ZIMBABWE: To the Online Trolls - Thanks for the Plot Twist.

About this Story

This story was first published on the World Pulse platform and is shared here through a collaboration between World Pulse and Imaara Survivor Support Foundation. As part of Imaara’s Project Tell-Tale initiative, selected stories from World Pulse are being cross-posted to amplify survivor voices and strengthen conversations around gender-based violence.

The story was submitted in response to a call for stories connected to the 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence (2025), inviting survivors, advocates, and allies to share lived experiences, reflections, and pathways toward justice and healing.

Read the original story on World Pulse!

By: Theresa Thakafuma

The author has chosen to be identified in this publication)

To the online trolls who thought a woman with a voice was their worst nightmare—

“She has no morals.”

That was the first shot fired. Then came the unprintable insults. The speculation: Where on earth did she come from? The character assassination: Surely she wasn’t promoted on merit.

The dramatic lament: This publication used to be respectable before this strange woman came.

And then, as if insults weren’t enough—there were threats.

“Beat her up if you see her.”

“That’s what happens when you employ these (unprintable) women.”

"She has no husband. She needs one, maybe she won't be that angry."

Mother of a child. A professional. A woman simply doing her job.

But in your imagination, I was suddenly public enemy number one.

The direct messages followed.

“My sister, be warned. This is beyond your level.”

Dots. More dots.

Full stops that, in your twisted digital dialect, meant human waste-fecal matter to be precise.

Meanwhile, on X (formerly Twitter), someone I had once trusted joined the frenzy. He spun a fabricated tale about me being bribed with land by a minister — and because familiarity masquerades as credibility online, you believed him. He even had the audacity to share my personal number. The mob cheered. The dots multiplied.

All because I enforced an organizational policy against hate speech in a WhatsApp group. All because I insisted on decency. All because I refused to let a conversation descend into a digital jungle where women are the first to be eaten alive.

It was 2022. I was the Content Manager and News Editor at a leading community news outlet. We delivered information to rural communities — a lifeline for democratic participation. I helped build more than twenty WhatsApp communities so citizens could access news that mattered.

Little did I know those very spaces would turn into an ambush.

The “crime” in question? A story — written by a reporter — questioning whether a political party who branded itself as pro-inclusion had truly walked its talk. A male candidate was alleged to have victimised a female colleague.

For you, that was blasphemy.

You worshipped your political leaders like demigods, and I had dared to trespass in your holy land with facts.

The punishment was swift. Dehumanizing. Unrelenting.

That morning, I woke up to my alarm, prayed, smiled at my sleeping child, and reached for my phone — excited about the work we were doing. Instead, my day shattered into panic.

WhatsApp. Dots. Unknown numbers.

Twitter. Notifications oozing venom.

Immoral. Loose. Corrupt. Incompetent.

I remember staring at my daughter and asking myself: If she reads this one day, what will she think of her mother? Would my own mother doubt me? My partner? Would these lies linger longer than the truth?

And then…I wondered if you would have attacked me the same way if I were a man.

The answer was obvious.

Like many women, I was told to develop a “thick skin.”

To toughen up.

To take the abuse as a professional hazard.

How convenient — for you.

But you see, I am not a rock. I am not steel. Neither am I an elephant or a hippo with thick skin. I am a human being.

A journalist (an award winning at that). A mother. A woman — deserving of dignity.

I swallowed fear. Showed up to work anyway. Even confronted the aggressor who shared my number. He defended it. He felt entitled to endanger me.

For a while, I tried to disappear digitally — hiding my identity as a woman made conversations more “respectful.” How revealing.

I was not only a victim of online abuse.

I was a victim of malinformation — lies weaponized with the intent to destroy.

So I decided to learn. To understand. To fight back.

I studied Information Integrity and read research on Technology-Facilitated Gender-Based Violence (TFGBV). It was not “just me.” It was systemic. Widespread. Normalized.

Women are told to roll with the punches while men throw them.

A few years later, I sat in a room of activists and other journalists discussing TFGBV — and for the first time, I spoke without shame. I realized silence is the oxygen trolls breathe.

So, I chose to suffocate the monster.

To reclaim the narrative.

To rebuild my confidence, one word at a time.

With my best friend and Co-Founder at The Usawa Institute, I am now developing practical tools for girls and women — so none of us will face this violence unarmed.

You tried to make me smaller.

Instead, you expanded my purpose.

So here we are.

During the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence.

To the people behind those ghost accounts, the men and women who dedicated their time to reducing me to punctuation marks —dots….

This is your reminder that the power you thought you stole from me?

I took it back.

Keyboard bandits, listen closely:

My voice may shake as I tell this story, but I will keep telling it.

My courage may wobble, but it will not disappear.

Though I did not deserve it, just like any other person, I would still be oblivious to this great evil you mete on innocent, defenseless women online if it wasn't for you, so, joke is on you.

And I sincerely hope — for your own sake — that in these 16 days of Activism Against Gender Based Violence, you’ve found a sliver of humanity. That you’ve stopped weaponizing your thumbs. That you’ve learned that a woman online is not a chew toy for your insecurities. From being a mere statistic, I become a warrior.

I survived your dots.

I became an exclamation mark.

And now — I write the ending.

(This is not just my story. It is a call for all of us to reclaim dignity, justice, and respect — online and offline.If you believe in dignity, justice and equality — stand with survivors. Share their stories. Demand safer digital spaces. Use your voice not to tear down, but to build up. Because silence is the fuel trolls thrive upon — and together, we can starve them out.A 2025 report by Gender and Media Connect of Zimbabwe (GMC Zimbabwe) found that 63% of women journalists surveyed had experienced TFGBV. Digital platforms — where many of these attacks happen — are increasingly recognized by institutions and activists as “real space” for GBV: damage caused there (to reputations, mental health, safety, professional life) often spills into real life.)