This week’s readings were very heavy for me on a personal level. This is not only because of the readings on South Asian history on Britain’s colonial legacy and the very real yet intangible pain our people continue to live through post-partition, which they cannot explain. It was also close to home, heart, and mind because of how dear the Palestinian resistance is to us, spiritually as our own through religious ties and because of the shared experience of colonialism. I understand that we often interpret ‘resistance’ as having to do with one’s ability to bounce back after a setback and cope while maintaining a positive attitude, but what if resilience can also be defined by the tenacity to simply endure and survive against the odds?
The Chandni Bibi article following the aftermath of the earthquake revealed the enduring impact of trauma and disaster on an individual level. Her challenges provided insights into the complexities of everyday life. My takeaway is that there can be discrepancies between the closure declared by our trusted humanitarian agencies and the persistent challenges and the long-term impact of disasters on individuals. Chandni Bibi’s story sheds light on the intricacies of survival. Having worked in disaster relief, I now contemplate whether our efforts genuinely succeeded in helping people rebuild their lives or if, akin to Chandni bibi, many individuals resiliently cling to a fragile thread of hope, existing in a state of prolonged uncertainty.
The Shalhoub-Kevorkian reading was gut-wrenching in its explanation of the connection between gendered violence and the socio-political context in conflict zones. Everything about war in the verbal sense as occurring is so overwhelming that we often overlook the intricate levels of violence and the impact of militarized spaces on those who are often veiled from the public eye. The sheer impact of controlled time and space on women, even more so on pregnant women, should be a human rights violation in itself. To strip a living, breathing human being of their humanity, to so easily take away their choices and identity, is not just ethically wrong but also physically and psychologically violent. Shalhoub-Kevorkian touches on colonial feminism, and I couldn’t help but think people are time and again made victims of imperialistic ambitions under the façade of Western values, which in themselves are not bad values.
For instance, Israel, as the “only functional democracy” in the “uncivilized” Middle East, is not innocent of purple-washing. Through its facade of feminism and liberation of women, we have seen and are seeing many powers heroicize and justify labor exploitation, occupation, intervention, and genocide. Perhaps the very notion of forceful liberation to “liberate” Palestinian or Afghan women from their religious communities is built upon a violent, malicious, and prejudiced premise to exploit. For one, the same people are unlikely to argue that Orthodox Christian or Jewish women ought to be liberated, so why the double standard? No one asks us what we want if we need to be “liberated” before our countries are bombed or invaded.
Delving into Butalia’s exploration of women’s agency during the Partition, I found myself facing stories of the stark realities that I had heard from my grandparents, although their words had been softer. “While women carry the honour, they do not have a choice,” resonates deeply, encapsulating the profound struggle of women caught in the throes of displacement and societal expectations. It is an interesting phrase because I don’t know about India, but in Pakistan, there is a similar cry during women’s rights marches: “I’m a human, not your izzat (honor)” and “My body is not your battleground.” Regardless, it strikes me that the narratives of these women were often voiced by men, a poignant reminder of the gendered lens through which historical events are often perceived and documented. Seventy-six years later, women’s agency is not only limited but also subject to the whims of patriarchal decisions. I think of the female officer’s feeling of being torn between her official duties and her genuine desire to tend to the needs of those affected, and it leads me to ask: What factors serve as catalysts for women’s empowerment?
This week’s readings on individual experiences of war challenged the traditional view of conflict that I have interacted with in my studies and career. While I have learned, and believed that we learn the most about policy, and the state of being by the ways in which marginalized communities live them, I found this week’s readings, some focussing on only one story, to aptly demonstrate how true this is. McQuaid’s article following Alex, a sexual minority in the Great Lakes region widened my understanding of how story telling can reveal supervening and enduring violence in everyday life. I found McQuaid’s side narration on the growing of her and Alex’s relationship to be very beautiful, as she provided him a space to reclaim agency. Each story Alex shared revealed a new dimension of the cultural, social, political, and psychological situation in the Great Lakes Region. I particularly enjoyed the distinction between ‘stories from his life’ rather than ‘story of his life’. In making this distinction, I feel that McQuaid is challenging readers to fully commit to understanding Alex’s story past conventional victimhood. This closely follows Aijazi’s story telling of Chandni bibi, where they caution using arbitrary categories commonly used to demarcate and sift through target populations after humanitarian emergencies. In both stories, we are encouraged to understand the individuals lived experience without parameters, or subjectivity of macro-understandings of an individual’s victimhood in conflict. Engaging with their stories in this way was helpful for me in understanding the broader situational contexts. As Swati mentioned, experiences of war provide information about what it is, how it operates, who takes part, how they are affected and affecting, and what the politics of war looks like beyond the war rooms of state.
Admittedly in my research, I have previously been concerned that I am not getting a ‘bigger picture’ of a situation due to only being able to interview a few individuals. However, now I can see that these feelings were driven by a data-first, ‘research industry’ position rather than a position of seeking understanding. I think re-framing my understanding of the stories I have had the privilege of hearing in a way that allows me to view issues from their perspectives and think critically about what the current state of the world means to those individuals. Employing respondent’s knowledge and experience to refute the norms of what is a valued/grievable life and who is living is essential in dismantling the current (and problematic) mainstream representation of war.
Considering my own positionality as a researcher and the experiences I’ve had in hearing stories from individual’s lives, makes me consider the ways in which policy makers, militaries, journalists and peacemakers can include everyday stories in their analysis of conflict. This poses many challenges as accessing those experiences takes more than good intentions and interest. As demonstrated by McQuaid and Aijazi, it involves trust, understanding, openness, and an ideology grounded in rejecting traditional victimhood and rather, applying lessons from an individual’s experience to better understand human experience and what war means to people and communities. How can society, and researchers, both discard theatrical depictions of war that don’t involve humans while also not exploiting human experience and recreating ‘poverty porn’? Additionally, how can other aspects of war where common people are significant actors be depicted without risking generalizing a community’s experience via sharing one human experience of war? In pondering these questions, I think about Palestinian journalist Bisan Owda (wizard_bisan1 on Instagram) and her interviews of people in Khanyounis camp where she humanizes the impacts of war by interviewing people about their lives before the Israeli invasion, how people fulfill their needs to survive, and what they do to pass the time, among other things. In considering her work, I add another layer of consideration to this work: how can individuals who are committed to dismantling the current depictions of war and replacing them with humanist perspectives, preserve their well-being, and maintain hope in grim scenarios?
Reflecting on the three readings “The”Politics of Birth and the Intimacies of Violence Against Palestinian Women in Occupied East Jerusalem,” “What wars and ‘war bodies’ know about international relations,” and “War Experiences/War Practices/War Theory” an intriguing interconnection emerges around the personal experiences of war and violence and their impact on broader socio-political contexts.
The readings collectively underscore the importance of individual experiences in understanding the complexities of conflict and state violence. The first reading focuses on the intimate experiences of Palestinian women, highlighting how state policies infiltrate the most personal aspects of life, such as childbirth. This perspective is crucial in understanding how political violence is not just a public matter but deeply personal, affecting individuals’ psychological and physical well-being.
Similarly, the second and third readings emphasize the need to incorporate personal narratives and experiences into the study of international relations and war theory. Traditional approaches often overlook these aspects, focusing instead on state actions and strategies. However, understanding the emotional realities and lived experiences of those directly affected by war offers a more comprehensive view. This perspective challenges us to think beyond abstract theories and statistics, considering the human cost of war and conflict.
These insights provoke curiosity about the often-unseen impacts of war and violence. They raise questions about how these personal experiences can inform policy-making and international relations. Furthermore, they unsettle the traditional, impersonal approach to studying these fields, revealing the need for a more empathetic and human-centered perspective.
Linking these readings to current global events, such as ongoing conflicts and refugee crises, further highlights the importance of considering individual experiences. These narratives provide valuable insights into the realities of war, often missing from mainstream media and political discourse.
Reflecting on these readings also brings to mind other literary works and films that focus on the human aspect of war, like “The Kite Runner” or “Grave of the Fireflies.” These works, similar to the readings, emphasize the emotional and personal toll of conflict, challenging the viewer or reader to see beyond the political and into the personal.
In conclusion, these readings not only provide a comprehensive view of war and violence but also invite a more empathetic and inclusive approach to understanding these complex issues. They encourage us to consider the voices and experiences of those most affected by conflict, enriching our understanding and potentially guiding more humane and effective responses.
Questions for class discussion:
1. How can integrating personal narratives and emotional realities into international relations studies reshape our understanding of global conflicts instead of keeping studies divided from personal experiences?
2. What are the implications of considering the psychological and physical impacts of state violence on individuals for policy-making and international diplomacy?
Shine Choi (2021) speaks powerfully of human experiences as sources of “knowingness and political change”, calling further for an exploration of “the politics of locations”. This concept weaves throughout and is further expanded on in Hollander and Gill’s (2014) work that positions the experience of disability or change in body and ability due to war and in Rodriquez Di Eugenio and Baines (2021) exploration of the specific survivor group of children “born of war”. Throughout, these writings also collectively illuminate the incompleteness of many narratives of war and violence, devoid of a vision for the body to also be a “site of peace” (Hollander and Gill) and a lack of paying attention to practices of love and care which may show us a “different kind of war story.” (Krystalli and Schulz)
I *love* the quote from Choi that says, “To approach the everyday, the daily, the ordinary in the name of peace is to embrace human experiences in their full complexity, multiplicity, and slipperiness.” I’ve been pondering that notion of “complexity, multiplicity, and slipperiness” in pursuit of peacemaking a lot as I reflect on these readings, in some ways comforted by the multiple recognitions of the embodied human experience as being *CoMpLeX* but especially by the powerful metaphor of the slipperiness: a concept that feels so accurate in its tenuousness. This is, when I’m honest, is what holding to visions of – or commitments to – systemic peace and resilient hope often feels like. In many conversations with friends and colleagues over the past months and years, I suspect I’m not alone: that the complexity, multiplicity, and slipperiness of what is happening around and in us feels both weighty and so slippery: like trying to walk with strength and uprightness on a uphill slope of black ice.
I’m also thinking of and deeply moved by Krystalli and Schulz’ question of “How can centering practices of love and care illuminate different pathways for understanding the remaking of worlds in the wake of violence? (Which they reference as a taking up of Angela Lederach’s question: “what is seen—and made possible—when we widen the frame and focus the lens on life and love, rather than limit the field of vision to death and suffering?). I don’t know if i can offer a better question than that directly and I’m particularly drawn to the practical implications such an invitation as it relates to the specific nuances of policy work.
I’m also deeply moved by the articulation (in Krystalli and Schultz) of love and care beyond that which “unfolds among and between humans” and also the extension of love to “nonhuman elements, place, nature, and landscape”. In this I too think of the politics of locations – including the very tangible, grounded locations of place and nature and culture and belonging that are interwoven with geography and climate and food and landscape and plants. We read this in refugee memoir, how memory and belonging is so linked to place and how losing connection to place and to nature is a whole component the violence of displacement and war. I think too of widespread climate grief and the broadly defined violence of climate change and climate displacement.
My questions:
– What would centering practice of love and care illuminate in my own work and research? How can we hold the both/and realities of harm, death, and suffering (never diminishing their reach and pain) and yet, act with courage and tenacity to see the fullness of human experience – including a full view of love, care, and beauty? How do I/we do this is in such a way that isn’t toxically positive or gaslighting of actual harm, grief, and rage?
– And, what might it mean to centre a practice of love and care + the politics of location even in the work of climate or environmental activism and policy?
For this week, I read “‘Our Place Under the Sun’: Survivor-Centred Approaches to Children Born of Wartime Sexual Violence” by Eugenio and Erin, “The Politics of Birth and the Intimacies of Violence Against Palestinian Women in Occupied East Jerusalem” by Shalhoub-Kevorkian, and “Everyday Peace in Critical Feminist Theory” by Choi. I chose these readings to focus on the sexual violence that women face in times of conflicts.
The reading by Rodriguez Di Eugenio and Dr. Baines shed light on the experiences children “born of war”. It is heartbreaking to know that there are children, who are silenced, hidden, health-related risks, and what their existence means for women and as evidence of rape, and the structural and cultural violence that coms with conflicts. I appreciated the use of survivor-centred approach, recognizing the importance of a victim’s experiences, participation and voice, and recognizing children “born of war” as survivors, and leading to transformative change. The case study in Rwanda shed light on how the participants had desire for public acknowledgement and recognition, and the shift to survivor-centred approach moves the focus to recognizing and addressing the complex lived realities of the survivors as agentive subjects. Shalhoub-Kevorkian’s reading focused on the realities of Palestinian women in East Jerusalem, in light of the ongoing issue. It highlights violence faced by women, including violence against pregnant and birthing women, effects of political violence with its logic of elimination on women’s birthing bodies. To create effective policies to protect the safety and dignity of women, Choi’s reading sheds light on the importance of writing from and for lived experiences putting into question, and highlighting local voices and viewpoints by humanizing the experience.
When reading these articles, I was also thinking about the sexual violence that women in Ukraine face. I listened to a podcast about women in Ukraine who were raped by Russian soldiers, but due to the domestic law against abortion, had no access to abort the baby and inevitably had children “born of war”. In the podcast, they highlighted an international underground efforts to distribute abortion pills to those who women seeking to terminate their pregnancy. When sexual violence (in conflicts and in everyday lives) overlap with lack of autonomy for women, they face further discrimination and challenges. When reading the piece on the Palestinian women, I was thinking about a recent statistics — that 70% of those killed in Gaza are estimated to be women and children, and that 2 mothers are killed every hour. Pregnant women require safety and protection, and newborns should be coming into this world protected and celebrated. These are our basic assumptions and norms that we take for granted, and seeing instances like this occurring in other sides of the world breaks my heart. I think about the concept of “birthright lottery” — this is in the context of development, but I think this concept can be used in this context as well, where just based on where you are born, your realities are already predetermined. I think about my own privilege, just for being born in Japan, and having the privilege to have been able to live in countries like Australia, the UK, and now Canada, I have never had to witness or experience these kinds of threats. Understanding and recognizing my privilege, I then wonder how we can better take an advantage of our positionally and power to make an influence — we are at a position in which we are not in danger, and therefore, I feel as though it is our responsibility to ensure that other women in other regions are also protected. When women and children are constantly facing these kind of violence, how can we best protect them in times of conflict? Is this inevitable, or how can we really abolish and end violence for all?
My selected readings provided different perspectives on how sites of war are more than just physical/geographical locations. Shalhoub-Kevokian explores this through the experiences of Palestinian women in the occupied East Jerusalem; where their space, time, and bodies are occupied, as well as their psyche. The testimonies of how state militarization bleeds into their psyche (i.e. dreams about their child dying while pregnant due to state violence, border crossing difficulties, etc.) highlight how every part of an individual can be a site of violence.
This understanding of invading violence is also explored in Di Eugenio and Baines’ work on ‘Our Place under the Sun’. Violence not only being something that can be perpetuated by an individual or military but also socially. The combination of structural and cultural violence creates ‘invisible violence’, whereby individuals are denied recognition in the restorative justice space; this, unfortunately, occurs for children ‘born of war’. Di Eugenio and Baines’ article reminded me of our discussion on the politics of victimhood (last semester): how do you define a victim? And what happens if an individual (i.e. child ‘born of war’) sits in the space between victim and victimizer? More deeply: who gets to decide who is (and isn’t) included in restorative justice/international frameworks?
In response to the every day and invading ways of war and violence, I appreciated Di Eugenio and Baines’ emphasis on a survivor-centred approach as a method of “recogniz[ing] the ways war violence shapes and divides communities, blurs victims and perpetrator categories” (p. 329). I was also deeply inspired by Krystallli and Schulz’s work on ‘Taking love and care seriously’ and reorienting towards a more relational understanding of harm and survival. In many ways, I’m still processing that article, but I was struck but the question asked by Krystalli and Schulz (first asked by The Care Collective): what would happen if we were [to begin putting] care at the very centre of life? How would this shape our global understanding of justice and reconciliation? How would it shape our response to violence and war? What would it take to get the rest of the world on board?
Interestingly, the Parashar reading brought into perspective the lack of temporality for individuals living in settings with war. But what makes it more interesting to me is when they describe how there was no clear entryway or exit way of the war, and individuals in those settings have become accustomed to a daily performance of living their “regular lives.” This seems most prevalent to me for those born in conflicts that have existed for a long time. The mundane rituals of daily life continue amidst the backdrop of conflict, forming a paradoxical tapestry where survival and routine coexist with the ever-present threat of violence. This raised the question for me as to how the long-term impacts of war affect the collective consciousness of communities dealing with persistent conflicts. I’m curious how individuals form their identities within and during zones of conflict and how they negotiate with themselves how they want to be perceived while also maintaining their survival at the same time. Another exciting concept brought up by Parashar is War Body Tourism, which is steeped in political motives on who gets to be remembered and who is allowed to be grieved. This concept prompts critical questions about constructing national or collective identities through the lens of war. Whose stories are given prominence in shaping the collective memory of a nation, and how does this narrative influence public perceptions of the conflict? The inherent political motives embedded in War Body Tourism reveal the complex interplay between memory, power, and the perpetuation of certain historical narratives.
Moreover, the concept underscores the unequal distribution of empathy and recognition. Not all victims and experiences receive equal attention or acknowledgment; this asymmetry reflects societal hierarchies and power structures. The act of remembering becomes a tool of political influence, shaping public opinion and reinforcing existing power dynamics. The McQuaid reading was fascinating, specifically in how Alex’s unclear ethnicity and national identity constructed him as suspicious and vulnerable in the microcosm of Uganda’s refugee settlements. It’s interesting when he finds others like himself, the act of associating with them also holds the process of “naming” himself as gay and opens him up to more violence.
Moreover, it’s essential to see that not simply one violent incident framed Alec as a victim. Still, it appears to be an intersecting layer of how others have perceived and asserted themselves onto him, in which he is bound as an “other.” The Nordstrom article highlights terror warfare and points out how peace appears in nuanced and creative forms of resistance. It’s interesting how she views violence as a continuing process rather than a series of events which form a fluid culture. The use of terror warfare to reproduce violence in everyday life, such as kitchen tools becoming weapons of war, highlights how spaces can become strategic battlegrounds. Based on this, I wonder how our Global North perceptions of peace and conflict might shift if we view our own everyday spaces, like our homes or workplaces, as potential battlegrounds shaped by the ongoing processes of violence described by Nordstrom?
As I sit down to write my reflection, my thoughts are imbued with a personal triumph that resonates deeply with the struggles depicted in the readings for this week. A recent verdict in Pakistan, sentenced a man to three years in prison for coercing his wife into non-consensual sex. This may seem like an ordinary ruling in any other part of the world but it has struck a chord with me. This ruling, a landmark in Pakistan where the concept of marital rape has often been brushed off as a myth, feels like a victory not just for the law but for every silent sufferer who has lived through such an ordeal, including myself.
This verdict mirrors the resistance and awakening I see in the stories of women from the Partition era to the present day in places like Palestine and Pakistan. These women, much like myself, have navigated the entanglements of identity, community, and state, often against overwhelming odds. Their stories, chronicled by Butalia, Aijazi, and Shalhoub-Kevorkian, are testimonies to the fact that our personal battles are intrinsically linked to larger societal structures and historical contexts.
The readings for this week have been a journey of conflicting emotions for me. They’ve filled me with both gratitude and sorrow in ways that are hard to fully articulate. On the one hand, there’s a sense of gratitude in finally examining the issues of the world I come from being addressed in academic context. It feels like I am finally taking a step forward in creating change. But on the other hand, I feel heartbroken about all the ways my country has let me down. I want to stand on a global stage and say that I am a proud Pakistani, but there is little to be proud of. The pride is there, somewhere beneath the surface, for the resilience and fortitude of my people, especially the women who endure, survive, and resist. But it’s a pride that’s tainted by the many times I’ve felt let down by the very same society.
The academic discourse has now begun to reflect the complex tapestry of our societal fabric—acknowledging the often painful, sometimes triumphant experiences of women like Chandni Bibi, the resilient mothers in East Jerusalem, and the multifaceted lives of women during the Partition. It feels like stepping into a space where my personal history and that of my country are finally being recognized and scrutinized, where the silence is no longer deafening but is being broken by the voices of those once suppressed.
As I integrate this recent ruling into my reflection on the readings, I was reminded of the broader implications of these narratives. They call for a more profound understanding and a more empathetic approach to policy-making and social justice. They demand that we continue to challenge the structures that have kept us from recognizing the full humanity of women within the private and public spheres.
Butalia’s work documented the stories of women who were affected by the decisions and actions of the newly formed states of India and Pakistan. These states attempted to “recover” and “rehabilitate” women who had been abducted and experienced violence during the Partition, often with little regard for the women’s own desires and agency. In light of this research, how can states ensure that efforts to protect women’s rights in times of crisis do not inadvertently reproduce the very gendered power dynamics they seek to dismantle?
Meanwhile, Shalhoub-Kevorkian’s work exposes how the bodies of these women become arenas where issues of control, sovereignty, and identity are contested. The very act of childbirth becomes imbued with political significance in the context of occupation, where Palestinian women’s reproductive rights and experiences are impacted by the Israeli state’s policies and practices. In what ways do the narratives presented by Shalhoub-Kevorkian challenge our understanding of the body as a site of political and nationalistic contestation in occupied territories?
In this week’s readings the idea of fluidity and processes are what stuck out to me. This concept of fluidity and how violence transforms the everyday environment was evident from both the Parashar and Nordstrom articles. These articles gave me the backdrop to think of how healing processes after violence develop and how this are ongoing fluid processes. Within this ideas there is room to talk about how women are portrayed, misrepresented, and at times their roles are taken for granted.
Krystalli and Schulz narrate how after the wake of violence there is a breadth of emotions that envelop a society. Life and death are not to be viewed as separate aspects instead these seemingly opposite concepts run parallel. An understanding that what follows violence, and which is echoed in this piece, is the idea that there is no linearity in this process, identities change, they can regress, healing occurs and new scars surface. For me, this brings back the discussion of labels which happened in class last week, the idea that researchers through the use of scholarship and categorization can freeze a human in time, despite their experience being a fluid process that is constantly changing after the wake of violence. The ending remarks of this article begin to consider the effects of violence beyond the frames of humans and moves to the realm of nature which articulates the long and multifaceted nature of the healing process. To me this begs the question of where is the end of this process, does the active role of the researcher become a positive artifact to this process?
Whilst in the previous article we talked about how in the wake of violence there are complex processes that continuously shape society and how there is a need to explore the full picture, in the Shalhoub-Kevorkian article, we see how narrow pictures result in the perpetrations of violence. The plight of Palestine is a subject that is already obfuscated in Western literature, which is deeply problematic and when this is combined with topics related to colonialism, like bodily autonomy, it produces a vacuum. The space that Palestinian women live in, places systems of control and oppression on their bodies and this is an act of violence, and it is an aspect of violence which is not commonly conceived. In areas where there are geopolitical implications, the researcher becomes the witness and in that moment the question that we must ask is how to capture a full picture specially of groups like women whose struggle are underrepresented as it is.
My reflection on Di Eugenio and Baines article is divided into 3 parts: Intense trauma, Politics and Victimhood and Identity crisis:
Intense trauma: Intense trauma: ‘My soul will forever be scarred.’ A woman raped by militia. This quote deeply captures the everyday trauma that survivors of rape face. I worked with women who are survivors of genocidal rape, and one thing I will never forget is one of them saying, ‘I have to take medications every day because I am HIV+ due to the rape I experienced during the genocide. Every time I take a pill, it is a reminder of what happened to me. I also conceived a child during the genocide, and every day I look at him, it is a reminder of that horrible experience. It is an “Every day war!” My question is what does peace and security mean for this person in the aftermath of the genocide?
“My soul will forever be scarred.” A woman raped by militia.
This quote captures deeply the everyday trauma that survivors of rape face. I worked with women genocide survivors of rape, and one thing I will never forget is one of them saying “I have to take medications every day because I am HIV+ due to rape I experienced during the genocide. Every time I take a pill, it is a reminder of what happened to me. I also conceived a child during the genocide, and every day I look at him, it is a reminder of that horrible experience.”
Politics and Victimhood: Politics and Victimhood: ‘We have been victims of the genocide. Why can’t people understand that we are victims?’ This quote from a Rwandan child born of genocidal rape reminded me of the discussion we had in our previous course about who decides who is the victim and how political agendas play a big role in this. The Rwandan government refused to include them in the post-genocide programs supporting survivors of the genocide. The reason was that they were born after the genocide. However, in Rwandan laws, it is stated that ‘life begins when a woman conceives.’ I consider this an example of the ‘structural violence’ mentioned in the article.
Identity crisis: Some people connect their identity to their fathers, calling them children of perpetrators, while others see them in their mothers’ victimhood, calling them children of the survivors. Stigma faced by these individuals from their families and communities is intense. This is due to two primary factors: firstly, as in many other cultures, rape is a taboo; secondly, Rwanda follows a patriarchal family system. Not knowing one’s father comes with a deep identity crisis, and I relate this to the cultural violence mentioned by the author.
Di Eugenio and Baines article underscores the importance of adopting a survivor-centered approach for transformative change. It serves as a reminder that survivors’ voices are frequently overlooked, particularly in policy and decision-making processes. Prioritizing survivors is essential for creating meaningful and impactful shifts in societal attitudes and structures.
Shalhoub-Kevorkian’s article sheds light on the overlooked struggle of Palestinian women. The author points out that settler colonial violence denies Palestinian women access to healthcare, restricts their movement through checkpoints, and isolates them, making them vulnerable to gendered violence. Connecting this to the current Israel-Palestine conflict, the double standard becomes apparent. For so long, the world has ignored the struggle of Palestinians, and this article resonates with the ongoing war, and most importantly exposing the gendered impacts of Zionist violence. It is also interesting (and disappointing) to see the similarities between past violence mentioned in the article and what is happening today in Palestine. My question is: When will ‘never again’ become a reality? And does it apply to some people but not others?”
Krystalli and Schulz/ article, reminded us that taking love and care seriously enables a richer narrative, offering textured insights into individuals’ and communities’ experiences, beyond violence. The coexistence of love, care, and violence is recognized as crucial for a comprehensive understanding of post-conflict reconstruction, challenges and prompting a re-evaluation of storytelling approaches.
This week, I delved into Swati Parashar’s article titled “What wars and ‘war bodies’ know about international relations” for my reading. It highlighted the often how traditional war theories fall short in encompassing the complexities of everyday life and negotiations within conflict zones. The reading enhanced my understanding of moving beyond abstract frameworks to acknowledge the tangible experiences of individuals directly affected by conflict.
One quote that resonated with me was, “Many men, women, and children learn to live with war inside its immediate death, destruction, and survival.”
This powerful statement from the reading raised questions about the conventional approach of International Relations war scholarship. It prompts a reconsideration of the existing methodologies in studying war and highlights the need for a paradigm shift towards a more holistic and empathetic approach. The reading challenges the traditional focus of IR on extraordinary moments of war, causality, and impact. Instead, it advocates for an approach that acknowledges the human dimensions of conflict, emphasizing the emotions, traumas, and significances that individuals like Antonia carry in the aftermath of war. Furthermore, I learned that war bodies hold significant importance in shaping the discourse surrounding mourning (Parashar, 2013). Theorizing war from the bottom-up approach and incorporating micro-narratives and lived experiences can offer deeper insights into the causes and effects of wars is intriguing to me.
Reflecting on “Taking love and care seriously: an emergent research agenda for remaking worlds in the wake of violence.” by Krystalli et al. (2022) one of the central topics in the reading is how the traditional narrative of armed conflict, which predominantly concentrates on violence and suffering, can be shifted towards a focus that explores the often-overlooked practices of love and care that can coexist. The article allowed me to gain greater clarity of how love and care can guide the development of effective strategies for rebuilding and fostering healing in a variety of conflict zones. In this way, care can be a strategy for conflict resolution and peacemaking, aiming to reduce harm, prevent escalation, and address the needs of vulnerable populations. This approach promotes a more empathetic, responsive, and human-centered approach for sustainable peace.
“‘Our Place Under the Sun’: Survivor-Centred Approaches to Children Born of Wartime Sexual Violence.” By Baines et. al (2021) reading underscores the impact of silence, both in creating conflicts of rights and hindering efforts to document the experiences of these children. This reading helped me to consider my own Gp2 project and how children ‘born of war’ and former child soldiers may both face challenges in post-conflict settings, including discrimination, social displacement, and limited opportunities. A question worth exploring is in what ways can communities affected by the silence surrounding children ‘born of war’ be empowered to initiate and sustain conversations about their experiences, and what role do local leaders play in this process?
This week, I delved into Swati Parashar’s article titled “What wars and ‘war bodies’ know about international relations” for my reading. It highlighted the often how traditional war theories fall short in encompassing the complexities of everyday life and negotiations within conflict zones. The reading facilitated a deeper understanding of moving beyond abstract frameworks to acknowledge the tangible experiences of individuals directly affected by conflict.
One quote that resonated with me was, “Many men, women, and children learn to live with war inside its immediate death, destruction, and survival.”
This powerful statement from the reading raised questions about the conventional approach of International Relations war scholarship. It prompts a reconsideration of the existing methodologies in studying war and highlights the need for a paradigm shift towards a more holistic and empathetic approach. The reading challenges the traditional focus of IR on extraordinary moments of war, causality, and impact. Instead, it advocates for an approach that acknowledges the human dimensions of conflict, emphasizing the emotions, traumas, and significances that individuals like Antonia carry in the aftermath of war. Furthermore, I learned that war bodies hold significant importance in shaping the discourse surrounding mourning (Parashar, 2013). Theorizing war from the bottom-up approach and incorporating micro-narratives and lived experiences can offer deeper insights into the causes and effects of wars is intriguing to me.
Reflecting on “Taking love and care seriously: an emergent research agenda for remaking worlds in the wake of violence.” by Krystalli et al. (2022) one of the central topics in the reading is how the traditional narrative of armed conflict, which predominantly concentrates on violence and suffering, can be shifted towards a focus that explores the often-overlooked practices of love and care that can coexist. The article allowed me to gain greater clarity of how love and care can guide the development of effective strategies for rebuilding and fostering healing in a variety of conflict zones. In this way, care can be a strategy for conflict resolution and peacemaking, aiming to reduce harm, prevent escalation, and address the needs of vulnerable populations. This approach promotes a more empathetic, responsive, and human-centered approach for sustainable peace.
“‘Our Place Under the Sun’: Survivor-Centred Approaches to Children Born of Wartime Sexual Violence.” by Baines et. al (2021) reading underscores the impact of silence, both in creating conflicts of rights and hindering efforts to document the experiences of these children. This reading helped me to consider my own Gp2 project and how children ‘born of war’ and former child soldiers may both face challenges in post-conflict settings, including discrimination, social displacement, and limited opportunities. A question worth exploring is in what ways can communities affected by the silence surrounding children ‘born of war’ be empowered to initiate and sustain conversations about their experiences, and what role do local leaders play in this process?
This week’s readings were very heavy for me on a personal level. This is not only because of the readings on South Asian history on Britain’s colonial legacy and the very real yet intangible pain our people continue to live through post-partition, which they cannot explain. It was also close to home, heart, and mind because of how dear the Palestinian resistance is to us, spiritually as our own through religious ties and because of the shared experience of colonialism. I understand that we often interpret ‘resistance’ as having to do with one’s ability to bounce back after a setback and cope while maintaining a positive attitude, but what if resilience can also be defined by the tenacity to simply endure and survive against the odds?
The Chandni Bibi article following the aftermath of the earthquake revealed the enduring impact of trauma and disaster on an individual level. Her challenges provided insights into the complexities of everyday life. My takeaway is that there can be discrepancies between the closure declared by our trusted humanitarian agencies and the persistent challenges and the long-term impact of disasters on individuals. Chandni Bibi’s story sheds light on the intricacies of survival. Having worked in disaster relief, I now contemplate whether our efforts genuinely succeeded in helping people rebuild their lives or if, akin to Chandni bibi, many individuals resiliently cling to a fragile thread of hope, existing in a state of prolonged uncertainty.
The Shalhoub-Kevorkian reading was gut-wrenching in its explanation of the connection between gendered violence and the socio-political context in conflict zones. Everything about war in the verbal sense as occurring is so overwhelming that we often overlook the intricate levels of violence and the impact of militarized spaces on those who are often veiled from the public eye. The sheer impact of controlled time and space on women, even more so on pregnant women, should be a human rights violation in itself. To strip a living, breathing human being of their humanity, to so easily take away their choices and identity, is not just ethically wrong but also physically and psychologically violent. Shalhoub-Kevorkian touches on colonial feminism, and I couldn’t help but think people are time and again made victims of imperialistic ambitions under the façade of Western values, which in themselves are not bad values.
For instance, Israel, as the “only functional democracy” in the “uncivilized” Middle East, is not innocent of purple-washing. Through its facade of feminism and liberation of women, we have seen and are seeing many powers heroicize and justify labor exploitation, occupation, intervention, and genocide. Perhaps the very notion of forceful liberation to “liberate” Palestinian or Afghan women from their religious communities is built upon a violent, malicious, and prejudiced premise to exploit. For one, the same people are unlikely to argue that Orthodox Christian or Jewish women ought to be liberated, so why the double standard? No one asks us what we want if we need to be “liberated” before our countries are bombed or invaded.
Delving into Butalia’s exploration of women’s agency during the Partition, I found myself facing stories of the stark realities that I had heard from my grandparents, although their words had been softer. “While women carry the honour, they do not have a choice,” resonates deeply, encapsulating the profound struggle of women caught in the throes of displacement and societal expectations. It is an interesting phrase because I don’t know about India, but in Pakistan, there is a similar cry during women’s rights marches: “I’m a human, not your izzat (honor)” and “My body is not your battleground.” Regardless, it strikes me that the narratives of these women were often voiced by men, a poignant reminder of the gendered lens through which historical events are often perceived and documented. Seventy-six years later, women’s agency is not only limited but also subject to the whims of patriarchal decisions. I think of the female officer’s feeling of being torn between her official duties and her genuine desire to tend to the needs of those affected, and it leads me to ask: What factors serve as catalysts for women’s empowerment?
This week’s readings on individual experiences of war challenged the traditional view of conflict that I have interacted with in my studies and career. While I have learned, and believed that we learn the most about policy, and the state of being by the ways in which marginalized communities live them, I found this week’s readings, some focussing on only one story, to aptly demonstrate how true this is. McQuaid’s article following Alex, a sexual minority in the Great Lakes region widened my understanding of how story telling can reveal supervening and enduring violence in everyday life. I found McQuaid’s side narration on the growing of her and Alex’s relationship to be very beautiful, as she provided him a space to reclaim agency. Each story Alex shared revealed a new dimension of the cultural, social, political, and psychological situation in the Great Lakes Region. I particularly enjoyed the distinction between ‘stories from his life’ rather than ‘story of his life’. In making this distinction, I feel that McQuaid is challenging readers to fully commit to understanding Alex’s story past conventional victimhood. This closely follows Aijazi’s story telling of Chandni bibi, where they caution using arbitrary categories commonly used to demarcate and sift through target populations after humanitarian emergencies. In both stories, we are encouraged to understand the individuals lived experience without parameters, or subjectivity of macro-understandings of an individual’s victimhood in conflict. Engaging with their stories in this way was helpful for me in understanding the broader situational contexts. As Swati mentioned, experiences of war provide information about what it is, how it operates, who takes part, how they are affected and affecting, and what the politics of war looks like beyond the war rooms of state.
Admittedly in my research, I have previously been concerned that I am not getting a ‘bigger picture’ of a situation due to only being able to interview a few individuals. However, now I can see that these feelings were driven by a data-first, ‘research industry’ position rather than a position of seeking understanding. I think re-framing my understanding of the stories I have had the privilege of hearing in a way that allows me to view issues from their perspectives and think critically about what the current state of the world means to those individuals. Employing respondent’s knowledge and experience to refute the norms of what is a valued/grievable life and who is living is essential in dismantling the current (and problematic) mainstream representation of war.
Considering my own positionality as a researcher and the experiences I’ve had in hearing stories from individual’s lives, makes me consider the ways in which policy makers, militaries, journalists and peacemakers can include everyday stories in their analysis of conflict. This poses many challenges as accessing those experiences takes more than good intentions and interest. As demonstrated by McQuaid and Aijazi, it involves trust, understanding, openness, and an ideology grounded in rejecting traditional victimhood and rather, applying lessons from an individual’s experience to better understand human experience and what war means to people and communities. How can society, and researchers, both discard theatrical depictions of war that don’t involve humans while also not exploiting human experience and recreating ‘poverty porn’? Additionally, how can other aspects of war where common people are significant actors be depicted without risking generalizing a community’s experience via sharing one human experience of war? In pondering these questions, I think about Palestinian journalist Bisan Owda (wizard_bisan1 on Instagram) and her interviews of people in Khanyounis camp where she humanizes the impacts of war by interviewing people about their lives before the Israeli invasion, how people fulfill their needs to survive, and what they do to pass the time, among other things. In considering her work, I add another layer of consideration to this work: how can individuals who are committed to dismantling the current depictions of war and replacing them with humanist perspectives, preserve their well-being, and maintain hope in grim scenarios?
Reflecting on the three readings “The”Politics of Birth and the Intimacies of Violence Against Palestinian Women in Occupied East Jerusalem,” “What wars and ‘war bodies’ know about international relations,” and “War Experiences/War Practices/War Theory” an intriguing interconnection emerges around the personal experiences of war and violence and their impact on broader socio-political contexts.
The readings collectively underscore the importance of individual experiences in understanding the complexities of conflict and state violence. The first reading focuses on the intimate experiences of Palestinian women, highlighting how state policies infiltrate the most personal aspects of life, such as childbirth. This perspective is crucial in understanding how political violence is not just a public matter but deeply personal, affecting individuals’ psychological and physical well-being.
Similarly, the second and third readings emphasize the need to incorporate personal narratives and experiences into the study of international relations and war theory. Traditional approaches often overlook these aspects, focusing instead on state actions and strategies. However, understanding the emotional realities and lived experiences of those directly affected by war offers a more comprehensive view. This perspective challenges us to think beyond abstract theories and statistics, considering the human cost of war and conflict.
These insights provoke curiosity about the often-unseen impacts of war and violence. They raise questions about how these personal experiences can inform policy-making and international relations. Furthermore, they unsettle the traditional, impersonal approach to studying these fields, revealing the need for a more empathetic and human-centered perspective.
Linking these readings to current global events, such as ongoing conflicts and refugee crises, further highlights the importance of considering individual experiences. These narratives provide valuable insights into the realities of war, often missing from mainstream media and political discourse.
Reflecting on these readings also brings to mind other literary works and films that focus on the human aspect of war, like “The Kite Runner” or “Grave of the Fireflies.” These works, similar to the readings, emphasize the emotional and personal toll of conflict, challenging the viewer or reader to see beyond the political and into the personal.
In conclusion, these readings not only provide a comprehensive view of war and violence but also invite a more empathetic and inclusive approach to understanding these complex issues. They encourage us to consider the voices and experiences of those most affected by conflict, enriching our understanding and potentially guiding more humane and effective responses.
Questions for class discussion:
1. How can integrating personal narratives and emotional realities into international relations studies reshape our understanding of global conflicts instead of keeping studies divided from personal experiences?
2. What are the implications of considering the psychological and physical impacts of state violence on individuals for policy-making and international diplomacy?
Shine Choi (2021) speaks powerfully of human experiences as sources of “knowingness and political change”, calling further for an exploration of “the politics of locations”. This concept weaves throughout and is further expanded on in Hollander and Gill’s (2014) work that positions the experience of disability or change in body and ability due to war and in Rodriquez Di Eugenio and Baines (2021) exploration of the specific survivor group of children “born of war”. Throughout, these writings also collectively illuminate the incompleteness of many narratives of war and violence, devoid of a vision for the body to also be a “site of peace” (Hollander and Gill) and a lack of paying attention to practices of love and care which may show us a “different kind of war story.” (Krystalli and Schulz)
I *love* the quote from Choi that says, “To approach the everyday, the daily, the ordinary in the name of peace is to embrace human experiences in their full complexity, multiplicity, and slipperiness.” I’ve been pondering that notion of “complexity, multiplicity, and slipperiness” in pursuit of peacemaking a lot as I reflect on these readings, in some ways comforted by the multiple recognitions of the embodied human experience as being *CoMpLeX* but especially by the powerful metaphor of the slipperiness: a concept that feels so accurate in its tenuousness. This is, when I’m honest, is what holding to visions of – or commitments to – systemic peace and resilient hope often feels like. In many conversations with friends and colleagues over the past months and years, I suspect I’m not alone: that the complexity, multiplicity, and slipperiness of what is happening around and in us feels both weighty and so slippery: like trying to walk with strength and uprightness on a uphill slope of black ice.
I’m also thinking of and deeply moved by Krystalli and Schulz’ question of “How can centering practices of love and care illuminate different pathways for understanding the remaking of worlds in the wake of violence? (Which they reference as a taking up of Angela Lederach’s question: “what is seen—and made possible—when we widen the frame and focus the lens on life and love, rather than limit the field of vision to death and suffering?). I don’t know if i can offer a better question than that directly and I’m particularly drawn to the practical implications such an invitation as it relates to the specific nuances of policy work.
I’m also deeply moved by the articulation (in Krystalli and Schultz) of love and care beyond that which “unfolds among and between humans” and also the extension of love to “nonhuman elements, place, nature, and landscape”. In this I too think of the politics of locations – including the very tangible, grounded locations of place and nature and culture and belonging that are interwoven with geography and climate and food and landscape and plants. We read this in refugee memoir, how memory and belonging is so linked to place and how losing connection to place and to nature is a whole component the violence of displacement and war. I think too of widespread climate grief and the broadly defined violence of climate change and climate displacement.
My questions:
– What would centering practice of love and care illuminate in my own work and research? How can we hold the both/and realities of harm, death, and suffering (never diminishing their reach and pain) and yet, act with courage and tenacity to see the fullness of human experience – including a full view of love, care, and beauty? How do I/we do this is in such a way that isn’t toxically positive or gaslighting of actual harm, grief, and rage?
– And, what might it mean to centre a practice of love and care + the politics of location even in the work of climate or environmental activism and policy?
For this week, I read “‘Our Place Under the Sun’: Survivor-Centred Approaches to Children Born of Wartime Sexual Violence” by Eugenio and Erin, “The Politics of Birth and the Intimacies of Violence Against Palestinian Women in Occupied East Jerusalem” by Shalhoub-Kevorkian, and “Everyday Peace in Critical Feminist Theory” by Choi. I chose these readings to focus on the sexual violence that women face in times of conflicts.
The reading by Rodriguez Di Eugenio and Dr. Baines shed light on the experiences children “born of war”. It is heartbreaking to know that there are children, who are silenced, hidden, health-related risks, and what their existence means for women and as evidence of rape, and the structural and cultural violence that coms with conflicts. I appreciated the use of survivor-centred approach, recognizing the importance of a victim’s experiences, participation and voice, and recognizing children “born of war” as survivors, and leading to transformative change. The case study in Rwanda shed light on how the participants had desire for public acknowledgement and recognition, and the shift to survivor-centred approach moves the focus to recognizing and addressing the complex lived realities of the survivors as agentive subjects. Shalhoub-Kevorkian’s reading focused on the realities of Palestinian women in East Jerusalem, in light of the ongoing issue. It highlights violence faced by women, including violence against pregnant and birthing women, effects of political violence with its logic of elimination on women’s birthing bodies. To create effective policies to protect the safety and dignity of women, Choi’s reading sheds light on the importance of writing from and for lived experiences putting into question, and highlighting local voices and viewpoints by humanizing the experience.
When reading these articles, I was also thinking about the sexual violence that women in Ukraine face. I listened to a podcast about women in Ukraine who were raped by Russian soldiers, but due to the domestic law against abortion, had no access to abort the baby and inevitably had children “born of war”. In the podcast, they highlighted an international underground efforts to distribute abortion pills to those who women seeking to terminate their pregnancy. When sexual violence (in conflicts and in everyday lives) overlap with lack of autonomy for women, they face further discrimination and challenges. When reading the piece on the Palestinian women, I was thinking about a recent statistics — that 70% of those killed in Gaza are estimated to be women and children, and that 2 mothers are killed every hour. Pregnant women require safety and protection, and newborns should be coming into this world protected and celebrated. These are our basic assumptions and norms that we take for granted, and seeing instances like this occurring in other sides of the world breaks my heart. I think about the concept of “birthright lottery” — this is in the context of development, but I think this concept can be used in this context as well, where just based on where you are born, your realities are already predetermined. I think about my own privilege, just for being born in Japan, and having the privilege to have been able to live in countries like Australia, the UK, and now Canada, I have never had to witness or experience these kinds of threats. Understanding and recognizing my privilege, I then wonder how we can better take an advantage of our positionally and power to make an influence — we are at a position in which we are not in danger, and therefore, I feel as though it is our responsibility to ensure that other women in other regions are also protected. When women and children are constantly facing these kind of violence, how can we best protect them in times of conflict? Is this inevitable, or how can we really abolish and end violence for all?
My selected readings provided different perspectives on how sites of war are more than just physical/geographical locations. Shalhoub-Kevokian explores this through the experiences of Palestinian women in the occupied East Jerusalem; where their space, time, and bodies are occupied, as well as their psyche. The testimonies of how state militarization bleeds into their psyche (i.e. dreams about their child dying while pregnant due to state violence, border crossing difficulties, etc.) highlight how every part of an individual can be a site of violence.
This understanding of invading violence is also explored in Di Eugenio and Baines’ work on ‘Our Place under the Sun’. Violence not only being something that can be perpetuated by an individual or military but also socially. The combination of structural and cultural violence creates ‘invisible violence’, whereby individuals are denied recognition in the restorative justice space; this, unfortunately, occurs for children ‘born of war’. Di Eugenio and Baines’ article reminded me of our discussion on the politics of victimhood (last semester): how do you define a victim? And what happens if an individual (i.e. child ‘born of war’) sits in the space between victim and victimizer? More deeply: who gets to decide who is (and isn’t) included in restorative justice/international frameworks?
In response to the every day and invading ways of war and violence, I appreciated Di Eugenio and Baines’ emphasis on a survivor-centred approach as a method of “recogniz[ing] the ways war violence shapes and divides communities, blurs victims and perpetrator categories” (p. 329). I was also deeply inspired by Krystallli and Schulz’s work on ‘Taking love and care seriously’ and reorienting towards a more relational understanding of harm and survival. In many ways, I’m still processing that article, but I was struck but the question asked by Krystalli and Schulz (first asked by The Care Collective): what would happen if we were [to begin putting] care at the very centre of life? How would this shape our global understanding of justice and reconciliation? How would it shape our response to violence and war? What would it take to get the rest of the world on board?
Interestingly, the Parashar reading brought into perspective the lack of temporality for individuals living in settings with war. But what makes it more interesting to me is when they describe how there was no clear entryway or exit way of the war, and individuals in those settings have become accustomed to a daily performance of living their “regular lives.” This seems most prevalent to me for those born in conflicts that have existed for a long time. The mundane rituals of daily life continue amidst the backdrop of conflict, forming a paradoxical tapestry where survival and routine coexist with the ever-present threat of violence. This raised the question for me as to how the long-term impacts of war affect the collective consciousness of communities dealing with persistent conflicts. I’m curious how individuals form their identities within and during zones of conflict and how they negotiate with themselves how they want to be perceived while also maintaining their survival at the same time. Another exciting concept brought up by Parashar is War Body Tourism, which is steeped in political motives on who gets to be remembered and who is allowed to be grieved. This concept prompts critical questions about constructing national or collective identities through the lens of war. Whose stories are given prominence in shaping the collective memory of a nation, and how does this narrative influence public perceptions of the conflict? The inherent political motives embedded in War Body Tourism reveal the complex interplay between memory, power, and the perpetuation of certain historical narratives.
Moreover, the concept underscores the unequal distribution of empathy and recognition. Not all victims and experiences receive equal attention or acknowledgment; this asymmetry reflects societal hierarchies and power structures. The act of remembering becomes a tool of political influence, shaping public opinion and reinforcing existing power dynamics. The McQuaid reading was fascinating, specifically in how Alex’s unclear ethnicity and national identity constructed him as suspicious and vulnerable in the microcosm of Uganda’s refugee settlements. It’s interesting when he finds others like himself, the act of associating with them also holds the process of “naming” himself as gay and opens him up to more violence.
Moreover, it’s essential to see that not simply one violent incident framed Alec as a victim. Still, it appears to be an intersecting layer of how others have perceived and asserted themselves onto him, in which he is bound as an “other.” The Nordstrom article highlights terror warfare and points out how peace appears in nuanced and creative forms of resistance. It’s interesting how she views violence as a continuing process rather than a series of events which form a fluid culture. The use of terror warfare to reproduce violence in everyday life, such as kitchen tools becoming weapons of war, highlights how spaces can become strategic battlegrounds. Based on this, I wonder how our Global North perceptions of peace and conflict might shift if we view our own everyday spaces, like our homes or workplaces, as potential battlegrounds shaped by the ongoing processes of violence described by Nordstrom?
As I sit down to write my reflection, my thoughts are imbued with a personal triumph that resonates deeply with the struggles depicted in the readings for this week. A recent verdict in Pakistan, sentenced a man to three years in prison for coercing his wife into non-consensual sex. This may seem like an ordinary ruling in any other part of the world but it has struck a chord with me. This ruling, a landmark in Pakistan where the concept of marital rape has often been brushed off as a myth, feels like a victory not just for the law but for every silent sufferer who has lived through such an ordeal, including myself.
This verdict mirrors the resistance and awakening I see in the stories of women from the Partition era to the present day in places like Palestine and Pakistan. These women, much like myself, have navigated the entanglements of identity, community, and state, often against overwhelming odds. Their stories, chronicled by Butalia, Aijazi, and Shalhoub-Kevorkian, are testimonies to the fact that our personal battles are intrinsically linked to larger societal structures and historical contexts.
The readings for this week have been a journey of conflicting emotions for me. They’ve filled me with both gratitude and sorrow in ways that are hard to fully articulate. On the one hand, there’s a sense of gratitude in finally examining the issues of the world I come from being addressed in academic context. It feels like I am finally taking a step forward in creating change. But on the other hand, I feel heartbroken about all the ways my country has let me down. I want to stand on a global stage and say that I am a proud Pakistani, but there is little to be proud of. The pride is there, somewhere beneath the surface, for the resilience and fortitude of my people, especially the women who endure, survive, and resist. But it’s a pride that’s tainted by the many times I’ve felt let down by the very same society.
The academic discourse has now begun to reflect the complex tapestry of our societal fabric—acknowledging the often painful, sometimes triumphant experiences of women like Chandni Bibi, the resilient mothers in East Jerusalem, and the multifaceted lives of women during the Partition. It feels like stepping into a space where my personal history and that of my country are finally being recognized and scrutinized, where the silence is no longer deafening but is being broken by the voices of those once suppressed.
As I integrate this recent ruling into my reflection on the readings, I was reminded of the broader implications of these narratives. They call for a more profound understanding and a more empathetic approach to policy-making and social justice. They demand that we continue to challenge the structures that have kept us from recognizing the full humanity of women within the private and public spheres.
Butalia’s work documented the stories of women who were affected by the decisions and actions of the newly formed states of India and Pakistan. These states attempted to “recover” and “rehabilitate” women who had been abducted and experienced violence during the Partition, often with little regard for the women’s own desires and agency. In light of this research, how can states ensure that efforts to protect women’s rights in times of crisis do not inadvertently reproduce the very gendered power dynamics they seek to dismantle?
Meanwhile, Shalhoub-Kevorkian’s work exposes how the bodies of these women become arenas where issues of control, sovereignty, and identity are contested. The very act of childbirth becomes imbued with political significance in the context of occupation, where Palestinian women’s reproductive rights and experiences are impacted by the Israeli state’s policies and practices. In what ways do the narratives presented by Shalhoub-Kevorkian challenge our understanding of the body as a site of political and nationalistic contestation in occupied territories?
In this week’s readings the idea of fluidity and processes are what stuck out to me. This concept of fluidity and how violence transforms the everyday environment was evident from both the Parashar and Nordstrom articles. These articles gave me the backdrop to think of how healing processes after violence develop and how this are ongoing fluid processes. Within this ideas there is room to talk about how women are portrayed, misrepresented, and at times their roles are taken for granted.
Krystalli and Schulz narrate how after the wake of violence there is a breadth of emotions that envelop a society. Life and death are not to be viewed as separate aspects instead these seemingly opposite concepts run parallel. An understanding that what follows violence, and which is echoed in this piece, is the idea that there is no linearity in this process, identities change, they can regress, healing occurs and new scars surface. For me, this brings back the discussion of labels which happened in class last week, the idea that researchers through the use of scholarship and categorization can freeze a human in time, despite their experience being a fluid process that is constantly changing after the wake of violence. The ending remarks of this article begin to consider the effects of violence beyond the frames of humans and moves to the realm of nature which articulates the long and multifaceted nature of the healing process. To me this begs the question of where is the end of this process, does the active role of the researcher become a positive artifact to this process?
Whilst in the previous article we talked about how in the wake of violence there are complex processes that continuously shape society and how there is a need to explore the full picture, in the Shalhoub-Kevorkian article, we see how narrow pictures result in the perpetrations of violence. The plight of Palestine is a subject that is already obfuscated in Western literature, which is deeply problematic and when this is combined with topics related to colonialism, like bodily autonomy, it produces a vacuum. The space that Palestinian women live in, places systems of control and oppression on their bodies and this is an act of violence, and it is an aspect of violence which is not commonly conceived. In areas where there are geopolitical implications, the researcher becomes the witness and in that moment the question that we must ask is how to capture a full picture specially of groups like women whose struggle are underrepresented as it is.
My reflection on Di Eugenio and Baines article is divided into 3 parts: Intense trauma, Politics and Victimhood and Identity crisis:
Intense trauma: Intense trauma: ‘My soul will forever be scarred.’ A woman raped by militia. This quote deeply captures the everyday trauma that survivors of rape face. I worked with women who are survivors of genocidal rape, and one thing I will never forget is one of them saying, ‘I have to take medications every day because I am HIV+ due to the rape I experienced during the genocide. Every time I take a pill, it is a reminder of what happened to me. I also conceived a child during the genocide, and every day I look at him, it is a reminder of that horrible experience. It is an “Every day war!” My question is what does peace and security mean for this person in the aftermath of the genocide?
“My soul will forever be scarred.” A woman raped by militia.
This quote captures deeply the everyday trauma that survivors of rape face. I worked with women genocide survivors of rape, and one thing I will never forget is one of them saying “I have to take medications every day because I am HIV+ due to rape I experienced during the genocide. Every time I take a pill, it is a reminder of what happened to me. I also conceived a child during the genocide, and every day I look at him, it is a reminder of that horrible experience.”
Politics and Victimhood: Politics and Victimhood: ‘We have been victims of the genocide. Why can’t people understand that we are victims?’ This quote from a Rwandan child born of genocidal rape reminded me of the discussion we had in our previous course about who decides who is the victim and how political agendas play a big role in this. The Rwandan government refused to include them in the post-genocide programs supporting survivors of the genocide. The reason was that they were born after the genocide. However, in Rwandan laws, it is stated that ‘life begins when a woman conceives.’ I consider this an example of the ‘structural violence’ mentioned in the article.
Identity crisis: Some people connect their identity to their fathers, calling them children of perpetrators, while others see them in their mothers’ victimhood, calling them children of the survivors. Stigma faced by these individuals from their families and communities is intense. This is due to two primary factors: firstly, as in many other cultures, rape is a taboo; secondly, Rwanda follows a patriarchal family system. Not knowing one’s father comes with a deep identity crisis, and I relate this to the cultural violence mentioned by the author.
Di Eugenio and Baines article underscores the importance of adopting a survivor-centered approach for transformative change. It serves as a reminder that survivors’ voices are frequently overlooked, particularly in policy and decision-making processes. Prioritizing survivors is essential for creating meaningful and impactful shifts in societal attitudes and structures.
Shalhoub-Kevorkian’s article sheds light on the overlooked struggle of Palestinian women. The author points out that settler colonial violence denies Palestinian women access to healthcare, restricts their movement through checkpoints, and isolates them, making them vulnerable to gendered violence. Connecting this to the current Israel-Palestine conflict, the double standard becomes apparent. For so long, the world has ignored the struggle of Palestinians, and this article resonates with the ongoing war, and most importantly exposing the gendered impacts of Zionist violence. It is also interesting (and disappointing) to see the similarities between past violence mentioned in the article and what is happening today in Palestine. My question is: When will ‘never again’ become a reality? And does it apply to some people but not others?”
Krystalli and Schulz/ article, reminded us that taking love and care seriously enables a richer narrative, offering textured insights into individuals’ and communities’ experiences, beyond violence. The coexistence of love, care, and violence is recognized as crucial for a comprehensive understanding of post-conflict reconstruction, challenges and prompting a re-evaluation of storytelling approaches.
This week, I delved into Swati Parashar’s article titled “What wars and ‘war bodies’ know about international relations” for my reading. It highlighted the often how traditional war theories fall short in encompassing the complexities of everyday life and negotiations within conflict zones. The reading enhanced my understanding of moving beyond abstract frameworks to acknowledge the tangible experiences of individuals directly affected by conflict.
One quote that resonated with me was, “Many men, women, and children learn to live with war inside its immediate death, destruction, and survival.”
This powerful statement from the reading raised questions about the conventional approach of International Relations war scholarship. It prompts a reconsideration of the existing methodologies in studying war and highlights the need for a paradigm shift towards a more holistic and empathetic approach. The reading challenges the traditional focus of IR on extraordinary moments of war, causality, and impact. Instead, it advocates for an approach that acknowledges the human dimensions of conflict, emphasizing the emotions, traumas, and significances that individuals like Antonia carry in the aftermath of war. Furthermore, I learned that war bodies hold significant importance in shaping the discourse surrounding mourning (Parashar, 2013). Theorizing war from the bottom-up approach and incorporating micro-narratives and lived experiences can offer deeper insights into the causes and effects of wars is intriguing to me.
Reflecting on “Taking love and care seriously: an emergent research agenda for remaking worlds in the wake of violence.” by Krystalli et al. (2022) one of the central topics in the reading is how the traditional narrative of armed conflict, which predominantly concentrates on violence and suffering, can be shifted towards a focus that explores the often-overlooked practices of love and care that can coexist. The article allowed me to gain greater clarity of how love and care can guide the development of effective strategies for rebuilding and fostering healing in a variety of conflict zones. In this way, care can be a strategy for conflict resolution and peacemaking, aiming to reduce harm, prevent escalation, and address the needs of vulnerable populations. This approach promotes a more empathetic, responsive, and human-centered approach for sustainable peace.
“‘Our Place Under the Sun’: Survivor-Centred Approaches to Children Born of Wartime Sexual Violence.” By Baines et. al (2021) reading underscores the impact of silence, both in creating conflicts of rights and hindering efforts to document the experiences of these children. This reading helped me to consider my own Gp2 project and how children ‘born of war’ and former child soldiers may both face challenges in post-conflict settings, including discrimination, social displacement, and limited opportunities. A question worth exploring is in what ways can communities affected by the silence surrounding children ‘born of war’ be empowered to initiate and sustain conversations about their experiences, and what role do local leaders play in this process?
This week, I delved into Swati Parashar’s article titled “What wars and ‘war bodies’ know about international relations” for my reading. It highlighted the often how traditional war theories fall short in encompassing the complexities of everyday life and negotiations within conflict zones. The reading facilitated a deeper understanding of moving beyond abstract frameworks to acknowledge the tangible experiences of individuals directly affected by conflict.
One quote that resonated with me was, “Many men, women, and children learn to live with war inside its immediate death, destruction, and survival.”
This powerful statement from the reading raised questions about the conventional approach of International Relations war scholarship. It prompts a reconsideration of the existing methodologies in studying war and highlights the need for a paradigm shift towards a more holistic and empathetic approach. The reading challenges the traditional focus of IR on extraordinary moments of war, causality, and impact. Instead, it advocates for an approach that acknowledges the human dimensions of conflict, emphasizing the emotions, traumas, and significances that individuals like Antonia carry in the aftermath of war. Furthermore, I learned that war bodies hold significant importance in shaping the discourse surrounding mourning (Parashar, 2013). Theorizing war from the bottom-up approach and incorporating micro-narratives and lived experiences can offer deeper insights into the causes and effects of wars is intriguing to me.
Reflecting on “Taking love and care seriously: an emergent research agenda for remaking worlds in the wake of violence.” by Krystalli et al. (2022) one of the central topics in the reading is how the traditional narrative of armed conflict, which predominantly concentrates on violence and suffering, can be shifted towards a focus that explores the often-overlooked practices of love and care that can coexist. The article allowed me to gain greater clarity of how love and care can guide the development of effective strategies for rebuilding and fostering healing in a variety of conflict zones. In this way, care can be a strategy for conflict resolution and peacemaking, aiming to reduce harm, prevent escalation, and address the needs of vulnerable populations. This approach promotes a more empathetic, responsive, and human-centered approach for sustainable peace.
“‘Our Place Under the Sun’: Survivor-Centred Approaches to Children Born of Wartime Sexual Violence.” by Baines et. al (2021) reading underscores the impact of silence, both in creating conflicts of rights and hindering efforts to document the experiences of these children. This reading helped me to consider my own Gp2 project and how children ‘born of war’ and former child soldiers may both face challenges in post-conflict settings, including discrimination, social displacement, and limited opportunities. A question worth exploring is in what ways can communities affected by the silence surrounding children ‘born of war’ be empowered to initiate and sustain conversations about their experiences, and what role do local leaders play in this process?