Commentary: When The Vice President Calls A ‘cybercrime’ “merely” Content

When Vice President Jeremiah Kpan Koung, Sr. refers to a cybercrime as “merely” content, it raises a significant question: Can compassion take precedence over a law that law enforcement is obligated to uphold?

Undoubtedly, VP Koung has entered a debate that extends beyond the alleged cyberbullying aimed at him. This issue touches on the rule of law, the boundaries of political tolerance, and, crucially, the implications of a senior government official requesting the release of someone arrested under a law designed to address the very digital behavior in question.

Just three days after firstly addressing the alleged cyberbullying incident, Vice President Koung has taken further steps. He claims to have reached out to Liberia’s Inspector General of Police, learned that the arrest was made under Liberia’s Cybercrime Law, and still requested the immediate release of the young man involved.

This decision warrants careful examination—not because the Vice President cannot show compassion, but because it juxtaposes two valid principles: the personal discretion of a public official who chooses not to pursue a complaint and the institutional duty of law enforcement to investigate potential legal violations. This is where the Vice President’s decision becomes particularly significant.

Koung has stated that he has “no desire to press charges against this young man, or anyone else, merely for creating or sharing such content about me.”

The word “merely” might be the most crucial term in his statement. The issue facing the country isn’t just whether someone created or shared content about the Vice President. The real question is whether the alleged content crossed a legal boundary.

Liberia’s newly enacted Cybercrime Act of 2025 doesn’t merely make it a crime to post something online. Its provisions regarding digital expression focus on specific types of unlawful conduct and harm. For instance, Section 19 addresses the intentional and unlawful distribution of a “harmful” data message. The law identifies circumstances where a message is inherently false and intended to inflict mental, psychological, physical, or economic harm on a particular person or group, where a reasonable person with the same information would see the message as harmful. The law does not claim that every joke about a politician constitutes a cybercrime. It does not assert that every critique of the Vice President is illegal. It does not state that every embarrassing photo or unflattering video shared on Facebook is automatically against the law.

Importantly, the approved Act does not specifically reference “AI-generated images” or “AI-generated videos.” Instead, it establishes broader categories of harmful digital communications that could potentially include manipulated or fabricated material, depending on the facts, intent, and harm involved. This is precisely why the police investigation matters.

If investigators determine that the alleged material was merely political satire, ridicule, or criticism, that presents one scenario. However, if they find that it was fabricated content intentionally created to cause psychological, reputational, or other harm and that it meets the legal criteria, that presents a completely different scenario.

The police cannot simply replace a complainant’s personal forgiveness with the legal process. The Vice President has the right to say, “I do not want to pursue this personally.” Howbeit, the state must address a different question: Was an offense allegedly committed under a law that the state is required to enforce? The Cybercrime Act clearly outlines the need for investigating and prosecuting cybercrimes, placing the responsibility for effective prosecution on the Attorney-General and Minister of Justice. It also sets up processes for complaints to be handled and for courts to issue orders regarding harmful digital content. This indicates that the Vice President’s personal stance and the police’s institutional responsibilities may not align.

Perhaps this is the uncomfortable lesson we can take from this situation. Koung makes a valid point that deserves acknowledgment: Public officials must be open to criticism. Holding a high office inevitably invites ridicule, criticism, and provocation. His assertion that leadership demands “tolerance, restraint, and compassion” reflects a democratic value that should be upheld.

However, tolerance should not lead to a selective application of the law, nor should compassion serve as an informal way to decide who gets investigated and who does not.

If the police have reasonable grounds to suspect that a cybercrime has occurred, the key question should typically focus on whether the evidence meets the legal requirements, rather than whether the alleged victim has enough influence to forgive the accused. Because there’s a more significant concern to consider. What happens when an average Liberian, who lacks access to high-ranking officials like the Vice President or President, becomes the target of harmful digital content? Would that individual have the same chance to secure an immediate release simply by stating, “I don’t want to press charges”? If the answer is no, then Liberia must be cautious not to establish a two-tier system regarding cybercrime—one standard for regular citizens and another for senior officials.

The irony is quite evident. The Vice President’s initial statement seemed to acknowledge the police’s duty. He mentioned his respect for “the law and the responsibility of the police to enforce it.” However, his later request for an immediate release contradicts that very principle.

If the police are acting in accordance with the Cybercrime Act, it may be more appropriate for the police and prosecutors to assess whether the legal criteria have been satisfied, rather than allowing a political figure to influence the outcome. Ultimately, it should be up to a court to decide the case if charges are brought. This is how the rule of law safeguards everyone, including the Vice President.

This issue is particularly relevant now. Liberia has recently embarked on a new phase of cybercrime regulation. The newly approved Cybercrime Act is still in its early stages, and its provisions related to expression have yet to be thoroughly examined by Liberian courts. Legal experts have already pointed out that Section 19’s “inherently false” and harm-based standard could lead to challenging questions surrounding political speech, satire, and online expression.

The Koung episode serves as an important early test—not just of the law itself, but of how Liberia’s institutions will uphold it. The Vice President has the power to forgive, to choose not to file a personal complaint, or even to publicly support the right of Liberians to criticize and mock those in power. However, the Cybercrime Act is a matter for the Republic, not just the Vice President.

Once an alleged offense is reported and investigated, it transcends the private desires of the individual who is supposedly targeted. That is the line that Liberia must be careful not to blur. Because the core issue extends beyond what was posted about Jeremiah Kpan Koung. The more significant question is this: When Liberia enacts a law to regulate the digital landscape, can the Vice President’s empathy replace the law, or must the law be allowed to proceed, irrespective of who is involved?

This question warrants a response that goes beyond a single Facebook post, one arrest, or one politician. It touches on the integrity of Liberia’s developing digital justice system.

Ultimately, if the Cybercrime Act is to hold any weight, its enforcement cannot hinge solely on whether the individual who is allegedly targeted opts to forgive.