Once, newspapers and television shaped public opinion. In a high-profile case, headlines, photographs, talk shows and television coverage could establish an accused person as ‘guilty’ or ‘innocent’ in the public mind even before a court delivered its verdict. This phenomenon came to be known as a media trial. But with the explosion of social media, that power is no longer confined to journalists or editors. Today, a video, post, comment or even incomplete information can reach masses within hours. Behind this process operates an invisible system that shows us what we want to see – the algorithm. This is known as a media trial.
A media trial occurs when coverage of an ongoing or potential criminal case leads the public to become convinced of an accused person’s guilt or innocence before a court reaches a verdict. Courts are supposed to rule based on evidence. Media trials, by contrast, can shape public judgement through narratives, headlines, photographs, interviews and emotion.
This is why India’s Law Commission published a separate report in 2006 titled Trial by Media: Free Speech Vs. Fair Trial. That does not mean, however, that reporting on a case constitutes a media trial. The role of an independent media is to inform the public about court proceedings, allegations, evidence and state action. The problem begins when allegations are presented as facts, suspicion as proof, and public anger as a substitute for justice.
The tendency to judge through public opinion can be traced back to the age of the printing press. In the history of modern mass media, the concept of ‘trial by television’ became particularly prominent in 1967 with the British television programme The Frost Programme. Presenter David Frost subjected Emil Savundra, who was accused of insurance fraud, to intense questioning, which was criticised as a ‘trial by television’, and concerns were raised that Savundra’s right to a fair trial could be compromised.
The significance of this history is that while technology has changed, the human desire to judge has not. In the newspaper era, editors decided which events would receive prominence. In the television era, editors and producers determined which images and statements would reach viewers. The internet, however, has broken up much of that concentration of power.
The O.J. Simpson murder case in the United States is one of the most widely discussed international examples of a media trial. The 1994 murders and 1995 trial received enormous television coverage, blurring the boundaries between news, entertainment and public opinion. As court proceedings were broadcast live, the trial itself became a mass-media event. Simpson was ultimately acquitted in the criminal case, but public opinion remained divided. He was later found liable in a civil case.
The case offers an important lesson: a court’s verdict and the public’s verdict are not the same thing. When media coverage becomes so extensive that every development in a trial becomes part of the audience’s entertainment and emotional experience, popularity begins to collide with justice. This is one of the greatest dangers of a media trial. Where the law places importance on ‘reasonable doubt’, public opinion often demands a simple story: who is the hero and who is the villain?
Why, then, are media trials harmful? The first casualty is the presumption of innocence. An individual may not have been convicted by a court, yet headlines and social media posts can make that person socially guilty. The second danger is indirect pressure on witnesses, judges and investigations. Even if an accused person is acquitted, their social identity may never return to what it was before. Employment, business, family and social relationships can all suffer long-term consequences.
This is why the UK’s Contempt of Court Act 1981 restricts publications that create a ‘substantial risk’ of seriously impeding or prejudicing active legal proceedings. Freedom of expression is important, but so is the right to a fair trial.
After 2000, however, the game changed. The ‘media’ no longer meant journalists alone. Social media platforms transformed ordinary people into news consumers, reporters, commentators and distributors at the same time. Media trials are therefore no longer solely in the hands of professional news organisations.
One person records a video. Another posts it. A third adds an inflammatory caption. A fourth says, “Share this and let everyone know the truth.” Within hours, thousands of people may be watching the same narrative. Yet essential stages of justice may be absent. Research on Bangladesh has also shown that misinformation and rumours on social media can be linked to real-world violence. More importantly, algorithms determine which posts we see first. If a user spends more time on a certain video, comments on it or shares it, a platform may infer that such content holds the user’s attention and consequently show more similar material. People can then begin to think, “Everyone is saying this.” In reality, they may be trapped inside an algorithmic circle of content reflecting the same views. Judgement is no longer produced by people alone; technology that learns from human behaviour can make it more visible, repetitive and emotionally charged. Recent research has also indicated that social media recommendation systems have the potential to influence political interests and opinions.
In a traditional media trial, a narrative created by an editor or journalist could influence public opinion. In a social media trial, thousands of people can reproduce the same narrative in their own words. An allegation therefore ceases to be merely a news report and becomes a combination of memes, videos, comments, livestreams, personal stories and emotion. If an algorithm pushes that content to even more people, an allegation can become a social truth before it has been established as fact.
The events of 1992 and 2013 have a historical connection to this evolution. The events of 1992 show how public judgement can become a language of political protest; 2013 demonstrated how news media and social media can amplify mass ersonalized; and the present algorithmic age shows how the same technology can create the risk of turning public opinion into a substitute for judicial verdicts. As long as the distinction remains clear, mass ersonalized can be a strength of democracy. But once that boundary disappears, public opinion begins delivering its verdict before the court.
The future could be even more complicated. AI-generated images, videos and voices may create highly convincing fake evidence that ordinary users will find difficult to verify. As algorithms become increasingly ersonalized, two people may see completely different ‘realities’ surrounding the same event. We may also become more trapped in a culture of ‘correction after virality’ rather than ‘verification before virality’. Even if a fact-check reaches the public after false information has already reached a million people, the damage may not be fully reversible.
For Bangladesh, therefore, the most important question is not technological but ethical: can we build a digital culture in which accusing someone may be easy, but turning that person into a criminal is not? A court may take time to deliver a verdict. But once a social media verdict goes viral, it can enter a person’s life long before the court has spoken.
The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author
The writer is an Associate Professor, Department of Communication and Journalism, University of Chittagong. Email: [email protected]
