A woman posts an opinion online and within minutes comments start flooding. Some challenge her argument, others question her intelligence, her appearance, relationship status and sometimes they may occasionally try to imagine what her private life looks like. Apparently, a woman's opinion is only worth engaging if her personal life can also be put on trial. Welcome to the internet, where everyone has a voice but not everyone is allowed to use theirs without a price.
From online harassment and threats to gendered disinformation, manipulated images and artificial intelligence-generated deepfakes, abuse can travel across platforms at an astonishing speed. A post can be deleted, but screenshots survive. An accusation can be refuted but its first impression may already have travelled further than the truth (We can see that priority changed from accuracy to speed). Technology has not invented society's prejudice against women. It has simply given that prejudice a smartphone, an internet connection and, sometimes, an audience of thousands.
In Kenya, women in politics, journalism and other public-facing roles can face attacks designed to discredit their work by shifting attention from their ideas to their gender, appearance or private lives. A male politician may be criticised for a policy position, while a woman in the same position finds herself answering questions about whether she is too loud, too aggressive or sufficiently respectable. Apparently, leadership comes with an invisible volume control when the person speaking is a woman.
Such attacks can make silence seem safer than participation. When speaking publicly means risking humiliation, threats or fabricated content circulating beyond one's control, the cost of visibility becomes difficult to ignore. Gendered disinformation can be particularly damaging because it does not merely attack a woman's opinion; it can undermine her credibility and encourage others to question whether she deserves to be heard at all.
The Association of Media Women in Kenya (AMWIK), in its State of Women in Media in Kenya report, highlights a wider problem of women's exclusion from media leadership. According to figures, women account for just 2.8% of media owners in Kenya, while many women journalists leave newsrooms around the age of 35. Although these figures do not measure TFGBV alone, they highlight the wider inequalities women face in a profession where online hostility can become another obstacle to visibility, advancement and professional independence.
When women withdraw from public debate or leave spaces where their voices are needed, the loss extends beyond the individual. Newsrooms lose experienced journalists, audiences lose diverse perspectives, and important conversations risk being shaped by those who can participate without facing the same hostility.
The relationship between TFGBV and patriarchy reveals an uncomfortable truth that not every digital attack requires sophisticated technology. Sometimes, it begins with familiar attitudes about how women should behave, speak, dress or exercise authority. Technology simply provides new ways to enforce those expectations.
Gendered disinformation can damage reputations, while manipulated photographs, edited videos and AI-generated deepfakes make it increasingly difficult to distinguish authentic material from fabricated content. A convincing image is not necessarily proof that an event happened, and a viral post is certainly not proof that it is true. Yet in a digital environment where content can be shared in seconds, corrections may struggle to catch up with the original claim.
The problem becomes worse when audiences join in. Someone may not have created the original abusive post, but sharing it for entertainment, adding a mocking comment or forwarding an unverified allegation can extend its reach. The person who started the abuse may be one account; those who keep it circulating can be hundreds.
This raises a difficult and concerning question: at what point does watching become participation? The digital crowd may insist it is only joking or forwarding what everyone else is sharing. But humour does not automatically erase harm, and a share button does not make anyone a neutral observer. Sometimes, the people who help spread an attack are the same people who later insist they had nothing to do with it.
For survivors, seeking help can introduce another layer of difficulty. Reporting online abuse may require preserving evidence, identifying accounts and navigating systems that are not always equipped to respond to digital harm. However, responding to TFGBV requires more than recognising that online abuse exists. Institutions must be equipped to handle digital evidence, respond sensitively to survivors and understand how online threats can escalate into real world danger.
Picture this: A woman heading to the police station in tears to report that she has been trolled online. Do you think law enforcement would have taken it as seriously if the said woman arrived there having been physically abused? Digital violence should not be dismissed simply because it leaves no visible bruise. Online threats, humiliation and the non-consensual circulation of intimate or manipulated content can affect a person's dignity, sense of safety and willingness to participate in public life. Support systems must recognise these consequences and respond without placing the burden on the survivor to prove their suffering.
For women journalists, politicians, activists and content creators, visibility can be both an opportunity and a risk. Their work may require them to speak publicly, challenge powerful interests and engage audiences. Yet the same visibility can expose them to targeted harassment and pressure to conform. Some may begin censoring their opinions, limiting their online presence or changing how they work to avoid abuse.
This is one of the quieter consequences of TFGBV: the story that is NEVER published, the opinion that is NEVER shared and the public conversation that loses a valuable perspective because someone decides the cost of participating is too high. Resilience matters, but it should not become society's favourite way of transferring responsibility to survivors. Women should not have to become exceptionally brave simply to exercise the same rights as everyone else.
Blocking an abusive account can provide relief, and reporting harmful content can help. But neither action alone can dismantle the attitudes that make gendered abuse acceptable. Digital platforms need accessible reporting systems and meaningful responses to abuse. Law enforcement and support institutions need the capacity to handle digital evidence, while newsrooms must take responsibility for protecting journalists rather than leaving individual women to navigate abuse alone.
Ordinary users also have a role to play. Before sharing a humiliating image, forwarding an unverified allegation or joining a pile-on against a woman, it is worth asking whether the content informs the public or simply turns someone into entertainment. Digital literacy must go beyond knowing how to use an app; it should also involve understanding how online behaviour can cause harm and how quickly false narratives can spread.
Technology is often described as a mirror of society, but people still decide what to share, what to tolerate and what to challenge. Platforms, institutions and individuals all influence whether digital spaces become places for participation or tools for intimidation. The problem cannot be solved by telling women to become more careful while leaving everyone else unchanged.
The internet may not forget easily, but society can choose not to keep repeating the same prejudices through newer tools. The question is not whether women should learn to survive online. It is why their participation should come with the expectation that they must.
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Category: Technology
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