Social media platforms and authorities are falling short in their efforts to protect women from image-based abuse, often prioritizing nudity over the critical issue of consent, according to a new reports gender justice organization Chayn. This perspective is amplified by Pakistani actress Ayesha Omar, whose personal experiences, alongside those of numerous other women, are detailed within the report’s findings.
The Devastating Impact of Non-Explicit Images
One woman featured in the report, identified as Mahnoor to safeguard her privacy, shared how images that profoundly altered her life were not explicit or nude. Instead, they depicted her with bare shoulders and in Western attire. Mahnoor, a 32-year-old from Pakistan, described returning to her family home after her marriage ended, seeking solace and support. However, she and her young daughter were met with a cold reception. Over a year later, her father and brothers still refuse to speak to her, and former colleagues avoid eye contact.
Mahnoor had anticipated a difficult divorce, having endured years of verbal and physical abuse from her husband, whom she married through an arranged union. Yet, it was the public dissemination of her private life that inflicted the deepest wounds. Like many young women, Mahnoor had stored numerous personal photographs on her phone, documenting everyday moments—a pleasant dinner, a flattering selfie, or even casual shots from an overseas exchange program. Many of these images were years old and had never been shared publicly. Mindful of her conservative community’s values, she rarely posted photos online.
According to Mahnoor, a university lecturer, her former husband gained unauthorized access to her WhatsApp account and private images. He subsequently distributed these to male relatives, colleagues, and acquaintances. Mahnoor stated that he also manipulated some photographs, cropping images of her with groups of friends to falsely suggest she was with a single man, implying an affair. These doctored images, she explained, were used to brand her as a “woman of bad character”—an accusation that can lead to life-altering, and in some communities, fatal consequences.
With limited engagement from friends, family, and colleagues, Mahnoor reported a significant loss of social standing and her formerly influential position within her community. “I lost my voice,” she stated. “I no longer felt visible.” She recalled a time when her advice was sought by her family, a respect that has now vanished.
Rethinking Image-Based Abuse
Chayn’s report, titled “Explicit Harms of Non-Explicit Images,” argues that image-based abuse is widely misunderstood by both authorities and technology companies, who tend to define harm primarily through the lens of nudity. The report contends that for many women, a clothed image can carry consequences as devastating as intimate photographs, particularly within conservative social contexts.
“The image does not have to be nude for it to be harmful,” explained Hera Hussain, the report’s author and founder of Chayn. “Sometimes it can be as harmful, even if not a single body part is bare. We want to reframe the conversation around image-based abuse away from nudity and towards consent.”
For years, public discussions have centered on “revenge pornography,” deepfakes, and sexually explicit content. However, Chayn’s research suggests this narrow focus overlooks the pervasive roles of shame, reputation, and social control in many communities. An image considered ordinary by one person can have severe repercussions for another, such as a video of a woman dancing at a wedding, a photograph taken at the beach, or a selfie shared without permission.
Cultural Sensitivities and Harm
The report emphasizes that the harm caused by an image is often determined not by its content, but by the intent behind its sharing, the recipients, and the subsequent consequences. Chayn conducted 64 interviews across Pakistan and diaspora communities in the UK, Canada, Germany, Malaysia, the UAE, and Kuwait. The research identified images women feared being shared, including those showing hair uncovered by a headscarf, Western or fitted clothing, photographs taken with a non-relative man, fabricated conversation screenshots, or AI-generated images. Crucially, none of these examples involve nudity, yet all can be weaponized to create a damaging narrative.
Actress Ayesha Omar’s experience illustrates this point. Having worked in Pakistan’s film and television industry for over two decades, she recounted how her images were stolen and circulated long before social media became ubiquitous. Photographs from a decade-old holiday in Thailand, where she wore a swimsuit and shorts on a beach, were taken from her laptop without her knowledge and posted online. “It was very damaging for my career,” Omar stated. “I lost ad campaigns. I lost some work stuff.” She elaborated, “Because in my culture, you have to conform to a particular image, even if you’re representing a brand or you’re playing a character on TV. So it did damage me psychologically and emotionally a lot.” The experience left her feeling “hypervigilant,” constantly wary of being filmed.
Hussain argues that society is asking the wrong questions regarding image-based abuse. Chayn’s framework proposes three key tests: the harm inflicted on the individual, the intent behind the sharing, and the absence of consent. In both Mahnoor’s and Omar’s cases, all three elements are present, leading to tangible consequences like lost relationships and income.
“The principle is respect, dignity, consent,” Hussain asserted. “These are the things that matter.” The report argues that technology companies and regulatory systems often fail to uphold these principles.
Systemic Failures in Reporting and Redress
When Mahnoor reported her case to Pakistan’s Federal Investigation Agency (now the National Cyber Crime Investigation Agency), she was informed that the images fell outside its jurisdiction because they were not nude or sexually explicit. Her written complaint, reviewed by this outlet, was rejected on these grounds. Similarly, her attempt to seek assistance from her mobile network provider proved futile, as she was told nothing could be done without the SIM card registered to the offending account, which her ex-husband had taken from her.
Mahnoor also contacted WhatsApp’s customer complaints department, but she was informed that the images did not breach the platform’s rules. While she no longer possesses the email exchange, a spokesperson for WhatsApp declined to comment on Mahnoor’s specific case but directed attention to the platform’s guidelines, which outline acceptable and unacceptable content. These guidelines do not feature a specific policy for image-based abuse but state that WhatsApp addresses “abusive people” to prohibit “harmful conduct towards others,” while also asserting they are “not obligated to control the actions or information (including content) of our users or other third-parties.” Due to end-to-end encryption, WhatsApp cannot proactively review sent images.
Meta, WhatsApp’s parent company, stated, “We are committed to making Facebook, Instagram, Messenger and Threads safe places. We remove content that could contribute to a risk of harm to the physical security of persons.”
Concerns Over Automation and Oversight
Hussain expressed concern that technology companies, often relying on AI moderation systems trained primarily to detect nudity, fail to recognize cultural sensitivities. Identifying problematic images, she noted, is far more nuanced than simply spotting bare skin, and users may need to be highly persistent to ensure a human moderator reviews a case. There is a growing concern about insufficient human oversight as companies increasingly depend on automated tools and consolidate regional expertise into teams covering vast and diverse geographical areas.
For instance, Snapchat’s CEO disclosed to the US Senate Judiciary Committee a reduction in its trust and safety team, with moderation headcount dropping by 27% between 2021 and 2023. Campaigners advocate for a reversal of the current approach, where platforms investigate and then take down content. Hussain proposes a “take down first, investigate later” model, suggesting a 24-hour temporary removal pending review.
Hussain highlighted a 2017 case in Pakistan where three sisters were killed after a video of them singing and clapping at a wedding was shared, leading to life sentences for three male relatives. The burden of reporting currently falls heavily on the victim, who must locate and submit each image individually, often without a simple mechanism to remove multiple copies. “You go through all that retraumatisation,” Hussain stated, “and then you might not even get a response.”
The report concludes that this distinction is critical because the harm rarely remains confined to the individual depicted. Leaked images can profoundly affect entire families, leading to fathers being unable to face work and sisters’ marriages collapsing, with households living under a cloud of shame. Honor is often viewed collectively, and the threat of collective shame serves as a powerful tool of control.
For Mahnoor, the cost is measured in the silence of those around her. Her young daughter has begun to notice the lack of interaction with relatives upstairs. The images that silenced her were, by many platforms’ standards, considered harmless.
Legal Frameworks and Support
Some countries recognize the sharing of images as a privacy issue. France, for example, has long upheld a “right to one’s own image,” granting individuals exclusive control over the use of their likeness, with exceptions for news and matters of public interest. The UAE goes further by criminalizing photography without consent, even in public spaces, without a broad public-interest exemption.
“Image-based abuse is bigger and wider than nudes” and represents a “systemic failure,” concluded Hera Hussain. She added that law enforcement, courts, and tech platforms “can all do so much better in supporting survivors.” She also offered a message of solidarity: “if you’re experiencing image-abuse know that it is not your fault, you are not alone and there are organizations like Chayn that are here to support you.”
