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Abstract

Coercive control has been shown to be far more damaging for victims psychologically than physical violence. Linked to this, domestic violence perpetrators are increasingly turning to the online world to enact control and abuse. Women are most likely to be killed once they have separated from their abusers, and perpetrators harness the online realm to continue the abuse long after a relationship has ended, with devastating consequences. This article draws on a subsection of data from a qualitative study as it relates to survivor accounts of online and technological abuse (via social media, mobile phones, Global Positioning Systems [GPS] tracking, etc.) as it is enacted by cisgender men against cisgender women. We reveal crucial evidence of the ways in which intimate partner abuse via the technological realm serves to exacerbate harm and prevent victims from fully recovering from their trauma.

Keywords

abuse domestic violence intimate partner violence qualitative analysis stalking trauma victimization violence against women

Life in a networked society means that the online and offline world are blurred, and our everyday lives have become inextricably bound with digital technology. The widespread use and availability of mobile phones, computers, and the internet have meant that perpetrators of intimate partner violence (IPV) have more tools at their disposal to harass, intimidate, coerce, and control their victims. As such, while these technologies have enabled people to extend their breadth of connection and knowledge about the world, and to find new ways of connecting with others, in the hands of perpetrators the same tools can become weaponized and turned against victims of IPV.

This article examines how perpetrators of IPV misuse social technologies (mobile phones, computers, the internet, social media, apps, etc.) to control, isolate, harass, and abuse victims both during the relationship and once the relationship has ended. We draw on research conducted with survivors of IPV (in this case, cisgender women in relationships with cisgender men) to reveal the ways in which perpetrators weaponize social technologies to expand and extend the web of control, fear, and violence against their victims. Particular attention is paid to how intimate abuse via the technological realm serves to exacerbate harm and distress to survivors both in terms of increasing the tools available to perpetrators and by expanding a perpetrator’s sphere of influence and control. Given the importance of coercive control as a motivation for perpetrating IPV noted in previous research (Burman & Brooks-Hay, 2018; Stark, 2009), and which has been recently acknowledged in policy developments (e.g., Scottish Government, 2015a, 2015b), this is a particularly timely topic to address. In what follows, we examine the ways in which technology-assisted abuse interacts with and influences real-time abuse and reveal the ways in which the abuse of social technologies presents significant roadblocks which prevent victims from healing from their trauma and moving on with their lives.

This article responds to the urgent need for empirical evidence around the typologies and experiences of digital abuse and its impact on survivors of IPV (Dragiewicz et al., 2018). We explore the process of “weaponization,” that is, the strategies and mechanisms employed by perpetrators for transforming digital technologies into tools for enabling abuse to continue postseparation. As such, attention is paid to the mechanisms available within socially networked technologies that provide ripe ground for the enactment and continuation of violence, even after a victim has physically separated from her abuser. Indeed, far from breaking the web of IPV (Dimond et al., 2011), the act of “leaving” instead triggers the growth of an entirely new web of entanglement in large part due to the ubiquity and convenience of socially networked tools that, in the hands of perpetrators, serve to extend and expand their power and control.

Technology-Assisted IPV

Technology-assisted IPV—also known as digital domestic violence (King, 2017)—is the use of digital technology (mobile phones, computers, social media, etc.) by perpetrators against a current or former partner. The two main forms of technology that are misused by perpetrators are communication technologies (such as mobile phones and social media) and technologies of surveillance (such as the use of webcams and spyware). The resulting cybercrimes, in the context of IPV, include cyberstalking, online abuse, harassment and surveillance, and revenge porn. Here, perpetrators exploit communication platforms and technologies such as GPS (Global Positioning Systems), webcams, and computer monitoring software, and commonly use the victims’ computer and mobile phone device against them.

Cyber-harassment occurs when a perpetrator persistently sends unwanted messages and phone calls while cyber-abuse includes the use of social media to humiliate or verbally abuse a victim. Cyberstalking refers to the act of using GPS technologies to monitor and track a victim’s whereabouts and actions while cyber-surveillance can include installing spyware software onto a computer to monitor use and online behavior (Southworth et al., 2007). The growth, ease of use, and affordability of video technology means perpetrators have new options to visually monitor their partners. There is significant overlap between these categories and perpetrators often employ a range of tools and methods to continue subjecting their partners to control and fear.

Technology and the Extension of Offline Abuse

Coercive control has been defined as “a course of calculated, malevolent conduct deployed almost exclusively by men to dominate individual women” via the tactics of “intimidation, isolation, and control” (Stark, 2009, p. 5). Within a U.K. context, a Women’s Aid online survey carried out in 2013 found that of 307 women survivors of IPV, 45% had experienced online abuse during the relationship, whereas 48% experienced online harassment or abuse once they had left the relationship (Laxton, 2014). And yet, 75% of survivors surveyed felt that the police did not know how best to respond to online abuse (Laxton, 2014). In addition, there is evidence that the police and wider society perceive intimate partner stalking to be less serious than stranger stalking (Sheridan et al., 2016).

Stalking is defined as the “repeated, and malicious following, harassing, or threatening of another person” (Melton, 2007a, p.4). Stalking is associated with control of the victim and often this is heightened when a victim leaves an abusive relationship (McFarlane et al., 1999; Mechanic et al., 2000). Postseparation stalking is particularly frightening for victims and has been shown to be associated with a high level of danger: Stalking may occur prior to the violent partner murdering his partner and or their children (McFarlane et al., 1999). U.K. government statistics reveal that postseparation is the most dangerous time for victims as this is the time when perpetrators will escalate the abuse to regain power and control. A Metropolitan Police review of domestic violence homicides found that 40% of victims of IPV murders were also victims of stalking (Metropolitan Police, 2003). In 2017, 55% of women in the United Kingdom killed by their ex-partner were killed within the first month of leaving, and this figure rose to 87% within the first year following separation from their partner (Long et al., 2018). The link between intimate partner homicide and stalking has also been confirmed by a recent systematic review by Spencer and Stith (2020). Postseparation stalking has a hugely detrimental impact on victims with the victim experiencing significant fear as they anticipate violence to their home, possessions, livelihood, social relationships, and, at its extreme conclusion, physical threats and threats to life.

Cyberstalking refers to the use of online and communication technologies to enact surveillance and abuse. It can include the use of threatening or obscene messages, viruses, and spam to the victim; defame the victim online; and take unauthorized control over the victim’s computer, webcam, or mobile phone device. Cyberstalking involves the use of information communications technology (ICT) to continually harass and pursue victims and is often committed by the perpetrator once the relationship has ended. According to Dobash et al. (2004), cyberstalking is no less dangerous than stalking and carries the same risks of increased violence and homicide. Like stalking, the perpetrator may use cyberstalking to punish his victim for leaving him. As such, the perpetrator’s control and abuse against his victim continues via cyberstalking as he attempts to assert dominance and control once more over his victim. According to Hand et al. (2009),

Given the lethal associations of stalking . . . it cannot be assumed that cyberstalking differs as a risk indicator. It is, therefore, important that cyberstalking and other forms of abuse against women involving ICTs are taken seriously and not dismissed as less dangerous. (pp. 6–7)

Like stalking, cyberstalking has a profound impact on victims. Participants of Kotka’s (2005) study on cyberstalking described the effects of being stalked or cyberstalked as “intense and long term” and reported that stalking had had a profound impact on every aspect of daily life—from work and finances, to social relationships, and physical and emotional health (Kotka, 2005, p. 42). Where there was an intimate relationship between the victim and perpetrator, the abusive behaviors were more likely to involve threats, property damage, surveillance, and physical and sexual assaults. The result was an incredibly stressful and terrifying experience for the victim, the consequences of which can become long-lasting.

Method

Data Collection

This article draws on findings from an interpretive, qualitative study into IPV in the United Kingdom. The research was conducted by researchers at the University of Huddersfield during 2018 and 2019. Data were collected via face-to-face interviews and focus groups. Interviews lasted around 45 min to 1 hr (focus groups between 1 and 2 hr) and were conducted in English by seven women-identified researchers at a venue that felt safe and convenient for survivors (a survivor’s home, women’s refuge, or meeting room in a local community space). Upon completion of the interview, participants were provided with a gift voucher (£20) as a small token of thanks for their time. Although the research team aimed to initially undertake 40 interviews, data saturation was reached only after 52 interviews had been completed. There were no instances of attrition between approach and completion of participant interviews. Questions were open-ended and addressed issues such as women’s understandings of IPV, their own experiences of IPV and the impact of this on them, and their help-seeking and coping. The interview guide was pretested prior to the commencement of fieldwork and is available in Supplemental Appendix 1 (available in the online version of this article).

Participants

Participants were recruited with the assistance of a variety of stakeholder groups working to support women with experiences of violent relationships. To be included in this study, participants had to self-identify as a woman, and be a victim or survivor of IPV. Purposive sampling was adopted to gather a range of perspectives from women who, vis-à-vis their experience as victims/survivors, would be well placed to help us to understand IPV. Although we did gather data with both survivors and perpetrators of IPV, the following paper draws on the experiences of survivors only—in this case, 52 cisgender women whose median age at interview was 26 (range = 17–63) years. The majority of the women that we spoke to identified as heterosexual (one woman identified as bisexual) and all were referencing current or previous relationships with cisgender men. Forty-seven participants were White British and five participants had South Asian heritage. In addition to a lack of racial diversity, another major limitation of the research concerned the lack of gender and sexual diversity when it came to capturing survivor stories, experiences, and relationships. While there is growing research into same-sex IPV, there is a distinct dearth of evidence pertaining to gender minority experiences, namely, the experiences of survivors identifying as trans, nonbinary, and/or intersex, and it is crucial that future research begins to address these areas in earnest (Musimbe-Rix, 2020; Peitzmeier et al., 2020).

Analysis

This analysis draws on subsections of the data relating to IPV as it is enacted via social technology. The analytic approach used was a theoretically informed thematic analysis, the content and organization of which aims to follow, as closely as possible, the survivor’s own interpretation and framing of their experiences both in relation to perpetrator behaviors and actions, and subsequent help-seeking. Initially, themes were developed in a “bottom-up” process of iterative reading and constant comparison, using Nvivo software to maintain an audit trail of analytical decisions (Supplemental Appendix 2, available in the online version of this article). However, upon inspecting the themes concerning technologically mediated IPV, we realized our analysis would be enriched by applying a theoretical framework to aid our interpretations. Specifically, we utilized the notion of the Network Society, developed by Castells (2004, 2011a, 2011b) as a conceptual basis to understand how IPV is reshaped under the influence of advanced informational technologies. For Castells, the dramatic developments in computing in the latter half of the 20th century have radically reshaped how power, domination, and resistance operate, such that hierarchical systems have been replaced by distributed power, flowing through nodes in networks. Although much of the empirical and theoretical work on the network society has focused on macro-level social systems, such as financial markets (Zaloom, 2004), governmental power (Qiu, 2004; Roy, 2008), and industrial production (Bulkley & Van Alstyne, 2004), Castells (2011a) also highlights the profound individual-level changes brought about by informational networks, for example, in his volume on identity or in his observation that the capacity “to act on the communication network gives people . . . the possibility of reconfiguring the network according to their needs, desires, and projects” (Castells, 2004, p. 12). As we will go on to show in our analysis, this insight is important to understanding the nature of contemporary IPV in at least two ways. First, by linking up human connections over space, perpetrators have an enhanced capacity to demand or collect information about victims (e.g., regarding location and current activities) and thus tighten their power within the relationship. Second, our data showed that perpetrators were adept at closing down women’s networks outside of the relationship, particularly with friends and family: This mirrors and extends dynamics of control in violent relationships that have long been noted (e.g., Burman & Brooks-Hay, 2018).

Ethics

The study was approved by the University of Huddersfield’s Research and Ethics Panel for the School of Human and Health Sciences. Throughout the project, we were informed by the British Psychological Society (BPS) ethical principles concerning confidentiality, anonymity, informed consent, and respect for participant dignity. We were also aware of the potential safeguarding issues that might arise in a study on IPV. The research was conducted with strict adherence to the None in Three Research Centre’s ethics protocol, a section of which is included in Supplemental Appendix 3 (available in the online version of this article). Our duty of care to participants meant that stringent measures were in place to protect confidentiality and to ensure secure management of data. Participants were provided with clear, easy access information about the purpose and guiding parameters of the study and a National Response Team of volunteer counselors and psychologists were on standby post interview to assist any participant in need of further support and signposting.

Results

Our findings are organized under two superordinate themes. In the first of these, we examine the wide variety of ways in which network technologies were deployed by IPV perpetrators to continue and extend their abuse postseparation. The second, related section examines the psychological, emotional, and social impact of networked abuse upon victims, and the difficulties in help-seeking and having the abuse recognized.

Varieties of Networked Abuse

Reflecting the complexity of the variety and potential uses of networked technologies, as well as the multifaceted nature of IPV, we found many ways in which technologies were adopted in the service of abusive behaviors. Numerous technologies were utilized by perpetrators (mobile phones, social media, GPS tracking, and even CCTV). In addition, each was used to perpetrate various forms of coercive control and abuse: stalking, online shaming, bombarding victims with communication, and surveillance.

Control via Victim’s Mobile Phone Device

Social technologies have provided perpetrators with new ways to monitor and control their victims. A perpetrator may check a victim’s phone to see who they have been in contact with—reading their messages, listening to voicemails, and checking the phonebook and call list. A perpetrator may also log into a victim’s phone to access her email, social media account, and to check her internet search record. The surveillance may be conducted covertly—if the victim’s phone or computer is left unattended—or overtly, during which a perpetrator may force or coerce the victim into showing them the contents of their phone. All forms of surveillance in this context constituted coercive control that is now a criminal offense in the United Kingdom and refers to repeated acts of intimidation, isolation, threat, and degradation against a victim in order that she “submit” to a perpetrator’s wishes and means of control.

Nearly all survivors interviewed experienced being controlled by their abusers via their mobile phones. Survivor Eva (age 19) describes how her partner would go through her phone “all the time,” often when she was asleep or else “would lock himself in the bathroom and you know, scroll through everything . . . he knew everything.” Elsewhere, the surveillance was more overt. According to ST (age 27),

He did check my phone, like, a lot. Every time it went off . . . looking at it over my shoulder type thing or if I left the room he would go through my phone . . . And if I took my phone with me when I left the room, he’d kick off about that, but I’d know because if I left my phone here, on this table, and then when I walked back in it would be in front of him. So, he wanted me to know that he’d checked my phone. He just didn’t do it in front of me, so there was that kind of surveillance if you like.

According to our data, and as confirmed by the wider literature (e.g., Hand et al., 2009), the act of checking the survivor’s phone often started out as a one-off incident but soon became systematic and routine as the perpetrator, in a state of distrust and paranoia, searched communication channels for “evidence” of the victim’s alleged misdeeds. This account also demonstrates how power relations develop and interlink with social technologies within the context of IPV. There is an unspoken assumption in this behavior that it is the perpetrator’s “right” to access all aspects of ST’s social life, denying her the right to privacy. The power of the perpetrator, and its technological enhancement, is silently demonstrated by his showing her, rather than telling her explicitly, that he had checked her phone.

Just over half of survivors who had experienced technological abuse from their partners had been forced to hand over their passwords so that perpetrators could gain access to their devices and social media accounts. Survivors were either directly threatened with physical abuse or else were pressurized through tactics such as guilt-tripping or gas-lighting if they did not comply with the perpetrator’s demands. Participant Scarlett (age 27) thought that putting a password on her phone would prevent her boyfriend from gaining access, but the security measure only served to escalate the physical violence to which she was subjected.

Social Media Surveillance

Once they had access to a victim’s mobile phone device, perpetrators would access the victim’s social networks—social media profiles, status updates, friends list, and photographs as well as text messages and call log—and weaponize all forms of contact, communication, and social presentation as a means of controlling, and further diminishing their victim. It was common for perpetrators to control their victim’s use of social media to restrict communication with family and friends and, in the process, isolate victims from the outside world. There were also instances whereby perpetrators used social media to attempt to humiliate and shame their victims as a means of turning the victim’s social network against them.

Jessica’s abuser controlled which social media platforms she could use and who she could be connected with online. As a result, “He used to control who I could be friends with” (Jessica, age 25). Similarly, Eliza (age 26) described how her ex-partner stopped her from using her Facebook account. As a result, she says, he “slowly got me away from my friends. Slowly got me away from my family.” Elsewhere, Eva (age 19) was forced by her partner to text many of her friends, including close friends, to tell them to never contact her again. Her partner then made her block them on her social media accounts. As a result, Eva lost contact with her friends and became extremely isolated.

Perpetrators would also monitor the victim’s usage of social media platforms such as WhatsApp and Facebook to see when they were last online and whether or not they had replied to any messages. Because of this, one participant, Sarah (age 25), requested that friends and family message her via text. Elsewhere, survivors such as Victoria and Alesandra came off social media altogether because, in Victoria’s words, she “didn’t want the aggro” of dealing with her partner’s controlling behavior when it came to her online activities (Victoria, age 43). Survivors were also at pains to prevent family and friends from being targeted by the perpetrator via their social networks.

Two main forms of surveillance emerged from our data—communication surveillance (perpetrators attempting to control who a victim was in touch with, and how) and online identity surveillance (controlling how a victim presents herself online). Survivors reported how their social networks and, by extension, social identities drastically declined as a result of the scrutiny that they were forced to endure. The following quote from participant ST (age 27) highlights the diminishing effect of the social surveillance that she was subject to:

It was like training a dog. Like if a dog pees on the carpet and you get mad at the dog, the dog knows not to pee on the carpet. It was just a sense of kind of me learning what I was and wasn’t allowed to do, just by the way that he’d kick off about it. It was a lot to do with the phone and it was a lot to do with me speaking to other people. He just did not trust me at all. I never gave him a reason not to trust me, he just didn’t.

Underpinning most reports of social surveillance was the belief by perpetrators that their partners had committed, or were intending to commit, infidelity. As a result of their partner’s paranoia, several victims were forced to justify all messages received from male friends even if this was prior to the relationship starting. As Alesandra explains in her story below,

I was only with him for a short period of time but he started to go through my phone, my social media. He would question every single message I ever sent to a guy even if it was like 5, 10 years ago prior to even meeting him he would question absolutely everything. (Alesandra, age 26)

Beth (age 20) recalls how her partner would assume her identity to “catfish” other men: “He used to message boys off my accounts as me to try find out if I had slept with them.” Several survivors spoke of the double-standards that underpinned the perpetrator’s surveillance of them—being subject to strict orders not to be in contact with male friends while simultaneously witnessing their partners harness the attention of otherwise unknown women online. In several cases, a perpetrator’s monitoring of their partner’s social networks—who she was in touch with, and how—extended into controlling how a survivor chose to present herself online. Here, perpetrators attempted to censor the content of their partner’s social media profiles, particularly in relation to the use of “selfies.” According to survivor Hannah (age 21), “I wasn’t allowed to post pictures in like short skirts or low-cut tops or anything and if I did he wouldn’t hit me but he’d tell me I had to delete them.”

This act of censorship finds its parallel in a perpetrator’s control over which clothes a victim is and is not allowed to wear in the offline world. At the root of both modes of surveillance is a concern that the victim—reduced to mere object—will be “stolen” and become another man’s “property.” As such, the perpetrator’s curation of the survivor’s online image is embedded in the trappings and reach of the male gaze. She is denied the right to self-expression and, by extension, self-determination.

CCTV Surveillance

In addition to social network surveillance, some of the women in our study described how their abusers had set up surveillance cameras in their homes to spy on them. Sheila (age 46) describes how, during their relationship, her abuser had secretly installed a doorbell camera that was Wi-Fi controlled and which allowed him to obtain footage of her returning home. The perpetrator would then phone Sheila to let her know that he was watching her: “within a few hours I’d got a call—‘oh so you’re back now?’” The surveillance escalated: “We started to have cameras round the house and I was like ‘well what are they for?’ ‘security,’ and I said ‘but we’ve got two cameras on the outside of our house, why do we need security inside?’”

The perpetrator’s excuse is particularly telling and highlights the co-existence of surveillance and gas-lighting, and the illogical and unconvincing explanations that are often given. Ironically, as Sheila and other survivors of IPV know, the real threat is not coming from outside of the home but from within. Networked technologies are key in enabling the walls of the home to be enforced at a distance. The impact on victims is overwhelming. As the examples in this section show, perpetrators can still exert immediate control and intimidation from a distance, and without the constraints of geographic location. According to Sheila,

I couldn’t breathe . . . I was in this hole and I just thought “how do I get out?” I felt scared. I felt scared of being in my car. I was like “is he tracking the car? Is he doing this?” Now I wasn’t doing anything wrong.

Bombardment

In another form of surveillance, a number of survivors reported being bombarded with text messages and phone calls from their abusers, who demanded to know where they were, who they were with, and what they were doing. Some survivors reported being forced to take photographs to prove their whereabouts. Participant Hannah (age 21) was instructed to use FaceTime so that her partner could check her location at all times:

He wanted to FaceTime me all the time, just to know where I was. FaceTime while I was sleeping, so he knew like I was still in my bed and wasn’t going nowhere and then he still went off with other girls . . . till the end of my pregnancy.

Adele (age 29) detailed how, during their relationship, she would be subjected to a barrage of abuse if she did not answer her partner’s calls, which she described as near constant, especially when she was in college and attending classes. As a result, Adele eventually quit college and stopped going out. By contrast, being in prison did not deter some perpetrators from continuing their harassing behavior postrelationship. Louise (age 17) described how a former partner continued to monitor her from prison—phoning her 3 times a day to monitor her whereabouts: first, early in the morning to check that she was at home, then again at lunchtime to check that she was at work, and finally in the evening to make sure she was back home. As such, the bombardment of phone calls served as a means of tracking and curtailing a victim’s movements, restricting her right to social life, and, over time, diminishing her sphere of intimacy, connection, and influence.

The following is an example of some of the punishments our participants received if they tried to evade the scrutiny and surveillance to which they were subjected by perpetrators. Lily (age 24) had gone to the park with friends but made the decision to leave her phone at home because she had been in receipt of a barrage of phone calls and text messages from her ex-partner earlier on in the day. She arrived home a few hours later to find several missed calls from family and friends. It had transpired that her abuser had contacted her uncle to inform him that Lily had committed suicide. According to Lily, “By the time I got hold of my uncle, my uncle was already on his way to [name of city removed] and the police were already involved, all because I didn’t answer the phone to him.”

Stalking-by-Proxy

Online shaming constituted another form of technology-assisted abuse and tended to occur once the relationship had ended. Here, perpetrators relied on shared social networks to extend the web of control and surveillance over victims. For example, although Clare (age 25) had blocked her abuser from accessing her social media profile, she found out from friends that the perpetrator had posted inflammatory statements about her across various social media platforms and accounts. According to Clare, “He might post ten quotes a day about dads’ rights and that I’m alienating the kids and on one of them . . . it made me out to look abusive . . . just made himself out to be a victim.”

It was not uncommon for the abuse to continue even after perpetrators had entered into new relationships. In a few cases, perpetrators even enlisted their new girlfriends into joining in with the abuse. Where survivors had blocked their abusers, the perpetrators either created fake social media accounts or else utilized the accounts of family members and friends to continue the abuse. According to Melton (2007b), the notion of stalking-by-proxy, namely, using other people to contact and harass a victim, gives a sense “that the perpetrator does not need to be present to control her; he can monitor her via other people and, in so doing, create the impression that no matter where she goes, she will not be safe from him” (p. 594). In addition to an ongoing sense of fear and omnipresence, which may continue after the relationship has ended, victims of proxy-stalking endure the additional effects of humiliation, which will add to the sense of isolation and ostracization.

Online Shaming

Stark (2009) makes reference to the fact that perpetrators may conduct their abuse in a public setting to insult or embarrass victims, as a means of further silencing and controlling them. In addition, perpetrators may draw on their knowledge of a victim’s most intimate fears and secrets and embellish this with new information taken from the victim’s social network. He might then use this new-found information, and ready-made audience, to further punish and humiliate her (Hellevik, 2019). Perpetrators may make use of digital cameras, recorders, and webcams to obtain footage, sometimes without the victims’ consent. Perpetrators then might later use these images as blackmail, threatening to distribute the footage, to further intimidate, humiliate, and control victims (Bagshaw et al., 2000; Kotka, 2005). The images are usually of the victim naked or engaging in sexual activity and can be distributed to friends and a wide audience of digital voyeurs.

There were a few reports whereby explicit photographs were shared on social media without the victim’s consent. Survivor Zoe (age 22) described how her boyfriend hacked into her Facebook account and shared intimate photographs that Zoe had previously sent to him. This happened while they were still in a relationship. According to Zoe, “He got annoyed over something. He blocked me out of my Facebook, changed the password, and put it all on social media.” Zoe’s boyfriend then took screenshots which he sent to her in a private message. Because she was locked out of her account, Zoe was unable to take the photographs down. Eventually her partner removed the photographs from her account but, according to Zoe, “the damage is done.” Some perpetrators used intimate photographs, taken during the relationship, as tools by which to blackmail the victim once the relationship had ended. This was the experience of Lily (age 24):

Lily:

. . . when we had broken up he threatened to put pictures of me online, from when I was about fourteen.

Interviewer:

Intimate pictures?

Lily:

Yeah, yeah, some of them I didn’t even know he’d taken and this was about 3 or 4 years after we’d broken up. He used to use it as a controlling kind of thing.

The availability and convenience of socially networked technologies now mean that perpetrators can humiliate victims in front of family, friends, and community with greater ease and immediacy (Melton, 2007a). Under Section 33 of the Criminal Justice and Courts Act (2015), the sharing of private and sexually explicit videos or photographs without a person’s consent constitutes “revenge porn” and is a criminal offense in England and Wales. If found guilty, perpetrators of revenge porn face up to 2 years in prison or a fine.

GPS Surveillance

Cyberstalking enabled perpetrators ample opportunity to continue and, in many cases, escalate their practices of control and abuse over victims. According to Woodlock (2017), “This tactic erodes the spatial boundaries of the relationship; although a woman may have physically separated from her partner, she is unable to completely escape his presence in her life” (p. 592). In bypassing geographical restrictions, social technologies enabled perpetrators to expand the array of tools and opportunities for abuse with the click of a button. As such, the digital realm provided perpetrators with greater ease of access to their victims, equipping the perpetrator with the means to enact an extensive, and long-term, campaign of abuse at a distance, without ever being physically present in a victim’s home or wider sphere of influence.

Nearly half of the respondents were aware they had been stalked by their ex-partners via GPS software, which came preinstalled on the survivor’s mobile phone device. In all cases, the GPS function was already being used by perpetrators during the relationship to ascertain the victim’s whereabouts and continued to be used by perpetrators after the relationship had ended. Saba’s partner had her Cloud password and used that to remotely access her iPhone and track her movements via the list of Saba’s significant places and frequent locations. According to Saba (age 20), if her partner perceived any inconsistencies in the information, then he would get angry. Saba did not realize that her abuser was tracking her movements after their relationship had ended. At the time of interview, Saba’s ex-partner continued to access her phone remotely, whenever he wanted.

In a few cases, perpetrators used the “Find My Friends” app to survey their victims. Katie’s boyfriend made her download the app so that he could monitor where she was going and who she was seeing. He would then message her with the information that he found. According to Katie (age 20), “I’d get messages like ‘what are you doing here?’ or ‘let me ring you?,’ ‘are you with [friend]?’” As a result, Katie felt that she was “constantly watched.” She continues: “Everywhere I went he knew where I was, and it’s not always right this tracker.” The potential inaccuracy of such technology can place victims at greater risk of violence and abuse as the perpetrator is more likely to “believe” the technology rather than the victim.

The Legacy of Networked Abuse

One important feature of networked abuse is the way in which technology complicates possibilities for ending an abusive relationship. Although technology can support women in the transition out of an abusive relationship, for example, through identifying and making contact with formal and informal support, the technologies can be used by abusive partners to maintain control. In addition, participants found difficulties in having some forms of networked abuse recognized by service providers, particularly if the abuse was performed in subtle ways that outsiders to the relationship would not immediately understand.

Impact of Cyberstalking and Control

It is interesting to note that survivors were not able to recall instances of technology-assisted abuse when directly asked by researchers, but it was only when participants told their stories that it becomes clear that technology-assisted abuse was widespread, and that technology played a far more significant role than was initially acknowledged. In addition, many survivors would not come to define technology-assisted abuse as abuse until after the relationship had ended. And, as our findings reveal, technology formed a key part of the postseparation abuse as it was experienced by survivors. Physically separated from their victims, technology became the primary means by which perpetrators continued maintaining control over victims. In addition, the act of physical separation was often a trigger point for increasingly threatening and escalating abuse, all of which was channeled into the web of technology that still tethered them to their victims, with disturbing, terrifying, and potentially lasting consequences.

The following example highlights the co-existence of online and offline stalking, and the impact this has on victims. For 4 months after the relationship had ended, Jessica (age 25) was still being bombarded with messages from her ex-partner: “He literally wouldn’t leave me alone.” Unbeknown to Jessica at the time, her ex-partner was tracking her phone and would turn up at her workplace and wait for her. He would then follow her home and would let her know that he’s been monitoring her movements, with messages along the lines of: “you’ve left the dog all day while you’ve been at work.” Such monitoring left participants with a pervasive sense of fear and anxiety, of always having to look over their shoulders, their former partners continuing to exert control after the relationship. Even after Jessica met and moved in with her current partner, the abuse continued, leaving Jessica feeling very scared. Although the intimidation had since stopped, Jessica’s abuser still sometimes messaged her father and other members of her family. Similarly, in the following excerpt, technology-assisted stalking creates the impression of real-time stalking and has a similar impact on its victim. Zoe (age 22) describes how the technology created an ongoing sense of being watched:

I was living on my own, he was . . . in a probation hostel . . . erm, and he had his phone on him and he had got me to the stage where I thought he was following me. Despite the fact he was where he was. And what he was actually doing was he was using the find my phones on the iPhone . . . I’d convinced myself he was following me, right behind me.

Although the stalking in the above example was undertaken remotely, its impact is no less significant than physical acts of stalking as Zoe was led to believe that she was being followed and was unaware that a tracker had been set on her phone. Cyberstalking, like real-time stalking, creates a feeling of omnipresence. It induces in victims the terrifying feeling that their every action and movement is being tracked, that they are under constant surveillance and imprisonment, unable to move around freely and unable to get on with their lives without feeling fearful and vigilant.

Help-Seeking and Recognizing Networked Abuse

Despite the prevalence of technology-assisted abuse across survivor narratives and the harm caused, its effects were often downplayed and dismissed when help was sought. Particular problems included the threshold for what could be counted as “evidence” in police investigations, and the inventiveness of abusive partners in using veiled or cryptic language in their cyberstalking practices that would be difficult to understand outside the context of the intimate relationship. Lily (age 24) experienced horrific sexual and physical violence at the hands of her abuser but the trigger for reporting her abuser to the police was the technology-assisted abuse (surveillance, bombardment) that she was continuing to receive, 5 years after the relationship had ended. However, Lily was disappointed by the police response. Once she divulged that other forms of abuse had taken place—such as being strangled, being held down in water, and being sexually assaulted—then the police investigation shifted:

So my police statement was around rape and physical abuse, not harassment that I had evidence for. I had hundreds of texts, I had phone calls, I had witnesses and they weren’t interested in that and I didn’t have any evidence or any witnesses for rape or physical abuse and the whole thing was dropped because of no evidence. But I had evidence of harassment and they just didn’t pursue it.

Lily was told by the police that as the messages were “not threatening” there was nothing they could do. In Lily’s words, “I’m not stupid, he’s not stupid, he’s not going to send me something awful over text is he?” It is important to note that the comments left by perpetrators do not need to be threatening or overtly abusive to induce fear (use of death threats, insults, etc.). Perpetrators know what makes their victims upset and exploit their inside knowledge of a victim’s personal life and vulnerabilities to retraumatize them. Seemingly abstract or vague messages or images will have meaning for the victim and will have the desired effect of making a victim feel threatened and scared.

Lisa (age 28) was also disappointed with the police response to her experiences of technology-mediated abuse. After receiving a harassing voicemail, Lisa contacted the police to report the harassment and the earlier sexual assault. In relation to the stalking, the police urged Lisa to block the abuser from her contacts—an action that is not as easy or straightforward as it sounds. According to Lisa, “It’s not as simple as that . . . I can’t just block the stalker because he’ll just find another way to get at me.” In addition, blocking an abuser may drastically increase the risk of threat and violence against the victim. Such measures need to be carefully thought through with a plan in place in case of escalation.

Cyber-surveillance means that a victim might be worried about seeking justice because their abuser can track their movements and increase the threats and abuse against them (Emms et al., 2012). This was the experience of Louise after her abuser was found not guilty of rape. After the trial, the perpetrator increased his cyber-surveillance on Louise (age 17) and bombarded her with increasingly threatening messages via social media. Louise’s employers were forced to install panic alarms in the reception area of her workplace, and block new emails or unknown phone numbers. Both Louise and her employers were vigilant about potential defamation of character and had to flag numerous complaints and reports filed by the perpetrator against Louise. Eventually, the situation took its toll on Louise who was forced to change jobs before ending up going on sick leave due to stress. Louise felt powerless: “Where do you turn? Oh, it’s just . . . and it grinds you down so much that they continue to have power because . . . you say something and then it’ll get worse because you’ll antagonize them.” Louise had involved the police both during and after the relationship, including in response to a series of increasingly threatening text messages from the perpetrator once the relationship had ended, but to no avail. A trial was started but was quickly abandoned.

Discussion

This article has examined the experiences of technology-mediated abuse in a diverse sample of survivors and victims of IPV. Understanding the nature of abuse in the context of the network society (Castells, 2004, 2011a, 2011b) is crucial for informing efforts to support victims of IPV, and ultimately, for eliminating gender-based violence. When embedded in informational networks, we found that abuse takes on new forms. By analyzing these carefully, research and practice can rise to the challenge.

Technology Widens the Temporal and Spatial Reach of Abuse

Intimate violence does not end when a victim leaves an abusive relationship. Our findings show that women continued to experience harassment and intimidation, sometimes for up to 5 years, after leaving their abusers. Technology played a key role in this abuse as perpetrators continued to harass women via social media and mobile phone technologies. Due to the availability of social networks, perpetrators were able to expand their controlling and abusive behavior, with wide-reaching consequences. Indeed, social technologies enable perpetrators with instant access to their victims postseparation and, under current legislation and practice, mean that an abuser can continue enacting violence undetected and likely without prosecution.

According to Hand et al. (2009), as well as expanding the tools available to abusers, networked technologies mean that “the concept of ‘feeling safe’ from an abuser no longer has the same geographic and spatial boundaries as it once did” (p. 3). The resulting “spaceless violence,” enacted via the “spaceless channels” of social technologies, transgresses geographic boundaries and borders (Harris, 2018, p. 52) and means that perpetrators could continue to terrorize and traumatize their victims, regardless of physical location. Networked technologies enabled the presence of the perpetrator to be felt even after a relationship had ended and meant that, despite physical separation, a victim continued to be entrapped by her abuser. The previous physical entrapment became a virtual one and women continued to be made to feel powerless, isolated and degraded by their former partners. The sense of omnipresence hindered our participants’ ability to rebuild their lives and construct a new identity as a “survivor” rather than a “victim.”

As our findings reveal, women continued to live in fear of their abusers and, in several cases, threats against women increased once the relationship had ended. Indeed, the ubiquity and convenience of social technologies (Dragiewicz et al., 2018) converged with the escalation point of physical separation and enabled perpetrators to increase their control over their victims’ lives. According to Fraser et al. (2010), “One of the more terrifying tactics used by stalkers is to make the victim feel that she has no privacy, security, or safety, and that the stalker knows and sees everything” (p. 44). As a result, the women of our study carried with them very real fears around cost to life—victims, their children, and other family members—at the hands of the ex-partners, and those fears were exacerbated through the perpetrators’ continual and extended manipulation and misuse of networked technologies. The sense of placelessness and continual connections enabled through networked technologies and a networked society heightened the experience and impact of abuse (Dragiewicz et al., 2018).

Technology Creates New Threats

Drawing on the work of Dobash et al. (2004) who have shown that women are most likely to be killed once they have separated from their abusers, Hand et al. (2009) contend that it is crucial that women are free from surveillance during this time. In a study by McFarlane et al. (2002), 68% of women experienced stalking prior to an attempted or completed homicide. The study found that the most frequent forms of stalking prior to actual/attempted homicide included following or spying on the victim, making unwanted phone calls, and keeping the victim under surveillance. In a more recent study, Monckton-Smith et al. (2017) confirmed the strong correlation between key stalking behaviors (fixation, obsession, surveillance, and control) and homicide, and found that separation and its threat was a key trigger for serious harm.

The far-reaching impact of digital abuse and, in particular, intimate cyber-surveillance and cyberstalking, cannot be underestimated. According to Spence-Diehl (2003), “the bio-psychosocial impacts of stalking can be extensive, and may include symptoms of traumatic stress, social withdrawal, depression, anxiety, fear, emotional numbing, and stress-related physical problems” (p. 14). Moreover,

the repetitive nature of stalking can lead to a cycle where intrusive behaviors trigger crisis states in the victims. If adequate supports and coping skills are not available, this pattern can evolve into a chronic state of crisis and hypervigilance. (Spence-Diehl, 2003, p. 14)

Although the above research relates to offline stalking, the consequences of online and offline surveillance and stalking are similar (Henry & Powell, 2018). Indeed, it could be argued that—by virtue of its continual networks and opportunities for omnipresence—online stalking within the context of IPV could potentially be far more impactful for victims. The relative ease by which perpetrators can continue to contact victims and inflict harm via digital technologies, coupled with instantaneous access to a survivor’s social network mean that this state of hyper-vigilance and crisis is potentially ongoing and difficult to resolve. As such, the use of technology within IPV complicates both the leaving process and, by extension, the process of recovery. In addition, “The storage, reach, and replicability of digital media communication and content means that texts and media objects used in abuse may be persistently visible and connected to the victim’s identity” (Dragiewicz et al., 2018).

What Hellevik (2019) has termed “the phenomenon of permanence” (p. 184), the fact that abusive words and images can be shared and distributed via networked technologies, coupled with the near impossibility of removing text and media objects from a device’s storage or social media platform mean that victims suffer additional harm and potential revictimization. Stored on a phone or via a victim’s immediate social network, digital objects of abuse have the potential to be replicated, and accessed at any time, resulting in potential revictimization. In this context, a victim is not allowed to “move on” from or forget her abuse; its trace etched permanently on record and on digital loop. In addition to permanence, digital technologies allow for social shaming, and resultant stigma, to be easily available and readily consumed both for the victim and her networked audience. According to Dragiewicz et al. (2018),

The dense connectivity of social media networks across multiple spheres of life—family, work, friends, and so on— blurs the divisions between “public” and “private” life, and creates an environment in which content shared on social media aimed at one audience (such as family and friends) may have untoward consequences when viewed by other audiences (such as work colleagues). (p. 613)

This phenomenon has been referred to as a “context collapse” (Marwick & Boyd, 2011) and results in “networked publics.” It can exacerbate the effects of IPV as victims attempt to manage the spillage of the “intimate” realm into other facets of their social and public life (Dragiewicz et al., 2018, p. 613). The resulting effects are levered and weaponized by perpetrators as a means of amplifying and expanding their control and abuse.

Conclusion

Our findings reveal the ways in which social technologies—such as social media and mobile phones—are employed by perpetrators as tools by which to expand their power and control over their victims. As revealed by survivor accounts, perpetrators manipulate and weaponize technologies to control and abuse their victims both during a relationship and even after a relationship has ended. The unique characteristics of networked technologies serve to intensify the abuse suffered by victims and, in the process, interrupt healing and recovery, with far-reaching consequences. And yet, IPV as it is perpetrated and experienced across the digital realm is still misunderstood and downplayed by police, the courts, social services, and the third sector. In addition, we are mindful that our findings relate specifically to IPV perpetrated by cisgender men against cisgender women, and do not easily translate outside this context. IPV is highly prevalent among transgender people, regardless of sex assigned at birth (Peitzmeier et al., 2020), and complex barriers to escaping violent relationships exist among the wider lesbian, gay, bi, transgender, and queer community (Calton et al., 2016). Consequently, research on networked abuse experiences among these groups is, in our view, an urgent research priority.

While technology is not responsible for the acts of abuse that are carried out, there is something to be said about the intrinsic convenience and availability of networked technologies that makes continued harassment and stalking possible, particularly in a postrelationship context. Networked technologies expanded the scope and range of abuse, proffered perpetrators with new tools and the ease by which to misuse them. Networked technologies also served to escalate the effects and impact of IPV—via social shaming, continued surveillance, and a renewed sense of perpetrator presence, all of which made it difficult for survivors to escape from the abuse and rebuild their lives.

Despite the clear threat and harm caused by cyberstalking and cyber-surveillance, the risks and impact of online abuse are often minimalized by those working to support victims. Our findings in this area mirrored those of Freed et al. (2017) who found that both professionals and survivors felt that they did not have the relevant skills to identify technology-enabled IPV, and cited the distinct lack of best practice guidance in this area. It is crucial that both public and professionals alike are informed about the all-too-real risks posed by cyber-surveillance, and that developers of online technologies work closely with IPV survivors and advocates to harness the online realm to better protect and support victims.

With regard to raising awareness of the tactics and techniques of technological abuse, care must be taken to ensure that a survivor is not put in further danger. For example, while survivors can be taught how to recognize malware and other illicit activity on their devices, caution must be exercised with regard to instructing survivors on what to do next. Uninstalling or disabling programs and hardware could result in a perpetrator escalating and increasing threats and violence against the victim. However, survivors could perhaps be instructed on how to build evidence of the software and devices that have been used against them should they wish to take legal action against their abuser. The training should also cover strategies that survivors can use to stay safe—for example, how to protect against the installation of malware, how to uncover hidden spyware, and how to ensure that their search histories remain hidden from their abusers.

Our findings are in keeping with recent literature that reveals the co-existence of technology-based IPV with in-person IPV (e.g., Duerksen & Woodin, 2019; Marganski & Melander, 2018). Duerksen and Woodin (2019) note the necessity of observing how online and offline forms of abuse interact and potentially exacerbate one another and emphasize that this is where intervention needs to be placed, focusing “not on properties inherent in the various technologies used to perpetrate IPV, but rather on how the human psychology interacts, is influenced by, and makes use of these technologies.” (Duerksen & Woodin, 2019, p. 224). Prevention through education as well as both in-person and technological interventions are, therefore, crucial in order to stem the incidence and impact of IPV. Regarding the last point, interventions that harness digital technologies to detect abuse and build evidence against perpetrators are of utmost importance, and this is where future research needs to be directed.

As our findings reveal, the prevalence of digital communication and surveillance technology equips perpetrators with even more tools by which to continue their abuse against victims. In addition, these tactics are more likely to go undetected and, as a result, unreported. It is crucial that cyberstalking and surveillance are, like coercive control, charged as serious offenses in two aspects—due to the heightened risk of homicide or other serious risk to victims, and as a means of documenting offenses to assess future risk. Within the context of technology-based abuse, protection orders are ineffective (Messing et al., 2020) as the traversal from physical realm to unbounded digital entity means that perpetrators are not fixed to a specific geographical location. By extension, victims will never be safe until the challenges and fallout of digital abuse are addressed and prioritized both across the digital sphere and our increasingly networked society.

Supplemental Material

sj-docx-1-cjb-10.1177_00938548231206827 – Supplemental material for The Networking of Abuse: Intimate Partner Violence and the Use of Social Technologies

Supplemental material, sj-docx-1-cjb-10.1177_00938548231206827 for The Networking of Abuse: Intimate Partner Violence and the Use of Social Technologies by Louis Bailey, Joanne Hulley, Tim Gomersall, Gill Kirkman, Graham Gibbs and Adele D. Jones in Criminal Justice and Behavior

Footnotes

AUTHORS’ NOTE:

We would firstly like to thank all the women who shared their stories so generously with us for this project. We sincerely hope that telling their stories through our research will help to end violence against women and girls. We are also grateful to the many individuals and organizations who supported the team in undertaking our work. This research was funded by UK Research & Innovation through the Global Challenges Research Fund (Project reference: AH/P014240/1), and by the University of Huddersfield.

ORCID iDs

Louis Bailey

Tim Gomersall

Supplemental Material

Supplemental Appendices 1–2 are available in the online version of this article at

Louis Bailey is a sociologist whose work explores marginalization, social stigma, and acts of resistance and joy. His published work centers on aging, the life course, bereavement, and social justice. He is the principal investigator of the “Trans Without Abuse” research study (Cheshire, UK).

Joanne Hulley, PhD, was a research assistant at the Ni3 centre and is currently a freelance researcher. Her interests focus around intimate partner/sexual violence from the perspectives of perpetrators, victims/survivors, and marginalized groups.

Tim Gomersall, PhD, is senior lecturer in psychology at the University of Huddersfield. He has a research background in health psychology and is interested in inequalities and other contextual drivers of health, illness, and well-being.

Gill Kirkman, MA, is assistant professor in social work at the University of Bradford. She has a background in child protection social work and has worked extensively with police, social services, educators, youth offending teams, and charities, to ensure her research has a real-world impact. She is currently undertaking a PhD exploring young people’s attitudes to violence and abuse.

Graham Gibbs, PhD, is reader in social research methods at the University of Huddersfield. In 2006, he was made National Teaching Fellow, and he is a prolific author on qualitative research methods in the social sciences.

Adele D. Jones, OBE, PhD, is emeritus professor of social work at the University of Huddersfield, UK, and founder of the None in Three Centre for the Global Prevention of Gender-based Violence for which she attracted funding in excess of US$6 million to tackle GBV in several countries around the world. A fellow of the British Academy of Social Sciences, she has conducted research in more than 23 countries and has widely published.

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