A landmark 2023 study by UN Women exposed the sheer scale of this crisis. In an investigation covering women in public life across Latin America, researchers found that half of the women interviewed had been subjected to severe digital harassment. These attacks are rarely isolated incidents. They often begin with a single message or a leaked photograph and escalate into doxing, where private addresses and phone numbers are published to incite real-world harm. The study revealed a terrifying pattern: threats of rape were the most frequent physical menace reported, while photos were frequently weaponized or altered into deepfakes to degrade and humiliate. Perhaps most disturbingly, the research found that this violence has become “normalized”—viewed by many as the inevitable “rules of the game” for any woman daring to hold a microphone, a seat in parliament, or a platform for change.
In Mexico, the statistics are staggering. Data from the National Institute of Statistics and Geography (INEGI) indicates that in 2024 alone, more than 10 million women and girls aged 12 and older who used the internet were victims of cyberbullying. This is not a mere digital trend; it is a national emergency. Olimpia Coral Melo, a survivor who has become a leading voice for digital rights, describes the experience as a violation of the soul. “As a survivor of digital violence, I have seen how this violence does not stay on the screen,” Melo explains. “It crosses into your life, your surroundings, your presence, your body, and your memory.”
Melo’s journey into activism was born from a profound personal trauma. In 2013, an intimate video she had recorded with a partner was shared online without her consent. The fallout was immediate and catastrophic. She faced a wall of social stigma and institutional indifference. When she attempted to seek justice, she was met with mockery. Authorities told her that because the act was “virtual,” no crime had been committed. At the time, Mexican law was silent on the matter of digital intimacy and consent. Survivors like Melo were often blamed for their own victimization, told that if they hadn’t recorded the content, they wouldn’t be in danger.
Similarly, renowned sports journalist Marion Reimers has spent years on the frontlines of this digital battlefield. As one of the most prominent women in sports media, Reimers has been the target of coordinated harassment campaigns aimed at punishing her for calling out systemic sexism. “If someone hacks my account or assaults me on the street, the result is very similar,” Reimers says, highlighting the false dichotomy between the “online” and “offline” worlds. The attacks against her were not just insults; they were professional sabotage. The harassment cost her job opportunities, damaged her hard-earned reputation, and led to a harrowing struggle with depression and anxiety. Like Melo, Reimers found that law enforcement lacked the technical vocabulary and the institutional protocols to hold tech giants or anonymous aggressors accountable.
Refusing to accept these “rules,” Melo, Reimers, and a collective of survivors turned their trauma into a legislative revolution. Between 2013 and 2021, they organized, campaigned, and lobbied the Mexican government for change. Their efforts culminated in the “Olimpia Law,” a set of reforms to the Criminal Code that recognized gendered digital violence as a crime. The law specifically targets the production, dissemination, and possession of intimate sexual content without consent. It was a watershed moment that sent a clear message: the digital world is not a lawless vacuum.
The impact of the Olimpia Law has resonated far beyond Mexico’s borders. It served as a blueprint for the entire region. Since 2016, nations including Paraguay, Uruguay, Ecuador, Venezuela, and Argentina have amended their legal frameworks to incorporate digital violence. Other countries, such as El Salvador, Peru, Guatemala, and several Caribbean nations like Belize and Trinidad and Tobago, have enacted specific statutes to criminalize various forms of online aggression. This legislative wave is a testament to the power of survivor-led movements to redefine the legal landscape of the 21st century.
Building on this momentum, Mexico is now implementing a Digital Violence Observatory. This initiative aims to track emerging trends in cyber-harassment and provide a data-driven foundation for future policy. Furthermore, a new artificial intelligence tool named “OlimpiA”—developed in collaboration with survivors—is now providing 24/7 support in 30 languages. It offers guidance to victims on how to secure their digital footprints and report abuse, bridging the gap between technological harm and technological help.
While Mexico has made significant strides in legislation, the situation in Bolivia highlights the ongoing struggle for institutional recognition. Grecia Tardío, a feminist data activist with the organization La Lupa Digital, is working to document how political violence against women has migrated to digital spaces. Through the “Connected and Free from Violence” project, Tardío is building a case for why data is a critical tool for advocacy.
Tardío’s commitment to this cause is deeply personal. She lost years of digital records when her Facebook account was hacked from the very building where she worked. This incident underscored a painful reality: the systems meant to protect citizens are often the ones most vulnerable to misuse. “It is not a matter of personal vigilance alone,” Tardío asserts. “Building safe digital environments requires protocols, responsible sharing, and constant learning about risks. Turning vulnerability into collective knowledge is a concrete form of resistance.”
The challenges in Bolivia are exacerbated by a lack of technical literacy within the justice system. Tardío notes that judges and prosecutors often struggle to understand the mechanics of digital crimes. There is a pervasive confusion regarding forensic evidence, and a glaring lack of gender sensitivity. Without specific laws governing digital rights, the Bolivian justice system suffers from low sentencing rates and weak oversight. This creates a culture of impunity, reinforcing the dangerous notion that online violence carries no real-world penalties.
The stakes in Bolivia are not just personal; they are democratic. Although the country boasts high levels of political parity on paper, the digital harassment of female officials often forces them into “self-censorship.” Many women feel pressured to resign or soften their political stances to avoid the relentless barrage of online hate. “When women in public office are silenced, society as a whole loses,” Tardío warns. “What is not named does not exist. If digital violence is not named and punished, it will continue to silence the very voices that the country needs to hear.”
To combat this, UN Women, with the support of the Spanish Agency for International Development Cooperation (AECID), launched a comprehensive framework in 2024 to bolster digital safety in Bolivia. The project produced the first national survey on the digital experiences of Bolivian women, titled “Conectando Bolivia.” This snapshot revealed the most common forms of aggression and identified significant gender gaps in technology access. Beyond data collection, the initiative has trained over 500 public officials—including prosecutors and members of the judiciary—on how to handle digital violence cases with a human rights perspective.
The fight to end digital violence is far from over. Experts emphasize that while laws like the Olimpia Law are vital, they must be backed by specialized institutional capacity and corporate accountability. Technology companies, often the silent hosts of this abuse, must be held to higher standards of content moderation and survivor-centered response protocols.
Across Latin America, the narrative is shifting. Women are no longer just survivors; they are changemakers. Through legal reform, data activism, and unwavering solidarity, they are dismantling the machinery of online abuse. They are proving that the digital space belongs to everyone and that the “rules of the game” can, and must, be rewritten to ensure safety, dignity, and equality for all.
