Censorship or fighting fake news?

THE date was June 22, 2016, just past 11am. Moving through the hallways of Parliament House and ascending the staircase, we arrived at one of the rooms where the Senate Standing Committee, chaired by then senator Shahi Syed, was set to convene.

Earlier that month, civil society had petitioned the Senate highlighting the perils of the proposed Prevention of Electronic Crimes (Peca) Bill, 2016, a law that despite its stated intent carried far-reaching implications for press freedom and digital rights. In response, the committee had summoned the petitioners to hear their concerns. Despite our repeated warnings, the government representatives defended the bill, subtly yet pointedly accusing us of everything from aligning with extremists to pushing a foreign agenda, narratives all too familiar to those advocating for media and digital freedoms in Pakistan.

Less than 18 months later, Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif, now on the receiving end of the very law his government had championed, publicly condemned the arrest of his party’s activists over their social media posts, proving our concerns valid. Little did we know the story would repeat itself in 2022 when Imran Khan’s party, which had previously allied with us in demanding reforms to the Peca bill in 2016, would not only abandon those calls but also strengthen the law through an ordinance, making defamation a non-bailable offence.

Albert Einstein famously equated insanity with repeating the same actions while expecting different results. While his words weren’t specifically about politics, they fit the situation well. Time and again, governments enact policies thinking they will work in their favour, only to later find themselves trapped by the very measures they once championed.

The recent amendment to the Peca Act, 2016, is yet another attempt at proving Einstein right, this time by a political party that once fiercely opposed a far milder version of expression-related criminalisation when it was promulgated through an ordinance by the former government.

The Peca amendments take a decisive step towards tightening control over digital expression. Section 26(A) criminalises the dissemination of “false information” that could cause fear or unrest, with penalties of up to three years in prison or a Rs2 million fine, though what qualifies as ‘false’ remains conveniently vague.

A new Social Media Regulation and Protection Authority will have broad discretion to block or remove content, raising concerns about selective enforcement. Meanwhile, FIA’s Cybercrime Wing is being replaced by the National Cyber Crime Investigation Agency, expanding the government’s oversight of online spaces.

When laws meant to curb lies are used as political tools, the cure can be worse than the disease.

Critics argue these changes could be used to curb dissent rather than protect digital integrity but beyond the risk of Peca being weaponised against dissent, one might wonder, what’s wrong with legislating against ‘fake news’? After all, disinformation is a pressing global issue, shaping narratives, fuelling unrest, and inciting violence.

Whether it is the viral spread of fabricated rape allegations in Punjab or sensational claims of another ‘Jallianwala Bagh massacre’ in Islamabad, misinformation can have real-world consequences. So much so that the World Economic Forum has labelled disinformation a major global threat, warning that it has the potential to destabilise societies and erode democratic institutions. The simple answer is: when laws meant to curb falsehoods are vague, selectively enforced, or wielded as political tools, the cure can often be worse than the disease.

Firstly, criminalising ‘misinformation’ is a dangerous precedent, effectively handing governments the power to dictate truth. The first question is: who defines ‘fake news’? When the state assumes this role, laws meant to combat disinformation often become tools to suppress dissent and silence criticism. Vague definitions mean entire forms of speech, including satire, political commentary, even fiction could be criminalised. Would Orwell’s 1984 be banned for portraying state repression? Would a journalist questioning official claims face legal action? Imagine being a journalist or an opinion maker in the US in the lead-up to the Iraq war, calling the government’s narrative of weapons of mass destruction ‘fake news’.

Opinions could also potentially fall under such vague laws. A columnist writing that government policies are responsible for worsening inflation despite official claims of economic stability could be accused of spreading false information that incites panic. A climate activist arguing that the government isn’t doing enough to combat environmental degradation could be charged for undermining public confidence in government’s policies. When truth becomes a legal matter, the line between fact and opinion is erased, leaving room for targeting journalistic expression and silencing dissent under the guise of ‘combating misinformation’.

Secondly, and importantly, legislating against fake news isn’t just a dangerous precedent, it’s a futile exercise and a waste of time and resources. Misinformation isn’t a legal problem; it is a societal and technological challenge rooted in education, media literacy, and evolving digital landscapes. When governments attempt to tackle misinformation through legal frameworks, they often end up creating laws that are either ineffective or dangerously broad, leading to selective enforcement rather than genuine accountability.

Misinformation has always been part of the political discourse, media narratives, and even casual conversations. The digital age has only accelerated its spread. Criminalisation does not stop falsehoods, it simply shifts the power of defining ‘truth’. History shows that official ‘truths’ are often rewritten with time, and what is dismissed as fake news today can become an accepted fact tomorrow. One could also say, if misinformation were truly a criminal matter, then governments themselves would be among the biggest offenders.

More so, investigating and prosecuting misinformation requires legal teams, enforcement mechanisms, and regulatory bodies, all of which divert funds from far more pressing issues like actual cybercrime and cybersecurity threats. Such laws often serve as box-checking exercises, allowing governments to claim they are taking action against disinformation while doing little to address its root causes. Laws cannot change the fact that people will continue to believe and spread false information, especially when their trust in institutions is already low.

The most effective way to combat misinformation is through stronger media literacy programmes, independent fact-checking bodies, and transparent access to information. A well-informed public is far more resilient to fake news than a society where truth is dictated by legal authority. Existing civil defamation laws already provide an avenue for those seeking recourse against claims of reputational damage or tangible harm. Strengthening these frameworks ensures accountability without discouraging discourse. But when governments choose censorship over education, they are not fighting misinformation, they are fighting free speech.

The writer is the founder of Media Matters for Democracy.

Published in Dawn, February 15th, 2025