Writer name : Natasha khan
An Afghan refugee woman in Pakistan, displaced and struggling to support her children, filled out an online form she believed was linked to humanitarian assistance. The form promised relief; a small measure of support in a life shaped by uncertainty. It asked for her personal details, her children’s information, and proof of identity. She complied and trusted the language of aid and authority. For refugees, sharing personal data is often a survival requirement, not a choice. Weeks later, she discovered the form was fake. Her data had been used to open SIM cards and apply for loans in her name. Instead of assistance, she inherited debt, fear, and a legal burden she never consented to. Her story is not an anomaly. It is a window into how cybercrime preys on vulnerability, not ignorance.
Afghan refugees in Pakistan already live on the margins of society, navigating life with limited legal recognition and constant fear of displacement. Many lack access to formal employment, stable housing, or reliable information channels. Their vulnerabilities are further deepened by language barriers, low digital literacy, and unfamiliarity with Pakistan’s legal and financial systems. In such conditions, the promise of help, especially when framed in the language of aid, religion, or authority becomes powerful. It is not ignorance that makes them targets; it is exclusion. Against this backdrop, for many Afghan refugees, justice mechanisms are distant, complex, or simply inaccessible. Refugees often fear that approaching authorities could expose their undocumented status, lead to harassment, or jeopardize their families’ safety. As a result, exploitation frequently goes unreported, allowing perpetrators to operate with near total impunity.
This vulnerability is not incidental. Research commissioned by the World Refugee Council has shown that refugees are frequently required to disclose extensive personal information with limited informed consent or understanding of data protection risks; a situation that significantly increases their exposure to digital exploitation. In environments where data protection laws are weak or unevenly enforced, this exposure becomes a gateway for fraud, identity theft, and long term harm.
Afghan refugees deserve dignity, not deception. They deserve protection, not predation. Protecting Afghan refugee communities from digital exploitation requires more than warnings to “be careful online.” One of the most urgent steps is the creation of firewalled cybercrime reporting mechanisms, where victims can report fraud, identity theft, or online harassment without their immigration status becoming a point of scrutiny. Justice should never be conditional on documentation, and reporting a crime must not expose individuals to detention, deportation, or harassment.
Equally important is the role of community based intermediaries. Afghan refugees are far more likely to seek help from people they trust than from unfamiliar institutions. Training community representatives, refugee volunteers, and local NGOs as digital safety focal persons can bridge this gap. These intermediaries can help victims document evidence, explain legal options in familiar languages, and liaise with authorities or service providers when needed. Such models do not weaken institutions; they strengthen them by making them accessible.
Digital awareness efforts must also be reimagined. Traditional cybersecurity messaging assumes literacy, technical fluency, and stable access to information .These are the assumptions that do not hold in displaced communities. Awareness campaigns should be delivered in Pashto and Dari through voice notes, pictorial guides, community radio, and in person sessions. The focus must be practical and specific: fake aid forms, fraudulent job offers, SIM and loan scams, and impersonation of humanitarian organizations. Digital safety must be understandable without formal education.
Humanitarian organizations themselves carry a responsibility to reduce digital harm. Refugees are often required to disclose extensive personal data simply to access basic services. This is done frequently without meaningful explanations of how that data will be stored, shared, or protected. Aid actors must adopt data minimization practices and actively warn communities about fraudulent forms and impersonation scams. When survival depends on sharing information, protection must follow.
Finally, refugees need safe platforms to raise grievances collectively and anonymously. Individual complaints feel risky and isolating, but aggregated reporting can expose patterns of abuse without putting individuals in danger. This, when coupled with legal aid clinics that specialize in digital harm, including identity theft, debt fraud, and online harassment, such platforms can help victims recover not only financially, but psychologically. Restoring trust is as important as restoring accounts.
Securing Afghan communities against cybercrime is not about portraying them as helpless or uninformed. It is about acknowledging the structural inequalities that make exploitation possible and addressing them with dignity and respect. Communities that are protected, informed, and heard are far less vulnerable to digital harm. Until refugee protection frameworks treat digital vulnerability as a core risk, cybercrime will continue to thrive where fear and exclusion persist.
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