By Megdelawit Getahun

They say the digital space is for everyone, a tool of liberation, a great equalizer.

Well, they lied.

Every time I see those self-congratulatory announcements about Ethiopia’s “booming” connectivity, I feel nothing but rage. Rage at the numbers, how many SIM cards, how many smartphones, how many miles of fiber optic cables, as if counting access points tells the full story.

They say more connectivity means more opportunity. But for whom? A woman holding a phone doesn’t mean she’s free to speak. A digital presence doesn’t mean digital power. So why do we keep pretending that access alone is enough?

It’s infuriating because the numbers don’t tell the truth. They don’t count the women who are silenced, harassed, or erased. The real figures are far uglier than what’s paraded in reports.

How many women have swallowed their voices to avoid threats? How many have disappeared from online spaces after relentless abuse? How many are blackmailed, humiliated, punished for daring to exist? This isn’t inclusion. This is control, wrapped in the language of progress, while women are pushed further into the margins.

And yet, we’re supposed to clap. We’re supposed to be grateful.

“Look! More women own phones now!” But what is ownership when a woman’s digital life is never truly hers? When her messages are read, her photos weaponized, her every move policed by family, partners, or strangers who believe control over her extends to the screen?

“Look! Internet penetration is increasing!” But what does that mean when being online is another battlefield? When women log in only to be harassed, stalked, blackmailed, punished for daring to exist, speak, or take up space?

Access without freedom is not liberation. It’s just another cage, dressed up as progress.

The digital divide isn’t just about who can buy a device. It’s about who can exist online without fear, without being controlled.

The “gender digital divide” has been reduced to a technical fix, more devices, more training, a few buzzwords. But the internet wasn’t made for women. It was made by men, for men, and it shows. The platforms that let abuse thrive, the algorithms that ignore us, the cultural norms that make women constantly question whether speaking up is worth the risk, this is the system we’re dealing with. Conditional on silence. Conditional on self-censorship. Conditional on endurance.

It’s not about getting more women online. It’s about creating a space where women don’t have to fight for their voices to matter, where our presence doesn’t come with strings attached or a threat hanging over us.

The data tells a disastrous  story. Women are less likely to own a phone, less likely to access the internet, less likely to benefit from digital opportunities. But even those who do gain access are met with a hostile environment that seeks to shrink their presence. Recently, a report titled “Hidden Horror” exposed the mass digital violation of Ethiopian women, their private photos turned into a commodity, fueling an entire underground economy of exploitation. And what do we get in response?

Excuses and Lies! “It’s hard to trace the perpetrators.” “The financial chain is too complex.” “There’s no clear evidence.” The truth is, these are not technical failures, they are deliberate choices. The platforms profit. The money flows. The system protects those who exploit women, not those who suffer.

And yet, every time women demand accountability, the response is the same: “Just log off.” “Just don’t post too much.” “Just be careful.” No one tells perpetrators to stop harassing, stalking, and silencing. Instead, women are expected to self-censor or vanish altogether.

So when these connection moguls are patting themselves on the back for another “successful” year of expanding connectivity, I have one question: Who is actually benefiting from this “progress” ?

Because this isn’t progress, not for everyone. Not when it’s built on the backs of women who can’t even keep their phones charged. Not when access is a privilege reserved for those who can pay, while the rest are pushed further out. Not when digital growth isn’t about liberation, but about tightening control over us.

Techno-patriarchy is real. It’s not just about who builds the networks, it’s about who holds the reins of power, who gets to speak, and who gets silenced. Those shiny reports, the hashtags, and the self-congratulatory announcements? They mean nothing when they ignore the women who are still being pushed to the margins.

If we’re truly serious about closing the digital divide, we need to confront the truth: this isn’t just about access, it’s about control. It’s about shifting the conversation from who has a device to who gets to use it on their own terms. We need to stop pretending that more SIM cards with faster connections will fix everything. It’s about power, the kind that is stripped away from women every time they’re told their presence online is conditional.

It’s time to ask the real questions:Who designs these spaces? And who are they built for?Who gets the freedom to speak? And who is pushed into silence?Who is seen, who is heard, and who is erased entirely?

The internet was never a tool for liberation, it was built by those who sought to control, to dominate. And in my view, until we take that power back, digital freedom will remain nothing more than a hollow promise.