually just NGO-washing. You know, it was only so they could say that we were sort of invited to the cocktail party afterwards.

 I've heard from you before that Manushya has a bit of a regional focus. Would you say it has a feminist focus or is it broader in terms of marginalized communities?

JLD: At its core, Manushya is a decolonial intersectional feminist organization. What that means is that we are fundamentally concerned with systems of power. In our work, we always ask who holds the power? Who is crushed by it? And who has been deliberately kept from it?

Personally, I am critical of lean-in feminism, which was popularized by a certain Meta executive. I do not agree with that kind of feminism, because it tells us women that if we just work harder, speak louder within existing power structures, we will be free. But free to do what, exactly? To participate in the same system that exploits people? The women who can afford to lean in are women who already occupy a certain class position that makes them legible to power. And most of them are white women who already have the capacity or already have a standing in society to be listened to.

I cannot lean in. Because lean-in feminism was never designed for women like me.

And then there is girl boss feminism, which I am also very, very critical of. Because more often than not, the women who call themselves girl bosses or self-made are not actually self-made. Behind every ‘self-made’ woman is a hidden economy of invisible labor. Often, they have maids. And often, those maids are Filipino women, women like my mother. Girl boss feminism is about one woman’s liberation built on another woman's bondage. I think it is absurd to call it feminism when it is basically just class warfare with better branding.

So, yes. It gets very personal.

DG: Why don’t you tell us what freedom of expression and free speech mean to you?

 JLD: Well, there is this concept of freedom of speech and freedom of expression, and it is viewed as something abstract because we cannot see speech. It is intangible. We can hear it, but we cannot see it. It's not something that we hold. It is not like food, water or housing. That is precisely the problem. Because at its core freedom of expression must be understood through material conditions.

What that means is that it dies in the structures that govern who gets heard, who gets punished, who gets killed, who is made disappeared, whose voices are treated as disposable. I would say freedom of expression must be understood as inseparable from justice because I do not believe anyone can claim to defend freedom of expression while tolerating systems that silence through fear, that silence through poverty, that silence through surveillance. Because a person working two jobs to make ends meet, a person targeted by the state, a person whose community is over-policed, I don't think they stand on equal ground with a media mogul or a political elite.

The definition of free expression must move beyond the question of whether speech is allowed. The real foundation of freedom of expression and freedom of speech is who can speak without consequences and who pays the price for doing so. It demands responsibility and it's not a shield for domination, because when speech is used to dehumanize or to incite violence or to reinforce structures of oppression, the imperialism of domination, then that participates in harm.

A serious commitment to freedom requires us to confront that harm and not hide behind languages of rights while ignoring the realities of power.

DG: How do you see that? What's the example of how that plays out, for instance in the digital rights realm now?

JLD: Well, there is, as you know—one could say it's even more evident in the United States—the “freedom of speech absolutist” as we’ve seen through Elon Musk. I don’t think he actually believes in freedom of speech at all. Because from what it appears, what he only cares about is maintaining the conditions under which people who look like him get to speak.

Speech does not exist in a vacuum. It is always in service of something.

The question is what kind of society are we actually building? I want a society where people can speak truthfully about the conditions and be heard, where dissent is not criminalized and where expression becomes a force for transformation rather than a tool for control. Free speech is a collective condition and not an individual right. It is inseparable from the question of what kind of society we are building. Because you cannot suddenly say that you are for freedom of expression while owning the platform that decides whose speech is amplified and whose is buried by an algorithm designed to serve capital. Building that society requires dismantling the structures that have always decided who gets to speak and who gets disappeared for saying the wrong thing to the wrong people.

DG: It always bothers me when I hear someone like Musk being called like a free speech absolutist, because, first of all, he’s certainly not an absolutist. I actually don't know anyone who is an absolutist. But also, I don't even think he cares about free speech that much. I think that's what we see in the US a lot now, people for whom it's not a sincere belief, but they get to speak as part of their privilege. There are also other people who think they deserve the privilege to speak because, societally, they've never been subjected to controls. When they see their community of people, who historically have been able to speak, and if it's not like that, that strikes them as the most horrible infringement on freedom of speech because it disturbs their view of privilege and who speaks. And when they see marginalized voices get silenced, it doesn't bother them because that's their norm. That's how I see it.

JLD: I'm here on a fellowship in the UK and my main study is on the American conquest of the Philippines through national language processing. And it's really interesting. I said during my talk that the United States no longer needs to use Nazi Germany as a metaphor to describe their contemporary politics. You know, American people just need to read history books not written by white men.

DG: Okay, let's dive into the age verification stuff. I think that age verification and age mandates and age regulations trying to age gate the internet are really interesting examples of the interplay between freedom of speech and a broader repression of rights. I met you at Digital Rights in Asia Pacific Assembly (DRAPAC) 2025, and I want to just give you a platform here to share your views on age verification. I was really moved by your statement at DRAPAC and what you all published on your website.

JLD: I wrote that piece at a time when Australia was pushing through that legislation. And now, we are now seeing a lot of Southeast Asian countries following that route. It always just takes one domino to fall for everyone to follow, doesn’t it?

But, what surprised me is how there’s also a lot of defeatism among some civil society organizations. I feel like they already accepted the logic of the state. There’s always this preemptive surrendering the ground on which the struggle should be taking place. And I realized the same thing is happening again.

I was on a call recently with a group of civil society organizations and someone floated the idea of supporting identity verification on social media in the Philippines as a way to counter disinformation. She came from a different understanding of the political economy, but the moment I heard it, I was disappointed. The argument is dangerous and it plays with fire because it assumes that anonymity is the problem. It assumes that the solution is to hand the state and the corporations even more power, more information, more control, and give them even more ability to track and discipline people.

I feel like this is the same trend we see with age-gating, because the claim with identity verification in the context of the Philippines, that it can be used responsibly if there are guardrails. That’s gambling with people’s lives. There has never been a single historical precedent where the state doesn't expand monitoring powers when it can once the door is open to surveillance. I don't think any guardrails will ever hold.

Civil society groups who entertain the idea of breaking anonymity to solve misinformation are rehearsing a dangerous illusion because anonymity is not a luxury. And it feels like it is being framed that way. Anonymity is a response to the political conditions where speaking freely can cost you your life. It exists because the risks are there and they are not imagined.

DG: I do think there are some people who look at age-gating from a good place. Would you say you see age verification mandates as just inevitably being tools of oppression for marginalized young people?

JLD: Above everything, it shifts the Overton window toward the broader acceptance of surveillance. In political science, when we say we're shifting the Overton window, we mean the space of political debate in public discourse is being narrowed. And now we are seeing it move towards the same old thing of, ‘if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about.’ And when you shift the Overton window towards the broader acceptance of surveillance, we're doing something very simple and very dangerous. And it turns intrusive monitoring into a normal routine of everyday life. It starts with policies that redefine surveillance as safety. Then age-gating will be established through technical infrastructure that of course can be repurposed later.

Any system capable of verifying age is also capable of verifying identity, tracking behavior, matching accounts to real people, and storing data that can be accessed by literally anyone. These policies teach people to internalize the idea that anonymity is suspicious. I think that is the most dangerous part of it--how that cultural shift is getting more and more powerful, because it moves us, the public, towards believing that only those with nothing to hide deserve rights. Then what comes next after that? Surveillance becomes a default condition for digital participation. If you cannot enter a platform without proving who you are, then surveillance becomes a prerequisite for basic communication.

Then, of course, the most powerful shift is the desensitization of younger generations to being monitored. We are raising children in a system where every login requires identity checks, they will grow into adults who assume that constant tracking is normal. Then this is what shifting the Overton window looks like in practice, because once you accept that premise, you have already surrendered the most important ground. The fight is no longer about whether surveillance should exist, but how much of it you're willing to tolerate. And we know the people who pay the price are not men in suits.

DG: Then who does pay the price?

JLD: It is always the working class children and working class families. The homeless youth who rely on social media to find food, to find a place to shower. The homeless youth who rely on social media to find community and get jobs. Then we have queer young people who are also getting locked out of spaces where they could find community. And we're locking them out of those spaces because it's ‘for their safety.’

DG: So even if there was magic tech that could solve the verification part in a completely privacy protective way, you still can't get around the infringement on the rights of young people. That seems to be the goal of the law.

JLD: Yeah, absolutely. Because why do you need to age-gate social media if it's not for control? We always frame things like this as protection under the guise of paternalism. But deep inside, we see how it is a tool to control a young population who are just now getting very politically active. And I feel like--as I'm now a geriatric millennial--people of my age and older generation have betrayed the younger generation for doing this at this precarious time, where there is a genocide happening, where there are countries being bombed. We are in a time of conflicts started by rich men, amid an ecological collapse, and our concern is children being online? Let’s not rob the children of today of their future. Age gating punishes the young for crises they did not create, whilst protecting those truly responsible from accountability.

The reality outside of social media will not go away even if kids are shut off from it. We need to confront the truth that the conditions that ruin childhood are not on social media. They are bombs, poverty, divisive politics. They're due to how we’re killing public funding and putting it through private corporations, lining the pockets of billionaires in the name of what? That is the main problem of our society, but we're not addressing that. We're just locking kids out of social media, because it's easier to do that than to address the fact that society needs an overhaul.

DG: And I think what we've seen with Australia is a lot of talk about how kids can evade the protections, whether they're using VPNs or somehow faking the ID and so all age-gating is doing is adding friction to the process. And that tends to have highly discriminatory effects also, right?

JLD: Friction might be a minor obstacle for a wealthy child with supportive parents, but friction keeps a different child off the internet. A wealthy child might have the technical means to buy a workaround to allow them to have access. There was a story in the news about an influencer family who just moved out of the country because of the age-restricted social media ban. This is the reality—people who have the means to move will move. And those who have no means to move, those who are struggling just to put food on the table—will just stay. This is anti-poor. Age gating is anti-poor.

DG: Okay, switching gears just a little bit. Was there any sort of personal experience you've had with freedom of expression that has informed how you think about the issue? Was there any kind of formative experience where you felt censored or witnessed censorship happening to someone else that really informs how you think about it now or made you care about the issue deeply?

JLD: I don't think there's one specific personal experience, per se, that has shaped how I feel about freedom and liberty in general. Growing up in the Philippines, you're forced to care, especially if you're in a working-class neighborhood like where I grew up. At an early age you realize how unfair the world is. And at first, you think that it is just unfair that the other children in my classroom families can afford a pencil case and we cannot.

It was also very difficult to fit in in the Philippines. I was labeled a troublemaker as a child. And I think some of that is actually still reminiscent of what I am today. I remember my sixth-grade history teacher approached me after reading an essay I wrote about the Philippines. She said that I should tone down my language because it will get me in trouble later in life. And I didn't understand what she meant by that. I didn't listen to her, clearly.

But that instinct stayed with me and I think it followed me through life. It followed me here—you know, the idea that you should say it, but not like that. Speak, but don't disrupt. Critique, but don't offend. And I think this is where my relationship with liberty and freedom or, specifically, freedom of expression kind of took place. It was not one defining moment, but it's in a series of small friction, as you called it. Because over time, you realize that the pressure to soften your voice never disappears. And I don't think it ever will. And I chose not to then, and I choose not to now. And there’s a lot of consequences that come with that. I don't think I will be invited to a lot of panels or keynotes. But it's a hill I'm willing to die on.

This is also the same pattern we see at a larger scale in the Philippines. You see communities speak out about land or about labor and then suddenly they are surveilled, they're either disappeared or dead. I realized quickly that freedom of expression exists on paper, but in practice it depends on who you are.

DG: Do you think there are situations where it might be appropriate for governments, or even companies, to limit freedom of expression? And if the answer is yes, what might those be?

JLD: Freedom of speech should always demand a responsibility. It has always existed within structures of power that determine whose speech is protected. So when we ask whether speech should be limited, we have to first ask. limited by whom, and in whose interest?

But I don't think the government or corporations can do that. Corporations’ end goal is always profit. And governments have historically used the language of limitation to silence the very people who dare to challenge their authority.

I believe in community-based understanding of how we actually could solve this problem, because, in the end, our relationship with our community is the core of our identity. And through those moments of interactions, we can see the freedom of speech is collective. It is always tied to building a society where people can speak truthfully, and dissent is not criminalized. It’s a matter of making sure that we understand that freedom and liberty is not an individual issue, but it’s something that affects the whole community.

DG: You’re saying this is more about community norms or our broader social compact.

JLD: When I say the community must decide, I am not offering you a utopia. I am offering you a different site of struggle. One that centers the people who have always known, in their bodies, what dehumanizing language does before it becomes dehumanizing violence. We have seen this dynamic in the way hate speech fuels violence back home in the Philippines, against indigenous communities, queer people, Muslims in Mindanao and the urban poor. Because language becomes permission that activates the system of policing and militarization already pointed at the most vulnerable. The main boundaries must be rooted in the politics of liberation, not the politics of control. Speech that punches up, that reveals injustice, that challenges power, that speech must be protected. But speech that punches down, that facilitates state violence, that dehumanizes people, I think that must be confronted, if not challenged or destroyed. We have to stop pretending that those two forms of speech are morally equivalent.

 DG: Okay, last question, one that we like to ask everyone. Who's your free speech hero? And why?

JLD: This is actually a really tough question for me because I don't actually think I have one, to be honest. I want to push back on the idea of having a single hero. Because, freedom of speech—any freedom or liberty that we have today—has never been secured by one individual alone. It has been fought for by movements. The eight-hour workday, unions, women's suffrage, despite that it was just white women who were first able to vote, and so on and so forth. It was fought for by movements, by working class people, whose names we often forget. Because a lot of movements in history, the public memory of a movement narrows it down to a single figure, often male. Movement starts from the people, because the movement would not be sustained without the drive of the working people who dedicated free, unpaid labor for it to succeed. Because without them, I don't think there would be any movement to speak of. Without them there's no platform from which any of these figures could actually emerge. 

Recently, a California Superior Court jury found that Meta and YouTube harmed a user through some of the features they offered. And a New Mexico jury concluded that Meta deceived young users into thinking its platforms were safe from predation. 

It’s clear that many people are frustrated by big tech companies and perhaps Meta in particular. We, too, have been highly critical of them and have pushed for years to end their harmful corporate surveillance. So it’s not surprising that a jury felt like Mark Zuckerberg and his company, along with YouTube, needed to be held accountable. 

While it would be easy to claim that these cases set a legal precedent that should make social media companies fearful, that’s not exactly true. And that’s actually a good thing for the internet and its users. 

These jury trials were just an early step in a long road through the court system. These cases will now go up on appeal, where the courts’ rulings about the First Amendment and immunity under Section 230 will likely get reconsidered. 

As we have argued many times before, the First Amendment protects both user speech and the choices platforms make on how to deliver that speech (in the same way it protects newspapers' right to curate their editorial pages as they see fit). Features on social media sites that are designed to connect users cannot be separated from the users’ speech, which is why courts have repeatedly held that these features are indeed protected. 

So while it may be tempting to celebrate these juries’ decisions as a "win" against big tech, in fact the ramifications of lowering First Amendment and immunity standards on other speakers—ones that members of the public actually like, and do not want to punish—are bad. We can’t create less protective speech rules for Meta and Google alone just because we want them held accountable for something else.

As we have often said, much of the anger against these companies arises from people rightfully feeling that these companies harvest and exploit their data, and monetize their lives for crass economic reasons. We therefore continue to urge Congress to pass a comprehensive national privacy law with a private right of action to address these core concerns.

EFF joined other digital rights and civil liberties organizations in calling out the unconstitutionality of Federal Communications Commission chair Brendan Carr’s recent threats to punish broadcasters for airing statements he disagrees with. 

Carr’s recent threats, like his past threats, are unconstitutional efforts to coerce news coverage that favors President Donald Trump. He wrongly claims that the FCC’s “public interest” standard allows him and the commission to revoke the licenses of broadcasters who publish news that is unflattering to the government is anathema to our country’s core constitutional values. 

The First Amendment constrains the FCC’s authority to force broadcasters to toe the government’s line, even though broadcast licensees are required to operate in the “public interest, convenience, and necessity.” Imposing restrictions on licensees’ speech, especially viewpoint-based limitations, are still subject to First Amendment scrutiny even if, in some circumstances, that scrutiny differs somewhat from that applied to non-broadcast media. And the “public interest” requirement, as it were, has never been interpreted to allow the type of viewpoint-based punishment that Carr has threatened here.  

Everyone agrees that news reporting should strive for accuracy, but Carr’s threats have little do with that. Instead, his allegations of "falsity" are a proxy for retaliation based on (1) Carr’s subjective policy disagreements; (2) any criticism of Trump and the administration broadly; (3) treatment of anything that is not the official US government line about the Iran War as “false.” 

We join the call for Carr to withdraw these threats.

 

• Civil Society Letter to FCC Chairman Barr

*This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

David Greene: Shin, please introduce yourself to the Speaking Freely community.

 Shin Yang: My name is Shin Yang. I am a queer writer with a legal background and experience in product management. I am the steward of Lezismore, an independent, self-hosted, open-source community for sexual minorities in Taiwan. For the past decade, I have focused on platform governance as infrastructure, with a particular emphasis on anonymity, minimal data collection, and behavior-based accountability, so that people can speak about intimacy and identity without fear of extraction or exposure. I am a community architect and builder, not an influencer. I’ve spent most of the past decade working anonymously building systems, designing governance protocols, and holding space for others to speak while keeping myself in the background.

 DG: Great. And so let’s talk about how that work intersects with freedom of expression as a principle, and your own personal feelings about freedom of expression. And so with that in mind, let me just start with a basic question, what does freedom of expression mean to you?

 SHIN: For me, free expression is about possibility, and possibility always contains both and even multiple ends, the beautiful ones and the brutal in equal measure. Maybe not that equal, but you cannot just speak about the beautiful or good things. I think it's not about pushing discomfort out of the room. If we refuse all discomfort, we end up in echo chambers, which is safe, predictable; but dead. What matters to me is the equipment and principles: Who carries through that discomfort, self-discipline, mutual support, and the infrastructure and governance that can let people grow over time. Keeps a workable gray space open: room to make mistakes, learn, repair, and keep speaking.

 DG: How does that resonate with you personally? Why are you passionate about that?

 SHIN: Around 2013 in Taiwan's context, when Facebook started to take over the digital ecosystem in Taiwan, many local independent bulletin boards (BBS) that had been formed for sexual minorities were shut down because they had no income from advertisements, and people were pushed into mainstream platforms—like Facebook, Instagram, Meta, whatever, Twitter now X—where sexual expression was usually reported or flagged, and where I watched sharp intra-community exclusionary voices saying “bisexual and trans people were not pure enough”, or that talking openly about sex would harm our image, or that it was inappropriate to children, or it would invite harassment. Those oppressions are even fiercer within the queer community itself, which is self-censoring in order to gain approval from mainstream society.

 So, the community itself says that the best way to do it is don't talk about it. Never talk about it. Never mention a single thing about it. It was a wakeup call for me, because I think it's not right. And also, there's another more private story for me, it's a story I heard from our sexual minority community. I once heard about a butch student who was sexually assaulted by a group of men because she dated a beautiful classmate, a beautiful woman in the class.

 And when I learned what happened to her, that story changed my focus. Because, you know, when people hear this kind of story, they always focus on punishing those men, punishing those criminals—but what matters for me most is building conditions where someone like her could someday still have a chance at intimacy on her own terms, and finally be free from fear. That's more important for me. I may never meet her, but I know who I am and what I'm here to build. I have been building an infrastructure –– not just “safe space” as a slogan, but an “ecospace” designed to make survival and growth possible. So that's why I believe that a well-governed space is what matters for communities now.

 DG: Why is it so important for sexual minorities to have forums where they can communicate in that way? When it was just the bulletin boards, before social media, what worked really well and what didn’t work well?

 SHIN: That’s a wonderful question. Okay, the bulletin boards I used before, the registration process doesn't require a lot of information. You just need email.

 What I miss about bulletin boards is the sense of structure. You didn’t enter a personalized feed—you entered a place with visible rooms and topics. Even in the spaces you visited daily, you’d encounter views you didn’t like, and you had to live with that—and learn how to argue, or leave, or build something parallel. In some boards, moderators were community-chosen, which created a practical kind of participation—not perfect democracy, but civic practice.

 You have to provide the information of which school you are in, because it's based on school. But it's not that difficult to use that. And also they have some kinds of logistics, like you log into different boards with different topics, and you can see that there are huge topics along with several small topics. So when you log into that, you can sense and feel the whole structure of that community. It's not a personal feed bombing you with everything you like. So you know, even in the board you’re most likely to visit every day, you will definitely encounter some speech you don't like, and you argue with them, you fight with them, or build something parallel, that's the civic foundation of democracy. You experience the everyday practice of civic democracy. People can vote for moderators or even recall them.

 DG: You mean, the community can ask them to leave the bulletin boards?

 SHIN: No, they don't actually leave the bulletin board. It's more that the moderator no longer has the right to perform administrative tasks, but they can still be part of the community, and ordinary users can vote in the election for this.

 DG: Okay, and then what were the shortcomings of the bulletin boards?

 SHIN: Yeah, it’s brutal. Really brutal. And I’ve seen people literally organize to push others out. I didn’t expect this to turn into story time, but I actually love this. So—back in Taiwan, we had this big BBS forum called PTT. There was a board called the ‘Sex’ board, where people could talk about sexual topics and share sexual health info. But around 2010, the space was dominated by mainstream straight cis men. And whenever a woman or a sexual minority posted anything, they often got harassed or attacked. So, women created another board inside the forum—basically a separate space—called ‘Feminine Sex.’ And from then on, the original Sex board and the Feminine Sex board were in conflict all the time. And honestly, if this happened today on Facebook, Threads, or X… we’d just block each other. Easy. Clean. Done.

But the problem is: when blocking becomes the default, we don’t really learn how to argue well, how to organize our reasons, or even how to sit with discomfort and understand why the other side thinks the way they do. We lose that practice—because it’s just so easy to delete people from our world now. I’m not saying blocking is always wrong. But there’s a trade-off.

 DG: I get that. Then when Facebook and the other social media platforms that followed came along and the users migrated over to the commercial services, what was lost? 

 SHIN: What was lost? I think our behavior got shaped—personal branding became the default setting for joining an online community. If you don't do it, like me, you basically don't exist.  Influence can be shaped by the number of social media followers; people define each other based on this. Choosing not to obey the logic of mainstream platforms means being unseen, and being unseen means having no influence.

And sure, personal branding can be useful—but I don’t believe it’s the only way to express yourself or connect with a community. The problem is, on mainstream platforms, the whole system is built for visibility. So clout becomes the game. Look at what they push: stories, reels, short-form visuals. And as a former product manager, I can tell you—this is not accidental. It’s designed. It’s designed around human nature: to avoid friction as much as possible. So they keep you scrolling, to make reacting effortless. One tap and you’ve sent a smiley face. Engagement becomes easier… but also cheaper.

And the scary part is, people start thinking that’s the whole internet. It’s not. But the more we get trained by these interfaces, the harder it becomes to even imagine other ways of building community. It is becoming more difficult for people to imagine that the "right" amount of friction can actually help us to grow, and coexist with the diversity.

 DG: So did you find that there were certain things you couldn't talk about on Facebook or on the other social media platforms because they were sexual, because sexual speech was not as welcome as it was earlier?

 SHIN: Yes, when I first started building my community, I knew nothing about technology. Like everyone else, I just created a fan page on Facebook, which was then flagged and deleted. This happened. I think it still happens to this day. At first, I was so angry about it. I felt it was unjust. But every time I wrote to Facebook, they just said that I had violated the user terms. At first I was furious. But I don’t stop at anger. I dig deeper. I thought, “Why do you say I violated the user terms?”

I read the terms, compared policies across platforms and applications, and realized the pattern: All of the terms of use forbid adult or erotic content in fine print. Because these are profit-driven systems optimized to minimize legal and business risk. So, I don’t frame it as “evil platforms.” I frame it as incentives. Once I understood this, I realized that we should not only protest and ask those big tech platforms to “give” us a voice –– that's a good approach, but it shouldn't be the only one. I believe we should build our own community. That's why I started researching open-source software and building my own self-hosted community.

 DG: Please talk a little bit more about what you're building, and how what you're building is consistent with your view of free expression.

 SHIN: Sure. It’s a long process but the reason why I use open-source software is, for a person knowing nothing about technology, I can come to the open-source community and ask questions about it. It’s more reliable than building it myself.

 And the second example is about how I designed Lezismore’s registration and community access, mostly through trial and error.

 We don’t require any real-name or ID verification. In fact, you can register with just an email. But instead of “verifying people,” we redesigned the "space".

 Lezismore is built as a two-layer structure. The main website is searchable, but it looks almost… boring on purpose—advocacy articles, writers’ posts, slow content. The truly active community space is inside that main site, and the entry point is not something you casually discover through search. Most people learn how to get in through word of mouth. We also block search engines, bots, and crawlers from the community area. So from day one, we gave up visibility on purpose—we traded reach for resilience.

 Then there’s the onboarding. New users go through an “apprenticeship” period. You can’t immediately post, comment, or DM people. You first have to read, observe, and understand how the community works. We don’t even tell you exactly how long it takes—you just have to be patient. In the fast-content era, people constantly complain that this is “annoying” or “hard to use.” And yes, it is friction indeed.

 But that friction buys something valuable: a space that can stay anonymous, inclusive, and high-trust—without being instantly overwhelmed by harassment or bad-faith users. It also means we don’t need to depend on Big Tech’s third-party verification APIs. With relatively low technical cost, we’re using governance design—not data collection—to balance inclusion and protection.

And honestly, as a platform owner, I have to be real about what users “actually” need. If this was truly “just terrible UX,” the site wouldn’t survive in today’s hyper-competitive platform environment. But Lezismore has been running for over a decade, and we still have tens of thousands of people quietly reading and interacting every month. This is one of the biggest tradeoffs in my governance design. In an attention economy, choosing low visibility is a bold decision, and maintaining it has a real cost.

 On top of that, we rely on human, context-based moderation. We use posts, replies, and Q&A threads to actively teach community norms—why diversity and conflict exist, how to handle risk, and how to protect yourself. Users also share practical safety tips and real interaction experiences with each other. There are many more small mechanisms built into the system, but that’s the core logic.

 And there’s one more layer: the legal environment. In Taiwan, the legal climate around sex and speech can create chilling effects for smaller platforms. Platform owners can be criminally liable in certain scenarios. That’s exactly why governance design matters—it’s how we keep lawful expression possible without over-collecting data.

 DG: Ah, so you need to be careful. I’m curious whether you’ve had any examples of offline repression. Do you have any experiences with censorship or feeling like you didn’t have your full freedom of expression in your offline experiences? Any experiences that might inform what an ideal online community might look like?

 SHIN: Yes—actually, most of my earliest experiences with repression were offline, and they shaped how I later understood the internet as an escape route.

 Back when I was a high school student, I was already involved in student movements and gender-related advocacy. One very concrete example was dress codes. The school restricted what female students could wear, and students organized to push for change. At one point we even had a vote—something like 98% of students supported revising the policy. But when the issue entered the “official” system, the administration simply ignored it. They bypassed procedure, dismissed the consensus, and used authority to shut it down completely.

That was my first clear lesson about repression: it’s not always someone telling you “you’re forbidden to speak.” Sometimes it’s a system designed so that even if students, women, or sexual minorities spend enormous effort building agreement, once our voices enter the institution, they can be treated as if they don’t exist.

That’s why, in the early 2010s, online space became my breakthrough. This was still the blog era, before social platforms fully standardized everything, and even before “share” mechanisms were built into everyday activism. I started experimenting with things like blog-based petitions, and a lot of students joined. The internet became a way to bypass institutional gatekeeping.

In college, I saw another layer. There was serious sexism from people in authority—military-style discipline officers, some teachers, and administrators. When gender-related controversies happened on campus, the media sometimes showed up and reported in ways that were harmful: exposing people, sensationalizing stories, and ignoring the realities of sexual minority students. Meanwhile, the administration would shut down student demands with authority, and at the same time use incentives and pressure behind the scenes, especially around housing or “benefits”—so some student representatives were afraid to speak honestly in meetings.

And this was before livestreaming was a normal tool. But even then, I was already using audio-based live channels to connect students across campuses. Online networks became a lifeline for young advocates, especially those of us who didn’t “fit” the institution and needed each other to survive.

I came from a literature background. I had zero technical training at the beginning. But I’ve always been the kind of person who loves trying new technology. And I was lucky, because I was born in that strange window when the internet was rapidly expanding, but not yet fully swallowed by Big Tech. So, I grew up in this tension between nostalgia and innovation, and I kept pushing, resisting, and experimenting. I’ve experienced both sides of speech: how beautiful freedom can be, and how terrifying it can become. 

 DG: Going back to Lezismore, I’m curious: When you ask people to observe before they post, what are you hoping they learn about the community before they more actively participate in it?

 SHIN: I hope people understand that this is a community rather than a dating app focused on results. The community needs people to support and nurture each other. Some people see us as a dating app and expect a frictionless experience; naturally, they are disappointed. If you're only looking for a fast-food relationship, that's fine. Here, however, it is a community that offers more than just hooking up. The design focuses on words and a person’s behavioral history rather than just a photo. Dopamine bombing is not how we do things here.

 We’ve also built a library of community safety notes, FAQs, and governance reminders over time. Some written by the team, some contributed by members. Not everyone reads them, and that’s fine. But the design makes it easier for people who want a slower, more intentional space to stay—and for people who want something frictionless to self-select out.

 SHIN: I run the platform anonymously by design. People may know that there’s an admin called “Shin”, but I don’t associate a face or personal brand with the role because I don’t want the community to depend on my visibility for their trust.

 We maintain a clear distinction between work and private life. Admin power is never a shortcut to social capital. In a sex-positive space, this boundary is a matter of ethics. The moment a founder’s identity becomes central, the space starts to orbit that person, and expectations, fan-service dynamics and power asymmetries creep in. Then speech becomes performance.

It also means I’m less “marketable” to attention-driven media—but that tradeoff protects the community’s integrity. Some media outlets only want a face and a persona. However, I accept this cost because I am trying to build a community that can thrive independently of an idol, where people relate to each other through behavior and shared norms, not proximity to the founder.

 DG: It sounds like a lot of what you’re doing is about people being authentic on the site, not using personas or using it to create a personal platform for themselves for marketing purposes.

 SHIN: Exactly, people can share links, but if a post is purely self-promotion with no contribution to the community, we don’t encourage this. I hope people here can respect the reciprocity.

 DG: I want to shift a bit and talk about freedom of expression as a principle for a while. Do you think freedom of expression should be regulated by governments?

 SHIN: Speech regulation is hard, because speech is freaking messy. And once you turn messy human speech into rules that scale, nuance gets flattened. Minority communities usually pay first, because large systems choose efficiency over lived reality.

 I also don’t think the answer is “erase all conflict.” Some friction is the price of pluralism, and with good guidance and interface design, conflict can become a point of learning instead of a point of collapse. From a platform owner’s perspective, legal liability is real and often cruel. So if we expect platforms to be free, frictionless, allow everything we like, erase everything we dislike, and still amplify our visibility—then we’re really asking for magic. That’s why we need to talk seriously about alternatives and procedural safeguards, not just louder demands.

 Age verification is a good example. I get that the goal is to protect minors. But identity-based age gates often turn into identity infrastructure. They chill lawful adult speech, concentrate gatekeeping power, and push everyone to hand over personal data just to access legal content. From my experience, there are other tools that can reduce harm with less damage—things like community design, visibility gating, and human, context-based moderation. Those approaches can protect people without building a personal-data checkpoint for everyone.

 DG: You talked about minority voices, and minority speech. Are you concerned that any regulation will end up trying to silence minority speakers, or won’t benefit minority speakers. How are these speakers more vulnerable to speech regulations than others?

 SHIN: Hmmm......a lot of minority speech is context-heavy. The same words can be support, education, or harassment depending on who says it and why. When regulation turns into broad categories, sexual health education, self-explore experiment sharing, trans healthcare discussions, or reclaimed language can be treated as “harmful” out of context (at both sides). So the risk isn’t only censorship, it’s misclassification at scale.

 DG: Are there certain types of speech that don’t deserve the conversation. Some people might say that hate speech or speech that’s dehumanizing doesn’t deserve the conversation. Are there any categories of speech that you would say we shouldn’t consider, or do we get to talk about everything?

 SHIN: Okay, I don't think the issue is about saying certain kinds of speech don't deserve to be discussed; the problem lies in the definition. As soon as we suggest that some speech doesn't merit discussion, some people will exploit this to silence their opponents. Whether it's right-wing, left-wing or anything else, if we say that we don't allow any kind of hate speech, the next thing someone will do is define your speech as hate speech. It's an endless war that draws us all into an eagerness to silence others and grab the mic, instead of creating more space for conversations and learning from each other.

 We should go further than just regulation and create spaces where people can coexist in a grey area, endure some discomfort and engage with each other. I prefer this approach to trying to draw lines.

 DG: So even well-intentioned restrictions might always be used against minority speakers?

 SHIN: I wouldn’t say restriction is not good. There always has to be some kind of restriction, but people will always find a way to overcome or take advantage of it. So, the thing I believe is that regulation is regulation, but community should be an open-source archive. How we govern community, how we dialogue between each other when we disagree with each other…how can we create a space where those things can exist? I believe that those things should be open source. People always talk about open source like it’s just coding, but I believe governance should be open source too.

 DG: So when you said before some restrictions are necessary but then we talk about open source governance, we’re talking about the same thing. When you say some restrictions are necessary, you’re not necessarily saying government restrictions, but that restrictions should come from somewhere else: that’s an open source governance model?

 SHIN: Yes. And it should include restrictions in law, and how people deal with it, the way we deal with it. I’m not saying every rule or detection signal should be public. By “open-source governance,” I mean shareable governance playbooks: proportional steps, appeals templates, community norms, and design patterns that small communities can adapt. The goal is portability and adaptability of methods, not making systems easy to game. Because malice is always part of the environment.

 DG: Is there anything else you want to say about your theory of open-source governance or what it means to you?

 SHIN: I noticed there was a question in another interview about fostering transparency in social media, and how to appeal, and that the reason [for a takedown] should be more transparent. The interesting thing is that before our interview today I was joining a law and technology policy research group, and they’re reading a book called “Law and Technology: A Methodical Approach”. It's worth mentioning that it's very interesting. Apparently, scientists tend to place emphasis on complexity, which often trips up pragmatic reform efforts, so the recommendations often only call for greater transparency or participation.

 I think this echoes what we were talking about before and the transparency thing. I heard this podcast in Taiwan about cybersecurity where they interview an outsourced ex-moderator from Meta and how the platform moderates speech. Because most of the information is confidential, the moderator can’t say too much, but she told us that every day Meta provided a whole set of lists with things they should ban, and every day it changes. Sometimes it even changes on an hourly basis. And they can never really put those fully transparent to the world. The reason they can’t do that is because those words are partially forbidding scams, because the scale is too big. So, when they show the transparency of how they ban things, the scammers will use this against them. Like, “now you’ve banned this word so I’ll just use another one.” It’s an endless war. So, I think transparency matters, but it shouldn’t be the only thing we think about, we should think about governance as well. And when we talk about governance, we shouldn’t just think about some high authority in government or a law just forcing the platform into something we like. We should go back and think about what we can do. We’ve got lots of open-source software now and we can literally build those things by ourselves. That’s what I’m trying to say.

 DG: Okay, one last question. This is the last question we ask everybody. Who’s your free speech hero?

 SHIN: This is the question I saw everyone answering, and I honestly struggled with it. Because I’m Taiwanese, and the names that often come up in U.S. free speech conversations aren’t the names I’m familiar with. I’m sorry about this.

 DG: That’s okay, it doesn’t have to be a perfect answer.

 SHIN: If you want a public figure from Taiwan, I think of the journalists and dissidents who pushed for press freedom during Taiwan’s democratization—Nylon (Tēnn Lâm-iông) is one name many Taiwanese recognize.

 If I answer this as truthfully as I can, my hero is my family. My father taught me that integrity is not a slogan. It’s the ability to keep your ethics when it costs you something. My mother is the opposite kind of teacher: she’s relentless in a practical way: she doesn’t easily back down, and she keeps finding room to move even when the room is small. Put together, that’s what free expression means to me. It’s not “I can say anything.” It's about whether you can continue to think independently and live with integrity through layers of fear, pressure, temptation and coercion, while still moving forward and creating more possibilities for others.

(This appeared as an op-ed published Friday, Feb. 6 in the Daily Journal, a California legal newspaper.)

Section 230, “the 26 words that created the internet,” was enacted 30 years ago this week. It was no rush-job—rather, it was the result of wise legislative deliberation and foresight, and it remains the best bulwark to protect free expression online.

The internet lets people everywhere connect, share ideas and advocate for change without needing immense resources or technical expertise. Our unprecedented ability to communicate online—on blogs, social media platforms, and educational and cultural platforms like Wikipedia and the Internet Archive—is not an accident. In writing Section 230, Congress recognized that for free expression to thrive on the internet, it had to protect the services that power users’ speech. Section 230 does this by preventing most civil suits against online services that are based on what users say. The law also protects users who act like intermediaries when they, for example, forward an email, retweet another user or host a comment section on their blog.

The merits of immunity, both for internet users who rely on intermediaries—from ISPs to email providers to social media platforms, and for internet users who are intermediaries—are readily apparent when compared with the alternatives.

One alternative would be to provide no protection at all for intermediaries, leaving them liable for anything and everything anyone says using their service. This legal risk would essentially require every intermediary to review and legally assess every word, sound or image before it’s published—an impossibility at scale, and a death knell for real-time user-generated content.

Another option: giving protection to intermediaries only if they exercise a specified duty of care, such as where an intermediary would be liable if they fail to act reasonably in publishing a user’s post. But negligence and other objective standards are almost always insufficient to protect freedom of expression because they introduce significant uncertainty into the process and create real chilling effects for intermediaries. That is, intermediaries will choose not to publish anything remotely provocative—even if it’s clearly protected speech—for fear of having to defend themselves in court, even if they are likely to ultimately prevail. Many Section 230 critics bemoan the fact that it prevented courts from developing a common law duty of care for online intermediaries. But the criticism rarely acknowledges the experience of common law courts around the world, few of which adopted an objective standard, and many of which adopted immunity or something very close to it.

Congress’ purposeful choice of Section 230’s immunity is the best way to preserve the ability of millions of people in the U.S. to publish their thoughts, photos and jokes online, to blog and vlog, post, and send emails and messages.

Another alternative is a knowledge-based system in which an intermediary is liable only after being notified of the presence of harmful content and failing to remove it within a certain amount of time. This notice-and-takedown system invites tremendous abuse, as seen under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act’s approach: It’s too easy for someone to notify an intermediary that content is illegal or tortious simply to get something they dislike depublished. Rather than spending the time and money required to adequately review such claims, intermediaries would simply take the content down.

All these alternatives would lead to massive depublication in many, if not most, cases, not because the content deserves to be taken down, nor because the intermediaries want to do so, but because it’s not worth assessing the risk of liability or defending the user’s speech. No intermediary can be expected to champion someone else’s free speech at its own considerable expense.Nor is the United States the only government to eschew “upload filtering,” the requirement that someone must review content before publication. European Union rules avoid this also, recognizing how costly and burdensome it is. Free societies recognize that this kind of pre-publication review will lead risk-averse platforms to nix anything that anyone anywhere could deem controversial, leading us to the most vanilla, anodyne internet imaginable.

The advent of artificial intelligence doesn’t change this. Perhaps there’s a tool that can detect a specific word or image, but no AI can make legal determinations or be prompted to identify all defamation or harassment. Human expression is simply too contextual for AI to vet; even if a mechanism could flag things for human review, the scale is so massive that such human review would still be overwhelmingly burdensome.

Congress’ purposeful choice of Section 230’s immunity is the best way to preserve the ability of millions of people in the U.S. to publish their thoughts, photos and jokes online, to blog and vlog, post, and send emails and messages. Each of those acts requires numerous layers of online services, all of which face potential liability without immunity.

This law isn’t a shield for “big tech.” Its ultimate beneficiaries are all of us who want to post things online without having to code it ourselves, and so that we can read and watch content that others create. If Congress eliminated Section 230 immunity, for example, we would be asking email providers and messaging platforms to read and legally assess everything a user writes before agreeing to send it. 

For many critics of Section 230, the chilling effect is the point: They want a system that will discourage online services to publish protected speech that some find undesirable. They want platforms to publish less than what they would otherwise choose to publish, even when that speech is protected and nonactionable.

When Section 230 was passed in 1996, about 40 million people used the internet worldwide; by 2025, estimates ranged from five billion to north of six billion. In 1996, there were fewer than 300,000 websites; by last year, estimates ranged up to 1.3 billion. There is no workforce and no technology that can police the enormity of everything that everyone says.

Internet intermediaries—whether social media platforms, email providers or users themselves—are protected by Section 230 so that speech can flourish online.

The US legal profession was just one of the pillars of American democracy that was targeted in the early days of the second Trump administration. At EFF, we were proud to publicly and loudly support the legal profession and, most importantly, continue to do our work challenging the government’s erosion of digital rights—work that became even more critical as many law firms shied away from pro bono work.

For those that don’t know: pro bono work is work that for-profit law firms undertake for the public good. This usually means providing legal counsel to clients who desperately need but cannot afford it. It’s a vital practice, since non-profits like EFF don’t have the same capacity, resources, or expertise of a classic white shoe law firm. It’s mutually beneficial, actually, since law firms and non-profits have different experience and areas of expertise that can supplement each other’s work.

A little more than a month into the new administration, President Trump began retaliating against large law firms who supported had investigations against him or litigated against his interests, representing clients either challenging his policies during his first term or defending the outcome of the 2020 election among other cases. The retaliation quickly spread to other firms—firms lost government contracts and had security clearances stripped from their lawyers. Twenty large law firm were threatened by the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission over their DEI policies. Individual lawyers were also targeted. The policy attacking the legal profession was memorialized as official policy in the March 22, 2025 presidential memo Preventing Abuses of the Legal System and the Federal Court.

Although many of the targeted firms shockingly and regrettably capitulated, a few law firms sued to undo the actions against them. EFF was eager to support them, joining amicus briefs in each case. Over 500 law firms across the country joined supportive amicus briefs as well.

We also thought it critically important to publicly state our support for the targeted law firms and to call out the administration’s actions as violating the rule of law. So we did. We actually expected numerous law firms and legal organizations to also issue statements. But no one else did. EFF was thus the very first non-targeted legal organization in the country, either law firm or nonprofit, to publicly oppose the administration’s attack on the independence of the legal profession. Fortunately, within the week, firms started to speak up as well. As did the American Bar Association.

In the meantime, EFF’s legal work has become even more critical as law firms have reportedly pulled back on their pro bono hours since the administration’s attacks. Indeed, recognizing the extraordinary need, we ramped up out litigation, including cases against the federal government, suing DOGE for stealing Americans’ data, the state department for chilling visa-holders’ speech by surveilling and threatening to surveil their social media posts, and seeking records of the administration’s demands to online platforms to remove ICE oversight apps.

And we’re going to keep on going in 2026 and beyond.

This article is part of our Year in Review series. Read other articles about the fight for digital rights in 2025.