My work is rooted in strategy, shaped by four decades across media leadership, European institutions and journalism. My years on the frontlines, entre les lignes, taught me to observe before concluding, question assumptions, test evidence and consider the wider political, cultural, and human context. Leadership added another layer — how organisations decide under pressure, how constraints modify action and why interpretation is as critical as execution.

This dual perspective — having seen both sides of the story — marks how I face complexity in an interconnected and multicultural landscape.

The Architecture of Control

LinkedIn is not a social network. It is a monopoly disguised as a platform. And unlike democratic institutions, it operates without guarantees for its users.

For four decades, I worked as a correspondent writing stories, being witness of History. In Berlin, in Sarajevo, in Beirut. I built relationships across journalism, government, and institutional networks. Here and there, I assumed institutional responsibilities and designed media strategy. My credibility is not in metrics — it is in relationships built over time, in analysis tested in real contexts, in being trusted by people and institutions.

Then, like many older professionals on LinkedIn, I encountered a technical error. A misidentification. A blocked profile.

I tried everything: support channels. The answer (if any) was always the same: « We cannot help you. »

The Paradox of Dependence

Here is the uncomfortable truth: We need LinkedIn to exist professionally, but LinkedIn owes us no rights.

In a functional democracy:

• Institutions protect citizens
• There is due process
• There is the right to appeal
• There are guarantees

On LinkedIn:

• A private corporation controls your professional identity
• It can delete you without explanation
• There are no guarantees
• Appeals go nowhere

And the cruelest part? The institutions that claim to protect digital rights have proven toothless. Meanwhile, professionals lose their identities and no one acts.

The Trap of Fragmented Identity

I tried to solve this by rebuilding. New profile. Same person. Same name. Same picture. Same content. Same history.

But here’s what I discovered: LinkedIn doesn’t want to know who you really am.

Because when it recognizes you fully — when it connects the dots and understands the full pattern of your work (foreign and cultural affairs, institutional analysis, media strategy) — it blocks you.

The pattern is clear: ambiguity keeps you safe. Completing professional identity gets you flagged.

LinkedIn has created a space where:

• A private company is judge, jury and executioner
• It controls who exists and who doesn’t
• It makes unilateral decisions about identity
• It offers no real appeal
• And it faces no real consequences

The genius of this system is that it’s not a bug, it’s a feature. It’s designed to make you dependent. It’s designed to make you self-censor. It’s designed to make you grateful for ambiguity, because clarity means erasure.

The Only Solution I Have

I cannot fight LinkedIn.

I know another block is coming. My real network — built over 40 years — will find me. Not through LinkedIn metrics. Not through followers. But through relationships. Through content and trust. Through people who actually know my work.

Because my identity doesn’t live on LinkedIn. It lives in my years as a foreign correspondent and media leader.

LinkedIn is only the visible storefront. The real business — the actual professional credibility — happens elsewhere. In my video-portfolio and publications archives. In emails. In conversations. In published analysis. In institutions that take my advice.

This experience taught me something about power structures in the digital age: the platforms we cannot leave are the ones that control us most.