—H. M. Nazmul Alam—

In the murky alleys of Bangladeshi cyberspace, where the specter of surveillance lurks behind every pixel, a new hero emerges: Cyber Protection Ordinance (CPO), 2024. Or should we say a new ghost? Because, let’s face it, the Digital Security Act (DSA) never truly left. It is just put on a new bedsheet and started calling itself Casper—the ‘friendly’ ordinance. But wait! Before you let out a sigh of relief, believing the government has finally decided to respect your rights to meme in peace, let’s take a closer look. Spoiler alert: the CPO might just be the DSA’s evil twin, albeit with a slightly better skincare routine.

The CPO has replaced the infamous DSA and its sequel, the Cyber Security Act (CSA), following a student-led uprising that tossed the previous regime into the dustbin of history. But like every good horror story, some ghosts refuse to stay buried. The draft of the CPO was rushed online for public feedback with the urgency of a flash sale—only three working days for comments!

The CPO does sprinkle in some ‘positive’ changes. For instance, controversial sections from the CSA have been axed, ongoing cases under the old law canceled, and non-bailable clauses reduced. The ordinance mentions 24/7 internet access and data privacy as citizens’ right. Imagine that you can now scroll through cat videos at 3 AM guilt-free! But do not pop the champagne just yet. Much like how you cannot unsee a badly photoshopped image, the essence of the DSA still lingers. For example, Section 8 of the CPO empowers the Bangladesh Telecommunication Regulatory Commission (BTRC) to remove or block content that may harm ‘national unity’, ‘economic activity’, or ‘religious values’. Translation? Any meme about a politician’s scandal or a critical post about government policies can be vanished into the void faster than you can say ‘freedom of speech’.

New hero

Let’s talk about Section 25 (1), which criminalises ‘cyberbullying’. Now, we are all against bullying. But this section is so broad that a spicy tweet could land you in hot water. The provision claims to protect women and children, but it does not say so explicitly. Instead, it leaves enough wiggle room for anyone with thin skin and a decent lawyer to file a case. If cyberbullying really needs addressing, why not improve digital literacy and strengthen existing laws rather than copy-pasting defamation clauses from the DSA?

Oh, and section 26 makes a grand entrance, criminalising any act that hurts religious ‘values’ or ‘sentiments’. We get it; faith is important. But what is the line between spirited debate and hurt feelings? One person’s intellectual discussion is another’s blasphemy. The state’s involvement in matters of faith is like your aunt trying to settle a Twitter feud—awkward and unnecessary.

The police power to search, seize, and arrest without a warrant remains intact under Section 35. Sure, there is a clause about presenting the accused before a magistrate ‘without delay’. But let’s be honest: in practice, ‘without delay’ often means ‘whenever we feel like it’.

Here’s a gem: Section 47 (3) allows legitimate cyber equipment to be seized if it is found alongside ‘forfeitable’ items. So, if your innocent USB drive happens to be chilling next to a hacked laptop, congratulations—it is going to digital jail. Goodbye, family vacation photos.

One of the most laughable promises of the CPO is the right to 24/7 internet access. This is the same government that is infamous for flipping the internet switch whenever things get a little too real. Without safeguards against network disruptions, this promise is about as meaningful as a ‘Free Wi-Fi’ sign in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

Despite its grand ambitions, the CPO ignores critical areas like healthcare and transport, sectors increasingly vulnerable to cyberattacks. If a hospital’s database is hacked or public transport systems are paralysed, who is responsible? Certainly not the ordinance, which seems more preoccupied with clamping down on freedom of expression than protecting infrastructure.

Beyond its local implications, the ordinance does little to address the growing concern of digital colonialism. With major tech companies collecting and monetising user data, the CPO offers no clarity on how Bangladesh plans to negotiate this new-age imperialism. If the goal is truly to protect citizens, why not enforce data localisation laws or demand transparency from tech giants? Instead, the ordinance remains fixated on silencing dissent rather than tackling the broader challenges of the digital age.

A robust cyber law should empower citizens and ensure accountability for all, including the government. However, the CPO seems more interested in expanding the powers of the BTRC and law enforcement. Imagine giving your nosy neighbour the keys to your house and then acting surprised when they start rummaging through your fridge. That is essentially what this ordinance does, except on a national scale.

Countries like Estonia have demonstrated how progressive cyber laws can transform governance and empower citizens. Their focus on transparency, robust cybersecurity measures and digital literacy offers a blueprint for nations like Bangladesh. Instead of adopting repressive measures, why not learn from these success stories? After all, it is better to be inspired by innovation than haunted by authoritarianism.

The rushed approval process of the CPO, the vague provisions, and the sweeping powers granted to authorities are eerily reminiscent of the DSA’s playbook. While the ordinance makes some positive attempts – like incorporating AI in its scope, it ultimately feels like old wine in a new bottle. Or perhaps, in keeping with our ghostly theme, old ectoplasm in a new jar.

The Cyber Protection Ordinance, 2024, may be dressed up as a reformist step forward, but its essence remains rooted in the same authoritarian instincts that plagued its predecessors. It is like that friend who promises they have changed but still shows up late to every meeting. If we are serious about protecting digital rights and fostering cybersecurity, we need legislation that prioritises transparency, accountability and citizen input. Otherwise, we will be stuck in a loop where the Digital Security Act continues to haunt us—only this time, in a different guise.

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The writer is a Lecturer, Department of English and Modern Languages, IUBAT. He can be reached at [email protected]