“Once you own a phone, you are not safe anymore”

This article draws on input from queer people of diverse backgrounds, reflecting their lived experiences and anxieties about what it means to be “safe” in the digital world. While technology and social media offer connection, visibility, and sometimes solidarity, it also exposes queer people to new risks—ones that feel just as pressing as threats in physical spaces.

When Reporting Isn’t Enough

Digital security is not a side issue for the queer community—it often decides whether people feel seen, supported, or endangered. One participant pointed to the stark reality:

“When a domestic violence case or femicide happens, reporting it firsthand doesn’t help much. But once people start to share about it on social media, then it gains popularity—and only then is it taken seriously.”

Online platforms can voice important issues, but they also expose people to retaliation. Breakups, for instance, can lead to digital harassment. “Men open fake profiles under the name of their ex and start sharing their private photos.” For queer women, the double vulnerability of being both women and queer makes this digital violence even sharper.

Living with Surveillance

Many agreed that carrying a phone itself becomes a risk. “You start to become conscious of what’s in your phone, because there’s always a chance you’re interrogated by the police. The first thing they ask for is your phone.”

Deleting dating apps, photos, or messages before stepping out of the house becomes a ritual of self-protection. But the anxiety goes deeper: “Once you own a phone, you are not safe anymore. You can be located very easily. It’s reality in our country.”

Some participants even suggested solutions: “One thing that could help is having more cameras in the city—or an app with a button to send your location instantly so someone knows where you are.” Yet even these fixes highlight the contradiction: technology feels both like a shield and a threat.

Hate Speech and the Weight of Public Opinion

Digital insecurity isn’t just about surveillance or hacking—it’s about exposure. “There are famous social media figures who openly spread hate speech and shape public opinion about queer people.”

Even queer influencers themselves are vulnerable. Private videos are often leaked or reposted without consent, used as clickbait for media platforms hungry for engagement. As one participant noted, “Our community has been exposed to the public very negatively, and it’s linked to digital security.”

The paradox is painful: being visible can bring progress, but it also opens doors to harassment. “If queer people appear more ‘appropriate,’ not too sexy, not too loud, and instead more informative or traditional, then society starts to appreciate them.” Yet many participants disagreed with this idea: “We don’t want the community to conform to society’s expectations.”

Women’s Support and Its Limits

Participants observed that women often show more solidarity online. “Women comment more positively on queer issues,” one said. But others pushed back. During events like the March 8 women’s rallies, some women online dismissed inequality or even engaged in victim-blaming. “When it’s a femicide, you still see women commenting, ‘God knows what she did—maybe she deserved this.’”

The line between genuine voices and organized trolling is blurred. Many participants agreed that trolls deliberately infiltrate comment sections, posing as “ordinary women” to cause division and hate.

Populism and Visibility

Recently, some semi-progressive media platforms have started inviting queer guests. At first glance, this looks like progress. “It helps raise awareness,” one participant admitted. But doubts remain.

“These platforms are backed by right-wing people or companies—the very forces that cause struggles for our community. They don’t have a genuine stance on queer rights. They don’t guarantee anything to the guests they invite. And after the show, there’s real risk for those who publicly expose themselves.”

Others noted that queer representation is carefully curated. “They pick the more ‘appropriate’ figures. That doesn’t reflect the harsh realities of the community.” For some, this curated visibility is progress—“people see good examples of us”—but for others, it feels like regression. “We actually had trans people on TV in the early 2000s.”

Some mentioned that art platforms and people, once seen as safer communities, are also practicing censorship. Topics on nudity, queer identity, or challenges to traditional values are increasingly off-limits. 

Between Hope and Distrust

The conversation revealed a split between cautious optimism and deep mistrust. Some participants believe visibility, even imperfect, is still progress. Others see it as tokenistic, populist, and ultimately dangerous.

But all agreed on one thing: digital spaces are double-edged. They can give us a platform for queer voices, but they can also expose, endanger, and silence.

In the words of one participant, “Generally, once you own a phone, you are not safe anymore.” That uneasy truth shapes how queer people live their digital lives—balancing connection with caution, visibility with vulnerability, and progress with peril.

Powered by Froala Editor