ONELI NONIS
Technology was once imagined as the great equalizer — a space where anyone could express themselves freely, learn, work, and create without barriers. But for many women and girls in Sri Lanka today, technology has slowly transformed from a gateway to empowerment into what feels like a silent, inescapable cage. As Sydney J. Harris once warned, “The real danger is not that computers will begin to think like humans, but that humans will begin to think like computers.” The coldness, speed, and anonymity of the digital world have given rise to a new form of harm: technology-facilitated gender-based violence (TFGBV). And the danger is growing faster than society is prepared to handle.
TFGBV in Sri Lanka is no longer limited to occasional online harassment. It has evolved into hacking, doxxing, deepfake creation, digital stalking, image-based abuse, fake profiles, and blackmail — forms of violence that do not require physical presence yet leave deep psychological scars. For many young women, especially students, social media is not just entertainment; it is a lifeline for education, networking, and community. But it is also where their privacy is stolen, their identities manipulated, and their reputations destroyed within minutes. In Sri Lanka’s increasingly digital society, violence has found a new home: the screen.
One of the most disturbing cases in recent years involved a 21-year-old university student in Colombo, whom will refer to as “Nuwani.” One morning in 2023, she woke up to frantic calls from her friends. Her Instagram account had been hacked overnight. Personal photos — none explicit, but still intimate — were reposted with captions designed to sexualize her. The images spread through WhatsApp groups across her faculty within hours. Strangers began messaging her asking for “rates,” while classmates whispered about her in corridors. Later, her ex-boyfriend admitted he hacked her account because she “ignored him.” Yet when she reported it, the response she received was laced with judgment: “Umbata mokakda mewa dunnē? Why did you take these things?” It was a painful reminder that in Sri Lanka, survivors are interrogated, not supported, and perpetrators remain shielded by social attitudes that normalize online abuse.
Another case shook the quiet town of Kandy in early 2024, where a 16-year-old schoolgirl discovered that her face had been superimposed onto explicit images using artificial intelligence. A group of teenage boys used a crude mobile app to create deepfake content and circulated it on WhatsApp. The girl’s mother later said, “She refused to go to school. She believed everyone in Kandy had seen it.” Deepfake technology, although still relatively new, has already become a devastating tool in the hands of young abusers who treat it like a joke without understanding the lifelong trauma it inflicts. With no comprehensive laws to address deepfake pornography, survivors are left vulnerable, and perpetrators often walk free.
But TFGBV does not always involve strangers. For some women, the call is coming from inside the home. A 32-year-old mother from Gampaha learned that her husband had secretly installed a tracking app on her phone. He monitored her WhatsApp messages, her location, and even the photos she saved. If she delayed responding to a message by ten minutes, he accused her of cheating. If she visited her parents, he demanded video proof. This form of digital surveillance mirrors Sri Lankan society’s rooted belief that men have the right to control women’s mobility and communication. As bell hooks said, “The heart of abuse is control.” Technology has now become another tool for enforcing that control behind closed doors.
In Jaffna, a 19-year-old university student experienced a different kind of violence. Someone created a fake Facebook profile using her real photos and began posting explicit content pretending to be her. Men started messaging her, and some even approached her near her university. Terrified, her family forced her to stop attending classes to “protect her reputation.” A fake profile, made in minutes, derailed her education and altered the course of her life. The anonymity of social media allows perpetrators to destroy a young woman’s future without ever revealing their face.
The rise of TFGBV in Sri Lanka is driven by several factors: rapid digital expansion, low digital literacy, normalized surveillance in relationships, weak cyber laws, patriarchal attitudes toward women’s autonomy, and overwhelming social stigma. Girls receive smartphones before they receive education on digital safety. Many men consider checking their partner’s phone as an act of love or protection, not abuse. Legal institutions remain slow, outdated, and ill-prepared for modern cybercrimes. Most devastatingly, survivors are silenced by fear of shame — the same shame that protects perpetrators and perpetuates silence. António Guterres once said, “Online violence is real violence.” The mental health impact is profound: anxiety, depression, panic attacks, insomnia, social withdrawal, academic disruption, and in severe cases, suicidal thoughts. A counselor working in Colombo explained, “When a girl’s photos leak, she feels like the whole world owns her body.” The digital cage tightens not just around her identity, but around her sense of self.
What makes TFGBV uniquely dangerous is that it never stays confined to screens. Online threats spill into the physical world. Survivors face humiliation in public, loss of educational opportunities, professional setbacks, family conflict, and increased domestic violence. Some girls are forced to delete social media, leave school, or stop working as a “solution.” The digital cage becomes a physical one. Martin Luther King Jr.’s words echo painfully here: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” When online injustice is minimized, all forms of violence are allowed to grow.
Addressing TFGBV in Sri Lanka requires a modern, proactive, and survivor-centered approach. The country urgently needs updated laws that specifically address deepfakes, non-consensual image sharing, doxxing, identity theft, digital stalking, and online blackmail. Police and legal officers must be trained to handle cases without judgement or victim-blaming. Schools and universities must integrate digital literacy — including consent, privacy, and reporting mechanisms — into their curriculum. Survivors need anonymous, safe reporting channels and access to mental health services. Communities must shift from shaming survivors to supporting them. And crucially, men and boys must be engaged to understand digital consent, respectful relationships, and the consequences of online harm. Technology created the problem, but education and empathy must drive the solution.
The 16 Days of Activism provides a powerful reminder that violence evolves — and so must our response. Ending violence against women means protecting them in every space they occupy, including the digital world. In this effort, UNFPA Sri Lanka plays a critical role as a leading advocate for both online and offline safety. Through research, policy advocacy, youth engagement, and survivor-centered services, UNFPA reinforces the fundamental truth that digital rights are human rights. Their work emphasizes that safety, dignity, and autonomy cannot be separated between the physical and digital worlds. Whether through promoting digital consent, supporting stronger cyber laws, strengthening referral pathways, or amplifying survivor voices, UNFPA continues to push for a future where technology empowers rather than endangers.
As we reflect during the 16 Days of Activism, the message becomes clear: no one should ever log in and discover their life no longer belongs to them. Breaking the digital cage is not only a responsibility — it is a collective promise to build a safer Sri Lanka for every woman and girl, online and offline.
