'I was slut-shamed' - Indian women 'cockroach' protesters doxxed and abused

"I was subjected to slut-shaming," stated Indian women who participated in the "Cockroach" protests, revealing they were doxxed and abused.

The women interviewed by the BBC reported receiving threats and abuse after their involvement in the CJP protests. Their videos, lasting mere seconds, featured lip-syncs, sarcastic reels, and jokes filmed en route to the demonstrations. While thousands of young people flooded social media with memes and videos ridiculing Prime Minister Narendra Modi during one of India's most significant anti-government protests in years, many of the women behind these posts claim they have paid a steep price for voicing their opinions.

The Cockroach Janta Party (CJP), a youth-led movement instrumental in compelling the resignation of India's education minister, leveraged Instagram as much as it did street marches. Memes, reels, and viral videos became the movement's signature, documenting everything from protest songs to the police crackdown on July 20, when officers deployed tear gas and baton charges to prevent demonstrators from marching to parliament. Delhi police reported 60 protesters and 118 police personnel were injured that day, though the CJP asserted the number of injured protesters was considerably higher than the official count.

These posts reached hundreds of thousands, transforming ordinary students into some of the movement's most recognizable figures. Since the protests concluded, police have initiated criminal cases against some participants. However, many women describe a different form of retribution unfolding online, detailing rape threats, doctored images circulating on social media, and strangers scrutinizing their photos and videos. Some instances escalated into TV debates, police complaints, and political statements. Many more quietly unfolded as young women deleted posts, locked their accounts, and ceased answering calls from unknown numbers.

The BBC spoke with four women and reviewed screenshots of abusive messages, posts, and other shared material. Their names have been withheld to protect their identities.

"I'm in my mid-20s. I had been posting about the protests from the beginning, but July 20 marked my first attendance. After the baton charge that day and the internet shutdown around the protest site, I returned home and began sharing first-person accounts on Instagram. I also assisted in organizing food, aid, and volunteers. I believed I was merely helping and didn't perceive it as political. But the hate began almost immediately. I was slut-shamed and attacked for questioning the prime minister's comments after the protest ended. [Modi stated he forgave the children who had abused him, urging society to do the same rather than punish them or drag them through the courts.] I've lost count of the messages I've deleted and people I've blocked. Yet, the comments persist. As a content creator, I already live with this constant feeling of being watched. Every word I utter is scrutinized, predominantly by men. When I first started creating content, I would block men if they made me uncomfortable. Over time, the algorithm began pushing my content towards more women. I believe that has shielded me from abuse compared to many other female creators. And still, this occurred. My mother stopped reading the comments on my posts long ago. She said she couldn't bear what strangers were saying about her daughter. I understood. What parent wouldn't be frightened by that? As a woman in India, you grow up with fear. You're told not to stay out late, to watch where you go, who you're with, and how you'll get home. You learn early that your safety is something you must constantly consider. When you have a voice online, that fear doesn't vanish. It simply follows you there."

Police used tear gas and baton charges to disperse protesters attempting to march to parliament on July 20.

"I am 20 years old, and this was my first protest. I went because I believed the students were advocating for something important. Before exiting the Metro station, I propped my phone against a railing and filmed a quick 'fit check' [a video showcasing her outfit before the protest.] 'Going to get beaten by cops, guys,' I joked. These are the kind of light-hearted videos I typically create. When police fired tear gas and charged protesters that afternoon, I continued filming. I was simply recording what was happening around me, as I always do. I never imagined those videos would reach far beyond my followers. I was mistaken. One of them was broadcast on a national TV channel. Soon after, my face began appearing in social media posts claiming protesters were being identified by the police. Someone even discovered which college I attended. That's when I realized people weren't just attacking me online; they were trying to find me. My inbox filled with anonymous messages. Some threatened to report me to the police so I would be beaten or arrested. Men called me degrading names associated with prostitution, made sexually explicit remarks, mocked my body, and threatened violence. Some said I should be 'taught a lesson.' Others simply warned: 'Your turn will come.' What frightened me most wasn't the abuse itself, but what followed. Relatives and acquaintances called my parents, urging them to make me delete my videos or face the consequences. Seeing them so frightened was devastating. That's why I don't want my name published. I've since removed or archived almost all my protest videos. I worry less about what could happen to me than what they might do to my parents."

Several young women have faced online abuse and harassment following the protests.

"I have always expressed my opinions online. I'm a student activist and a Muslim, part of a religious minority in an increasingly polarized India. None of that ever frightened me. But after the CJP protests, everything changed. My Instagram account is private now. I've muted most of my other social media because the abuse has been relentless. Every time I look at my phone, there's another offensive comment or message or post about me. I went to the protest because I believed it was the right thing to do. I made a few satirical videos during the march. One mocked the prime minister. Others showed us singing on stage and chanting slogans. They were political, irreverent, and the kind of videos I'd always made. But they spread far beyond the people I knew. One Instagram page edited a photograph to make it appear as though I was kissing a man to shame me. Another morphed my images and branded me an anti-national and a terrorist. I was also called a hijra – using the term for South Asia's transgender community as an insult – and dismissed as a paid protester. When my father, a journalist, read the comments, he panicked. He kept asking why I had spoken out. He said that once people saw my Muslim name, nothing else would matter. My parents have watched other Muslim activists investigated and arrested, and fear the same could happen to me. We live under constant dread. But I'm not going to stop speaking up. I still believe I was right to go to that protest. Now I just understand the cost much better than I did before."

Memes and satirical short-form videos became a popular way for young protesters to communicate about the movement.

"I'm a student in [the state of] West Bengal, where political discussions are an integral part of college life. I've participated in those conversations on campus for years, so I didn't think much before posting online about the protests. Although I first joined the Kolkata protest on July 20, I'd already been helping online, organizing supplies ranging from diabetic biscuits to masks for people worried about being identified. A friend and I also launched an Instagram fundraiser. But on July 24, the police started detaining protesters in the state, and we began discussing it online. That's when the hate truly began. People started leaving spiteful comments on my fundraiser post; they called me a prostitute in private messages. They did not stop even after the protest had ended – and eventually I deleted the post. In the days that followed, the fear of being doxxed became real. I changed my name on social media, made my account private, and blocked messages from people I didn't know. What hurt most was that none of my male friends faced the abuse I did. They expressed similar views but weren't targeted over their sexuality or subjected to insults about their mothers. I was. When it comes to women, the response quickly becomes about our gender. That's left me wondering why women can't express the same opinions as men online."