Mediating Protest: Gezi Resistance and the Evolving Ecology of Video Activism in Turkey

Abstract

This article traces the development of video activism in Turkey over the past two decades, focusing on its transformation during and after the 2013 Gezi Park protests. Situating video activism as a form of radical media, it examines how activists have used digital recording technologies to document protests, amplify marginalized voices, and contest dominant narratives. Drawing on interviews with members of eight activist collectives, the article maps the evolving practices, ethics, and internal dynamics of video activism, paying close attention to tensions between visibility and security and between participation and professionalism. The Gezi protests marked a turning point, expanding video activism into a decentralized, diverse, and participatory field. In the aftermath, while collective structures weakened due to increasing repression and shrinking protest spaces, the use of video as a tool for testimony, expression, and archiving has continued to evolve. New actors, forms, and platforms have emerged, transforming video activism from a specialized practice into a broader, more diffuse form of engagement. This article argues that video activism remains a significant mode of mediated resistance, reflecting the challenges and the evolving potential of visual intervention in an ever-changing political landscape.

1. Mediating Protest: Gezi Resistance the Evolving Ecology of Video Activism in Turkey

This article explores the trajectory of video activism in Turkey over the past fifteen years, highlighting how this radical media practice has become central to social movements and shaped by political shifts and technological advances. While video activism is conceptualized as a form of radical–alternative media, defined by its opposition to dominant power structures and grounded in collective, counter-hegemonic practices (Downing, 2001; Atton, 2002), it often intersects with citizen journalism. The latter typically involves individuals or loosely connected groups documenting events outside institutional frameworks, often without explicit political intent (Allan & Thorsen, 2009). In protest contexts, however, these boundaries become increasingly blurred. Those who film and circulate scenes of police violence, regardless of their affiliations or motivations, participate in a media practice that resonates with the disruptive ethos of radical media. Accordingly, this article occasionally draws on both the terms “video activism” and “citizen journalism,” acknowledging the fluid and overlapping nature of these practices in contemporary activist media landscapes.

At the center of the analysis are the Gezi Park protests, a pivotal moment when the increasing accessibility of recording technologies and digital tools led to the proliferation and widespread use of video activism, significantly enhancing its visibility, reach, and role within the resistance. To offer a comprehensive account of its evolution, the article examines video activism in Turkey across three key periods: before, during, and after the Gezi protests. This periodization corresponds to a shift in the Justice and Development Party’s (AKP) approach to fundamental rights and freedoms—particularly freedom of thought and expression—since it came to power in Turkey in 2002. In its early years, the AKP identified itself as a party of “conservative democrats” and adopted a liberal discourse promising to enhance civil liberties. This stance was widely supported by the media at the time. However, in the following years, the AKP increasingly moved away from a democratic agenda and embraced a more Islamist, nationalist, and authoritarian orientation (see Bedirhanoğlu et al., 2010; Taşkin, 2013; Alpan, 2018; Kaygusuz, 2018; Babacan et al., 2021). This departure significantly undermined press freedom and curtailed the broader sphere of freedom of expression. Within this context, the Gezi protests emerged as a critical moment, foregrounding the defense of urban commons and environmental awareness while simultaneously articulating a radical opposition to the growing authoritarianism. In this sense, the protests can be seen as a turning point for the AKP government. The state responded with violence, suppressing dissent through severe physical force and preventing protestors from expressing themselves freely (Özen, 2020, p. 253). The government also intervened in the public’s right to information, further blocking avenues for freedom of expression.

The repressive trajectory set in motion after the Gezi protests has since persisted. Over the intervening years, a substantial portion of the commercial publishing sector has come under the direct or indirect control of the government (see Sümer & Adaklı, 2010; Murat, 2018; Kanver, 2018; Ayan, 2019; Doğan, 2024). Amidst this increasingly constrained media environment, new modes of dissent and documentation have gained prominence, particularly those that operate outside institutional frameworks and rely on digital technologies.

Historically, social movements have not only invented new forms of communication suited to the ideas they sought to disseminate but have also adapted existing media technologies—such as print, radio, and film—to fit their own communicative strategies (see, for example, Carroll and Ratner (1999); Downing (2008); Crick (2020); and Stewart et al. (2012)). While developing creative tactics to infiltrate mainstream media and make their political demands visible, social movements have also striven to establish direct channels of communication with their target audiences. This endeavor has often turned participants’ bodies into communicative acts, sometimes through collective presence in street protests and public declarations and, at other times, through visual means. Reflecting this diversity, radical–alternative media encompasses a broad repertoire, including clothing, badges, songs, dances, graffiti, posters, leaflets, manifestos, street art, performative acts, newspapers, magazines, films, documentaries, videos, and radio broadcasts (Downing, 2001; Özdemir Taştan, 2018).

As part of this evolving repertoire of radical–alternative media, video activism has emerged as a distinctive form of political engagement. It initially developed with the increased availability of handheld cameras and gained broader traction through technological advancements such as expanded camera memory, diverse storage options, and the digital circulation of recorded material. As Berensel argues, video activism entails the production of visual content that documents and disseminates the demands of social movements often ignored, distorted, or misrepresented by mainstream media (Berensel, 2017, pp. 121–128). Due to its distinct format and oppositional stance, it is often characterized as a form of radical–alternative media. In this context, the video activist creates a media environment that amplifies the voices of activist communities by capturing and distributing their visual narratives. This process constitutes a political act in itself, positioning the video activist not merely as a documentarian but as an active participant in the political contestation. The scope and impact of this practice have grown considerably with the widespread accessibility of digital recording technologies and the extended reach of social media platforms.

Since the late 1960s, easier access to recording technologies has allowed video activism to become a prominent element of the radical media repertoire (see, for example, Coyer et al. (2007) and Downing (2008)). The emergence of portable half-inch videotape during this period marked a turning point, offering social movements new modes of expression. As Chapman notes, this innovation facilitated the production of street tapes, home videos, oral histories, ethnographic recordings, process tapes, and nonfiction explorations of political, social, and cultural themes (Chapman, 2012, p. 42). From the late 1970s onward, the spirit of “guerrilla television” has endured, continually taking on new forms. Nevertheless, activists have long faced structural challenges, not only in accessing affordable and portable equipment for recording and editing but also in overcoming obstacles related to the distribution and circulation of their content. As John Downing points out, the problem of distribution remained a significant barrier for many years (Downing, 2001, pp. 196–197), until the widespread use of new media and Internet broadcasting greatly reduced the difficulty of securing platforms for viewing and dissemination.

Since then, video activism has acquired the potential to reach broader audiences while requiring fewer technical, informational, and financial resources. Producing and sharing videos as a means of amplifying the voices of those marginalized or ignored by mainstream media has become increasingly accessible. Throughout the 2010s, numerous video activist groups began systematically documenting and disseminating social movements via social media and other digital platforms, particularly actions that were censored, manipulated, or entirely omitted by mainstream outlets. These groups, varying in structure and motivation, engage in the production of advocacy, community, or witness videos (Depeli, 2016, p. 124). A key example of this phenomenon emerged during the Arab Spring, a pivotal moment in debates about the impact of videos shared by witnesses and activists. In the 2010 anti-government uprisings that began in Tunisia and spread across Arab countries, protesters used social networks such as Facebook and Twitter to organize and YouTube to document events and communicate them to broader publics. This wave of protest underscored the growing importance of new media technologies in enabling activists to challenge mainstream narratives directly (Arafa & Armstrong, 2016; Anden-Papadopoulos, 2020; Snowdon, 2014).

Manuel Castells argues that the social movements characteristic of the twenty-first century—those shaped by what he terms the “network society”—first emerged in Tunisia and were subsequently replicated in other contexts. What distinguishes the Tunisian uprising from earlier social movements, according to Castells, is its integral reliance on social networks. He highlights the interplay between digital platforms such as Facebook, YouTube, and Twitter and the physical occupation of urban space, which together generated a hybrid, autonomous public sphere. This new configuration, Castells contends, became the defining feature of the Tunisian uprising and anticipated similar movements in other parts of the world (Castells, 2013, pp. 22–31).1

Parallel to the development of these technologies, both the use of these tools by activists and their radical–alternative potential have become subjects of scholarly inquiry. Communication studies have especially focused on the extent to which the participatory affordances of new media may contribute to the democratization of the public sphere (see, for example, Papacharissi (2002); Jenkins et al. (2004); Davis (2021); Staab and Thiel (2022); Fuchs (2022); Seeliger and Sevignani (2022); and Bruns (2023)). A central concern in these debates has been to understand how, and to what extent, emerging forms of alternative media and digital communication technologies can contribute to the formation of counter-public spheres and provide a platform for articulating citizens’ concerns, particularly in response to the deepening crisis of representative democracy (Downing, 2001; Downey & Fenton, 2003; Fuchs, 2010; Harcup, 2011; Atton, 2015; Lievrouw, 2023; Schwarzenegger, 2023).

Video activism in Turkey first emerged in the early 2000s, primarily through the recording of street protests in major cities such as Ankara and Istanbul, with edited footage subsequently shared on websites. During the 2013 Gezi Park protests, the widespread availability of mobile phone cameras and the rise of Internet-based live streaming significantly expanded the practice’s scope. These technological developments enabled the proliferation of activist groups and platforms engaged in real-time documentation and dissemination. The vast amount of footage and visual material produced and circulated during the Gezi protests also triggered a growing awareness of the need to collect, preserve, and archive such content, giving rise to activist archiving practices as a significant extension of video activism.

This article examines the trajectory of video activism in Turkey with a particular focus on its evolution before, during, and after the Gezi resistance. It explores the actors, tools, objectives, and guiding principles that have shaped this form of media activism over time. To this end, the first section investigates the emergence, development, and transformation of video activism prior to the Gezi protests, drawing on secondary sources. The second section focuses on practices during and after the Gezi resistance, based on data collected through face-to-face and written interviews conducted between 2013 and 2017 with eight video activists who were actively engaged in the field. Information was gathered on eight activist collectives: Karahaber, Balıkbilir, Çekim Yapan Kadınlar, Naber Medya, Videoccupy, Kamera Sokak, Ankara Eylem Vakti, and İnadına Haber2. Additional insights were derived from a meeting held in Ankara on 19 October 2013, where members of Çekim Yapan Kadınlar and various documentary filmmakers convened, as well as from notes and recordings taken during the METU Ulus Baker Summit held on 27 March 2013 (Ulus Baker Buluşmaları, n.d.). These interviews shed light on the internal practices and guiding principles of video activist groups, how they position themselves within protest movements, and how they frame filming and video making as acts of activism.

The final section of the article offers an overview of the new phase of video activism by considering both the broader transformations in Turkey’s media landscape following the Gezi resistance and the concurrent technological developments.

2. The Making of a Radical Media Practice: Video Activism Before the Gezi Resistance

Turkey has a long-standing history of radical and alternative media, dating back to the late Ottoman period with workers’ newspapers and the journals of socialist groups. While traces of this tradition can also be observed in the early years of the Republic, it reached its most vibrant and diverse expression between the late 1960s and the 1980 military coup, a time marked by the organizational strength and mass character of social movements, particularly among labor and youth groups. During this era, pre-digital radical media practices flourished in a variety of forms: high-circulation magazines, weekly newspapers, single-page leaflets distributed in the streets, posters covering urban surfaces, banners carried during demonstrations, slogans painted on walls, and theatrical performances staged at solidarity events. These communicative practices constituted a broad repertoire through which the language of dissent was visually and performatively articulated (see, for example, Başusta (2023); Kara (2008); Öztan and Kartal (2014); Binici (2022); Akşit (2015); Güzelcan Şenol (2010); and Aysan (2013)).

However, limitations in recording technologies hindered the use of video production and dissemination as a form of activism. Although the Young Cinema Movement of the 1970s may be regarded as a precursor—documenting social struggles through politically committed filmmaking—its ability to reach broader audiences and intervene in public discourse was constrained by the limited accessibility of cinematic production and exhibition technologies of the time.3 In contrast to these earlier modes of expression, the emergence and development of video activism depended on the availability and accessibility of specific recording, editing, and dissemination technologies.

Video activism did not become visible in Turkey until the early 2000s, when digital tools and platforms became more widespread and affordable. This period marked a turning point, as the possibilities offered by digital culture enabled a broader proliferation of radical media and allowed video production and sharing to emerge as powerful tools for articulating and amplifying social struggles. The widespread availability of personal cameras and smartphones equipped with video capabilities, along with the rise of online sharing platforms, collectively contributed to this shift by making audiovisual documentation and dissemination more immediate, accessible, and decentralized. In this context, numerous organizations, trade unions, and CSOs began documenting their actions, not only for archiving and training purposes but also to circulate them among members and stakeholders. Simultaneously, a range of individual initiatives and collectives emerged—commonly referred to as forms of citizen journalism—seeking to record and disseminate the voices of protests and grassroots mobilizations through digital platforms. While not always politically affiliated or collectively organized, many of these initiatives functioned in ways that closely aligned with radical media practices. By producing and sharing short videos and documentaries, these actors played a crucial role in expanding the visibility of social actions and in constructing a collective memory of contemporary social movements.

Starting in the late 2000s, various organizations within the social opposition began releasing videos as part of their public relations strategies. At the same time, individual, often anonymous, participants or witnesses shared footage they had recorded during protests and public gatherings via personal accounts on video-sharing platforms such as YouTube, Vimeo, and Dailymotion. Among the early examples of such videos are the recordings of solidarity actions in support of the women workers who went on strike at the Novamed factory in Antalya, as well as footage from May Day demonstrations, press statements, and protest marches in 2007.

The period between 2007 and 2013 also witnessed the emergence of early forms of citizen journalism and video activism that would later play a prominent role during the Gezi resistance. For instance, the 2010 Tekel workers’ protest was broadcast live by sendikaTV (an initiative of https://sendika.org/ (accessed on 10 March 2025)), run by a group that would go on to launch Çapul TV during the Gezi protests. Similarly, NaberMedya, which became active during Gezi, had already covered several actions prior to 2013, including the occupation of Starbucks at Boğaziçi University, public declarations of conscientious objection in İzmir and Istanbul, as well as World Peace Day and pro-abortion demonstrations starting in 2011.

Beginning in January 2012, a group of university students launched a citizen journalism initiative called 140journos, initially operating via Twitter. They began releasing live updates, photographs, and interviews from high-profile court cases such as those of the Roboski massacre4, Ergenekon, Oda TV5, and KCK trials6, often from inside courtrooms where press access had been denied. In addition to these trials, 140journos also provided coverage of symbolic events such as the commemoration march for Hrant Dink, the Armenian journalist and intellectual assassinated in a hate crime in 2007, as well as the remembrance of the Khojaly Massacre7. Their content included short micro-videos—sometimes as brief as six seconds—as well as real-time broadcasts that reflected an experimental and decentralized approach to grassroots journalism.

Another noteworthy initiative from this period is Ötekilerin Postası, an alternative citizen journalism platform that has been active since 2012. Through social media platforms such as Facebook and Twitter—and later Instagram and X—it has shared news and broadcast protests and commemorative events live, including those marking the Roboski massacre.

In addition to these citizen journalism initiatives, two “video activist workshops” were initiated before the Gezi resistance: Karahaber and Balıkbilir. Karahaber emerged out of the VideA Collective, composed of students and academics at Middle East Technical University (METU). Between 2005 and 2008, the group transformed into a video activist workshop and began publishing its videos on its own website. As noted by Gülsüm Depeli (Depeli, 2016, p. 129), Karahaber’s video repertoire also includes recordings dating back to the year 2000. She argues,

The Karahaber collective started out with the inspiration from Vertov and under the banner ‘From the image of the action to the action of image’, with the intention to change the world through the images they produced… Most members were graduate students, while the rest were either unemployed or artists, with almost all possessing university degrees (Depeli, 2016, p. 126).

Depeli, who was also a former member of the collective, argues that its members position themselves in opposition to the norms and practices of hegemonic media.

More precisely, a video activist was considered to be a political activist who took part in demonstrations on a quest for the justice and reality that are systematically covered up or kept hidden from the public, and someone who witnessed and recorded such acts so that they would not be forgotten (Depeli, 2016, p. 127).

According to Mehrabov (2010, as cited in Depeli, 2016, p. 127), the members of the collective attributed a revolutionary potential to images in three inter-related ways. First, they aimed to make visible the individuals and groups systematically excluded from mainstream media representation, such as LGBTI+ people, Kurds, socialists, women, antimilitarists, and conscientious objectors. Second, they emphasized the political significance of proximity and participation in their video practices. By filming from within the protests—often as direct participants—they distinguished themselves from mainstream journalists, whom they viewed as detached observers, and framed their presence as an act of “political responsibility and advocacy.” Finally, they regarded images not merely as representations of events but as transformative tools capable of contributing to the construction of a more just and equitable world. The videos broadcast by Karahaber reflected this perspective and included coverage of numerous student protests, demonstrations following the assassination of Hrant Dink, hunger strikes, and other oppositional actions such as LGBTI+ marches. In addition to documenting protests, the collective also produced several documentaries and video art works, further expanding the expressive and political scope of their media activism.

Another independent initiative that emerged during this period was BalıkBilir. Beginning in 2007, the collective released videos documenting a wide range of social protests, campaigns, acts of resistance, boycotts, and press statements via platforms such as YouTube, Facebook, and Twitter. These videos were often published anonymously under labels like “METU Student Club” and “METU Students” or directly under the name BalıkBilir. In 2011, the group also launched a blog-based website “www.balikbilir.org” (accessed on 5 January 2013) to archive and disseminate its content. Composed primarily of university students, BalıkBilir concentrated on actions taking place at Middle East Technical University (METU), including student protests and boycotts. However, its scope also extended to broader urban and social struggles, such as the resistance of Ankara residents affected by urban transformation projects, various feminist demonstrations, and protests against human rights violations.

A shared characteristic of these two collectives—BalıkBilir and Karahaber—as well as Naber Medya, which was active during the Gezi protests, is that they were primarily composed of young students and recent graduates without stable employment or income. BalıkBilir consisted predominantly of male students between the ages of 22 and 29. Karahaber, by contrast, had a more balanced gender composition, and its members were mostly in their late twenties. The group’s limited ability to reach beyond its initial circle likely contributed to Karahaber’s short lifespan. According to an activist from Karahaber (n.d., interviewed on 2 February 2013), the collective could be best described as a group of friends rather than a politically structured organization. It emerged through informal networks, and as a result, external participation remained quite limited.

In this regard, a significant difference can be observed between pre-Gezi collectives such as Karahaber, BalıkBilir, and Naber Medya and the forms of video activism that emerged during the Gezi resistance. Video activism became more diverse and decentralized during the Gezi protests, with many participants remaining anonymous or only loosely connected. Many individuals who filmed and broadcast footage from the same protest site or even uploaded content to the same platform did not necessarily know one another personally. This shift points to a more fragmented, yet expansive, media ecology shaped by broader participation and less formalized organizational structures.

3. Video Activism During the Gezi Resistance

During the Gezi Park protests that began in Istanbul in June 2013 and later spread across Turkey, the mainstream media’s coverage became the subject of widespread criticism. Media outlets, including major news channels, were accused of either ignoring the protests or offering limited and distorted representations by framing them primarily as acts of violence, prompting strong reactions from protest groups. In response to what they perceived as censorship, protesters sought to increase their visibility by establishing their own means of communication. The use of personal cameras to document the protests became widespread, and footage—both live and recorded—was extensively shared via social media platforms8, resulting in the circulation of thousands of videos online.

The escalation of police violence in the early days of the Gezi Park protests led to a significant increase in the documentation and circulation of visual evidence of state repression. The goal of filming and sharing such footage was twofold: to articulate the motivations behind the protests and mobilize broader participation and to expose the coercion and brutality of police intervention. In response to this violence and the prevailing silence from mainstream media outlets, protestors initiated more systematic organization to produce and distribute their own media content.

On the second day of the police intervention, a media desk, a live broadcast coordination center, and an improvised media studio were established inside Gezi Park (Erensoy & Çelikaslan, 2024, p. 86). Workshops were held on video activism, safe filming techniques, and live broadcasting methods. New collectives emerged from activist groups aiming to “create a memory of the resistance” by documenting instances of police violence in a systematic and accessible way. Initiatives such as “istanbuldaneoluyor.com”“everywheretaksim,” “occupygezivideos,” “Naber Medya,” “Kamera Sokak,” “Seyr-i Sokak,” “Çapul TV,” “çekimyapankadınlar,” and “Ankara Eylem Vakti,” among others, coordinated on-site video recording, archived and partially categorized footage, and organized live broadcasts. In addition to activist efforts, many local community members also contributed by filming from their windows and balconies, amplifying the visibility of the protests through footage shared on social media.

3.1. The Layered Landscape of Video Activism and the Diversity of Actors

Video activism during the Gezi resistance—marked by the involvement of individuals from diverse backgrounds, motivations, professions, and age groups—displayed a significantly more heterogeneous structure compared to previous periods. Rather than constituting a unified or uniform practice, it encompassed multiple, coexisting forms shaped by differing intentions and positions. A variety of individuals and groups took part in this landscape, and their acts of recording protest events can be broadly categorized into four types: (1) those who recorded footage driven by diverse motivations; (2) those who filmed with the intent to edit and broadcast later or to document and archive; (3) those who captured and shared spontaneous snapshots from the protest sites; and (4) those who engaged in live broadcasting.

The first group consisted of individuals who had been engaged in video activism prior to the Gezi resistance and who, during the protests, contributed to the formation of new collectives or expanded their activist practices through more coordinated and collaborative efforts. Their initial involvement was largely marked by individual participation and documentation. However, following the violent police intervention and the subsequent expansion of the protests, these individuals began to coordinate their efforts more systematically in terms of recording and dissemination. A prominent example of this shift is Videoccupy, which emerged in response to the need for coordination among video activists in the park who were unfamiliar with one another.

These activists not only documented events within Gezi Park but also disseminated footage from protests taking place beyond Istanbul. This broader coverage was often made possible by individuals who responded to calls for collaboration and support. A similar trajectory was observed in the case of Seyr-i Sokak, a collective formed predominantly by video activists based in Ankara, which came together during the Gezi resistance in June.

Both Videoccupy and Seyr-i Sokak included individuals with no prior experience in video activism. Members came from diverse professional backgrounds: documentary filmmakers, film and television students, advertisers, journalists, and others with expertise in image production, editing, and distribution. One member of Seyr-i Sokak, who had no previous involvement in video activism, described her experience as follows:

I can say that I entered the June Resistance as a documentary filmmaker and emerged as a video activist. I tried to soften the ‘conservative’ aspects inherited from documentary filmmaking through video activism. With Gezi, we found ourselves in a field of images where, instead of the habitual mode of recording film segments on a tripod, my camera paused within the action, danced to the rhythm of the street, and declared—loudly—that it was a subject within the protest. In such moments, the composition of the body, the camera, and the event as reflected in the image changes entirely. A different kind of impact emerges—perhaps we might call it a ‘video effect’—but it is undeniably a visual experience distinct from the standard cinematic education we receive in workshops (Şener & Gider Işıkman, 2018, p. 181).

Within the same collective, there were also activists who had previously worked as documentary filmmakers or editors. At the same time, many individuals with no professional background in film, documentary production, or video activism also became actively involved. Lacking formal training, these participants used basic equipment—such as mobile phones or personal cameras—to record their participation in various actions. They then shared these recordings with others for further dissemination. The second group comprised independent journalists, filmmakers, and documentarists who retained the footage they captured at protest sites for prospective use in films or documentaries. Some of these individuals later contributed to the development of archival collections by providing access to their recordings. Others, such as the interviewee quoted above, edited and disseminated their material in the aftermath of the protests in which they were involved, thereby adopting the role of video activists.

The third category consisted of live broadcasters and those who began producing content for alternative television platforms. Notable examples include Naber Medya, active in both Istanbul and Ankara, and EylemVakti, based in Ankara. It is worth noting that several other activist groups also engaged in live broadcasting occasionally.

The choice between live streaming, photography, and video recording—as well as how and where this content was shared—depended largely on the specific circumstances and available resources of the activists at the time. For instance, an activist from Kamera Sokak (n.d., interviewed on 18 March 2014, in Izmir) stated that the process of recording, editing, and sharing a video could take several hours; as such, they preferred live streaming in situations that required immediate coverage, such as incidents of police violence or arbitrary detentions.

In contrast, an activist formerly involved in Seyr-i Sokak (n.d.) and later affiliated with İnadına Haber (n.d., interviewed on 27 April 2017) expressed a preference for live streaming during pre-planned protests. When covering spontaneous demonstrations—characterized by the unpredictability of events and the potential security risks associated with revealing participants’ identities—they adopted a more cautious approach, opting to record footage and selectively disseminate it at a later time.

During the Gezi protests, live broadcasts also served as a tool for coordination. The time and location of demonstrations were quickly communicated through these streams, facilitating broader participation. From a different perspective, an activist from Naber Medya (written interview, 1 October 2013) emphasized that the presence of a live camera, beyond its documentary function, could act as a deterrent against police violence. When video activists’ cameras were confiscated or destroyed by the police, the real-time sharing of footage via live streaming served both as a means of safeguarding the material and as a way to expose police actions to the public.

The final category comprises those who recorded and circulated videos featuring personal testimony, contributing to the broader ecology of visual documentation during the Gezi resistance. Testimony holds a significant place in the historical development of video activism. The first widely recognized instance of it is often considered to be a testimony video from 1991. On 5 March, in South Central Los Angeles, Rodney King, an African-American man, was apprehended by police officers for speeding on his motorcycle and was then brutally beaten in the middle of the street. The incident was captured by George Holliday, who filmed it from the balcony of his home using his personal camera. The video, which was 81 seconds long seconds long, was disseminated extensively, the perpetrators were prosecuted, and anti-racist street protests were organized across many parts of the world.

In the aftermath of these events, the Witness Video Collective was founded in the United States. According to Harding (cited in Şener, 2018, p. 89), these developments helped transform the personal video camera from a nostalgic device into an effective and widely used tool for promoting social justice and advocating for human rights.

The decline in the cost of portable recording technologies, their growing accessibility, and the integration of cameras into mobile phones have significantly expanded the possibilities for producing and sharing testimony videos. These technological developments have made it increasingly feasible for such recordings to be created more frequently and reach wider audiences. During the Gezi protests in Turkey, testimony videos circulated extensively. This practice has continued in the aftermath, primarily through the personal social media accounts of those who recorded them.

An examination of the forms of video activism observed during the Gezi resistance reveals several common characteristics among the individuals involved, despite differences in equipment, profiles, and motivations. The majority of these actors were university students or recent graduates who actively participated in the resistance. They embraced the demands of the movement, were socially and politically engaged, had a certain degree of familiarity with recording technologies, and actively used social media platforms.9 Nevertheless, it remains difficult to make broad generalizations about the identity and profile of video activists. For instance, during the course of this study, an activist from Kamera Sokak (interviewed on 18 March 2014, in Izmir) noted that 20–30 people participated in a video activism workshop they organized in Izmir, including middle-aged individuals and professionals such as teachers and public sector employees. A salient feature of this diverse array of participants is the noteworthy effort to document and disseminate footage from locales where video activists were not physically present, particularly in smaller cities. The same activist cited an incident in Rize where they called a kiosk manager near a protest site and asked him to record the protest. In another instance in Istanbul, the activists instructed a worker on how to stream live video footage in order to document a protest, following a tip-off about an impending police intervention.

A final observation regarding the composition of those involved in video recording during the Gezi resistance relates to gender distribution. Women were able to find space and take on visible roles within activist groups. Notably, an all-women collective called Çekim Yapan Kadınlar (Filming Women) gained prominence during and after the Gezi resistance.

3.2. From Ethical Consensus to Practical Divergence: Navigating Tensions

During the Gezi resistance, video activists not only shared videos and images from protest sites and engaged in live broadcasting but also came together in various meetings and workshops. These gatherings served two primary purposes: first, to provide training for new participants, and second, to discuss the guiding principles of video activism. An activist from Videoccupy (written interview, 7 October 2013) noted that since the early days of the resistance, numerous meetings had been held, where both ethical and technical issues were addressed through training sessions. Despite efforts to establish shared principles, the diversity of groups and actors involved—as well as the heterogeneous and fluid nature of activism itself—led to significant variations in practice. These differences were particularly evident in decisions regarding which footage to select, what content to broadcast, and how to approach or represent acts of violence.

In general, groups involved in video activism adopted a cautious approach to releasing footage, guided by concerns about source reliability and the verifiability of content through independent channels. Protecting the individuals who appeared in the footage was a key ethical consideration, especially due to potential risks to their physical safety and legal security. Decisions about dissemination were often influenced by concerns over exposing protesters’ identities and the legal consequences that might follow.

However, these principles were not applied uniformly across groups; attitudes and practices varied depending on organizational priorities and specific circumstances. For instance, an activist from Ankara Eylem Vakti emphasized the importance of trust between the person being filmed and the activist behind the camera, highlighting the relational dimension of video activism. He noted that their group made a conscious effort to frame or select footage in ways that avoided revealing identities in order to minimize potential risks. Yet, he also acknowledged that such decisions were context dependent. When mutual trust had been sufficiently established, activists sometimes gave consent to being visibly recorded, reflecting a flexible, case-by-case negotiation of visibility, agency, and risk10 (face-to-face interview, 1 October 2013).

Ultimately, the decision concerning the visibility of demonstrators rests primarily with the person holding the camera. In the majority of cases, the decision to refrain from displaying the faces of protestors was influenced by the evolving circumstances of the protest. Typically, activists exercised discretion in revealing the identities of the protestors, opting to withhold them until the demonstration had stabilized and no longer constituted an imminent legal jeopardy or until explicit consent had been obtained from the individual who was to be filmed. Within this framework of cautious negotiation, video activists have played a pivotal role in documenting, recording, and exposing instances of police violence during demonstrations. Their work has significantly contributed to public awareness and to broader discussions on the disproportionate use of police force against civilians. As Gülüm Şener observes, “In the hands of a video activist, the camera has turned into a powerful political tool that documents police violence, an editing room into a political agenda-setting tool, and a video projector into a mechanism to raise mass awareness” (Şener, 2018, p. 89).

However, there is no consensus among video activists regarding whether footage of individuals or groups engaging in violence during demonstrations should be made public. During the editing process, certain activists chose to remove such scenes altogether or blurred the faces of those involved, especially when protesters were the ones resorting to violence. Others, however, adopted a more uncompromising stance, opting to disseminate all footage regardless of whether the violence was committed by the police or the protesters.

For example, an activist from Kamera Sokak (interviewed on 18 March 2014, in Izmir) stated that he would not hesitate to share footage showing a protester committing a violent act, regardless of the potential consequences for the individual. He argued that documenting all forms of violence—including those committed by protesters—was a political and ethical obligation. In such cases, he reported that he warned the individuals involved, informing them that they were being recorded and suggesting that they either cover their faces or step out of the camera’s frame. If someone attempted to obstruct the act of filming itself, however, he would proceed with the release of the footage—highlighting a tension between the right to document public events and respect for individual discomfort or dissent.

In contrast, another interviewee, a member of a diverse video activist collective, whose anonymity is maintained by the authors, argued that acts of protester violence should be understood as legitimate responses to police aggression and, as such, should not be subjected to the same standards of visibility and disclosure.

This divergence in approaches to image selection reflects ongoing negotiations between ethical considerations and political commitments within and across video activist collectives. These contrasting positions illustrate the challenges of balancing the imperative to document with the ethical and political responsibility to protect individuals or movements. While the former approach emphasizes caution and individual consent, the latter situates visibility within a political framework that challenges dominant narratives and legitimizes resistance, even when expressed through confrontational means.

As noted by an activist from Videoccupy (written interview, 7 October 2013), from the early days of the Gezi resistance, numerous meetings were held to collectively deliberate such questions, alongside training sessions that addressed both ethical concerns and technical competencies.

These efforts point to a conscious attempt to develop shared norms and practices in response to the challenges of documenting protest movements under conditions of heightened political risk. Such deliberations illustrate that ethical decision making in video activism is not solely a matter of individual discretion, but rather is embedded in collective processes of negotiation, political alignment, and organizational culture. As Donatella della Porta notes, “ethical stances are not pre-given but emerge through deliberation, negotiation, and interaction among activists” (Della Porta, 2015, p. 10).

The production and circulation of images within protest contexts requires activists to continuously calibrate their practices in relation to both internal group dynamics and the broader political environment. In this sense, ethics becomes a terrain of struggle, where competing interpretations of responsibility, representation, and visibility are articulated and contested.

3.3. Challenging the Claim to Objectivity: Politics of Engagement

Questions about which footage should be published—and in what form—are central to discussions of how video activism is practiced, as these editorial choices not only reflect political and ethical considerations but also illuminate the relationship between radical–alternative media and new social movements. This relationship becomes particularly evident in the editorial process of activist video production.

Video activists do not operate as neutral observers or as passive conduits transferring images from the site to the screen. Rather, it is their physical and political presence within the protest that makes them integral to the action. They play a vital role in making protests visible—especially those ignored or misrepresented by mainstream media—by amplifying dissenting voices, documenting and circulating images of police violence, and building a “memory of resistance” through the collection and archiving of protest footage.

In this respect, video activism can be understood as a form of radical media, in the sense proposed by John Downing, who defines it as media that opposes and seeks to transform dominant power structures. Downing emphasizes that radical media are not merely tools for advocating correct principles, facilitating necessary discussions, defending against harassment or abuse, or pioneering new aesthetic horizons. Instead, he argues that radical media should actively organize methods that contribute to the empowerment within their own ranks, enhance the participation of historically marginalized groups, and ultimately assist in uniting diverse formations into a cohesive entity (Downing, 2001, pp. 67–74). This perspective underscores the prefigurative nature of radical media, highlighting their role in embodying and enacting the social and political relations they aspire to achieve within broader society.

A distinguishing characteristic of radical–alternative media is its dual role of reporting and participating in acts of protest or resistance. This capacity entails the transformation of outputs into active components of the action rather than merely reflecting or representing it. When the individual operating the camera attempts to render itself invisible in the act of filming—a common yet problematic claim associated with mainstream journalism—the position of the cameraperson as an activist becomes ambiguous. An activist from İnadına Haber, who had also previously worked in mainstream media, articulated this contradiction between conventional journalism and video activism in the following way:

One may be a cameraman, an editor, and also the managing editor. When I’m filming or taking photos, I feel like I’m part of the action. It’s a form of resistance… And for someone going through professional frustration, it can really feel like an unexpected gift.

The Ankara-based activist from EylemVakti, a group that broadcasts live from protest sites, describes their role during Gezi resistance as that of a protester:

I can also describe myself as a protester. Just as organized groups carry the flags and banners of their organizations, I take part in the resistance with my camera. For me, this is a form of resistance (interview with Ankara Eylem Vakti, 1 October 2013).

The role ascribed to cameras by video activists—as a means of political agency—also influenced their choice of location within the protest site. Rather than standing alongside members of the press, video activists positioned themselves strategically, often in close proximity to or even behind barricades. The way the camera was positioned, the selection of images, the montage process, and the editing stage began to reflect preferences that diverged significantly from conventional journalistic practices. This distinction is articulated by an activist from Çekim Yapan Kadınlar in the following statement:

In the beginning, since I didn’t have any experience with barricades, I stayed in the back. So I was filming from behind and watching what I captured from that distance. But over time, I moved to the front lines, and whenever possible, I started talking to people while recording. At first, the presence of the camera made both me and others uncomfortable. But gradually you find yourself holding the camera with protesters right in front of you. At some point, the camera itself became a subject, and that’s when I started to feel more comfortable—as a protester, too. In a way, the camera is a protester, I’m a protester, and there are protesters in front of it. That’s something I came to understand over time. The camera is political—it sometimes heats up the action, sometimes provokes it, but ultimately, it supports the protest because it’s recognized and accepted (interview conducted on 19 October 2013).

It is therefore clear that the video activist positions themself in opposition to the conventional media’s claim to “objectivity.” By eschewing dominant norms of news production, radical–alternative media reject the notion of objectivity that underpins these practices and instead adopt a stance of taking sides. Video activists report on actions and events that mainstream media deem unnewsworthy, amplifying the voices of activists rather than those of corporate or official sources. In contrast to the “external voice” or that of the “anchor” commonly used in mainstream coverage, the video activist foregrounds the testimonies and demands of activists in their own words, claiming to make the “real voice” of the street heard. This approach is supported by Ulus Baker’s reflections on the capacity of video to generate subjectivities.

Baker’s (2002) seminal contributions to the field have profoundly influenced how video activist groups—who had begun organizing prior to the Gezi resistance—came to understand their mission and have served as a source of inspiration for many video activists. Baker understands subjectivity as the invention of new perspectives and positions within given conditions and argues that video can be seen as a tool for the emergence of subjectivity.11

It can thus be posited that the video activists who captured, edited, and disseminated visual material through various means—photography, live streaming, archiving, and broadcasting—during the Gezi protests became an integral part of the protests themselves. They acted not merely as passive observers of unfolding events but as active subjects, with their cameras and editing setups serving both as tools of documentation and as vehicles for political expression. This form of engagement prompted a shift in how video activists understood both their practice and their identities as activists. The motto adopted by Karahaber, “Image of Action, Action of Image,” encapsulates this perspective. It also offers a valuable starting point for examining how recent developments in social media and communication technologies have influenced video activism in the aftermath of the Gezi Park protests.

3.4. Politics of Memory: Archiving as Counter-Hegemonic Practice

Counter-public spaces on social networks can easily be rendered invisible due to the rapid flow of information online, the selectivity of algorithms, and/or the use of various censorship and repression tools by the state (Şener, 2018, p. 93). It is therefore essential to emphasize that video activism is not merely about recording and sharing. In the current digital landscape, the storage, accessibility, and archiving of visual materials constitute a vital dimension of activist practice.

Erensoy and Çelikaslan (2024) highlight the connection between video activism and remembrance, arguing that images serve not only to disseminate information but also help construct visual memory. Accordingly, they underscore the importance of building digital media archives. In this regard, archives emerge as critical sites of knowledge and power. Activist archives, in particular, challenge instruments of domination and control, counter the state’s ideological appropriation of collective memory, and provide non-dominant groups with the means to construct narratives of their past, present, and future (Erensoy & Çelikaslan, 2024, p. 89).

bak.ma, a digital media archive rooted in the Gezi protests, exemplifies this activist archival ethos. The platform was launched as a public portal in June 2014, with an initial upload comprising over 800 h (4 TB) of video footage. Over the next year, the material was systematically categorized and enhanced with metadata and annotations. The archiving process was carried out by the Artıkişler Collective, composed of activists from Videoccupy and vidyokolektif, both of which emerged during the Gezi resistance (Erensoy & Çelikaslan, 2024, p. 91).

Collaborating with various radical–alternative media outlets and activist collectives, the archivist collective bak.ma expanded its scope far beyond the Gezi protests to include footage of numerous demonstrations between 1977 and 2015, including May Day celebrations (Erensoy & Çelikaslan, 2024, p. 91). Built on a decentralized digital infrastructure, bak.ma provides tools that enable a collaborative, participatory, and autonomous archiving process. It allows users to download and upload images and videos; create public, private, and collective lists; edit and tag metadata; and add titles, maps, documents, annotations, interconnecting diverse elements in the archive (Erensoy & Çelikaslan, 2024, p. 92).

As a living and expanding archive, bak.ma includes more than 50 categories and, by 2024, has expanded to cover global social movements concerned with migration, postcolonial struggles, anti-racism, LGBTI+ activism, and feminism (Erensoy & Çelikaslan, 2024, p. 95).

One of the key functions of activist archiving is not merely to store images but to render the protest itself performative and memorable through visual mediation. In contexts marked by systemic state violence, archiving practices are essential for protecting recorded materials from surveillance, confiscation, and erasure. They also mitigate the risks associated with poor storage infrastructures and the fleeting nature of digital environments. By securing and circulating these materials, activist archives contribute to the formation of collective memory from the perspective of subordinated or marginalized groups. At the same time, they open up a multiplicity of possibilities for curatorial and creative interventions, allowing for the production of new visual narratives through the recombination, juxtaposition, distortion, and reconfiguration of existing footage. In this sense, such archives should be regarded as integral to video activism.

4. Video Activism Beyond Gezi: From Documentation to Intervention

Since the early 2010s, mainstream media ownership in Turkey has undergone a gradual transformation, marked by a growing concentration of control in the hands of capital groups closely aligned with the government. In parallel, the few remaining opposition-oriented national television channels have faced increasing constraints on their ability to inform the public, largely due to restrictive regulatory measures imposed by the Radio and Television Supreme Council (RTÜK) (Algan & Kaptan, 2023, pp. 330–334). These measures have included financial penalties, temporary broadcasting bans, and, in some cases, the revocation of broadcasting licenses (Ayan, 2019; Adaklı, 2010).

Recent studies and reports on press freedom in Turkey demonstrate that journalistic practices have come under increasing pressure not only through media ownership structures but also via legal and judicial mechanisms. Under the rule of the Justice and Development Party (AKP), judicial harassment has become a central tool in the broader strategy of restricting freedom of expression and silencing critical voices. Reports published by the Turkish Journalists’ Union and the International Press Institute point to a significant rise in investigations, prosecutions, and detentions targeting journalists recently. These developments reflect a broader pattern of criminalizing journalism, often through anti-terrorism and defamation laws. In parallel, the digital media landscape has also been subject to systematic censorship. According to the Freedom of Expression Association, thousands of news articles and online materials have been blocked or removed, pointing to the growing extent of state control over digital content. This repressive environment has led international watchdogs to classify Turkey among countries with highly restricted Internet and press freedom, placing it behind authoritarian regimes such as Rwanda, Kazakhstan, and Azerbaijan (Şahin and Coşkun, 2024; Özturan, 2024; Freedom House, 2024; Akdeniz and Güven, 2023).

This broader climate of control had already resulted in the dismissal of large numbers of media professionals who were unable or unwilling to conform to the journalistic practices imposed by government-aligned media outlets. In response, some sought to establish independent news platforms of their own.12 This endeavor gained significant traction when some of the previously established journalists, recognizing the transformative potential of alternative media, actively embraced these platforms. In response, many launched digital broadcasting channels that operating on limited budgets. Video-sharing platforms, which allow activist groups to disseminate their content free of charge, enabled these journalists to remain visible and connect with audiences despite the constraints of mainstream media.

Broadcasting on YouTube, the platforms established by these journalists began to adopt certain formal features typically associated with conventional media—such as program schedules, live streams, and regularly produced news and commentary segments—while maintaining a critical and alternative editorial stance. Some of these platforms developed features that resonated with counter-public formations, offering content that diverged from dominant narratives and conventional modes of address. These platforms relied on audience donations, platform-based revenues, limited advertising, and occasional sponsorships; however, they continue to face financial instability and have yet to develop a sustainable economic model.

Over time, the line separating video activism from conventional journalism has become less clear. This convergence is particularly evident in the ways independent news broadcasts increasingly incorporate footage captured by activists. Lacking the extensive infrastructure of major broadcasting organizations, these platforms have been unable to build wide-reaching networks of reporters. Instead, they have fostered an alternative relationship with their audience, one marked by interactivity and direct engagement. This shift has also led to a redefinition of what qualifies as a news source and what constitutes a news-making tool, diverging sharply from mainstream journalism. As a result, images recorded and circulated by video activists at protest sites have reached wider audiences more quickly via such online platforms.

At the same time, the boundaries between video activists, citizen journalists, and reporters working in small-scale independent outlets have become increasingly blurred with respect to the tools they use and the methods they employ. For many journalists operating under continuous judicial, administrative, and economic pressure—particularly within alternative media environments—journalism increasingly incorporates elements of activism.

Parallel to the transformation of both mainstream and alternative media landscapes, video activism itself underwent notable changes in the aftermath of the Gezi resistance. Several activist collectives that emerged during the Gezi protests sought to sustain their presence in the following years. Although their activity has declined over time, some continued to share videos and photographs documenting protests and related events. Others, however, became inactive, and the loose ties among their members gradually weakened or dissolved altogether (Ataman & Çoban, 2015).

The decline in the visibility and effectiveness of these collectives after the Gezi resistance can be attributed to several factors. Most notably, the increasingly authoritarian trajectory of the political regime since 2013 has entailed a systematic suppression of social opposition. Street protests have become largely unfeasible due to widespread bans and the routine use of police violence. The closure of public spaces to dissent, the violent repression of demonstrations, and the arrest and detention of both protesters and video activists documenting these events have severely constrained the structural conditions for collective mobilization and limited the frequency and scale of video sharing.

At the same time, developments in recording and dissemination technologies have enabled organizers, participants, and bystanders to document and circulate images of protests and other events in real time. In the early stages of video activism, protest sites were primarily mediated through the lenses of mainstream media or surveillance cameras operated by security forces. Video activism emerged as a response to this controlled visual environment, aiming to offer alternative perspectives. In the current context, however, the widespread availability of smartphones has transformed protest spaces into sites of decentralized image production, where both participants and bystanders actively record and disseminate visual content.

This proliferation of recording practices has not only diversified the visual landscape of protests but has also blurred the boundaries between video activists and other actors. A similar transformation has occurred with witness videos, which now capture events such as police brutality or social unrest from multiple angles and perspectives. Although these technological developments have undeniably made the tools of video activism more accessible, they have also led to a fragmentation of collective political engagement and a weakening of the shared practices that previously characterized activist media.

At this juncture, the question of whether all recordings and posts from protest sites can be considered a form of video activism becomes particularly salient. Depeli brings attention to a crucial point: “For instance, can a photograph captured in proximity to an explosion or attack, and expeditiously disseminated through social media, be considered the outcome of an activist initiative?” Her question shifts the focus from the act of recording itself to the content and context of the image.

In the current context of accelerated communication, visual content is often produced without sufficient ethical consideration or self-reflexive scrutiny (Depeli, 2018, p. 37). If video activism is defined as a mode of political expression grounded in ethical and reflexive principles, it becomes increasingly difficult to offer a clear affirmative answer to these questions. For a video activist, however, the encounter with the image produces a series of ethical thresholds: as a witness and producer, as a spectator, and as a transmitter (Depeli, 2018, p. 37). The way in which the activist engages with or constructs reality is, therefore, of particular significance.

Depeli draws on Dziga Vertov’s conception of reality—“not something to be pursued, but something to be entered into and constructed through reflection and action”—to highlight the ethical orientation of the video activist’s position. An activist informed by this perspective acts with full accountability for what is recorded and how it is disseminated, recognizing that reality must not be surrendered to sovereign power (Depeli, 2018, p. 4).

From this perspective, the video activist’s testimony is not imposed or externally assigned but rather emerges from a conscious and autonomous positioning. The activist defines the contours of their own testimony, positioning themselves as a representative of those silenced or rendered invisible by dominant institutions and structures. This ethically and politically situated agency challenges instrumental notions of visibility, foregrounding a more engaged and accountable understanding of video activism (Depeli, 2018, pp. 44–45).

It is not a form of transparency based solely on recording and sharing; rather, such a reductive interpretation falls short of capturing the activist nature of video practices. Şener situates video activism within the field of public struggle, defining it as “social practices based on audiovisual communication that are used as a source of political intervention by social actors who oppose dominant power structures for the purpose of change, with many tactical purposes (counter-informing, educating, mobilizing, ensuring participation, and building collective identity)” (Şener, 2018, p. 89).

At the same time, technological transformations have expanded the expressive repertoire of video activism, contributing to the emergence of diverse audiovisual practices. Alongside witness videos and protest recordings that document instances of police violence, new forms—such as mash-ups, remixes, and other formats, which are themselves products of cultural reappropriation and distortion—reinterpret elements of mass communication and popular culture by infusing familiar imagery with political and radical connotations, thereby generating new discourses. These formal and aesthetic innovations reflect broader structural shifts in the media environment, necessitating a deeper understanding of how video activism operates within the evolving dynamics of networked communication.

As Şener (2018) argues, understanding the role of video activism within social networks requires an examination of the defining characteristics of the new media regime, particularly within the context of the network society. She identifies four stages within new media culture that shape the functioning of videography. The global reach of the Internet has contributed to the dematerialization of video, detaching it from specific local contexts. At the same time, the emergence of platforms such as YouTube has triggered a diversification of video culture, enabling the widespread circulation of amateur content.

YouTube, has given life to a multiplicity of new video forms that combine with aesthetic-discursive qualities in various creative ways (Askanius, 2013, p. 15). Moreover, the integration of cameras into mobile phones, along with increased memory capacity, has facilitated the convergence of social movements, citizen journalism, documentation, and the development of new media forms (Şener, 2018, p. 92). These developments not only reshape the modes of production and distribution but also redefine the boundaries of authorship, visibility, and political engagement.

In this transformed media landscape, video activism is rearticulated through new practices, formats, and audiences, calling for a renewed critical attention to its potentials and limitations.

5. Conclusions

This study reveals that video activism during the Gezi resistance emerged as a multifaceted and politically engaged media practice that challenged mainstream narratives, expanded the scope of citizen participation, and redefined the role of visual media within protest movements. Triggered by widespread censorship and distortion in mainstream media coverage, video activism developed through the involvement of actors with diverse motivations, backgrounds, and levels of expertise. Participants ranging from professional filmmakers to first-time contributors collectively transformed video recording into a political act. A camera was used for documentation, resistance, and visibility. Concerns about how people are shown, getting permission, and potential dangers influenced how activists worked, and choices about sharing videos were made based on changing political and social situations. The emergence of activist archives illustrates how video activism extended its influence beyond the immediacy of protest, contributing to the construction of counter-hegemonic memory and alternative historical narratives. The Gezi experience demonstrates that radical media practices can serve both as forms of documentation and as constitutive elements of political dissent, enabling the formation of alternative publics and enhancing the visibility of marginalized perspectives.

The creation and circulation of the “image of the action” during Gezi resistance gave rise to a multiplicity of new practices and possibilities. Individuals equipped with smartphones and social media accounts assumed the roles of witnesses, documentarians, and political actors. Yet, for video activism to remain a meaningful and effective form of social opposition, it must go beyond the surface of visual recording and engage with the question of the “action of the image”, that is, the capacity of the image to intervene in political reality and to generate new ways of seeing, remembering, and acting. As Şener emphasizes, video activism entails more than the dissemination of visual content; it involves the construction of alternative narratives that contest hegemonic representations in mainstream media (Şener, 2018, p. 97). As she puts it, “Video activists aim not only to capture the alternative but also to explore alternative methods of narrating the alternative in unconventional ways, employing alternative languages.” In this sense, filming and distributing images becomes a political act that contributes to the formation of counter-public spheres. These spheres expose rights violations and forms of resistance otherwise rendered invisible, amplify the voices and demands of social movements, and circulate counter-information through digital networks (Şener, 2018, p. 93).

Following the Gezi resistance, the political significance and practical modalities of video activism underwent further transformation in response to shifting media and political conditions. The concentration of media ownership and the widespread use of legal and administrative sanctions against journalists led to the convergence of activist and journalistic practices. Activist footage began to circulate through independent digital platforms, contributing to the reshaping of news production and distribution processes. At the same time, the growing accessibility of recording technologies enabled widespread and decentralized image production, which diminished the collective character of earlier activist practices and weakened commonly held ethical standards. While technological advancements expanded the expressive repertoire of video activism, they also raised new questions about authorship, responsibility, and the political significance of visual content.

These developments have reconfigured not only the technical and organizational landscape of video activism but also its ethical and political stakes. In an environment shaped by censorship, surveillance, and disinformation, video activism remains a vital tool for collective memory, democratic expression, and political intervention. Its evolving forms reflect the shifting contours of political struggle and mediated participation and continue to shape how publics imagine justice, solidarity, and resistance. As such, video activism stands not only as a practice of witnessing but also as a space of ethical engagement and political imagination in the face of authoritarian closure.