There was a time when public discourse demanded courage. One had to stand in a courtroom, own their words, and face disagreement with dignity. Today, all it takes is a screen, a keyboard, and a fleeting impulse; within seconds, words capable of wounding, humiliating, and silencing are released. Scroll through any social media comment section and a disturbing pattern emerges. A young woman posts a picture, and her body is dissected in comment threads. A student shares an opinion — she is mocked, dismissed, and attacked. A public figure raises a concern and is shamed with misogynistic slurs. A girl expresses political support and is met with slut-shaming, rape threats, and attacks that strip away her dignity.
What should have been spaces for dialogue have transformed into arenas of hostility.
Cyber harassment no longer shocks us; it barely slows our scrolling. From stalking, defamation, hate speech, impersonation, and body shaming to coordinated digital mob attacks, rape threats, caste-based slurs, non-consensual pornography, sextortion, doxing, and the objectification of women, cybercrime now spans a wide spectrum of harm woven into everyday online interaction — harm that Nepali law still fails to fully recognize.
Globally, the scale of violence against women and girls (VAWG) in digital spaces is staggering. A UN report across ten countries found that nearly 95% of aggressive online behavior targets women. UN Women estimates that 1 in 3 women experience online abuse, with young women most affected, especially in South Asia, where norms of control and “prestige” intensify the violence. This is not incidental but structural; social media platforms thrive on engagement, and outrage is their most efficient fuel. The more provocative the comment, the more attention it attracts; the more attention it attracts, the more it is amplified.
But the deeper issue is human. Anonymity provides a shield, allowing individuals to detach words from consequences. Behind a username, humanity loses ground. For women, comment sections have become hostile environments that shape how freely they speak — or whether they speak at all. Issues are no longer critically examined; they are rage-baited.
Social Media Addiction
Today, when a victim raises her voice about rape or harassment, the trial does not begin in a courtroom; it begins in the comment section. Within minutes, her character is assassinated. These self-appointed misogynistic judges do not see the issue; they see a woman — a gold-digger, an opportunist, an object, and most importantly, the opposition threatening their charismatic male figure, who they believe has been “framed” because of the dangerous pseudo-belief that “man milda chamatkar, namilda balatkar.”
How fragile and deeply internalized must the system be when even women begin to echo narratives such as “uttauli che herdai, aaile ta kta sosit chan.” What follows is unbearable: slut-shaming, explicit abuse, and death threats merely because “they know she is a slut” or that “she framed an innocent man.” One cannot help but be astonished by the certainty with which strangers pass judgment before an impartial criminal trial even begins. Who needs an investigation or a fair trial when social media has already delivered its verdict and punishment?
Even those who try to move forward are not spared. Singers, public figures, ordinary women — it does not matter. They are reduced to degrading labels like “10 lakhe” or “arko poi kaile fasaune” under every post they dare to make. This is no longer about a few offensive remarks. It is the systematic shaping of a culture designed to silence women, intimidate participation, and normalize violence as interaction. Meanwhile, perpetrators are protected by doubt, defended as “framed,” their reputations preserved while the victim is socially erased — merely because she spoke.
Is this not harassment?
And if it is, why is it so normalized in our country?
A United Nations Broadband Commission report highlights that cyber violence can be as harmful as physical violence, noting that women’s vulnerability rises with expanding internet access. It recognizes that “cyber touch” may cause harm similar to physical contact, demonstrating that online abuse can be as serious as domestic or sexual violence.
Data from the Nepal Police Cyber Bureau shows a sharp rise in cybercrime in Nepal. Most complaints involve online harassment, abuse, and defamation, especially against women. Reported cases increased from 3,906 in 2020/21 to nearly 19,730 in 2023/24, with more than 53,000 cases recorded over the past five years. Most complaints originate through Facebook and Messenger (72.73%), while TikTok is also increasingly associated with cyber offences.
Why are we tolerating all this?
Nepal still lacks a clear and comprehensive cyber law framework capable of addressing cybercrime effectively. The Electronic Transactions Act, 2063 remains the primary law, yet it is outdated and largely designed to address hacking, phishing, and spoofing. Section 47 has forced courts to squeeze serious gendered online abuse into vague “computer-related offences,” stripping these crimes of their context and seriousness.
The Constitution guarantees protection from all forms of violence under Article 38(3), alongside rights to privacy and freedom of expression; however, these provisions were never designed to address the scale, anonymity, and structural nature of online abuse. The Muluki Criminal Code, 2074 addresses online abuse through Sections 306 (libel), 305 (slander), 307 (aggravated defamation through mass media), 168 (humiliating behavior), and 295 (misuse of image). The Privacy Act, 2075 (Section 15) protects dignity from harmful content. The most recent framework — the National Cyber Security Policy, 2080 (2023) — adds little more than another layer of empty intent. Three years later, it has still not been translated into binding legislation.
This fragmentation is not accidental but reflects the absence of a unified cyber jurisprudence in Nepal, while the state continues producing policy documents for display rather than enforcement. Nepal needs an operative legal framework capable of punishing digital mobs and protecting dignity, liberty, and every citizen’s right to speak and raise their voice online without fear.
We need a system where victims are allowed to heal instead of reliving trauma online, and where perpetrators are held accountable rather than shielded by anonymity. No reform can succeed in a society that continues to excuse the very behavior it claims to punish.
Women are not objects to be projected, dissected, or stripped for consumption. They are not content for outrage, ammunition for jokes, or digital punching bags for entertainment. They are human beings entitled to dignity and safety — rights that should not depend on the mercy of online mobs.
As long as abuse is laughed at, shared, and normalized, silence will remain easier than confrontation, and violence will persist regardless of policy. Until the law catches up with this cruelty, the comment section will remain what it has become: a courtroom without evidence, punishment without trial, and a form of violence we have collectively chosen to normalize.
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