We often talk about online fraud in numbers: the amount of money lost, the number of reports made or how many fake profiles were removed. My interviews introduced me to the people behind those numbers. Every person had a different story, and many of those stories were heartbreaking.
Through The Conversation and a series of Online Safety interviews produced for SkyWomen NPC, I spoke to survivors, family members, advocates and experts from different parts of the world. I never wanted somebody’s pain to become entertainment. I wanted people to understand how online harm happens, recognise the warning signs and hear survivors without immediately asking what they had done wrong.
Some people were drawn into romance scams by someone who seemed patient, caring and trustworthy. Others discovered that their name, photographs or identity had been stolen and used to deceive strangers. Families could see that somebody they loved was emotionally attached to a person who did not exist, but often felt powerless to reach them.
Money was lost, sometimes a great deal of it. But the harm did not end there. People also lost confidence, trust and relationships. Some were left questioning their own judgement and even their sense of what had been real.
Cybercrime survivor Gillian Goldman Bentley helped us see how an ordinary online presence can make someone a target. We spoke about the false information used to attract victims, the manipulation that follows and how difficult it can be to rebuild your life after discovering the truth.
Retired United States Army Colonel Bryan Denny told us what it was like to have his photographs stolen and repeatedly used in military romance scams. Kathy Waters joined him to talk about the advocacy, education and legislative work being done to protect victims and hold platforms accountable.
We also heard from mathematician and scam expert Dr Jonathan Farley and clinical psychologist Dorianne Cara Weil. Their knowledge helped us understand the wider patterns, but the survivors and their experiences always remained at the centre of the conversation.
I was not there as an investigator, a lawyer or a counsellor. I was the host. My job was to prepare properly, listen without judging and ask questions that allowed each person to tell the story in their own way.
For me, a good interview is never about making the host the most important person in the room. The guest needs enough structure to feel supported, but also enough space to say what they need to say.
One thing came through again and again: shame is a very powerful weapon. If a victim expects to be called foolish, gullible or greedy, they are far less likely to tell anyone what is happening. That silence helps the criminal. Compassion gives the person somewhere to start.
Yes, the interviews were there to help people recognise manipulation, check an online identity before trusting it and understand that intelligent, capable people can be deceived. But I also wanted to put the human being back into a story that is so often reduced to a case number or a financial loss.
The survivors were not examples of what not to do. They were people who had trusted and hoped. Then they found the courage to go back over a painful experience in public because it might protect somebody else.
I produced these conversations from Cape Town, but online crime does not care about borders. Guests and viewers joined from around the world. A photograph stolen in one country could be used to deceive somebody thousands of kilometres away, while the person in the photograph might not even know it was happening.
Livestreaming brought those separate experiences into one conversation. Survivors could hear that they were not alone. Experts could explain the patterns, advocates could talk about what needed to change and viewers could ask questions as we went.
The technology has moved on since those interviews, but scammers still use many of the same emotional methods: attention, urgency, isolation, false trust and shame. Their tools may look more convincing now, but listening to survivors is just as important as it was then.
Helping people tell these stories remains some of the most serious work I have done as a host. Every guest brought a different experience and trusted me with something deeply personal. I remember their courage because speaking about what happened may have helped somebody they will never meet.