Author: Shruti Priya | 11-Mar-2025
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From Joan of Arc to Anne Boleyn, from Hypatia of Alexandria to Malala Yousafzai, since time immemorial, society has been terrified of women having power. A woman who is vocal, who has access to knowledge, who can connect with the world beyond her immediate surroundings—such a woman is seen as a threat to the established order. In response to this, across generations, mechanisms of control have been put in place to limit her exposure. Today, in the digital age, this control manifests in a new form: restricting women's access to technology, limiting their use of the internet, and policing their online presence.
The fear is not new. It has always been about controlling how much a woman can see and how much she can be seen. During our field visits for the “Barriers and Enablers to Women’s trust on Digital platforms”, we encountered many such anecdotes that validate this ongoing struggle.
Many men expressed that their sisters and wives do not need phones because they are expected to stay at home. They justified their own use of phones by emphasizing the necessity arising from outdoor work. Some acknowledged that phone ownership is equally important for both men and women, yet an underlying patronizing attitude persisted. The phrase “Ladkiya puch kar karegi kuch bhi!” (Girls will do anything only after asking for permission!) encapsulates the deeply entrenched belief that women must seek approval before making their own decisions.
A family's honour is often tied to a girl's reputation, which, in the digital age, is closely linked to visibility. The world can seem very threatening, leading families to confine their daughters to the home in an effort to create "safe spaces." However, these "safe spaces" can transform into "oppressive spaces."
Even when a young woman is confined to a "safe space," there is still a concern that if she has access to the internet, she may engage in conversations beyond her family's watchful eyes. If she owns a smartphone, she might form relationships outside of arranged expectations. If she uploads a photo, she invites the judgment of strangers, but more so, she invites the scrutiny of those who believe a woman’s dignity is defined by how hidden she is. The fear is not of technology itself—it is of what women might do or achieve if they are truly free. In some families, control and ownership of mobile devices firmly rest with the men, who expressed a protective stance to avoid accusations against their wives from the larger community, linking device control to moral considerations and the perceived honor of the family.
In both urban and rural areas of Jharkhand, we found that a girl using a phone is met with suspicion and their digital participation was hugely influenced by society’s dictates of what a “good girl/person/woman” is supposed to be. Parents, neighbours, and extended family members police her behaviour, fearing that increased digital exposure will lead to transgressions. If a girl is seen using a mobile phone too frequently, neighbors report back to her parents, reinforcing the idea that a woman’s mobility—even in the digital world—must be monitored and restricted.
During our field visits for the research, we encountered stories of young women who faced relentless scrutiny for their digital presence. One girl told us, “Zyada phone choone se aaspas ke log bolte hai ladki ko phone nahi dena chahiye...uske baad phone jyada time ke liye nahi milta.” (If I use my phone too much, people around us say that girls shouldn’t have phones, and then I don’t get to use it for long.) Such restrictions are justified under various pretexts—protecting girls from inappropriate influences, preventing them from engaging in unapproved conversations, or shielding them from the possibility of developing relationships outside arranged expectations. Ironically, the very same digital space that offers opportunities for learning and independence is framed as a gateway to moral corruption.
This control is even more pronounced in rural areas, where digital access is not just limited by infrastructure but by social norms. While urban women may have better opportunities to access smartphones and the internet, they too are policed—by families, by communities, by the ever-watchful eyes of society. A woman using a phone too much is suspicious. A woman who expresses herself online is seen as immoral. A woman who connects with others outside her immediate circle is labelled rebellious. Meanwhile, men navigating similar spaces face far fewer inquiries or restrictions. If a girl runs away, the blame is placed on her and her newfound exposure, not on the man involved. If a woman is harassed online, society demands she restrict herself further rather than holding the harasser accountable. The imbalance is stark, yet deeply normalized.
The negativity that surrounds women’s digital presence today is suffocating. A woman who speaks out online is met with backlash. A woman who shares her opinions is trolled, harassed, and threatened. The same internet that is a gateway to knowledge and opportunities for men is often a battlefield for women, where they must constantly defend their right to exist and express themselves.
While technology has the potential to serve as a great equalizer, this potential can only be realized if access is genuinely free and devoid of fear. The conversation needs to shift from controlling women’s digital usage to questioning why society is so afraid of women’s independence. Why is a woman’s mobility, even in the digital space, seen as dangerous? Why is the burden of reputation, honour, and morality always placed on her shoulders?
The time has come to dismantle these archaic fears. Women deserve not just access to digital spaces but the right to use them freely, without shame or restriction. Until then, digital control will remain just another form of the age-old oppression that seeks to confine women, away from the world and hidden from its possibilities.
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