By Edwin Wanjawa and Dommie Yambo-Odotte
Digital spaces were once imagined as places of freedom—platforms where women and girls in Kenya could learn, dream, build careers, express themselves, and participate in public life without restriction. Today, however, these same spaces have become some of the most dangerous environments for them. A new frontier of abuse has emerged, one that is invisible, fast-moving, and deeply personal: Digital Gender-Based Violence (DGBV).
From revenge porn and sextortion to cyberstalking, doxxing, impersonation, deepfake pornography, and relentless misogynistic trolling, digital violence has become one of the fastest-growing forms of GBV in the country. Yet even as the abuse happens on screens, its consequences spill violently into homes, schools, workplaces, and communities. For many women and girls, online harm becomes offline danger.
Digital GBV in Kenya is not merely a list of offences; it is a lived reality. Teen girls are coerced into sharing intimate photos by online predators, only to be extorted or humiliated later. University students describe waking up to their videos circulating in classmates’ WhatsApp groups. Young women in relationships suffer “revenge porn” when partners leak private material after breakups. Women in leadership endure coordinated online campaigns designed to shame, silence, or force them out of public life. And increasingly, survivors report deepfake sexual images created from their Facebook or TikTok photos—images so convincing that refuting them becomes nearly impossible.
Many women describe digital violence as a shadow that follows them everywhere. The phone becomes both a lifeline and a weapon. One survivor explains, “Every time my phone vibrated, I panicked.” Another recounts receiving messages with her home address attached: “I know where you live. Wait for me.” For some, these threats eventually materialised—online stalking transformed into physical stalking, digital harassment into assault. The boundary between ‘online’ and ‘offline’ has collapsed.
Teen girls and young women in rural areas face even harsher consequences. Leaked images often result in beatings at home, permanent stigma in school, or forced marriage disguised as “restoring family honour.” In communities where digital literacy is low, survivors are blamed, mocked, or ostracised. Their families suffer shame; their opportunities collapse.
In politics and media, digital violence has become a powerful tool for exclusion. Women who dare to lead are met with storms of insults, sexualised narratives, manipulated images, and coordinated smear campaigns. Many withdraw from public life, not because they lack ambition, but because the cost of visibility is too high. Kenya cannot talk about women’s representation without confronting this digital hostility that silences them long before they step onto a podium.
Several factors are fuelling this surge in DGBV. Affordable smartphones mean adolescents are online earlier, often without protections or guidance. Misogyny—long embedded offline—has migrated seamlessly into digital platforms, amplified by anonymity and viral culture. Reporting mechanisms remain weak; survivors are often dismissed by police with statements like “Just block them” or “Why did you send photos?” Tech companies respond slowly, especially to deepfake content, and Kenya lacks clear legal frameworks to address digital sexual violence. In the political arena, online spaces have been weaponised to intimidate female leaders and activists, turning digital harassment into strategic, organised violence.
As a media civil society organisation, Development Through Media (DTM) has seen first-hand how harmful online narratives shape offline behaviours. When women are insulted, sexualised, and dehumanised online, society becomes desensitised to their suffering. Online shaming isolates survivors, making them more vulnerable to further abuse. Digital threats reveal locations and patterns that later facilitate physical attacks. And when irresponsible media headlines sensationalise these incidents, they multiply the harm, embolden perpetrators, and silence survivors.
Digital violence is not just an online issue; it is a social, psychological, economic, and physical one. It is a barrier to education when girls drop out of school. It is a barrier to employment when reputations are destroyed. It is a barrier to leadership when women withdraw from public life. And it is a barrier to equality, dignity, and freedom for half the population.
To build safer digital spaces for women and girls, Kenya must strengthen cybercrime units, establish survivor-centred reporting mechanisms, craft laws that specifically address digital sexual violence and deepfakes, and prioritise digital literacy in schools and communities. Political parties must protect women in digital spaces, and the media must adopt ethical, survivor-sensitive reporting guidelines. Tech companies must also move faster to remove abusive content—especially deepfake pornography and impersonation.
Most importantly, survivors must be believed. For far too long, digital violence has been trivialised as “drama,” “private mistakes,” or “attention-seeking.” Yet for women and girls across Kenya, digital GBV is real violence—with real scars, real fear, and real consequences.
As DTM continues to highlight during the 16 Days of Activism, ending gender-based violence requires confronting the digital battleground where much of today’s harm begins. Only by challenging harmful online narratives, protecting survivors, and reshaping digital culture can Kenya ensure that women and girls are safe not just in the physical world, but in the digital one that increasingly defines our lives.
Edwin Wanjawa is the Programmes Associate, DTM and Dommie Yambo-
Odotte is the Executive Director and Producer, DTM
