MONROVIA — Liberia’s newly enacted Cybercrime Act is facing an early and potentially consequential constitutional test following the arrest of a Liberian accused of creating or circulating an AI-generated image depicting Vice President Jeremiah Kpan Koung in a humiliating situation at Brussels Airport.
The controversy is no longer simply about whether the image was false.
It is now about a much larger constitutional question:
Where does Liberia draw the line between criminal cyber abuse and constitutionally protected expression, particularly when the person allegedly targeted is one of the country’s highest-ranking political officials?
The image at the center of the controversy has been independently fact-checked by DUBAWA and found to be AI-generated. Vice President Koung also publicly rejected the claims surrounding the image, saying, “No shoes, no jacket was removed.”
The Executive Protection Service subsequently defended the police action, with EPS Director Sam Gaye warning that people who create or distribute manipulated digital material intended to insult, humiliate, threaten or harass individuals could face prosecution under the new Cybercrime Act.
But the arrest raises a question that Liberia’s courts may eventually have to answer:
Does the Cybercrime Act permit the government to criminally punish every false, offensive, embarrassing or humiliating digital publication, or must prosecutors establish the specific elements of a defined cybercrime?
That distinction is crucial.
ARTICLE 15: THE CONSTITUTIONAL BARRIER
Liberia’s 1986 Constitution is unusually explicit on freedom of expression.
Article 15(a) provides that every person has the right to freedom of expression and says that government may not curtail, restrict or enjoin that right except during a constitutionally declared emergency.
Article 15(b) protects freedom of speech and the press, the right to hold opinions without interference, and the right to receive and impart information.
But perhaps the most important provision in the current debate is Article 15(c).
It states that there shall be no limitation on the public’s right to be informed about the government and its functionaries.
Article 15(e) further provides that freedom of expression may be limited through judicial action in proceedings involving defamation, invasion of privacy or publicity, and certain commercial forms of deception, false advertising and copyright infringement.
That constitutional language creates an important question for the Cybercrime Act:
Can Parliament create a new criminal offense that effectively punishes expression which the Constitution otherwise protects?
The answer cannot simply be that Parliament passed a law.
Under Liberia’s constitutional system, ordinary legislation remains subject to the Constitution.
THE PROVISION AT THE CENTER OF THE CONTROVERSY
The approved and printed Cybercrime Act does not simply criminalize every online insult.
According to an examination of the official printed Act, Section 19, concerning the distribution of harmful data messages, makes it an offense to intentionally and unlawfully distribute a harmful data message.
The provision includes messages that threaten violence or property damage, encourage or harass someone to harm themselves or another person, and—most controversially for political speech—certain messages that are “inherently false” and aimed at causing mental, psychological, physical or economic harm to a specific person or group.
The provision also uses a “reasonable person” standard to determine whether the message would be regarded as harmful.
That wording creates legitimate constitutional questions.
What exactly constitutes an “inherently false” political message?
What constitutes sufficient “harm”?
Does satire qualify?
What about political parody?
What about an exaggerated political cartoon?
What about a meme?
What about an ordinary citizen reposting material created by somebody else?
And, most importantly, what safeguards prevent the law from being selectively enforced against critics of government officials?
Those questions are not answered simply by declaring that cyberbullying is now a crime.
SECTION 15 IS NARROWER — AND THAT MATTERS
The Cybercrime Act’s Section 15, dealing with cyberstalking, is considerably more specific.
It concerns communications made with intent to bully, threaten or harass another person where the communication places that person in fear of death, violence or bodily injury, as well as specified threats and extortion-related conduct.
That is significantly different from saying:
“You created a humiliating picture of a public official, therefore you committed a cybercrime.”
The law requires its own elements to be established.
Therefore, an investigation into the Brussels image should establish, among other things, what exactly the accused created or transmitted, what provision prosecutors believe was violated, what intent existed, what harm resulted, and what evidence connects the accused to the alleged offense.
An arrest alone answers none of those questions.
ARTICLE 20: DUE PROCESS
The Constitution does not stop at freedom of expression.
Article 20 provides that no person shall be deprived of liberty or other rights except following a hearing and judgment consistent with the Constitution and due process of law.
That becomes particularly important when police arrest someone over online expression.
The fact that material is offensive does not automatically establish criminal liability.
The fact that an official feels humiliated does not automatically establish criminal liability.
And the fact that an image is demonstrably fake does not, by itself, tell the public which specific criminal offense has been committed.
Those determinations belong to the legal process.
ARTICLE 21: ANOTHER QUESTION FOR THE POLICE
Article 21 provides additional protections concerning arrest, search and seizure.
It requires probable cause and a properly issued warrant for searches and seizures except in constitutionally recognized circumstances. It also requires an arrested person to be informed of the charges, the right to remain silent and the right to counsel.
It further provides that an arrested person must be formally charged and presented before a competent court within 48 hours.
That means the Cybercrime Act does not erase constitutional protections simply because the alleged offense occurred on Facebook, WhatsApp, TikTok or another digital platform.
The internet is not a constitutional-free zone.
AND THEN CAME THE VICE PRESIDENT’S REQUEST
Perhaps the most politically significant development is the reported request by Vice President Koung that the person be released and the indication that he does not wish to pursue the matter.
If accurately reported, that decision introduces an extraordinary dimension to the case.
The person at the center of the controversy was allegedly arrested because of material concerning the Vice President.
Yet the alleged target has apparently indicated that he does not want the matter pursued.
This raises another legal question:
Who ultimately controls a criminal prosecution—the alleged victim or the State?
Strictly speaking, an individual does not ordinarily possess unilateral authority to terminate a criminal prosecution merely by saying that he does not want charges pursued. Criminal prosecutions are matters of public law and are generally controlled by prosecuting authorities.
But the Vice President’s position remains highly relevant because it could affect his cooperation as an alleged victim or complainant and the government’s assessment of whether prosecution is warranted.
If prosecutors nevertheless continue the case, the public deserves to know the legal basis.
THE KOUNG CONTRADICTION
There is another remarkable element to this controversy.
Vice President Jeremiah Kpan Koung is not simply an ordinary citizen watching a new law from the sidelines.
Under Liberia’s constitutional system, the Vice President serves as President of the Senate. The Senate passed the Cybercrime Act in November 2025, before the legislation ultimately became law in August 2026.
President Boakai subsequently signed the Act into law on August 19, 2026.
Therefore, Koung occupies a unique constitutional position in this debate: he is both the public official whose image became the subject of an alleged cyber offense and the country’s constitutional presiding officer of the Senate, the chamber that approved the legislation.
That does not mean he personally enacted or signed the law.
But it makes his current decision particularly noteworthy.
If the Vice President is now asking that the alleged offender be released, his position could be seen as an opportunity for the government to demonstrate that the Cybercrime Act is intended primarily to protect citizens from genuine cyber threats—not to criminalize political embarrassment or criticism.
THE REAL TEST IS NOT WHETHER THE IMAGE WAS FAKE
The image was fake.
That point has now been independently established.
The deeper issue is whether every fake political image is necessarily a criminal offense.
It is not enough for authorities to establish that something was manipulated.
They must establish that the conduct falls within a specific offense created by law and satisfies all of that offense’s elements.
That distinction is particularly important in a democracy.
Political satire has historically used exaggeration, parody, cartoons and manipulated imagery to ridicule politicians.
That does not mean every digitally manipulated image is protected speech. A fabricated image created to threaten someone, incite violence, facilitate fraud, cause serious targeted harm or satisfy another defined criminal offense may properly attract legal consequences.
But there is a constitutional difference between criminal digital abuse and political expression that happens to be offensive or embarrassing.
A DANGEROUS PRECEDENT IF THE LINE IS NOT CLEAR
The African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights has warned that cybercrime laws can threaten freedom of expression when they use vague or overly broad definitions, create legal uncertainty or permit selective enforcement. It has emphasized that restrictions on expression should be prescribed by law, pursue a legitimate aim and be necessary and proportionate.
That warning is highly relevant to Liberia.
The government unquestionably has a legitimate interest in combating cyber fraud, identity theft, threats, cyberstalking, hacking, digital extortion and deliberately harmful online conduct.
Liberia needs such protections.
But the government also has an equally important constitutional obligation:
It must protect the citizen’s right to criticize the government and its functionaries.
Article 15(c) does not say that citizens have a right to be informed about government only when government officials are comfortable with the information.
It protects the public’s right to information about government and its functionaries.
That is precisely why enforcement must be carefully distinguished from political censorship.
THE QUESTIONS NOW BEFORE LIBERIA
The Brussels Airport arrest should therefore become more than another social-media controversy.
It should prompt a serious national conversation about the Cybercrime Act.
The Liberian public deserves answers to several basic questions:
What specific section of the Cybercrime Act was invoked to arrest the suspect?
What evidence establishes that the suspect committed every element of that offense?
Was there probable cause?
Was the suspect informed of the precise charge?
Was the suspect given access to legal counsel?
Was the constitutional 48-hour requirement observed?
If the Vice President does not want the matter pursued, will prosecutors nevertheless proceed—and if so, on what public-interest basis?
How will the government distinguish AI-generated political satire from criminal cyber harassment?
And perhaps the biggest question of all:
Will the Cybercrime Act protect Liberians from cybercrime without becoming a new instrument for criminalizing political expression?
Liberia has already taken an important step by repealing criminal libel, sedition and criminal malevolence through the Kamara Abdullah Kamara Act of Press Freedom. Those reforms were intended to strengthen the constitutional space for criticism of public officials.
The new Cybercrime Act should not inadvertently recreate through digital law what Liberia deliberately removed from its criminal law.
The Brussels Airport case therefore presents an opportunity—not merely for police enforcement, but for constitutional clarity.
If the government believes the arrest was lawful, it should explain precisely which provision was violated and how the evidence satisfies that provision.
If the Vice President genuinely wants the citizen released, that request should be followed by a transparent explanation from the prosecuting authorities about what happens next.
And if Liberia’s new cybercrime regime is ultimately tested before the courts, the central question should not be whether the image embarrassed a powerful official.
The question should be whether the State can prove a specific criminal offense without crossing the constitutional boundary protecting freedom of expression.
That is the line Liberia must now define.
