The brutal state crackdown in Đồng Tâm highlights an intensifying withdrawal from free expression in Vietnam, heavily driven by the regime's deployment of state-backed cyberarmies like Force 47. As these digital actors systematically intimidate and mass-report critics, tech giants like Meta further compound the issue by increasingly acquiescing to government censorship requests to protect market share. This coordinated digital assault leaves a dangerous gap in the global conversation, forcing independent journalists to navigate severe online hostility and risk arbitrary imprisonment just to expose state overreach.

In 2019, André Menras, an independent French documentary maker and one of a few foreigners to receive honorary Vietnamese citizenship, went to Đồng Tâm commune in Hanoi to interview audacious villagers for his clandestinely made movie, 'A Cry from Within', which exposes the repression of the freedom of speech in his second homeland. One of the main characters was Lê Đình Kình, the spiritual leader of the Đồng Tâm people, in a longstanding land dispute with the government over the government's attempt to confiscate their land for a state-owned telecommunications company. While Kình, a veteran soldier, former chief of police, and a loyal party member, never criticised the government or the Communist Party (CPV), he pledged that the villagers would "fight to the very end" for the land that had witnessed generations of their labour. Menras did not expect it to be the last time he saw this man. 

At 4 AM on 9 January 2020, about 3000 police reportedly entered Đồng Tâm. A clash erupted, leading to the deaths of three policemen and the 84-year-old Kình. In the Vietnamese state-run media, Kình and the villagers were painted as heinous terrorists and the police officers as heroic martyrs. The dissemination of images and discussions is also muzzled in the cybersphere. The court handed down the death penalty to the two sons, Lê Đình Chúc and Lê Đình Công, charged with murder for the deaths of the three policemen. The other 27 people on trial received sentences ranging from life imprisonment to 15 months in prison. 

For weeks after the incident that Menras referred to as a 'massacre', not a single day passed by without his posts on his Facebook account in solidarity with the ill-fated village, a small gesture that was enabled by his residence in France, yet a privilege for those in Vietnam, which is among the worst countries for freedom of the press. He was sure that many of his Facebook friends had read his posts, but did not dare to like them out of fear of retaliation by the government. Shortly after, he received a message from a total stranger, which read: 

Get the hell back to France, old man. We don’t need the kind of illusory democracy that you guys keep pushing. Your country is protesting over there; go back to France and support the protests. Our country is peaceful; we don’t need democracy. What we need is stability. Once again, I want you to get the hell back to your country, you dog. You invaded our country for nearly a century, committing countless crimes; isn’t that enough? Get lost, you animal.

Menras had little doubt that it was sent by a dư luận viên (opinion shaper), a Vietnamese term for a state-backed cybertrooper who is tasked with verbally targeting citizen journalists, human rights defenders or any strong critic of government policies on social media platforms. Interviews with journalists show that independent outlets or journalists are more likely to be susceptible to state-linked cyberarmies. Silence and strategic monitoring remain the most common responses among attacked Vietnamese journalists, as cybertroopers are widely seen as unwilling to engage in substantive dialogue. 

Who are Cybertroopers? 

What he received is common among Vietnamese democracy activists: comments and private messages that despise Western-style democracy, discredit activists or critics and defer to the Vietnamese political stability, which implies single-rule legitimacy. 

Force 47 and Steering Committee 35 were launched to respectively safeguard the CPV’s ideological foundations and counter party-defined “wrongful and hostile views". Force 47 is a military-run cyber unit established in 2017, whereas Steering Committee 35 is made up of CPV members and civilian groups. In 2025, the CPV also sought to mobilise young online influencers to shape public narratives in its favour. 

“I received death threats via Messenger from dư luận viên, as well as numerous insults. Some demanded that my Vietnamese nationality be revoked," says Menras. “Of course, these threats remain marginal and are intended to intimidate me.” 

According to Menras, otherwise known in Vietnam as Hồ Cương Quyết, the message resembled what the Party mouthpiece said about him. For example, state-owned VTV1 cited his name along with those of "reactionaries" who supported the "terrorists" of Đồng Tâm. 

“Speaking the truth too loudly quickly turns you into a reactionary, even though it is revolutionary," says Menras. 

Yet for Menras, these intimidations coming from keyboard warriors are not generally translated into real-life retaliatory deeds. He was still able to visit Vietnam in 2023 and 2024. 

“They do nothing but confirm the righteous struggle I’m fighting to defend the rule of law and justice in my second country," says Menras. 

Vũ Quốc Ngữ, a human rights journalist and director of non-profit Defend the Defenders, says he is also no stranger to attacks by government-backed groups of online commentators, especially in response to posts regarding human rights violations in Vietnam or critics of the authoritarian regime. Like Menras, Ngữ generally choose to brush cyberarmies off. 

They slander us, saying our statements are untrue and using dirty words to attack us to protect the regime’s policies and actions," says Ngữ. “Since they attack us but are not willing to discuss, I often ignore them and delete dirty comments or block those who are aggressive.

 

Tech Giants Are Also Liable 

Facebook has provided both professional and citizen journalists with a platform to cast light upon hidden realities. It has become a source of political news for the vast majority of Vietnamese.  

However, as Vietnam’s market share expands rapidly, the Vietnamese government has also ramped up its crackdown tactics. Vietnam has now become the 7th largest market worldwide for Facebook. Meta has increasingly acquiesced to the government’s request to censor political content, with the compliance rate of above 90% over the past few years. 

 For example, in January, Meta acknowledged receiving requests from the Ministry of Public Security and the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism to restrict access to 14 Facebook profiles and pages, including those of well-known exiled dissidents. It said it temporarily limited access to nine of the 14 accounts; among them were pages linked to journalist Nguyễn Ngọc Như Quỳnh in the United States and activist Đặng Thị Huệ in Germany. 

Meta added that, without those restrictions, its services would not have been accessible during the January Party Congress, a largely closed-door event that was also difficult for even state-affiliated journalists to access. 

Facebook typically only reacts when reports cross a certain threshold, which puts cyber troopers at an advantage: they can mass-report anyone, while their victims may not have that same backing. 

However, it doesn’t have a policy prohibiting coordinated, authentic behaviours. Exchanges between exiled Vietnamese pop star Đỗ Nguyễn Mai Khôi and senior company leaders on the safety of users in the face of groups of cybertroopers between 2018 and 2020 ended only in empty promises. 

Meta has so far been silent on the chilling number of journalists imprisoned for their Facebook posts. 

Huỳnh Ngọc Tuấn, an independent journalist from Đắk Lắk province,  regularly posts commentary about politics and human rights on his personal Facebook page. Last October, he was arrested for having “posted videos and published many articles containing distorted information and slander that attracted a large number of comments, which, according to the Đắk Lắk Police, 'created anxiety among the people and affected the local political security situation and social order and safety'." 

In a closely and briefly held trial in April that denied access to a lawyer and family members, Tuấn was charged with propagandising against the state, the same charge that sent him to prison from 1992 to 2002 for publishing critical fiction. 

Cybertroopers Are Far From Monolithic 

Some journalists chose to confront cybertroopers on social media by way of frank and free dialogues. Nguyễn Tuấn Khanh, based in Ho Chi Minh City, had long been a journalist before he became a household name in the entertainment industry in the early 2000s. Initially a state-affiliated journalist, he was forced to leave one outlet after another and turned independent in 2007. A commentator on socio-political issues that are conspicuously absent on domestic media, his Facebook page is not immune to trolls and real-life harassment. 

He observes that the paid commentators often operate with pre-prepared images or wording, based on schedule or timing, especially during divisive historical events, such as 30 April 1975, when the communist government took over the militarily defeated independent South Vietnam and reunified the country. 

 “Their activities are sometimes mechanical, avoiding arguments to conceal their lack of knowledge," says Khanh. 

Yet, some of the paid cybertroopers also turned propagandistic rhetoric into their own personal insults and provocations. They also have the habit of posting a period (.) or tagging the leaders of cyberarmy groups in the comments, like a kind of tag, to mark and pull in force to overwhelm others and escalate harassment. Alternatively, they report falsely to FB when they find they fail to muster enough strength to dialogue. 

He says one should be mindful of other types of cybertroopers. 

The second group includes naive believers in state propaganda, normally very senior or very junior netizens who only counter-argue by default. 

The third group actually consists of privileged senior folks who rest on their laurels and resist any political change that might take a toll on their positions or properties. 

“They may participate in counter-argument and debate, but when issues go deeper and become hard to resolve, they withdraw and stop," says Khanh. 

Khanh says one account might conceal many actors, such as Tifosi or Mặt trận chống phản động (Anti-reactionary Frontline), with arguments as sophisticated as creating foundational theoretical statements with supporting bases so that other pages can only copy and repost. 

“I would discuss with opinion shapers to identify which group they belong to; then I would adjust my behaviour accordingly," says Khanh.