Ljubica Fuentes was a law student at Ecuador’s largest public university when she first realized that the pursuit of justice could be a dangerous path for a woman. It began in a lecture hall, a space that should have been dedicated to the objective study of the law, but instead became the site of a profound personal and professional insult. During a session, her professor stood before the class and declared that women were not truly there to become lawyers; rather, they were simply present to find a husband. When Fuentes raised her hand to object to this blatant misogyny, she didn’t just challenge a single man’s prejudice—she ignited a firestorm that would eventually follow her across borders and into the digital ether.
From that moment on, Fuentes was branded. The term “feminazi,” a derogatory slur intended to silence and delegitimize women’s advocacy, became her shadow on campus. But the harassment did not stay confined to the hallways or the classrooms. It migrated, as so much of modern life does, into the palm of her hand. What began as classroom snickering evolved into a relentless digital nightmare. Instagram messages from private accounts warned her to stop her advocacy. The university’s Facebook page was flooded with anonymous threats. Soon, the digital vitriol took a darker, more physical turn: whispers and notes began to circulate on campus, containing graphic threats of sexual violence. When Fuentes learned that someone had been hired to physically assault her, the realization hit home: her safety was no longer a given. In the middle of the night, she fled her life in Ecuador for a semester abroad, seeking the sanity and integrity that her own campus could no longer provide.
Today, Fuentes is a human rights lawyer and the founder of an organization dedicated to eradicating gender-based violence in higher education. Her story is a harrowing testament to a global epidemic that is often dismissed as “just words on a screen.” Digital violence—or technology-facilitated gender-based violence (TFGBV)—is a visceral reality for millions. Research indicates that between 16 and 58 percent of women worldwide have experienced some form of digital abuse. According to a study by the Economist Intelligence Unit, 38 percent of women have personally faced online harassment, while a staggering 85 percent have witnessed it directed at others.
The global COVID-19 pandemic acted as a catalyst for this crisis. As the world moved into lockdown, the internet became the primary venue for work, education, and social interaction. However, this digital migration also provided a new toolkit for abusers. Fuentes observes that patriarchy proved remarkably adaptable, finding ways to reach women inside the perceived safety of their own homes. The anonymity of the internet acted as a shield for cowards; hidden behind fake user IDs and glowing screens, individuals felt empowered to unleash a level of cruelty that social norms might have suppressed in person. This “bravery” behind the screen has created a culture where the digital world feels like a minefield for any woman who dares to speak up.
The psychological toll of this constant surveillance is immense. For Fuentes, the harassment meant that her digital existence was no longer a space for connection, but one of constant scrutiny. Every post, every shared opinion, and every tagged friendship became a potential liability. This is the “feminist tax”—the reality that women in the public eye, or those who advocate for change, are held to an impossible standard. They are not allowed the grace of a mistake or the privacy of a past. If you are an activist, you are expected to be 120 percent prepared at all times, knowing that any slip-up will be weaponized by a digital mob.
This atmosphere of fear has tangible, real-world consequences. It is not just about hurt feelings; it is about the systematic silencing of women’s voices. When girls and young women face online harassment—58 percent of whom have reported such experiences—they often respond by restricting their online presence, abandoning their education, or withdrawing from public life entirely. The impact on professional sectors is equally devastating. A 2020 UNESCO report found that 73 percent of women journalists had experienced online violence in the course of their work. This is a direct threat to the freedom of the press and the diversity of public discourse. When the digital world becomes too toxic to navigate, society loses the contributions of half its population.
Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of this crisis is the gap between the speed of technology and the slowness of justice. Despite the prevalence of digital abuse, the legal systems of the world have failed to keep pace. Less than half of all countries have specific laws on the books to prosecute online harassment. When survivors like Fuentes seek help from public defenders, they are often met with a shrug or a warning that a resolution could take five years or more. This normalization of the justice gap sends a clear message to survivors: your digital safety is not a priority.
Furthermore, technology companies have been criticized for their slow response to the violence perpetrated on their platforms. While these companies have the resources to track data and moderate content, the mechanisms for reporting and escalating digital abuse are often opaque and ineffective. This leaves the burden of safety entirely on the shoulders of the victims, who must navigate complex reporting systems while simultaneously managing the trauma of the abuse itself.
In the face of this systemic failure, grassroots organizations have stepped in to fill the void. Fuentes’ organization now works with 600 individuals annually, focusing on early prevention and helping universities develop robust safety protocols. They provide the legal support that the state often fails to offer and mobilize over 1,000 people each year for advocacy campaigns. This work is essential, but it is also under threat.
The ACT Programme, a collaborative effort between the European Commission and UN Women, was designed to support exactly this kind of grassroots feminist movement. The program recognizes that independent women’s organizations are the most critical factor in driving policy changes to end violence. However, recent and unprecedented funding cuts are threatening to undo years of progress. A global survey conducted by UN Women in mid-2025 revealed a dire situation: 34 percent of respondents reported that funding cuts had led to the suspension of vital programs, and 89 percent reported severe reductions in access to support services for survivors.
Fuentes, who serves on the Civil Society Steering Committee of the ACT Programme, emphasizes that supporting young leaders and amplifying their voices is the only way forward. The program currently works with over 500 women’s rights organizations, but the need remains vast. For Fuentes, the fight is deeply personal. She recently acted as the legal representative in a case against the very teacher who once told her she couldn’t be a lawyer. It was a full-circle moment of justice, but she knows the work is far from over.
To those currently facing the onslaught of digital violence, Fuentes offers a message of resilience and practical advice. She stresses the importance of documenting everything—screenshots, links, and timestamps are the currency of future legal battles. She encourages women to seek out communities of support and to remember that the abuse is a reflection of the perpetrator’s insecurity, not the victim’s worth.
As the global community prepares for the 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence, the theme #NoExcuse for online abuse takes center stage. From November 25 to December 10, activists around the world will call for better laws, more responsible tech platforms, and increased funding for women’s organizations. The goal is a digital world that empowers rather than endangers.
For Ljubica Fuentes, the stakes could not be higher. “I will endure everything again,” she says, her voice steady despite the emotion in her eyes, “just to know that someone is not going to go through what I went through.” Her journey from a harassed student to a global advocate serves as a reminder that while digital violence may follow a woman everywhere, so too can the movement for change. The digital world is the new frontier for human rights, and the battle for safety and dignity is one that society cannot afford to lose.
