Social media companies and authorities are failing women by focusing on nudity rather than consent when dealing with image-based abuse, according to a new report by gender justice organization Chayn. The findings are supported by Pakistani actress Ayesha Omar, who shared her own experiences along with those of other women affected by similar issues. One such woman, identified as Mahnoor to protect her privacy, revealed that the images that changed her life were not nude or sexually explicit. Instead, they depicted her in Western clothing, with bare shoulders showing.
At just 32 years old, Mahnoor returned to her childhood home after her marriage fell apart, seeking comfort and support from her family. Instead, she faced coldness and isolation. It’s been over a year since the incident, and her father and brothers have yet to speak to her. Colleagues she had known for years now avoid eye contact with her. Mahnoor had anticipated a challenging divorce from her husband, whom she described as verbally and physically abusive throughout their arranged marriage. However, the exposure of her private images proved to be the most devastating blow.
Like many young women, Mahnoor had saved numerous personal pictures on her phone—photos of ordinary moments like a nice dinner or flattering selfies. Some were years old, capturing her smiling after a haircut or enjoying an overseas exchange program with friends. Yet none of these images had ever been shared publicly, as she was always conscious of the conservative norms in her Pakistani community. Tragically, her ex-husband accessed her WhatsApp account and shared these private images with male relatives and acquaintances, cropping them to misrepresent her associations with men, insinuating infidelity.
The fallout was severe. Mahnoor found herself labeled as “a woman of bad character,” an accusation that can lead to life-altering and even fatal repercussions within many communities. With her social standing crumbling, she lamented, “I lost my voice. I no longer felt visible.” Once respected by her family and sought for advice, she now felt entirely isolated. With her ex-husband having remarried, the wounds of her past continue to fester.
Chayn’s report, titled “Explicit Harms of Non-Explicit Images,” argues that the focus on nudity misses the broader spectrum of image-based abuse. Hera Hussain, the report’s author, emphasizes that even fully clothed images can have devastating consequences within conservative communities. “The image does not have to be nude for it to be harmful,” she states. The framework around image-based abuse has predominantly revolved around topics like revenge pornography and deepfake nudes. Yet, Chayn’s research illustrates that shame, reputation, and social control operate differently in various communities.
A seemingly innocent photograph could lead to dire consequences for another woman. For instance, a video of a woman dancing at a wedding or a selfie at the beach might seem harmless to one person yet can trigger a tidal wave of shame and repercussions for another. The essence of harm is often dictated not by the image’s content but by the context of its sharing and the identity of those who receive it.
Chayn’s research included 64 interviews across major regions of Pakistan and diaspora communities, highlighting the types of images women fear could be shared: visible hair without a headscarf, Western clothing, or even innocuous selfies taken beside a non-relative male. None of these images contained nudity, yet all could be manipulated to tell a damaging story.
Ayesha Omar’s narrative underscores the reality of image-based abuse. Having worked in Pakistan’s film and television industry for over 20 years, she experienced her own images being stolen and circulated long before social media made such breaches commonplace. Photographs from a holiday in Thailand, where she wore a one-piece swimsuit, were discreetly taken from her laptop and posted online without her consent. “It was very damaging for my career,” she recalled, explaining how it cost her ad campaigns and work opportunities. In a culture that demands conformity to certain images, the psychological and emotional toll was immense.
Hussain argues that society is asking the wrong questions about image-based abuse. Chayn’s approach revolves around assessing the harm done, intent behind sharing, and the absence of consent. Both Mahnoor and Ayesha Omar’s cases meet all these criteria. The consequences of such acts ripple through personal relationships and financial stability. “The principle is respect, dignity, consent,” Hussain says. Yet, tech companies and regulatory systems often overlook these principles.
When Mahnoor sought help from Pakistan’s Federal Investigation Agency, she was informed that her images did not fall within their jurisdiction since they were not explicit. A written complaint she submitted was dismissed for this reason. Attempts to report the images to her mobile network provider were also unfruitful as they required the SIM card registered to her ex-husband’s account, which he had taken from her.
Mahnoor also reported the images to WhatsApp, only to be told they did not violate the platform’s rules. WhatsApp, which utilizes end-to-end encryption, stated it couldn’t proactively review images, leaving users vulnerable. Meta, WhatsApp’s parent company, reiterated its commitment to safety on its platforms but did not address the specific nuances of image-based abuse.
Hussain is concerned that cultural sensitivities are often overlooked by tech companies, where AI moderation systems primarily target nudity. Identifying problematic images is far more complex than simply spotting bare skin. Users may need to persistently advocate for human moderators to review contentious pictures. With companies increasingly relying on automated tools and scaling back human oversight, the potential for mismanagement grows.
In a tragic example from 2017, three sisters in Pakistan were killed after a video of them singing at a wedding circulated, leading to life sentences for three of their male relatives. The burden of reporting such abuses falls heavily on the victims, requiring them to revisit traumatic experiences repeatedly without a straightforward mechanism for bulk removal of harmful content.
The report concludes that harm extends beyond the woman in the image; it impacts her entire family, leading to fathers unable to work and sisters seeing their marriages dissolve. In societies where honor is collective, the threat of collective shame serves as a means of control. Mahnoor faces the emotional cost of isolation, compounded by her daughter’s awareness of their family’s estrangement.
Interestingly, some countries, like France, have long recognized a “right to one’s own image,” granting individuals control over how their images are used. In the UAE, photographing individuals without consent is criminalized, showcasing the varying approaches to image-based abuse across the globe.
As Hera Hussain points out, “Image-based abuse is bigger and wider than nudes,” highlighting the systemic failures in addressing these issues. She urges tech platforms and authorities to improve their support for survivors, assuring those affected that they are not alone and that organizations like Chayn are available to help.
Kaynak: Orijinal Haber
