Digital gender-based violence is putting Ethiopian women under siege

Imagine waking up one morning to find your private photos leaked online. Deepfake images of you are circulating, and strangers are calling for your death. This was the reality for Jordin Bezabih, an Ethiopian feminist and co-founder of Setaset Power. Her laptop was stolen, private videos and photos leaked, and her very voice used against her. Today, she is alive and safer, but only because she is now out of the country.

Jordin’s story is far from unique. Across Ethiopia, women who dare to speak up — feminists, journalists, and activists — face the dark side of the internet. UNFPA (2023) defines Technology-facilitated gender-based violence (TFGBV) as “An act of violence that is committed, assisted, aggravated, and amplified in part or fully by the use of information and communication technologies or digital media, against a person on the basis of their gender.”

It includes non-consensual sharing of sexual images, online harassment, threats, doxing, Cyberstalking or surveillance, Deepfake pornography and even psychological manipulation through social media. TFGBV is more than online abuse; it spills into real life, shaping how women live, speak, and even survive.

Lidiya Mekonnen, feminist, mental health advocate, and the CEO of Yenewa Ene Charity Organization, has experienced this reality firsthand. “When they posted pictures of my family and hacked my social media accounts, that’s when I realized — yes, this is abuse,” she tells Geeska. What began as online criticism quickly became relentless harassment. “I became afraid of being online — and offline. Lies and rumors were everywhere. I didn’t know who might attack me physically.”

Despite reaching out to legal systems and organizations, Lidiya found little support. Eventually, she had no choice but to flee the country. Her advice to other women advocates is urgent: “Report abusive accounts, avoid sharing personal information, and protect your mental health. It’s not worth losing yourself over the hate. TFGBV is not a joke.”

Globally, nearly 85% of women have witnessed or experienced online violence. A study by the Center for Information and Research (CIR) shows that women and girls in Ethiopia face widespread online abuse that mirrors societal divisions around gender, politics, ethnicity, and religion.

Hate speech targeting women often includes misogyny, gendered stereotypes, mockery, and threats. Women in public life are frequently attacked for their appearance, clothing, marital status, topics rarely directed at men.

Abuse varies across platforms: insults are common on X, threats frequent on Telegram, and gendered inferiority narratives thrive on Facebook. Women from certain ethnic groups are often targeted more aggressively, especially during periods of conflict.

The impact goes beyond online spaces. TFGBV can cause psychological harm, damaged reputations, disrupted family life, and silencing from public participation. Its normalization leaves no platform completely safe.

Lella Misikir, a women's rights activist who fled Ethiopia, shared her story with Geeska. She was uncomfortable with many of my questions — it was retraumatizing to revisit those experiences. But when I asked what she wishes people truly understood about TFGBV, she said that people often tell her to just get offline. “They say, 'Why are you even online if you’re not ready to be harassed?’” she explained. “But that’s like telling someone who was assaulted outside, 'Then don’t go out.' The world is digital now. When you tell me to stay offline because the consequence is harassment, you’re excluding me from society itself.” She emphasized.

Lella then added quietly but firmly that the solution isn’t for women to disappear from digital spaces: “The solution is the same as for any real-world crime — justice, accountability, and protection.”

While condemning these crimes might seem like a fundamental act of conscience, something anyone could do without being an activist or risking arrest, the situation in Ethiopia is distinctly different and complex.

“I’ve always been active, even before I knew what activism was,” says Betelehem Akalework, board secretary of the Ethiopian Women Human Rights Defenders Network and co-founder of Setaset Power. Her first confrontation with danger came early, “I was once arrested just for asking for my rights. That’s when I realized that saying ‘this is my right’ could be dangerous.”

That realization deepened when Betelehem began advocating for justice in high-profile cases, like that of Adonayt, who was killed after reporting her rape, and Heaven, a seven-year-old girl who was raped and murdered. “When we saw people attending our meetings getting arrested, I knew — this is beyond criticism. This is danger.”

Those moments birthed a movement “We became frontline defenders,” she recalls. “We started creating contingency plans, connecting with groups like the Ethiopian Women Human Rights Defenders Network, Human Rights Defenders Center, and DefendDefenders. We took intensive digital and physical security trainings. It was a wake-up call.”

Still, no training prepares you for the emotional toll. “I quit every weekend,” Betelehem admits, “But I always come back. Human rights work is soul work. I believe people are sent here with a purpose. When I ignore mine, I can’t sleep. Every time I hear injustice, I’m pulled back in. In Ethiopia, where women’s rights advocacy is still fragile, one person missing from the movement is a big loss.”

Motherhood magnifies both her purpose and her pain. “When you become a mom and a women’s rights defender, they threaten you through your kids. You live in constant paranoia — wondering if the next ride driver, the next message, could be an attack. Even if you survive the threats, the PTSD stays. You carry it with you.”

Support has been pieced together through solidarity. “Ethiopian Women Lawyers Association (EWLA) supported us legally, even though they have so many cases. Emotionally, the Ethiopian Women Human Rights Defenders Network became our anchor. When we had to relocate, they provided safe houses. That kind of support keeps you alive.”

Betelehem also wants people to understand that TFGBV is far more complex than insults in a comment section. “It’s smear campaigns, doxxing, deepfakes, economic harm. I can’t use public transport anymore — I have to pay for rides (meter taxi) every day. When false content spreads, like calling me a lesbian, it doesn’t just stay online. It reaches my neighbors, my community. It isolates you.”

Motherhood, she adds, reshaped her resilience. “I used to think showing emotion made me weak. But now, being a mom makes me more cautious. I want my kids to grow up in their country safely. I’m still strong, but being a mother makes you fear more — it makes you human.”

Betelehem’s plea to tech companies and policymakers is clear and urgent: “Understand the human cost. Lack of content moderation puts our lives at risk. This isn’t just online harm —it’s about our safety, our families, and our sanity.”

While survivors bear scars, others are fighting back. “Many young people didn’t realize that online harassment is gender-based violence.” says Yeabsra, a Gender Officer at Empowering Next Generation (ENG), who works on youth online safety programs in partnership with Meta.

ENG trains teens to recognize TFGBV, share experiences, and advocate for safer online spaces. Role plays, podcasts, social media campaigns, and in-person trainings help youth ambassadors teach their peers to identify and respond to abuse. But challenges are still there: “Content moderation tools are mostly in English, not Amharic. Many people are left unprotected,” Yeabsra explains

Ethiopia has laws addressing online harassment and defamation, including the Computer Crimes Proclamation and Criminal Code provisions on crimes against honor. These laws punish threats, intimidation, psychological strain, and defamatory content online, with penalties ranging from fines to imprisonment.

Yet gaps remain: TFGBV is not explicitly recognized (e.g., deepfakes, non-consensual image sharing, and coordinated harassment). Enforcement is unclear, and preventive measures are minimal — focus is largely on punishment after harm. Women like Jordin, Lidiya, Betelehem, and Lella are often left vulnerable, with little recourse when harassment escalates into real-world danger.

Ethiopia’s women online are brave, visible, and relentlessly attacked. Their stories are a call to action — for policymakers, tech platforms, and communities — to recognize, prevent, and respond to the real dangers of TFGBV.