Cybercrime Law vs Public Order Act

Sierra Leone’s President Julius Maada Bio

By Alpha Amadu Jalloh

For decades, Sierra Leoneans lived under the suffocating grip of the Public Order Act of 1965, one of the most repressive colonial relics our nation inherited. Designed to protect those in power rather than the people, the Act criminalized free expression, dissent, and the very principles of democracy. Politicians, journalists, activists, and even ordinary citizens became targets of a law meant to silence. Its repeal in 2020 was celebrated widely, hailed by President Julius Maada Bio’s government as a triumph of democracy and freedom. Yet, what replaced it, the Cybercrime Act, has proven to be just as dangerous, if not more insidious.

The Public Order Act came into being during the height of one-party authoritarianism under Sir Albert Margai and later Siaka Stevens. It carried within it an arsenal of tools that the state could deploy against its people, particularly those who dared to speak out against corruption and misrule. Most notorious was Part V of the Act, which criminalized libel and sedition. Journalists were dragged to court, opposition politicians silenced, and citizens taught to live in fear of expressing themselves freely.

> “Any person who publishes defamatory matter shall be guilty of a criminal offence.”

(Public Order Act, 1965)

This one clause alone was enough to decapitate the independent press for decades. Newspapers critical of the government were shuttered overnight, editors arrested, and radio stations harassed into silence. Successive governments used this law not only as a shield from scrutiny but also as a sword against truth. Even businesses exploited it against employees who dared to speak about workplace injustices, creating a culture where silence was safer than honesty.

The repeal of the Public Order Act in 2020 was thus seen as the light at the end of a long tunnel. But the government’s promise of freedom was quickly betrayed. Instead of ushering in a culture of openness, the Bio administration introduced the Cybercrime Act, which cloaked its authoritarian intent in modern language. The message was simple: you may have won freedom from the old law, but in the digital age, your words will still be policed.

> “A person who uses a computer system to send offensive communication commits an offence.”

(Cybercrime Act, 2021)

This provision mirrors the same repressive spirit of the Public Order Act. Where the 1965 law targeted newspapers and radio, the 2021 law weaponizes the internet against citizens. Posts on Facebook, WhatsApp, or Twitter can now land an individual in court. Ordinary citizens, not just journalists, are finding themselves on the wrong side of the law for simply expressing opinions online.

It is this betrayal that hurts most. The government promised progress but instead recycled repression under a new name. Just like the Public Order Act, the Cybercrime Act creates fear, forcing citizens to self-censor, to withdraw from public debate, to weigh every word before posting on social media. The language may have changed, but the silencing remains the same.

> “Any person who maliciously publishes false news likely to cause fear and alarm to the public shall be guilty of an offence.”

(Public Order Act, 1965)

Compare this to the Cybercrime Act’s focus on so-called “offensive communications.” The similarity is striking. Both laws are vague, open to interpretation, and deliberately designed to give the state maximum power. What is “false news”? What is “offensive”? The answer lies in the whims of those in authority. When laws are so subjective, justice is no longer blind, it becomes a political weapon.

Civil society, particularly organizations like the Sierra Leone Association of Journalists (SLAJ), played a major role in fighting for the repeal of the Public Order Act. Their campaigns over decades helped bring international attention to Sierra Leone’s repressive climate. However, when it came to the Cybercrime Act, their voices were muted. Instead of mobilizing with the same intensity, SLAJ and similar organizations were largely complicit, failing to stand up boldly against the new law. The silence of those who once fought for free expression has been deafening. It is as if the victory over the Public Order Act drained their courage to fight a new but familiar battle.

> “A person who knowingly or intentionally sends a message that is grossly offensive or of an indecent, obscene or menacing character commits an offence.”

(Cybercrime Act, 2021)

Again, the echo of the Public Order Act is unmistakable. Just as journalists in the 1970s and 1980s were dragged before courts for publishing “defamatory matter,” today’s citizens face the same fate for “offensive” WhatsApp messages or Facebook posts. The method of communication has changed, but the punishment remains the same.

The complicity of SLAJ and other civil society groups is especially troubling because they should know better. They have lived the dangers of repressive laws firsthand. Yet, instead of standing firm, they accepted cosmetic assurances from government officials that the law would be used responsibly. This naivety or perhaps deliberate accommodation, has cost Sierra Leoneans dearly. Civil society’s duty is to act as a watchdog, not a lapdog.

Sierra Leone today finds itself in a familiar cycle. Citizens hoped the repeal of the Public Order Act would allow truth to flourish, but they now live under another law that punishes speech, expression, and dissent. Worse still, the Cybercrime Act’s reach extends beyond journalism. Every young Sierra Leonean with a smartphone is now at risk. Every post is a potential crime scene. Every meme a possible offence.

The government has mastered the art of deception, convincing the people they were being freed while quietly tightening the chains. Ordinary Sierra Leoneans, journalists, activists, and even civil society are learning the hard way that a change of name does not mean a change of purpose.

If there is one lesson the past decades should have taught us, it is this: freedom is never granted by governments. It must be demanded by the people and defended relentlessly. Until Sierra Leoneans rise again to challenge the Cybercrime Act, we will continue to live under the same suffocating reality, a reality where power is protected, truth is punished, and silence becomes the safest form of survival.