They might return as bodies, she says.
Across the cyberscam compounds of Southeast Asia—hidden behind walls in Laos, Myanmar, and Cambodia—tens of thousands of trafficked workers have been forced to construct elaborate digital fictions while enduring very real violence. As government raids have begun to peel back those walls, a pattern long obscured by the scale of the fraud itself has come into focus: women, now comprising nearly half of all compound workers, have been subjected to systematic sexual violence used as both punishment and instrument of control by criminal syndicates generating billions in global fraud. Their stories remind us that behind every technological crime there are human bodies bearing its full weight, and that liberation from captivity is rarely the end of suffering.
- Women trafficked into cyberscam compounds face rape used deliberately as punishment for missed quotas and as reward currency for male workers—a gendered architecture of violence that operated invisibly for years.
- The proportion of women inside these compounds has doubled in roughly a year, rising from a quarter to half of all workers, yet their specific experiences of sexual abuse, forced abortion, and death from complications went almost entirely unreported until raids forced the evidence into the open.
- Six survivors interviewed by The Guardian—most of them single mothers lured by false job promises and often betrayed by people they trusted—described beatings, sexual assault, denial of basic hygiene, and eighteen-hour workdays messaging hundreds of fraud victims simultaneously.
- One woman died in a Cambodian hospital on March 10th after being gang-raped repeatedly, contracting HIV and tuberculosis, and finding the cost of repatriation insurmountable; another gave birth at midnight in a compound and escaped by texting a photo of her newborn to a stranger.
- Survivors who do return home face poverty so acute that a day's wages as a tailor cannot cover food, while the criminal networks behind the compounds remain largely intact and the legal accountability promised by the raids has yet to materialize.
In October 2023, a 39-year-old former shopkeeper from Uganda named Sarah went into labor at eleven at night inside a compound in Laos's Golden Triangle, surrounded by workers hunched over computers crafting fake identities for a pig-butchering scam. She had been promised a social media job by a broker in 2022 and instead sold between three compounds, where she endured forced labor, beatings, and confinement. Months into her captivity, she and three other women were gang-raped in a punishment room as retribution for refusing to scam more victims. She had hidden her pregnancy from her Chinese bosses out of fear. When labor could no longer be hidden, she grabbed a shared phone, slipped past a guard, and asked a taxi driver to take her to a hospital.
Sarah's experience was not exceptional—it was representative. As raids across Cambodia and Myanmar have freed tens of thousands of compound workers, human rights organizations have documented a pattern that had long been invisible: systematic sexual violence against women. The UN and Amnesty International have recorded rape, forced abortion, and deaths from abortion complications. Women now make up roughly half of compound workers, up from about a quarter a year earlier, yet their gendered suffering received almost no attention until the raids began.
The compounds are run primarily by Chinese and Taiwanese criminal syndicates operating across Laos, Myanmar, and Cambodia, generating tens of billions in fraud losses. Women are deployed to pose in fake profiles and conduct the seductive early conversations that draw in victims—but they are also subjected to violence that men largely are not. Rape functions as punishment for those who miss quotas and as reward for men who complete lucrative scams.
Rachel, a 29-year-old Kenyan, borrowed the equivalent of £1,150 to pay a broker who promised her work in a Thai factory. She was sold to two compounds in Myanmar, where she worked eighteen-hour days and was punched, kicked, and sexually assaulted when she was slow to respond. Four of the six women the Guardian interviewed were single mothers, driven toward labor migration by the financial pressure of caring for children and aging relatives, and many were trafficked by people they trusted.
Not all survived. Lintang, a 22-year-old from Indonesia, arrived at a Cambodian hospital in February barely able to walk, having been gang-raped repeatedly. She was diagnosed with HIV and tuberculosis. Repatriation proved logistically and financially impossible. She died on March 10th. Sarah, by contrast, found an unlikely ally: a Lao woman named Ketsana, herself a trafficking survivor, who saw Sarah's text and photo of her newborn and sent a taxi. The two women and the baby shared a small apartment for a month before an NGO helped Sarah fly home to Uganda forty days after giving birth.
But return is not recovery. Sarah now earns roughly £1.40 a day as a tailor—not enough to cover food or medical care. On the hardest days, memory pulls her back to the dark room. She warns other single mothers to think carefully before accepting work abroad. The compounds are still operating. The raids have freed many, but the networks behind them remain largely intact, and the women who escape face poverty, trauma, and the daily arithmetic of survival.
In October 2023, a woman named Sarah went into labor at eleven at night inside a compound in Laos's Golden Triangle. Around her, dozens of workers sat hunched over computers, building fake identities on Facebook and Instagram—glamorous women with jet-setting lives who didn't exist. Sarah had been doing this work for months, crafting conversations with older men she'd never meet, asking about their days, sharing photos of beaches and luxury travel. Each message followed a script. Each one was designed to eventually pivot toward cryptocurrency investments, fake screenshots of profits, and a request for money that would vanish into a criminal network's account. This scam—known as pig-butchering—had become so lucrative that entire compounds had sprouted across Southeast Asia, staffed by trafficked workers from around the world.
Sarah was a 39-year-old former shopkeeper from Uganda. She had been promised a job as a social media manager when a broker approached her in 2022. Instead, she was sold between three compounds in the Golden Triangle, where she worked alongside hundreds of others in conditions of forced labor, beatings, and confinement. A few months into her captivity, she was taken to what workers called the dark room—separate quarters where bosses administered punishment. There, she and three other women were gang-raped by a group of men as retribution for refusing to scam more victims. She had hidden her pregnancy from her Chinese bosses, terrified they would kill her if they discovered it. But now, at eleven at night, the labor could not be hidden anymore. She grabbed a shared smartphone, ran past a momentarily absent guard, and asked a taxi driver in broken English to take her to a hospital.
What happened to Sarah was not unusual, though for years it remained largely invisible. As government raids across Cambodia and Myanmar have freed tens of thousands of workers from cyberscam compounds in recent months, a pattern has emerged that human rights organizations had long overlooked: systematic sexual violence against women. The UN office of the high commissioner for human rights documented that sexual violence inside these compounds increased dramatically after 2024. Amnesty International has recorded cases of rape, forced abortion, and deaths related to abortion complications. Women now make up roughly half of compound workers—a sharp rise from about a quarter just a year earlier—yet their experiences of gendered abuse had received almost no media attention until the raids began exposing what was happening behind the walls.
The compounds are run primarily by Chinese and Taiwanese criminal syndicates that have expanded operations across Laos, Myanmar, and Cambodia since 2020, generating tens of billions of dollars in fraud losses. Women are used differently than men: they pose in fake social media profiles, speak over video calls, and craft the initial conversations that draw victims in. But they are also subjected to violence that men, by and large, are not. Bosses use rape as punishment for women who fail to meet quotas or resist their work. They use it as a reward for men who complete lucrative scams. The Guardian spoke with six women who had escaped, all describing sexual attacks, denial of basic hygiene products, and constant verbal abuse.
Rachel, a 29-year-old Kenyan, borrowed 200,000 shillings—about £1,150—in late 2024 to pay a broker who promised her work in a Thai sweet factory. She was instead sold to two compounds in Myanmar, where she worked eighteen-hour days messaging at least a hundred potential victims simultaneously. When she was slow to respond, her boss punched her in the head, kicked her, and sexually assaulted her. She had borrowed that money to support her parents and her young son. Four of the six women the Guardian interviewed were single mothers, driven toward labor migration by the financial weight of caring for children and aging relatives. Many were trafficked by family members or partners they trusted.
Not all of them made it home. Lintang, a 22-year-old from Indonesia's Riau province, was admitted to a Cambodian hospital on February 20th barely able to walk. She told an NGO case handler that she had been gang-raped repeatedly. She was diagnosed with HIV and tuberculosis. Several organizations attempted to arrange her return to Indonesia for treatment, but the cost and logistics proved insurmountable. She died on March 10th. Sarah, by contrast, had a stroke of fortune: a woman named Ketsana, a Lao citizen who had also been trafficked into a compound and had escaped during a police raid, saw Sarah's text message with a photo of her newborn son early that morning. Ketsana sent a taxi. For the next month, the two women and the baby shared a two-room apartment. With help from an NGO, Sarah flew home to Uganda forty days after giving birth.
But return is not recovery. Sarah has since trained as a tailor, earning about 7,000 Ugandan shillings—roughly £1.40—per day. It is not enough to cover her living expenses. On days when there is nothing to eat in the house, or when she cannot afford a doctor's visit, she is pulled back into memory: the dark room, the men, the fear that her bosses would kill her if they knew she was pregnant. She warns other women, particularly other single mothers, to think carefully before accepting work abroad. They might return as bodies, she says. The compounds are still operating. The raids have freed tens of thousands, but the criminal networks that run them remain largely intact, and the women who escape face a future of poverty, trauma, and the daily arithmetic of survival.
Notable Quotes
If I'd had someone who could tell me, 'Wherever you're going, it's not good' – I could have listened. But I had no idea about anything.— Rachel, 29-year-old Kenyan survivor
Sexual violence against female and male victims has reportedly increased dramatically since 2024.— UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did it take so long for anyone to notice that women were being sexually abused in these compounds?
The compounds were always understood as male-dominated workplaces. The focus was on forced labor and fraud. Women were there, but their presence was treated as secondary, their experiences as less newsworthy. It took the scale of the raids—tens of thousands freed at once—to make the pattern visible.
So the increase in reported sexual violence, is that because more women are in the compounds now, or because they're finally being asked about what happened?
Probably both. The proportion of women has doubled in a year. But even accounting for that, the violence seems to have intensified. Whether that's a deliberate shift in how the bosses operate, or whether it's simply that we're now listening—that's still unclear.
What makes a woman vulnerable to being trafficked into one of these places?
Usually poverty and responsibility. A single mother who needs to feed her children. An aging parent who needs care. A broker shows up with a job offer—factory work, housekeeping, social media management. The woman borrows money to pay the broker's fee. By the time she realizes where she actually is, she's already in debt and trapped.
And when they escape, what happens?
If they're lucky, an NGO helps them get home. But home is often where they started—poor, with the same responsibilities, now also traumatized and sometimes with serious health problems. Sarah earns £1.40 a day as a tailor. That's not enough. The compounds destroyed their lives, and then sent them back to the conditions that made them vulnerable in the first place.
Is anyone being held accountable?
Not really. The syndicates are still operating. Some raids have freed workers, but the criminal networks remain largely intact. There's no mention of prosecutions, of bosses being arrested. The women escape, but the system that trafficked them continues.
What does Sarah want people to know?
That it happens. That it's real. That women should think twice before accepting work abroad, because they might not come back the same—or come back at all.