In September 2025, the Karnataka high court delivered a judgment that could redefine how India governs its digital space. In X Corp versus Union of India, the court upheld the Union government’s Sahyog portal, an online system that allows central and state authorities, including police officers, to issue content-removal directions under Section 79(3)(b) of the Information Technology Act, 2000 and Rule 3(1)(d) of the Intermediary Guidelines, 2021.

The court rejected X Corp’s argument that Sahyog circumvents Section 69A of the Act, which regulates blocking orders and prescribes safeguards such as written reasons, notice, and review. Calling Sahyog merely a “facilitation mechanism,” the high court judges held that it only streamlines communication between the government and online platforms.

X Corp has announced plans to appeal, warning that the ruling empowers “millions of officers” to demand takedowns without oversight, enabling arbitrary censorship. The decision has revived a broader debate about the design of India’s takedown regimes. While Sahyog expands executive power to suppress speech, the other major takedown system meant to protect artists from copyright infringement remains largely ineffective. One framework is too weak to protect creators while the other is too strong to protect citizens.

The copyright takedown system

India’s first takedown regime arises from the Copyright Act 1957, read with Section 79 of the IT Act. When a song, film clip, or photograph is uploaded without permission, the rights-holder can send a notice to the hosting platform asking that the material be removed. 

This “notice-and-takedown” arrangement was designed to balance interests – platforms delete infringing content to retain their “safe-harbour” immunity, while creators regain control over their work.

In practice, the system has proved inadequate. Artists and record labels spend immense resources policing platforms for unauthorised uploads that reappear almost instantly. The Delhi high court recognised this “whack-a-mole” problem in MySpace Inc. versus Super Cassettes Industries Ltd. (2017) but declined to impose proactive monitoring duties, reasoning that constant screening would be technologically unworkable and could chill legitimate speech. Enforcement thus remains reactive as infringements vanish only after they have already spread, and they re-emerge soon after. Independent musicians and smaller producers, lacking legal departments, cannot keep up.

The deeper crisis is economic. The imbalance between global platforms and Indian creators has widened into what the industry calls the value gap. In FY 2024, digital advertising generated more than Rs 70,000 crore in India, while the entire music industry was worth roughly Rs 5300 crore, out of the Rs 2.5 lakh crore media-and-entertainment sector. Royalties paid to artists crossed Rs 700 crore, a 42% rise from the previous year but minuscule beside platform profits. Daily music streams have surpassed 13.1 billion, yet only a fraction of that value reaches those who compose or produce the tracks.

Because Section 79 shields intermediaries from liability, platforms can negotiate licences on their own terms, leaving creators dependent on voluntary cooperation. The law has not caught up with an economy where creative labour sustains digital engagement but receives a shrinking share of its rewards.

Globally, rightsholders have demanded stronger protection. The European Union’s 2019 Copyright Directive, through Article 17, requires large platforms either to obtain licences or to ensure that unlicensed works remain unavailable i.e. a “notice-and-staydown” regime. India, wary of automated filtering and high compliance costs, has avoided such reform. The outcome is paralysis, enforcement is too weak to protect artists, yet fears of over-blocking prevent progress.

Unlawful content takedown system

If the copyright system fails by omission, the government-driven takedown framework fails by commission. This second structure rests on Sections 69A and 79(3)(b) of the IT Act.

Section 69A authorises the State to block access to information in the interests of sovereignty, security, public order, or morality, but only through a prescribed procedure. 

The Information Technology (Procedure and Safeguards for Blocking for Access of Information by Public) Rules, 2009 require that reasons be recorded in writing, that the originator and intermediary receive notice and a chance to be heard, and that a review committee confirm the order within 48 hours. The Supreme Court upheld this process in Shreya Singhal versus Union of India (2015), striking down Section 66A for vagueness but endorsing Section 69A because of its procedural safeguards.

However, Section 79(3)(b) occupies a greyer zone. It states that intermediaries lose safe-harbour protection if they fail to act on government orders to remove “unlawful” content but provides no guidance on who may issue such orders or how they must be reviewed. The 2021 Guidelines expanded this authority through Rule 3(1)(d), obliging platforms to remove content when notified by any authorised government agency. It is under this rule that the Sahyog portal operates.

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Launched in 2024, Sahyog allows officials across departments to log in, select a content category ranging from hate speech to alleged anti-national activity and send takedown requests directly to platforms. The government describes it as efficient; critics describe it as opaque. Orders are confidential, users rarely know who acted or why, and unlike Section 69A, Sahyog requires neither written reasons nor independent review. 

Digital-rights groups have warned that Sahyog creates a parallel censorship regime, bypassing the procedural discipline that saved Section 69A in Shreya Singhal including a Court order as constituting “actual knowledge” important for checking arbitrary takedowns and indirect censorship. By validating a mechanism that allows takedowns by law enforcement officers with minimal oversight, the recent ruling risks turning administrative convenience into executive overreach. The judgment normalises executive control over online expression while eroding the constitutional safeguards that the Supreme Court had insisted upon a decade earlier. 

Parallelly, private misuse of copyright takedowns has grown rampant. Copyright claims are often used to silence satire, political commentary, and criticism. Platforms, eager to avoid legal exposure, comply reflexively as also held in Kunal Kamra v Union of India. The chilling effect on speech is unmistakable: content disappears quietly, without notice or remedy.

Two systems, one flawed infrastructure

The contrast between the two frameworks reveals a deeper paradox. Both rely on the same infrastructure, the power to remove content at its source but fail in inverse ways. The copyright system is under-enforced, leaving creators unprotected; the speech system is over-enforced, leaving citizens vulnerable to censorship.

In the copyright context, content ought to be presumed infringing until proven otherwise. In the speech context, expression should be presumed lawful until it clearly violates Article 19(2). Yet both regimes neglect procedural fairness. The first burdens individuals with endless monitoring; the second empowers the executive to act without transparency or review. The result is a digital order governed not by clear rules but by discretion.

This convergence of weakness and excess has created what might be called India’s digital paradox, the same mechanism that fails to protect musicians from piracy can be used to silence journalists or activists. In both instances, the ordinary user whether creator or citizen has little recourse.

Toward a balanced reform

A coherent policy must separate these two realms. Private disputes over ownership require efficient civil remedies, predictable licensing, and fair compensation, not executive interference. Matters of public order and national security must remain under judicial or quasi-judicial scrutiny, with full procedural transparency.

For the creative economy, India could adopt limited “staydown” obligations for large user-generated-content platforms, supported by fingerprinting technology. Collective licensing through bodies such as the Indian Performing Rights Society (IPRS) should be strengthened so that royalties reflect real consumption. Artists must not rely on voluntary goodwill to earn from their work.

For the regulation of speech, the key is accountability. Every takedown whether initiated by a private complainant or by the State should trigger notice to the uploader and be logged in a public database. Intermediaries should publish regular transparency reports detailing the number, origin, and grounds of removal requests. Orders under Section 79(3)(b) must be reviewable by an independent or judicial body.

Together, these trends expose the fragility of India’s digital freedoms, a regime simultaneously permissive of infringement and restrictive of dissent. The challenge is not to choose between protecting artists and preserving free speech, but to craft a system that does both. The principles for doing so already exist in the constitution, procedural fairness, proportionality, and transparency. Strengthening those values, rather than expanding discretion, is the real task.

Protecting both creativity and dissent is not contradictory. It is the essence of constitutional democracy. The same law that safeguards intellectual property must also defend the freedom to parody, critique, and question. For India to realise its digital promise, it must resolve this paradox ensuring that the system that protects art never becomes the one that silences it.

Anushri Shukla is a lawyer focusing on the intersection of law, rights-based issues and advocacy. 

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