The government has distributed a revised version of a broadcast bill to a small number of “stakeholders.” The leaked details are alarming—and could spell doom for thriving news analysis and debate on YouTube and other platforms. It also reflects an effective strategy that uses regulation—not outright censorship—to bludgeon the independent press into submission—or bankruptcy.
Editor’s note: The collapse of online news isn’t a story that lends itself to lurid headlines about jailing reporters (see our two-part series here). This broadcast bill could be the proverbial straw that breaks its back in India. Please share this story far and wide—using the gift link. And if you can, please consider becoming a founding member to support splainer’s life expectancy:)
Wtf is this broadcast bill?
In December 2023, the government unveiled a new bill that plans to regulate everything you watch on a screen—be it the TV or computer. That means not just cable or satellite TV but also all streaming services—even YouTube channels of individuals. The bill is called the Broadcasting Services (Regulation) Bill, 2023. It is intended to replace the equally wordy Cable Television Networks (Regulation) Act, 1995.
First, the backstory: In the 1990s, a High Court ruling directed the government to crackdown on cable content—which was relatively unrestrained compared to good old Doordarshan. There were worries about the inclusion of Pakistani channels—and the “cultural invasion” represented by foreign channels such as Fashion TV that broadcast female nudity. Other than ensuring proper licensing, service quality etc, the Act was specifically aimed at preserving “Indian values.”
Enter, ‘programme code’: The government framed a list of criteria to protect these “Indian values”—called the ‘programme code’:
The programme code contains various classes of content not deemed suitable for television broadcast. It prohibits the telecast of programming which is “obscene” or “offends good taste or decency” or even “encourages superstition and blind belief”. But even though “good taste” and “decency” may be found at dinner-table conversations, it is absent from legal definition. As it stands, the code does not permit “irony” in the portrayal of certain ethnic, linguistic, and regional groups or even allow “snobbery” on air.
The code was supposed to be enforced by an Inter-Ministerial Committee. The channels, in response, offered to self-censor their content instead. If a viewer was offended, they could complain first to a self-regulating industry board—which was formally set up in 2011—and dubbed the Broadcast Content Complaints Council.
Self-censorship zindabad: The Indian government’s playbook is never to impose direct or blatantly undemocratic restrictions on the press. No, that’s just the very big stick it waves as a threat. The poisoned carrot is the opportunity to gag yourself—before anyone does it for you.
Unsurprisingly, the new cable law resulted in even greater censorship—with the industry adding new restrictions to the already strict programme code. All sorts of viewer complaints were taken very seriously—such as this one for a NatGeo show:
It shows the protagonist, a British, stuffing hashish, contraband, inside the idol of Lord Ganesha. The idol could have been concealed and not shown to avoid hurting of religious feelings.
Such great caution was well-advised. Any channel that received five such notices was in danger of losing its licence.
The main takeaway: TV was strictly regulated in the old socialist era. This was the “post-liberalisation” government signalling its ability and willingness to crack the whip whenever it pleased. The thing to remember: it worked very well because a company already needed a ton of money—and political connections—to own a broadcast channel. That bada stick threatened a limited number of big players—who were easy to cow into submission.
So why do we need a new bill?
Because the internet happened. It is the new threat to the government's ability to control what Indians can read or see. So how do you get the lagaan back in your hands? Enter: A new broadcast bill.
Your bedroom = movie theatre: Until recently, streaming platforms were not subject to the same rules as TV. The new bill plans to “correct” that error:
The Broadcasting Bill defines “broadcasting” as “one-to-many transmission of audio, visual or audio-visual programmes using a broadcasting network, intended to be received or made available for viewing, by the general public or by subscribers of the broadcasting network.”
Ergo: Netflix, Hotstar, Jio Cinema etc are now called “Broadcasting network operators.”
What this means: Each broadcaster has to appoint a grievance officer to address audience complaints. They also have to set up their own “Content Evaluation Committee”—whose size and operational details will be determined by the government. Next, there will be a self-regulatory body for the industry—similar to the BCCC for cable—to hear complaints not addressed by these operators. And above them is a Broadcast Advisory Council appointed by the government—and stuffed with representatives of various ministries.
Point to note: The bill merely formalises the unofficial diktat to streaming platforms—which have heard the message loud and clear:
Executives at the India offices of Netflix and Prime Video and their lawyers ask for extensive changes to rework political plots and remove passing references to religion that might offend the Hindu right wing or the BJP, industry insiders say. Projects that deal with India’s political, religious or caste divisions are politely declined when they are proposed, or dropped midway through development.
In other words, you won’t see that much of a difference on what is available on bigger entertainment platforms. (See our Big Story on why Dev Patel’s ‘Monkey Man’ never made it to a theatre or streaming platform near you.)
So what’s going to change for me?
Any kind of news that comes from any outlet or person. The legacy outlets in TV and print are already firmly under the state’s thumb courtesy existing law. This time around, the government is targeting everyone who shares or creates any news-adjacent content.
What happened now: The first draft of the bill—released in December—contained ominous signs of sweeping regulation—but the extent remained unclear. Now, the government shared a revised version of the draft bill—with a select number of “stakeholders.” It was so super-secret that these companies had to pick up their copy from the ministry building—and it was watermarked with their name. So if it leaked, everybody knew who was going to the principal’s office. It leaked.
What we know now: is that the new draft contains “clarifications” that are just plain jaw-dropping.
Umm, what does that mean?
There are detailed explainers put together by area experts like MediaNama. We’re going to stick to laying out the big picture implications. But first, a reminder: This is a draft—which has been leaked without any official acknowledgement from the government. Is this merely a display of sarkaari muscle—or a real plan of action? We don’t know.
One: The government has defined a super-sized dabba called “news and current affairs programmes.” It includes every form of content: “audio, visual or audio-visual content, sign, signals, writing, images” which are “transmitted directly or using a broadcasting network.” In other words, there is no difference between a newsletter, tweeted image or a YouTube video—all of it falls under the aegis of the broadcast bill.
Two: The definition of “current affairs” is similarly broad:
[It includes] “newly-received or noteworthy audio, visual or audio-visual programmes or live programmes, including analysis, about recent events primarily of socio-political, economic or cultural nature, or (ii) any programmes transmitted or retransmitted on broadcasting network , where the context, purpose, import and meaning of such programmes implies so.
Confused? Good. That’s exactly the point. But worry not, e-papers—i.e online versions of a newspaper—are exempt. Presumably because newspapers are already heavily regulated by the Press and Registration of Periodicals Bill, 2023.
Point to note: As Seema Chishti noted last year, this is the first time that news has been clubbed with entertainment content—in what government officials describe as a “combo pack.” The aim is to make sure news will be subject to “certification”—much like cinema.
Three: Say hello to the “digital news broadcasters”—a new category invented by the bill. This is a “professional” who shares any kind of “current affairs” content as a “systematic activity”—irrespective of whether they have a large audience or small:
There is no minimum threshold, nor is there a plan to create a minimum threshold, for designating entities as Digital News Broadcasters, and the same rules applicable to “an online paper, news portal, etc,“ are also applicable to those who post news and current affairs on social media, “as part of a systemic business, professional, commercial activity.”
Four: This insanely broad definition of a “professional” is not based on reach—but on the barest attempt at monetisation:
So a YouTube channel or a podcast that has news commentary and runs ads, or a blog that covers news and has enabled Google AdSense will be covered under this Bill. They need to comply with a Programme Code and an Advertising Code.
Five: Until now, the government has focused on “social media intermediaries”—as in platforms such Facebook, Twitter and X. It has now turned its attention to “advertising intermediaries”—like Google Adsense, Facebook Audience Network, and Taboola. These are core to the advertising industry and any online ad-supported business. Digital ads will now be subject to the Advertising Code. But it’s not clear who will be responsible for any violation that occurs—the brand, the advertising platform or the site that hosts the ad.
Point to note: These advertising intermediaries have to “provide appropriate information” to the government on any user violating the government rules. If any such platform fails to comply, it will immediately lose ‘safe harbour’ protection—which ensures a platform is not held liable for user content. The Googles and Instagrams of the world can’t function without it.
Six: Those who do not fit the “current affairs” category are not exempt either. The meaning of ‘OTT broadcasters’—used for Netflix et al—now includes any content creators who “do not cover news and current affairs, but provide programming and curated programs beyond a certain threshold.”
Again, “curation” has been stretched to include any “selection, organisation and presentation of online content or information using skill, experience or expert knowledge.” This means a CA sharing gyaan on filing tax returns or the Liver Doctor—who regularly debunks health misinformation—if they go past a specified threshold of followers.
Speaking of threshold: Do all the rules apply to everyone—including, say, a person who likes to tweet about ‘current affairs’ and has 100 followers? Or only to those who have a certain reach? We don’t know. The reporting is fuzzy—as are the interpretations of the leaked 49-page document. For instance, India Today claims:
[All] “content creators reportedly will be required to notify the government of their presence within a month of the enactment of the legislation. This provision is also likely to apply to any account sharing news irrespective of follower count.”
That sounds a bit wild—even by the government’s standards. OTOH, Hindu Business Line recently claimed the threshold will be one million followers.
That’s a lot of scary jargon, but what does it mean?
Ezra Klein recently wrote of the online news landscape: “You can thrive being very small or very big, but it’s extremely hard to even survive between those poles.” Now, in India, every standalone digital news site you can name is either in the middle—or aiming for it. This bill would make it impossible for them to survive–not by banning them (which would be crass and unconstitutional). They will be crushed underfoot by the burden of compliance.
Who benefits? Sure, the bill allows the government to control access to almost all channels of information. But it’s willing to accommodate a small club of “stakeholders”—who were graciously given a copy of the revisions. The Hindu explains why—albeit diplomatically:
[T]he omission of meaningful public consultation.. may be less a sin of omission and more a deliberate strategy of gatekeeping major policy changes, and deciding who gets to have a say in them.. When it comes to media regulation, for instance, the interests of established corporate stakeholders might not always coincide with those of the emerging crop of creators, independent commentators, social media users and independent journalists who are also likely to be impacted by the Broadcasting Bill.
Big-name players have long submitted to the sarkari rulebook—because it’s the only way to stay big in India. They are far more likely to trade a great chunk of freedom to protect their bottomline. It explains why so many “industry experts” remain unconcerned.
Also this: Regulation that hurts upstart competitors—like Ravish Kumar or Dhruv Rathee on YouTube—is great for established TV channels. Many owners would love to return to the heydays of limiting your access to a handful of outlets—that have the cash and clout to operate in India. If Ravish leaves NDTV—which is now owned by Adani—Ravish should disappear. Not become a YouTube star.
Feature not a bug: Independent news sites and creators have small teams and tight budgets. And they rely greatly on the few remaining sources of online revenue—such as YouTube. As The Hindu notes: “The Bill places requirements and burdens on news organisations that, while cumbersome for large broadcasting networks, could potentially put small news operators out of business.” And that’s exactly the point. Independent outlets are dangerously cash-strapped. Why censor when you can just regulate them into either compliance or bankruptcy?
The added benefit: The government doesn’t have to lift a finger—other than occasionally make an example of an errant channel, site or creator. The bill creates a maze of compliance requirements—framed in deliberately vague language—and subject to revision at its whim. Everyone now needs ‘certification’—the brahmastra of self-censorship. They “will need to register and work at the discretion of the [I&B Ministry]”—which no longer has to painfully censor each tweet, article or video. All the dirty work will be done by the hosting platform—and the three-tier “self-regulation” system required of creators:
This law is designed for the MIB to exercise coercive and total control while outsourcing everyday censorship as a form of compliance to a private apparatus. Finally, the decision-making process for censorship relies on cumbersome proactive compliances, a system of registrations and private self-censorship, and, on failure or whim, censorship and fines levied by the MIB…
The bottomline: The very first constitutional amendment—passed in 2010—gave the state nearly unlimited power to restrain a free press. A power that leaders have been eager to exploit and expand—irrespective of ideology. The current dispensation is merely more brazen. But, but, but: While our Constitution may contain a loophole, the Parliament does not. The government still needs a majority to make this dream come true—a majority it no longer has—perhaps because of those pesky “digital news broadcasters.”
Reading List
Hindustan Times and MediaNama offer the most comprehensive reporting on the revisions made to the broadcast bill. For The Hindu (paywall), Apar Gupta labels the changes as a “digital licence raj”. For The Wire, Rajshree Chandra looks at how the new draft bill fits with the broader “ecosystem of censorship” in the country. Check out our Big Story from December 2023 for more background on the broadcast bill.
