The assault on the "silence period" in India's 2024 election cycle did not simply test the robustness of the Model Code of Conduct; it laid bare the fundamental inadequacy of an analogue regulatory framework in the face of digital campaigning.
The 48 hours preceding the conclusion of polling—what the Representation of the People Act, 1951, designates as the 'silence period'—has a particular purpose. It is intended to give voters a breathing space, a moment to reflect without the din of political messaging, to make their choice freely, without the last-minute influence of rallies, advertisements, or even the distribution of alcohol. It is a moment of quiet, one might suppose, in the tumultuous theatre of Indian elections .
Yet, the 2024 general election, and its subsequent state-level sequels in Jharkhand and Maharashtra, demonstrated that this period has become a primary vector for the erosion of electoral norms. The digital arena, in particular, was not merely a supplement to traditional campaigning but the very site where the most egregious violations occurred. This was not just a case of a few isolated infractions; it was a systematic exploitation of the regulatory lag between the written word and the lightning speed of social media.
The Rule and Its Digital Reality
The legal framework is, at least on paper, quite clear. Section 126(1)(b) of the Representation of the People Act prohibits the display of any "election matter" through cinematograph, television, or similar apparatus in a polling area during the 48-hour period before the close of polls . The Election Commission has issued detailed guidelines to political parties and social media platforms to ensure compliance with the Model Code of Conduct during this time . The Media Certification & Monitoring Committee (MCMC), a body set up to scrutinise advertisements, requires political parties to obtain pre-certification for advertisements across all platforms, from television to social media . The punishment for violating the silence period can be severe, including imprisonment of up to two years, a fine, or both .
However, the real-world application of these rules has been inconsistent, to put it mildly. The sheer volume of digital ads, coupled with the speed with which they spread and the difficulty of removing them, has rendered the silence period a quiet wish rather than a reality.
Consider, for instance, the findings of the investigation by Ekō and India Civil Watch International. During the 2024 Lok Sabha elections, they discovered that Meta had approved a series of violent, inflammatory, and AI-generated advertisements that were specifically designed to be published during the official 'silence period' . These advertisements were not simply borderline; they were explicit and appalling. They included calls for the killing of Indian Muslims, the execution of a prominent opposition party leader, and other conspiracy theories, accompanied by shocking AI-generated images, including burning of electronic voting machines, immigration fears, and religious places on fire . The ads were targeted at highly contentious states which were entering their own respective 'silence periods'. The fact that Meta, a platform that has made numerous commitments to combat hate speech and disinformation, approved such content during a legally mandated blackout period reveals a systemic failure in its moderation practices and a fundamental disregard for Indian electoral law .
The problem was not merely the existence of such extreme content but also the apparent impunity. During the Jharkhand Assembly elections in November 2024, the Jharkhand Mukti Morcha (JMM) wrote to the Election Commission, alleging that the BJP was using its official social media handles to post videos and advertisements during the silent period . The JMM's complaint, however, was merely one of many. A later investigation by Alt News found that at least seven Facebook pages directly linked to BJP candidates and proxy pages had run political advertisements during the silence period . These pages included both the campaign pages of individual BJP leaders and proxy groups designed to circumvent the rules, often mirroring the names of local news outlets to seem credible . This was not a new tactic; similar violations were reported during the Karnataka and Gujarat assembly elections, where BJP proxy pages ran ads on election day itself, pointing to a pattern of systematic evasion .
The Judicial and Institutional Response
The courts have not been silent on this issue. The Calcutta High Court, for instance, strongly criticised the Election Commission for its inaction on complaints regarding BJP advertisements . While hearing a petition from the Trinamool Congress, Justice Sabyasachi Bhattacharya held that the Election Commission had "grossly failed" to address complaints of MCC violations, and described a string of BJP advertisements as "derogatory" and "slanderous" . The court’s observation that "any resolution adopted by EC after June 4 means nothing" is a profound indictment, suggesting that the Commission's power to issue an advisory after the event is entirely illusory . The judge's point was that the damage was done; the silence period had been breached, and a belated reprimand could not restore the sanctity of the voting process.
The Election Commission has occasionally directed the removal of posts and issued show-cause notices. For example, during the Jharkhand elections, the EC did order the Jharkhand BJP to remove a "misleading and malicious" video and sought an explanation for the violation . The video, which depicted a communal narrative, was found to be a prima facie violation of the MCC. This directive, however, came after the complaint was made, and the video had already circulated. The Commission also has the power to direct social media platforms through the designated authority in the state under Section 79(3)(b) of the IT Act . This mechanism, however, seems to operate on a case-by-case basis and struggles to keep pace with the volume of violations.
The "Silent Period" as a Theoretical Fiction
What this all amounts to is a realisation that the "silent period" has become something of a theoretical fiction. It is a legal concept that exists on paper, but in the digital realm, it is a rule of a bygone era, when political communication was confined to physical meetings, rallies, and mass media with more traditional editorial gatekeepers. The high court’s criticism of the Election Commission’s "illusory" advisory powers gets to the heart of the matter: the current enforcement mechanisms are woefully inadequate to regulate a political landscape that has migrated to the algorithm.
The use of proxy pages is a particularly troubling development. In Jharkhand, pages with names that sounded like local news outlets were among the largest spenders on ads during the election, demonstrating a deliberate attempt to deceive voters and operate in a grey area . This is a sophisticated evolution from the earlier days of digital campaigning; it is not just about running ads but about doing so in a manner that makes them difficult to trace and attribute.
Furthermore, the issue extends beyond just the ruling party. While many examples point to BJP-linked pages, the practice of violating the silence period is a symptom of a wider decay. The YSRCP in Andhra Pradesh, for instance, complained against political strategist Prashant Kishor and a journalist for telecasting an opinion poll on the eve of polling, which they argued was a clear violation of the silence period . The intent, the party argued, was to influence the voters at the crucial time, undermining the very purpose of the 48-hour window.
The persistence of these violations underscores a few key truths. First, the Election Commission's guidelines, however well-intentioned, lack adequate enforcement teeth in the digital domain. The reliance on complaints and the removal of a few offending ads after they have already circulated is no longer a sufficient deterrent. Second, social media platforms, for all their pledges of integrity, have shown a systemic inability to effectively police political advertising during critical periods. The Ekō investigation's finding that Meta approved 14 out of 22 violent AI-generated ads within 24 hours shows that their systems are either easily circumvented or simply not designed for the hyper-targeted, multilingual chaos of Indian elections . The power to pre-certify content is meaningless if a platform will approve the content regardless. Third, and most disturbingly, the political actors themselves have internalised the belief that these rules do not apply to them, that the benefits of violating the silence period outweigh the negligible risks of sanction.
The 2024 election thus marked not just a contest of political wills, but also a direct challenge to the legitimacy of the electoral process itself. The violation of the silence period is not a minor administrative infraction. It is an attempt to tip the scales of public opinion at the very moment when voters are supposed to be free from influence. It contributes to a broader sense that the rules of the game are being rewritten, that the playing field is not level, and that the institutions designed to enforce the rules are either unwilling or unable to do so. In the face of such a challenge, one finds the "silent period" has become less a sanctuary for voter deliberation and more a theatre of unaccountable political advertising.
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