Tag Archives: Technology

Tsvetelina Hristova: Operative and Performative Economies of Information in Communist Bulgaria

The tool factory Bolshevik in Gabrovo was the largest tool factory in the Balkans, picture from the scientific fund “Modern and Contemporary History” from the Regional History Museum, Gabrovo, 1970s. https://h-museum-gabrovo.bg/?p=7268 

In the early 1970s, the socialist state of Bulgaria was starting to develop a series of interconnected systems for the automated governance of different areas of social and economic life. The party established a network of territorial computational centres, institutions that housed mainframe computers for shared use by factories and state employees. This network formed the backbone of a new approach to information in the socialist state, one that evoked hopes and imaginaries that we can easily recognise in our data-driven present: automating production, detecting and eliminating human errors, predictive modelling and economic and social governance based on insights from large quantities of data about the processes on local and global level, increased flexibility in the organisation of production and supply chains. In many ways our present is the future past tense of a story that was being written in the post-WW2 decades of the 20th century on both sides of the Iron Curtain and looking back at these beginnings can help us understand how the current constellation of a data-driven economy consolidated and what possible futures it replaced.

Some level of automated information gathering had already been introduced in factories and institutions at that time. Automated systems of governance (ASU), a concept and practice borrowed from the Soviet experience, were mostly reliant on punch card and punch tape machines, with uneven level of technological sophistication and availability of computing machines. Under the umbrella of the project for Unified System of Social Information (USSI), the communist party envisioned the development of interconnected territorial databases that would collect structured data from industry, agriculture, construction, transportation, state administration, demographic statistical information, and the document flows of state institutions. Party leaders and engineers were imagining this machine-processable data as the key to unlocking a multiplicity of futurities that would solve key problems of the socialist society and radically transform its economic position on the global scene. USSI was conceived as a project to centralise the collection of machine-readable information. But for what purposes and what does this project tell us about the relationship of the socialist state to information? The small town of Gabrovo can give us an insight into this question.

Between 1972 and 1976, a team of engineers and designers assembled in Gabrovo as a local subsidiary of the Scientific Centre of the office for USSI. The team, led by engineer Nikola Vrazhilov, was tasked to develop a pilot module for USSI for the collection and analysis of data from industrial production. The team evaluated the available data collection and data transfer infrastructure at factories and municipal institutions in the region and developed a detailed project for their use in assembling the territorial database for Module Industry. Their archive shows a clever patchwork solution that took into account the different levels of digitalisation of this infrastructure and relied on technological and procedural translation across paper forms, punch card machines, magnetic tape, computers, telephone and telegraph networks. In the process of selecting key indicators to be gathered and writing the code for the BOMP-based programmes that enabled queries and analysis of the data, the question of the relationship between these new technologies for information processing and the traditional information practices of the state became pertinent.

At that point in time, in 1970s Socialist Bulgaria, the network of computational centres was emerging alongside and in an uneasy relationship to the established structures of statistical offices that had so far defined how practices of governance were grounded in information gathering and analysis. And the team in Gabrovo, led by Vrazhilov, was positioned between the two. The team was provided with an office in the building of the municipal computational centre and it had to closely collaborate with the local statistical office. Both of them met Vrazhilov with suspicion, as we can see from an archival trail of complaints and pleas for assistance. But his team played a crucial role as translators between the two models of use of information for governance purposes – the statistical and the computational. While they worked on a pilot project, their ambition was to develop a replicable methodology and code that could be scaled up and used across the country and that would eventually replace the existing incongruent methods of data gathering through statistical paper forms and ASU data. They aimed to establish a standard for digital data storage and use, one based on the principles of deduplication and a single source of truth, which, to this day, define e-government projects around the world.

Diagram of the information flows between factories and state institutions in Bulgaria, developed by Vrazhilov’s team in 1976 (archival unit 1206/1/23 from the Regional Archive in Gabrovo)

A key part of the work of Vrazhilov’s team was translating the indicators from statistical forms submitted to the Central Planning Committee into code that generated structured data and reports. One can argue that the socialist planned economy in itself was an information management project. The 5-year plan was not just a set of performance metrics to be achieved but acted, in itself, as a discursive performance of commitment to building a communist future. This performative aspect of the plan was reinforced even further with reforms in the early 1960s that aimed as decentralising control and giving back power to the workers. As part of this goal, a new form of the plan was introduced – the counter plan. It was proposed by the industrial workers themselves, at each factory, and was conceived as a way to make the planning expectations more realistic and grounded in the knowledge and abilities of the workers’ collectives, the brigades. In reality, though, the counter plan exacerbated the performativity of the plan, proposing even more ambitious achievements for the planning period. On the ground, as we can see from the archives of another state enterprise in Gabrovo, the Experimental Base, this competitive performativity led to perpetual struggle and failure to meet the goals. When faced with failures, however, the management of the factory was forced to prioritise the “material interest” of the workers and compensate them for their time, regardless of the results. As a way to deal with this cycle of ever more ambitious plans and inevitable failures, some factories had started to falsify the data and this was one of the key problems the state wanted to solve with its new computational network and machine-gathered data. By automating the data gathering and analysis, the state hoped to eliminate human errors – a hope that seems to persist in every historical context, regardless of the structure of the economic system.

Vrazhilov was hoping to achieve more. He wanted to use the data gathered daily, weekly, monthly and quarterly from factories in ways that went beyond mere verification. He wanted the data to show more, to reveal patterns that remained obscured in statistics. He coined the term “operative information” (оперативна информация) to refer to this idea. Operative information was a term that had both functional and temporal dimensions. It captured a period shorter than the regular reporting periods for the purposes of the plan. It was meant to capture the flow of production in action. The operative information consisted of data reported daily and within 10-day periods. These shorter periods of reporting were seen as an opportunity to reveal the rhythm of production rather than just expose whether factories fell short of fulfilling the plan. The operative nature of this approach was grounded in the window for intervention that Vrazhilov foresaw. Code would reveal uneven rhythms and then be used to diagnose and remediate the problem in ways reminiscent of what decades later has been termed algorhythmic governance – the regulation of the various temporal cycles of social life through algorithms.

Diagram Technological chain 1, development and maintenance of the datasets in the territorial database, from the Technical project “Development of Territorial System for teleprocessing in the region of Gabrovo, 1976 (Archival unit 1206/1/32 from the Regional Archive in Gabrovo)

Aside from the temporal dimension of production, the notion of operative data is interesting in other ways. The operation carried a multitude of loaded meanings during the Cold War. This term, coming from army jargon, captured the militarised spirit of mobilizing the workers for the competition between the Communist East and the Capitalist West. It also unfolded in a consistent relationship to information and the performativity of language and narrative. In the context of foreign intelligence and espionage, for example in a 1962 classified agreement between the Bulgarian secret police and the Soviet KGB, “operative information” was a term used to refer to data gathered through the structures of operative workers (оперативни работници), the fleet of trained informants of the secret police in communist states. These operative workers also played a key role in the moral and often oppressive economies of information in the country. They, together with untrained and spontaneous informants, gathered social data that could not be captured through the mechanisms of statistical forms and everyone, especially those in position of relative power, lived with the awareness that their actions and motives could be subject to a sort of fidelity test for compliance with the ethos of communism, that their social information and its interpretation were a contested terrain of ideological sense-making. This economy of information, where secrets and revelations acted as tools for control and redistribution of power, closely linked the organisation of industrial production with the circulation of narratives and interpretations. The institutions of the secret police and foreign espionage organs themselves were also incorporated into the initiatives for automated information systems for governance, developing databases and networks with dual use – for civilian and wartime purposes

We can stipulate that this complex informational aspect of the operation was shaped by the intellectual legacy of early Soviet figures like the poet Sergey Tretyakov in the early 1930s and anarchist thinkers and experimentators like Aleksey Gastev from the Central Institute for Labour (TsIT) in the 1920s, for both of whom the operation and the operational played a key role in the conceptualisation and enabling of the transformation to a communist social and economic system. Gastev’s “culture of the operation” aimed to provide a critical counterpoint to capitalist Taylorism, a scientific approach to the rhythm of production that had to be harmonised and steady but, above all, to be organised in a way that counters the alienating effects of the mechanisation and automation of capitalist production. Although the scientific organisation of work in texts by Gastev and TsIT drew inspiration from capitalist thinkers like Frederick Taylor (1910s), Frank Gilbreth (1910s) and Henry Ford (with whom TsIT exchanged letters in the 1920s), they insisted on the possibility of using the same methods to different ends, putting the embodied creativity of the worker and the workers’ collective at the centre of the operation. The ideological articulation of communist production was performative in the sense that the poet Sergey Tretyakov had developed in his work – the language of proletarian industrial production and organisation was not merely descriptive of an existing reality but aspired to bring a new communist reality into being. It was interventionist. And we can see this legacy in the aspirations of Vrazhilov for operative information that can not only capture the state of industrial factory production but can intervene into it and steady the rhythm of its flow. 

Vrazhilov’s work was largely met with enthusiasm, and the pilot project was planned to scale up. The traces of his team, however, disappeared in 1977 and his biography shows he was moved to a new position – as a director of the Base for Technological Development of Textile Machine Production in Gabrovo. Yet, the work of Vrazhilov’s team demonstrates how a seemingly technocratic project was deeply embedded in the legacy and aspirations of communism. It was not a project that used uniquely communist machines or approaches to coding or information networks. Rather, the emphasis on what made it socialist was consistently articulated through the language of communist ideology and through the economic base that defined the ownership of the means of production. Perhaps, this leaves us with a question for our present. What if, rather than focusing on the types of data-driven technologies in our lives and looking for technological fixes, we contemplate how to articulate and perform a different future and how to seize the material stratum that underpins it? The performative aspect of the operative information economy in state socialism was precarious and fragile. We have to acknowledge the archives of failures, the moral economy of control and punishment that aimed to contain subjectivities that adopted the performativity of language as means to reconcile the failures of production. And, yet, economic systems are inherently performative and imperfect. Our present AI-driven economy is built on promises and speculations. One crucial difference, however, is that it gradually but consistently limits the possibilities of workers resistance and control and its gains and losses are accounted for in ways that rarely if ever take the “material interest” of the workers as a primary concern.


Tsvetelina Hristova is an anthropologist, critical media studies scholar, and amateur boxer whose interest in social research developed from her involvement in left-wing activism in Bulgaria. Her work explores emerging and alternative forms of governance and control of labor and populations through analysis of the intersections of regimes of technological and political organizing.


We thank the Käte Hamburger Kolleg: Cultures of Research (c:o/re) for permission to reblog their original post, published August 10, 2026: https://khk.rwth-aachen.de/operative-and-performative-economies-of-information-in-communist-bulgaria/


Cite as: Hrsitova, T. 2026. “Operative and Performative Economies of Information in Communist Bulgaria” Käte Hamburger Kolleg: Cultures of Research (c:o/re) August 8. https://khk.rwth-aachen.de/operative-and-performative-economies-of-information-in-communist-bulgaria/

Zoha Waseem: Creeping Digital Authoritarianism and (In)Security in Pakistan

Image 1: Deployment of Safe City infrastructure in Karachi, 2025. Photos by author

Over the past decade, Pakistan has been steadily expanding its digital security, policing, and surveillance architecture, which is sensorially and materially altering how security is experienced and enacted. The expansion has occurred through an assemblage of securitising narratives, non-transparent deployment of internationally procured smart policing technology used for urban surveillance, and state lawfare targeting digital behaviour through Pakistan’s primary cybercrime law, the Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act (PECA).

This online and offline blend indicates what I refer to as creeping digital authoritarianism in Pakistan. I approach digital authoritarianism as a transdisciplinary concept (explored in detail by Polyakova and Meserole 2019, Roberts and Oosterom 2024), as a strategy of governance that allows regimes, both democratic and authoritarian, to digitally and technologically control, manipulate, censor, surveil, and repress regime opponents and critics, domestic and abroad, for the consolidation of power. As a strategy, digital authoritarianism facilitates and enables the hyper-introduction of mass surveillance technologies, a pattern observed globally, especially in the aftermath of 9/11.

In this text, I attempt to explore the impact of such creeping digital authoritarianism in Pakistan. I specifically focus on the recent developments of smart policing technology (known locally as ‘Safe City’ projects) and the simultaneous weaponisation of legal frameworks designed for policing and punishing online political activity (PECA). These technologies, although seemingly disconnected, have a collective chilling effect on citizen behaviour, which is leading to patterns of self-censorship and self-discipline. I approach the notion of “chilling effect” through Stevens et al. (2023) definition, as an explanation of how the fear, or possibility, of “being watched affects an individual’s conduct, impacting behaviours such as what they saw, what websites they visit, what materials they post, what comments they make, who they interact with, and if, or how, they engage in political opposition.” Although this effect is more evident in PECA-related cases, there is an observable impact on how people experience the world around them, notably in efforts to assemble, mobilise, and resist in the presence of surveillance technology deployed and used in ad hoc ways, with limited public engagement or transparency.

In a rapidly proliferating global era of digital authoritarianism, this human-technology relationship between digital policing (including the arbitrary use of technology alongside legal tools and frameworks) and political participation has wide-ranging consequences, not limited to the undermining of political freedoms. Everyday, routine behaviours—such as posting on digital messaging and social media platforms—are being gradually affected.

Infrastructures of Control

In 2016, the government of Pakistan passed its first and primary cyber and electronic crimes legislation, PECA. Over the past few years, this law has witnessed several amendments, and hundreds of journalists, activists, and critics have faced charges under PECA, under the allegation of “spreading false narratives against state institutions” or “anti-state activities”. Between January and July 2025, an additional 99 cases were reportedly filed under PECA for “anti-state activities”, according to a report drafted by the Ministry of Interior. Some of these 2025 cases were directed at journalists and private citizens accused of making defamatory statements against the Chief Minister of Punjab, Maryam Nawaz, the daughter of a former prime minister and the niece of current prime minister.

In early 2025, Pakistan hastily amended PECA, criminalising the dissemination of “fake and false information”, yet what constitutes “fake and false information” remains undefined. As such, this has significantly increased state control over online and digital activity and created avenues for potential abuse of discretion by law enforcement agents seeking to protect “national interest”. Then, in September 2025, PECA empowered Pakistani telecommunication providers to censor online content deemed to be against “the interest of the glory of Islam” (or blasphemous content) or against the “integrity, security or defence of Pakistan”. It further authorised a federal policing body, the National Cyber Crime Investigation Agency (NCCIA), to investigate and arrest those accused of posting or publishing content or opinions reportedly against the interest of the state and key state institutions, chiefly the military and the judiciary.

Last year, Amnesty International published an extensive report detailing the “notable abuses” that internationally procured and sourced technologies are enabling in Pakistan, including mass surveillance and unlawful internet censorship. Part of this surveillance involves the monitoring of digital and social media platforms, weaponised through PECA.

The “Digital Dehshatgard

Pakistan’s ascent towards digital authoritarianism has been carefully shaped by securitising narratives, with surveillance infrastructure and institutions gaining public legitimacy through the state-constructed risk of the so-called “digital dehshatgard (terrorist)”. The state’s introduction of the “digital terrorist” came in 2024, a label assigned to political opponents and activists reliant upon digital and social media platforms to generate critique against the armed forces and other state institutions. This narrative-construction helped set the stage for coordinated repression of opponents, and efforts towards “developing a strong national narrative” that would accompany media strategies, target disinformation, propaganda, and misinformation, while “positively influencing the younger generation” (The Express Tribune 2025).

Meanwhile, the procurement and development of digital surveillance infrastructure have been intricately connected to national growth and prosperity. Such technology is deemed vital for Pakistan’s “Digital Pakistan” vision, a strategy that seeks to create a digital ecosystem with information and communication technologies deployed across sectors. The introduction of surveillance technology across sectors is inevitable in today’s tech-dependent world, but risks fuelling digital authoritarianism. Pakistan’s attempts to control the internet, digital platforms, and information and communications systems, have escalated in the aftermath of a political fall-out between former prime minister Imran Khan’s political party (the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaaf) and the military, since 2023. These attempts gained traction in May 2025, following armed conflict with India, which saw widespread disinformation, including the use of AI-generated deepfakes, on both sides of the border.

Over time, securitised narrative-construction has carefully sought to legitimise the state’s encroachment into the digital realm, compromising the rights of social media users and undermining the security of activists, both online and offline.

The Legal Grind

In addition to the periodic censorship of social media platforms (including X and YouTube), banning the use of VPNs, or temporary shutdowns that throttle the internet, the state controls and monitors digital and online behaviour through PECA, which criminalizes free speech and uses broad language to equate online criticism with “cyber terrorism”. The law is frequently applied alongside the Anti-Terrorism Act, Pakistan’s primary counterterrorism legislation. This ensures that those who are charged under PECA and the ATA collectively can be tried in anti-terrorism courts, special courts that are created to avoid following due process and fair trial procedures. Such frameworks authorise state institutions such as the Pakistan Telecommunication Authority and the NCCIA, to survey and investigate online speech, censor content, and punish critical thought.

These institutions are further bolstered by their surveillance capacity, consisting of local social media cells that monitor online accounts and digital behaviours. This surveillance enables law enforcement agents to “build cases”, for which agencies may rely upon “crowd-sourced surveillance” (social media users who may be rewarded for registering police complaints against other users for posting “offensive” material online) or in-house complainants.

A recent infamous conviction of two lawyers, Imaan Mazari and Hadi Ali Chatha in January 2026, reveals the practice of relying upon in-house complainants. In this case, two human rights lawyers, Imaan and Hadi, were charged under PECA for tweets condemning the practice of enforced disappearances in Pakistan. The case was filed by an officer of the NCCIA itself. This has a direct bearing on how targets of this law experience insecurity because of such digital surveillance and the legal grind that follows.

As journalist Farieha Aziz (2025) writes, empowered by PECA, these agencies use technology for surveillance, monitoring, and subsequently punishing, subjecting their targets to “bail hearings, repeated court appearances, the stigma of being labelled ‘’anti-state’, and the constant threat of a lingering case—often without trial”. Through lengthy ordeals within and outside of the courtroom, state critics experience the violence of unregulated and unchecked technological and digital surveillance material.

The high-profile case and subsequent conviction of Imaan and Hadi—who have been sentenced for a total of 17 years in prison for their posts on X—shows how technology and law can work in tandem to realise digital authoritarianism in the absence of adequate safeguards and regulatory mechanisms. In other words, material technologies can be harnessed to filter and flag content that can later be criminalised under a state’s legal architecture. This combination of the material and the legal, if designed to prioritize regime interests over individual rights and liberties, paves the way for repression through hybrid online and offline monitoring.

Leave Your Phone Outside”

The combination of PECA and various internet governance strategies has resulted in what activists on the ground call “process as punishment” (Aziz 2025). In the words of one activist who spoke to me in confidence, PECA (and accompanying laws) are usually applied by state agencies after a suspect (usually, an opponent or a critic) has been illegally detained by unknown agents of the state with their whereabouts not disclosed, typically based on social media content. The “disappearance” follows the formal registration of a police complaint, which may be dictated to the police “on the phone” by other agents of the state or by unknown complainants that may be patronised by state institutions. The registration of the complaint allows the suspect to be formally charged and for the investigation to begin. The whereabouts of the suspect are then disclosed, after the complaint has been registered. During this time, the suspect’s devices may be taken from them and unlocked through coercion. No warrants are obtained for such a search.

Reports of digital surveillance processes have become common over the past few years, resulting in journalists and activists critical of the state to self-censor and self-discipline. The most obvious example of this is the increasingly widespread use of the “disappearing messages” function on WhatsApp, a practice notably adopted by journalists, activists, and lawyers, to limit the information and communication that can be used by authorities as evidence to incriminate “suspects” under PECA, should their devices be searched, as they frequently are once an individual is taken into custody.

Even beyond users likely to be criminalized under PECA, civilians have told me in private conversations that they are less likely to forward messages received through WhatsApp since the law was introduced. Lawyer Rida Hosain (2025) has similarly explained that “Even clicking ‘repost’ on content that the state finds objectionable can subject an individual to criminal persecution.”

Beyond these platforms and messaging apps, insecurity is also felt by critics in their routine usage of electronic devices, such as their phones. It is common knowledge that after reports of state surveillance through the Lawful Intercept Management System (Amnesty International 2025), state critics and opponents are increasingly wary of their digital messaging platforms coming under state scrutiny. Not only are dissidents applying the “disappearing messages” function to their messaging platforms, but extra efforts are also made to physically distance themselves from such gadgets during meetings and conversations considered to be of “sensitive” nature.

During my fieldwork in Pakistan, respondents told me that it was common practice in some official spaces for civilians to leave their phones outside of meeting rooms or be requested to do so. In at least one interview with a politician, the gentleman himself tucked his phones deep inside his sofa cushions to potentially avoid our conversation being audio-recorded through his devices, demonstrating the chilling effect of creeping digital authoritarianism.

Other respondents have similarly revealed switching their WhatsApp over to international numbers, when they are able to, as correspondence from local numbers may be easy to track by the state through the telecommunications authority.

Eyes on the Road

While PECA serves to criminalise dissent online and through information and communication technologies, the Peaceful Assembly and Public Order (PAPO) Act has criminalised protest and peaceful assembly in the capital city of Islamabad. Upon being hastily passed in September 2024, PAPO has been used to charge political opponents and supporters of the PTI (Imran Khan’s party). Enabling such legal repression of urban resistance and the right to protest are expansive and expensive technological projects, known as “Safe City” projects.

Safe City projects are essentially digital surveillance and security infrastructure that seek to enhance policing and law enforcement in Pakistan through technological advancements, and the collection of vast quantities of data (Hong 2022). Pakistani authorities refer to implementation of “safe city” infrastructure as necessary for “effectively combating terrorism,” in response to an “emergent situation”. In other words, technological advancements are justified as a response to a range of “internal threats”, from domestic terrorism to civil unrest and political protest, depending upon how governments choose to label anti-state agitation. In this way, technology and politics are co-produced in the field of security governance.

Even though the procurement and deployment of such technology imply urgency, risk, and threat to the nation, governments overseeing these projects have been largely secretive and guarded about details and documentation about this infrastructure. However, it is generally understood that the procurement of such smart policing technology has included material equipped with artificial intelligence, webcams, bodycams, facial recognition technology, voice recognition technology, and more.

By framing the procurement of such technology as relevant for countering terrorism and “emergent situations”, securitising narratives are used to justify lucrative and expensive architecture, avoiding debates around the global supply chains and partnerships that enable this process and aid digital authoritarianism. This way, any debate on harms that may be associated with or produced by this new surveillance technology, is avoided, as technological advancement, including the incorporation of AI in policing and surveillance, becomes integral to national stability and progress.

What is also avoided is a critical consideration of how smart policing technology may be deployed through colonial frames, tropes, and logics, that are ingrained into postcolonial policing and pacification programmes. As is already known, population control and monitoring were crucial for imperial interests and the protection of the colonial regime in British India (before independence in 1947). The Safe City infrastructure in Pakistan is similarly seen as critical for population control.

In an interview with this author, an official overseeing one such project boasted that Safe City officers were “custodians of people’s data”, an alarming admission for a country still lacks data protection laws and allows internationally-procured technology to collect vast amounts of data on civilians, hoping to use this data as “inputs for safe city solutions” (Hong 2022).

While there exists a draft of a Personal Data Protection Bill since 2023, it has yet to be passed, which means there are no legal safeguards in place to determine how personal data collected through safe city technology will be stored, for how long, under what conditions, and to whom it will be accessible. Similarly, little protection is available to “suspects” in terms of how their data is extracted by law enforcement authorities, should they be charged under the PECA law.

Thus, digital control practices and the lack of legal safeguards have a chilling effect, with observable behavioural changes, especially in the work of journalists, lawyers, activists, and dissidents.

For example, public order policing, protests, and collective mobilization have been controlled and punished using both PECA as well as surveillance footage collected through Safe City cameras. During protests led by opponents critical of the military establishment’s removal of the former prime minister Imran Khan in May 2023, for instance, Safe City surveillance cameras were used by the police to identify protestors and political leaders.

As interviewees informed me after these protests, the military – a key player in Pakistan’s politics and law enforcement–had direct access to such surveillance data, raising concerns about the political weaponisation of such expansive technology. As per the police’s own admission, most of the arrests that were carried out in the aftermath of these protests were of individuals identified through CCTV cameras of the Safe City Authority in Punjab, aided by geotagging.

These arrests—which have included high profile political figures (including women and the former prime minister, Khan)—have deterred large-scale political demonstrations over the past two years, showing the impact of technologically enabled surveillance practices on political opposition, a chilling effect.

Separately, however, the use of technology for repression is also condemned by certain law enforcement officials. In the aftermath of the arrests of PTI workers and activists, when the police were asked by their military counterparts to “pick up” civilians identified through geo-tagging and Safe City cameras, in private conversations some police officials expressed feeling “uneasy” by the demands being placed on them.

It is thus worth considering what pressures such techno-authoritarianism places upon state agents themselves, who may not always be united in their perceptions or their discretion.

Buy First, Justify Later?

Pakistan is becoming a prominent consumer in the global marketplace of surveillance and censorship technology, but details of how this technology is procured, delivered, and deployed emerge only gradually, if at all. The logic is simple: “if it is available and can be bought, it should be bought.” Such technological advancement is presented as essential for Pakistan’s growth, security, and associated with the nation’s progress, thus it has seemingly acquired substantial public legitimacy.

While the state’s use of digital surveillance technology for policing protests and public assemblies has created a deterrence in street mobilisation in Pakistan, the extent to which it impacts civilians sensorially is hard to quantify as this technology is still being developed and deployed. The onset of digital authoritarianism in the country, however, is undeniable. It is grounded in human and non-human assemblages of policing institutions, legal frameworks, tools and technologies, and security-centric narratives, all of which are having a chilling effect on citizen’s behaviour.

In the absence of adequate legal safeguards or independent oversight mechanisms, technological advancements risk digital infrastructural harm, not limited to the undermining of personal freedoms.


Zoha Waseem is an Associate Professor in Criminology at the University of Warwick. She is interested in policing, law enforcement, digitalization, and urban (in)security with a focus on South Asia.


References

Ahmed, Z., Yilmaz, I., Akbarzadeh, S., and Bashirov, D. 2025. Contestations of Internet Governance and Digital Authoritarianism in Pakistan. International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society, 38, 499-526.

Amnesty International. 2025. Shadows of Control: Censorship and Mass Surveillance in Pakistan. Available at: https://www.amnesty.org/en/documents/asa33/0206/2025/en/.

Aziz, F. 2026. Imaan-Hadi Conviction Marks the Death of Fair Trial in Pakistan. Dissent Today. Available at: https://dissenttoday.net/opinion/how-imaan-hadi-conviction-marks-the-death-of-fair-trial-in-pakistan.

Express Tribune, 2025. PM Leads high-level meeting to strengthen national narrative against terrorism. The Express Tribune. Available at: https://tribune.com.pk/story/2536922/pm-leads-high-level-meeting-to-strengthen-national-narrative-against-terrorism.

Hong, C. 2022. “Safe Cities” in Pakistan: Knowledge Infrastructures, Urban Planning, and the Security State. Antipode, 54(5), 1476-1496.

Hosain, R. 2026. Imaan-Hadi Arrest and a State at War with Dissent. Dawn. Available at: https://www.dawn.com/news/1968787/imaan-hadi-arrest-and-a-state-at-war-with-dissent.

Polyakova, A. and Meserole, C. 2019. Exporting digital authoritarianism: The Russian and Chinese Models. Policy Brief, Democracy and Disorder Series, 1-22. https://www.brookings.edu/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/FP_20190827_digital_authoritarianism_polyakova_meserole.pdf.

Roberts, T. and Oosterom, M. 2024. Digital Authoritarianism: A Systematic Literature Review. Information Technology for Development, 4, 860-884.

Stevens, A., Fussey, P., Murray, D., Hove, K., and Saki, O. 2023. ‘I Started Seeing Shadows Everywhere’: The Diverse Chilling Effects of Surveillance in Zimbabwe. Big Data and Society. DOI: 10.1177/20539517231158631.


Cite as: Wasseem, Z. 2026. “Creeping Digital Authoritarianism and (In)Security in Pakistan” Focaalblog April 14. https://www.focaalblog.com/2026/04/14/zoha-waseem-creeping-digital-authoritarianism-and-insecurity-in-pakistan/

Gavin Smith: Rereading Marx on machines in the time of COVID-19

Gavin Smith, University of Toronto

One of the many perils lies in normalizing the ‘batshit crazy’ presently underway.”
—Wallace, Liebman, Chavez & Wallace 2020: 5

The COVID-19 pandemic has stripped the veneer off capitalist society whether in its softer social democratic version or its bare-faced pseudo Darwinian version. Both the cause and the cure are down to the way capitals, now thoroughly integrated into states, have driven the direction of technology to produce this perfect storm. The staggering failures at the curing end are not just glaringly obvious in the present crisis; you’d have to be especially starry-eyed not to see that the wheels and most of the chassis had been stripped off public health well before now. But at the causative end “the normalizing [of] the batshit crazy presently underway,” risks being lost in the chatter.

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David Bozzini: Gabriella Coleman on the ethnography of digital politics – part 2

David Bozzini is a research fellow at the Graduate Center, CUNY, where he is researching on Eritrean deserters movements and on the resistance to digital surveillance. He co-edits Tsantsa, the journal of the Swiss Ethnological Society.

Gabriella Coleman is an anthropologist and holds the Wolfe Chair in Scientific and Technological Literacy at McGill University in Montreal, Canada. She wrote about the free software movement in her book Coding Freedom: The Ethics and Aesthetic of Hacking. After years of researching Anonymous and following its online discussions and debates, she published Hacker, Hoaxer, Whistleblower, Spy: The Many Faces of Anonymous (Verso, 2014).

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David Bozzini: Gabriella Coleman on the ethnography of digital politics – part 1

David Bozzini is a research fellow at the Graduate Center, CUNY, where he is researching on Eritrean deserters movements and on the resistance to digital surveillance. He co-edits Tsantsa, the journal of the Swiss Ethnological Society.

Gabriella Coleman is an anthropologist and holds the Wolfe Chair in Scientific and Technological Literacy at McGill University in Montreal, Canada. She wrote about the free software movement in her book Coding Freedom: The Ethics and Aesthetic of Hacking. After years of researching Anonymous and following its online discussions and debates, she published Hacker, Hoaxer, Whistleblower, Spy: The Many Faces of Anonymous (Verso, 2014).

Continue reading