Singaporean actress Eswari Gunasagar recently became the latest public figure to fall victim to the malicious use of artificial intelligence, discovering fabricated images of herself circulating on social media. The incident, which unfolded in early July, exposed not only the growing technological threat of deepfakes but also a troubling pattern of online culture that trivialises such violations rather than offering support to the harmed party. Through a detailed video posted to her social media channels, the 36-year-old detailed her ordeal in hopes of sparking broader conversation about accountability and digital safety.
The ordeal began when Gunasagar learned of inappropriate images depicting her in a bikini—something she emphasised she has never voluntarily shared online. Upon discovering the posts, she took immediate action by reporting the content and contacting the person responsible directly, warning them of potential police involvement. However, the situation escalated in an unexpected direction when the man began making further claims, alleging that Gunasagar was his wife and attempting to position himself as the victim. His rhetoric grew increasingly disturbing, with captions accompanying the fake images that contained explicit and violent language. The actress's father, having stumbled upon additional instances of the same content on the perpetrator's profile, alerted her to the wider distribution of these manipulated materials.
Recognising the severity of the threat, Gunasagar filed a formal police report and documented all instances of the harassment by taking screenshots. Rather than suffering in silence, she made the strategic decision to share her experience publicly, calling on her social media following to collectively report the profile. The response was swift and overwhelming—within three hours, the profile had been completely removed from the platform. This rapid resolution demonstrated the power of community action and raised awareness among her followers about the mechanics of reporting such content. Nevertheless, the speed at which the technology had enabled the creation and distribution of the fake images underscored the challenge that platforms and society at large face in combating such abuse.
What troubled Gunasagar most profoundly, however, was not the deepfake itself but the social response to her disclosure. When she shared details of her experience, certain commenters responded with dismissive and victim-blaming rhetoric, suggesting that as a public figure and celebrity, she should anticipate and accept such violations. One widely-shared response explicitly stated that she would not be complaining if the fabricated images involved more famous male actors such as Michele Morrone or Hrithik Roshan, effectively normalising the abuse as an inevitable consequence of celebrity status. These comments accumulated likes and laughing reactions, including from other women, creating a digital environment in which the victim of a clear violation was instead portrayed as ungrateful or naive.
The actress's response to this secondary victimisation struck at the heart of a cultural blind spot affecting much of the digital world. She articulated a crucial distinction between the technological problem and the attitudinal problem, arguing that the real issue extended far beyond artificial intelligence itself. The willingness of online communities to mock someone whose privacy has been violated, and their eagerness to excuse harmful behaviour by framing it as inevitable or deserved, represents a fundamental erosion of social cohesion and empathy. Gunasagar pointed out that laughter directed at victims—rather than at the perpetrators—transforms bystanders into active participants in the harm. This observation carries particular weight in Southeast Asia, where cultural norms around collective responsibility and community shame traditionally carry significant influence.
The broader implications of Gunasagar's experience resonate far beyond her individual case. The normalisation of such violations through victim-blaming suggests that many people, particularly in online spaces, have become desensitised to digital harm. The actress emphasised that ignorance about the nature and impact of such abuse, combined with a troubling indifference masked as humour, has created an environment where perpetrators face minimal social consequences. For Malaysian and broader Southeast Asian readers, this raises uncomfortable questions about how local online communities might respond similarly to comparable situations. The casual cruelty demonstrated in the responses to her post suggests that digital civility remains underdeveloped across the region.
Gunasagar's call for empathy and accountability arrives at a moment when governments are beginning to recognise the urgency of digital safety legislation. Singapore has taken steps to address these gaps through the establishment of the Online Safety Commission, a new institution specifically designed to provide victims of online harms with dedicated support and accessible pathways to redress. Currently, the OSC focuses on five categories of online harm deemed most prevalent and damaging: intimate image abuse, image-based child abuse, doxing, online harassment, and online stalking. Eight additional categories of online harm are scheduled for inclusion in subsequent phases of the commission's work. This institutional response acknowledges that technology alone cannot solve problems rooted in human behaviour and social attitudes.
For Malaysia and other nations in the region, Gunasagar's experience serves as an instructive case study about the inadequacy of reactive responses to digital abuse. While technological solutions such as content removal remain important, they address only the symptom rather than the underlying disease of widespread indifference to harm. Educational campaigns highlighting the psychological and social impact of such violations, particularly those targeting young people who may be navigating online spaces for the first time, could help shift cultural norms around digital citizenship. The actress's choice to publicly discuss her experience, despite the additional exposure it entails, represents an act of courage that challenges the silence that often surrounds such abuse.
The incident also illuminates the particular vulnerability of women to such abuse. The deployment of fake intimate images as a harassment tool disproportionately affects women, who face the compounded burden of dealing with both the violation itself and the social judgement that often accompanies public disclosure. The fact that other women participated in mocking Gunasagar's experience suggests that internalised misogyny and the normalisation of male aggression remain significant obstacles to building truly safe digital spaces. This pattern, observable across multiple countries and cultures, indicates that addressing the issue requires engaging communities in conversations about gender, power, and collective responsibility.
Moving forward, Gunasagar's testimony underscores the importance of multi-layered approaches to digital safety that combine technological solutions, legal frameworks, and cultural change. While platforms must continue investing in detection and removal systems for deepfakes and other harmful content, and governments must establish clear legal consequences for perpetrators, communities themselves must examine their own complicity in enabling such behaviour. The actress's final observation—that if society cannot demonstrate basic empathy when someone's privacy is violated, the problem extends far deeper than artificial intelligence—serves as a sobering reminder that technological progress has outpaced ethical development, leaving vulnerable people exposed to both direct harm and the casual cruelty of bystanders.
