Draft Misinformation Bill: Navigating truth and censorship

Last February, the Karnataka government turned Bengaluru’s Palace Grounds into a constitutional theatre, declaring that Dr B R Ambedkar’s promise of ‘liberty of thought and expression’ was realised, at a two-day international conference with academics, lawyers and retired judges. One year on, that flourish feels hollow. Going by a leaked draft, the Karnataka Misinformation & Fake News (Prohibition) Bill, 2025, would make burning the Manusmriti, the very act that defined Ambedkar’s protest and yearning for social reform, a cognisable offence. The dissonance is more than ironic. It guts the moral authority with which Congress berates the Union government for throttling dissent through authoritarian laws and practices.

At moments such as this, many may recall the Congress Party’s 2024 manifesto, that proposed a comprehensive and progressive vision, including commitments to “repeal draconian laws that curb free speech” and defend an “independent, unfettered media.”

Yet, a close reading reveals a checklist of elastic prohibitions and penalties fierce enough to freeze debate. ‘Misinformation’ covers any false statement made “knowingly or recklessly,” while “fake news” sweeps up misquotations and doctored images. The dragnet widens further: Content the state brands ‘anti-feminist’ or disrespectful of ‘Sanatan symbols’ can be scrubbed from the Internet. Neither term exists in statute.

What, exactly, is anti-feminist? Which symbols count as Sanatan? Each phrase strays far beyond the narrow grounds permitted by Article 19(2). We have been here before. The Supreme Court warned in its landmark decision in Shreya Singhal v. Union of India, close to a decade ago, that such open-ended eloquence in criminal statutes is the nemesis of individual liberty. 

The Misinformation Bill’s vagueness is matched only by its severity. A social-media user who shares ‘fake news’ faces up to seven years in prison and a Rs 10-lakh fine. These sanctions outstrip those for many violent crimes and reveal a carceral reflex. The draft goes further, conjuring a network of fast-track special courts. All offences under the Misinformation Bill would be adjudicated by them, where bail is a near-mirage for judges must first be ‘satisfied’ of the accused’s innocence and future good conduct. This will be after prosecutors are allowed to object to the grant of liberty. In other words, the process itself becomes the punishment, meting out custodial incarceration long before guilt is proved. 

As per a finding of the 2023 Status of Policing in India Report, nearly two out of three respondents are scared to post their political or social opinions online for fear of legal action. This captures the deep chill settling over public discourse. A state-wise cut of the same survey shows the anxiety spikes in BJP-ruled strongholds such as Haryana and Gujarat, where roughly one-third of citizens are ‘very scared’ of legal reprisal for a stray tweet or forward. Does Karnataka now intend to join this list of places where the right to speak is technically alive yet practically rationed, policed less by overt censorship than by the quiet, pervasive dread of the criminal law?

The criminal provisions of the Misinformation Bill can not only be activated by a police complaint but also a reference by a six-member Fake News on Social Media Regulatory Authority.

This Authority is to be chaired by the state’s Minister for Information (Kannada & Culture) and includes government nominees (MLAs/MLCs) and only two industry representatives, all appointed by the government. There is no requirement to include independent experts (such as judges, civil society members, or academics).  When created, it would police every pixel of online discourse, ordering labels, takedowns, or outright blocks for anything it brands false or ‘harmful’.  

Such a body’s remit sprawls far beyond misinformation: ‘Abusive or obscene’ posts, slights against Sanatan symbols, even material judged unscientific or lacking ‘authentic research’ in history or religion. That model collides head-on with recent jurisprudence and the Constitution’s core promise of free speech. The Bombay High Court’s Kunal Kamra ruling in September 2024 dismantled the Union government’s attempt at a central fact-check unit, holding that an executive cannot appoint itself the final judge of truth. Vague labels such as ‘fake, false, or misleading,’ the court warned, invite viewpoint discrimination and chill legitimate debate. 

The Bill presumes that authorities can reliably, within these vague categories, identify ‘misinformation’ in a timely manner. In reality, determining truth vs falsehood is often complex. Content exists on a spectrum from outright hoaxes to partly true statements presented out of context. The Bill provides no clear methodology or standards for how the Authority or Special Courts will fact-check and discern false content. For example, will there be expert fact-checkers or reliance on credible external fact-checks? How to deal with borderline cases or scientific debates where facts evolve? The law is silent. This gap means enforcement could be inconsistent and erratic, dependent on individual officials’ understanding of the truth. Karnataka now proposes to ignore that warning. By vesting a political authority with unilateral power to certify facts and criminalise dissent, it invites censorship cloaked as consumer protection.

Fear and civil liberties

Many may wonder why the Karnataka government would undertake such an endeavour. Motives intertwine, and if speculation may be permitted, the reasons for it are partly documented historically and also due to its existing interests. Political parties that gain the levers of state power often shed promises of civil liberties.

Add to that a real, if misdirected, panic over the surge of Hindutva-fuelled hate speech and disinformation churned out online. Digital mobs virulently attack minorities and Congress leaders with abandon, and calls are often made for the state government to fortify the criminal code.

However, fear is no excuse for constitutional backsliding. If Congress claims the mantle of progressive constitutionalism, its statutes must honour that spirit and doing so is not only principled, it is perhaps even smart. Witness the past week’s buzz around Zohran Kwame Mamdani, poised to become New York’s first South-Asian mayor. His ascent rests on the credibility that comes not only from a savvy campaign but authenticity and the ability to draw in a young electorate that is tired of being cheated by politicians. Many Indians have been asking, “Where is our Mamdani?” and it is reasonable that they will accept no answer until a party’s manifesto promises align with its laws. 

It is indeed welcome that, after a nationwide uproar, Karnataka’s IT Minister Priyank Kharge admitted that ‘a lot of misinformation’ clouded the draft and promised consultations before the text is finalised. The pledge, though welcome, comes only after the leaked draft revealed sweeping offences.

The government should now scrap or radically prune the carceral clauses and pivot to smarter tools such as independent fact-checking, digital-literacy drives, and narrowly drawn bans limited to provable falsehoods that incite violence.

Any regulatory body must be insulated from politics, operate transparently, include judicial or expert oversight, and guarantee a right of appeal. Karnataka’s next draft must pivot from policing opinion to promoting informed debate. In the fight against online falsehoods, the goal must be to empower citizens with truth and not to empower the state to arbitrate truth.

(Apar Gupta is the founder director of the Internet Freedom Foundation)