I was recently blocked from using Substack.
Not because I broke the law.
Not because I harassed anyone.
Not because my writing was false, defamatory, or violent.
But because I refused to comply with what I regard as an excessive and intrusive identity verification process.

Let’s be clear about what this means — because the language around these issues is always softened, obscured, or sanitised.
This was not a neutral “policy update.”
It was not a benign “safety measure.”
And it certainly was not a win–win.
It was a unilateral enforcement of compliance through exclusion.

From Platform to Gatekeeper
Substack built its reputation on being a haven for independent writers — a place where ideas could circulate freely, where readers and writers could find one another outside the increasingly narrow lanes of mainstream media.
That promise has now been quietly hollowed out.
Substack, like many platforms before it, has begun to bow to regulatory and ideological pressure by deputising itself as an enforcement arm — demanding identity compliance not because writers are dangerous, but because systems are anxious.
And when systems are anxious, they tighten.
This is how freedom erodes in modern democracies. Not with jackboots and decrees, but with:

• “Just one more verification step”
• “Just a basic requirement”
• “If you’ve got nothing to hide, you’ve got nothing to fear”

Until suddenly, participation itself becomes conditional.

The Real Cost: Invisible but Heavy
What is most galling about this is not simply being “kicked off a platform.”
It’s the destruction of accumulated value:

• Years of writing
• Relationships with readers
• The sense of being part of a living intellectual commons

All erased or rendered inaccessible — overnight — because I would not submit to a process I believe crosses a line.
And yes, there is a cost beyond the technical.
There is a felt heaviness, a tightening in the gut, that comes when you realise the corridor is narrowing again. That what was once optional is becoming mandatory. That dissent is not being argued with, but administratively smothered.
This is not paranoia.
This is pattern recognition.

Australia and the “Totalitarian Tiptoe”
Living in Australia, it’s impossible not to see the broader context.
We are witnessing the steady normalisation of:

• Digital ID
• Platform-based exclusion
• Private companies enforcing state logic
• “Safety” rhetoric used to justify surveillance and control

This is not overt fascism.
It is something quieter, more polite, and in many ways more dangerous.
I call it the Totalitarian Tiptoe. Many thanks David Icke.
And Substack’s actions sit squarely within that trend.

This Is Not Win–Win
I write extensively about win–win systems — about reciprocity, coherence, and ethical structures that meet human needs on all sides.
So let me be unequivocal:

There is nothing win–win about this.
Substack protects itself.
Regulators are appeased.
And independent writers absorb the loss — of time, labour, connection, and voice.
That is not mutual benefit.
That is compliance extracted through asymmetrical power.
And I will not pretend otherwise.

Choosing Sovereignty (Even When It’s Quieter)
For now, I will continue publishing here on my own website:
👉 www.FrancesAmaroux.com
It doesn’t have the built-in kudos.
It doesn’t have the ambient validation.
It doesn’t have the illusion of community that large platforms provide.
But it does have something increasingly rare:
Sovereignty.

My words cannot be revoked because I declined to prove who I am to an algorithm or a compliance department.
And as the digital landscape continues to narrow, that may prove more valuable than visibility.

A Final Word
If you think this is just about Substack, you’re missing the point.
This is about the direction of travel.
It’s about whether we accept a future where participation in public discourse is contingent on identity compliance, credentialing, and quiet obedience — or whether we notice the tightening early enough to say: no, this far and no further.
History rarely remembers those who complied smoothly.
It does, however, remember those who noticed when the line moved — and refused to step over it.
              If you are a writer or artist or creator, where will you stand??