Julian Assange in the audience after the premiere of The Six Billion Dollar Man at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival
The Julian Assange Saga:
From Digital Revolutionary to Free Man
A Narrative Investigation into WikiLeaks and the Price of Truth
The morning of June 26, 2024, marked the end of a saga that had consumed fourteen years, spanned four continents, and ignited a global firestorm over press freedom, government transparency, and the limits of national security. Julian Assange, the enigmatic founder of WikiLeaks, stepped off a plane in Canberra, Australia—a free man. But freedom had come at a staggering cost.
Assange had chosen what he called “freedom over unrealizable justice”, accepting a plea deal that made him the first journalist convicted under America’s Espionage Act for activities that lie at the heart of investigative journalism: obtaining classified information and publishing it in the public interest.
The Origins: A Hacker’s Journey
Born Julian Paul Hawkins on July 3, 1971, in Townsville, Queensland, Assange was the son of Christine Ann Hawkins, a visual artist, and John Shipton, an anti-war activist. His childhood was marked by constant movement across Australia, an unconventional upbringing that would shape his worldview. When his mother married Brett Assange, an actor, the boy took his stepfather’s surname—a name that would become synonymous with one of the most controversial media organizations in history.
As a teenager in Australia, Assange found his tribe in the underground world of computer hacking. He became part of a group calling themselves the International Subversives, breaking into networks that included the U.S. Department of Defense. This early fascination with penetrating secure systems would eventually evolve from youthful rebellion into a philosophy: that secrecy itself was the enemy of justice.
In 1996, Assange faced legal consequences for his hacking activities, receiving a conviction that could have ended his story there. Instead, it became a prologue.
Birth of a Revolution: WikiLeaks Emerges
The wikileaks.org domain was registered on October 4, 2006, with the website publishing its first document in December of that year. The organization described itself as comprising Asian dissidents, journalists, mathematicians, and technology entrepreneurs from across the globe. But everyone understood that at its heart stood one man: Julian Assange, who would describe himself as “the heart and soul of this organisation.”
The premise was revolutionary in its simplicity and radical in its implications. WikiLeaks would create an impenetrable digital fortress where whistleblowers could submit classified documents anonymously, protected by sophisticated encryption. Then, working with established media outlets, WikiLeaks would publish these secrets, holding governments and corporations accountable for actions they preferred remain hidden.
WikiLeaks stated its primary interests were “oppressive regimes in Asia, the former Soviet bloc, sub-Saharan Africa and the Middle East,” but also expected to assist those in the West seeking to reveal unethical behavior in their own governments and corporations.
For the first few years, WikiLeaks operated in relative obscurity, publishing leaks about toxic waste dumping in Africa and bank documents revealing financial improprieties. But everything changed in 2010.
“Collateral Murder”: The Video That Shocked the World
On April 5, 2010, WikiLeaks held a press conference at the National Press Club in Washington, D.C. What they unveiled would become one of the defining moments of 21st-century journalism.
The video, which WikiLeaks titled “Collateral Murder,” showed footage from two Apache helicopters on July 12, 2007, directing cannon fire at a group of Iraqi men in Baghdad. Among the dead were Namir Noor-Eldeen and Saeed Chmagh, journalists working for Reuters. The video captured American pilots laughing as they fired, and then opening fire again on a van that stopped to rescue the wounded—a van carrying two children.
At least 66,081 civilian deaths were documented in U.S. military logs, including approximately 15,000 fatalities that had been completely concealed by the U.S. and its allies. The Apache attack had been officially described as a “firefight with insurgents.” The video revealed it as something else entirely.
Reuters had been attempting to obtain the footage through Freedom of Information Act requests since 2007. They had been stonewalled. Now, the world could see for themselves.
Assange was unequivocal in his assessment: “I believe that if these killings were lawful and under the rules of engagement, then the rules of engagement are wrong. Deeply wrong.”
The fallout was immediate and international. The video became a rallying point for anti-war activists and a source of deep embarrassment for the U.S. military.
The Source: Chelsea Manning’s Moral Reckoning
Behind the “Collateral Murder” video and what would become the largest intelligence leak in American history stood a 22-year-old Army intelligence analyst stationed in Iraq: Chelsea Manning.
Manning was deployed to Iraq in October 2009, assigned to a forward operating base east of Baghdad, where she had access to classified databases. What she witnessed there shattered her faith in the mission she had enlisted to support.
“What was bothering me was I had years of training and years of believing in something and then hitting the ground and then seeing it and feeling completely unprepared for how different it was,” Manning would later explain. “I wanted that discrepancy to be addressed somehow.”
On January 5, 2010, Manning began downloading massive quantities of material—starting with 400,000 documents about the Iraq War, which she placed on a CD labeled “Lady Gaga” to smuggle home. The mundane subterfuge belied the historic magnitude of what was about to unfold.
Manning first attempted to interest mainstream media outlets. She contacted The Washington Post and The New York Times, but neither pursued her offer. Only when she turned to WikiLeaks in early February 2010 did she find a willing recipient.
WikiLeaks and three media partners—The New York Times, The Guardian, and Der Spiegel—began publishing 91,731 documents on July 25, 2010, which became known as the Afghan War Logs. This was followed on October 22, 2010, by 391,832 classified military reports known as the Iraq War Logs.
But Manning’s most explosive contribution was yet to come: 251,287 State Department diplomatic cables from 271 American embassies and consulates, spanning from December 1966 to February 2010. It was, according to WikiLeaks, the largest set of confidential documents ever released into the public domain.
The cables revealed the unvarnished truth behind America’s diplomatic facade: candid assessments of foreign leaders, details of secret negotiations, evidence of human rights abuses ignored for geopolitical convenience, and surveillance of United Nations officials by American intelligence.
Manning would later state: “When I chose to disclose classified information, I did so out of a love for my country and a sense of duty to others. It was never my intention to hurt anyone. I only wanted to help people.”
Manning’s downfall came through a fatal miscalculation in trust. She confided in Adrian Lamo, a former hacker she believed might understand her motivations. Instead, Lamo contacted the FBI. On May 29, 2010, Manning was arrested in Iraq.
The Swedish Allegations and Political Asylum
Even as WikiLeaks was reshaping global journalism, Assange faced accusations that would define the next chapter of his life. In August 2010, Swedish police began investigating sexual assault allegations made by two women against Assange. The accusations were serious: one woman claimed Assange had engaged in non-consensual acts and refused to use protection; another alleged rape while she was sleeping.
Assange has consistently denied any wrongdoing, characterizing the encounters as consensual. But regardless of the truth of the allegations, they became inextricably linked to the larger geopolitical chess game surrounding WikiLeaks.
On June 19, 2012, after exhausting his legal appeals against extradition to Sweden, Assange breached bail and took refuge in the Embassy of Ecuador in London. What was expected to be a temporary sanctuary became a bizarre, years-long confinement.
Ecuador granted Assange political asylum on August 16, 2012, on the grounds of political persecution and fears he might be extradited to the United States. Ecuador’s Foreign Minister Ricardo Patiño declared that his country endorsed Assange’s fears of political persecution if sent to Sweden, and sought to protect him from possible extradition to the United States.
British Foreign Secretary William Hague responded bluntly: “We are disappointed by the statement by Ecuador’s Foreign Minister. Under our law, with Mr Assange having exhausted all options of appeal, the British authorities are under a binding obligation to extradite him to Sweden.”
And so began one of the strangest chapters in modern diplomatic history. An office in the embassy was converted into a studio apartment equipped with a bed, telephone, sun lamp, computer, shower, treadmill, and kitchenette, confined to roughly 30 square meters.
Seven Years in Limbo
Life in the Ecuadorian embassy became Assange’s entire world. British police maintained a round-the-clock guard outside, ready to arrest him the moment he set foot beyond the embassy’s diplomatic protection. The standoff cost British taxpayers millions of pounds.
Inside, Assange continued WikiLeaks’ work, publishing the Syria Files—two million emails from Syrian political figures—and collaborating with Edward Snowden after the NSA contractor leaked documents revealing massive American surveillance programs in 2013. As journalist Glenn Greenwald wrote, “Snowden was able to remain free and thus able to participate in the debate he helped trigger because of the daring, indispensable support given by WikiLeaks and its official, Sarah Harrison.”
But as years passed, the relationship between Assange and his Ecuadorian hosts deteriorated. Embassy staff complained of him skateboarding at night, playing loud music, and walking around in his underwear with no apparent concern for others in the tiny embassy. His personal hygiene reportedly became an issue, as did increasingly erratic behavior.
Ecuador’s government changed in 2017 when President Lenin Moreno succeeded Rafael Correa. Unlike his predecessor, Moreno viewed Assange not as a heroic truth-teller but as an ungrateful burden. Moreno would later state: “When you’re given shelter, cared for and provided food, you don’t denounce the owner of the house”—a reference to WikiLeaks publishing information about corruption allegations against Moreno’s own administration.
The Arrest
On April 11, 2019, Ecuador’s patience ran out. After the Ecuadorian government withdrew the political asylum they had granted Assange in 2012, British police entered the embassy and arrested him. Video footage showed officers half-carrying, half-dragging a gaunt, white-bearded Assange from the building as he shouted, “This is unlawful!”
The world barely recognized him. Seven years of confinement had transformed the relatively young, vigorous activist into a frail, aged figure. He was immediately transferred to Belmarsh, one of Britain’s highest-security prisons, where he would remain for the next five years fighting extradition to the United States.
America’s Unprecedented Prosecution
The U.S. Department of Justice had charged Assange with 18 counts, primarily under the Espionage Act, for his role in obtaining and publishing classified materials. If convicted on all counts, he faced up to 175 years in prison.
The charges represented an unprecedented legal assault on press freedom. Assange became the first person to be convicted under the Espionage Act for speaking with a source, receiving classified documents, and publishing them—in other words, things that journalists at news outlets do every day.
Press freedom organizations worldwide sounded the alarm. The Committee to Protect Journalists, Freedom of the Press Foundation, PEN International, Amnesty International, and virtually every major civil liberties organization warned that prosecuting Assange would criminalize core journalistic practices and set a dangerous precedent for media worldwide.
Jodie Ginsberg, chief executive of the Committee to Protect Journalists, articulated the stakes: “If Julian had been extradited to the US and prosecuted under the Espionage Act, it would have had serious implications for journalists globally who seek information in the public interest, classified documents, and who then publish them in the public interest.”
The legal arguments were complex and bitter. Assange’s defenders maintained he was a publisher exercising his First Amendment rights and those of the free press. Prosecutors argued he had actively conspired with Manning to hack government computers and had recklessly endangered lives by publishing unredacted documents containing the names of confidential sources.
The Toll of Incarceration
Assange spent 1,901 days behind bars in Belmarsh High Security prison in London. The conditions were harsh. He was frequently held in solitary confinement—a practice that human rights organizations increasingly recognize as a form of psychological torture when prolonged.
“The experience of isolation for years in a small cell is difficult to convey,” Assange would later tell the European Parliament. His physical and mental health deteriorated dramatically. His wife, Stella Assange—whom he had married while in Belmarsh—repeatedly raised alarms about his condition.
Throughout this period, Australia’s position gradually shifted. While successive governments had long maintained a hands-off approach, the election of Prime Minister Anthony Albanese in 2022 marked a change. The incoming Australian Labor government indicated it opposed the continued prosecution of Assange but pursued quiet diplomacy to prevent it.
On February 14, 2024, the Australian House of Representatives passed a motion by a vote of 86 to 42 calling for Assange’s immediate release and return to Australia. The diplomatic pressure was mounting.
The Deal: Justice or Capitulation?
By early 2024, all sides seemed exhausted by the legal warfare. The British High Court had granted Assange permission to appeal his extradition because his free speech rights and nationality might prejudice his treatment in America. The case threatened to drag on indefinitely.
Behind closed doors, negotiations began between Assange’s legal team and U.S. prosecutors to find a resolution that would allow the American government to claim victory while permitting Assange to go free.
On June 24, 2024, Assange was released from Belmarsh prison and flown to the Northern Mariana Islands, a U.S. territory in the Pacific, where he would plead guilty to a single count under the Espionage Act.
On June 25, appearing before Judge Ramona Manglona in Saipan, Assange pleaded guilty to conspiring to obtain and disclose classified national defense documents. He was sentenced to 62 months, time already served.
Addressing the court, Assange stated he believed the Espionage Act contradicted First Amendment rights in the U.S. Constitution, but accepted that encouraging sources to provide classified information for publication could be unlawful.
Hours later, he boarded a plane for Australia. His wife Stella, watching the proceedings remotely, tweeted simply: “I can’t stop crying”.
Freedom, But at What Price?
Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese called the hearing a “welcome development,” noting that “regardless of your views about Mr Assange, his case has dragged on for too long. There is nothing to be gained from his continued incarceration”.
But the celebration was tempered by somber recognition of what the plea deal represented. PEN International welcomed Assange’s release while expressing concern that the plea deal would set a dangerous precedent for press freedom worldwide.
Jennifer Robinson, Assange’s lawyer, thanked Prime Minister Albanese for his intervention, calling it a “historic day.” But Barry Pollack, another member of the legal team, was more direct: “The prosecution of Julian Assange is unprecedented. In the 100 years of the Espionage Act, it has never been used by the United States to pursue a publisher, a journalist, like Mr Assange”.
Kristinn Hrafnsson, WikiLeaks’ editor-in-chief, articulated the chilling effect the precedent might have: “You need to take away that dagger. It has now been bloodied once. And if there is no reaction and no push and no political desire to take that weapon out of any politician’s hand, it will be used again”.
First Public Appearance: “I Pled Guilty to Journalism”
On October 1, 2024, Assange made his first public appearance since his release, addressing the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe in Strasbourg, France. It was the first time the world had heard his voice since British police had dragged him from the Ecuadorian embassy five years earlier.
His words were measured but pointed: “I eventually chose freedom over unrealizable justice after being detained for years and facing a 175-year sentence with no effective remedy. I am not free today because the system worked. I am free today, after years of incarceration, because I pled guilty to journalism”.
He continued: “I pled guilty to seeking information from a source. I pled guilty to obtaining information from a source and I pled guilty to informing the public what that information was. I did not plead guilty to anything else”.
The speech resonated globally, broadcast live and covered extensively by international media. Assange made clear his view that accepting the plea deal had been a pragmatic surrender, not a moral concession. He revealed that the U.S. had required the plea agreement to include a prohibition on his filing cases at the European Court of Human Rights—effectively barring him from seeking justice for what he and his supporters viewed as years of arbitrary detention and human rights violations.
Life After Prison
Six months after his return to Australia, Assange’s brother Gabriel Shipton described his adjustment to freedom: “It has been more than a fortnight since Julian finally arrived back in Australia. He’s still adjusting. Getting to spend time with family. Looking out to the horizon. To hear Kookaburras at dawn”.
Stella Assange told the media her husband planned to “swim in the ocean every day, sleep in a real bed, taste real food, teach his children how to catch crabs, and simply enjoy freedom”. The simple pleasures that most take for granted had been denied to Assange for fourteen years.
His family acknowledged that “ahead lies a challenging period of adjustment after what has been a deeply traumatizing experience”. The psychological scars of prolonged isolation and the constant threat of a lifetime in an American maximum security prison would not heal quickly or easily.
Assange has largely remained out of the public eye since returning to Australia, spending time with his wife and their two young sons, Gabriel and Max, born during his confinement in the Ecuadorian embassy. In May 2025, Assange released a public statement endorsing Prime Minister Albanese for re-election, expressing gratitude for the Prime Minister’s role in securing his release.
When asked about Assange’s future role with WikiLeaks, Hrafnsson stated: “I’m certain there will be a role. And of course there is a role for Julian”. However, the organization has been largely dormant since Assange’s imprisonment, with its last major publication occurring in 2021.
Chelsea Manning’s Journey
The other central figure in this story followed a different trajectory. In July 2013, Manning was convicted of multiple charges, including violations of the Espionage Act, and sentenced to 35 years in military prison. The sentence was seventeen times longer than any previously imposed for providing information to the media.
Manning was sentenced to 35 years—far longer than military convictions for rape, murder, and war crimes. The disparity highlighted what supporters viewed as the government’s determination to make an example of anyone who exposed its secrets.
During her trial, Manning was prohibited from presenting evidence about her motivations or arguing that she acted in the public interest. Her treatment in custody became a cause célèbre for human rights organizations. She spent extended periods in solitary confinement and, at one point in 2010, was held in a metal cage in Kuwait for 59 days under conditions she later described as degrading and causing her to feel as though she had already died.
After her conviction, Manning announced she was a transgender woman. Her battle for appropriate healthcare and recognition of her gender identity in an all-male military facility became another front in her fight for human rights.
In January 2017, in one of his final acts as president, Barack Obama commuted Manning’s sentence, concluding she had served enough time. She was released on May 17, 2017, after serving approximately seven years.
The commutation was controversial. Obama had brought more leak prosecutions than all previous administrations combined, making his clemency for Manning all the more surprising. Chase Strangio, a staff lawyer with the ACLU, stated: “Chelsea is someone who has taken on a great personal risk and tremendous personal cost to do something she thought was in the best interest of the public”.
Manning’s freedom proved complicated. In 2019, she was imprisoned again for refusing to testify before a grand jury investigating WikiLeaks and Assange. She spent nearly a year in jail on contempt charges before being released when the grand jury’s term expired.
Today, Manning remains a polarizing figure—a hero to some, a traitor to others. She has written a memoir, maintains an active social media presence, and speaks on issues of government transparency, LGBTQ rights, and the treatment of whistleblowers.
The WikiLeaks Legacy: Transparency and Its Discontents
The publications released by WikiLeaks between 2010 and 2021 fundamentally altered global journalism and international relations. The Iraq War Logs revealed at least 66,081 civilian deaths, including approximately 15,000 previously unreported fatalities that the U.S. and its allies had denied having records of.
The documents exposed systematic torture of detainees turned over to Iraqi security forces, despite official U.S. policy. One report analyzed by the Bureau of Investigative Journalism appeared to show a U.S. military Apache helicopter gunship opening fire on Iraqi insurgents attempting to surrender.
Manfred Nowak, the UN’s chief investigator on torture, stated that “if the files released through WikiLeaks pointed to clear violations of the United Nations Convention Against Torture, the Obama administration had an obligation to investigate them”. No such investigation occurred.
The diplomatic cables proved equally explosive, revealing:
- Candid, often unflattering assessments of foreign leaders by U.S. diplomats
- Details of secret drone strikes and military operations
- Evidence of surveillance of UN officials by American intelligence
- Diplomatic pressure tactics and quid pro quo arrangements
- Human rights abuses by allies that were deliberately overlooked
Beyond the immediate revelations, WikiLeaks inspired a generation of whistleblowers and transparency advocates. Edward Snowden’s 2013 NSA disclosures followed the WikiLeaks template, and the organization helped facilitate his escape from Hong Kong to Russia.
But WikiLeaks also faced legitimate criticism. The initial release of the Afghan War Logs contained unredacted names of individuals who had provided information to U.S. forces, potentially endangering their lives. While WikiLeaks partnered with established media outlets like The New York Times and The Guardian for subsequent releases with names removed, the damage from the first publication was done.
After David Leigh and Luke Harding of The Guardian inadvertently published the passphrase for an encrypted file in 2011, WikiLeaks published the remaining diplomatic cables unredacted, reportedly forcing an Ethiopian journalist to flee his country.
The organization’s relationship with Russia also raised questions, particularly after WikiLeaks released documents from the Democratic National Committee during the 2016 U.S. presidential election but never published comparable leaks about Russian officials. Critics accused Assange of selective transparency that aligned with Russian geopolitical interests. Defenders argued WikiLeaks published what it received and that the absence of Russian leaks reflected the difficulty of obtaining such material, not editorial bias.
The Precedent Problem
The central question raised by Assange’s case transcends the man himself: Can governments prosecute publishers for releasing classified information in the public interest?
For centuries, the answer under Anglo-American law had been effectively no. Journalists routinely published leaked classified information without facing criminal charges themselves. The government could prosecute the leaker, but not the publisher. This understanding, however imperfect and contested, formed a cornerstone of press freedom.
The Espionage Act of 1917, passed during World War I to prosecute spies, was never intended to target journalists or publishers. But in recent decades, the U.S. government has increasingly invoked it against whistleblowers. Assange represented the next step: using it against someone who published the information.
PEN International noted that Assange is the first publisher to be charged under the U.S. Espionage Act, and in November 2023, awarded him the Ossietzky Prize for outstanding contributions to freedom of expression.
Every major press freedom organization opposed Assange’s prosecution, regardless of their views about his character or WikiLeaks’ editorial judgment. They understood that if Assange could be prosecuted for publishing classified documents revealing government wrongdoing, so could The New York Times, The Washington Post, or any journalist who does similar work.
The U.S. government argued Assange was different—that he actively conspired with Manning to hack government computers and was therefore a co-conspirator rather than a passive recipient. But the evidence for this claim was thin, and the indictment’s broader language about “obtaining” and “publishing” classified information potentially criminalized standard journalistic practices.
By accepting a guilty plea to conspiracy, the legal question remains unresolved. There is no court precedent definitively stating whether the Espionage Act can be used against publishers. The weapon remains available for future use.
A World Changed
The media landscape WikiLeaks helped create looks vastly different from 2006. Anonymous document drops, encrypted communication with sources, and large-scale data leaks have become standard tools of investigative journalism. The International Consortium of Investigative Journalists’ publication of the Panama Papers, Paradise Papers, and Pandora Papers all followed the WikiLeaks model of international media collaboration on leaked documents.
Yet in 2023, Assange stated from prison that WikiLeaks is no longer able to publish due to his imprisonment and the effect that U.S. government surveillance and funding restrictions were having on potential whistleblowers. The organization that pioneered this new form of transparency journalism has been effectively silenced—not through direct censorship, but through the prosecution and imprisonment of its founder.
The chilling effect is real. Future whistleblowers must now consider whether exposing government wrongdoing might result not just in criminal charges against themselves, but prosecution under espionage laws that could imprison them for life. Publishers must weigh whether collaborating with sources on classified material might make them criminal conspirators rather than journalists.
The Moral Ambiguity
Julian Assange does not fit comfortably into conventional narratives of journalistic heroism. He is neither the saintly martyr his most ardent supporters portray, nor the reckless narcissist his critics describe. The truth, as always, is more complex.
His creation of WikiLeaks and the 2010 publications exposed genuine wrongdoing that the public had a right to know: civilian casualties covered up, torture ignored, and the gap between official rhetoric and actual policy. These revelations sparked necessary debates about America’s wars and diplomatic practices.
But his judgment was not infallible. The initial unredacted releases endangered lives. His seven years in the Ecuadorian embassy, while legally complex, appeared increasingly like an exercise in avoiding accountability for the Swedish allegations. His apparent alignment with Russian interests during the 2016 election raised questions about whether WikiLeaks had evolved from a transparency organization into a vehicle for selective leaking that served particular political agendas.
The sexual assault allegations, while never prosecuted due to the statute of limitations and Assange’s inaccessibility, deserve recognition as serious accusations deserving investigation, not a mere political pretext, as Assange’s defenders often claimed.
Yet none of these criticisms justify the unprecedented use of espionage charges against a publisher. Bad judgment, personality flaws, or even potential criminal conduct unrelated to publishing do not negate the press freedom principles at stake in his case.
Looking Forward: The Campaign for a Pardon
Stella Assange stated: “We will be seeking a pardon, obviously, but the fact that there is a guilty plea, under the Espionage Act, in relation to obtaining and disclosing national defense information is obviously a very serious concern for journalists”.
A presidential pardon would clear Assange’s conviction and remove the precedent of an Espionage Act conviction for publishing activities. But obtaining such a pardon faces significant political obstacles. The Biden administration, which ultimately agreed to the plea deal, showed little enthusiasm for going further. A future administration might prove more receptive—or less.
The campaign for Assange’s pardon has garnered support from press freedom organizations, civil liberties groups, and some members of Congress. The argument is straightforward: regardless of personal opinions about Assange, the precedent of prosecuting publishers under the Espionage Act threatens press freedom and must be explicitly repudiated.
Conclusion: The Price of Truth
In their 2024 Christmas message, Stella Assange wrote: “Merry Christmas to everyone from Julian, Stella, and our kids, Gabriel and Max. May the new year bring a steadfast push for peace and dignity for all.”
The simple greeting carried the weight of fourteen years lost, two children who grew up knowing their father primarily through prison visits and embassy confinement, and a cause that consumed countless lives and careers.
Julian Assange is free, but his freedom came at an extraordinary cost—to himself, to his family, to Chelsea Manning, and to the principle that publishing classified information in the public interest is protected journalism rather than criminal conspiracy.
The documents WikiLeaks published exposed war crimes, government surveillance, diplomatic duplicity, and corporate corruption. As one analysis noted, without WikiLeaks and Assange, the murders of thousands of Iraqi civilians “would never have been known”. That information reshaped public understanding of America’s 21st-century wars and diplomatic practices.
Whether one views Assange as hero or villain, martyr or egotist, journalist or hacker, the fundamental question his case raises transcends his personal character: In democratic societies, should publishers face criminal prosecution for exposing government wrongdoing?
The answer matters profoundly. If the answer is yes—if obtaining and publishing classified information revealing war crimes, torture, and systematic deception can be prosecuted as espionage—then investigative journalism itself becomes a crime. The watchdog role of the press, enshrined in the First Amendment and recognized as essential to democracy, becomes subject to prosecution whenever it threatens the powerful.
As Assange told the Council of Europe: “The experience of isolation for years in a small cell is difficult to convey; it strips away one’s sense of self, leaving only the raw essence of existence”.
That raw essence now must rebuild a life, reconnect with children who barely know him, and process trauma that will never fully heal. Meanwhile, the precedent of his prosecution remains on the books—a weapon available to any future government seeking to silence inconvenient truths.
WikiLeaks once promised radical transparency, a world where powerful institutions could no longer hide their misdeeds behind walls of secrecy. That promise was only partially fulfilled. Governments adapted, whistleblowers faced harsher consequences, and the organization itself fell silent.
But the need for accountability has not diminished. Wars continue, governments still hide behind classification, and the gap between official statements and actual conduct persists. The questions WikiLeaks raised about power, secrecy, and democracy remain urgent.
In the end, perhaps the most significant legacy of Julian Assange and WikiLeaks is not the documents they published, but the conversation they forced: What does the public have a right to know? What are the limits of government secrecy in a democracy? And what price should truth-tellers pay?
Assange paid with fourteen years of his life. Chelsea Manning paid with seven years in military prison and ongoing trauma. Countless others paid in smaller ways—careers derailed, reputations destroyed, lives upended for the crime of believing the public deserved to know what their governments were doing in their name.
As the sun sets on this chapter of the story, Assange walks free on Australian beaches, teaches his sons to catch crabs, and tries to reclaim some semblance of a normal life. But the shadow of his prosecution stretches long across the landscape of press freedom.
The weapon has been bloodied once, as Kristinn Hrafnsson warned. Whether it will be used again depends on choices yet to be made—by governments, by courts, by journalists, and by citizens who must decide how much transparency they demand and how much secrecy they will tolerate.
For now, Julian Assange is free. But the question of whether journalism itself remains free in an age of classified secrets and national security states remains troublingly unresolved.
The saga may have ended for the man, but for the principles at stake, the battle continues.
Epilogue: The Current Moment
As of October 2025, Julian Assange remains in Australia, largely out of public view. WikiLeaks has not published significant new material since 2021, and questions about its future remain unanswered. The organization that once dominated headlines and sparked global debates about transparency now exists primarily as a symbol of what was achieved, what was lost, and what might have been.
Chelsea Manning continues her advocacy work, speaking about whistleblowing, transgender rights, and the treatment of prisoners. The documents she leaked remain among the most significant journalistic revelations of the 21st century, regardless of how history ultimately judges the methods and consequences of their release.
The U.S. government’s approach to leaks and whistleblowers shows no signs of softening. The Espionage Act remains a powerful weapon against those who expose classified information, and the Assange precedent—however legally ambiguous—stands as a warning to future publishers.
Press freedom organizations continue to call for a pardon that would erase Assange’s conviction and explicitly reject the principle that publishing classified information in the public interest constitutes espionage. Whether such a pardon will come, and from what administration, remains to be seen.
What is certain is that the story of Julian Assange and WikiLeaks represents a watershed moment in the ongoing tension between government secrecy and democratic transparency, between national security and the public’s right to know, between the power of states and the courage of individuals who dare to challenge them.
History has not yet rendered its final verdict. But the documents speak for themselves: war crimes exposed, civilians counted, torture documented, and a political system revealed in all its complexity, contradiction, and occasional corruption.
In the age of WikiLeaks, secrecy became harder to maintain. Whether that makes us safer or more vulnerable, more informed or more cynical, more free or more fearful, remains a question each generation must answer for itself.
Julian Assange forced us to confront that question. For better or worse, we cannot look away from the answer.