From one click to a trap: the growing menace of online fraud in Pakistan

It usually begins with a message, a friendly DM, a tempting Facebook post, or a forwarded WhatsApp link. Sometimes it promises work-from-home income, sometimes an overseas job, a free giveaway, or a chance to be a “brand ambassador.” The language is polite. The offer looks legitimate. The fee is small. Just Rs2,000 to register. Just Rs5,000 to process the file. It seems harmless. Until it isn’t. Over the last year, a disturbing number of friends, colleagues, and acquaintance, from schoolteachers to university students, have privately admitted to being scammed through online fraud.

What’s alarming isn’t just the frequency, but the quiet shame that follows. Most victims don’t report the crime. They don’t even talk about it. They just blame themselves, and move on.

But this isn’t a story about gullibility. It’s about vulnerability.

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With over 130 million internet users in Pakistan, social media has become a parallel economy — and for some, a trap. As unemployment remains high and inflation continues to crush household budgets, platforms like Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and WhatsApp have turned into virtual hunting grounds for cybercriminals posing as recruiters, influencers, NGOs, and even religious healers.

These scams are not isolated incidents. They are part of a digital underworld that is far more organized, predatory, and profitable than most imagine.

Take the recent case in Faisalabad. The Federal Investigation Agency (FIA) uncovered a well-oiled scam operation in which suspects were running fake job portals on social media. Masquerading as international recruiters, they charged unsuspecting job-seekers “visa processing” fees ranging from Rs10,000 to Rs150,000. Victims came from all over Punjab — many had sold their motorcycles, jewelry, or taken informal loans to pay. The suspects, when arrested, had fake offer letters, biometric data, and fake websites registered in bulk. It wasn’t a side hustle — it was a business.

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Trust as a Weapon

What makes these scams successful is their ability to mimic authenticity. Scammers use stolen logos, influencer clips, voice notes in polite Urdu, and fake email addresses that look nearly identical to real ones. The tone is friendly, even respectful. Some even offer “customer support” via WhatsApp.

In one case, a friend forwarded a beauty brand’s Instagram ad offering part-time promotional work. It had over 2,000 likes, dozens of comments, and even a familiar influencer’s face on the video. She paid a small registration fee, was asked to make a “second deposit,” and then — nothing. The account disappeared overnight.

It’s not stupidity. It’s social engineering. These scams are designed to exploit hope. And in a country where hope is in short supply, it’s easy to fall for a promise that sounds like a way out.

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Platforms Without Accountability

Social media platforms continue to profit from this chaos. Meta (which owns Facebook and Instagram), Google, and TikTok earn revenue from clicks, engagement, and user data — not safety. Reporting fake accounts or scam ads usually leads to automated replies and little action. There is no local grievance redressal system, no accountability, and no urgency.

Meanwhile, Pakistan’s legal framework — especially the Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act (PECA) — remains poorly implemented. While cybercrime units exist, most victims struggle to file FIRs, track down scammers, or recover stolen funds. Often, by the time action is taken, the scammer has already shifted operations to a new page or platform.

Digital rights experts argue that without binding regulations on tech platforms and proper enforcement on the ground, these crimes will continue to flourish. As one put it, “We don’t just need cybercrime laws — we need digital consumer protection laws.”

Make no mistake these scams are not targeting the elite. They are targeting the unemployed graduate in Peshawar, the single mother in Rawalpindi, the rickshaw driver’s daughter in Bahawalpur. They are aimed at people who are trying — desperately — to find a better life. In that sense, these scams are not random crimes. They are systemic theft, designed to capitalize on structural inequality.

From fake TikTok giveaways to fraudulent religious fundraisers, scammers understand the emotional language of their victims. They offer not just money, but dignity. And when that is stolen, the loss runs deeper than rupees.

We need a multi-layered response — fast.

First, digital literacy campaigns must be taken beyond urban centers and YouTube tutorials. Public service messaging on national television, in Urdu and regional languages, can help educate users about the warning signs of scams.

Second, there must be legal pressure on platforms like Meta and TikTok to respond to verified scam reports within 24 to 48 hours. These companies earn billions from South Asian audiences — they should be required to protect them.

Third, government cybercrime units must be expanded, better trained, and more accessible — especially for victims in rural areas. Filing a complaint should not require a city trip or legal connections.

Finally, we need to remove the stigma from speaking up. Victims of digital scams are not foolish — they are casualties of a digital economy that is booming without a safety net.

We don’t think twice anymore — before clicking a link, replying to a message, or sharing our ID online. It’s become second nature in a world that promises connection at every tap. But behind that ease lies risk. On Pakistani social media, where scams wear the face of opportunity, the price of misplaced trust isn’t just money — it’s dignity. And the people losing most are often the ones already walking the tightrope between survival and hope.