Shoeb Abdullah isn’t just a name; he’s a dedicated digital rights activist, a co-founder of Activate Rights, an organization tirelessly working to protect digital rights in Bangladesh. He also helped create the Bangladesh Protest Archive, a vital resource that meticulously documented state violence and the resilient spirit of civil resistance during the July 2024 uprising. Shoeb’s work often involves open-source investigations into human rights abuses, collaborating with brave investigative outlets to support the crucial journey towards transitional justice in Bangladesh. He’s one of those people who sees the internet not just as a tool, but as a complex ecosystem with both incredible potential and daunting challenges, especially in times of political upheaval.
In a recent interview, Shoeb shared his insights into the fascinating, and often frightening, dual role digital platforms played during and after the 2024 uprising. He discussed how these platforms became powerful engines for mobilization, connecting people and giving voice to their dissent, while simultaneously becoming breeding grounds for widespread misinformation and disinformation. He also shed light on the cross-border narratives that dramatically shifted public perception, the heightened risks faced by minority communities caught in the crossfire, and the unfortunately limited response – or lack thereof – from the very social media platforms central to these events. This conversation is a poignant reminder of the human element behind the digital, and the profound impact online dynamics can have on real lives.
As Shoeb explained, the question of digital platforms’ function during the 2024 uprising has two distinct sides. First, there’s the undeniable evidence of how the internet and social media were instrumental in facilitating communication and organizing among protesters. They were the lifeline, the connective tissue that allowed a grassroots movement to take shape and gain momentum. But then, there’s the darker side: information integrity and the deluge of disinformation. Shoeb described a shocking phenomenon: “industrial-scale disinformation” that many Bangladeshis experienced for the first time. A staggering 80% of this misleading content, he revealed, originated in India, often peddling narratives that were quickly debunked by fact-checkers. Yet, in the chaotic aftermath of the uprising, with widespread panic and a destabilized law enforcement system, these falsehoods took root. Disturbing incidents, including attacks on minorities, were amplified and distorted by Indian media, resembling a coordinated disinformation campaign. This created an additional layer of fear and uncertainty for everyone in Bangladesh, regardless of their stance on the uprising. What’s truly unsettling is how this disinformation evolved, transcending social media to infiltrate mainstream media and even official statements, demonstrating that traditional debunking alone was simply not enough to combat the sheer volume and strategic nature of these false narratives.
Bangladesh is currently navigating a fragile political transition, and the disinformation landscape, while shifting, remains complex. With a new government in place, the focus of disinformation has moved from directly targeting the government to exploiting religious tensions, social fault lines, and identity-related issues. While the intensity has dulled slightly since the immediate post-uprising chaos, the presence of misleading narratives persists. Shoeb pointed out that multiple actors contribute to this environment. He highlighted networks connected to the previous ruling regime, particularly individuals associated with the Awami League, who held close ties with Indian media and often spread unproven or exaggerated narratives. Then there are the homegrown actors – every political party in Bangladesh has its informal online networks, churning out propaganda or counter-narratives. Some Bangladeshi groups, in an attempt to combat the overwhelming disinformation from India and the previous regime, unfortunately resorted to creating their own misleading narratives, often targeting India. While perhaps framed as “counter-propaganda,” these actions only exacerbated the overall information disorder and posed a particular danger to minority communities. Sadly, many of these smaller, well-intentioned but perhaps not well-resourced networks, have since faded, lacking the institutional backing to sustain long-term campaigns.
The external dimension of Bangladesh’s disinformation ecosystem is undeniably significant. Shoeb recounted a particularly chilling example: wildly exaggerated claims from Indian media about thousands of Hindus being killed during the unrest, when verified reports showed far smaller numbers and often different circumstances. Even platforms like Netra News, a respected investigative journalism hub, meticulously debunked these claims. Yet, these inflated numbers spread like wildfire, causing real fear among Bengali Hindus in Bangladesh, some even contemplating fleeing to India. It became clear that certain actors within Bangladesh were actively promoting these narratives, amplifying Indian media reports to deepen a sense of crisis. Another egregious example was the claim of thousands of police officers killed, despite official figures placing the number under fifty. The human impact of these narratives is profound: Shoeb shared how, while working with transitional justice initiatives, he encountered police officers who had genuinely begun to believe these exaggerated figures. This illustrates how pervasive and damaging disinformation can be, shaping the perceptions of an entire society.
Moments of political transition often heighten the vulnerability of minority communities, and the post-uprising environment in Bangladesh was no exception, especially for the Hindu community. Shoeb explained that historically, Hindu communities, despite being a smaller proportion of the population, have a visible and often empowered presence, frequently aligning politically with the Awami League. When attacks targeted those associated with the Awami League, some Hindus were affected, often due to their political roles rather than solely their religious identity. Historically, incidents involving Hindu communities have often been exploited for political gain, with the lack of protection from groups like Jamat-e-Islami and other Islamist forces leaving them vulnerable. However, it’s also important to note that, in many places, local Muslim residents stepped up to protect their Hindu neighbors and temples. A complicating factor was the politicization of casualty figures: some Hindu community organizations, often with political affiliations, circulated numbers that didn’t always align with verified incidents. These were then further amplified by Indian media, leading to wildly inflated figures that, while easily debunked by fact-checkers, unfortunately discredited genuine incidents affecting the Hindu community. This created a double-edged sword: disinformation not only distorted the crisis but also undermined the ability of affected communities to have their legitimate grievances heard. Meanwhile, extremist Islamist narratives online further fueled hostility against Hindu communities. Alarmingly, social media platforms, particularly Facebook, failed miserably in adequately responding to this surge of harmful content. Shoeb cited the widely discussed instance of a Hindu man’s killing being recorded and circulated online, violating multiple platform policies, yet remaining accessible for an extended period. This highlights the inadequacy of platform responses and the dire need for stronger content moderation, a concern civil society organizations have raised for years, but which is now hampered by declining funding for digital rights initiatives.
The February 2026 parliamentary election, the first national vote since the uprising, presented a new test for the disinformation landscape. Shoeb noted that this election felt particularly significant, marking a rare instance of a genuinely fair election in nearly two decades, especially for younger voters. While misinformation was present, the scale of organized electoral disinformation was less severe than anticipated, often resembling typical political rivalry rather than coordinated operations. However, political groups still engaged in spreading partisan narratives, sometimes aiming to damage opponents’ reputations. Notably, female political candidates faced a disproportionate amount of online attacks designed to undermine their character and credibility. From an information integrity perspective, Shoeb emphasized the distinction between general misinformation and “dangerous speech.” While misleading claims existed, they didn’t, in his assessment, reach the level of dangerous speech that could cause widespread real-world harm. Essentially, while there was noise, it wasn’t the same existential threat as the post-uprising disinformation.
The engagement of social media platforms with Bangladeshi civil society has seen a significant decline, according to Shoeb. Years ago, when he first started working on information integrity, Facebook, at least, offered structured engagement, providing channels for local organizations to raise concerns and discuss risks. This level of access and communication has largely evaporated. Platforms are now far less open to direct dialogue with local civil society groups working on disinformation or digital rights, opting instead for discussions with international organizations, often excluding the very local researchers and advocates who have their fingers on the pulse of the digital information landscape. This lack of responsiveness extends to platform representatives dedicated to Bangladesh, who previously maintained more open communication but are now more restricted. This makes it incredibly difficult for local organizations to establish dialogue or receive timely responses, effectively leaving them in the dark.
This brings us to a crucial question: if platforms won’t act and the government can’t be fully trusted to regulate without overreaching, where does that leave civil society? Is self-regulation or community-based solutions a realistic path for under-resourced organizations? Shoeb lamented that just a few years ago, platform accountability work and civil society engagement in Bangladesh were much more robust, with sufficient funding for digital rights and information integrity initiatives. However, that landscape has drastically changed. Many organizations have had to withdraw or reduce their engagement due to dwindling resources, further compounded by an environment where civil society itself faces restrictions and pressure, particularly under the previous regime. This has made many organizations cautious about tackling politically sensitive issues like disinformation and online harms, often diverting their focus to less contentious topics like online scams or digital literacy. Organizations like Shoeb’s, which dare to directly challenge platforms and address political disinformation, operate on shoestring budgets, making long-term accountability efforts incredibly difficult to sustain. While fact-checking initiatives exist and are vital, Shoeb stresses that they are merely a “first response” and cannot, on their own, combat industrial-scale information disorder without genuine engagement and cooperation from the platforms themselves. A significant challenge, he points out, is that much of the fact-checking ecosystem is reliant on platform programs, especially Meta’s, which, while providing some support, also come with limitations – for instance, misleading posts can continue to circulate widely even after being debunked. The ongoing struggle, he concludes, is simply to find a way to “stay in this space,” to continue the fight for a more truthful and humane digital realm.