Shamim Ashraf, a poet and graphic artist from Mymensingh known for his visually compelling artworks, has found himself embroiled in a conflict that transcends the personal sphere, entering political discourse and putting into question citizens' right to free speech. The nature of his dispute with Md Ekramul Haque Titu, Mymensingh city's former mayor, remains shrouded in ambiguity. Yet, what is clear is Shamim's unwavering commitment to critiquing the operations of the relevant city corporation—a mission he took on not as a detractor but as a vigilant citizen deeply invested in the welfare of his community. Notably, Titu is also the president of the Mymensingh Metropolitan Awami League and a candidate in the city election scheduled on March 9.
Through his posters, Shamim voiced concerns about the Mymensingh City Corporation's seemingly unchecked authority. This led to his arrest under the contentious Section 54 of The Code of Criminal Procedure, 1898 under which a person against whom a reasonable suspicion exists can be arrested without a warrant or an order from a magistrate. The allegation against Shamim was that, through his poster designs, he has conducted a smear campaign against the MCC and the city's recent former mayor Md Ekramul Haque Titu.
The imagery of Shamim speaking from within a prison van, lamenting the loss of his children's right to gaze upon the sky, and the drying up of the Brahmaputra, is poignant and heartrending. His words, "I speak for the people of my region. I speak in poetry. I speak in the voice of beauty. This is my crime," resonate with the power of truth spoken to authority.

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A youth forced to censor their thoughts

The story does not conclude with his arrest. Shamim was released on bail on the afternoon of February 20, after being arrested from his office on the night of February 18. But despite being granted bail by Senior Judicial Magistrate Md Tajul Islam Sohag, the saga continued as the MCC (through administrative officer Kanchan Kumar Nandi) pursued further legal action against Shamim at the Mymensingh Cyber Tribunal on February 20. This relentless pursuit sends a chilling message: criticism of authority will not be tolerated.
Yet, reflecting on our history, the monumental role of Quamrul Hassan's "Ei janowarder hottya korte hobe" ("Annihilate these demons") poster cannot be overstated. This iconic artwork, portraying Yahya Khan as a malevolent figure, became a powerful emblem of resistance and played a pivotal role in garnering international attention to the genocide occurring in Bangladesh during its liberation struggle. But it also begs the question: would we, in today's Bangladesh, have subjected Quamrul Hassan to imprisonment for employing his art to critique the current political culture?
The act of vocal criticism runs deep in our veins and is testament to our forebears who fearlessly raised their voices against tyranny, risking everything for the sake of future generations. Their battles were against a foreign oppressor and were aimed at forging a distinct national identity. The irony in the contemporary landscape is that, despite living under the banner of a "free" state, expressing dissent—even against glaring issues like dilapidated roads, inadequate drainage systems, or the absence of essential public amenities—can potentially endanger one's life.
The stark contrast between our foundational principles and current realities raises a critical question: why does the act of pointing out observable flaws in the work of the government, an act intrinsic to the very DNA of our nationhood, place us in the line of fire? It's a reflection that demands not just contemplation but a collective reevaluation of our commitment to the freedoms which our ancestors fought so valiantly to secure.

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Shrinking space for cultural and artistic freedoms

Lawyers and human rights activists have rightly identified Shamim Ashraf's ordeal as a stark violation of human rights, signalling a dangerous precedent where the act of criticism becomes an act punishable by law. The response to Shamim's arrest—from the human chains formed by cultural activists to netizens' outcry on social media—showcases the community's resilience and the universal value of free speech. But the very need for such protests highlights the fragility of our rights in the face of oppressive laws.
Global Human Rights Defender Award winner Nur Khan Liton's commentary on the use of cybersecurity laws to hinder free speech hints to a systematic approach to suppress any form of dissent, thereby eroding the foundation of democracy and human rights. Liton mentions that the town of Evansburg in Alberta, Canada has taken a novel approach to embrace criticism by appointing an official "Town Grouch." This role, dedicated to voicing complaints, criticisms, and accusations, embodies the democratic principle that opposing views are essential for societal growth. By formalising dissent via the establishment of this position, Evansburg highlights the importance of contrarian perspectives in fostering dialogue, uncovering issues, and stimulating change. Evansburg's unique initiative serves as a reminder of the value of criticism in enhancing transparency, accountability, and community engagement, thus offering a model for how societies can constructively engage with dissenting voices to promote collective improvement.

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Why the DSA should be scrapped

For the citizens of Bangladesh, the ordeal faced by Shamim Ashraf should be a wake-up call. It underscores the urgent need for vigilance and resistance against any form of censorship. If authorities continue down their current path, they risk creating a society where silence is the norm, and the ability to critique is an anomaly. This is not just about one individual's right to speak; it's about preserving the collective soul of our society.
Salman Rushdie holds the conviction that true freedom of thought is at risk when subjects or ideas are placed beyond the realms of criticism, satire, ridicule, or contempt. We must be able to challenge, question, and even mock ideas to ensure a vibrant and free exchange of thoughts.
If any thought, idea, or state activity cannot be purified through criticism, then the light of progress is blocked. The question for authorities now is: in this era of unquestioning, criticism-free, and continuous praise and obedience, are we walking down the path towards another dark age?

Mamunur Rashid is a journalist at the Daily Star.
Nazifa Raidah is a member of the editorial team at The Daily Star. Reach her at [email protected]

Views expressed in this article are the author's own.

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Cybersecurity laws include rules and frameworks designed to safeguard digital systems, networks, data, and information from online threats. Countries like the US, UK, and those in the EU adopted these laws early and are continuously improving them. Meanwhile, in Bangladesh, the forthcoming Cyber Security Act (CSA) is poised to become the primary legislation concerning cybercrime. Comparing this law with those in other countries can help us determine how well the proposed CSA aligns with international standards.

As cyber threats have evolved, numerous laws and rules emerged focusing on three key aspects: 1) Protecting private, sensitive, and financial data; 2) Preventing computer-based fraud and unauthorised access; and 3) Creating guidelines to ensure strong security measures for data, computer systems, and networks across different institutions and infrastructures.

In the US, several laws are in place to safeguard specific types of data. For health data, there's the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA). For children's data, there's the Children's Online Privacy Protection Act, while the Gramm-Leach-Bliley Act deals with financial information. In Europe and in the UK, similar purposes are served by the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) and the Data Protection Act, respectively. In the US, computer-related frauds are addressed by the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, while in the UK, the Computer Misuse Act criminalises unauthorised access, computer-related frauds, and similar cyber offences.

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Cyber Security Act and the fear of history repeating itself

Much like its predecessor, the Digital Security Act (DSA), 2018, the proposed Cyber Security Act (CSA) also contains sections aimed at safeguarding computer systems, networks, and data. It establishes penalties for activities such as unauthorised access, disruptions, and the improper utilisation of IT systems. It also has penalties for actions like unauthorised access, disruptions, and the misuse of IT systems.

However, in contrast to similar laws in other parts of the world, the CSA includes clauses that do not directly relate to cybersecurity. These provisions include prosecuting defamation, limiting freedom of speech, and levying charges against the promotion of religious intolerance and offences related to the Official Secrets Act (OSA), 1923. The DSA gained infamy for its tendency to suppress opposing viewpoints rather than effectively addressing cyber threats, and there is no noticeable shift in this aspect within the newly suggested legislation.

To meet accepted standards, a law must have unambiguous provisions. Section 25 of the DSA has faced criticism due to lacking specificity and clarity, which could result in varying interpretations and possibly the unjust criminalisation of legitimate criticism and opinions. Such a vague clause raises questions about whether the DSA's objective was to safeguard against cyberattacks or if it was to curtail freedom of speech. To prevent misconceptions, any new cybersecurity legislation must have comprehensive and transparent descriptions of offences, aiming to eliminate uncertainties. Regrettably, the proposed CSA does not meet this standard.

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Relabelling the DSA won’t protect citizens from cybercrimes

In the US, the Federal Information Security Modernization Act (FISMA) guides federal agencies on securing their computer systems. In the EU, the newest version of the Network and Information Security (NIS2) Directive mandates essential service providers (such as from energy, transportation, banking, and healthcare sectors) to employ proper security measures. Despite Bangladesh's DSA incorporating regulations for protecting critical information infrastructure (under Section 16), recent incidents like the NID data breach and, in the past, cyber theft from Bangladesh Bank's account, reveal the ineffectiveness of DSA and its predecessor. The new CSA could have effectively addressed this concern by incorporating stricter provisions akin to those in FISMA. Regrettably, no such additions have been made, leaving room for unsavoury events to recur in the future.

Section 43 of the DSA, for instance, lets police arrest people without a warrant. In the US, the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act (CFAA) also allows warrantless arrests in specific cases. But it's important to note that the Fourth Amendment to the US Constitution imposes strict conditions on such actions by law enforcement. In Bangladesh, the absence of similar safeguards has led to the widespread misuse of Section 43 of the DSA, creating an environment of panic. It was prudent to either altogether remove the provision that allows warrantless arrests and searches by junior police officers or, if kept, to add more checks and balances (such as involving an executive magistrate during search and seizure operations). But the CSA has not been changed to that effect.

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From DSA to CSA: The same two bottles of agony

The UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights has suggested removing two Sections (21 and 28) from the DSA and changing eight others. Many of these sections primarily relate to freedom of expression and journalism, deviating from the principles outlined in the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. But Sections 21 and 28 remain largely untouched in the proposed law. The OSA, which mostly deals with unauthorised entry to prohibited places, stealing information from there and spying (that is, offences not directly related to cybercrime) has been retained in the proposed CSA. Adding these offences to the CSA makes it more draconian than the original OSA, wherein a junior police officer could not carry out an arrest without a warrant.

The extent of the DSA's abuse can be gauged from the fact that, in the last five years, there have been at least 7,000 cases filed under this law, but only a few saw the accused being convicted. In the proposed CSA, it was necessary to eliminate the provision of allowing multiple cases to be filed against an individual for a single offence across various jurisdictions, and to also introduce rules that would severely penalise anyone, including law enforcement members, for intentionally making false allegations against innocent people. Regrettably, we see no such amendments in the proposed CSA.

Saifur Rahman is a senior IT specialist and certified professional at Australian Computer Society.

There are few things as draining—or as depressing, I imagine—as being the op-ed editor of a newspaper under constant scrutiny of an authoritarian regime.

Not least because I had to rewrite the first sentence three times to make it palatable for print. When you do that often enough—or rather, when self-censorship becomes your default setting—words eventually start to melt and evaporate into each other until they lose meaning altogether. And your life, built around those deleted sentences, becomes a burden from which you desperately want—but know not how—to escape. Every so often, I fool myself into believing that what we say after scraping off all that cannot be said will still serve some purpose, as if people will be moved to revolutionary actions by words that we do not have the courage to say out loud.

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How to make dissenters out of citizens

Whenever I ask someone to write, they tease me: can you publish what I say? I smile sheepishly. They smirk knowingly. Sometimes I retort: will you really say what you want to say, though? In fact, will you say anything at all?

It's incredible how little there is to say about the national election anymore despite the overwhelming urge to say and do something. Let's face it. We all seem to have grudgingly accepted our extended sentence under this regime. Whatever frustration and anger—but also excitement and anticipation—that could be felt in the beginning and middle of 2023 somehow turned into a disquieting resignation at the end of it. Even the ordinary people, whose anger reverberated through the streets earlier in the year, now just want to move on from the tragicomedy the election has been reduced to, and figure out what lies ahead with the inevitability of another term of Sheikh Hasina's government.

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Of the AL, for the AL, and by the AL

There can be little doubt that the space for dissent will shrink even further in the days to come, with the rebranded Digital Security Act (DSA)—now the Cyber Security Act (CSA)—yet to claim its first victim. During its five-year stint, the DSA has been strategically and systematically deployed to criminalise any sort of criticism of the government under vague provisions that can be arbitrarily (mis)used. The DSA's greatest success, if seen from the government's perspective, is not the cases against and subsequent harassment of thousands of dissenters, including 464 politicians and 442 journalists (the biggest victims of the DSA, as per the analysis of The Centre for Governance Studies), but the fear it has been able to generate among the common people about the imaginary lines one may not cross—lines that have been drawn and redrawn many times over the past 15 years of AL rule. We now know that one does not need any merit to persecute and prosecute people under the DSA—the sheer act of suing a person under it, the many irregularities in procedures and the denial of bail for months on end, if not years, are harassment enough for a lifetime. It's no surprise, then, that an overwhelming 72 percent of the youth feel too afraid to speak out and nearly half of those surveyed want to get out of the country the first chance they can get.

While we were all busy with the election preparations, the cabinet approved the draft Data Protection Act (DPA) in principle on November 27, without addressing any of the key concerns raised by various stakeholders since the bill was first introduced in 2022. The DPA will essentially legalise surveillance of the citizens' private data, allowing law enforcement agencies the right to "intercept, record or collect information" of any person on "national security" or "public order" grounds. Without any regulatory oversight over government agencies, we can well imagine how the DPA will be deployed in the days to come to keep track of our online and offline lives, and to "manage" dissent before it takes a dangerous turn.

There appears to be a lull in CSA arrests, likely because the state machinery is now preoccupied with harassing, arresting and sentencing opposition leaders and activists, many on "ghost" or trumped-up charges, since the infamous "khela" of October 28. Many RMG workers and labour leaders, targeted and arrested for their participation in the minimum wage protests, now languish in jail, denied bail for the past month(s). Meanwhile, with the legal harassment and subsequent sentencing of Dr Muhammad Yunus ahead of the election, the government seems to have sent a clear message to those it considers a threat: international condemnation be damned, the AL will do as it pleases.

As the ruling party looks to consolidate power for the fourth consecutive term, the question one would rather not ask is: who's next? Once the political opposition is silenced, the powers that be will likely redirect their attention to gagging free media (or what's left of it) and eventually the populace at large, whose frustrations with the cost-of-living crisis and rampant corruption are unlikely to simply disappear with the staging of the election. Dissent and disappointment in an authoritarian regime must be contained under any cost, and no one knows this better than the ruling party.

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What comes after January 7?

While we were all busy with the election preparations, the cabinet approved the draft Data Protection Act (DPA) in principle on November 27, without addressing any of the key concerns raised by various stakeholders since the bill was first introduced in 2022. The DPA will essentially legalise surveillance of the citizens' private data, allowing law enforcement agencies the right to "intercept, record or collect information" of any person on "national security" or "public order" grounds. Without any regulatory oversight over government agencies, we can well imagine how the DPA will be deployed in the days to come to keep track of our online and offline lives, and to "manage" dissent before it takes a dangerous turn.

The most depressing aspect in all of this is that we, the people, seem to have resigned to our fate. With each new term of the ruling regime, and each new provision or law, we have learnt a bit more of self-censorship; we have learnt to behave ourselves, to not cross the line no matter the temptation—in short, we have learnt to accommodate the powers that be and live by their rules.

But there's a price we pay for such subservience; every time I swallow a thought, delete a word, or tone down someone's anger, I kill a little bit of myself and all that I desire for myself and for the country I love. With every nail in the coffin of democracy, we lose who we were and who we had wanted to be when we fought for freedom in 1971.

Sushmita S Preetha is op-ed editor at The Daily Star.

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