After the Arab Spring, digital power and censorship in the Middle East surged to the forefront of the global political agenda. Once anticipated as tools of liberation, digital platforms have increasingly served as sites of repression as regimes moved to tighten their grip on online discourse. One of the most glaring examples of this is the Islamic Republic of Iran’s parliament approving a bill titled “Combating the Spread of Untrue News Content” in July of 2025. This law aimed at silencing online misinformation. By criminalizing broad areas of online expression that it deemed ‘untrue,’ the legislation serves to expand Iran’s censorship. As a state party to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR)—Iran is bound by international obligations to uphold rights including freedom of expression, privacy, and protection. This 2025 law serves as a legal and political instrument that directly conflicts with the ICCPR. By comparing Iran’s cybercrime framework with relevant ICCPR standards—specifically Articles 19, 17, and 9—one can see how the legislation’s vagueness and disproportionate penalties violate the Covenant.
Iran’s modern digital censorship is shaped by its foundation—the Computer Crimes Law of July 2009 that emerged amid political unrest. The 2009 CCL set extensive controls over online activity and established legal grounds for internet censorship. Some notable provisions of the CCL included: a ban on the use of encryption or data protection that would “deny access of authorized individuals” to data (Article 10), the criminalization of producing or distributing “obscene” online content (Article 14), and mandates for Internet Service Providers to retain user data and even record VoIP conversations (Articles 21 and 48). According to the ARTICLE 19 Law Programme, the CCL is “saturated with provisions that criminalise legitimate expression,” which argues that it duplicates many content-based speech violations from Iran’s penal code and extends them to online. For example, it penalizes online dissent under the term of being “against public morality and chastity” and it assigns severe punishments. This has led to the forced closure of blogs and news sites inside Iran, silencing online speech. Human rights analyses find that the 2009 law “flagrantly violates international human rights law” and is “an affront to freedom of expression,” given its ambiguity and generic wording.
Then, on July 27, 2025, Iran’s Majlis (parliament) passed the Combating the Spread of Untrue News Content bill by a majority (205 in favor, 49 against). The law is framed as a measure against misinformation on social media and a way to “align with constitutional protections” for truth in journalism. In reality, it is a “widely condemned” initiative designed to deepen censorship, and confirm the state’s monopoly over information. The strategic timing—soon after a brief military conflict—suggests the bill was a reaction to the regime’s fear of digital mobilization of protests.
The key provision in the 2025 law is its redefinition of the offense of spreading false information online. Previously, Iranian law punished “spreading lies” with up to two years’ imprisonment The new bill replaces that term with the far vaguer category of “untrue news content.” This change criminalizes even partial truths, inaccuracies, or omissions—in other words, virtually any online post that authorities choose to deem not fully accurate or not reflecting the official version of events.
While the prior law on spreading lies carried a sentence of a few months to 2 years in jail, the 2025 law raises possible prison terms to 6 months up to 15 years for online content deemed untrue. Moreover, Article 14 of the law allows the authorities to treat serious cases as instances of “corruption on earth” (efsad-e fil-arz)—a grave charge in the Sharia-based legal system that carries the death penalty. Practically, “this law makes it possible for the state to execute someone simply for posting a tweet or sharing a WhatsApp message,” as one human rights legal advisor observed.
Iran’s new law must be examined next to the ICCPR, a binding treaty that Iran ratified in 1975. The ICCPR places strict conditions on any limitations of civil liberties. Two provisions of particular relevance are Article 19 (freedom of opinion and expression) and Article 17 (right to privacy). Of specific interest is Article 19—which protects the right to hold opinions without interference and the right to freedom of expression, which encompasses virtually all forms of speech—political discourse, journalism, commentary on public affairs, etc.—and extends protection to expression that may be critical of the government or even “deeply offensive.”
Under Article 19(3), any restriction on freedom of expression must be “provided by law,” meaning it is contained in a clear law that defines the prohibited expression with sufficient precision for citizens to regulate their speech. Vague wording fails this legality requirement. The law must also not give complete discretion on officials to apply it. Additionally, the restriction must be necessary to achieve a legitimate aim, and be proportionate to the threat addressed. This implies that the law should be the least intrusive means to protect the interest at hand. The Human Rights Committee has emphasized that restrictions must not be overbroad—they must be narrowly tailored, and a direct and immediate connection must exist between the expression being restricted and the threat justifying the restriction.
Most importantly, General Comment No. 34 explicitly notes that the ICCPR does not allow general bans on publishing “erroneous” or “incorrect” information. In the Committee’s words: “The Covenant does not permit general prohibition of expressions of an erroneous opinion or an incorrect interpretation of past events.” Laws that penalize the expression of opinions about historical or current facts solely for being “false” are incompatible with Article 19.
Similarly, Article 17 states that “no one shall be subjected to arbitrary or unlawful interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence” and that everyone has the right to the protection against such interferences. The U.N. Human Rights Committee, in its general decisions, has agreed that surveillance measures or access to personal data must not be arbitrary. Even if authorized by domestic law, they violate Article 17 if that law is disproportionate or imprecise. For instance, broad laws enabling mass monitoring of internet usage or requiring real-name registration for online activity could violate privacy rights if not strictly tailored. Under Article 17, any such interference must not be arbitrary, and vague notions of “combatting false news” are not a free pass to invade the privacy of all internet users.
In general, the conflicting agenda between the “Untrue Content” Law and ICCPR Standards can be summarized to two distinct problems: the violation of the principles of a valid law, and the absence of authentic aim. A fundamental defect of Iran’s fake-news law is its vagueness. The ICCPR requires that restrictions on speech be formulated with sufficient precision so that individuals can know what is prohibited. In this case, the law prohibits disseminating “untrue” content without clearly defining what counts as “untrue” or how truth will be determined. After all, such wording gives total discretion to prosecutors and security forces to label virtually any statement false. Because the law can encompass satire, opinions, or honest mistakes, Article 19 would clearly agree it is overbroad in scope. Further, it does not target a specific compelling threat but rather imposes a blanket of “incorrect” speech. Borrowing from the case of Shreya Singhal v. Union of India, This includes “a very large amount of protected and innocent speech,” phrasing used by India’s Supreme Court when striking down a similarly vague internet speech law.
Furthermore, even though the Iranian government defends the “untrue content” law on grounds of protecting the public from misinformation and safeguarding national security, the ICCPR demands evidence that a given restriction is truly necessary for that aim and that no less-intrusive measures are available. In this case, the necessity of Iran’s approach is highly contestable. The law appears to be aimed at suppressing narratives of corruption and protest rather than a genuine protection measure. The Human Rights Committee has warned that using public order to silence criticism or unwanted information is an abuse of Article 19(3). Iran’s law, by criminalizing dissent under the guise of “false news,” fits this pattern of illegitimate aim. Moreover, even if we accept legitimate objectives, the means chosen are not necessary. Criminalizing speech with long prison terms is an extreme step.
Ultimately, even if one could argue some necessity, the penalties and enforcement of the law are disproportionate to any legitimate objective. Proportionality is a core requirement under the ICCPR: restrictions on expression must not only be suitable to achieve their aim but also proportionate in severity, meaning the harm to free expression must not outweigh the interest protected.
In general, to treat a social media rumor as if it were an act of treason is a blatant violation of the ICCPR, and must be acknowledged as so. As journalists begin to inevitably fear reporting anything not officially confirmed; citizens will refrain from sharing news or opinions online in fear of being prosecuted for getting a detail wrong. In Iran, where the government has a history of selectively enforcing laws against critics, this overhanging threat of severe punishment will impoverish public discourse.
Ultimately, the clash between Iran’s “untrue content” law and the ICCPR highlights a broader issue: the use of “fake news” as a scapegoat to erode fundamental liberties. The ICCPR was designed to prevent exactly such abuses of power by requiring that any restriction on speech be tailored, and justified—whereas Iran’s law is unlawful under international standards. To honor its ICCPR obligations, Iran would need to radically amend this law to bring it into compliance with Article 19’s stringent criteria, as well as ensure that no one is arbitrarily detained or subjected to surveillance simply for what they say online. Until then, the law will remain an example of how domestic legislation can directly conflict with international human rights law.
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