In Pakistan, cyber harassment is not the work of anonymous trolls alone. It is enabled—if not outright maintained—by institutional structures that allow it to thrive without consequence. A recent research study co-led by a team of feminist researchers (Maira Asif, Sidra Fatima Minhas, Fajeera Asif) on tackling marginalization in online spaces offers sobering evidence: digital violence against women, transgender persons, and religious minorities is not random, but a patterned outcome of legal neglect, digital impunity, and political complicity.
Transgender persons are among the most targeted. Hashtags like #AmendTransgenderAct gained traction as part of a disinformation campaign falsely claiming the 2018 Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act legalized same-sex marriage or allowed gender “fraud.” These narratives were not organic—they were strategically amplified by political actors and conservative religious groups, resulting in weeks of digital attacks labeling participants as un-Islamic. The intent was clear: erase visibility through fear.
Religious minorities fare no better. Online hate against Ahmadis is entrenched, with hashtags like #AhmadisAreNotMuslims and #QadiyaniKafirHai dominating conversations whenever minority rights are discussed. The word clouds in the study are chilling: “traitor,” “apostate,” “deserving of death.” During and after the Jaranwala attacks, social media platforms became amplifiers of hate, with posts justifying mob violence against Christian communities trending under #JaranwalaIncident. These narratives are not fringe—they echo state-sanctioned hierarchies and laws that have long criminalized religious dissent.
Women, especially those associated with the Aurat March, face hypersexualized, religiously framed abuse. Slogans like #MeraJismMeriMarzi and #KhanaKhudGaramKaro—meant to highlight bodily autonomy and gender equity—are routinely hijacked. The resulting slurs are graphic and gendered: tawaif, randi, beghairat. This isn’t backlash—it’s suppression. It’s a digital campaign designed to de-legitimize feminist activism through moral panic and manufactured outrage.
These abuses flourish not in spite of Pakistan’s legal system, but because of it. The PECA 2025 amendments grant sweeping censorship powers to the state through the newly created Social Media Protection Authority (SMPA). Content critical of state institutions can now be fast-tracked for removal, yet there is no equivalent urgency to address online campaigns inciting violence against trans persons or religious minorities. The proposed National Cyber Crime Investigation Agency, set to replace the FIA’s Cyber Crime Wing, remains state-controlled, inaccessible, and silent on survivor protections.
Social media platforms, too, have failed. Facebook, TikTok, and Twitter (X) allow hate speech in Urdu and regional languages to thrive unchecked. The UNDP study found that while English-language slurs may be flagged or removed, hateful content in local languages remains widely visible and highly engaged. Misinformation spreads faster than corrections; outrage travels farther than justice.
This is not a capacity issue—it is a matter of structural design. When digital abuse aligns with dominant ideologies—religious orthodoxy, gender conformity, nationalist paranoia—it is left alone. Sometimes, it is amplified. And because it is normalized, it is not investigated. Because it is familiar, it is not condemned.
What’s needed now is more than platform reforms or awareness campaigns. The research calls for survivor-centered, systems-level change. That includes multilingual, anonymous reporting tools; civil remedies like restraining orders and compensation for survivors; and legal action against organized hate campaigns. It means holding tech platforms accountable for moderation in local languages. It means replacing surveillance-first cyber laws with protections that center dignity and safety.
A national cyber harassment helpline, modeled on existing civil society efforts, must be scaled and supported. Most importantly, a multi-stakeholder Cyber Harassment Task Force—involving tech platforms, civil society, survivors, and state institutions—must be established to coordinate real change.
Cyber harassment in Pakistan is not an exception. It is a reflection of who has the power to speak—and who is punished for doing so. The digital space has become a frontline of silencing. Whether we allow it to remain so is a matter of institutional will.
The internet, at its best, is a space of possibility. But for Pakistan’s marginalized, it is too often a space of threat. That can change. But only if we admit the system isn’t broken. It’s working—just not for everyone.
Maira Asif is a feminist researcher. She is currently the Interim Director Programs at Dastak Women’s Rights and Awareness Foundation.