When Sri Lanka’s Parliament hurried the Online Safety Act (OSA) through committee and certified it on 1 February 2024, ministers hailed the statute as a firewall against cyber-fraud, child exploitation, and “false statements.”
Yet to many journalists, lawyers and digital-rights advocates, the Act has always looked less like a shield than a silencer, one now mired in eighteen months of political U-turns, enforcement gridlock, and mounting international pressure.
What the Act Actually Does
• Creates a five-member Online Safety Commission (OSC)—appointed and
removable by the President—with power to investigate complaints, order
takedowns, block entire websites, summon individuals, and recommend
prosecutions.
• Criminalises broad categories of speech (“false statements,” “offensive
messages”) with penalties of up to LKR 10 million (≈ USD 33 000) and five
years in prison.
• Claims extraterritorial reach, exposing Sri Lankans abroad—and foreign
reporters covering Sri Lanka—to prosecution if their content is visible in-country.
• Imposes a 24-hour compliance clock on platforms and ISPs, deputising private
companies as censors.
• Compels social-media giants to register locally and surrender user metadata
without the judicial warrants normally required under the Criminal Procedure
Code.
These powers go well beyond India’s IT Rules, Singapore’s POFMA (Protection from Online Falsehoods and Manipulation Act), a Singaporean law aimed at countering the spread of online falsehoods. It, or even the UK’s Online Safety Act, handing the executive an unprecedented grip on Sri Lanka’s digital sphere.
Six Fault Lines That Endanger Media Freedom
1. Politicised, Unaccountable Watchdog – A President-picked OSC can be
dismissed in a closed-door hearing, stripping away judicial oversight.
2. Vague, Elastic Offences – Undefined terms (“misleading content,” “disturbing
public order”) chill investigative reporting, satire, and routine fact-checking.
3. Criminal Penalties for Journalism – Section 29 revives colonial-era sedition,
jailing reporters for “exciting disaffection.”
4. Takedowns Without Court Orders – Newsrooms and platforms must obey OSC
directives before any judge reviews the merits.
5. Extraterritorial Reach & Diaspora Risk – Sri Lankan journalists in Toronto or
London could face extradition requests.
6. A Fast-Track, Closed-Door Birth – Fifty-one Supreme Court petitions prompted
31 recommended amendments, yet Parliament adopted only a handful before
certification.
New Revelations: An “Orphan Law” Drafted in Reverse
A Bill Without Parents
Right-to-Information filings show a patchwork drafting history, with several listed
“authors” denying involvement. Early titles mimicked Singapore’s POFMA and the
UK’s Online Safety Act, confirming that Colombo imported foreign templates with
minimal local tailoring. Public Security Minister Tiran Alles ultimately “adopted” the
orphan bill—while simultaneously proposing amendments—leaving even ruling-party
MPs unsure who actually wrote the text.
From Outrage to Ownership
During 2024 floor debates, then-opposition leaders Anura Kumara Dissanayake (NPP)
and Sajith Premadasa (SJB) blasted the OSA as a blunt instrument for quashing dissent
and vowed to repeal it. Fast-forward to May 2025: the NPP-led Cabinet approved a
Supreme-Court-judge-chaired committee to amend—not scrap—the law, sparking
accusations of policy whiplash. In response, ex-finance minister Ravi Karunanayake
tabled a private motion to repeal the Act entirely, putting the new government on the
defensive.
Safety or Censorship?
Eighteen months in, no prosecutions have emerged under the child-protection clauses
that were the Act’s selling point. Instead, early complaints target political commentary,
media posts, and even payday-lending exposés—suggesting a tilt toward content control
over genuine online safety.
Industry Pushback & Enforcement Gridlock
Meta, Google, X, and TikTok have refused to establish the mandatory local offices or
accept 24-hour takedown windows, calling the obligations “unworkable.” With internet
penetration just over 50 percent, effective regulation is impossible without their
cooperation. Meanwhile, the OSC itself remains unappointed, leaving a law on the
books but largely unenforceable—a constitutional “quicksand,” in the words of one
tech-industry lawyer.
Domestic & International Alarm Bells
• Bar Association of Sri Lanka warns the Act “opens the floodgates for executive
abuse.”
• Free Media Movement and the SL Working Journalists’ Association decry
“pre-publication censorship.”
• PEN Sri Lanka: condemned the Act as a threat to literary freedom and
independent journalism, warning it could criminalise dissent and silence critical
voices vital to democratic dialogue.
• Amnesty International labels the OSA “Sri Lanka’s newest weapon against
dissent.”
• U.S. State Department cautions the law could chill investment and democratic
development.
• EU diplomats hint that trade concessions may hinge on rights-respecting reforms.
In His Own Words—Dr Ranga Kalansooriya on Why Consultation Matters
Dr. Ranga Kalansooriya, a respected media reform advocate, former Director General of
the Government Information Department, and the first Sri Lankan journalist to earn a
PhD in media policy, was appointed to the Government’s four-member expert panel
tasked with revisiting the Online Safety Act.
“Any country that has social media needs some regulatory framework—that’s a known
fact and a necessity of the day. But those mechanisms must be agreed upon and
developed in consultation with the tech platforms. Otherwise, they simply won’t work.
The Online Safety Act was rushed through without any such consultation—no dialogue
with the public, the users, or the platforms. As a result, it contains draconian features
that both civil society and the tech companies have rejected.
After that backlash, the Government agreed to amendments and appointed a committee
to make the process consultative. We are now watching carefully, engaging with the
committee, and doing our best to ensure the final law is truly representative—one that
enjoys consensus and workable arrangements with the tech companies.”
Dr. Kalansooriya’s remarks underscore a crucial point: regulation is inevitable, but it
must be collaborative. His emphasis on dialogue and consensus offers a constructive
pathway out of the current impasse—without casting blame on those seeking reform.
Cabinet Pivots & the Road Ahead
• February 2024: Facing an avalanche of criticism, the previous Cabinet agreed in
principle to amend the Act and named a four-member expert panel—including Dr
Kalansooriya—to propose fixes.
• 27–28 May 2025: The new Cabinet green-lit a broader revision, pledging to
“consult all relevant sectors.” A Supreme-Court challenge to the Act’s passage is
still pending, and the committee must deliver draft amendments by October 2025.
Whether those revisions narrow the law to genuine child-protection or simply add
cosmetic tweaks remains uncertain. European and U.S. diplomats continue to nudge
Colombo toward rights-respecting reform, hinting that trade perks and tech investment
hang in the balance.
Charting a Rights-Respecting Path
Digital-rights groups insist that any credible overhaul must:
1. Require judicial sign-off for every takedown, echoing Canada’s 48-hour review
model.
2. Narrowly and precisely define illegal content, consistent with the Johannesburg
Principles and the UN Rabat Plan of Action.
3. Protect encryption and source confidentiality, limiting data-hand-over powers.
4. Embed transparent public consultation and multi-stakeholder governance,
seating journalists, technologists, civil-society voices, and opposition MPs
alongside security agencies.
Brazil and South Africa show that slower, consultative processes yield sturdier, rights compliant laws—without scaring off platforms or investors.
Conclusion
Sri Lanka’s vibrant—if often embattled—media ecosystem has weathered civil war,
emergency regulations, and economic collapse. The curious case of the Online Safety
Act now stands at a crossroads: mature into a rights-respecting safety net or remain an
adolescent, orphaned statute that muzzles more speech than it protects.
Whether it grows up will depend on how forcefully editors, legislators, civil-society
leaders, and everyday citizens insist that safety can never be purchased at the price of
silence.
Pathum Wickramarathne
General Secretary
PEN Sri Lanka