It is charming that despots still think they can silence artists with laws and funding threats, as if we have not spent centuries turning repression into our favourite writing prompt. This Fall of Freedom sounds like a vast improvised salon held across a continent, full of earnest speeches, bad wine and the occasional piece of genius. The question, as always, is whether the right people feel truly uncomfortable afterward. If the only bruised egos belong to curators and critics, then the performance was stylish but the revolution strictly metaphorical.