‘BIG brother is watching you.’ What George Orwell wrote inÌý1984Ìýas a work of dystopian fiction has, for many, come uncomfortably close to reality in Bangladesh. The sense of being watched, tracked and recorded is no longer just paranoia. It is institutionalised, systematised and, most alarmingly, legalised. Surveillance in Bangladesh has not only survived political upheavals but also entrenched itself so deeply into the fabric of governance that one could argue it is now beyond the reach of simple reforms.
Between 2015 and 2025, Bangladesh has reportedly spent nearly $190 million, or more than Tk 2,000 crore, on surveillance systems and spyware. This is not a trivial sum. It is an investment in building a comprehensive framework capable of not only intercepting call records but also of taking full control of digital devices. E-mails, texts, browsing histories and even encrypted communications, once thought to be private sanctuaries of personal thought, have become vulnerable to intrusion. The expansion of such capabilities suggests that surveillance is not about specific threats any more. It is about omnipresence. The apparatus exists, the technology exists and the temptation to use it remains irresistible for whoever holds power.
The pattern of investment in eavesdropping technology tells its own story. Purchases spiked before the 2018 and 2024 elections, indicating that these tools were not deployed merely for counter-terrorism or crime prevention, as often claimed, but as instruments of political survival. This points to a disturbing convergence between surveillance and electoral politics, where technology designed to protect citizens from threats is repurposed to suppress dissent, monitor rivals and maintain dominance.
The fall of the previous regime in the face of a mass uprising has not diminished the anxiety surrounding surveillance. Even after the transition, private conversations and videos continue to appear mysteriously in the public sphere. Such leaks sustain the suspicion that the machinery of monitoring has not been dismantled but merely inherited. Institutions, budgets and the infrastructure of surveillance remain intact. The critical question is no longer whether the government of the day conducts surveillance but whether the architecture itself has grown so entrenched that no government, interim or elected, can resist wielding it.
This concern is magnified by the role of the National Telecommunications Monitoring Centre, the state agency widely associated with monitoring phone calls and internet activity. Established under the umbrella of military intelligence, it later evolved into an independent organisation under the home affairs ministry. From 2016 to 2025, it spent more than $50 million on surveillance technology, much of it sourced from foreign companies specialising in spyware and interception systems. The continuity of this investment makes it difficult to believe that the agency has ceased operations. It also underscores the absence of transparency: citizens do not know who authorises interception, under what circumstances they are conducted or how long their data are stored.
The constitution recognises the right to personal privacy as fundamental. Yet in practice, that right is hollowed out by a complex web of legislation. Surveillance is legitimised with at least 22 laws, many of which grant sweeping powers to state agencies without adequate procedural safeguards. This legal environment creates a paradox: what is constitutionally guaranteed is simultaneously legislatively undermined. Instead of being a shield for citizens, the law has become the very tool used to rationalise intrusion.
In democracies that respect civil liberties, surveillance is not unregulated. There are checks and balances — judicial oversight, parliamentary scrutiny and independent data protection authorities — that ensure that privacy intrusions occur only in exceptional cases and under clear justification. In Bangladesh, however, oversight is minimal to non-existent. Law enforcement officers often access call records and digital trails without a warrant, bypassing any semblance of due process. This makes surveillance not only pervasive but also arbitrary. It is not the rule of law that governs monitoring but the discretion of those with access to the tools.
The implications of such a system extend far beyond politics. Ordinary citizens bear the brunt of unchecked surveillance. Phone conversations, social media messages and personal data can be weaponised against them. Leaks of private communications have already destroyed reputation, fuelled smear campaigns and led to prosecution under vague and elastic legal provisions. The line between state security and personal vendetta is blurred when powerful institutions operate without accountability. The chilling effect is unmistakable: people censor themselves, avoid expressing dissent and live under the shadow of invisible eavesdroppers.
Reform has been attempted, but half-heartedly. After the fall of the previous government, the controversial Digital Security Act was repealed and the Cyber Security Ordinance was introduced. On the surface, this appeared to be a step forward. Yet, the new framework still allows authorities wide-ranging powers to block, intercept and access data under loosely defined categories such as ‘public order’ or ‘religious harmony.’ Without precise definitions or independent oversight, the provisions are ripe for abuse. The danger is not only what the law allows but what it leaves vague, providing room for discretionary control.
The proposed regulatory reforms to telecommunications law, spurred partly by international criticism, have not solved the problem either. Reports suggest that even in the latest drafts, provisions for wiretapping remain intact. The requirement for mobile operators to retain call records for two years and internet usage data for six months continues, effectively creating a ready-made archive of personal information waiting to be tapped. Instead of dismantling the surveillance state, reforms risk institutionalising it further.
The introduction of technologies like Starlink adds another layer of complexity. While hailed as a safeguard against government internet shutdowns, the draft guidelines for the satellite internet still allow for surveillance and interception. The paradox deepens: technological advances that promise digital freedom simultaneously open fresh avenues for control. The infrastructure of surveillance adapts, expands and survives political change, raising the uncomfortable possibility that Big Brother in Bangladesh is not the government but a system.
International observers have also raised alarms. A UN fact-finding mission recommended dismantling intrusive surveillance agencies and ending unlawful monitoring of citizens. Yet, such calls have been met with bureaucratic silence or superficial investigation. The creation of committees to review procurement practices may create headlines, but as long as the policy framework and agencies remain intact, surveillance will remain the default mode of governance.
At the heart of this problem lies the absence of institutional checks and balances. Power accumulates in intelligence agencies and bureaucracies with little counterweight from the judiciary, the legislature or civil society. The lack of an independent data protection authority means there is no watchdog to ensure that citizens’ information is collected lawfully, stored securely or destroyed when no longer needed. This vacuum allows institutions to operate with impunity. In such an environment, surveillance is not an exception. It becomes the norm.
The broader philosophical question is whether Bangladeshis can still claim to enjoy the right to privacy in any meaningful sense. Privacy is not merely about keeping secrets. It is about preserving autonomy, dignity and the freedom of thought. When citizens know they may be watched, they modify their behaviour, not because they are guilty but because they are afraid. This is how surveillance erodes democracy not by overt repression but by inducing self-censorship, conformity and silence.
The challenge is, therefore, not just legal or technological but structural. Surveillance has become embedded in the governance system, justified through laws, financed through budgets and normalised through practice. Unless there is a radical shift, which dismantles entrenched institutions, introduces robust oversight and places clear limits on surveillance, the cycle will continue. Every government, regardless of its rhetoric, will be tempted to exploit the tools at its disposal.
Bangladesh stands at a crossroads. The choice is between perpetuating a surveillance state under the guise of security and embracing a future where privacy is genuinely protected as a cornerstone of democracy. The costs of the former are already visible: eroded trust, stifled dissent and a citizenry that feels watched rather than represented. The gains of the latter — confidence, participation, innovation and dignity — are harder to achieve but infinitely more rewarding.
Seventy-five years after Orwell’s warning, it is worth asking: has fiction simply become the reality of Bangladesh? If big brother is not dismantled but allowed to evolve, then privacy in this country is not just endangered, it may already be extinct.
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HM Nazmul Alam is an academic, journalist and political analyst.