Battling the Internet Scourge of Revenge Porn

 
Online harassment is as old as the Internet itself, but the present-day scourge of so-called revenge porn—a morally corrupt subculture where online sleaze mongers host naked and/or sexually explicit photos of people (mostly young women) against their will, accompanied by links to their private information and Facebook pages—owes its existence largely to a soulless, pan-faced misogynist named Hunter Moore, whose now-defunct Isanyoneup.com exploded to cyber-infamy in 2011 and inspired a gaggle of degenerate wanna-bes to launch their own fly-by-night Web fiefdoms with names like Private Voyeur and ugotposted.com.

Most revenge porn sites draw moderate revenue streams from advertising, but some appear to be moving perilously close to online extortion by posting photos first and then offering the services of a professional “takedown” specialist to get them removed (for a fee of course).

Thanks to the intricacies of cyberlaw, the victims of revenge porn sites have either suffered in silence, pleaded (unsuccessfully) with site owners to get their pics taken down, or waged largely futile battles with hosting companies. But a pair of high-profile legal cases are shining a spotlight into the dark recesses of Internet sleazedom and, victims advocates hope, might just help fuel the political will needed to finally address the problem.

Last month, Holly Jacobs, founder of the online support group End Revenge Porn, sued ex-boyfriend Ryan Seay and four websites for disseminating nude photos and videos of her. Jacobs spent the better part of five years dodging near-perpetual harassment tied to the images, and was even forced to legally change her name in an effort to protect her reputation. The suit alleges that Seay inflicted “intentional emotional distress” on Jacobs. Seay also faces charges of cyberstalking in Florida, which will mark the first time criminal courts have taken up the issue of revenge porn.

And in January, a 32-year-old Texas woman sued revenge porn site texxxan.com and web hosting firm GoDaddy for invasion of privacy and related violations. To date, nearly two dozen other victims have signed on to the class action.

As crazy as it sounds, for the most part, these women don’t have the law on their side. In the interest of protecting the First Amendment, federal law has extended broad leeway to Internet publishers. Most notably, under Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act of 1996, websites that host third-party content can’t be sued for things that other people put on their site. (This is the same law that protect sites like phillymag.com from facing legal action for what readers post in the comments section). Revenge porn websites have successfully hidden behind Section 230 for years, since the bulk of their content is submitted by users.

Without federal action, change needs to come from the state level. After gay Rutgers student Tyler Clemente killed himself in 2010 after being surreptitiously filmed in a sex act in his dorm room, New Jersey passed the strictest law in the nation governing the wrongful distribution of private images. The Florida legislature is also considering what’s been dubbed the “revenge porn bill.”

While revenge porn has few defenders, free speech advocates are rightfully reluctant to support any law that could be a slippery slope to limiting unpopular opinions online. But online publications that encourage readers to comment don’t do so with the intent to suborn libel, defamation or invasion of privacy. Sites that invite users to submit nude images of their exes without their consent have raised that kind of intent to the level of business strategy.

At present, revenge porn is a problem without a solution. This needs to change. It’s time for lawmakers to equate non-consensual pornography with cyberbullying and craft a bill that requires websites to take down private sexual images if the person depicted requests it and face penalties for non-compliance.

Call me radical, but I say you should be free from the fear of having your booty appear online, unless you’re the one who put it there.