Can Free Speech Survive the Internet’s Censorship Era? The Fight Against the Online Safety Act and Beyond, By Richard Miller (Londonistan)
In July 2025, the British public sent a resounding message to their government: they reject internet censorship. VPN signups skyrocketed, with some providers reporting a staggering 1,400% increase, and mobile VPN apps climbed to the top of app stores. This surge was a direct response to the UK's Online Safety Act, passed by a supposedly conservative government and now enforced with zeal by Labour, which has ushered in age-gating for online content, much of it benign or politically vital, under the guise of protecting children. As the government pushes a Digital ID consultation with a deadline of August 21, 2025, fears of a surveillance state loom large. Britons, wary of this trajectory, have turned to VPNs to bypass restrictions and protect their privacy. Yet, while VPNs offer a temporary shield, they are not a panacea. The internet, once a decentralised bastion of free speech, has become a centralised battleground where governments and tech giants hold unprecedented power. To ensure free speech survives, we must confront the myths and realities of censorship, rethink the internet's architecture, and fight for both technical and political solutions.
The Online Safety Act, fully implemented in 2025, has exposed the fragility of online free expression. Designed to curb harmful content, its broad scope has led social media platforms to age-gate even innocuous material, from Wikipedia articles to political forums, out of fear of crippling fines. This overreach, as critics like Lord Sumption have noted, absurdly restricts internet access for under-18s while granting 16- and 17-year-olds the vote, highlighting a disconnect between policy and principle. Posts on X reveal public outrage, decrying the Act as a tool to silence dissent, particularly around sensitive issues like asylum protests. The hypocrisy of Labour ministers, such as Business Secretary Jonathon Reynolds, who condemned VPN use, while claiming NordVPN on expenses, only fuels distrust. Reynolds' use of a commercial anti-censorship service, not a government VPN for official work, underscores the double standard: privacy for the elite, surveillance for the masses.
This backlash reflects a deeper truth: the need for online anonymity has never been greater. As governments wield "clumsy and random" tools, fines, arrests, or worse, in response to criticism, individuals are right to seek "elegant weapons" like VPNs and pseudonyms to protect their voices. However, the internet's current structure makes this fight harder than it should be. Once a decentralised network designed to avoid single points of failure, the internet has morphed into what one observer aptly called "five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four." In 2025, 43% of web traffic flows through services owned by just six companies, per industry estimates. This centralisation hands governments a chokehold: instead of chasing countless small sites, they can pressure a handful of tech giants to censor content. The Act's impact on UK forums, many of which shuttered rather than face compliance costs, proves this point. As Maureen O'Hara's teacher in This Land is Mine said, censored pages may one day be restored, but for now, the loss of these digital town squares is a blow to free discourse.
VPNs, while a popular workaround, are not a silver bullet. They create encrypted tunnels to freer jurisdictions, allowing users to bypass UK restrictions by appearing to browse from, say, Bolivia or Switzerland. But their effectiveness hinges on the existence of uncensored countries, a dwindling resource as Canada, Australia, Ireland, France, Denmark, and even Sweden, face similar crackdowns. The EU's Digital Services Act and Brazil's VPN fines (up to $8,874 daily), signal a global trend toward control. Even in less restrictive regions, VPN users face hurdles: social media platforms often limit functionality for VPN or Tor connections, blocking account creation or demanding SMS verification tied to a user's real location. This undermines anonymity, as a +44 phone number instantly betrays a UK user's position. Moreover, not all VPNs are trustworthy; many free services log data or expose users to malware, as warned by experts like Alexey Kozliuk of the VPN Guild.
Tor, often conflated with VPNs, offers another layer of anonymity by routing traffic through multiple encrypted nodes. Originally developed by the US Naval Research Lab to shield operatives, Tor's open-source model allows civilians to hide in its "haystack." Yet, only 3.4% to 6.7% of Tor traffic accesses the dark web's onion domains; most users leverage it to browse the clear web anonymously. Onion services, which conceal both user and server identities, hold promise for censorship-resistant platforms but come with caveats. They require technical know-how to access, limiting their reach to tech-savvy users, and are not immune to de-anonymisation, correlating server downtime with physical outages has exposed even "vile" dark web sites. For every Ross Ulbricht, jailed for running Silk Road, there's a risk to legitimate dissenters. Edward Snowden's unpardoned status, despite promises from allies like RFK Jr., underscores the precariousness of relying on such tools.
So, how can free speech survive this onslaught? The answer lies in addressing three core challenges: decentralising the internet's physical layer, ensuring trust in an anonymous ecosystem, and overcoming the monopoly of social media giants.
First, the internet's reliance on centralised infrastructure, owned by telecoms and tech giants, must end. VPNs and Tor are bandages on a compromised system, encrypting traffic but not altering the underlying hardware controlled by censor-friendly corporations. A truly censorship-resistant internet requires a peer-to-peer physical layer, potentially using line-of-sight optical or infrared relays to bypass spectrum limitations. Such a network, spanning mountain peaks or urban rooftops, could evade jamming and state pressure. The challenge is designing a resilient Border Gateway Protocol equivalent without centralised trust points, ensuring nodes remain hidden from "censorious goons." While encryption for higher OSI layers is solved, building this infrastructure demands innovation and widespread adoption to avoid the fate of niche privacy projects.
Second, trust in an anonymous internet is a paradox. Onion domains hide server identities, but this opens the door to scams, as seen in cryptocurrency-driven dark web fraud. Traditional payment systems, vulnerable to censorship by card processors, won't suffice. A new payment model, decentralised, refundable, yet resistant to state interference, is needed. Digital signatures, like PGP/GnuPG, can verify legitimate services, but only if users trust the initial key exchange (e.g., via a physical storefront). Community-driven "Fediverse" models, based on reputation, risk mob censorship, while Web 3.0 micropayments invite profiteering. Solving this requires balancing anonymity with accountability, ensuring users can trust services without exposing themselves to surveillance.
Third, new platforms must compete with social media monopolies, where network effects favour incumbents. A platform's value grows with its user base, making it tough for decentralised alternatives to gain traction. The Fediverse, with platforms like Mastodon, offers a model where users host their own servers, but adoption lags due to complexity and fragmentation. A censorship-resistant internet needs a critical mass of users on a single, user-friendly platform to rival the likes of X or Facebook. This demands not just technical innovation but cultural shifts, convincing users to choose privacy over convenience. Historical open-source failures, like privacy tools that withered from low uptake, warn against underestimating this hurdle.
Beyond technology, political and legal battles are crucial. The public's fury, echoed in X posts calling for the Act's repeal and a Digital Bill of Rights, signals growing resistance. Advocacy groups like the Electronic Frontier Foundation and Open Rights Group are vital, pushing back against laws that erode digital freedoms. Lord Sumption's critique of the Act's absurdity, while not yet a full-throated condemnation, hints at shifting elite opinion. Legal challenges, like those blocking age-verification laws in the US, offer hope, but victories are slow and uneven. The public must amplify these efforts, demanding transparency and accountability from governments and tech firms alike.
Free speech on the internet is at a crossroads. The Online Safety Act, with its chilling effect on forums and its push toward Digital IDs, is a stark reminder of how quickly liberties can erode. VPNs and Tor provide temporary refuge, but their limitations expose the need for a radical reimagining of the internet, one that's decentralised, anonymous yet trustworthy, and accessible to all. The fight for free speech demands technical innovation, political courage, and a collective refusal to let governments and corporations gatekeep our voices.
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