Understanding Image-Based Sexual Abuse Through Greek Public and Legal Lenses: A Constructionist Thematic Analysis

Subtheme 1.1. IBSA as a Gendered Behaviour

Though not directly asked, participants emphasised IBSA’s gendered nature; noting that while it can affect anyone, IBSA primarily impacts women in Greek society. Traditional gender roles and the shaming of female sexuality were considered key factors when it came to views of victims and perpetrators of IBSA, as well as the overall gendered context in which it unfolds:

In Greece, there is definitely the perception that something of a sexual nature is often seen as a mark of pride for men, and for the women it will be-and for someone who has a non-mainstream, not necessarily deviant, but simply different sexual identity, this often depends on what the majority perceives as a potential sexual partner. So, in general, if someone feels that this is “wrong,” it’s deeply linked to gender, sexual orientation, and people’s self-identification. From what I’ve seen, at least in Greek society, there’s a significant difference. That is slut shaming happens at about 50%. For women it’s more likely. It won’t happen to men. (Participant 11)

It (IBSA) primarily affects women. They are the first group to be harmed, the first to be exploited, humiliated, and ridiculed at the expense of their dignity. (Participant 20)

Participant 11 highlights the gendered dynamics of IBSA, suggesting it disproportionately affects women and those with non-normative sexual identities. Excerpts reveal a cultural script in which male sexual expression is considered bold or admirable, while similar behaviour by others invites shame. This double standard reflects traditional gender norms, where public expressions of sexuality are only deemed acceptable when performed by men. Shaming someone for being involved in anything of sexual nature, which in turn might result in being non-consensually disseminated, becomes a mechanism for reinforcing these hierarchies. Often, in participants’ constructions, society appears to judge sexual behaviour not by the act itself, but by who performs it; suggesting that societal acceptance is framed more by the victim’s identity than actions. Similarly, when discussing those affected most by IBSA, Participant 20 employs a simple construction of gender as the organising principle of IBSA, positioning women as primary victims. Her account exposes how gendered abuse becomes a public spectacle; emphasising how IBSA is weaponised against women. Similar constructions were employed by Greek lawyers, who repeatedly highlighted how gender affects societal perceptions of IBSA victims:

Even today, a woman who has had multiple sexual partners is still considered promiscuous and morally questionable, while a man engaging in the same behaviour is seen as a “player” or a “lad” in quotation marks (. . .) and yes I believe that women consistently have worst consequences than anyone else. (Participant 17, Lawyer)

Participant 17 employs a strong binary construction to highlight how men and women are perceived in IBSA. They construct a societal cultural script in which women, when victimised, are viewed as morally questionable, while men may be socially elevated for engaging in sexual acts. The phrase “even today” suggests that although these gendered norms are outdated, they persist. Participant 17 highlights the disproportionate impact on women (“Women consistently have worse consequences than anyone else”); emphasising the social sanctions women face, where their reputations, safety, and social standing are more vulnerable. Their construction reflects cumulative harm: women are not just judged but they suffer enduring material and emotional consequences as a result.

Subtheme 1.2. Financial Motivation, Humiliation, and Revenge

Participants described IBSA as a series of actions driven by both personal and structural motives, with a focus on its emotional and economic consequences. They revealed it as a practice where financial exploitation, revenge, control, and humiliation intersect. In many ways, they perceived IBSA not just as an interpersonal violation, but as a broader exercise of societal power:

The motive, yes, I think the motive is often revenge. We’ve seen it. There have been entire forums dedicated to revenge porn. Revenge happens when the other person stands out, or let’s say, doesn’t fulfil your wishes. Then in other cases, the motive might be personal pleasure through the ridicule of the other person. Because they see it like that, exactly that. And then there’s profit. Profit is very important, because many of us know these photos and videos are sold. That’s what I think. (Participant 13)

The motive. It may be the money, it may be the feeling that I will take revenge on you (Participant 21)

The motive usually it could be financial, it could be the exploitation of these photos. But most of the time the people who share this kind of material have sexist, homophobic, racist motives. In some cases, I’d say, there were chats where men shared photos of women that were sent to them in private moments. I get the sense that the motive was clearly the humiliation of these individuals. (Participant 18, Lawyer)

Participants construct IBSA as being motivated by power, revenge, and exploitation; framing IBSA as not reducible to a single motive. Participant 13 introduces revenge as a primary motive, highlighting how IBSA is weaponised when one “stands out” or does not meet expectations; potentially hinting towards entitlement to control and submission, where the breach of desire or dominance results in retaliatory exposure. The phrase “personal pleasure through the ridicule of the other” suggests IBSA is conceptualised through enjoyable degradation. In this sense, IBSA is framed as a form of harm that asserts dominance and control. Participant 20 employs a straightforward scenario, aligning financial motives alongside revenge. They suggest IBSA can be both a means of material gain and a technique of emotional punishment; adopting the perpetrator’s voice to illustrate the culturally context surrounding IBSA.

Participant 18, a lawyer, discusses sexist, homophobic, and racist motives as underpinning this behaviour. The mention of men sharing women’s private images in group chats reinforces the idea that IBSA is a collective, culturally normalised practice within certain groups. The term “humiliation” is framed as the end goal, portraying IBSA as a form of societal degradation.

Subtheme 2.1. Shame, Self-Blame, and Public Reactions

Participants discussed barriers to help-seeking and reporting; the strongest being shame and societal reactions. The construction of shame entailed two layers; shame resulting from being involved in the content, and shame stemming from the stigma and societal backlash once this gets public. It is noteworthy that participants often constructed reporting as something that would automatically result in IBSA material becoming publicly available and more widely known:

Shame. Uh . . . social environment, family, yes. Either there’s absence or there’s the reaction from society “you brought this on yourself,” right? So, shame, fear, fear of humiliation, of stigma. Yes. For those reasons, again, you know, admitting uh publicity. I don’t know, if it becomes public, if they say it, it’ll become more widely known, they might lose their job. Someone might uh, you know, their relationship. If the revenge porn is from a previous relationship, like . . . I don’t know in general, I think it can change someone’s life, shift the balance in their life. It takes a really strong stomach, I mean, to say: “Yes. I don’t care, I’m going to do it, I don’t care about the consequences”. (Participant 10)

Participant 10 frames shame, fear, and public exposure as key barriers to disclosing IBSA; a perception rooted in social narratives shaped by family, culture, and risks of visibility. Shame is tied to victim-blaming and stigma, with reporting seen as inevitably making the abuse public. This perception potentially implies a lack of institutional and social privacy, where disclosure is imagined as triggering a chain reaction with serious personal and professional consequences (e.g. relationship breakdowns, unemployment). The phrase “shifting the balance in someone’s life” showcases the extent of such harm, wherein reporting IBSA is not only reputationally damaging but life-altering. Reporting, then, is framed as an act requiring considerable emotional resilience.

It’s the fear of public condemnation. The reaction of those around them. The person whose photos have been shared illegally might be afraid of being seen as overreacting (Participant 6)

Participant 6 creates a list of reasons why one might not report victimisation, including public condemnation. However, they also list the societal de-validation of the victim’s feelings; implying that shame does not result only from public condemnation but also from the discourses implicitly dictating restraint and emotional control; positioning public opinion as dictating not only what is societally acceptable, but also policing which reactions are appropriate. Lawyers echoed this view, identifying shame as a central barrier to seeking both legal and institutional help. Participant 7 highlights how stigma can prevent victims from even confiding in supportive others, suggesting that societal narratives fail to normalise IBSA:

Then there’s the shame of admitting it to certain people, which could otherwise help them support the victim in taking the appropriate steps to move forward. And I think there’s also a fear that there’s no way back after that point. Because there’s no, no sense of safety, no reassurance that this is something that generally happens, that any one of us could overcome it. (Participant 7, Lawyer)

Participant 7 highlights the “shame of admitting it to certain people,” suggesting that while disclosure could lead to informal support, shame blocks access to it. The phrase “there’s no sense of safety that this is something which just happens, that anyone could overcome” implies a societal failure to normalise IBSA, framing it as a shameful and life-altering event. As a result of the “fatal” nature of IBSA, reporting is seen as risky, shaped by a lack of institutional support and broader social distrust. It is noteworthy that reporting is portrayed as an uncertain process, where the outcome is ambiguous and entangled with the social constructions of the phenomenon.

Subtheme 2.2. The Construction of Police as Ineffective

A central barrier to reporting was a deep mistrust of the police, which was often perceived as ineffective, indifferent, or even complicit. Several referenced well-known cases of femicide, particularly one that occurred outside a police station, as evidence institutional failure:

I don’t feel there’s proper staffing or an appropriate department. I mean, let’s not even bring up the tragic incidents. And I’m not bringing them up because I want to downplay them, but because I don’t want to take up discussion time going over things we all already know. It would become a bit rambling but we know what’s happened. (. . .) Victims are left unprotected outside the police department, so to speak. (Participant 12)

(. . .) They don’t take her seriously and then she’s killed by the man, right outside the police station. How can someone go and report something that’s considered, in quotation marks, a “minor offence”? Something that didn’t cause immediate harm, like sharing your photo without consent. (Participant 20)

Participant 12 notes the lack of specialised staff and departments for online sexual abuse; referring to “tragic incidents” that signify police inaction. Phrases like “things we all already know” and “we know what’s happened” suggest these failures are considered normative. The statement “victims are left unprotected outside the police department” implies a recent femicide case, used to evidence public awareness of institutional failure. The decision not to name specific examples implies these events are so common they no longer require explanation. This narrative is complemented by Participant 20, who uses this case to highlight police inactivity in relation to IBSA. Participant 20 juxtaposes femicide with IBSA; highlighting that if such a serious incident is perceived as insignificant, what the police see as indirect harm for IBSA will be even less acted upon. The account employed here positions IBSA as belonging to a continuum of violence sustained by bureaucratic apathy, and the devaluation of victims experiences; reflecting perception that institutions responsible for protecting victims of such forms of violence are ineffective. Similar constructions were employed by the majority (4 out of 5) of lawyers:

The response is infantile, there’s absolutely no seriousness to it. It’s their logic: someone robs your house and they look at you condescendingly and say, “Yes, we’re doing what we can.” I’m not saying they have bad intentions or that they’re necessarily doing it on purpose, but. Whatever the reason might be, it shouldn’t be happening. There should be a stronger, more adequate response. (Participant 5, Lawyer)

Participant 5 intensifies critiques of the police, describing their response as “infantile” and lacking seriousness; implying a perception that contrasts with the urgency IBSA cases require. A vivid metaphor “someone robs your house and they look at you condescendingly and say ‘Yes, we’re doing what we can’” further highlights detachment, inefficiency, and what is perceived as a patronising attitude that downplays harm. While the participant avoids attributing malice, they stress that “whatever the reason might be, it shouldn’t be happening” shifting the focus to the need to protect victims, which is perceived as a process that is not currently happening.

Subtheme 3.1. Pursing Legal Action as Financially Challenging

Participants identified financial precarity as a barrier to reporting or pursuing legal action. Participants perceived such financial barriers as determining whether, and in what ways, victims can respond. In these constructions, the law is neither neutral nor universal. Instead, legal protection is effectively reserved for those who possess the financial means to seek it. Participant 8 discussed the financial aspect of hiring a lawyer:

You need a lawyer, and first of all, because everyone goes through this process, in any area this kind of thing happens, not just in this issue. Everyone starts thinking about how much this situation might cost them financially. And from the moment there is no real financial capacity in this country in general, that becomes a huge problem. The financial aspect is always involved, and turning to a lawyer, for example, is extremely expensive. (Participant 8)

If you want to take it to court, you need a lot of money. It’s definitely a class issue too whether the person whose nude photos are exposed is a migrant woman working as a cleaner, or a wealthy woman who can afford the best lawyer. (Participant 15)

Participant 8 emphasises material dimensions related to legal proceedings regarding IBSA within Greece; highlighting the lack of financial resources required to pursue legal action. Legal representation is framed as a universally necessary, yet often inaccessible, element of justice-seeking. Financial barriers are perceived as common-sensical and universally understood, portraying the cost of initiating legal proceedings as an evident obstacle, particularly in Greece, where there is “no real financial capacity in this country.” The process of securing legal support is presented as a significant challenge, with hiring a lawyer commonly constructed as financially unattainable. Participant 15 constructs IBSA within broader socio-economic contexts, framing it as a class issue. The use of conditional phrasing (“if you want . . . you need . . . money”) conveys a societal understanding that legal recourse is contingent upon financial capacity; while categories such as “migrant” and “lawyer” exemplify the imbalance of power and capital embedded within institutional systems. Participant 7 acknowledged this relevance:

There are definitely financial consequences. Even just the basics, taking legal action to have the content taken down, there is the assumption you have the financial means to do so, which is not something everyone can count on. (Participant 7, Lawyer)

Here, IBSA is framed as having financial implications, not only for reporting but also for immediate actions such as content removal. These responses are presented as basic and necessary, yet they are juxtaposed with an implicit assumption that individuals can afford them. Contrary to Participant 8, who constructs the idea of the financial challenges as common-sensical, Participant 7 suggests that legal actions are far less accessible than what is implied to be commonly assumed.

Subtheme 3.2. Challenges in the Application of the Law

While discussing barriers in relation to legislative procedures, participants noted either the absence of a thorough legal framework in the case of IBSA or, where such a framework existed, its inadequacy. They emphasised that the complexity and novelty of emerging technologies, particularly deepfakes, posed significant challenges to the effective application of existing legislation. Such constructions are employed by Participant 16:

What also stops it [from being addressed] is the non-existent legal framework I mean, what has actually been developed is a legal framework supposedly for the protection of freedom of information on the internet. And there have been so many ways developed to preserve anonymity online especially in the EU. But unfortunately, the legal framework for lifting that anonymity hasn’t been developed. It might not even be technologically feasible in many cases. I mean, people now distribute this kind of material without even being on the visible or accessible internet. In that space, there’s not much you can do (. . .)And even though we’ve had this technology for decades, the legal framework simply doesn’t exist. They’ve just folded their arms because it suits them. (Participant 16)

Participant 16 criticises the legal and technological systems surrounding online anonymity in IBSA cases. They highlight a juxtaposition: while anonymity is protected under ideals of such as the freedom of information, there is a lack of legal mechanisms to pierce that anonymity when harm occurs. Participant 16 perceives this as emerging not due to technical limitations, but due to the emphasis on of liberty over accountability. Here, they note legal framework as lacking, conceptualising the issue as a deliberate absence, maintained for convenience. What is perhaps implied is that the state is depicted as wilfully inactive. The invisibility that the internet provides further reproduces the problem, allowing perpetrators to evade detection, despite having the time to address the issue (“even though we’ve had this technology for decades . . .”).

(,..) with this particular technology, I think it’s even more difficult, perhaps because it’s still new(..) they just don’t know how to deal with it. The legal framework itself. (Participant 19)

Participant 19 discusses IBSA, with an emphasis on deepfakes; highlighting difficulty in addressing it compared to what is implied to be traditional forms of violence. Through noting the legal framework itself, Participant 19 points to a perceived structural inadequacy and outdated legislation; potentially highlighting perceptions that legislative frameworks failing to keep pace with evolving forms of IBSA. Similar constructions were also employed by lawyers, albeit with more commentary on the legislative aspects of IBSA cases involving deepfake:

(. . .) There should be a watermark or some kind of visible mark on AI-generated products that clearly indicates what they are(. . .).There needs to be a legal framework to address these issues-whether it concerns intellectual property theft or labour rights violations.(. . .)In Greece, there is a law concerning the lifting of confidentiality (privacy breach) in the EU context, which was actually updated in 2022, and it allows for the lifting of confidentiality in specific offences, certain felonies, certain misdemeanours. And although it is allowed, for example, in cases of revenge porn, it’s not allowed for other types of privacy violations, which very often lead up to those cases. So, in that grey area, even the police are unsure about which article applies in each case, and whether the lifting of confidentiality can happen or not. At the same time, another practice is that the police or prosecutors, based on outdated opinions from the Prosecutor of the Supreme Court, sometimes request the lifting of confidentiality for everything. This puts platforms in a defensive position, because they respond, “No way we’re not doing that for everything. We’ll only act where it’s strictly and explicitly allowed.” And so somewhere in there, there’s a legal vacuum, cases and complaints that clearly relate to digital crimes committed in digital spaces, but the law doesn’t provide for lifting confidentiality. And they end up being thrown in the bin. (Participant 7, Lawyer)!

Participant 7 uses their expertise to criticise legal and procedural challenges surrounding AI-generated content. They call for clear labelling of AI-generated material, framing ambiguity as systemic and indicative of regulatory lag. Participant 7 roots this issue within the intersecting legal domains of intellectual property, labour, and privacy; situating IBSA within a wider pattern of digital exploitation under deregulated legislation. Focusing on Greece, Participant 7 highlights jurisdictional inconsistencies and construct a flawed legal sequence that overlooks the cumulative nature of digital abuse They argue that prosecutors’ data requests often conflict with platform resistance, suggesting a fragmented state-corporate dynamic and a legal system characterised by incoherence and uneven implementation.

Subtheme 4.1. Family and Friends’ Support

When asked about family and friends, participants overwhelmingly emphasised their importance; noting that in the absence of effective formal responses, family and friends provided both emotional backing and practical assistance. For instance, Participant 9 discussed their role in navigating the bureaucratic and material challenges of reporting IBSA.

I believe it’s crucial, it’s the alpha and the omega, because it’s the first point of contact. The first people someone will turn to, especially when it comes to younger individuals(,,)because even as adults, their life experiences are still relatively limited. Why? Because of life in general, but also due to limited experience navigating the bureaucratic system. So, family and close friends will play a very important role, because they’ll help the person orient themselves even within the bureaucratic side of things. Like, which official bodies and services to contact, whether they need to hire a lawyer, whether they should move forward with pressing charges all these practical matters that, especially when you’re young, you often don’t know about. And unfortunately, many times, you also don’t have the resources to act on them (Participant 9)

Both are extremely important. (. . .) this combination makes everything much stronger, because it gives us the sense that there’s an entire network, almost an army, standing behind us, ready to defend us. (Participant 3)

Participant 9 presents family and friends as intermediaries in a young person’s experience of IBSA; perceiving them responsible for offering emotional support and practical guidance. Their reference to “life experience” and “bureaucratic mechanisms” challenges the opacity of these institutions, potentially highlighting assumptions of privilege or familiarity. Participant 9 also highlights financial constraints as a barrier to accessing justice, noting structural inequalities that shape outcomes. Participant 3 holds similar perceptions but focuses on emotional coping. They frame their collaboration as key to resilience, positioning collective solidarity as both an emotional and practical defence in instances of IBSA. This is further enhanced by the battle metaphors employed (“an entire network, almost an army, standing behind us, ready to defend us”); imagery that suggests IBSA requires collective mobilisation rather than individual coping. Reflecting on the collective nature of Mediterranean societies, these networks compensate for weak institutional support. What is not directly said, but implied, is how victims of IBSA rely on communities in the absence of systemic care; constructions echoed by lawyers:

As much as I’m in favour of broader socio-structural analyses (..)I think its super important. The family is the first space where you learn about your body and the kind of relationship you’ll have with it. And if that relationship is shaped by guilt, in one way or another, then it's much easier to be re-traumatised by these kinds of experiences again and again. Also, your family and friends if something like this happens should be able to carry it with you. We can’t carry these things as individuals alone, and we shouldn’t have to. (Participant 4, Lawyer)

Participant 4 seems to prefer looking at broader, system-level issues, possibly drawing a contrast between legal language and people’s real-life experiences. Within this framing, family is positioned as a key structure shaping responses to IBSA; serving both as a source of support and a formative influence on how one experiences stigma. Though not explicitly stated, sans institutional protections, the family becomes the primary site for processing and navigating harm. What is implied is that, when their understanding of these issues is problematic, the family may contribute to re-traumatisation. The participant’s claim that “the family is the first space where you learn about your body” casts the family as a disciplinary space that governs bodily self-perception. The participant also perceives IBSA as a collective, rather than individual, experience, suggesting a model of shared burden. The term “carry” is noteworthy, as it is perhaps indicative of IBSA as psychological and social weight best managed with the help communal networks. In many ways, the suggestion “we shouldn’t have” to carry things alone showcases a theorisation of combatting IBSA as a collective responsibility.

Subtheme 4.2. Education and Need for Awareness

When combatting IBSA, participants suggested that prevention through education is important, and that this education should start from school, whilst others highlighted that its absence was an issue that further perpetuates societal issues that eventually lead to IBSA:

And education, especially on issues related to sexuality and sexual abuse. From a young age, what can we learn in order to protect ourselves? That’s where the discussion begins. Now you might say “But what about the parents?” Yes, parents are important too, but they also need to learn this somewhere so the foundation has to be the school. And then, when it comes to professions, there should be a different kind of training what people learn and needs to be supported with education. Honestly there should be training every year. Things change; they don’t stay the same. Someone who learned something 20 years ago can’t operate the same way 20 years later. (Participant 14)

If children were taught from a very young age that hitting, touching without consent, or sharing material that someone has entrusted to you are all forms of violation, things might be different. (Participant 1)

Participant 14 emphasises the importance of early education on sexuality and sexual abuse, framing it as self-preservation. They perceive education as something that should begin in childhood, primarily from families. However, they also highlight that parents need guidance, and therefore schools are depicted as foundational institutions that form societal understanding of sexuality and, by extension, IBSA. Participant 14 advocates for workplace training, emphasising the need for annual updates to reflect the rapid pace of technological change. Participant 1 also constructs education as a preventative mechanism; situating it within a socio-cultural framework. The conditional phrasing “If children were taught from a very young age. . .” conveys both a sense of lost opportunity and the potential for early moral development via education. Yet, they employ a list to put IBSA in a continuum of violence, perhaps to highlight the absence of education in all relevant domains. In contrast, lawyers framed prevention through public awareness. Their focus was on understanding the societal impact of IBSA and knowing how to respond when such issues arise, rather than on structured, long-term educational interventions.

First of all, prevention. Absolutely. Prevention in terms of information and awareness. I don’t mean prevention in a vague sense. Yes, “prevention” is an unfortunate word, but it has to be targeted awareness not just “call the police.” (Participant 5, Lawyer)

Participant 5 highlights the importance of prevention but quickly clarifies that they do not mean general uses of the term. Their comment “I don’t mean prevention in a vague sense” distances their view from generic rhetoric, instead rooting prevention in tangible strategies like education and awareness. The phrase “prevention is an unfortunate word” suggests discomfort with its usual connotations, such as implying victim responsibility or oversimplifying the issue. The remark “not just ‘call the police’” implies a dissatisfaction with default, punitive responses and calls for a more thoughtful, proactive approach centred on targeted awareness that moves beyond individual or punitive measures, and aims to stop IBSA before the incidents take place.