There’s no denying that Bangladesh has stepped firmly into the digital age. Mobile screens now light up village homes; remote banking, online education, telemedicine—what once felt futuristic is now ordinary. The country, once constrained by analog limitations, has rapidly built its digital scaffolding. And yet, in the spaces between the milestones, something unsettling is happening.

Women, far from being lifted equally by this transformation, are increasingly under threat. Not from the technology itself, but from how it’s being weaponized. Cyber violence against women isn’t just a growing problem—it’s a quiet epidemic. Recent figures from the Cyber Crime Awareness Foundation show a sharp spike: cybercrime more than doubled in a single year, and nearly 60 percent of the victims were women. The Police Cyber Support for Women (PCSW) received over 9,000 harassment complaints in 2024. And those numbers barely scratch the surface. Most cases never make it to any formal system. Many women don’t report—some fear retaliation; others have simply stopped expecting justice.

The forms of abuse are not abstract. They are precise and deeply personal. Hacked profiles, revenge porn, doctored images, threats delivered through messaging apps—each method tailored to degrade and control. For many women, the screen has become a source of dread, not freedom.

A closer look reveals something even more troubling: in a significant number of cases, the attacker is someone the victim once trusted. A partner. An acquaintance met online. A former classmate. A 2021–2022 study found that ex-boyfriends were behind one-third of cyber violence incidents involving women. Another 20 percent stemmed from digital ‘friendships.’ Trust is being turned into a trap. And the silence that follows is deafening.

Digital abuse and its toll

The damage doesn’t remain online. It travels. It spills into classrooms, offices, and family circles. Some women face public shame. Others leave school or change jobs. Nearly half suffer social humiliation; many face financial consequences. But the emotional toll—while harder to measure—is often the most lasting. In a culture that still holds women responsible for their own victimhood, a single leaked photo or false rumor can dismantle years of effort.

One high-profile case involving a Bangladeshi actress made this painfully clear. When private videos of her were leaked by a former fiance, the fallout was swift—but not for the man who betrayed her. The scrutiny, the mockery, the moral judgment—it all landed squarely on her shoulders. The technology was modern; the public reaction was anything but.

And yet, despite the rising numbers and devastating outcomes, the system charged with addressing these crimes is deeply underprepared. PCSW, while a meaningful initiative, operates within a legal and institutional structure that lags far behind the problem it’s trying to solve.

Between 2014 and 2022, Dhaka’s cyber tribunal delivered verdicts in just over 200 cases—out of more than 2,000 filed. That’s a conviction rate of under 10 percent. Some cases drag on for years. Others quietly fade out. The justice system, as it stands, is not built to handle the velocity or complexity of digital abuse.

Part of the issue lies in training. Officers and investigators are often not equipped to understand how cybercrimes unfold. Victims are left explaining how platforms work or why online threats matter. Legal expert Salma Ali points to a critical gap: digital cases are handled like physical crimes, using tools and thinking that don’t fit. As a result, victims are retraumatized, and offenders walk free.

The legal language, too, hasn’t kept pace. The Information Communication Technology Act, while containing provisions on digital offenses, often falls back on general terms like “defamation.” But this isn’t about reputational damage in the abstract. This is about targeted, gendered harm—about control, humiliation, and coercion. Without specific laws addressing issues like non-consensual image sharing or online stalking, most cases fall through the cracks.

All of this feeds into a larger, more insidious outcome: women retreating from digital life. Some leave social media entirely. Others think twice before expressing an opinion, posting a photo, or joining a group. And as they pull back, opportunities narrow. Education, job access, civic participation—all of it increasingly runs through digital spaces. When women exit those spaces for safety, they’re not just losing platforms. They’re losing possibilities.

Digital crimes need digital skills

The national goal of becoming a digitally advanced society cannot be met with half the population disengaged or silenced. A country can’t afford to scale up its tech infrastructure while ignoring who’s getting shut out of it.

Still, this isn’t a hopeless picture. The solutions are not unreachable. They require will, not wonder.

Start with law enforcement. Digital crimes need digital skills. That means specialized training, dedicated cyber units with gender-sensitive protocols, and enough staff to respond without delay. Fast-track courts, specifically for cyber violence cases, could prevent years-long delays and send a clear message: online abuse carries real consequences.

Legal reform is equally critical. Vague statutes won’t protect anyone. New laws must speak directly to the realities women face—revenge porn, doxxing, impersonation, stalking. These are no longer niche concerns. They are daily threats, and the law must recognize them as such.

Then there’s prevention. Awareness programs must go beyond slogans. Digital literacy—especially for young women—should include practical safety tools, how to set boundaries online, and where to seek help. Schools and universities are ideal places to start, since a large share of victims are students. This isn’t just about teaching girls how to protect themselves; it’s about teaching everyone what respect looks like in a digital context.

Technology companies, too, carry responsibility. Better moderation, faster takedown systems, and easier reporting tools must become standard. When abuse happens on their platforms, the companies cannot shrug it off as someone else’s problem.

Widening gender gaps

Lastly, the role of civil society cannot be overstated. Organizations have already been filling the gaps left by institutions—documenting patterns, supporting victims, pushing for change. Their efforts need more than praise. They need funding, visibility, and policy integration.

Bangladesh is racing ahead digitally. But speed alone is not success. If that progress comes with widening gender gaps, if women are left navigating threats with no safety net, then the digital promise has been broken before it’s fulfilled.

A connected society must also be a protected one. Otherwise, the digital future being built today may carry the same old imbalances—just in faster, more permanent forms.

The urgency is not in tomorrow’s innovation, but in today’s protection.

(The author is a Bangladeshi law student and researcher focusing on technology and gender justice in South Asia. Views expressed are personal. He can be contacted at  ibrahimkhalilullah010@gmail.com )