By Joseph Turay
In the digital age, journalism and cyberspace are inseparable. Reporters rely on online platforms, encrypted messaging, social networks, and digital research to uncover stories, protect sources, and amplify voices. Yet in Sierra Leone, a legislative effort meant to safeguard cyberspace has raised alarm bells among media practitioners, civil society advocates, and legal experts — prompting urgent questions about the balance between security and freedom of expression.
On 29 March 2021, the Sierra Leone Association of Journalists (SLAJ) and the Media Reform Coordinating Group (MRCG-SL) convened a historic consultative meeting with a broad array of media stakeholders to review and respond to the Cybercrime Bill, 2020. While Parliament had directed further engagements on the bill before passage, the media’s collective response was unequivocal: the draft legislation, as written, poses serious threats to press freedom, digital rights, and democratic accountability.
This article unpacks the media’s concerns, examines the specific provisions that worry journalists, assesses the wider implications for media freedom and public interest reporting, and explores what Sierra Leone stands to lose — or gain — in the intersection between cybersecurity law and freedom of the press.
The stated aim of the Cybercrime Bill, 2020 is straightforward: to provide legal frameworks for preventing abusive use of computer systems, facilitate the timely collection of electronic evidence, protect critical national information infrastructure, and promote international cooperation in addressing cybercrime.
On its surface, this objective resonates with global trends. Governments everywhere are grappling with cybercrime — from hacking and identity theft to disinformation campaigns, financial fraud, and attacks on critical infrastructure. Harmonised legal frameworks, data protection laws, and cyber-security strategies are necessary in an interconnected digital world.
However, the SLAJ–MRCG Position Paper — representing voices from independent media networks, journalists’ unions, editors, academics, media lawyers, and regulatory bodies — highlights a crucial problem: the draft bill conflates cybersecurity with the criminalisation of free speech, and in doing so erects structural and legal obstacles to journalistic practice that could have a chilling effect on press freedom.
One of the first recommendations from media stakeholders was deceptively simple yet deeply symbolic: rename the bill.
Instead of Cybercrime Bill, 2020, the media suggested it be called a Cybersecurity Bill, 2020 — similar to Ghana’s Cybersecurity Act, 2020 — to shift emphasis from criminalising digital conduct toward securing cyberspace.
This may seem like semantics, but language matters. A law titled “Cybercrime” predisposes the public and enforcement agencies to see digital activity through the lens of crime and punishment, instead of digital safety, rights, and access. Journalists argued that a cybersecurity framing would better balance protection with respect for freedom of expression.
The media also called for a companion Data Protection Act, and for the bill to explicitly protect confidential sources of information — a cornerstone of investigative journalism.
And the Core Areas of Concern are Vague Definitions and Ambiguous Terms.
And also , Across the bill, key terms are undefined or loosely defined, leaving them open to interpretation by enforcement officials or the courts. For example; “Unauthorised access” is defined in ways that could criminalise routine journalistic practices such as using VPNs, accessing public data, or attempting to retrieve evidence online, the National security” remains undefined. Without clear boundaries, enforcement could stretch to include any criticism of government handling of public affairs.
The Position Paper notes that dozens of provisions contain words like annoyance, offensive, and obstructive — subjective terms that could be interpreted in ways that criminalise dissent, satire, or critical commentary.
For journalists who routinely report on corruption, wrongdoing, or politically sensitive issues, such ambiguity becomes a legal risk. One source interviewed for this article observed: “If a politician says they are annoyed by a report, who determines what annoyance means under law? The courts? The prosecutor? Or a minister?”
This lack of clear legal boundaries, media stakeholders warned, could embolden authorities to pursue cases against journalists under the guise of cyberspace regulation.
Again , this is key , Surveillance and Interception of Data; that means –
Sections 10 and 21 of the bill outline procedures for interception of content data and access to stored computer data, respectively. Journalists fear these sections could be used to surveil communications, access confidential sources, and undermine journalistic independence.
Under the bill, a Law enforcement could extend periods of real-time collection or recording of content data indefinitely with judicial approval — yet the law does not specify the maximum extension period; Service providers may be ordered to keep warrants and interception orders confidential, even from the targets themselves; Police officers or authorised persons may access stored computer data without clear requirements for a warrant or judicial oversight, potentially including data stored outside Sierra Leone.
These powers mirror controversial digital surveillance frameworks seen elsewhere in Africa — and beyond — where broad interception authorities have been criticised by digital rights advocates for undermining privacy and chilling media freedom.
Journalists argue that these provisions do not contain adequate safeguards to protect freedom of expression or ensure proportionality and necessity. Without defined time limits, transparent oversight, or independent review mechanisms, the potential for abuse is significant.
As one media lawyer interviewed noted: “A law that allows interception into journalists’ communications without clear limits or accountability undermines the very public interest the press is meant to serve.”
Let’s look at the aspect of Criminalisation of Online Speech here ; and Perhaps the most troubling sections for journalists are those that criminalise online communication itself; Section 35 — which penalises the intentional sending of messages that are “grossly offensive, indecent, obscene, or menacing” — lacks objective criteria. It also punishes messages intended to cause annoyance, a term undefined in local law or international legal standards; Section 42 — which criminalises insults to individuals or groups distinguished by race, religion, or ethnicity via a computer network — similarly lacks clarity on what constitutes an “insult”; In both cases, penalties are not fixed but left to be specified by the Minister through regulations, raising concerns about executive overreach and arbitrary punishment.
During the consultation, media stakeholders emphasised that defamation and speech offences should be handled through civil law — with clear standards and proportional remedies — rather than criminal sanctions. Criminalising broad categories of online speech, they argued, could deter journalists from reporting on sensitive topics for fear of prosecution.
One senior journalist told this reporter: “The risk is not just fines or jail terms; it’s self-censorship. When journalists fear the law, they start to avoid stories that matter.”
Again ; Ministerial Power and Regulatory Control; Across the bill, multiple sections grant the Minister of Information and Communications sweeping powers to determine fines, penalties, and implementing regulations. Media stakeholders argued that this centralisation of authority — absent clear checks and balances — opens the door to political interference.
For instance; Ministers may prescribe penalties, including imprisonment, for failing to comply with data orders; The National Cybersecurity Advisory Council — intended to oversee implementation — can include political appointees with little independence from the executive and The bill gives the minister power to make regulations as considered necessary or expedient without requiring public consultation or parliamentary approval.
Journalists contend that such powers should be subject to judicial oversight and stakeholder consultation, to prevent the law from becoming a tool for political control rather than a framework for protecting cyberspace and rights.
Now , Misalignment with Existing Media Laws; what that means –
SLAJ and MRCG pointed out that the Cybercrime Bill must be read in harmony with existing media legislation — including the Rights to Access Information Law, the Independent Media Commission Act, and the Public Order Amendment Act — which already contain provisions on media regulation and free expression.
However, without explicit harmonisation clauses, the Cybercrime Bill may create conflicting legal obligations. For example, while the Access to Information law promotes transparency and citizen access to information (including digital records), the Cybercrime Bill’s broad interception powers could undermine source confidentiality and journalistic gathering of information.
Legal scholars who participated in the consultative meeting stressed that media law frameworks must be complementary, not contradictory.
The concerns raised by SLAJ and MRCG extend beyond legal analysis; they touch on fundamental principles of democratic governance, accountability, and human rights.
Investigative journalism often involves communication with confidential sources, analysis of sensitive data, and publication of information that powerful actors might prefer remain hidden. When laws criminalise broad forms of online communication or allow intrusive surveillance without robust safeguards, journalists may be forced to self-censor.
One reporter working on corruption cases told this newspaper: “We already work in a risky environment. If the law gives authorities unchecked powers to monitor or penalise digital communication, sources won’t come forward. Stories that expose fraud or wrongdoing could disappear.”
Journalists are not the only stakeholders concerned about privacy and digital rights. Civil society groups, human rights advocates, and digital innovators argue that laws governing cybersecurity must respect international standards on privacy, due process, and freedom of expression.
The SLAJ–MRCG Position Paper explicitly references global internet rights frameworks — including the UN Resolution on the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights on the Internet — which encourages secure digital communication and prohibits unwarranted interference with encryption or anonymity.
Yet, the Cybercrime Bill as drafted does not adequately protect these principles.
Other African countries have struggled with similar tensions. In Kenya, Nigeria, and Uganda, cybercrime legislation has been used to arrest or intimidate journalists, bloggers, and political dissidents. Media freedom organisations have documented cases where vaguely worded offences led to prosecutions for online posts or investigative reporting.
Sierra Leone stands at a crossroads: it can follow patterns of restrictive digital governance, or it can choose a path that strengthens security infrastructure and protects fundamental rights.
Based on consultations and comparative best practices, media stakeholders propose several reforms; Redefine key terms with clear, objective language to avoid ambiguity and criminalisation of legitimate online activity, Limit surveillance powers with strict judicial oversight, time limits, and transparency requirements, Decriminalise speech offences and address harmful online conduct through civil law with proportional remedies, Protect confidential sources explicitly in the law, ensuring journalists can communicate with whistleblowers without fear of prosecution, Include media and civil society in governance structures, such as the National Cybersecurity Advisory Council, to ensure diverse perspectives, Harmonise the bill with existing media, privacy, and access to information laws to avoid conflicts.
Conclusively, In Sierra Leone, the debate over cybersecurity law is not just technical — it’s deeply political and profoundly human. It raises questions about whom the law protects, whose voices are amplified or silenced, and how a democratic society navigates the tension between security and freedom.
As Sierra Leone moves toward finalising its cybersecurity and cybercrime legislation, the media’s position — articulated through SLAJ and MRCG — deserves to be heard not as opposition for its own sake, but as a call for laws that protect citizens and journalists, that secure cyberspace without locking it down, and that uphold democratic principles even as technology evolves.
In the words of one journalist who asked not to be named: “A free press isn’t just about what gets printed — it’s about the right to gather, communicate, and share information without fear. If the law takes that away, we lose more than stories. We lose accountability.”
