Centre for Internet and Society

Tweets and twits

praskrishna — 2012-08-25T07:45:43Z

The orders issued by the Ministry of Communication and IT to block more than 300 items on the Internet, including Twitter handles, Facebook pages, YouTube videos, blogposts, pages of certain websites, and in some cases entire websites, tell a revealing story of a government that has simply not applied its mind to the issue of how to deal with hate speech, both cyber and traditional.

Published in the Hindu on August 25, 2012. Pranesh Prakash's blog post is quoted.

There can be no argument against taking down material that can incite violence, and some of the targeted content rightly needed to be blocked. But this should have been done transparently, with judicial oversight. In the present case, it is not clear what laws have been invoked to block the items specified in the four orders issued from August 18 to 21. Certainly, the orders themselves do not make reference to any law. As pointed out by the Centre for Internet and Society (http://cis-india.org/internet-governance/blog/analysing-blocked-sites-riots-communalism), if the government had acted under the Information Technology Act, the host servers of the affected sites should have been notified and given 48 hours to respond under the IT Rules of 2009; and if it used the emergency provision in the Rules, which are themselves opaque, the orders should have come up before an ‘examination of request’ committee within 48 hours. Another serious problem is that the orders do not mention the duration of the blocks.

Especially disturbing is the decision to block the Twitter handles of right-wing agitators and one pro-Hindutva journalist. Bad taste, warped logic and chauvinist comment do not, by themselves, add up to hate speech or criminal incitement. If an individual is really spreading hate through speech, print or the Internet, let the government proceed against him or her under the Indian Penal Code — where the courts will have the final word — rather than indulging in censorship that is pre-emptive and arbitrary. And mindless too: among the sites blocked is an anti-hate page on a Pakistani website which was one of the first to expose how fake photographs had been used to whip up Islamist passion on the Rakhine clashes in Myanmar. A London School of Economics-Guardian study of the 2011 London riots documents how Twitter was used extensively in a positive way, to organise community clean-up operations after the riots. On the other hand, their analysis of 2.5 million tweets showed, the response to messages inciting riots was ‘overwhelmingly negative’. The lesson from this is that it is possible to counter hate on social media through the same platform. This is really what the government should be doing, instead of the Sisyphean task of trying to block noxious content that will always find other ways of bubbling to the surface.

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/news/www-thehindu-com-opinion-editorial-aug-25-2012-tweets-and-twits

TV versus Social Media: The Rights and Wrongs

sunil — 2013-01-21T03:09:56Z

For most ordinary Netizens, everyday speech on social media has as much impact as graffiti in a toilet, and therefore employing the 'principle of equivalence' will result in overregulation of new media.

Sunil Abraham's guest column was published in the Tribune on January 20, 2013.

Many in traditional media, especially television, look at social media with a mixture of envy and trepidation. They have been at the receiving end of various unsavoury characters online and consequently support regulation of social media. A common question asked by television anchors is "shouldn't they be subject to the same regulation as us?" This is because they employ the 'principle of equivalence', according to which speech that is illegal on broadcast media should also be illegal on social media and vice versa. According to this principle, criticising a bandh on national TV or in a newspaper op-ed or on social media should not result in jail time and, conversely, publishing obscene content, in either new or old media, should render you a guest of the state.

Given that Section 66-A of the Information Technology Act, 2000, places more draconian and arguably unconstitutional limits on free speech when compared to the regulation of traditional and broadcast media, those in favour of civil liberties may be tempted to agree with the 'principle of equivalence' since that will mean a great improvement from status quo. However, we must remember that this compromise goes too far since potential for harm through social media is usually very limited when compared to traditional media, especially when it comes to hate speech, defamation and infringement of privacy. A Facebook update or 'like' or a tweet from an ordinary citizen usually passes completely unnoticed. On rare occasion, an expression on social media originating from an ordinary citizen goes viral and then the potential for harm increases dramatically. But since this is the fringe case we cannot design policy based on it. On the other hand, public persons (those occupying public office and those in public life), including television journalists, usually have tens and hundreds of thousands friends and followers on these social networks and, therefore, can more consistently cause harm through their speech online. For most ordinary Netizens, everyday speech on social media has as much impact as graffiti in a public or residential toilet and therefore employing the 'principle of equivalence' will result in overregulation of new media.

Ideally speech regulation should address the asymmetries in the global attention economy by constantly examining the potential for harm. This applies to both 'speech about' public persons and also 'speech by' them. Since 'speech about' public persons is necessary for transparent and accountable governance and public discourse, such speech must be regulated less than 'speech about' ordinary citizens. Let us understand this using two examples: One, a bunch of school kids referring to a classmate as an idiot on a social network is bullying, but citizens using the very same term to criticise a minister or television anchor must be permitted. Two, an ordinary citizen should be allowed to photograph or video-record the acts of a film or sports star at a public location and upload it to a social network, but this exception to the right of privacy based on public interest will not imply that the same ordinary citizen can publish photographs or videos of other ordinary citizens. Public scrutiny and criticism is part of the price to be paid for occupying public office or public life. If speech regulation is configured to prevent damage to the fragile egos of public persons, then it would have a chilling effect on many types of speech that are critical in a democracy and an open society.

When it comes to 'speech by' those in public office or in public life - given the greater potential for harm - they should be held more liable for their actions online. For example, an ordinary citizen with less than 100 followers causes very limited harm to the reputation of a particular person through a defamatory tweet. However, if the very same tweet is retweeted by a television anchor with millions of followers, there can be more severe damage to that particular person's reputation.

Many in television also wish to put an end to anonymous and pseudonymous speech online. They would readily agree with Nandan Nilekani's vision of tagging all - visits to the cyber cafe, purchases of broadband connections and SIM cards and, therefore, all activities from social media accounts with the UID number. I have been following coverage of the Aadhaar project for the past three years. Often I see a 'senior official from the UIDAI' make a controversial point. If anonymous speech is critical to protect India's identity project then surely it is an important form of speech. But, unlike the print media, which more regularly uses anonymous sources for their stories, television doesn't see clearly the connection between anonymous speech and free media. This is because many of the trolls that harass them online often hide behind pseudonymous identities. Television forgets that anonymous speech is at the very foundation of our democracy, i.e., the electoral ballot.

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/internet-governance/blog/sunday-tribune-january-20-2013-sunil-abraham-tv-vs-social-media

To regulate Net intermediaries or not is the question

sunil — 2012-08-26T06:12:48Z

Given the disruption to public order caused by the mass exodus of North-Eastern Indians from several cities, the government has had for the first time in many years, a legitimate case to crackdown on Internet intermediaries and their users.

Sunil's column was published in the Deccan Herald on August 26, 2012.

There was, of course, much room for improvement in the manner in which the government conducted the censorship. But the policy question that becomes most pertinent now is: do we need to regulate Internet intermediaries further? The answer is yes and no.

There are areas where these intermediaries need to be regulated in order to protect citizen and consumer interest. But to deal with rumour-mongering and hate speech, there is sufficient provisions in Indian law to deal with the current disruption in public order and any similar disruptions in the future.

It is a common misunderstanding to assume that all civil society organisations that advocate civil liberties on networked technologies are regulatory doves that wish to dismantle regulation of the private sector and allow them complete free hand for innovation and, perhaps, causing harm to public interest.

The opposite is also not necessarily true. We are not hawks, those that believe in maximal regulation of the private sector. The state should regulate the private sector in areas where the citizens are unable to protect their own interest and self-regulation is inadequate. But there are many other areas where regulation needs to be dismantled in the interests of citizen and public interest.

Dr Rohan Samarajiva, founder of a Colombo-based regional policy think tank LIRNEasia, explains this best using the ‘law of soft toys’. When his daughter was young he told her that in Sri Lanka there was a law which mandated that every time she got a new soft toy, she would have to necessarily give away another one.

The regulatory lesson here is: the mandate for regulation cannot keep endlessly expanding. As the government moves into new areas of regulation, it should also exit other older areas where regulatory rupee is providing limited returns. These decisions should be based on evidence of harm caused to citizens and consumers. The following are a list of areas where regulation is required for Internet intermediaries:

Privacy: India needs the office of the privacy commissioner established and an articulation of national privacy principles through the enactment of the long awaited Privacy Act. This privacy commissioner should be able to investigate complaints against intermediaries, proactively investigate companies, order remedial action and fine companies that violate the principles and other policies in force. Remedial action could require change in policies, features, data retention policies and services etc.

Competition: Many of these intermediaries have been taken to court on anti-trust complaints, fined and subjected to remedial action by regulators in America and Europe.

Earlier this year, BharatMatrimony.com has filed a complaint against Google at the Competition Commission of India (CCI) alleging anti-competitive practices in its Adwords program. In addition, based on a report submitted by Consumer Unity & Trust Society (CUTS), a civil society organisation, CCI has initiated an investigation into Google's search engine for anti-competitive practices. If they are found guilty of breaking competition law they could be fined up to 10 per cent of their turnover.

Speech: Article 19(2) of the Constitution permits Parliament to enact laws that place eight categories of reasonable restrictions on speech. Unfortunately, the Information Technology Act and its associated rules attempts to expand these restrictions and in addition does not comply with the principles of natural justice. Ideally, all those impacted by the censorship should be informed and should be able to seek redress and reinstatement for the censured speech.

The policy sting operation conducted by the Centre for Internet and Society (CIS) last year demonstrated that intermediaries are risk-averse and tend to over-comply with takedown notices. There is a clear chilling effect on speech online and it is important that the Act and rules be amended at the earliest.

Intellectual Property: Policies that fall under this inappropriate umbrella term for many differently configured laws make the yet unproven fundamental assumption that granting limited monopolies to rights holders, usually corporations, will result in greater innovation. However, citizen and consumer interest is protected through provisions for exceptions and limitations in laws such as copyright, patent, trademarks etc. Some examples of these safeguards that guarantee access to knowledge in Indian law include compulsory licences, patent opposition, fair-dealing etc.

There are many other areas where special treatment may be required for intermediaries. For example tax law needs to handle evasion techniques like the Double Irish and the Dutch Sandwich. Given my lengthy wish-list of regulation of Internet intermediaries, why then has CIS become an NGO member of the Global Network Initiative?

This is because I believe that technological development happen too quickly for us to purely depend on government regulation. Self-regulation has an important role to play in keeping up with these rapid changes. As self-regulatory norms mature they could be formalised into policy by the government.

Therefore, I consider it a privilege that CIS has been accepted as a member of this self-regulatory initiative and we influence GNI norms using our Indian perspective. However, when self-regulation fails to protect public interest, then the government must step in to regulate Internet intermediaries.

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/internet-governance/www-deccan-herald-aug-26-2012-to-regulate-net-intermediaries-or-not-is-the-question

Three reasons why 66A verdict is momentous

pranesh — 2015-03-29T16:22:51Z

Earlier this week, the fundamental right to freedom of expression posted a momentous victory. The nation's top court struck down the much-reviled Section 66A of the IT Act — which criminalized communications that are "grossly offensive", cause "annoyance", etc — as "unconstitutionally vague", "arbitrarily, excessively, and disproportionately" encumbering freedom of speech, and likely to have a "chilling effect" on legitimate speech.

The article was published in the Times of India on March 29, 2015.

It also struck down Sec 118(d) of the Kerala Police Act on similar grounds. This is a landmark judgment, as it's possibly the first time since 1973's Bennett Coleman case that statutory law was struck down by the Supreme Court for violating our right to free expression.

The SC also significantly 'read down' the draconian 'Intermediary Guidelines Rules' which specify when intermediaries — website hosts and search engines — may be held liable for what is said online by their users. The SC held that intermediaries should not be forced to decide whether the online speech of their users is lawful or not. While the judgment leaves unresolved many questions — phrases like "grossly offensive", which the SC ruled were vague in 66A, occur in the Rules as well — the court's insistence on requiring either a court or a government order to be able to compel an intermediary to remove speech reduces the 'invisible censorship' that results from privatized speech regulation.

The SC upheld the constitutional validity of Sec 69A and the Website Blocking Rules, noting they had several safeguards: providing a hearing to the website owner, providing written reasons for the blocking, etc. However, these safeguards are not practised by courts. Na Vijayashankar, a legal academic in Bengaluru, found a blogpost of his — ironically, on the topic of website blocking — had been blocked by a Delhi court without even informing him. He only got to find out when I published the government response to my RTI on blocked websites. Last December, Github, Vimeo and some other websites were blocked without being given a chance to contest it. As long as lower courts don't follow "principles of natural justice" and due process, we'll continue to see such absurd website blocking, especially in cases of copyright complaints, without any way of opposing or correcting them.

There are three main outcomes of this judgment. First is the legal victory: SC's analysis while striking down 66A is a masterclass of legal clarity and a significant contribution to free speech jurisprudence. This benefits not only future cases in India, but all jurisdictions whose laws are similar to ours, such as Bangladesh, Malaysia and the UK.

Second is the moral victory for free speech. Sec 66A was not merely a badly written law, it became a totem of governmental excess and hubris. Even when political parties realized they had passed 66A without a debate, they did not apologize to the public and revise it; instead, they defended it. Only a few MPs, such as P Rajeev and Baijayant Panda, challenged it. Even the NDA, which condemned the law in the UPA era, supported it in court. By striking down this totem, the SC has restored the primacy of the Constitution. For instance, while this ruling doesn't directly affect the censor board's arbitrary rules, it does morally undermine them.

Third, this verdict shows that given proper judicial reading, the Indian constitutional system of allowing for a specific list of purposes for which reasonable restrictions are permissible, might in fact be as good or even better in some cases, than the American First Amendment. The US law baldly states that Congress shall make no law abridging freedom of speech or of the press. However, the US Supreme Court has never held the opinion that freedom of speech is absolute. The limits of Congress's powers are entirely judicially constructed, and till the 1930s, the US court never struck down a law for violating freedom of speech, and has upheld laws banning obscenity, public indecency, offensive speech in public, etc. However, in India, the Constitution itself places hard limits on Parliament's powers, and also, since the first amendment to our Constitution, allows the judiciary to determine if the restrictions placed by Parliament are "reasonable". In the judgment Justice Nariman quotes Mark Antony from Julius Caesar. He could also have quoted Cassius: "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves." Judges like Justice Nariman show the constitutional limits to free speech can be read both narrowly and judiciously: we can no longer complain about the Constitution as the primary reason we have so many restrictions on freedom of expression.

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/internet-governance/blog/times-of-india-march-29-2015-pranesh-prakash-three-reasons-why-66a-is-momentous

Thousands go online against 66A

praskrishna — 2012-11-30T06:40:38Z

An online petition aimed at amending section 66A of the Information Technology (IT) Act and re-examining internet laws has garnered 3,000 signatures since it began on Tuesday — two days before Kapil Sibal, telecom and IT minister, chairs a meeting with the cyber regulation advisory committee.

This article by Apoorva Dutt was published in DNA on November 29, 2012. Pranesh Prakash is quoted.

The petition, anchored on Change.org, a platform for social initiatives, was started by Bangalore-based advocate Gautam John after two girls were arrested for their Facebook post on imposing a bandh in the city on the day Shiv Sena chief Bal Thackeray was cremated. Following their arrests, Shaheen Dhada has deleted her Facebook account while her friend Rini Srinivasan who merely liked the post has opened a new account on the social networking site. However, she has vowed to refrain from making political statements.

John is blunt about the legislative effect an online petition can have. l Turn to p8.

“Honestly, I don’t believe that a petition can change laws, but it gives concerned citizens a platform for documenting their concern in such troubling scenarios. To some extent, this sort of petition can represent a civil society’s point of view. No more can a government authority say ‘only NGOs care about an issue’. Now they know – thousands of ordinary people care,” John said.

Pranesh Prakash, policy director at the Centre For Internet and Society in Bangalore, points out the flaws in section 66A that have been exploited in cases like the Palghar incident. “Section 66A is very broadly-worded and the punishment (three years imprisonment) is excessive,” he said. “The law was borrowed – that too badly – from a British law. There are many a things greatly flawed in this unconstitutional provision, from the disproportionality of the punishment to the non-existence of the crime. The 2008 amendment to the IT Act was one of eight laws passed in 15 minutes without any debate in the winter session of Parliament.”

The petition also aims to organise a meeting of the civil society stakeholders to look into these concerns. A similar meeting was scheduled to be held in August, but it did not take place.

Sudarshan Balachandran of Change.org is the lead campaigner and organiser of the petition. He hopes to hand over a copy of the petition to Sibal during the meeting on Thursday. “Sibal has gone on record to say that they will examine the law, and if they feel it doesn’t work, it will be junked. So I am hopeful,” said Balachandran.

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/news/dnaindia-nov-29-2012-apoorva-dutt-thousands-go-online-against-66a

The War for India's Internet

praskrishna — 2012-06-14T09:12:34Z

Why is the world's biggest democracy cracking down on Facebook and Google? Rebecca Mackinnon's article was published in Foreign Policy on June 6, 2012.

"65 years since your independence," a new battle for freedom is under way in India -- according to a YouTube video uploaded by an Indian member of Anonymous, the global "hacktivist" movement. With popular websites like Vimeo.com blocked across India by court order, the video calls for action: "Fight for your rights. Fight for India." Over the past several weeks, the group has launched distributed denial-of-service attacks against websites belonging to Internet service providers, government departments, India's Supreme Court, and two political parties.

Street protests are being planned for this coming Saturday, June 9, in as many as 18 cities to protest laws and other government actions that a growing number of Indian Internet users believe have violated their right to free expression and privacy online. A lively national Internet freedom movement has grown rapidly across India since the beginning of this year. The most colorful highlight so far was a seven-day Gandhian hunger strike, otherwise known as a "freedom fast," held in early May on a New Delhi sidewalk by political cartoonist Aseem Trivedi and activist-journalist Alok Dixit. Trivedi's website was shut down this year in response to a police complaint by a Mumbai-based advocate who alleged that some of Trivedi's works "ridicule the Indian Parliament, the national emblem, and the national flag."

Escalating political and legal battles over Internet regulation in India are the latest front in a global struggle for online freedom -- not only in countries like China and Iran where the Internet is heavily censored and monitored by autocratic regimes, but also in democracies where the political motivations for control are much more complicated. Democratically elected governments all over the world are failing to find the right balance between demands from constituents to fight crime, control hate speech, keep children safe, and protect intellectual property, and their duty to ensure and respect all citizens' rights to free expression and privacy. Popular online movements -- many of them globally interconnected -- are arising in response to these failures.

Only about 10 percent of India's population uses the web, making it unlikely that Internet freedom will be a decisive ballot-box issue anytime soon. Yet activists are determined to punish New Delhi's "humorless babus," as one columnist recently called India's censorious politicians and bureaucrats, in the country's media. Grassroots organizers are bringing a new generation of white-collar protesters to the streets to defend the right to use a technology that remains alien to the majority of India's people.

The trouble started with the 2008 passage of the Information Technology (Amendment) Act, whose Section 69 empowers the government to direct any Internet service to block, intercept, monitor, or decrypt any information through any computer resource. Company officials who fail to comply with government requests can face fines and up to seven years in jail. Then, in April 2011, the Ministry of Communications and Information Technology issued new rules under which Internet companies are expected to remove within 36 hours any content that regulators designate as "grossly harmful," "harassing," or "ethnically objectionable" -- designations that are open to a wide variety of interpretations and that free speech advocates argue have opened the door to abuse. It is thanks to these rules that the website of the hunger-striking cartoonist, Trivedi, was taken offline. Also thanks to the 2011 rules, Facebook and Google are facing trial for having failed to remove objectionable content. If found guilty, the companies could face fines, and executives could be sentenced to jail time.

Saturday's protesters are calling for annulment of the 2011 rules and the repeal of part of the 2008 act. They are also calling for Internet service companies to reverse the wholesale blocking of hundreds of websites, including the file-sharing services isoHunt and The Pirate Bay, as well as the video-sharing site Vimeo and Pastebin, which is primarily used for the sharing of text and links. Internet service providers were responding to a court order from the Madras High Court demanding the blockage, which is aimed at preventing the online distribution of pirated versions of one particular film. The Internet companies, fearing that they would not be able to catch every individual instance on every possible site they host, instead chose to block entire services along with all of their content -- which had nothing to do with the film in question.

Such "John Doe" orders, named because they are directed against unknown potential offenders in the present and future, are characterized "by their overly broad and sweeping nature," argue lawyer Lawrence Liang and researcher Achal Prabhala, which extends "to a range of non-infringing activities as well, thus catching a whole range of legal acts in their net." More broadly, as Delhi-based journalist Shivam Vij wrote in a recent essay: "The current mechanisms of internet censorship in India -- blocking, direct removal requests to websites, intermediary rules -- are draconian and unconstitutional. They need to be replaced with a new set of rules that are fair, transparent and accessible for public scrutiny. They should not be amenable to misuse by the powers-that-be for their own private interests."

Not only are the rules abused, but researchers find that they are causing extralegal censorship by companies that overcompensate in order to err on the side of caution. Last year, the Bangalore-based Centre for Internet and Society performed an experiment in which it sent "legally flawed" takedown demands to seven companies that provide a range of online services, including search, online shopping, and news with user-generated comments. The legal flaws in the notices were such that the companies could have rejected them without being in breach of the law. Yet "of the 7 intermediaries to which takedown notices were sent, 6 intermediaries over-complied with the notices, despite the apparent flaws in them," reads the Centre for Internet and Society report.

Despite the growing public opposition, a motion to annul the 2011 rules was defeated by voice vote in the upper house of Parliament last month. Yet the criticism was sufficiently sharp that Communications Minister Kapil Sibal announced that he will hold consultations with all members of Parliament, representatives of industry, and other "stakeholders" to discuss the law's problems and how it might be revised. Many of the law's critics, however, are skeptical that this will eliminate the law's deep flaws and loopholes for abuse, especially given the government's failure to listen so far. Comments on the 2011 rules submitted last year by the Centre for Internet and Society were not even acknowledged as having been received by the Ministry of Communications and Information Technology. "Sibal uses the excuse of national security and hate speech," says the center's director, Sunil Abraham, "but that is not what is happening."

Abraham worries that what is really happening is a government effort at Internet "behavior modification" through a process akin to an experiment involving caged monkeys, bananas, and ice water. Put four monkeys in a cage and hang a bunch of bananas on the ceiling. Every time one of them climbs up to reach the bananas, you drench all of them with ice water. Soon enough, the monkeys will start policing themselves -- attacking anybody who tries to reach the bananas, making it unnecessary for their masters to deploy the ice water. "This is why the government is being so aggressive so early on, with only 10 percent of India's population online," says Abraham. "If you start the drenching early on, by the time you get to 50 percent [Internet penetration], every one will be well-behaved monkeys." Companies will act as private Internet police for fear of legal punishment before the government is called upon to step in and enforce the law. If it works, Indian politicians could have fewer reasons to worry about online critiques or mockery, because companies fearing prosecution will proactively delete speech that could potentially be designated "harassing" or "grossly harmful."

India is not China or Iran, however. Its politicians may be corrupt, and most of its voters may not understand why Internet freedom matters because they've never used the Internet. But it still has an independent press and boisterous civil society that are not going to give up their critiques and protests anytime soon. India also has a strong, independent judiciary, with a record of ruling against censorship and surveillance measures when a strong case can be made that they conflict with constitutional protections of individual rights. "On free speech I have high faith in the Indian judiciary," says Abraham. "There is a good chance to launch a constitutional challenge."

If Google and Facebook lose at their impending trial -- now scheduled for July -- they will most certainly appeal, which activists hope could provide just such an opportunity to prevent the sort of "behavior modification" process that Abraham warns against. Now India's burgeoning Internet freedom movement needs its own reverse "behavior modification" strategy -- imposing consistent and regular doses of political and legal ice water upon India's bureaucrats, politicians, and companies whenever they do things that threaten to corrode the rights of India's Internet users. Saturday's protest is just the beginning.

Sunil Abraham is quoted in this article. Read the original here

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/news/war-of-india-internet

The Supreme Court Judgment in Shreya Singhal and What It Does for Intermediary Liability in India?

jyoti — 2015-04-17T23:59:34Z

Even as free speech advocates and users celebrate the Supreme Court of India's landmark judgment striking down Section 66A of the Information Technology Act of 2000, news that the Central government has begun work on drafting a new provision to replace the said section of the Act has been trickling in.

The SC judgement in upholding the constitutionality of Section 69A (procedure for blocking websites) and in reading down Section 79 (exemption from liability of intermediaries) of the IT Act, raises crucial questions regarding transparency, accountability and under what circumstances may reasonable restrictions be placed on free speech on the Internet. While discussions and analysis of S. 66A continue, in this post I will focus on the aspect of the judgment related to intermediary liability that could benefit from further clarification from the apex court and in doing so, will briefly touch upon S. 69A and secret blocking.

Conditions qualifying intermediary for exemption and obligations not related to exemption

The intermediary liability regime in India is defined under S. 79 and assosciated rules that were introduced to protect intermediaries for liability from user generated content and ensure the Internet continues to evolve as a “marketplace of ideas”. But as intermediaries may not have sufficient legal competence or resources to deliberate on the legality of an expression, they may end up erring on the side of caution and takedown lawful expression. As a study by Centre for Internet and Society (CIS) in 2012 revealed, the criteria, procedure and safeguards for administration of the takedowns as prescribed by the rules lead to a chilling effect on online free expression.

S. 69A grants powers to the Central Government to “issue directions for blocking of public access to any information through any computer resource”. The 2009 rules allow the blocking of websites by a court order, and sets in place a review committee to review the decision to block websites as also establishes penalties for the intermediary that fails to extend cooperation in this respect.

There are two key aspects of both these provisions that must be noted:

a) S. 79 is an exemption provision that qualifies the intermediary for conditional immunity, as long as they fulfil the conditions of the section. The judgement notes this distinction, adding that “being an exemption provision, it is closely related to provisions which provide for offences including S. 69A.”

b) S. 69A does not contribute to immunity for the intermediary rather places additional obligations on the intermediary and as the judgement notes “intermediary who finally fails to comply with the directions issued who is punishable under sub-section (3) of 69A.” The provision though outside of the conditional immunity liability regime enacted through S. 79 contributes to the restriction of access to, or removing content online by placing liability on intermediaries to block unlawful third party content or information that is being generated, transmitted, received, stored or hosted by them. Therefore restriction requests must fall within the contours outlined in Article 19(2) and include principles of natural justice and elements of due process.

Subjective Determination of Knowledge

The provisions for exemption laid down in S. 79 do not apply when they receive “actual knowledge” of illegal content under section 79(3)(b). Prior to the court's verdict actual knowledge could have been interpreted to mean the intermediary is called upon its own judgement under sub-rule (4) to restrict impugned content in order to seek exemption from liability. Removing the need for intermediaries to take on an adjudicatory role and deciding on which content to restrict or takedown, the SC has read down “actual knowledge” to mean that there has to be a court order directing the intermediary to expeditiously remove or disable access to content online. The court also read down “upon obtaining knowledge by itself” and “brought to actual knowledge” under Rule 3(4) in the same manner as 79(3)(b).

Under S.79(3)(b) the intermediary must comply with the orders from the executive in order to qualify for immunity. Further, S. 79 (3)(b) goes beyond the specific categories of restriction identified in Article 19(2) by including the term “unlawful acts” and places the executive in an adjudicatory role of determining the illegality of content. The government cannot emulate private regulation as it is bound by the Constitution and the court addresses this issue by applying the limitation of 19(2) on unlawful acts, “the court order and/or the notification by the appropriate government or its agency must strictly conform to the subject matters aid down in Article 19(2).”

By reading down of S. 79 (3) (b) the court has addressed the issue of intermediaries complying with takedown requests from non-government entities and has made government notifications and court orders to be consistent with reasonable restrictions in Article 19(2). This is an important clarification from the court, because this places limits on the private censorship of intermediaries and the invisible censorship of opaque government takedown requests as they must and should adhere, to the boundaries set by Article 19(2).

Procedural Safeguards

The SC does not touch upon other parts of the rules and in not doing so, has left significant procedural issues open for debate. It is relevant to bear in mind and as established above, S. 69A blocking and restriction requirements for the intermediary are part of their additional obligations and do not qualify them for immunity. The court ruled in favour of upholding S. 69A as constitutional on the basis that blocking orders are issued when the executive has sufficiently established that it is absolutely necessary to do so, and that the necessity is relatable to only some subjects set out in Article 19(2). Further the court notes that reasons for the blocking orders must be recorded in writing so that they may be challenged through writ petitions. The court also goes on to specify that under S. 69A the intermediary and the 'originator' if identified, have the right to be heard before the committee decides to issue the blocking order.

Under S. 79 the intermediary must also comply with government restriction orders and the procedure for notice and takedown is not sufficiently transparent and lacks procedural safeguards that have been included in the notice and takedown procedures under S. 69. For example, there is no requirement for committee to evaluate the necessity of issuing the restriction order, though the ruling does clarify that these restriction notices must be within the confines of Article 19(2). The judgement could have gone further to directing the government to state their entire cause of action and provide reasonable level of proof (prima facie). It should have also addressed issues such as the government using extra-judicial measures to restrict content including collateral pressures to force changes in terms of service, to promote or enforce so-called "voluntary" practices.

Accountability

The judgement could also have delved deeper into issues of accountability such as the need to consider 'udi alteram partem' by providing the owner of the information or the intermediary a hearing prior to issuing the restriction or blocking order nor is an post-facto review or appeal mechanism made available except for the recourse of writ petition. Procedural uncertainty around wrongly restricted content remains, including what limitations should be placed on the length, duration and geographical scope of the restriction. The court also does not address the issue of providing a recourse for the third party provider of information to have the removed information restored or put-back remains unclear. Relatedly, the court also does not clarify the concerns related to frivolous requests by establishing penalties nor is there a codified recourse under the rules presently, for the intermediary to claim damages even if it can be established that the takedown process is being abused.

Transparency

The bench in para 113 in addressing S. 79 notes that the intermediary in addition to publishing rules and regulations, privacy policy and user agreement for access or usage of their service has to also inform users of the due diligence requirements including content restriction policy under rule 3(2). However, the court ought to have noted the differentiation between different categories of intermediaries which may require different terms of use. Rather than stressing a standard terms of use as a procedural safeguard, the court should have insisted on establishing terms of use and content restriction obligations that is proportional to the role of the intermediary and based on the liability accrued in providing the service, including the impact of the restriction by the intermediary both on access and free speech. By placing requirement of disclosure or transparency on the intermediary including what has been restricted under the intermediary's own terms of service, the judgment could have gone a step further than merely informing users of their rights in using the service as it stands presently, to ensuring that users can review and have knowledge of what information has been restricted and why. The judgment also does not touch upon broader issues of intermediary liability such as proactive filtering sought by government and private parties, an important consideration given the recent developments around the right to be forgotten in Europe and around issues of defamation and pornography in India.

The judgment, while a welcome one in the direction of ensuring the Internet remains a democratic space where free speech thrives, could benefit from the application of the recently launched Manila principles developed by CIS and others. The Manila Principles is a framework of baseline safeguards and best practices that should be considered by policymakers and intermediaries when developing, adopting, and reviewing legislation, policies and practices that govern the liability of intermediaries for third-party content.

The court's ruling is truly worth celebrating, in terms of the tone it sets on how we think of free speech and the contours of censorship that exist in the digital space. But the real impact of this judgment lies in the debates and discussions which it will throw open about content removal practices that involve intermediaries making determinations on requests received, or those which only respond to the interests of the party requesting removal. As the Manila Principles highlight a balance between public and private interests can be obtained through a mechanism where power is distributed between the parties involved, and where an impartial, independent, and accountable oversight mechanism exists.

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/internet-governance/blog/sc-judgment-in-shreya-singhal-what-it-means-for-intermediary-liability

The state. And the rage of the cyber demon

praskrishna — 2012-09-03T11:03:53Z

The Internet might be a Pandora’s box. But should the government be wasting time regulating the cacophony?

Shougat Dasgupta's article was published in Tehelka, Vol 9, Issue 36, Dated September 8, 2012. Pranesh Prakash is quoted.

SOME YEARS ago a cartoon was doing the rounds that caught in a few sharp strokes the selfimportance and self-righteousness of the Internet warrior. A man sits hunched at his computer, the keyboard lit with his fervour. Not looking away from the screen, he has a terse, impatient exchange with his partner off-panel: ‘Are you coming to bed?’ ‘I can’t. This is important.’ ‘What?’ ‘Someone is wrong on the Internet.’ It is the anonymous exchange that gives cyber debates their peculiar animus; that anonymity coupled with the low stakes, as is famously said of academic politics, is what makes the sniping so bitter and vicious. The complaints about social media like Twitter or the comment sections on blogs have mostly centred on the incivility of the discourse, on ‘trolls’ too eager to throw rotting vegetables at journalists, politicians, celebrities unused to such irreverence. But action taken by the government in the last fortnight to block content from over 300 websites and a dozen Twitter accounts imputes a far more vitiating effect on society than the mere puncturing of already overinflated egos.

Kapil Sibal, Minister for Communications & Information Technology, has said in interviews that the government’s intent was to “protect the victims” from these “mischievous acts happening through these sites and blogs”. There is, by now, little doubt that the threats and fake pictures of slain Muslims spread through mobile phones and social media, “disseminating misinformation” in the minister’s phrase, helped exacerbate tensions and fears. There is equally little doubt that what action the government took was both late and clumsy: blocking blogs that debunked the rumours and morphed images that the government held responsible for causing panic; blocking web pages of international news organisations such as The Telegraph and Al-Jazeera; blocking Twitter accounts of journalists, the government’s political opponents, accounts parodying the prime minister, even people who tweeted mostly about information technology and cricket. Like a giant in clown shoes chasing a sprite, the government has looked lumbering and foolish, led a merry dance by light-footed ‘netizens’, while the rest of us pointed and laughed.

Can the government’s actions be at all justified? Appearing on NDTV’s ‘We the People’, R Chandrashekhar, Secretary, Department of Information Technology, argued that “once a law enforcement agency has made an assessment you act first and then make corrections as you go along”. In essence, extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures, which along with concern for ‘national security’ is trotted out by every democratic government accused of ignoring civil liberties. Congress spokesperson Manish Tewari, on the same programme, claimed that the “mandate of section 69a of the Information Technology Act and the rules with regard to safeguards and blocking is fairly clear and rule 9 allows the government, if it thinks that there’s an expedient situation in order to protect the sovereignty of the State or public order, to go ahead with this blocking on an interim basis”.

We will discuss the section being referred to and the 2011 guidelines for intermediaries later but for now let’s accept the government’s argument that it acted in the face of a clear and present danger, to borrow from Oliver Wendell Holmes, the famous 19th-century US Supreme Court Justice. Kharan Thapar, citing another of Holmes’s shopworn phrases, wrote that “[ j]ust as it’s not acceptable to shout fire in a crowded cinema hall for the fun of it, it cannot be permitted to deliberately frighten helpless innocent people who, for whatever reason, believe you and panic”. Thapar is making the point that free speech is not without its responsibilities. He does so, however, using a long discredited cliché and compounds this error with condescension, refusing to grant people (“helpless”, “innocent”, like babies) their full agency. Besides, the government only acted from 18 August to limit text messaging, already months after initial images of supposed Burmese atrocities against Muslims had been widely circulated to stir anger. It also chose to block webpages and Twitter handles, some for spurious, even mystifying reasons. The result has been embarrassment. Acting arbitrarily in the name of communal harmony to prevent damage after terrible damage has already been done, does little to convince the people you are supposedly protecting that you have the situation in hand.

The government has left itself open to being serially lectured about free speech by the US government, by journalists (particularly Kanchan Gupta, whose apparently blocked Twitter account has made him a patron saint of free speech), by hysterical twitterers (ok, ‘tweeple’) drawing an entirely ridiculous parallel to the Emergency, and most egregiously by Narendra Modi. Presumably, Modi, by blackening his display picture was not commenting on the black irony of a man who bans books mourning constraints on freedom of speech. Pranesh Prakash of the Bengaluru-based Centre for Internet and Society (CIS), a trenchant critic of the government’s recent blocks (social media not coal) and the “horrendously drafted” legislation that permits the leeway for such indiscriminate action, says that “people [were] losing a sense of reality”.

	He points to the criticism of the government’s blocking of parodies of the prime minister’s Twitter account. “An underreported part of this whole controversy,” he says,“is Twitter’s own terms of service and one parody account in particular violates those terms.” He confesses to “having to look quite closely” to tell the PMO account from PMO, which substitutes a zero for the letter ‘o’. Also, according to sources, a letter sent last year by the government to the likes of Google and Facebook asking them to screen for offensive content specifically excepted parody and satire. If accurate, this underscores that the Prime Minister’s Office did not have a problem with parody but a genuine, if peculiar, fear of misinformation stemming from the six accounts it asked Twitter to remove.

He points to the criticism of the government’s blocking of parodies of the prime minister’s Twitter account. “An underreported part of this whole controversy,” he says,“is Twitter’s own terms of service and one parody account in particular violates those terms.” He confesses to “having to look quite closely” to tell the PMO account from PMO, which substitutes a zero for the letter ‘o’. Also, according to sources, a letter sent last year by the government to the likes of Google and Facebook asking them to screen for offensive content specifically excepted parody and satire. If accurate, this underscores that the Prime Minister’s Office did not have a problem with parody but a genuine, if peculiar, fear of misinformation stemming from the six accounts it asked Twitter to remove.

NONE OF this is to say that the government, in its haste, acted with reason. Certainly, it has since last year been working assiduously to exert at least some control over online content. The rules from April last year updating sections of the Information Technology Act, 2000, requires “due diligence” from companies like Twitter, or Facebook, to not “host, display, upload, modify, publish, transmit, update or share any information that… is grossly harmful, harassing, blasphemous, defamatory, obscene, pornographic, paedophilic, libellous, invasive of another’s privacy, hateful, or racially, ethnically objectionable, disparaging, relating or encouraging money laundering or gambling, or otherwise unlawful in any manner whatever…” Disparaging? Encouraging gambling? Well, gambling, at least in casinos, is lawful in Goa and Sikkim. No wonder Kapil Sibal felt he was on firm legal ground when he complained in December about “derogatory pictures” of Sonia Gandhi and Manmohan Singh that the government had culled from Facebook accounts.

Prakash, of the CIS, describes the Information Technology Act, particularly sections 69a and 66 as “having issues and being badly worded”. The powers it gives the government are too intrusive and that the prison sentences for offenders “are greater than those for death by negligence”. What he finds most troubling is how little transparency exists around issues of censorship; how, for instance, there is no easily accessible central list of banned books. “How,” he asks, “are people even supposed to know if their website or Twitter account is blocked if the government won’t issue proper notices and lists?” Our democratically elected government appears fond of the aristocratic maxim to never contradict, never explain, never apologise, as if hauteur and bluster are adequate substitutes for communication and we are subjects rather than citizens.

Seen in isolation, the blocking of websites and rationing of text messages is just a comical bungle by an unwieldy, Luddite administration. In the context of the last 12 months though, the government’s recent actions are a logical extension of its drive to bring the Internet to heel. The unregulated nature of the Internet is a particular bugbear of this government. It had already made a proposal to the United Nations in October last year, at the 66th session of the General Assembly, for the institution of a Committee for Internet- Related Policies. This 50-nation body would be tasked not to control the Internet, “or allow Governments to have the last word in regulating the Internet, but to make sure that the Internet is governed not unilaterally, but in an open, democratic, inclusive and participatory manner, with the participation of all stakeholders”. For all the incompetence the government has displayed, both most recently and in previous attempts to censor Internet content, it asks an important question about the future of Internet regulation, about the need for multilateral debate and international consensus.

TEHELKA, as cyber chatter about the blocked sites grew increasingly frenzied, asked its online readers to define the forum provided by social media. Most agreed that Twitter, for instance, was a public space, a place to give vent to private thoughts publicly with, if wanted or needed, the comfort of anonymity. The metaphor used is often that of a public square or town hall. I’ve always thought of Twitter as a carnival — a space, as defined by the Russian literary theorist Mikhail Bakhtin, where the existing social order is overturned, where social pieties are profaned. Twitter, like carnival, appeared to me an exhilarating space. This is utterly naïve. The fact is that Twitter is not a public space, it is privately owned and its investors are in the business of revenue generation and profit. This means Twitter’s terms of service are subject to change, as is its cooperation with governments over the private information it controls and owns.

Rahul Bose, the actor, told me in a conversation about social media that he thinks individual freedom is increasingly an “illusion”, that the very idea has become “laughable”. We live our lives, particularly our online lives, under the unblinking gaze of government: “You don’t need a close circuit camera at Flora Fountain to know you’re being watched, that every piece of information is on a file somewhere.” (This is probably not quite true of our dozy government.) It is indisputable that private entities such as Facebook and Twitter hold enormous amounts of information about individuals. In that light, surely, the Indian government is correct about the need for multilateral oversight of a system currently beholden in significant ways to the United States. ICANN, the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers, for instance, still makes only a token gesture at global participation and any question of greater United Nations involvement is generally met with US suspicion.

Arguably, the Indian government doesn’t go far enough in its call for greater inclusivity in the governance of the Internet. The academic Jeremy Malcolm, an influential figure in discussions about Internet governance, has written that the World Summit on the Information Society has “established at the level of principle that governance of the Internet should be a transparent, democratic and multilateral process, with the participation of governments, private sector, civil society and international organisations, in their respective roles”. More immediate, perhaps, is the question of how a democratic country, committed to free speech, should regard social media.

This is not a discussion confined to India. During the August 2012 London riots, David Cameron threatened to ban people suspected of planning criminal activity from using Facebook, Twitter, and Blackberry Messenger. In words similar to those used by Sibal, Cameron spoke about reminding these companies of their responsibilities. In an interview with TEHELKA, Congress General Secretary Digvijaya Singh held close to the party line, insisting that “anything that incites violence is problematic, as is anything that is factually incorrect, and must be removed”. He envisages a future where online exchanges are governed by the same rules as public life, governed by similar cultural codes and basic civility. This is, it has to be said, an optimistic view of public life.

There are, as discussed earlier, as many different ways to see online exchanges as there are Internet users. The Internet’s shapelessness, its Moby Dick-like vast blankness, makes it impossible to apply the same standards to conversation on Twitter or Facebook, even if it is in print and in public, as you might apply to a magazine article. Pranesh Prakash points out that “while some people may see Twitter as akin to friends talking in the pub, others use the service as a bulletin board”. When I propose to Prakash the idea of an ombudsman to monitor online dialogue in the same way an independent press commission might monitor newspaper reports, he makes a cogent rebuttal: “There is no ombudsman for regular speech, or to outline what you can or cannot say from a podium. Besides, there are laws that deal with defamation, slander and unless there is a requirement for an extra-legal authority I cannot see the need for an ombudsman.”

Much of the debate over the last couple of weeks has devolved, as so much debate in all our media, mainstream or online, does, into grandstanding — in this instance about ‘freedom of speech’ versus the national security imperative. This is to miss the woods for the trees. For all its heavy-handedness, the Indian government is correct to be concerned about oversight of the Internet and correct that not enough stakeholders are currently involved in its governance. Cant about freedom of speech cannot change the fact that the government is also correct that in a precariously held together democracy comprising various, widely different cultures and religions, certain standards of respectful speech are necessary. Of course, we can and should argue those standards and there needs to be a national conversation about the strictures of Internet legislation in India. Still, let us not pretend that the mob mentality of political discourse on the Internet is not a cause for worry and is not, as are all mobs, subject to manipulation.

With inputs from Ajachi Chakrabarti.
Shougat Dasgupta is an Assistant Editor with Tehelka.

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/news/www-tehelka-com-vol-9-issue-36-sep-8-2012-shougat-dasgupta-the-state-and-the-rage-of-the-cyber-demon

The Present — and Future — Dangers of India's Draconian New Internet Regulations

anja — 2011-08-02T07:22:24Z

The uproar surrounding India's Internet Control Rules makes clear that in the Internet age, as before, the active chilling of freedom of expression by the state is unacceptable in a democracy. Yet if India's old censorship regimes are to be maintained in this new context, the state will have little choice but to do just that. Are we ready to rethink the ways in which we deal with free speech and censorship as a society? Asks Anja Kovacs in this article, published in Caravan, 1 June 2011.

WHAT ACTUALLY DEFINES A DEMOCRACY? It is a trickier question than it first seems, and yet it is worthwhile, at least every now and then, to remind ourselves of what constitutes the political system we hold so dear. Free and fair elections; an independent legislative, executive and judiciary; and freedom of the press—these are all vital ingredients. But what may be democracy’s defining element, or at least its sine qua non, is the right to freedom of opinion and expression: without this equal right to “seek, receive and impart information”, as the universal declaration of Human Rights frames it, a system of governance of the people, for the people and by the people simply remains meaningless. Without a free flow of information, democracy does not exist.

It is with good reason, then, that bloggers, tech enthusiasts and watchdogs from civil society have been up in arms over two new sets of rules, notified in April 2011, that will impact every Indian’s Internet use. Formulated by the Central Government under powers conferred to it by the IT (Amendment) Act 2008, one set governs what is known as the liability of intermediaries. This determines in which cases, and to what extent, companies ranging from Google and Facebook to local Internet service providers (ISPs) are legally responsible for the content that you upload.

The second set of rules pertains to cybercafes. In a manner reminiscent of the licence Raj, there are new registration standards for these establishments, which go beyond the usual requirements for commercial enterprises and include detailed procedures to identify all users. Cybercafes will be required to maintain and submit, on a monthly basis, logs that detail the use of all computers in the cafe and to keep backups of all users’ browser histories, to be maintained for at least one year.

There is much that is wrong with these rules, but what makes them such a particular threat to freedom of expression? Some effects are likely to be indirect: for example, the Internet has the potential to emerge as an important avenue for young people from disadvantaged backgrounds to express and discuss concerns so rarely taken into account by the mainstream media. But by putting into place stringent identification requirements for cybercafe users, who are likely to be less well-off, the access of underprivileged users in particular will be further constrained. Moreover, the combination of the need for identification with the requirement for cybercafes to keep a log of every user’s browser history means that anonymity online is now effectively made impossible in India. For whistleblowers, artists, writers or anyone desiring anonymity, there is no longer a place in Indian cyberspace.

But the most troubling impact on freedom of expression of the new mandates remains direct: in their attempt to delineate the liability of Internet providers and websites, the new rules for “intermediary due diligence” actually add important new curbs on freedom of expression to Indian law. India’s Constitution recognises a fairly extensive list of so-called “reasonable restrictions” and these are more or less replicated in the Rules: “the sovereignty and integrity of India, the security of the State, friendly relations with foreign states, public order, decency or morality, or in relation to contempt of court, defamation or incitement to an offence”. But the Rules, which were never vetted by Parliament, do not limit themselves to these Constitutional provisions. Rather surprisingly, they add a whole new slew of qualifications, many of which are so vague, moreover, that they leave the door wide open to abuse. Thus, for example, the Rules impose a blanket ban on impersonation and make it illegal to share any information that is “grossly harmful”, “harassing”, “blasphemous”, “disparaging” or “insulting any other nation”. None of these terms have been explained or defined.

Lacking the precision that would allow citizens to precisely regulate their behaviour in line with the law, overly broad regulations such as these are widely believed to have a chilling effect: in order not to violate the law, people begin to censor themselves—to keep quiet rather than protesting or engaging. But in this particular case, the effects are likely to be particularly pernicious because of a second provision made by the Rules: wherever an intermediary receives a complaint claiming that any information they store, host or publish contravenes the provisions of the Rules, the intermediary is required to take down this information within 36 hours. Censorship, in other words, will effectively be privatised.

The prospect is all the more depressing because the intermediaries have little incentive to resist participating in such censorship. Given the restrictions on free speech that are effectively enforced within Indian society by vigilante groups, especially in the last two decades, the possible impact of these rules is even more frightening. If Facebook has little reason to uphold your right to maintain a page that is critical of say, Gandhiji, what prevents vigilante groups from policing our lives online even more than they do offline? The only recourse available to the owner of the confiscated information will be going to court—meaning that defending one’s own freedom of speech online will require endless litigation.

These are worrying omens, in other words, for those who believe that freedom of expression is the cornerstone of democracy. But to what extent do these new provisions represent a radical break with India’s existing restrictions on free speech? Since its founding, the independent Indian nation-state has wielded censorship as a tool to both contain the conflicts that emanate from India’s tremendous diversity and to ensure its homogeneous social, moral and political development. If the list of reasonable restrictions in the Constitution is fairly long, this is because the country’s lawmakers were clear at the time of Independence that freedom of expression would need to be subordinated to the social reforms necessary to put the country on Nehru’s path to development. India’s far-reaching anti-hate speech laws, too, derive from the desire to combat ill will and disharmony. Since the Internet now makes it so much easier to publish opinions that are hurtful, or indeed “grossly harmful” or “disparaging”, the new Rules can in many ways be seen as an attempt to continue this strategy in the Internet age.

The problem, however, is that irrespective of the merits of such a strategy in the past, within the radically altered communicative context of the Internet, it is simply no longer feasible. As the Internet guru Clay Shirky has argued, earlier systems of media and communication worked on a “filter, then publish” principle. Because publishing a newspaper, for example, is expensive, editors and journalists take upon themselves the role of filtering out the “worthwhile” from the “not-so-worthwhile”. Without them making that vital differentiation between “news” and “information” on the one hand and “drivel” on the other, newspapers would simply not be viable. In the Internet age, however, this principle has been reversed. The arrival of social media especially has made it so easy and cheap for anyone to share their opinions that the mantra now is: first publish, then filter. The gatekeeper role of the traditional media stands much reduced.

For the Indian government’s strategy of using censorship as a tool to mitigate social conflict, this shift has two important consequences. The first one is quantitative: it means that there are now far more speech acts to police. That undoubtedly has made the state’s task much more difficult. But there is also a second, qualitative difference: it also means that whether the government approves of this or not, there will now be a far wider range of people who will make their voices heard, and thus, a far wider range of opinions that will be expressed in the public sphere. And it is precisely to stop such a diversity from emerging that much censorship in India has been justified over the years. As a 1980 report of the Working Group on National Film Policy argued: “if the overall objective of censorship is to safeguard generally accepted standards of morality and decency, in addition to the well recognised interests of the State, the standards of censorship applicable to freedom of expression cannot be very much ahead of the standards of behaviour commonly accepted in society. Censorship can become liberal only to the extent society itself becomes genuinely liberal”.

What such statements conveniently elide, of course, is the enormous diversity within Indian society itself. Whose standards of behaviour are they thinking of? Kashmiri, Manipuri, Chhattisgarhi? Gandhian, feminist, communist? Adivasi, Muslim, Dalit? Who represents this community of the nation? Censorship always benefits the status quo, and the Indian case has been no different. The rise of the Internet has merely revealed, with increasing frequency, cracks in the supposedly uniform moral, social and political development of India that the government envisioned. If the old censorship regime is to nevertheless be maintained in this new context, it will therefore increasingly require the active chilling of freedom of expression on the part of the state. What the uproar surrounding the Internet Control Rules makes clear is that in the Internet age, as before, this is an unacceptable route for a modern democracy. A new model to deal with diversity and dissent is urgently required.

What makes our democracy? With the undeniable challenges that the Internet throws to our established ways of operating, it is time to reopen this debate as a society, rather than leaving it to politicians and bureaucrats. The open forum of the Internet may often offend, or rattle our sensibilities and beliefs, but it also presents new possibilities for engagement and debate. Will we take this opportunity?

Read the original here

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/internet-governance/blog/the-present-and-future-dangers-of-indias-draconian-new-internet-regulations

The Perils of 'Hactivism'

Chinmayi Arun — 2012-08-20T09:58:55Z

Civil disobedience includes accepting the penalty for breaking the law. Untraceable hackers are far removed from this ethic.

Chinmayi Arun's article was published in LiveMint on August 20, 2012.

Earlier this year, India had an encounter with “Anonymous”, a diffuse alliance of what are commonly (and incorrectly) called hackers. In its much-publicized “Operation India”, Anonymous blocked public access to, hacked and defaced various websites in protest against the rising censorship of the Internet. This is a legitimate political cause. However, a movement cannot be judged purely by the legitimacy of its goals, and it is important to consider the legitimacy of the means used to achieve these goals.

Anonymous used distributed denial of service (DDoS) attacks to submerge, albeit temporarily, many websites. The DDoS attack bombards the target website with more user requests than it can bear, until it becomes unavailable to all others. Many compare this to picketing, and use the term “virtual sit-in” for it. The DDoS attack does not breach a website’s security, and is therefore not hacking (more correctly called “cracking”). In contrast, defacement of websites, deletion of data or leaking restricted data, entails hacking, which involves breaching a website’s security and is more analogous to breaking and entering physical premises. Anonymous has done this too in India—defacing some websites and leaking confidential data from others.

There are a few crucial differences between picketing as civil disobedience, and the DDoS attack. One is that picketing requires many people to come together and sit in protest. One or two peace protesters cannot successfully block a road. Although there was a time when DDoS attacks also required a large number of people to bombard the target, they can now be achieved by one person with the technological skills to “fire” a large number of computers at the target website.Therefore, a DDoS attack no longer implies that a sizeable section of the public cares enough to be part of a virtual sit-in.

The second difference between DDoS attacks and civil disobedience lies in the “hacktivists” unwillingness to be accountable. Martin Luther King and Gandhi made it clear that civil disobedience includes accepting the penalty for breaking the law. Faceless untraceable hackers are far removed from this ethic. While it is true that they risk harsh reprisal if identified, the legitimacy and heroic aura of civil disobedience comes from the willingness to risk that reprisal.

It may therefore be difficult to argue that even the DDoS attacks by Anonymous qualify as civil disobedience, which arguably is the most legitimate of the spectrum of options available to a political dissident. If political activists use varied and escalating tactics in the physical world, “hacktivists” use strategies ranging from DDoS to more intrusive defacement, disabling and leaking of data to draw attention to political causes. The legitimacy of these methods—the proportionality and justification of harm caused—can only be determined with reference to particular contexts. One has to evaluate the threat necessitating activism, innocent casualties of the activists’ actions and whether less harmful strategies have already been explored. This is difficult. For instance, the indirect repercussions of a DDoS attack or leaking data may not be apparent at first glance.

Anonymous tried setting boundaries to avoid harming innocent citizens during Operation India. It declared that infrastructure websites such as the railway booking portal were not to be attacked, and it prevented disclosure of sensitive financial information when a cinema tickets database was hacked. These precautions, though laudable, are however not quite enough. The influential members of Anonymous cannot successfully identify every action that may cause public harm. For instance, when Anonymous attacked the Supreme Court of India and the Reserve Bank of India websites, it seemed ignorant of the potential impact on litigants and the economy. When it leaked confidential police records, it seemed unaware of the significant hazards of leaking people’s names, addresses and other private data. The precautions taken by Anonymous may vanish next time, since the loosely knit, ever-changing nature of Anonymous community means that power and influence can shift; splinter groups with fewer scruples can emerge. Anonymous cannot achieve the control and accountability possible in a more tangible organized group.

This collective operates under disturbingly low levels of transparency and accountability, greatly exacerbated by its ability to veil itself in the shadows of the Internet. New recruits are sometimes endangered by misleading information about the legality and consequences of joining in DDoS attacks. Guerilla warfare is often used without properly exploring more peaceable means, thanks to the power and revenge mob-ethic by which Anonymous is driven. The use of technological arsenal to launch cyber-attacks ignores the likelihood of escalation— “hacktivists” tend to forget that technology is a neutral tool that governments can also use. The government may counter-attack, using its considerable resources to acquire the necessary technological capacity. Citizens may end up being the casualties of the exchange.

Phase one of Operation India was riddled with moral ambiguity. If OpIndia participants wish to show the world that they are more than bored nerds playing at a social movement like it is a video game, with all the accompanying air-punching, adrenaline boosting, self-aggrandising thrills, they will ensure that phase two’s constructive and legitimate Right to Information campaign is a roaring success.

Chinmayi Arun is an assistant professor of law at National Law University, Delhi and a Fellow at the Centre for Internet and Society, Bangalore

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/internet-governance/www-livemint-com-chinmayi-arun-aug-20-2012-perils-of-hactivism

The noose tightens on freedom of speech on the Internet

praskrishna — 2015-03-27T01:06:52Z

A WORRYING trend has emerged in the last few years, where intermediaries around the world are being used as chokepoints to restrict freedom of expression online, and to hold users accountable for content.

The blog post by Gabey Goh was published by Digital News Asia on March 26, 2015. Jyoti Panday gave her inputs.

“All communication across the Internet is facilitated by intermediaries: Service providers, social networks, search engines, and more,” said Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF) senior global policy analyst Jeremy Malcolm.

“These services are all routinely asked to take down content, and their policies for responding are often muddled, heavy-handed, or inconsistent.

“That results in censorship and the limiting of people’s rights,” he told Digital News Asia (DNA) on the sidelines of RightsCon, an Internet and human rights conference hosted in Manila from March 24-25.

This year, the government of France is moving to implement regulation that makes Internet operators ‘accomplices’ of hate-speech offences if they host extremist messages.

In February, the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) and the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) urged ICANN (the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers) to ensure that domain name registries and registrars “investigate copyright abuse complaints and respond appropriately.”

Closer to home, the Malaysian Government passed a controversial amendment to the Evidence Act 1950 – Section 114A – back in 2012.

Under Section 114A, an Internet user is deemed the publisher of any online content unless proven otherwise. The new legislation also makes individuals and those who administer, operate or provide spaces for online community forums, blogging and hosting services, liable for content published through their services.

Due to the potential negative impact on freedom of expression, a roadmap called the Manila Principles on Internet Liability was launched during RightsCon.

The EFF, Centre for Internet Society India, Article 19, and other global partners unveiled the principles, whose framework outlines clear, fair requirements for content removal requests and details how to minimise the damage a takedown can do.

For example, if content is restricted because it’s unlawful in one country or region, then the scope of the restriction should be geographically limited as well.

The principles also urge adoption of laws shielding intermediaries from liability for third-party content, which encourages the creation of platforms that allow for online discussion and debate about controversial issues.

“Our goal is to protect everyone’s freedom of expression with a framework of safeguards and best practices for responding to requests for content removal,” said Malcolm.

Jyoti Panday from the Centre for Internet and Society India noted that people ask for expression to be removed from the Internet for various reasons, good and bad, claiming the authority of myriad local and national laws.

“It’s easy for important, lawful content to get caught in the crossfire. We hope these principles empower everyone – from governments and intermediaries, to the public – to fight back when online expression is censored,” she said.

The Manila Principles can be summarised in six key points:

Intermediaries should be shielded by law from liability for third-party content.

Content must not be required to be restricted without an order by a judicial authority.

Requests for restrictions of content must be clear, be unambiguous, and follow due process.

Laws and content restriction orders and practices must comply with the tests of necessity and proportionality.

Laws and content restriction policies and practices must respect due process.

Transparency and accountability must be built in to laws and content restriction policies and practices.

“Right now, different countries have differing levels of protection when it comes to intermediary liability, and we’re saying that there should be expansive protection across all content,” said Malcolm (pic).

“In addition, there is no logic in distinguishing between intellectual property (IP) and other forms of content as in the case in the United States for example, where under Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act, intermediaries are not liable for third party content but that doesn’t apply to IP,” he added.

The Manila Principles have two main targets: Governments and intermediaries themselves. The coalition, led by EFF, will be approaching governments to present the document and discuss the recommendations on how best to establish an intermediary liability regime.

This includes immunising intermediaries from liability and requiring a court order before any content can be taken down.

With intermediaries, the list includes companies such as Facebook, Twitter and Google, to discuss establishing transparency, responsibility and accountability in any actions taken.

“We recognise that a lot of the time, intermediaries are not waiting for a court order before taking down content, and we’re telling them to avoid removing content unless there is a sufficiently good reason and users have been notified and presented that reason,” said Malcolm.

The overall aim with the Manila Principles is to influence policy changes for the better.

Malcolm pointed out that by coincidence, some encouraging developments have taken place in India. On the same day the principles were released, the Indian Supreme Court struck down the notorious Section 66A of the country’s Information Technology Act.

Since 2009, the law had allowed both criminal charges against users and the removal of content by intermediaries based on vague allegations that the content was “grossly offensive or has menacing character,” or that false information was posted “for the purpose of causing annoyance, inconvenience, danger, obstruction, insult, injury, criminal intimidation, enmity, hatred or ill will.”

Calling it a “landmark decision”, Malcolm noted that the case shows why the establishment and promotion of the Manila Principles are important.

“Not only is the potential overreach of this provision obvious on its face, but it was, in practice, misused to quell legitimate discussion online, including in the case of the plaintiffs in that case – two young women, one of whom made an innocuous Facebook post mildly critical of government officials, and the other who ‘liked’ it,” he said.

The court however, upheld section 69A of the Act, which allows the Government to block online content; and Section 79(3), which makes intermediaries such as YouTube or Facebook liable for not complying with government orders for censorship of content.

Gabey Goh reports from RightsCon in Manila at the kind invitation of the South-East Asian Press Alliance or Seapa.

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/internet-governance/news/digital-news-asia-gabey-goh-march-26-2015-noose-tightens-on-freedom-of-speech-on-internet

The Making of an Asian City

nishant — 2012-08-10T08:33:48Z

Nishant Shah attended the conference on 'Pluralism in Asia: Asserting Transnational Identities, Politics, and Perspectives' organised by the Asia Scholarship Foundation, in Bangkok, where he presented the final paper based on his work in Shanghai. The paper, titled 'The Making of an Asian City', consolidates the different case studies and stories collected in this blog, in order to make a larger analyses about questions of cultural production, political interventions and the invisible processes that are a part of the IT Cities.

The Promise of Invisibility: The Making of an Asian IT City

Abstract: This paper understands that in emerging Asian contexts, the proliferation and adoption of Internet technologies leads to two distinct changes in the material (re)construction of the city:

1. Built Form of the City: The physical and material aspects of the city are restructured, redesigned and realigned to house the infrastructure of Internet Technology economies.

2. Governance and Administration: The technologies of governance (and also, the governance of technologies) that reconfigure the city for better control, regulation and containment of the subjects of the state.

These changes are articulated and understood, in contemporary scholarship and discourse, through the tropes of Access and Transparency, which propose Technology as neutral. These studies also locate technology as outside of the changing socio-political transformations that the city undergoes in its attempt to emerge as an IT City. The framework, by contextualising technology differently – in larger narratives of continuity and disruption – opens up a dialogue between cybercultures and social sciences to look at conditions of change It also shows how the It demonstrates how such an approach to technology studies enables new and nuanced forms of social sciences inquiry into processes like Dislocation and Migration, which have never addressed the technology question as central to the phenomena.

Context

The 21^st Century has seen accelerated urbanisation and spatial restructuration of cities in emerging information societies around the world. These cities are created as global hubs that shall not only house the Information and Communication Technology (ICT) infrastructure, but also embody the aesthetics, politics, practices and lifestyles that the global cultural revolutions are bringing in. The technologies are significantly involved in the production of the dominant, the hegemonic and the coercive, all under the rubric of economic growth and development, and have affected domains of life, labour and language (Foucault,1998) in different contexts. It is easy to trace the ways in which lifestyle, cultural expression (Bagga, 2005), texture of social interaction and mobilisation, and political and administrative reorganisation (Roy, 2005) have changed in emerging contexts like India and China.

The efforts at creating ‘global countries’ (Kalam, 2004) that can harness the powers of ICT, have lead to three distinct forms of changes. These changes can be seen in the built form of the city, in structures of governance and administration, and in attitudes and Imagination of technologies as they emerge in popular discourse and cultural production. Each of these changes is articulated and explained through the tropes of Transparency and Access. The paper has a specific interest in looking at sites of dislocation and migration, to illustrate the arguments it seeks to make. The paper relies on secondary and tertiary literature (often in translation), unstructured interviews and participant observation to make an argument about how the aesthetics, mechanics and political [i] imaginaries of technology are a part of the physically changing and transforming IT cities in Asia. In order to make the argument, however, a brief context that explains the material signification of these three kinds of changes, is necessary to be explicated.

Beyond the Blogosphere

There has been an equal amount of optimism and scepticism when it comes to talking about the new public spheres that emerge with the Internet. Clubbed under the short-hand ‘Blogosphere’, both the evangelists and the critics of the blogosphere, have explored the Habermassian notion of the engaging public that is crafted with the emergence of new technologies of literacy, expression and participation. In many ways, the governance structures that have been discussed earlier, also endorse the positions taken by these interlocutors. However, much of the discourse, understands the blogosphere as contained in the digital domains. While a cause-and-effect model is often posited, the chief interest and focus remains on the new public, new voices and new spaces within the virtualities of the World Wide Web. This paper challenges such narrow definitions of the public sphere, and in fact, goes back to Habermass to locate technologies and public spaces within a certain historical context. In fact, this paper proposes that the increasing need for the faith in the blogosphere and the clamour that surrounds it is symptomatic of how the physical and built public spaces, in most Asian IT cities, is slowly diminishing.

In Shanghai, it is the loss of a political public space of socialist capital and industry that marks the beginning of this disappearance. 20 years ago, the announcer on every passenger train entering Shanghai would introduce the city as “the largest industrial city in China.” When W. E. B. Du Bois, an African-American writer, visited Shanghai in 1959, he was particularly invited to visit the balcony of Shanghai Mansion, which sits at the mouth of the Suzhou River and was the tallest building of its time, to catch a bird’s eye view of the new urban socialist landscape and the innumerable factory chimneys that speared the sky (Zhang, 2002).[ii] Indeed, an abundant number of factories, warehouses and dockyards cropped up in the three decades after 1950, and, together with the existing industrial constructions, made Shanghai a “new metropolis.” Some of them were clustered in suburban areas, more were scattered in the city area. Some were even squeezed into Longtangs (the narrow alleyways of old Shanghai). The industrial constructions include not only factory buildings but also workers’ residential buildings in factory-concentrated areas. The workers’ residential buildings were targeted primarily at the senior or skilled workers among the industrial population. Life in the residential buildings became an extension of factory life since neighbours were most probably co-workers in the same factory. It is precisely the great number of old and new industrial constructions and the rhythmic life going on in them that composed the socialist industrial space of Shanghai. Needless to say, it was the fastest growing space in the forty years after 1949.

However, nine out of ten such spaces have been wiped out during the fifteen-year urban renewal project, which is perhaps embodied in the restructuring of the Bund as a space of tourist attraction, and eventually the building of the Pudong skyline that has now become the iconic face of the city (Yatsko, 1996, pp 59).[iii] Factories—let alone warehouses—within the Inner Ring Road have either closed down or been removed. With the closing of the factories, the workers also have no place to work anymore. Dr. Wang XiaoMing, in his essay on the changing public space mentions how, once the factory he worked in “had its signboard removed in 1997, the workers have no place to work anymore. The inhabitants of Caoyang New Village have thrown away the signboard off the gate a long time ago and could barely remember that the place was once called the “Workers New Village.” Large factories located on the outskirts of the city are mostly shut down and the places are as quiet as cemeteries” (forthcoming, 2010).

As Americanised industrial parks sprout up in places such as the Pudong District of Shanghai, and Kunshan and Suzhou to the north of Shanghai, the socialist industrial space is shrinking rapidly both within and without Shanghai. Another space that has significantly diminished is the public political space. One of the most important requirements socialism places on urban space is to be able to facilitate large-scale political rallies and parades (Kewen 2006 and Liang 1959).[iv]

Therefore, apart from industrial constructions, the most eye-catching constructions in Shanghai’s new urban constructions from the 1950s to the 1960s were squares and large meeting halls, which include the People’s Square, the Sino-Russian Friendship Building, the Cultural Plaza, and so on.[v] Moreover, government agencies of all levels and factories endeavoured to build conference halls of various sizes for political meetings by transforming theatre halls or building new ones. In the past, tens of thousands of people have paraded down the People’s Square to pay tribute to the officials perched high above on reviewing stands. People rallying in various meeting halls, changing slogans to express joy, and echoing the instructions from the speakers on stage, were frequent occurrences. During the Cultural Revolution, the Rebels staged the final resistance here; in the late 1980s, fervent university students had swarmed into People’s Square to turn it into a place of revelry (Feuchtwang, 2004).

In the blink of an eye, these histories have faded from the public memory and been completely erased from the city’s architectural space. Sino-Russia Friendship Building is renamed Shanghai Exhibition Center, which hosts a constant blur of Expos. After repeated segmentation, People’s Square is now only a nominal square with a long and narrow driveway and most of its space has been occupied by new buildings such as the majestic Shanghai Grand Theatre, the Shanghai Museum, the sunken commercial street and a parking lot. Cultural Plaza was first transformed into a large flower market which was later torn down and pushed to a corner to make way for the new “Music Plaza.” With mass meetings completely eradicated from the life of Shanghai’s residents, the numerous assembly halls and meeting places of various sizes have naturally been restructures for other purposes. People participate with zeal in large assemblies such as concerts, performance competitions, and so on, which have nothing to do with public politics. It is even possible to say that the audience’s shrieks in the stadium symbolize the massive decrease of the public political space in both architectural and spiritual sense (Tang, 2009, pp 327).

Another cluster of spaces that have significantly disappeared are the gossip centres concentrated in areas such as the mouth of NongTang, Lao Hu Zhao [vi], variety store and lane. It is a cultural given that the Shanghainese like to strike up a conversation with strangers and to engage in gossip; this is indeed one of the city’s hallmarks. The Shanghainese can always spare time for gossip: no matter how busy the atmosphere is, there are always some people who loiter around with hands in pockets; even the working class who work from dawn to dusk like to exchange a few words with their neighbours after work. It so happened that the living space was very cramped for the Shanghainese after the 1950s.[vii] The rich can idle away their time in places such as cinemas whereas the low-income people can only manage to find a free space of leisure near their residences. The first choice is the mouth of NongTang adjacent to the footpath, from which all the comings and goings of residents and the traffics on the streets could be perceived. There will always be a Lao Hu Zhao near the mouth of a big NongTang, where you can sit for a whole afternoon and exchange hearsays with neighbours coming for hot water over a cup of tea; or there is a family-run variety store whose female boss is quite fond of trading rumours and gossip with customers across the narrow counter. In times of local or national crises, this is always the first place where the news is spread and gets distorted.

Things have now changed. Lao Huo Zhaos are gone. Variety stores are quickly replaced by different kinds of convenience stores (Huang, 2004, pp 49-50). Although many similar or even smaller family-run variety stores are opened at the newly-formed district bordering the city, a stable communication space cannot form in these stores since the male or female boss is mostly “non-native population”[viii], who not only is unable to blend in with the local residents but also may move away at any time. Although being one of the hallmarks of old Shanghai houses, the nongtangs have been pulled down in large numbers. Those narrow, winding streets have been either diverted, or straightened and widened. Shabby houses on both sides of the streets have disappeared. Also gone are the hustle and bustle, the interfusion of public and private space, and street gossips, which have been replaced by heavy traffic with exhaust gas and noise. With the increasingly neat arrangement of construction space within the city, the influx of transient population, residents increasingly accustomed to shutting doors to the world and to their neighbours, the overwhelming clamour in the media, and the young people’s addiction to internet and game bars, the space where rumours and gossips are spread via mouths and pointing fingers is naturally contracted (Yeung, 1996, pp. 78-84).

These old spaces of early Shanghainese modernity are quickly replaced by three new built forms. The first are the various above-ground, underground, and overhead expressways. Intersecting and intertwining together, they make the whole city look as if it were trapped in a python’s nest. The second thing that comes to the mind is commercial space.[ix] Shopping malls[x] line both the sides of the streets in downtown Shanghai, whereas hypermarkets cluster at the periphery of the city (Diao, 2006)[xi]. With the speedy expansion of space (Li, 2006)[xii], the style of constructions are increasingly uniform: nearly all of them name themselves “squares”; shopping malls are lined with chain stores on every level; chain supermarkets create mazes of different sizes with dense goods shelves; in office buildings, glass doors and plastic boards partition the office into many honeycomb-like cubicles, making the people working in them increasingly look like worker bees; the hospitality industry is overwhelmed with chain hotels of similar facilities and styles, even customers often forget which hotel they stay in last time (Fulong, 1999). The accelerated standardization process in Shanghai’s space highlights a tendency to obtain the standard outlook of the imagined “international metropolis” and an urgency to erase the distinct features inherited from the past.

Thirdly, the office space of governments and state monopolies expands in a unique sense: although the floor area has increased significantly[xiii], it is the upgrading and the move towards luxury that marks the change. Since the early 1990s, luxurious office buildings with halls paved with marble floor, central air conditioning system, shiny wood floors, CEO office suite with separate bathroom, were built first by banks, then revenue departments, telecommunication agencies, newspapers offices, television stations, courts, and police stations of different levels, and at last governments of municipal, district and even lower levels.[xiv] Not only the connotation of “work” has been enriched, but also other business spaces outside the office have expanded with restaurants, coffee bars, official reception hotels, training centers and vacation centers located in the office buildings or on the outskirts of town or other cities (Leaf, 1997, pp. 156-159).

The changes in the built form of the new IT City that has emerged, are particularly important because they signal the ways in which certain kinds of populations are made redundant in the city as it grows physically more hostile to their life in it. The erasure of histories, of public spaces, of spaces of political negotiation is symptomatic of the new ideologies, policies and dreams that Shanghai-Pudong embody. Most of the studies that look at these changes, concentrate only on the physical and material aspects of it, and ignore the aesthetics, politics, and changes that Internet technologies are bringing in, not only in the imagination of what constitutes a city, but also in the material and lived practices of the people in it (Appadurai, 1990). Government policies that ignore technologies, come to dead-ends in their intervention, as they fail to recognise the new geographies and terrains that the technology users navigate through. Interventions by the Development Sector or the Civil Society Movements often fail to recognise the structures of governance as informed by internet technologies, thus perpetrating the very evils that they fight against. Dislocation and Migration, which are complex issues, get reduced to only geography and physical places – leading to a simplified structure of rehabilitation, largely propelled by the vocabulary of the market and the state. Remunerations, economic rights and livelihood are the only questions addressed. In the process Community rights, structures of communication and networking, relationships within families and societies, ineffable ties and bonds that keep the communities coherent – these affective categories which are dislocated and forced to migrate because of the presence of technologies, fail to register either in the scholarship or in the practices in these areas.

This is where the blogosphere needs to be located – as not merely producing a new space of engagement, but helping in recovering the lost spaces of public participation and community communication. The blogosphere is not merely the invention of a technology marked digital native or the discovery of groups seeking alternative narratives. It is recognition of the fact that the regular mainstream public discourse, interacts with the social transformations and politics of our time and depend on the sustenance of public spheres for the socio-cultural categories like communities, neighbourhoods, public space, etc. to survive. The blogosphere, in the quickly changing, hyper-real landscape of Shanghai-Pudong’s geography is the new variety store, the new location for the Lao Hu Zhao and the space that the labyrinthine networks of nongtangs are mapped on.

e-Governance and its discontents

The change in the physical reorganisation of the city is not only a pragmatic decision. This disappearance of the public space of gossip, information dissemination and distortion, of informal conversations and deliberations tied in closely to the three levels of government in Shanghai – district government, street office and alley office – being able to increasingly control the leisure life of the Shanghainese through administrative planning and organisation (Zhang, 2004). There is a clear link between the government’s imagination of its own territory, the notion of the citizen who is to occupy these spaces, and the material practices that happen in these technology marked spaces (Feuchtwang, 2004). While it is an acknowledged fact that the Chinese government does not follow the structures and paradigms that a North-Western Democratic Liberal ideology that has produced the category of Nation-State in most contemporary discourse, there are still two specific forms of technology inflected governance structures which China seems to share with other contexts which might be geo-politically different.

The e-Governance models, which find resonances in most emerging contexts in the Global South, seem to develop two simultaneous and often ironically related approaches towards citizenship and administration, especially in the context of China. With its already forked governance policies, which treat HongKong – its colonial success story – differently from the rest of Mainland China (and the added complication of Taiwan) the governance structures are marked by technology in significant ways. These structures are suffused with irony, because of the tropes of transparency and invisibility that they use to articulate their rationale and processes.

The first is the approach of Rural Development through ICT networks, positing an access based model of participatory citizenship (Tarlo, 2003) and continuing the Development rhetoric of uplift and reform of the deprived citizen. This particular kind of governance structure re-imagines the beneficiary of state/government processes as existing in a condition of invisibility, and outside of the folds of technology. The particular emphasis on e-government, while it is located in the urban settings, is actually intended for reaching the citizen in the remote parts of the country, who does not have any engagement or direct interaction with processes of governance. Despite China’s three tiered government structure, the imagination of e-governance hold a strong currency because it makes visible, the people, practices and communities which otherwise exist in the subliminal and grey areas which were hitherto not in the focus of the government. Fuelling the rhetoric of e-government is the premium on information dissemination and transparent administration in order to enhance the domains of life and labour in the rural parts of the country.

This approach draws its strength from the Development agenda of reform and uplift as it markedly emphasises the distance between the ‘haves and the have-nots’. However, the valourisation of transparency goes hand-in-glove with the production of the invisible (but cognisable) citizen who needs to be reproduced within the paradigms of technology. The peasant, who has been at the back-bone of China’s socialist political ideology, under this new articulation of transparency, becomes invisible – robbed of the historicity, the cultural iconoclasms and the empowerment that such policies earlier provided. Instead, the peasant becomes a worker who needs to be rehabilitated into the changing geographies of Pudong, the new IT city that requires a worker equipped with new skills and lifestyles. This approach draws its strength from the Developmental agenda of reform and uplift as it markedly emphasises the distance between the ‘haves and the have-nots’ (Jaswal, 2005) and offers ICT enabled development as the panacea for the problems of unemployment, illiteracy, chronic poverty, etc. This approach is made manifest in the establishment of Telecentre kiosks, rural BPOs, e-literacy schools and mobile vans, setting up of mobile and internet technology centres, digitisation of the state’s resources, digital access centres to important data-sets, initiation of projects like ‘One Home One Computer’, the e-literacy campaigns, and the building of special economic zones (SEZ) and IT Corridors under the aegis of e-governance (Hawks, 2009).

The second approach is invested in the massive restructuration of the urban spaces to create infrastructure that attracts foreign investment and ICT enabled multinational corporations. This approach uses the language of creating a S.M.A.R.T. (Smart, Moral, Accountable, Responsive, Transparent) State, modelling the new spaces and politics around the new models of capital modernity (Appadurai, 1996) like Singapore, Shanghai, Tokyo and Taipei. This model is nuanced by a vocabulary of ‘global citizenship and globalised economy’ (Abbas, 1997), glorifying the new economic opportunities, flows of foreign capital, enhancement of lifestyle, and the promise of hypervisibility in the globalisation networks. The building up of network-neighbourhoods (Doheny-Farina, 1996), spaces of incessant commercial consumption, post modern digitalised aesthetics of living and housing, (Mitchell, 1996) infrastructure for ICT augmented lifestyles, spaces for sculpting hyperspatial bodies, and recreational zones that offer apolitical aesthetics of living (Chua, 2000), are all a part of this restructuration.

Contemporary analyses that deploy both these approaches are often contained within the language and the universes created by these approaches. Studies on e-governance concentrate on the processes of infrastructure development, the economic parameters of efficient administration, questions of rights and transparency and impact analyses of the public private partnership which is at the basis of most e-governance projects in India. Urban restructuration has found critique from disciplines that focus largely upon the promissory implementation of State policies, on the imbalance in the urban eco-systems, the new patterns of migration in the city, the cultural and class mobility that the new economies offer, and the emergence of the new middle class that becomes the figurehead of the IT revolution (Huang, 2005). Most studies look upon technology as incidental or instrumental; a tool towards an end. The relationship between ICTs and the State, and the kind of technosocial evolution they produce are generally zones of silence in most discourse. Both these discourses produce a certain hyper-visual citizen subject who is either the champion of the new Information societies or the victim of the digital divide that has ensued.

ICTs are often posited as neutral and transparent because they allow us to look at these two kinds of citizenships on the opposite end of the digital spectrum. It can be argued that the divides of ICTs are transparent and hence it offers clearly defined spaces of intervention and uplift. The development sector around the world has accepted this as a given and hence, along with the Governments, they have also been urging a blanket development of infrastructure of access to technology for a particular section of the society, in an attempt to ‘cure’ certain long standing problems. As in the case of India, China is also fuelled by this transparency rhetoric, which allows for the production of the power-user versus the un-networked and has pinned its hopes on the transformative powers of Internet Technologies. With more than two decades of ICT development in the country, and especially in spaces like Shanghai-Pudong, behind them, China seems to be facing a moment of crisis. On the one hand is its promotion and adoption of internet and digital technologies, which encourages younger users entering in “schools, colleges, universities and workforces to transform the economic conditions” (Heng, 2006). On the other hand is the imagination of these IT forces as transgressive, uncontrollable and in need of constant supervision in order to retain existing government-citizenship relationships and power structures. In the middle of this crisis, is another factor that the obvious suspects and users of technology, who are more under the radar, are not the people who are deploying technologies for political negotiation and using technology platforms for political mobilisation. Despite the efforts at green-washing its technologies and the production of the infamous Great Fire-wall of China, there has been a sustained use of internet technologies for resistance and subversion.

The spaces for subversion rises from the fact that with the making of the IT city, there has been a complex phenomenon of dislocation and migration, as several communities were made redundant in the logic of the IT City and were removed from the city. Many people from these communities re-entered the city as the new IT workforce after going through a ‘rehabilitation’ and ‘skill building’ to not only be a part of the IT labour groups but also to support the IT industry in the construction of the physical infrastructure. Moreover, there has been a steady flow of anonymous ‘outsiders’ who have found homes in the older nontangs and factories, and are in the subliminal zones of regulation. As the city is re-formed to make these people invisible (Abbas, 1997), their leisure space and time shrink and they find themselves increasingly forming the new prosumers of internet in Shanghai. However, in the transparency discourse that unfolds, these populations remain invisible and find spaces of resistance and political negotiation that their invisible status provides them. The promise of Invisibility that treats them as Wetware (the biological combination of a network consisting of Software and Hardware), allows for hope in the otherwise diminishing spaces of political articulation in a growing authoritarian regime in China.

Invisibility, Transparency and the Internet

The paper ends by re-formulating the relationship between the making of an IT City and the way in which transparency as a rhetoric and technology-as-instrumental method fail to account for the different kinds of changes that accompany the restructuring of these cities. On the one hand, there is shrinkage of physical space and built form, as new forms of technology infrastructure, global lifestyle and late capitalistic economies expand to fill up the spaces which were earlier available for political mobilisation, organisation and inhabitation. On the other, there is a diminishing political landscape, where, with the integration of the government with the market, there is a tendency to establish larger regulation and censorship in order to retain the status quo relationship between the government and the citizen, in the face of massive governance transition. Both these conditions are produced by the rise and spread of Information Technologies.

In the process, there are also only two kinds of citizenships that are addressed by the e-governance structures which work on a double edge: Firstly, they make the direct access (defined either by abundance or lack of access) citizenships hyper-visual, robbing them of nuances and looking upon them as implicated only in the discursive practices of Internet technologies. Second, they render invisible, the other supporting structures in order to highlight and focus on the economic development and growth propelled by the rise of the IT industries. In other words, they make the citizens who are central to the discourse, invisible, by treating them as embodiments of the new economic markets and aspirations, removing them from their traditional contexts, histories and spaces. Moreover, they make invisible/transparent, populations who are not marked by the aura of the Internet technologies, in order to bring into focus, the extraordinary changes – both in the physical built form as well as in the realms of governance – that have been initiated and accomplished with the making of the IT City Shanghai-Pudong.

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[i] The project wants to emphasize that it is not attempting a historiography of the building of the IT City of Shanghai-Pudong. Instead, by drawing selectively, different ways in which the technology imaginaries (technopolises, intellectual labour, globally homogenous geographies and time-lines, bodies marked by technology in their material practices, etc ) of the Internet, find structure and form in the emerging IT cities in Asia.

[ii] Zhang Chunqiao, Secretary of the Culture and Education Department of the Shanghai Municipal Committee who accompanied DuBois to Shanghai Mansion, specially mentioned DuBois’ visit in an article entitled “To Climb the New Summit of Victory.”.

[iii] In 1994, one Shanghai government officer stated, “the government plans to remove or close down two thirds of the factories located within [the range of] 106 square kilometers from the city centre, namely, within the Inner Ring Road.”. Due to different reasons (one of the main reasons is the increase of transferee cost because unsolved problems, such as the proper placement of a large number of former workers, have been bundled with the factory buildings and factory land), some factories still remain in their original places, although most of them have already stopped manufacturing and the workers dismissed. The industrial life/space has disappeared with the disappearance of the factories. Ruins of this life/space become some sort of commodity only because the land under the ruins still has some value.

[iv] On the day (1 October 1949) of the founding of the People’s Republic of China, Mao Zedong suggested rebuilding Tiananmen Square and making it a “grand and magnificent square.” See (Kewen, 2006). Liang Sicheng, who always insisted on preserving the old Beijing and opposed massive makeover, finally realized that the makeover was never about architecture but about politics: “As for the scale of Tiananmen Square … apart from considering the scale of man as a biological being and the scale of construction appropriate to the man’s physiology, we should also take into account the scale for the great collective requested by the political men in the new society.” Liang, 1959, pp 12).

[v] The People’s Square, transformed in 1953 from the original racecourse (which was nationalized in 1951 by the Municipal Military Control Commission), surrounded by woods, and paved with tiled and cemented floor, is the largest public space in Shanghai and can accommodate over one million people. The Sino-Russian Friendship Building, which was built in 1955 and was covering an area of 80,000 square meters, was the city’s largest building after the liberation of Shanghai and still ranks top in terms of its indoor space in today’s Shanghai. The Cultural Plaza, transformed in 1952 from the Greyhound Racecourse, had 12,500 seats and was the largest indoor hall in Shanghai.

[vi] It is a unique store that sells boiled water in Shanghai.

[vii] Shanghai’s housing shortage started in the early 20th century instead of the 1950s. The living space within Shanghai city is 16,100,000 square meters in total but 3.9 square meters per capita. During the 32 years from 1952 to 1985, 21,720,000 square meters of housing were built within the city and the registered population increased from 5,300,000 to 6,980,000. The housing shortage was still serious since by 1985, the living space had only reached 5.4 square meters per capita. (SSY, 1986). What needs to be clarified is that the statics of 1949 does not include the shabby slum houses commonly referred to as “gun di long.”

[viii] This is an increasingly popular new word in Shanghai over the last 20 years, which refers to the people who come from other provinces, especially the rural areas, and live in Shanghai but do not have permanent residence in Shanghai. According to the Shanghai Statistics Bureau’s report on March 2006, the immigrating labor population in Shanghai was 3,750,000. 2,840,000 of this population is in the manufacturing, construction, retail, and catering industry and engaged in low-income manual work. The immigrating population should be over 4 million if the large number of people (such as those in the household service business) and their children be taken into calculation.

[ix] In Shanghai, the floor area of shops has increased seven-fold from 4,030,000 square meters in 1990 to 2,857,000 square meters in 2004 and that of hotels has increased three-fold from 6,580,000 square meters in 1990 to 2,204,000 square meters in 2004. The increase of commercial space is even greater if that of commercial office buildings is calculated as well. (SSY(a), 2005, pp. 198)

[x] Take the area around Zhongshan Park for example, although it was one of the earliest developed leisure areas in Shanghai, there was only one small department store in the mid-1980s and the retail business developed slowly. However, within these ten years, with the completion of Zhongshan Park Station along the subway line 2 and light rail line 3, five multi-story shopping malls have been built, all within a radius of 500 meters. The newest among them is a 58-storey building with four levels of basement and nine levels of shopping mall.

[xi] By the end of 2005, hypermarkets measuring over 5000 square meters within Shanghai have reached 97 and 28 more have chosen their locations and would be opened soon. Because of a large number of hypermarkets and the intense competition brought about, a considerable number of them mainly profit from land appreciation rather than from retail.

[xii] By the end of 2005, the commercial real estate in Shanghai has reached a total of 2,900,000 square meters with 2.6 square meters per capita, far exceeding Hong Kong’s 1.2 square meters per capita.

[xiii] Barely 6 million square meters in 1990, the floor area of office buildings in Shanghai reached a total of 4,012,000 square meters in 2004. See Shanghai Statistical Yearbook 2005. Edited by Shanghai Statistics Bureau, published by China Statistics Press in August 2005, p 198. The statistical material on the increase of floor area of commercial office building cannot be found for the present. Even if the material were obtained, it would not be enough since a large area of commercial office building has been rented by many state-owned monopoly agencies. However, the expansion of government office space is great even if it take up only one tenth of the space of office buildings.

[xiv] Such phenomenon exists not only in Shanghai but all over the country, especially in cities and towns of low economic level. The towering and luxurious government, bank, taxation, and police buildings create an ironic contrast with the low and shabby constructions close by.

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/research/grants/the-promise-of-invisibility-technology-and-the-city/finalpaper

The Last Word: Is there a need to review Information Technology Act?

praskrishna — 2012-11-21T12:10:15Z

Does the high-handed arrest of two young girls mean it's time to review and revise the IT Act?

Aryaman Sundaram, Pavan Duggal, Pranesh Prakash and Ravi Visvesvaraya Prasad took part in a discussion with Karan Thapar on section 66A of the IT Act. This was aired on CNN-IBN on November 20, 2012.

Pranesh Prakash said that it was just not a history of misuse of section 66A of the IT Act because that presumes that the law is otherwise fine and it has just been applied wrongly. This law is fundamentally flawed. It is unconstitutional. It is like a law in which there is a provision on rape, murder, theft, nuisance, everything put together in a single section with the same punishment being given for all of them. This obviously is not good law making but that is exactly what has been done in this case by taking bits from laws in the UK and from elsewhere and mashing them all up into one omnibust gargantuan monster which is unconstitutional.

Pranesh Prakash also added that the fact is that if you have bad laws they will be used to harass people. Having good law is one part of that. Apart from that there has been also other laws which have been misapplied in this case. In all these recent cases, section 66A of the IT Act wasn't the only provision used. This particular section has been used in conjunction with some other laws. So section 66A of the IT Act independently is not required. There are other laws in the Indian Penal Code and elsewhere which are usually enough to cover all the things that section 66A of the IT Act is right now covering. It is just an add on provision that really can't justify its existence unless it is really reduced in scope.

Watch the full video that was aired on CNN-IBN

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/news/ibnlive-videos-november-20-2012-the-last-word-is-there-a-need-to-review-information-technology-act

The Internet Has a New Standard for Censorship

jyoti — 2016-01-30T09:17:54Z

The introduction of the new 451 HTTP Error Status Code for blocked websites is a big step forward in cataloguing online censorship, especially in a country like India where access to information is routinely restricted.

The article was published in the Wire on January 29, 2016. The original can be read here.

Ray Bradbury’s dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451 opens with the declaration, “It was a pleasure to burn.” The six unassuming words offer a glimpse into the mindset of the novel’s protagonist, ‘the fireman’ Guy Montag, who burns books. Montag occupies a world of totalitarian state control over the media where learning is suppressed and censorship prevails. The title alludes to the ‘temperature at which book paper catches fire and burns,’ an apt reference to the act of violence committed against citizens through the systematic destruction of literature. It is tempting to think about the novel solely as a story of censorship. It certainly is. But it is also a story about the value of intellectual freedom and the importance of information.

Published in 1953, Bradbury’s story predates home computers, the Internet, Twitter and Facebook, and yet it anticipates the evolution of these technologies as tools for censorship. When the state seeks to censor speech, they use the most effective and easiest mechanisms available. In Bradbury’s dystopian world, burning books did the trick; in today’s world, governments achieve this by blocking access to information online. The majority of the world’s Internet users encounter censorship even if the contours of control vary depending on the country’s policies and infrastructure.

Online censorship in India

In India, information access blockades have become commonplace and are increasingly enforced across the country for maintaining political stability, for economic reasons, in defence of national security or preserving social values. Last week, the Maharashtra Anti-terror Squad blocked 94 websites that were allegedly radicalising the youth to join the militant group ISIS. Memorably, in 2015 the NDA government’s ham-fisted attempts at enforcing a ban on online pornography resulted in widespread public outrage. Instead of revoking the ban, the government issued yet another vaguely worded and in many senses astonishing order. As reported by Medianama, the revised order delegates the responsibility of determining whether banned websites should remain unavailable to private intermediaries.

The state’s shifting reasons for blocking access to information is reflective of its tendentious attitude towards speech and expression. Free speech in India is messily contested and normally, the role of the judiciary acts as a check on the executive’s proclivity for banning. For instance, in 2010 the Supreme Court upheld the Maharashtra High Court’s decision to revoke the ban on the book on Shivaji by American author James Laine, which, according to the state government, contained material promoting social enmity. However, in the context of communications technology the traditional role of courts is increasingly being passed on to private intermediaries.

The delegation of authority is evident in the government notifying intermediaries to proactively filter content for ‘child pornography’ in the revised order issued to deal with websites blocked as result of its crackdown on pornography. Such screening and filtering requires intermediaries to make a determination on the legality of content in order to avoid direct liability. As international best practices such as the Manila Principles on Intermediary Liability point out, such screening is a slow process and costly and intermediaries are incentivised to simply limit access to information.

Blocking procedures and secrecy

The constitutional validity of Section 69A of the Information Technology Act, 2008 which grants power to the executive to block access to information unchecked, and in secrecy was challenged in Shreya Singhal v. Union of India. Curiously, the Supreme Court upheld S69A reasoning that the provisions were narrowly-drawn with adequate safeguards and noted that any procedural inconsistencies may be challenged through writ petitions under Article 226 of the Constitution. Unfortunately as past instances of blocking under S69A reveal the provisions are littered with procedural deficiencies, amplified manifold by the authorities responsible for interpreting and implementing the orders.

Problematically, an opaque confidentiality criteria built into the blocking rules mandates secrecy in requests and recommendations for blocking and places written orders outside the purview of public scrutiny. As there are no comprehensive list of blocked websites or of the legal orders, the public has to rely on ISPs leaking orders, or media reports to understand the censorship regime in India. RTI applications requesting further information on the implementation of these safeguards have at best provided incomplete information.

Historically, the courts in India have held that Article 19(1)(a) of the Constitution of India is as much about the right to receive information as it is to disseminate, and when there is a chilling effect on speech, it also violates the right to receive information. Therefore, if a website is blocked citizens have a constitutional right to know the legal grounds on which access is being restricted. Just like the government announces and clarifies the grounds when banning a book, users have a right to know the grounds for restrictions on their speech online.

Unfortunately, under the present blocking regime in India there is no easy way for a service provider to comply with a blocking order while also notifying users that censorship has taken place. The ‘Blocking Rules’ require notice “person or intermediary” thus implying that notice may be sent to either the originator or the intermediary. Further, the confidentiality clause raises the presumption that nobody beyond the intermediaries ought to know about a block.

Naturally, intermediaries interested in self-preservation and avoiding conflict with the government become complicit in maintaining secrecy in blocking orders. As a result, it is often difficult to determine why content is inaccessible and users often mistake censorship for technical problem in accessing content. Consequently, pursuing legal recourse or trying to hold the government accountable for their censorious activity becomes a challenge. In failing to consider the constitutional merits of the confidentiality clause, the Supreme Court has shied away from addressing the over-broad reach of the executive.

Secrecy in removing or blocking access is a global problem that places limits on the transparency expected from ISPs. Across many jurisdictions intermediaries are legally prohibited from publicising filtering orders as well as information relating to content or service restrictions. For example in United Kingdom, ISPs are prohibited from revealing blocking orders related to terrorism and surveillance. In South Korea, the Korean Communications Standards Commission holds public meetings that are open to the public. However, the sheer volume of censorship (i.e. close to 10,000 URLs a month) makes it unwieldy for public oversight.

As the Manila Principles note, providing users with an explanation and reasons for placing restrictions on their speech and expression increases civic engagement. Transparency standards will empower citizens to demand that companies and governments they interact with are more accountable when it comes to content regulation. It is worth noting, for conduits as opposed to content hosts, it may not always be technically feasible for to provide a notice when content is unavailable due to filtering. A new standard helps improve transparency standards for network level intermediaries and for websites bound by confidentiality requirements. The recently introduced HTTP code for errors is a critical step forward in cataloguing censorship on the Internet.

A standardised code for censorship

On December 21, 2015, the Internet Engineering Standards Group (IESG) which is the organisation responsible for reviewing and updating the internet’s operating standards approved the publication of 451-’An HTTP Status Code to Report Legal Obstacles’. The code provides intermediaries a standardised way to notify users know when a website is unavailable following a legal order. Publishing the code allows intermediaries to be transparent about their compliance with court and executive orders across jurisdictions and is a huge step forward for capturing online censorship. HTTP code 451 was introduced by software engineer Tim Bray and the code’s name is an homage to Bradbury’s novel Fahrenheit 451.

Bray began developing the code after being inspired by a blog post by Terence Eden calling for a censorship error code. The code’s official status comes after two years of discussions within the technical community and is a result of campaigning from transparency and civil society advocates who have been pushing for clearer labelling of internet censorship. Initially, the code received pushback from within the technical community for reasons enumerated by Mark Nottingham, Chair of the IETF HTTP Working Group in his blog. However, soon sites began using the code on an experimental and unsanctioned basis and faced with increasing demand for and feedback, the code was accepted.

The HTTP code 451 works as a machine-readable flag and has immense potential as a tool for organisations and users who want to quantify and understand censorship on the internet. Cataloguing online censorship is a challenging, time-consuming and expensive task. The HTTP code 451 circumvents confidentiality obligations built into blocking or licensing regimes and reduces the cost of accessing blocking orders.

The code creates a distinction between websites blocked following a court or an executive order, and when information is inaccessible due to technical errors. If implemented widely, Bray’s new code will help prevent confusion around blocked sites. The code addresses the issue of the ISP’s misleading and inaccurate usage of Error 403 ‘Forbidden’ (to indicate that the server can be reached and understood the request, but refuses to take any further action) or 404 ‘Not Found’ (to indicate that the requested resource could not be found but may be available again in the future).

Adoption of the new standard is optional, though at present there are no laws in India that prevent intermediaries doing so. Implementing a standardised machine-readable flag for censorship will go a long way in bolstering the accountability of ISPs that have in the past targeted an entire domain instead of the specified URL. Adoption of the standard by ISPs will also improve the understanding of the burden imposed on intermediaries for censoring and filtering content as presently, there is no clarity on what constitutes compliance. Of course, censorious governments may prohibit the use of the code, for example by issuing an order that specifies not only that a page be blocked, but also precisely which HTTP return code should be used. Though such sanctions should be viewed as evidence of systematic rights violation and totalitarian regimes.

In India where access to software code repositories such as Github and Sourceforge are routinely restricted, the need for such code is obvious. The use of the code will improve confidence in blocking practices, allowing users to understand the grounds on which their right to information is being restricted. Improving transparency around censorship is the only way to build trust between the government and its citizens about the laws and policies applicable to internet content.

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/internet-governance/blog/the-wire-jyoti-panday-january-29-2016-internet-has-a-new-standard-for-censorship

The Humpty-Dumpty Censorship of Television in India

bhairav — 2015-11-29T08:37:53Z

The Modi government’s attack on Sathiyam TV is another manifestation of the Indian state’s paranoia of the medium of film and television, and consequently, the irrational controlling impulse of the law.

The article originally published in the Wire on September 8, 2015 was also mirrored on the website Free Speech/Privacy/Technology.

It is tempting to think of the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting’s (MIB) attack on Sathiyam TV solely as another authoritarian exhibition of Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government’s intolerance of criticism and dissent. It certainly is. But it is also another manifestation of the Indian state’s paranoia of the medium of film and television, and consequently, the irrational controlling impulse of the law.

Sathiyam TV’s transgressions

Sathiyam’s transgressions began more than a year ago, on May 9, 2014, when it broadcast a preacher saying of an unnamed person: “Oh Lord! Remove this satanic person from the world!” The preacher also allegedly claimed this “dreadful person” was threatening Christianity. This, the MIB reticently claims, “appeared to be targeting a political leader”, referring presumably to Prime Minister Modi, to “potentially give rise to a communally sensitive situation and incite the public to violent tendencies.”

The MIB was also offended by a “senior journalist” who, on the same day, participated in a non-religious news discussion to allegedly claim Modi “engineered crowds at his rallies” and used “his oratorical skills to make people believe his false statements”. According to the MIB, this was defamatory and “appeared to malign and slander the Prime Minister which was repugnant to (his) esteemed office”.

For these two incidents, Sathiyam was served a show-cause notice on 16 December 2014 which it responded to the next day, denying the MIB’s claims. Sathiyam was heard in-person by a committee of bureaucrats on 6 February 2015. On 12 May 2015, the MIB handed Sathiyam an official an official “Warning” which appears to be unsupported by law. Sathiyam moved the Delhi High Court to challenge this.

As Sathiyam sought judicial protection, the MIB issued the channel a second warning August 26, 2016 citing three more objectionable news broadcasts of: a child being subjected to cruelty by a traditional healer in Assam; a gun murder inside a government hospital in Madhya Pradesh; and, a self-immolating man rushing the dais at a BJP rally in Telangana. All three news items were carried by other news channels and websites.

Governing communications

Most news providers use multiple media to transmit their content and suffer from complex and confusing regulation. Cable television is one such medium, so is the Internet; both media swiftly evolve to follow technological change. As the law struggles to keep up, governmental anxiety at the inability to perfectly control this vast field of speech and expression frequently expresses itself through acts of overreach and censorship.

In the newly-liberalised media landscape of the early 1990s, cable television sprang up in a legal vacuum. Doordarshan, the sole broadcaster, flourished in the Centre’s constitutionally-sanctioned monopoly of broadcasting which was only broken by the Supreme Court in 1995. The same year, Parliament enacted the Cable Television Networks (Regulation) Act, 1995 (“Cable TV Act”) to create a licence regime to control cable television channels. The Cable TV Act is supplemented by the Cable Television Network Rules, 1994 (“Cable Rules”).

The state’s disquiet with communications technology is a recurring motif in modern Indian history. When the first telegraph line was laid in India, the colonial state was quick to recognize its potential for transmitting subversive speech and responded with strict controls. The fourth iteration of the telegraph law represents the colonial government’s perfection of the architecture of control. This law is the Indian Telegraph Act, 1885, which continues to dominate communications governance in India today including, following a directive in 2004, broadcasting.

Vague and arbitrary law

The Cable TV Act requires cable news channels such as Sathiyam to obey a list of restrictions on content that is contained in the Cable Rules (“Programme Code“). Failure to conform to the Programme Code can result in seizure of equipment and imprisonment; but, more importantly, creates the momentum necessary to invoke the broad powers of censorship to ban a programme, channel, or even the cable operator. But the Programme Code is littered with vague phrases and undefined terms that can mean anything the government wants them to mean.

By its first warning of May 12, 2015, the MIB claimed Sathiyam violated four rules in the Programme Code. These include rule 6(1)(c) which bans visuals or words “which promote communal attitudes”; rule 6(1)(d) which bans “deliberate, false and suggestive innuendos and half-truths”; rule 6(1)(e) which bans anything “which promotes anti-national attitudes”; and, rule 6(1)(i) which bans anything that “criticises, maligns or slanders any…person or…groups, segments of social, public and moral life of the country” (sic).

The rest of the Programme Code is no less imprecise. It proscribes content that “offends against good taste” and “reflects a slandering, ironical and snobbish attitude” against communities. On the face of it, several provisions of the Programme Code travel beyond the permissible restrictions on free speech listed in Article 19(2) of the Constitution to question their validity. The fiasco of implementing the vague provisions of the erstwhile section 66A of the Information Technology Act, 2000 is a recent reminder of the dangers presented by poorly-drafted censorship law – which is why it was struck down by the Supreme Court for infringing the right to free speech. The Programme Code is an older creation, it has simply evaded scrutiny for two decades.

The arbitrariness of the Programme Code is amplified manifold by the authorities responsible for interpreting and implementing it. An Inter-Ministerial Committee (IMC) of bureaucrats, supposedly a recommendatory body, interprets the Programme Code before the MIB takes action against channels. This is an executive power of censorship that must survive legal and constitutional scrutiny, but has never been subjected to it. Curiously, the courts have shied away from a proper analysis of the Programme Code and the IMC.

Judicial challenges

In 2011, a single judge of the Delhi High Court in the Star India case (2011) was asked to examine the legitimacy of the IMC as well as four separate clauses of the Programme Code including rule 6(1)(i), which has been invoked against Sathiyam. But the judge neatly sidestepped the issues. This feat of judicial adroitness was made possible by the crass indecency of the content in question, which could be reasonably restricted. Since the show clearly attracted at least one ground of legitimate censorship, the judge saw no cause to examine the other provisions of the Programme Code or even the composition of the IMC.

This judicial restraint has proved detrimental. In May 2013, another single judge of the Delhi High Court, who was asked by Comedy Central to adjudge the validity of the IMC’s decision-making process, relied on Star India (2011) to uphold the MIB’s action against the channel. The channel’s appeal to the Supreme Court is currently pending. If the Supreme Court decides to examine the validity of the IMC, the Delhi High Court may put aside Sathiyam’s petition to wait for legal clarity.

As it happens, in the Shreya Singhal case (2015) that struck down section 66A of the IT Act, the Supreme Court has an excellent precedent to follow to demand clarity and precision from the Programme Code, perhaps even strike it down, as well as due process from the MIB. On the accusation of defaming the Prime Minister, probably the only clearly stated objection by the MIB, the Supreme Court’s past law is clear: public servants cannot, for non-personal acts, claim defamation.

Censorship by blunt force

Beyond the IMC’s advisories and warnings, the Cable TV Act contains two broad powers of censorship. The first empowerment in section 19 enables a government official to ban any programme or channel if it fails to comply with the Programme Code or, “if it is likely to promote, on grounds of religion, race, language, caste or community or any other ground whatsoever, disharmony or feelings of enmity, hatred or ill-will between different religious, racial, linguistic or regional groups or castes or communities or which is likely to disturb the public tranquility.”

The second empowerment is much wider. Section 20 of the Cable TV Act permits the Central Government to ban an entire cable television operator, as opposed to a single channel or programmes within channels, if it “thinks it necessary or expedient so to do in public interest”. No reasons need be given and no grounds need be considered. Such a blunt use of force creates an overwhelming power of censorship. It is not a coincidence that section 20 resembles some provisions of nineteenth-century telegraph laws, which were designed to enable the colonial state to control the flow of information to its native subjects.

A manual for television bans

Film and television have always attracted political attention and state censorship. In 1970, Justice Hidayatullah of the Supreme Court explained why: “It has been almost universally recognised that the treatment of motion pictures must be different from that of other forms of art and expression. This arises from the instant appeal of the motion picture… The motion picture is able to stir up emotions more deeply than any other product of art.”

Within this historical narrative of censorship, television regulation is relatively new. Past governments have also been quick to threaten censorship for attacking an incumbent Prime Minister. There seems to be a pan-governmental consensus that senior political leaders ought to be beyond reproach, irrespective of their words and deeds.

But on what grounds could the state justify these bans? Lord Atkins’ celebrated war-time dissent in Liversidge (1941) offers an unlikely answer:

“When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.’”

For more details visit https://cis-india.org/internet-governance/blog/the-wire-bhairav-acharya-humpty-dumpty-censorship-of-tv-in-india