Empowered or enraged: What are we really doing with the internet?

When I scroll through my social media newsfeed, all I see are posts about the abuse of women, children, and animals; random acts of political vengeance; unsubstantiated allegations against people deemed "disliked"; and a barrage of disturbing, misinformed content and knee-jerk opinions.

Nothing substantial; nothing that makes sense. Needless to say, all of this takes a toll on even the most mentally stable person.

Is this what Bangladesh is? Has been? Or has become?

Many scoff and insist these are new problems. But are they really? Or were people simply less outspoken about their darkness before? Did they just find a new outlet after emerging from an autocratic regime?

Which then begs the question: have we become so polarised and bitter that autocracy feels easier than accountability? Or worse still, does a public this backward and hateful even deserve digitalisation?

Don't get me wrong. I want a Digital Bangladesh. I believe in what it could be, not what it is. When we speak of technological progress, we imagine a nation on the move; armed with smartphones, internet, and boundless opportunities. Rarely do we pause to ask whether we are ready for the tools we so eagerly adopt. Because what I see today is a society that has flung itself headfirst into the digital age, weighed down by decades of unresolved anger, ignorance, and pain. We are now using the internet without the digital literacy required to help us navigate this new world responsibly.

The ability not just to use technology but to understand, interpret, and engage with it wisely is glaringly absent from our collective behaviour.

Most people equate owning a smartphone with empowerment but only a few understand that with empowerment comes responsibility.

Without the capacity to critically assess information, to distinguish fact from fiction, or to engage in constructive debate, social media ceases to be a tool of freedom. It becomes a means to chaos.

In Bangladesh, fake news spreads like wildfire, often with deadly consequences.

Even I have been duped by false information about attacks on women and animals, and it was easy to fool me, because these are things I'm deeply sensitive about.

Innocent people have been targeted, even killed, based on rumours circulated through Facebook. Women's private photos are stolen and shared without consent, their reputations shredded by strangers who take perverse pleasure in their downfall. Online bullying, cancel culture, and witch-hunting have become alarmingly normalised. Digital literacy is no longer an add-on or optional. It is an imperative. The rights and wrongs, the dos and don'ts have to be embedded into our education system, community programmes, and national awareness campaigns. More important than operating a device is to inculcate ethics and empathy.

Even with education, bad actors will remain, and that is why strong, fair, and enforceable cyber laws are crucial, not to encroach on privacy, but to uphold the principles of digital decency.

The Digital Security Act and, later, the Cyber Security Act became infamous for all the wrong reasons. Instead of protecting citizens from cyberbullying, harassment, hacking, and identity theft, these laws have been misused to suppress political dissent, silence journalists, and intimidate activists. Victims of genuine online abuse, particularly women, find little to no recourse.

Filing a complaint is often a humiliating and exhausting process. Law enforcement officials are frequently ill-equipped, untrained, or unwilling to treat cybercrimes with the seriousness they deserve.

Meanwhile, cyberstalkers, harassers, and digital criminals hide behind fake profiles, emboldened by the knowledge that the system will likely do nothing.

We need cyber laws that focus on real crimes. Revenge porn should be treated as a grave offence, not brushed off as a 'personal matter'. Public exposure of private information must result in swift legal consequences. Online threats, hate speech, and character assassination must carry real, enforceable penalties.

Just as crucially, specialised cybercrime units must be established within law enforcement -- trained to handle digital evidence, to treat victims with empathy, and to approach online threats with the same urgency as physical violence. Freedom on the internet should never mean freedom to harm, and it is time our laws recognised that.

We now find ourselves at a crossroads.

On one side lies the glittering promise of digitalisation: innovation, education, empowerment. On the other lies a dark mirror of our worst impulses, which can be magnified and broadcast to the world with just a click.

The internet was meant to be our gateway to a brighter future. Instead, for many, it has become a megaphone for hatred, ignorance, and bitterness.

Perhaps the real question is not whether we deserve digitalisation but whether we have the courage to grow into it, whether we possess the humility to recognise our failings, the strength to educate ourselves, and the will to demand true accountability -- from our society and from our leaders.

If we cannot do that, then we are not building a digital Bangladesh. We are only building a louder, faster echo chamber of our own destruction.

Naziba Basher is a sub-editor at The Daily Star