Barrsiter Qazi Naveed
Policing in Pakistan has entered a visibility era. Encouraged by leadership, many officers now use platforms like TikTok, X, Facebook, and Instagram to speak directly to citizens, humanize the uniform, and counter misinformation in real time. The promise is compelling: quick updates during emergencies, accessible explanations of police work, and a way to rebuild trust after years of strained public–institution relations. Yet visibility without standards can erode the very credibility it aims to restore. When a uniform becomes a brand and public authority merges with personal influence, engagement risks sliding from service to self-promotion—a trajectory that ultimately weakens institutional legitimacy rather than strengthening it.
The upside of structured digital engagement is substantial. Timely advisories during floods, traffic disruptions, or security incidents save lives. Public education campaigns on women’s safety, cybercrime, and scam prevention can reduce victimization. Authentic storytelling about community policing and successful prosecutions can increase confidence in due process. Social media can also correct rumors faster than traditional press cycles. But these benefits materialize only when content is accurate, authorized, and consistent with legal and operational protocols; otherwise, well-meaning posts can spread confusion, tip off suspects, or prejudice ongoing investigations.
The core governance problem is boundary blurring. Officers possess a right to personal expression; however, the uniform signifies delegated sovereign authority. When personal accounts display ranks, insignia, or operational backdrops, posts cease to be purely personal and are reasonably interpreted as institutional speech. That invites legal risk and politicization. It also creates unequal voice: officers with more followers may appear to outrank the chain of command online, even when they do not. In such settings, decisions start getting justified to audiences rather than in accordance with law and policy, undermining impartiality and discipline—the backbone of professional policing.
“Celebrity policing” compounds these risks. Algorithms reward spectacle, brevity, and controversy—rarely the ingredients of measured law-enforcement communication. If officers chase virality, incentives shift from painstaking casework to performance. Likes and views can become proxy metrics for success, eclipsing real indicators such as response times, conviction rates, or community satisfaction. Over time, the institution is perceived less as a rule-bound guardian of rights and more as a content studio in uniform. That perception damages deterrence and dignity alike, making it harder to secure cooperation when it matters most.
Operational integrity demands careful content governance. Photographs from crime scenes, identifiable victims, or minors must not be posted. Comments on pending cases risk contempt or due-process violations. Location-revealing posts can endanger officers and witnesses. Personal devices used for official content create discoverability and evidence-chain problems. Even innocuous “behind-the-scenes” clips can disclose tactics or vulnerabilities. A conservative rule of thumb is essential: if content would require a press officer’s review before a newsroom briefing, it deserves the same scrutiny online—regardless of the platform’s informality.
A credible framework is therefore indispensable. First, separate the messenger from the message: official information should originate from verified institutional accounts managed by trained communications staff under written authorization protocols and audit trails. Second, officers’ personal accounts must avoid uniforms, ranks, insignia, vehicles, stations, or case materials. Third, adopt a clear Code of Online Ethics that specifies do’s and don’ts, approval thresholds, retention rules, and sanctions for breaches. Fourth, require disclaimers on any permissible professional commentary that it reflects personal views and not departmental policy.
Capacity building is equally important. Media-law literacy, privacy norms, crisis communication, and rumor control should be core modules in pre-service and in-service training. Scenario-based exercises—misinformation spikes, hostage situations, or election periods—help officers internalize restraint under pressure. Performance evaluation must not reward vanity metrics; instead, measure responsiveness to citizen queries, accuracy of advisories, reduction in misinformation, and compliance with approval workflows. When the incentives align with public value rather than personal reach, digital engagement strengthens rather than dilutes professionalism.
Citizen-centric design should guide content. Two-way channels for verified complaints and quick referrals to helplines increase procedural justice: people feel heard, receive status updates, and observe transparent timelines. During disasters, unified messaging across police, health, and disaster authorities prevents contradictory instructions. In routine times, explainers on FIR processes, victims’ rights, and cyber-safety create informed communities. Transparency dashboards—periodic, plain-language summaries of arrests, prosecutions, and departmental discipline—can be linked from official posts to shift attention from personalities to performance.
Finally, set the culture from the top. Leaders must model restraint, insist on institutional over individual voice, and back communications teams with resources and protection from political pressure. When slip-ups occur—as they inevitably will—swift, proportionate, and public corrective action preserves credibility. The governing principle is simple: social media is a tool, not a stage. Used under clear rules, it can deepen trust, deter crime through timely information, and humanize policing. Used as personal branding, it corrodes neutrality, distracts from duty, and invites legal and operational harm. The reform path is therefore not a ban but disciplined enablement: one voice, clear rules, trained professionals, measurable public outcomes.
