A Viral Scandal and the Line Between Privacy and Public Interest

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On October 25, 2025, a video purporting to show a celibate Armenian archbishop engaged in a sexual act, apparently recorded inside a private residence, exploded across Armenian social media. Much of the reaction has focused on the method of exposure: a seemingly covert recording, distributed for maximum click-through rage. The video was immediately linked to an earlier post by Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan, who, amid his ongoing standoff with the leadership of the Armenian Apostolic Church, had alluded—without naming anyone—to a senior cleric and made insinuations about that person’s private life. The Prime Minister later apologized for the coarse language used in the post but offered no clarification or comment regarding its substance.  

The leaked video raised widespread speculation about the identity of the second person featured in the footage, the time of recording, rumored to date back nearly a decade, and the motives or actors behind its release. Politicians, including government representatives, media commentators and human rights advocates were largely unanimous in condemning such a grave violation of privacy, affirming the individual’s right to a private life and the broader dangers posed by such methods of exposure.  

On October 30, 2025, Armenia’s Investigative Committee launched a criminal case into the dissemination of the illicit recording.  

Clearly, the demonstration of instinctive public revulsion toward publication of such material is healthy and commendable. Privacy is a cornerstone of a free society, and illicit surveillance corrodes trust far beyond a single headline. But privacy is not absolute. In every democratic system, the right to respect for private life co-exists with another value: the public’s right to receive information on matters that genuinely affect the community.  

The hard question, especially when faith leaders are involved, is where to draw the line. Fortunately, law has not left this to gut feeling. Over decades, courts and scholars have 

shaped a set of principles for deciding when publication is justified and when it is merely voyeurism and indulgence in scandal.  

This article does not intend to analyze the specific case mentioned above, as such analysis would require detailed examination of all circumstances and details of the case, which remain unknown and which would probably be possible only under full legal investigation and a follow-up court hearing regarding the recording and the subsequent publication of the video. Instead, I propose to consider the legal framework and the set of principles, developed by scholars of the right to privacy, defined by the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) and confirmed by relevant ECtHR case law. Establishing that framework, defining the terms and principles, will inform and shape public discourse on the matter, which currently seems to be driven by individual senses of right and wrong. To find the balance and draw a fine line between what is permissible and what is not in such a sensitive matter, we need to start by differentiating between what is in the public interest and what is merely interesting to the public. 

“Public interest” Is Not “What Interests the Public” 

This first distinction is the most important one. Public interest refers to information that helps society scrutinize the exercise of power, protect the vulnerable, uphold institutional integrity, or expose serious wrongdoing—think safeguarding failures, misuse of funds, abuse of office, coercion, or criminality. By contrast, what interests the public is simply what people are curious to see: private, intimate, or salacious details that may be titillating but do not advance any civic purpose.  

To broaden the perspective on private information versus the public’s right to know, consider a different type of information that is generally recognized as private and protected by law: medical information. Health data are among the most sensitive categories of private life. For an ordinary individual, publication of a diagnosis or treatment record would clearly violate both privacy and data-protection norms. This remains true even if the medical data concern a well-known actor or singer, something that might be of great interest to the public.  

Yet if the subject is a head of state, disclosure of health-related information, especially concerning a debilitating illness that directly affects the performance of official duties, can serve a vital public interest.  

In Éditions Plon v. France (2004), the ECtHR set an important precedent. After President François Mitterrand’s death, French courts imposed an indefinite ban on a book co-authored by the late President’s personal physician, revealing details of his long-concealed illness. The ECtHR held the indefinite ban a violation of Article 10 (Freedom of Expression): although medical confidentiality and privacy were weighty, a permanent prohibition was disproportionate given the book’s contribution to public debate about a sitting President’s health, treatment and truthfulness to the public.  

In its decision, the Court recognized that the publication was made in a context of national debate regarding the right to information of the public about “any serious illnesses suffered by the head of State, and the question whether a person who knew that he was seriously ill, was fit to hold the highest national office” (para. 45). This ECtHR decision remains a key authority for disclosure of health information about top officials where public-interest value is involved.  

In recognition of this principle and in compliance with public expectations, democratic administrations proactively release important health-related information about heads of state and senior officials. The White House routinely released President Joe Biden’s physician’s letters (e.g., February 28, 2024 Current Health Summary; follow-up clarifications in July 2024 and further memoranda in April 2025). Similarly, No. 10 Downing Street provided updates while then-Prime Minister Boris Johnson was ill with COVID-19 in April–June 2020. This practice illustrates accepted norms of proactive transparency regarding leaders’ fitness to serve, strengthening the claim that senior office-holders operate with a diminished expectation of privacy around health when capacity or governance is implicated.  

Similarly, sexual conduct and relationships or marital and family circumstances are ordinarily nobody’s business (as long as they concern consensual adult relationships) and, in the case of a private individual, publicizing them would amount to unjustified intrusion and breach of privacy. It is, however, different for public figures with a diminished expectation of privacy. When a public figure’s private conduct fundamentally contradicts their public moral stance or official commitments, such as a priest under vows of celibacy engaged in sexual activity, the situation changes. Disclosure may be justified to protect institutional integrity or expose hypocrisy, though the form of publication remains crucial.  

Who Are “Public Figures” and When Privacy Shrinks 

As the above examples have shown, the boundary between private and public life is not defined by the type of information, but by the role of the person and the purpose of disclosure. The very same facts that would be off-limits for a private citizen may, in a different context, become a matter of legitimate public interest when they concern a public figure. As ARTICLE 19’s Freedom of Expression and Privacy Principles stresses, the question is never what the information is, but why it matters.  

In legal and ethical discourse, a public figure is not simply someone well known or frequently in the media. The term refers to a person whose actions or decisions carry public consequences—individuals who exercise power, shape policy, command institutional resources, or influence public opinion and moral norms. Their authority, whether political, economic, cultural, or spiritual, creates a legitimate expectation of accountability and transparency.  

The rationale is straightforward: the more a person’s position depends on public trust, the narrower the zone of privacy that can shield their conduct when it bears on that trust. Courts have recognized this distinction in cases involving elected officials, senior civil servants, judges, business magnates whose enterprises affect the public, and even artists or media personalities who deliberately cultivate influence. The ECtHR has repeatedly held that those who “enter the public arena” or occupy roles of public responsibility must tolerate closer scrutiny than private citizens.  

This framework defines the category of people whose right to privacy is necessarily more limited: holders of power, stewards of public resources, and those whose words or example shape collective ethics or belief. It is within this group that senior clergy, especially high ranking members of the Armenian Apostolic Church, clearly fall.  

A high-level clergyman within the hierarchy of the Armenian Apostolic Church occupies a role that moves far beyond private devotion or spiritual counsel. Because of his institutional authority, his public teaching, his governance over large-scale church affairs and his status as a moral and ethical guide, such a figure qualifies as a public figure in the classical sense: someone whose decisions and behaviour affect others and who is accordingly subject to heightened scrutiny.  

In Armenia, this is especially pronounced since article 18 of the Constitution explicitly recognizes the “exclusive mission of the Armenian Apostolic Holy Church … in the spiritual life of the Armenian people, in the development of their national culture and preservation of their national identity.” This establishes the Church not merely as a private faith community but as a public institution of national significance. Accordingly, when a senior churchman exercises that authority, holds resources or influences social norms, his conduct enters the public domain in ways that the personal conduct of an ordinary believer does not.  

In short, the combination of institutional power, public trust, moral leadership and constitutional status means that a senior cleric is inherently subject to a diminished expectation of privacy, reflecting the reality that when authority is wielded in the public sphere, accountability must follow.  

The Perils of Instant Disclosure in the Digital Age: A Three-Principle Framework

The digital environment has transformed how information enters the public sphere. Publication today is not a process, it is a click. Material recorded or leaked in a moment can be disseminated globally before any editorial or legal scrutiny occurs, often by users whose identities remain unknown or untraceable. The viral nature of digital media means that once private material is released, its spread is effectively irreversible: screenshots, downloads and mirrors ensure that even deletion or court injunctions arrive too late to repair the damage. In this environment, the traditional safeguards of accountability—verification, editorial judgment, legal oversight—are bypassed. As a result, individual harm can occur before responsibility can even be assigned.  

Yanisky-Ravid and Lahav capture this challenge with precision in their article “Public Interest vs. Private Lives – Affording Public Figures Privacy in the Digital Era: The Three-Principle Filtering Model”. They argue that the speed, anonymity and permanence of online publication erode the balance that earlier jurisprudence sought to maintain between privacy and expression. When publication can occur without institutional mediation, they note, “there is no procedural moment at which the legitimacy of disclosure is tested.” Thus, the harm happens first, and the legal reasoning follows belatedly.  

This reality strengthens, rather than weakens, the case for applying a structured analytical framework before deciding to disclose. The authors propose their Three-Principle Filtering Model—relevance, necessity and proportionality—as a normative tool to restore that lost moment of reflection. By compelling publishers, editors and even individual users to ask these questions prospectively, the model aims to recreate deliberation in a medium built for impulse.  

The logic of the Three-Principle Filtering Model is not abstract theory. It offers a practical compass for journalists, editors and even ordinary social-media users deciding whether and how to share private information. When applied to the current Armenian case, the model provides a structured way to separate legitimate scrutiny from mere scandal.  

The first question is relevance: does the alleged conduct directly contradict the obligations that define the clerical office, such as vows central to holding that role? If the answer is yes, then publication may serve the public interest. If not, if the behaviour amounts to a personal moral lapse without institutional consequence, it remains within the realm of private life, not civic concern.  

Next comes necessity: even if the story has public-interest value, it does not follow that every form of disclosure is justified. Intimate visuals or secretly recorded footage almost never add civic value. A written account corroborated by documents, witnesses or institutional responses is usually sufficient to inform the public while avoiding further harm.  

Finally, there is proportionality—the test of restraint. Reporting should minimize damage: blur faces, protect third parties, exclude extraneous personal detail and avoid sensational framing. Material obtained through covert filming inside a private home carries an especially heavy presumption against publication; its very origin undermines the ethical legitimacy of its use.  

These principles did not appear from thin air. They crystallize what courts have been doing for years, especially in Europe: weighing (a) contribution to a debate of general interest; (b) the subject’s role and prior public conduct; (c) how the information was obtained (lawfully or by intrusion); (d) the content and tone of reporting, and (e) whether less-invasive reporting would have sufficed. In short, they translate constitutional balancing into newsroom decisions, or decisions on whether to share or not on social platforms.  

Where This Leaves Us 

For citizens, the test is simple: ask yourself three things before you share the next viral clip: Is it about the public’s business? Is this exact exposure necessary? Is it fair? If you cannot say yes to all three, you are looking at curiosity, not public interest. And in a democracy worthy of the name, that difference matters.  

For the expert community and journalists, let’s remember that the higher the power, the narrower the privacy, but only within the limits of necessity and proportionality. That is the approach shared by the international human-rights community, the European Court of Human Rights, and most modern democracies: privacy and transparency are not enemies, but two rights in constant negotiation.  

The most difficult decisions are now for the Church to make. The facts now belong to the public domain, even if the way they surfaced clearly fails the test of proportionality. A covert recording from within a private home is indefensible under any ethical or legal standard. Yet, the reality remains that the information exists, has been widely circulated, and cannot be erased. This places a distinct responsibility not only on the media and the public, but also on the Church as an institution.  

The Armenian Apostolic Church, by virtue of its constitutional and moral authority, now stands at a crossroads. Its reaction will signal whether it understands accountability as an internal moral discipline or merely as a public-relations inconvenience. The Church can choose to focus on defending its members by pursuing those who made or disseminated the illicit recording, a legitimate demand for the protection of privacy and the rule of law. It can, at the same time, choose to confront the substance of what the video reveals, examining whether the conduct of the clergyman in question violates canonical vows or ethical commitments inherent to his office. Indeed, it can and arguably should do both: insist on the right to privacy while upholding the moral standards it represents.  

What it cannot afford to do is nothing. Silence or denial will not preserve dignity; it will corrode trust. In the digital age, where information cannot be un-seen, credibility depends on transparent, principled response. Pretending that the event did not occur risks confirming the very perception that religious institutions are unaccountable to the principles they preach. The Church’s engagement with this matter must therefore proceed not through instinctive defensiveness, but in line with the principles and laws of a democratic society—respect for privacy, adherence to justice, and recognition that institutional integrity grows only through openness and accountability.  

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