Lutfiye Zudiyeva is a Crimean Tatar journalist, the author of Graty portal. She has lived in Crimea all this time, remaining on the peninsula even after it came under Russian control in 2014.
Lutfiye continues to cover the lives of Crimean Tatars in Crimea, documenting the persecution by the Centre for Combating Extremism of the Russian Federation. She reports on court hearings and discusses the searches and arrests of local journalists and activists.
For the first time, Lutfiye Zudiyeva was shortlisted as a finalist for the “Honor of the Profession” journalistic award in 2022, along with Anton Naumliuk, the chief editor of Graty media, for their piece Deed and Punishment: How Nariman Dzhelyal’s Case of Sabotage in Crimea Emerged from Torture and Fragments of Phrases. That work was dedicated to the story of Nariman Dzhelyal, the deputy chairman of the Mejlis of the Crimean Tatar people, and brothers Asan and Aziz Akhtemov, who were arrested on suspicion of sabotage.
She became a finalist for the second time in 2024 in the special nomination from Women in Media NGO with the Defender podcast series, which is dedicated to the lives of Crimean women who face searches, arrests, persecution, and separation from their loved ones. The journalist herself has repeatedly become the target of such persecution. Russian security forces have come to her home for searches, seized her work equipment, taken her to the police station, and issued her warnings “about the inadmissibility of violating the law.”
In this interview, Lutfiye Zudiyeva explains why she decided to stay in Crimea and continue her journalism despite knowing she is also in danger there.
Why did you decide to stay in Crimea after 2014?
My motivation is more personal than professional. Professional too, but it came to me later. I was born into a family deeply involved in the struggle for the rights of our people. They participated in various actions, rallies, and protest movements for the return of the Crimean Tatars. My father and I constantly discussed it. Every year, he took us to rallies held in the central square of Simferopol. He instilled moral values in us from early childhood and a sense of responsibility not only for himself and his family but also for the fate of our people and their future.
Therefore, when everything changed in Crimea in 2014, and as I often say, we woke up in a completely different country within a few days, this issue became very acute not only for our family but for many Crimean Tatars. It seems to me that not only I grew up in such environment but almost all the children of the Crimean Tatars at that time did as well. Many of us were coming back. This return always reminds me of the flight of birds — when it’s time to return, they do so en masse. And similarly, our people experienced a collective return when the USSR allowed the Crimean Tatars to return to their homeland, Crimea. The Crimean Tatars often refer to this resettlement as “self-return,” as they had sought and defended it for many years, a momentous event for many. Therefore, the majority of Crimean Tatars decided to stay in Crimea even after 2014, even though further life was associated with great risks, repression, arrests, searches, general pressure, and control.
I ventured into journalism due to a coincidence of circumstances, as news about arrests, detentions, interrogations at the borders, and other negative events began to surface almost daily. The period between 2014 and 2015 may have been the grayest of the decade. At that time, Ukrainian authorities in Crimea had already ceased their operations completely, and Russia began to establish its own institutions on the peninsula — law enforcement, judicial, administrative, and municipal. They were still in the process of organizing their operations, and it was a period of lawlessness. People didn’t know where to turn if a loved one went missing or if someone they knew faced torture in clandestine locations.
It was a particularly difficult period when all professional independent newsrooms faced significant pressure and were effectively squeezed out of Crimea. This occurred because many of them, for various reasons, did not re-register under Russian legislation, obtain work permits, or receive accreditation. During that period, numerous editorial offices were subjected to searches, and journalists faced persecution. Both administrative and criminal cases were initiated against some of them.
The presence of professional independent journalism in Crimea has significantly decreased since the events of 2014. Ukrainian journalists worked here for several years in various formats. Some worked openly, while others chose to conceal their profession. Many of them wrote under pseudonyms, but eventually, they were all forced to leave Crimea, one by one. Some were banned from entering. Journalists Alina Smutko and Aliona Savchuk were banned from entering Crimea for 10 years, while Taras Ibragimov was banned for 34 years. Journalists from other publications were subjected to surveillance.
At some point, it became clear that a significant void was forming in the realm of independent journalism, which needed to be addressed immediately. Otherwise, only the press releases of the FSB and the Ministry of Internal Affairs would remain. What they tell, write, and publish will become the sole point of view available in the public space. There will simply be no alternative opinion, because no one will do it. It’s truly challenging to practice journalism remotely without being physically present at the epicenter of events, such as court hearings or locations where searches are conducted. The realization that something needed to compensate for this growing void is likely what led me to journalism.
How aware were you then of all the potential dangers associated with journalism?
When I encountered the first acts of pressure from representatives of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Centre for Combating Extremism, I came to understand that this work is dangerous and will not go unnoticed. These are not just publications about the warmth of the sea in Crimea today or the blooming of magnolias in Yalta. In these materials, we discuss specific actions of officials that are considered illegal from the perspective of any law — Ukrainian, Russian, or international. When people are tortured to extract evidence or confessions, it often results in biased court verdicts against them.
You understand that working with such events comes with risks and will not go unnoticed. And this is my conscious choice to stay, when you consider all the risks and challenges ahead, what you must do, and why. Many of my colleagues who were involved in journalism are now in prison. Among them are public journalists — individuals who had never engaged in journalism before 2014 and likely shared similar feelings to mine. There are also those who were professionally engaged in journalism, such as Vladyslav Yesypenko, a freelancer for the Radio Liberty project. He came to Crimea on assignment, filming blitz polls and reports for the Crimea Realities project.
Considering all of this, and the fact that so many of my colleagues are now in prison, and that the same risk may be soon for me, I still want to stay here longer. It seems to me that I am in the right place, at the right time, and I feel the strength to do it. And most importantly, I want to do it. Perhaps this work will not give instant results. Although we often experienced situations where the public outcry surrounding an event literally saved people’s lives or halted torture.
“Many people spoke about being held in basements, but once information began circulating above ground — with relatives being searched, lawyers intervening, and journalists reporting — they were eventually released from captivity. During this time, the torture that was imminent for this individual, just steps away from them, either ceased or never commenced, as the operatives determined it was preferable to remove the person from the basement.
I believe that political prisoners will be released sooner or later, thanks to this ongoing work and the dedication of colleagues from various publications who continue to report on the lives and status of these people. This is not the work of one person alone. In Crimea, there is no competition among fellow journalists because there is so much work in various fields — the economy, ecology, human rights, and the situation with education for children. Instead, we believe that the synergy within the journalistic community, while being physically present in Crimea, is crucial.
You have been detained several times, searched in your family, and later released. Could you tell me what were the reasons for such actions?
I live in Dzhankoi, a city in the north of Crimea, and it’s quite close to the area where all these events are unfolding. I was detained for the first time in 2019, right on the street. I was returning home when officers of the Centre for Combating Extremism blocked [the road] with two cars and informed me that I needed to go with them, refusing to let me proceed further. I could not refuse to follow them. They arrived with an administrative report citing one article related to a social media post and threatened a second report for disobeying a lawful demand from a police officer if I refused to get into the car with them. They took me to Simferopol. For several hours I was in one of the departments of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. The lawyer was not allowed for a long time, he stood at the checkpoint for several hours. At first, he was told that I was not there, although I managed to inform him by phone where I was being taken and where I would be. Then they said, “We have tons of work to do. We will let you in later.” And finally, they let him come in, closer to the evening. They drew up a report and let me go. The next day, at the court hearing, I was fined 2,000 rubles for the first time.
After these events, for two years, I received warnings accusing me of violating current [Russian] laws by participating in illegal meetings, pickets, and actions. Moreover, these warnings were issued in a rather vague and general form, distributed en masse. This applied not only to me but also to other journalists, human rights defenders, and lawyers. Then there was a certain period of calm, and I did not feel this pressure so obviously.
In the summer of 2023, I attended a court hearing to cover the appeal process regarding the verdict of Crimean Tatar journalist and politician Nariman Dzhelal. The team at Graty website and I have been closely following this story since day one, from the moment Nariman, as well as Asan and Aziz Akhtemovs, were detained. Well, it is clear that it was quite logical for journalists to bring this story to an end, that is, to write about both the appeal and the final stage of these people from Crimea.
I drove up to the building of the Supreme Court in Crimea and submitted a request to be allowed into the session room, as the bailiffs were only permitting lawyers to enter. I was waiting on the porch for the judge’s decision, without waving any banners or shouting slogans. I stood calmly, talking to Aziz Akhtemov’s mother and interviewing her about the meeting. In the evening, I planned to work on my report. At that moment, the police arrived with an empty bus and took everyone standing near the courthouse, including the close relatives of the prisoners, which was even more painful than my detention. It looked absurd. We asked them, “Why are you taking them? They came because there was a court hearing for their loved ones. And it is normal that they are here, and not at home drinking tea.” No one responded to us.
When they brought us to the police station, they forcibly tried to take our fingerprints and photographs from the front and side. Some people agreed to be released sooner, some objected. I refused to be fingerprinted or photographed, explaining that I was outside the courthouse with a press card for professional purposes and that this detention had no legal basis. Nevertheless, an administrative report was filed against me, and a court hearing was held on the same day. It all lasted until about 11:00 p.m. I was fined for the second time, in the amount of 12,000 rubles.
On February 22, 2024, they came to our home with a search warrant, specifically looking for equipment. They took my laptop, phone, memory card from the camera, memory card from the voice recorder, other memory cards found on the desktop and on the bedside tables, and the home video recorder with surveillance footage. The equipment was password-protected — I have been following all necessary security standards for a long time. I live with the feeling that my house could be searched any day. I assume the dashcam was taken so that we couldn’t use the footage of them jumping over the fence. In fact, according to Russian legislation, their entry into my house by jumping over the fence instead of ringing the doorbell was illegal.
They also took two brochures: one was self-published, containing the texts of Nariman Jelal titled “I Stay,” and the other was a collection of reports by human rights defenders, which included my report as well. I wrote in it about the systematic repressions taking place in Crimea, how these repressions are affecting larger groups of people now. Earlier, it was only the men themselves who were imprisoned, but now relatives — mothers, wives of political prisoners — and even bystanders are being detained massively near courthouses. Repression is escalating, and these people are unjustly labeled as accomplices of terrorism and extremism simply because they want to support their loved ones.
It seems that they decided that this text was also worth examining and took the booklet away. I still have not been returned anything that was taken. Regarding the results of the examination, if it is being conducted now, I have not yet been informed. On that day, two more administrative reports were drawn up against me, and court hearings have already taken place for both. One report was related to the publication about the trials of Radio Liberty project correspondent Vladyslav Yesypenko. According to the officers of the Centre for Combating Extremism, my violation was that I did not mention that Radio Liberty had been recognized as a foreign agent on the territory of the Russian Federation when I wrote about it.
The second report was because I wrote about the trial of the Crimean Tatars from Bilohirsk in 2022. I was documenting the verdict and the mass events that took place in Crimea in support of these people. Following the verdict, people in over 65 settlements rallied in their defense, marking a high-profile event that warranted coverage. However, according to the Centre for Combating Extremism, my publications did not focus on the events, or the individuals involved but rather on an organization banned in the Russian Federation, and I failed to mention this in my reporting.
After these court hearings, I was fined again: 2,500 rubles for the first case and 2,000 rubles for the second. Now I must pay these fines. Of course, I am trying to challenge these rulings both in appeal and in cassation. We will also submit appeals, but I am not convinced that the outcome will differ from what we have at the moment. Unfortunately, we cannot say that the Crimean courts are currently operating independently; on the contrary, we increasingly encounter situations where judges openly side with the state prosecution, sometimes more subtly than others.
Once again, they came with warnings: on May 6 and 7, 2024. On May 6, a criminal investigation officer wanted to interview me. I don’t know the reason because I refused to speak with him because I did not have a lawyer present at that moment. I made a principled decision not to speak with law enforcement officers without a lawyer present because I am uncertain how they might use or interpret our conversation in the future.
On the second day, an ordinary precinct officer from our neighborhood came, brought me a warning, and read it aloud, emphasizing the inadmissibility of violating Russian legislation. I signed this warning but left a note expressing my disagreement. I believe that the actions of the police officers in this case lack justification, and the warning itself lacks specifics, containing only a general text with a list of criminal and administrative articles that could potentially be applied if I attend unspecified mass events for unknown reasons.
At the court hearing, officers from the Dzhankoi Ministry of Internal Affairs presented an internal document (restricted) containing notes about specific lists of journalists, activists, human rights defenders, and members of the Mejlis of the Crimean Tatar people in each district, along with a specified list of questions and information to be collected about these individuals. I saw my name on that list. The officers of the Ministry of Internal Affairs explained that they simply follow orders from higher officials and do not always know the reasons behind issuing these warnings. They are given papers from the ministry, and they go to process these lists of people.
Based on your podcasts, I gathered that in Crimea, individuals can now face arrest under suspicion of “transmitting information to an unfriendly state.” Does it mean that not all journalists who collect information about what is happening in Crimea for Ukrainian or foreign media could fit under this definition?
We conceived the idea of podcasts, particularly women’s podcasts, at the turn of 2021 and 2022, in response to the active role women in Crimea now play in journalism, human rights advocacy, and activism. This isn’t by chance, but because when a man is detained, his sister, wife, or mother becomes his “storyteller” — a person who connects him with the outside world, often jokingly referred to as the “press secretary.” This phenomenon has become quite popular in Crimea, despite the mistaken stereotype that women are weaker, more fragile, vulnerable than men, and that there are certain professions definitely not suitable for them.
Crimea today is a vivid example of a place where women and men work on equal terms to protect people’s rights, handle challenging situations, and in some cases, even perform better than men.
All our podcasts, now with four episodes, feature stories like this about women. They are released at fairly wide intervals due to our heavy workload and because we take a careful and meticulous approach to podcasts. We work with scripts to ensure our subjects do not face harassment through comments. To ensure these stories are balanced and adhere to journalistic standards in every aspect.
We’re not just recounting their emotions or personal reflections; we’re detailing the criminal cases they’re involved in, the charges they face, and providing a comprehensive exposition of unfolding events. We hope this allows listeners to deeply engage with these stories.
One of the most significant episodes for me is about my colleague, civilian journalist Iryna Danylovych, who was imprisoned under criminal prosecution. She was initially accused of allegedly planning to transmit or transmitting information to an “unfriendly state”. However, the paradox of this story is that everything they initially attempted to pin on her during the house searches and initial interrogations — specifically, her communication with Ukrainian human rights organizations and journalists — eventually became less significant in court. She is currently in prison for possession and carrying of an improvised explosive device.
This is the criminalization of journalistic activity, where journalists end up in prisons not directly accused of being journalists — because such an article or wording does not exist in Russian legislation. And when they are accused of sabotage, as in the cases of Vladyslav Yesypenko, Iryna Danylovych, and Nariman Dzhelyal. Or terrorism, as is the case with Crimean Tatar civilian journalists associated with the “Crimean Solidarity” movement . Other articles are related to criminal offenses. Nowadays, the risks for journalists have significantly increased because it’s uncertain which specific phrase in a publication could be interpreted by special services or officers of the Centre for Combating Extremism as transferring information to an unfriendly foreign state. Even within Russian legislation, there is no clear framework.
The genre of investigative journalism is particularly risky. It’s more than just storytelling; it involves talking to families and discussing how they cope with life without a loved one in prison. As you delve deeper into investigative journalism, you uncover documents revealing the names of secret service officers and the violations they committed while handling case materials. For instance, in the case of Nariman Dzhelyal and the Akhtemov brothers, details emerged of electric shocks and moral and psychological torture.
How strong is the support and solidarity within the women’s community, particularly among Crimean Tatar women who are journalists, or those involved in activism?
For Crimean Tatars, the involvement of women in human rights work, journalism, and even political processes has always been completely normal. Our goal was not fundamentally to fight for our rights, because historically, if you look at the Crimean Tatar national movement, women played an active role even during the earlier period of the Crimean Khanate. In Warsaw, one of the archives still preserves letters exchanged between women of the Crimean Khanate and politicians from European states of that time. These letters are of a business nature, concerning the interests of states. When I first learned about it, I wasn’t even surprised because I grew up in an atmosphere where it was considered normal.
The Defender podcast mentioned above, featured on Graty, has been shortlisted for the Honor of the Profession competition this year. How did you feel about being shortlisted?
We first made it to the shortlist, I believe, last year, alongside Anton Naumliuk, the former editor of the Graty website, with an article about Nariman Dzhelal.
When I found out about this year’s shortlist, my immediate thought was how we could further support the people we cover in our stories. I hope this recognition can contribute to Iryna’s release from prison. I believe that journalists’ work helps to highlight such stories. It also motivates people even more to advocate for the release of political prisoners.
I never intended to build a professional career on the difficult, tragic stories of people. I covered these stories because I wanted them to be known and to help secure the release of these people as soon as possible. After studying the case materials and speaking with the victims themselves, I realized that many of these cases are fabricated, and people are imprisoned unjustly. Unfortunately, the circumstances have unfolded in such a way that most of the events we discuss are painful and traumatic. Therefore, my greatest hope for the contest is not just to evaluate our work but for this text to be read, this podcast to be listened to, and for people to seriously consider the urgent need to free these people. We need to find the tools to set them free.
The topic of political prisoners is challenging to advance as it quickly became routine, especially after 2022, when people started being detained by the dozens. As a result, the list grew to over 200 people within ten years. Keeping the reader’s attention on this issue, crafting a compelling story that they will want to read and share further, is a very challenging task. But I want to believe that our work will bear fruit in a long-term perspective.
The second thought that came to mind was the feeling of great gratitude towards the editors of Graty, with whom we produce this podcast. I am deeply grateful to them for believing in me, offering me an internship, and investing their time and resources in teaching me this profession. When events like being shortlisted for the Honor of the Profession occur, it highlights how collectively we can achieve something significant and do so effectively. This exemplifies how journalists in Crimea, Ukrainian journalists unable to be physically present on the peninsula, and even international journalists unable to enter Crimea, can collaborate effectively.
I am immensely thankful to Anna Kravets, the producer, whose keen sensitivity brings out the full emotional depth of these podcast stories. I talk to people, documenting significant episodes of their lives, closely monitoring various court proceedings, and understanding the necessity of being present physically during verdict announcements or debates to record them accurately. However, weaving these elements into a cohesive narrative and conveying it to a Ukrainian audience so they can experience half an hour immersed in Crimea, feeling the anxieties and concerns of its people, the injustices of court proceedings, and the stance of the state prosecution against them – this success owes much to the diligent efforts of my colleague Anna.
Why is it important to you to cover stories like this?
In modern society, women are often perceived as a vulnerable group, particularly in situations of authoritarian repression, where opportunities for action are severely restricted. We decided to explore how, amidst such repression, women undergo profound transformations, finding the strength to rebuild their lives and confront the harsh machinery of oppression. In our opinion, it is important to talk more about women and tell audiences about these cases. Why? Because often, the media focuses on their husbands as the primary characters, but the repercussions of repression extend beyond these individuals to impact the entire community, leaving their voices and visibility underrepresented. That’s why “Defender. Imayeci” is a narrative podcast focused on the experiences of women during the period of authoritarian repression on the Crimean peninsula and their resilient struggle. The project is dedicated to women, their families, and communities who endure suffering while advocating for political freedom. It captures their transformation under challenging circumstances, documenting their resilience and resistance in Defender. The materials were gathered on the peninsula starting in 2022, totaling dozens of hours of audio recordings from court sessions and interviews with the heroines and heroes of the podcast. As the project continues, materials are still being collected.
What is the media landscape in Crimea today? What kind of channels, radio stations work there, what printed media are published? From what sources does the local population usually get information?
In Crimea, currently, two categories of information sources are functioning without hindrance. The first consists of editorial offices that have received accreditation and are financed from the budget of the Russian Federation. Their work, in my opinion, is not aimed solely at reporting events as they unfold, but rather at promoting the presence of the Russian Federation in Crimea. There are TV channels such as the Crimean Tatar channel “Millet,” which was specifically established as an analogue of the ATR TV channel. Every day, this channel broadcasts in the Crimean Tatar language, focusing on positive news such as officials participating in village gasification, opening new schools or kindergartens, greening parts of Crimea, and constructing roads.
When you view such sources of information daily, the impression of repressions, arrests, and searches in Crimea vanishes completely, as these issues are simply absent from their coverage. The brief summaries that sporadically appear on such TV channels and in such news agencies are verbatim copies of press releases from the FSB. People who were detained today are already being labeled as terrorists and extremists. There are no presumptions of innocence, no attempts to find these people, to inquire about their or their loved ones’ perspectives on the detention, what actually occurred, or comments from their lawyer — they simply show no interest. Such newsrooms do not have the task of objectively covering the events in Crimea.
The second category of popular information sources in Crimea now includes Telegram channels, where operatives from the Centre for Combating Extremism and special services often upload videos from searches, and sometimes even from court proceedings, along with screenshots, documents, and correspondence. All that the security forces would like to publicize, but professional journalism will not handle it as they would prefer. Such channels work as propaganda tools and, unfortunately, become a source of information even for Ukrainian newsrooms and media. I mean the Crimean SMERCH, the Telegram channel of the blogger Oleksandr Talipov. This, of course, is not journalism at all, but propaganda in its purest form.
There are a few newspapers that strive to maintain independence, albeit in very limited circulation. For example, the Crimean Tatar newspaper Qirim, which is headed and edited by Bekir Mamut, is under rather serious censorship. This is an attempt to preserve Crimean Tatar independent journalism, but it is not enough to cover the events taking place on the peninsula.
It is definitely worth mentioning citizen journalism as a phenomenon, as people from various public associations and media projects such as “Crimean Process”, “Crimean Solidarity”, “Inzhyr”, and Iryna Danylovych’s media project “Medicine without a Cover” are engaged in it. Through these platforms, they discuss issues related to Crimean healthcare and present alternative viewpoints, countering the narratives propagated by state-controlled media in Crimea. The “Crimean Idea” was forced to cease its existence due to administrative violations and persecution of the moderators of this media project. And perhaps, in many cases, thanks to the work of citizen journalists, it is possible to balance out what is happening in Crimea.
Citizen journalists have to learn in real-time. These are individuals who didn’t graduate from journalism faculties, lacking the opportunity to spend years studying theory, working with instructors, and receiving theoretical guidance before entering the field. The scenario unfolds when a person starts to act, and in the process, journalistic standards gradually emerge. They begin to grasp where mistakes were made and develop a determination not to repeat them in subsequent texts.
There was a very bright period of work of Ukrainian freelance journalists in Crimea, and several Russian independent journalists who tried to objectively and honestly talk about the situation. During a certain period, they frequently visited Crimea on business trips, arriving one after another, each with a mission to instruct citizen journalists. For instance, Taras Ibragimov focused on teaching us how to craft concise daily news updates, while Olena Savchuk imparted lessons on structuring news and notes, ensuring events were properly presented to readers. Alina Smutko, a photographer, taught us photography skills, and she currently collaborates with Reuters. This timely investment occurred when Ukrainian freelance journalists generously shared their experience and knowledge in the profession without any charge. They understood that they wouldn’t be able to remain in Crimea permanently; sooner or later, they would be forced to leave. And it is vitally important to continue the work because repression not only persists but unfortunately shows no signs of decreasing.
Do you think that life in Crimea, searches, repressions against Crimean Tatars are sufficiently covered in the Ukrainian media today?
There are several newsrooms that have remained steadfastly dedicated to covering the topic of Crimea for almost all these years. They play a crucial role in keeping this issue on the agenda, even when it doesn’t attract much attention, ensuring that these events do not fade into oblivion. Thanks to the systematic effort of writing news articles, texts, and shooting videos about individuals facing repression, Crimea manages to be heard. But this is not enough. It seems to me that for the situation to truly change, even regarding the release of political prisoners, it is necessary to move beyond the local Crimean and Ukrainian agendas. These issues need worldwide coverage.
Certainly, quality work is crucial, as even citizen journalists working in Crimea need to undergo a learning process to grasp the profession and understand its standards. This journey ensures that their texts are initially published in Ukrainian media before reaching international ones. Although it should be noted that in the last couple of years, more publications about Crimea have appeared, and there is increasing interest in the events taking place here. Unfortunately, this interest is not always connected with the stories of specific people or political prisoners.
Many colleagues chose to stay in their profession, to write about Crimea, without being physically on the peninsula. When people ask which journalist is more effective and useful, I believe that Crimea currently needs both those who are physically present there, able to personally document, describe, and convey events to readers, and those who operate from outside Crimea. The latter face fewer risks of criminal and administrative prosecution, affording them greater freedom in journalistic genres and their statements.
Author: Oleksandra Horchynska
Illustration credit: Zhenia Oliinyk
This material was made possible by the New Democracy Fund (NDF) and International Media Support (IMS) as part of the project “Breaking Down Barriers: Bringing together public organizations, media, and state bodies to achieve gender equality in the media space of Ukraine,” implemented by the NGO “Women in Media.” Any views expressed here belong to the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of NDF or IMS.
Other stories
