This week’s topic is of a particular interest to me. My mother, who is a third-generation Korean immigrant in Japan, I have personal connection to Japanese-Korean relations, and something that has been a topic of reflection growing up and navigating my own identity. Having both Korean and Japanese background, the actions taken by the Japanese Imperial Government and the continued nationalist/racist/sexist sentiment that looms Japan has been something that I have been grappling with.
Tiffany’s documentary was a powerful documentation of the Comfort Women, and the impact it has left on the women and their families. It was especially emotional when Grandma Gil’s speech at the United Nations, where she presented 1.5 million signatures demanding redress to the 200,000 women who were victims of wartime sexual slavery. Especially, due to high emotions, she could not complete the speech herself — I thought that was especially emotional. What she said, about how she dreams about being fourteen again, living her life before. To think that so many girls’ and women’s youth and innocent was taken from them makes me sad and angry, but the documentary highlighted the resilience that is more inspiring.
Soh’s article also explores the complex issues involved in resolving the “comfort women”. Her discussion on the sexual culture in Korea resonated — how founded on the patriarchy, women committed suicide after being raped because of the standards of virginity/chastity — and how their innocence and purity was stripped away and ultimately stripped away women’s self worth.
In my personal life, I see the sexual culture intersecting with immigrant women. My grandmother, who was a 2nd generation immigrant, entered the sex industry when she was a teenager to overcome poverty. In Osaka (a city with the most Korean population), there is a Korea town where there are bars with Korean women that offer services to men. This kind of culture is not limited to immigrants, but also, many women pursue this career in Japan, but underrepresented individuals are disproportionately affected due to the lack of employment for immigrants due to discrimination, intergenerational trauma, poverty, and lack of education.
Going back on sexual violence during wars, Mookherjee’s article provided a powerful insight to rape during Bangladesh war of 1971. Likewise with the comfort women, there was a sentiment of public secrecy and silencing — and how this secrecy relates to memory, and ultimately justice. When there is an effort to silence and envelop violence through secrecy, it compromises the narration of the past.
A question that I have been pondering upon is, “how to we ethically and empathetically provide a platform for the survivors to share their stories without creating harm (further traumatizing them, putting them in security threat, etc)?”
Even before today, I didn’t know they were called comfort women. I don’t remember the Bangladesh liberation war as being a freedom struggle. I have more memories of it being taught as the manipulation of the Bangladeshi people by the Indian side and a war that we fought to keep the country together. It was only once I grew close to a Bangladeshi girl some years ago who still continues to teach me of the woman I’ve come to know by a new term today, “comfort women,” and our complicity and their ongoing suffering, my complicity and her suffering. In the Bangladesh reading, the author covers how the horrors of sexual violence and gender-based violence at large during the war during the war were silenced or suppressed, leading to a collective amnesia. I was not born and did not participate in the wrongs done unto them then, but I still feel guilt when we speak. I know that if I decide to adopt the very same national policy of silence, then I will become an active participant in the wrongdoings committed unto the comfort women whose aggressors still live in my society; I just cannot put a face to them.
What is also deeply distressing to me is that despite my school’s extensive coverage of both world wars, not once did we learn of comfort women. What played into that? Was that perhaps they (the complicit) did not want us to develop a conscience of our own guilt, the fear of admission, and what that might mean for our national reputation, but perhaps it was never about us. Soh skillfully weaves together historical analysis and the social and political dimensions of the movement led by the survivors. She talked about the complexity of addressing such historical injustices. Every institution wants to remain in the people’s good graces to derive the legitimacy of its stronghold – it is only natural. Admitting fault or wrongdoing can be seen as a sign of weakness, potentially emboldening critics or competitors.
As a Pakistani, I find myself at a crossroads, confronted with the responsibility to acknowledge the historical injustices perpetuated during that tumultuous time or be ostracized. It is moments of deep reflection such as this that I find comfort in what I see as a difference between a nationalist (blind and often irrational loyalty, almost fanatic-like) and patriotism (love for one’s country but not the kind that blinds you to its wrongs). I don’t think we as a human community can heal the past until a genuine effort is made to address the wrongs each of us has committed, such as Pakistan’s role in Afghanistan, Bangladesh, and Japan’s in Taiwan, Korea, China, Indonesia, and the Philippines. The subject left me feeling deeply ignorant.
The documentary depicted the raw emotion of the grandmothers when they finally broke their silence and their family’s reactions to their silent suffering. For so long after the end of Japanese imperialism, these women still carried the burden of its colonial legacy. I cannot imagine being taken at a tender age, abused in that way for years, multiple times, feeling guilt about surviving, and having to continue living without ever seeing one’s family again, especially with the impossible circumstances of North and South Korea’s separation. Their determination and fight are a reminder that wounds do not heal when wars end; the history of horrors persists, and it is often inherited generationally. It is a reminder of the importance of accountability and reconciliation. While we cannot undo the past, we should at least be willing to learn from it.
Lastly, when Soh mentioned that women who had been forced to serve as comfort women took their lives, they were seen as performing an honorable deed as virtuous women, but if they chose to live compared to prostitues, it reminded me of South Asian culture. In Pakistan, you are seen as impure. Women are burdened with having to preserve the honor of their families by remaining “chaste” and “safe.” It is only through our resistance that we can make the world a more equitable world; otherwise, women will continue being perpetually blamed unfairly.
Through the lens of the survivors’ individual stories of Grandma Gil, Grandma Cao, and Lola Adela, as well as the broader social and political implications of their experiences, the film confronts the uncomfortable reality of governments and societies turning a blind eye to wartime atrocities and the marginalization of survivors’ voices. This was also a prevalent theme in both Soh and Mookherjee’s articles. Soh acknowledged that some may offer the lack of documentary evidence and the reluctance of surviving “comfort women” to reveal their past as a way to explain the long silence over the issue of sexual slavery within Korean society, however, she argues a major factor at the heart of the matter is the cultural legacy of a patriarchal society, which has maintained double standards for sexual behavior for men and women. I think this adequately explains the overlap of each of these stories, as patriarchy rears its ugly head in each society in very similar ways, despite cultural difference. For Mookherjee, the process of revelation and concealment of the public secrecy of rape acts as a method to deface women while enabling their excessive visibility, without an acknowledgment of their pain, and a means of attaining justice. In turn, this causes growing inequality. While there have been several movements (namely Me Too) to de-stigmatize gender-based violence, the systems in which the comfort women experienced harm are still prevalent in today’s society. Sex workers, especially those who also belong to underrepresented groups are still murdered daily, their lives rarely acknowledged in the eyes of the public. Despite being written in 1996, Soh’s call that “female sexuality will continue without revolutionary transformations in the masculinist sexual culture, the political economic system of the transnational capitalist sex industry, and the gender gap in wage income resulting in the feminization of poverty” remains deeply true.
In relation to this, both readings and the documentary aptly display the intersections of gender, class, ethnicity, sexual culture, and the role of the state to provide understanding not only the phenomenon of the “military comfort women”, but also the ways in which militarism is interlinked with sexism and discrimination. As we discussed last week, there is a strong “poverty to military pipeline” where capitalist systems of military rely on the lack of options for people with poorer families. Similar to the discussions of joining the military for viable economic gain, Soh noted that the majority of Korean “military comfort women” seemed to have come from poor families in rural farming areas and had little formal education. As such, she argues that even if they had wanted to redress the injustice done to them, they had little means to right the wrongs they suffered. We can see this also in people who join the military now, and their abilities to seek redress when faced with wrong doings. A specific example of this is the women in the Canadian Armed Forces who have faced gender-based violence and have not gotten justice. Is this because the Canadian government has shared values as the patriarchal cultural context of androcentric sexism that is described in the readings for this week? If yes, how does one break down traditional elitist attitudes in dealing with social injustice inflicted upon underrepresented groups? I wonder how we can continue to encourage discussions of sexual misconduct and abuse while being mindful of the growing number of people who have experienced it? Knowing that issues of re-traumatization are on many people’s minds, I wonder how this will be navigated in places like academic institutions who claim safe spaces.
Overall, this week has raised critical questions about accountability, reparations, and the role of memory in shaping collective consciousness. I wonder how we as policy professionals can de-stigmatize sexual misconduct, and sex in general, to work dismantle the patriarchal ideas of sex that have pushed survivors of GBV to silence. This is especially relevant when considering sex education that is taught in many schools across the world. How can governments educate citizens on sex, sexual misconduct, respectful sexual relationships, and patriarchy while also addressing conversations surrounding private/ public discourses that were used in both Japan and Bangladesh to silence survivors of sexual misconduct?
“The Apology” was really a poignant documentary that left me to tears. Following the personal journeys of these three former “comfort women” who were forced into sexual slavery by the Japanese army during World War II. It delves into their quest for justice and the demand for an official apology from the Japanese government. The film highlighted the resilience and courage of these women as they share their harrowing experiences and continue their fight for recognition and reparations. A very harsh moment to watch was when these women were being attacked with insults and sexist remarks, all while keeping their composure and dignity, it really made me think on how many Moroccan women must have experienced the same thing but are not coming forward because of societal pressure.
The complex history of Moroccan women’s involvement in the sex trade during French colonization was marked by struggles and resilience, that you can still feel now in the public discource. my grandmother who lived through such times might carry with her a heavy burden of memories, often veiled in shame that she never wants to talk about. women like my grandma, caught in the crossfires of colonization and exploitation, had to navigate a challenging landscape of survival and dignity. Living with such a past, my grandmother might embody the strength and resilience of those who, despite facing unimaginable hardships, managed to preserve their sense of self and cultural identity amidst oppressive circumstances.
Reflecting on the different readings, one is compelled to explore the profound and intricate ways in which narratives of sexual violence during the Bangladesh War of 1971 are both remembered and silenced within communities. These readings do not merely recount historical events; they delve into the layers of memory, stigma, and the politics of recognition surrounding survivors of sexual violence. The stories of women, labeled as ‘war heroines,’ unveil the complex dynamics of honor, shame, and the public secrecy that envelops their experiences.
The readings illuminate the societal mechanisms that dictate the visibility and invisibility of these women’s traumas. It’s striking how public acknowledgment and private suffering are interwoven, creating a tapestry of collective memory that is both rich and problematic. The notion of ‘public secrecy’ the open secret of women’s experiences of rape during the war emerges as a powerful concept that captures the tension between knowing and not knowing, between the need to remember and the impulse to forget.
This duality raises intriguing questions about the processes through which societies manage painful memories. The readings suggest that remembering can be both an assertion of identity and a source of ongoing pain for survivors. It challenges us to think about how memory, identity, and trauma intersect, and how communities can navigate the delicate balance between honoring survivors and retraumatizing them.
Moreover, the connection between these historical events and current discussions on sexual violence is palpable. The silence and stigma that envelop the survivors echo in today’s conversations about belief, support, and justice for sexual violence survivors worldwide. This reflection on past and present underscores the persistent challenges societies face in dealing with the aftermath of violence, especially when it intersects with issues of gender, national identity, and historical memory.
Questions:
1. How can feminist reflexivity help us navigate the complexities of remembering and silencing sexual violence in historical and recent contexts?
2. What strategies can be employed to ensure that the act of remembering rape survivors without perpetuating their trauma?
The Chunghee article was interesting to read as I have never really come into contact with much literature on comfort women before. Interestingly, they constructed the perception of comfort women as a voluntary service, which highlights the idea that the women were aware of their positionality and the risks, which negates the fact that women can be aware and still face violence and rape. The voluntary aspect also hints that they used that terminology to insinuate that there was prior, informed consent in the sexual activities that comfort women would take part in. It’s interesting how the male elites in Japan viewed surviving comfort women as being an economic issue concerning repayments and not a human rights issue. Another fascinating point is the past soldiers insinuating that everybody suffered atrocities during the war, so that makes it okay for these bad things to happen. This rhetoric normalizes violence and normalizes abuse towards women as an unfortunate thing that can happen, ignoring that it is happening by men taking advantage of these women for their own needs and pleasure. It’s also interesting the ICJ called for 40,000 USD for each victim as if that is enough to compensate or materialize the experiences that these women had to go through.
I also just wanted to point out something which isn’t talked about enough, which is that queer men were also abused by Japanese soldiers and labelled as “comfort gays.” Especially within the context of Japanese society, where certain people still hold conservative views on homosexuality, comfort gays were sexually abused and forced to dress up as women and entertain the male soldiers. I think this adds a level of nuance to the discussion as it highlights the widespread and varied forms of abuse perpetrated during times of conflict. When we can recognize the experiences of queer men as “comfort gays,” it helps to underscore the complexity of sexual violence and exploitation during wartime, challenging simplistic narratives of victimhood and perpetration. It also brings to light the intersectionality of oppression, as these individuals faced both homophobia within their own society and the brutal realities of war.
The Kostovicova et al. pointed out how wartime illegal economies rely on global actors funneling in illegal funds to operate mechanisms within the conflict area. Moreover, I thought it was interesting how the formal, informal and illegal markets turned into a blurred line of nuance where they were all operating and intersecting with one another. It’s also interesting to point out how the international community staff at the Arizona market were complicit in buying and selling sex along the sex trade marker and were unwilling for a while to acknowledge that this was taking place. This highlights how we can view international organizations a lot of the time as saviours and solely in positive connotations while forgetting that there are individuals who can abuse their positions for their own self-interests.
My question for the class is, how can we ensure that international interventions in post-conflict societies effectively prioritize local agency, address intersectional dynamics, and adopt comprehensive approaches to combatting gender-based violence?
To be honest, I’ve always had a hard time hearing the term “military comfort women” because it (1) centres the masculine solider as the one in need of “comfort” (i.e. endorses masculinist sexual culture) and (2) it feels like it sanitizes and diminishes the truth: these were women who were enslaved and victims of sexual violence. Throughout the readings and the film I felt so much of the same, an indignant anger and deep grief for the ways that so many of these women carried shame, scorn, and secrecy about what happened to them, even though they were VICTIMS and SURVIVORS, most only teenagers when they were taken. These generations of shame had ripple effects in families and communities (i.e. an uncertain to share the truth for fear of not being accepted “I will tell my children if they will accept it”) and for many the weight of the shame and the secrecy within their cultural contexts meant that many women chose death by suicide due to the shame of being a “sullied” victim of rape. I feel so much rage about that reality and the ways that sexual violence in war not only causes physical harm, but leaves unrepairable psychological and communal impact in its wake.
Another theme that emerged strongly is the widespread exploitation of female sexuality. Even in war – or perhaps especially in war – the stories, bodies, and perspectives of women are silenced or made secondary, yet the stories of men are permissible and even celebrated. Women are not allowed to be fully human, they are simply add-ons, reduced to their sexuality, yet not allowed to be fully alive or free in the expression of or limits on that either. “The ambivalence concerning the significance of the sexuality of a woman as both female and mother was further indicated when I asked women why it was problematic to talk about rape when liberation fighters could talk about the experience of losing their limbs in the war.” (Mookherjee, 2006)
And yet, I am struck – and in awe of – the women’s persistence in advocating for their own validation, for their private “secret” to become public knowledge and for that knowledge to lead to justice. I am so grieved that many of the survivors never lived to see their experiences validated (outside of one another, a stunning, yet harrowing example of solidarity) or to receive the beginning stages of justice. It was such a powerful scene to see these surviving grandmas speak to the classroom full of young women and to see the impact of knowing the truth on a new generation of women. The full human-ness of the survivors was seen: humour. grief. uncertainty. community. anger. silence. resilience. exhaustion. I stand in awe of them and am infuriated by the fact that they needed to work so relentlessly to be seen and for their experience of such egregious harm to be recognized for what it was: evil.
Questions:
– What are culturally appropriate ways of collecting the stories of survivors, that both allow for the truth-telling of atrocity in a way that honours the survivors, protects their own preferences of how their stories are told or used, and prevents further violence or harm?
– How can we move towards justice for victims of sexual violence in war more quickly? Why must it take so long for truth to be believed and for belief to lead to justice and reparation?
Throughout history and across continents, women’s bodies have been the earliest and most tragic casualties in every conflict. From the Bangladesh war of 1971, as detailed in Nayanika Mookherjee’s accounts, to the harrowing experiences of Korean women forced into sexual slavery – as narrated in Tiffany Hsuing’s ‘The Apology’ and further explored by Chunghee Sarah Soh regarding Korean comfort women. These narratives underline a consistent, grim pattern in the tapestry of war. The readings and the documentary paint a vivid picture of a grim reality: women’s bodies and lives become tools in conflicts, manipulated and silenced.
Even though times have changed, it seems like the exploitation of women’s bodies for political gain is still a harsh reality. Sorry for bringing up yet another sombre example from Pakistan, but I can’t ignore the similarities between past events and what’s happening today. This past week, former Pakistani prime minister Imran Khan and his wife Bushra Bibi were sentenced to seven years in prison over an ‘unlawful’ marriage because it supposedly happening during her iddat period. In Islamic tradition, Iddat is a specific period a woman must observe after either divorce or her husband’s death, during which she is expected not to marry another man. It is a period of chastity which a Muslim woman is bound to observe after the dissolution of her marriage due to the death of her husband or by divorce before she can lawfully marry again. The reason behind observing iddat period is to ascertain whether the woman is pregnant or not and to acknowledge the certainty of paternity.
Bushra Bibi found her personal life suddenly at the centre of a national spectacle, with intimate details, including her menstrual cycle, becoming subjects of court discussions and newspaper headlines. Orchestrated by her ex-husband and supported by the Pakistani establishment, this invasion of privacy, to me, seemed as a stark, modern-day illustration of how women’s bodies are still used as tools in political power plays— perhaps in less overt but equally insidious ways.
While all this unfolds, the killers of Noor Mukkadam and Sarah Inam still face no consequences. It makes me question why a woman’s honour and dignity are seemingly at the mercy of men’s decisions. Why is it that they determine when to uphold a woman’s honour, using it as a shield when it suits them, and then turn it into a weapon to tarnish her image whenever it’s convenient?
This situation also reminds me of the controversial Hudood Ordinance in Pakistan, introduced during the regime of Zia-ul-Haq (whom I personally blame for much of Pakistan’s problems, but it is irrelevant right now). This law demanded that rape victims provide testimony from four adult male Muslim witnesses to prove their case. It’s no surprise then that I and many women like me have learned to move through life in silence.
These stories make me think about how we, as a society, deal with the trauma of sexual violence. There’s this balance between silence and speech. Women are often forced into silence, either by the weight of societal expectations or for their own safety. But when their stories do come out, it’s often not on their terms, but rather twisted to fit someone else’s agenda. This contradiction is so clear in the lives of the Enayetpur women and the Korean comfort women – hailed as heroes on one hand, yet stigmatised and shamed in their own communities.
Why is it that even today, a woman’s honour and sexuality are tightly controlled and scrutinised? Whether it’s in a village in Bangladesh or the political scene in Pakistan, it feels like women’s bodies are still battlegrounds for moral and political debates. This also makes me wonder about our responsibility in telling these stories. How do we ensure that in trying to shed light on these issues, we don’t end up exploiting these women’s experiences all over again?
This week’s material discussed the painful realties of conflict sexual and gender-based violence as seen in Tiffany Hsiung’s documentary. The film illustrated the stories of the grandmothers who embodies resilience and survival. I was captivated by the connections among the stories of women from the Asia Pacific Region during wartime, from Korea, the Philippines, and China whose narratives revealed the depths of unspeakable trauma.
My knowledge on this topic was limited and this documentary was eye opening for me. While watching this film I experienced so many emotions ranging from tears, outrage, to hope. It is important to ensure there is a responsibility to ensure that their stories are heard and remembered.
Rosa Lola’s story struck a particularly struck a deep chord with me. It was through her struggle to break the silence on her experience of sexual violence, although there was the burden of shame that was imposed by society. It is a stark reminder of victim-blaming that remains pervasiveness in society today. The women are continuing to fight for the justice for the trauma that they endured.
What I enjoyed about the film is they showed moments of stillness with family members a daughter with their mother, sons with their mothers sharing their stories learning their family history. Furthermore, the moments of community healing where the grandmothers came together to share their stories, supporting each other through the unimaginable pain, showed how powerful collective strength can be towards the healing journey.
It made me reflect on the responsibility that we bear in bridging the gap between the past and present. I hope as a descendant of survivors of the Khmer Rouge Regime in Cambodia that I can bridge the connection with my own family. The film captured the lived experiences where their voices were heard and ensuring that these stories are not forgotten.
This makes me think to the Me-Too movement which sheds light on the prevalence of sexual violence that is currently still and ongoing issue where victims of sexual violence may feel that shamed into speaking out. If they chose to speak out some may fear that their perpetrators may not face any repercussions for their actions. Thus, why sexual violence is vastly underreported. I think it is important to prioritize the creation of a more just society that supports survivors and holds perpetrators accountable for their actions.
From the Soh reading, what I found particularly interesting about this article is that it highlighted how in terms of ‘comfort women’ there tends to be a focus on the economic aspect while not adequately underscoring that this is human rights issue.
From the Mookherjee reading, this reading highlighted the notion that sexual violence is still a matter that invokes stigma and secrecy. Mookherjee alludes to the sanctions and scornful remarks, reinforcing the culture of silence. It discussed societal pressures like “khota” continue to inhibit survivors from speaking out.
Questions that came up for me during this week:
What strategies can we use to bridge the gap between past and present, and what role do the children of war have in preserving and family history?
As policymakers, what proactive steps can we take to enact fairer and more just policies that effectively aid survivors of sexual violence?
Soh mentions how Japanese viewed Korean women, colonial subjects of Japan, as “sanitary public toilets”. This disgusting objectification of Korean women is an apt example of how the military and even simpler, power structures take advantage of the body of women. We previously talked how women’s bodies serve as a different military apparatus depending on the occasion and in this scenario, we see how marginalized women bodies are used and abused in war efforts for the ‘benefit’ of the military.
Soh’s article on comfort women provided an important perspective on how and why this issue has long been silent but I would also argue that it shows how power structures create these spaces. One of the quotes in Soh’s article is from a Korean taxi driver explaining how Koreans need to move on from the past and deal with more important things like catching up with Japan. This is a talking point that I constantly heard back home, in other Latin American countries, in the US, and other countries, this pervasive idea that a ‘bright’ future can only be achieved once you move on from the past. Colonialism and war leave wounds on a whole society but as previously mentioned in any situation where power is involved those who are most affected are the ones in the margins such as women. In countries where narratives of progress are laced with ‘moving on’ how can we switch this narrative to one of ‘processing”.
Woven in both the Soh and Mookherjee articles was the idea of how society can control women through the stigmatization of their survival. In Soh’s article there is a recounting of how women would commit suicide to prevent the possibility of rape during wartime. Mookkherjee’s explanation on how the government ‘honoring’ survivors of wartime rape not only stigmatizes women of marginalized backgrounds but also furthers spaces where survivors opt for silence is another example how women’s experience of violence is being controlled. Coercing silence from survivors is an act of violence however, these survivors resisting opting for silence does not mean their experience and memory disappears for future generations. Through silence and omissions, the next generation learns and maintains memories alive. There are also those that decide to break the silence as shown in The Apology and their actions of resistance take a different shape from years of maintaining silence. It cannot be understated that there is no right way to survive or resist, and in this context how can one traverse through this delicate line while respecting an individuals choice.
This week’s topic is of a particular interest to me. My mother, who is a third-generation Korean immigrant in Japan, I have personal connection to Japanese-Korean relations, and something that has been a topic of reflection growing up and navigating my own identity. Having both Korean and Japanese background, the actions taken by the Japanese Imperial Government and the continued nationalist/racist/sexist sentiment that looms Japan has been something that I have been grappling with.
Tiffany’s documentary was a powerful documentation of the Comfort Women, and the impact it has left on the women and their families. It was especially emotional when Grandma Gil’s speech at the United Nations, where she presented 1.5 million signatures demanding redress to the 200,000 women who were victims of wartime sexual slavery. Especially, due to high emotions, she could not complete the speech herself — I thought that was especially emotional. What she said, about how she dreams about being fourteen again, living her life before. To think that so many girls’ and women’s youth and innocent was taken from them makes me sad and angry, but the documentary highlighted the resilience that is more inspiring.
Soh’s article also explores the complex issues involved in resolving the “comfort women”. Her discussion on the sexual culture in Korea resonated — how founded on the patriarchy, women committed suicide after being raped because of the standards of virginity/chastity — and how their innocence and purity was stripped away and ultimately stripped away women’s self worth.
In my personal life, I see the sexual culture intersecting with immigrant women. My grandmother, who was a 2nd generation immigrant, entered the sex industry when she was a teenager to overcome poverty. In Osaka (a city with the most Korean population), there is a Korea town where there are bars with Korean women that offer services to men. This kind of culture is not limited to immigrants, but also, many women pursue this career in Japan, but underrepresented individuals are disproportionately affected due to the lack of employment for immigrants due to discrimination, intergenerational trauma, poverty, and lack of education.
Going back on sexual violence during wars, Mookherjee’s article provided a powerful insight to rape during Bangladesh war of 1971. Likewise with the comfort women, there was a sentiment of public secrecy and silencing — and how this secrecy relates to memory, and ultimately justice. When there is an effort to silence and envelop violence through secrecy, it compromises the narration of the past.
A question that I have been pondering upon is, “how to we ethically and empathetically provide a platform for the survivors to share their stories without creating harm (further traumatizing them, putting them in security threat, etc)?”
Even before today, I didn’t know they were called comfort women. I don’t remember the Bangladesh liberation war as being a freedom struggle. I have more memories of it being taught as the manipulation of the Bangladeshi people by the Indian side and a war that we fought to keep the country together. It was only once I grew close to a Bangladeshi girl some years ago who still continues to teach me of the woman I’ve come to know by a new term today, “comfort women,” and our complicity and their ongoing suffering, my complicity and her suffering. In the Bangladesh reading, the author covers how the horrors of sexual violence and gender-based violence at large during the war during the war were silenced or suppressed, leading to a collective amnesia. I was not born and did not participate in the wrongs done unto them then, but I still feel guilt when we speak. I know that if I decide to adopt the very same national policy of silence, then I will become an active participant in the wrongdoings committed unto the comfort women whose aggressors still live in my society; I just cannot put a face to them.
What is also deeply distressing to me is that despite my school’s extensive coverage of both world wars, not once did we learn of comfort women. What played into that? Was that perhaps they (the complicit) did not want us to develop a conscience of our own guilt, the fear of admission, and what that might mean for our national reputation, but perhaps it was never about us. Soh skillfully weaves together historical analysis and the social and political dimensions of the movement led by the survivors. She talked about the complexity of addressing such historical injustices. Every institution wants to remain in the people’s good graces to derive the legitimacy of its stronghold – it is only natural. Admitting fault or wrongdoing can be seen as a sign of weakness, potentially emboldening critics or competitors.
As a Pakistani, I find myself at a crossroads, confronted with the responsibility to acknowledge the historical injustices perpetuated during that tumultuous time or be ostracized. It is moments of deep reflection such as this that I find comfort in what I see as a difference between a nationalist (blind and often irrational loyalty, almost fanatic-like) and patriotism (love for one’s country but not the kind that blinds you to its wrongs). I don’t think we as a human community can heal the past until a genuine effort is made to address the wrongs each of us has committed, such as Pakistan’s role in Afghanistan, Bangladesh, and Japan’s in Taiwan, Korea, China, Indonesia, and the Philippines. The subject left me feeling deeply ignorant.
The documentary depicted the raw emotion of the grandmothers when they finally broke their silence and their family’s reactions to their silent suffering. For so long after the end of Japanese imperialism, these women still carried the burden of its colonial legacy. I cannot imagine being taken at a tender age, abused in that way for years, multiple times, feeling guilt about surviving, and having to continue living without ever seeing one’s family again, especially with the impossible circumstances of North and South Korea’s separation. Their determination and fight are a reminder that wounds do not heal when wars end; the history of horrors persists, and it is often inherited generationally. It is a reminder of the importance of accountability and reconciliation. While we cannot undo the past, we should at least be willing to learn from it.
Lastly, when Soh mentioned that women who had been forced to serve as comfort women took their lives, they were seen as performing an honorable deed as virtuous women, but if they chose to live compared to prostitues, it reminded me of South Asian culture. In Pakistan, you are seen as impure. Women are burdened with having to preserve the honor of their families by remaining “chaste” and “safe.” It is only through our resistance that we can make the world a more equitable world; otherwise, women will continue being perpetually blamed unfairly.
Through the lens of the survivors’ individual stories of Grandma Gil, Grandma Cao, and Lola Adela, as well as the broader social and political implications of their experiences, the film confronts the uncomfortable reality of governments and societies turning a blind eye to wartime atrocities and the marginalization of survivors’ voices. This was also a prevalent theme in both Soh and Mookherjee’s articles. Soh acknowledged that some may offer the lack of documentary evidence and the reluctance of surviving “comfort women” to reveal their past as a way to explain the long silence over the issue of sexual slavery within Korean society, however, she argues a major factor at the heart of the matter is the cultural legacy of a patriarchal society, which has maintained double standards for sexual behavior for men and women. I think this adequately explains the overlap of each of these stories, as patriarchy rears its ugly head in each society in very similar ways, despite cultural difference. For Mookherjee, the process of revelation and concealment of the public secrecy of rape acts as a method to deface women while enabling their excessive visibility, without an acknowledgment of their pain, and a means of attaining justice. In turn, this causes growing inequality. While there have been several movements (namely Me Too) to de-stigmatize gender-based violence, the systems in which the comfort women experienced harm are still prevalent in today’s society. Sex workers, especially those who also belong to underrepresented groups are still murdered daily, their lives rarely acknowledged in the eyes of the public. Despite being written in 1996, Soh’s call that “female sexuality will continue without revolutionary transformations in the masculinist sexual culture, the political economic system of the transnational capitalist sex industry, and the gender gap in wage income resulting in the feminization of poverty” remains deeply true.
In relation to this, both readings and the documentary aptly display the intersections of gender, class, ethnicity, sexual culture, and the role of the state to provide understanding not only the phenomenon of the “military comfort women”, but also the ways in which militarism is interlinked with sexism and discrimination. As we discussed last week, there is a strong “poverty to military pipeline” where capitalist systems of military rely on the lack of options for people with poorer families. Similar to the discussions of joining the military for viable economic gain, Soh noted that the majority of Korean “military comfort women” seemed to have come from poor families in rural farming areas and had little formal education. As such, she argues that even if they had wanted to redress the injustice done to them, they had little means to right the wrongs they suffered. We can see this also in people who join the military now, and their abilities to seek redress when faced with wrong doings. A specific example of this is the women in the Canadian Armed Forces who have faced gender-based violence and have not gotten justice. Is this because the Canadian government has shared values as the patriarchal cultural context of androcentric sexism that is described in the readings for this week? If yes, how does one break down traditional elitist attitudes in dealing with social injustice inflicted upon underrepresented groups? I wonder how we can continue to encourage discussions of sexual misconduct and abuse while being mindful of the growing number of people who have experienced it? Knowing that issues of re-traumatization are on many people’s minds, I wonder how this will be navigated in places like academic institutions who claim safe spaces.
Overall, this week has raised critical questions about accountability, reparations, and the role of memory in shaping collective consciousness. I wonder how we as policy professionals can de-stigmatize sexual misconduct, and sex in general, to work dismantle the patriarchal ideas of sex that have pushed survivors of GBV to silence. This is especially relevant when considering sex education that is taught in many schools across the world. How can governments educate citizens on sex, sexual misconduct, respectful sexual relationships, and patriarchy while also addressing conversations surrounding private/ public discourses that were used in both Japan and Bangladesh to silence survivors of sexual misconduct?
“The Apology” was really a poignant documentary that left me to tears. Following the personal journeys of these three former “comfort women” who were forced into sexual slavery by the Japanese army during World War II. It delves into their quest for justice and the demand for an official apology from the Japanese government. The film highlighted the resilience and courage of these women as they share their harrowing experiences and continue their fight for recognition and reparations. A very harsh moment to watch was when these women were being attacked with insults and sexist remarks, all while keeping their composure and dignity, it really made me think on how many Moroccan women must have experienced the same thing but are not coming forward because of societal pressure.
The complex history of Moroccan women’s involvement in the sex trade during French colonization was marked by struggles and resilience, that you can still feel now in the public discource. my grandmother who lived through such times might carry with her a heavy burden of memories, often veiled in shame that she never wants to talk about. women like my grandma, caught in the crossfires of colonization and exploitation, had to navigate a challenging landscape of survival and dignity. Living with such a past, my grandmother might embody the strength and resilience of those who, despite facing unimaginable hardships, managed to preserve their sense of self and cultural identity amidst oppressive circumstances.
Reflecting on the different readings, one is compelled to explore the profound and intricate ways in which narratives of sexual violence during the Bangladesh War of 1971 are both remembered and silenced within communities. These readings do not merely recount historical events; they delve into the layers of memory, stigma, and the politics of recognition surrounding survivors of sexual violence. The stories of women, labeled as ‘war heroines,’ unveil the complex dynamics of honor, shame, and the public secrecy that envelops their experiences.
The readings illuminate the societal mechanisms that dictate the visibility and invisibility of these women’s traumas. It’s striking how public acknowledgment and private suffering are interwoven, creating a tapestry of collective memory that is both rich and problematic. The notion of ‘public secrecy’ the open secret of women’s experiences of rape during the war emerges as a powerful concept that captures the tension between knowing and not knowing, between the need to remember and the impulse to forget.
This duality raises intriguing questions about the processes through which societies manage painful memories. The readings suggest that remembering can be both an assertion of identity and a source of ongoing pain for survivors. It challenges us to think about how memory, identity, and trauma intersect, and how communities can navigate the delicate balance between honoring survivors and retraumatizing them.
Moreover, the connection between these historical events and current discussions on sexual violence is palpable. The silence and stigma that envelop the survivors echo in today’s conversations about belief, support, and justice for sexual violence survivors worldwide. This reflection on past and present underscores the persistent challenges societies face in dealing with the aftermath of violence, especially when it intersects with issues of gender, national identity, and historical memory.
Questions:
1. How can feminist reflexivity help us navigate the complexities of remembering and silencing sexual violence in historical and recent contexts?
2. What strategies can be employed to ensure that the act of remembering rape survivors without perpetuating their trauma?
The Chunghee article was interesting to read as I have never really come into contact with much literature on comfort women before. Interestingly, they constructed the perception of comfort women as a voluntary service, which highlights the idea that the women were aware of their positionality and the risks, which negates the fact that women can be aware and still face violence and rape. The voluntary aspect also hints that they used that terminology to insinuate that there was prior, informed consent in the sexual activities that comfort women would take part in. It’s interesting how the male elites in Japan viewed surviving comfort women as being an economic issue concerning repayments and not a human rights issue. Another fascinating point is the past soldiers insinuating that everybody suffered atrocities during the war, so that makes it okay for these bad things to happen. This rhetoric normalizes violence and normalizes abuse towards women as an unfortunate thing that can happen, ignoring that it is happening by men taking advantage of these women for their own needs and pleasure. It’s also interesting the ICJ called for 40,000 USD for each victim as if that is enough to compensate or materialize the experiences that these women had to go through.
I also just wanted to point out something which isn’t talked about enough, which is that queer men were also abused by Japanese soldiers and labelled as “comfort gays.” Especially within the context of Japanese society, where certain people still hold conservative views on homosexuality, comfort gays were sexually abused and forced to dress up as women and entertain the male soldiers. I think this adds a level of nuance to the discussion as it highlights the widespread and varied forms of abuse perpetrated during times of conflict. When we can recognize the experiences of queer men as “comfort gays,” it helps to underscore the complexity of sexual violence and exploitation during wartime, challenging simplistic narratives of victimhood and perpetration. It also brings to light the intersectionality of oppression, as these individuals faced both homophobia within their own society and the brutal realities of war.
The Kostovicova et al. pointed out how wartime illegal economies rely on global actors funneling in illegal funds to operate mechanisms within the conflict area. Moreover, I thought it was interesting how the formal, informal and illegal markets turned into a blurred line of nuance where they were all operating and intersecting with one another. It’s also interesting to point out how the international community staff at the Arizona market were complicit in buying and selling sex along the sex trade marker and were unwilling for a while to acknowledge that this was taking place. This highlights how we can view international organizations a lot of the time as saviours and solely in positive connotations while forgetting that there are individuals who can abuse their positions for their own self-interests.
My question for the class is, how can we ensure that international interventions in post-conflict societies effectively prioritize local agency, address intersectional dynamics, and adopt comprehensive approaches to combatting gender-based violence?
To be honest, I’ve always had a hard time hearing the term “military comfort women” because it (1) centres the masculine solider as the one in need of “comfort” (i.e. endorses masculinist sexual culture) and (2) it feels like it sanitizes and diminishes the truth: these were women who were enslaved and victims of sexual violence. Throughout the readings and the film I felt so much of the same, an indignant anger and deep grief for the ways that so many of these women carried shame, scorn, and secrecy about what happened to them, even though they were VICTIMS and SURVIVORS, most only teenagers when they were taken. These generations of shame had ripple effects in families and communities (i.e. an uncertain to share the truth for fear of not being accepted “I will tell my children if they will accept it”) and for many the weight of the shame and the secrecy within their cultural contexts meant that many women chose death by suicide due to the shame of being a “sullied” victim of rape. I feel so much rage about that reality and the ways that sexual violence in war not only causes physical harm, but leaves unrepairable psychological and communal impact in its wake.
Another theme that emerged strongly is the widespread exploitation of female sexuality. Even in war – or perhaps especially in war – the stories, bodies, and perspectives of women are silenced or made secondary, yet the stories of men are permissible and even celebrated. Women are not allowed to be fully human, they are simply add-ons, reduced to their sexuality, yet not allowed to be fully alive or free in the expression of or limits on that either. “The ambivalence concerning the significance of the sexuality of a woman as both female and mother was further indicated when I asked women why it was problematic to talk about rape when liberation fighters could talk about the experience of losing their limbs in the war.” (Mookherjee, 2006)
And yet, I am struck – and in awe of – the women’s persistence in advocating for their own validation, for their private “secret” to become public knowledge and for that knowledge to lead to justice. I am so grieved that many of the survivors never lived to see their experiences validated (outside of one another, a stunning, yet harrowing example of solidarity) or to receive the beginning stages of justice. It was such a powerful scene to see these surviving grandmas speak to the classroom full of young women and to see the impact of knowing the truth on a new generation of women. The full human-ness of the survivors was seen: humour. grief. uncertainty. community. anger. silence. resilience. exhaustion. I stand in awe of them and am infuriated by the fact that they needed to work so relentlessly to be seen and for their experience of such egregious harm to be recognized for what it was: evil.
Questions:
– What are culturally appropriate ways of collecting the stories of survivors, that both allow for the truth-telling of atrocity in a way that honours the survivors, protects their own preferences of how their stories are told or used, and prevents further violence or harm?
– How can we move towards justice for victims of sexual violence in war more quickly? Why must it take so long for truth to be believed and for belief to lead to justice and reparation?
Throughout history and across continents, women’s bodies have been the earliest and most tragic casualties in every conflict. From the Bangladesh war of 1971, as detailed in Nayanika Mookherjee’s accounts, to the harrowing experiences of Korean women forced into sexual slavery – as narrated in Tiffany Hsuing’s ‘The Apology’ and further explored by Chunghee Sarah Soh regarding Korean comfort women. These narratives underline a consistent, grim pattern in the tapestry of war. The readings and the documentary paint a vivid picture of a grim reality: women’s bodies and lives become tools in conflicts, manipulated and silenced.
Even though times have changed, it seems like the exploitation of women’s bodies for political gain is still a harsh reality. Sorry for bringing up yet another sombre example from Pakistan, but I can’t ignore the similarities between past events and what’s happening today. This past week, former Pakistani prime minister Imran Khan and his wife Bushra Bibi were sentenced to seven years in prison over an ‘unlawful’ marriage because it supposedly happening during her iddat period. In Islamic tradition, Iddat is a specific period a woman must observe after either divorce or her husband’s death, during which she is expected not to marry another man. It is a period of chastity which a Muslim woman is bound to observe after the dissolution of her marriage due to the death of her husband or by divorce before she can lawfully marry again. The reason behind observing iddat period is to ascertain whether the woman is pregnant or not and to acknowledge the certainty of paternity.
Bushra Bibi found her personal life suddenly at the centre of a national spectacle, with intimate details, including her menstrual cycle, becoming subjects of court discussions and newspaper headlines. Orchestrated by her ex-husband and supported by the Pakistani establishment, this invasion of privacy, to me, seemed as a stark, modern-day illustration of how women’s bodies are still used as tools in political power plays— perhaps in less overt but equally insidious ways.
While all this unfolds, the killers of Noor Mukkadam and Sarah Inam still face no consequences. It makes me question why a woman’s honour and dignity are seemingly at the mercy of men’s decisions. Why is it that they determine when to uphold a woman’s honour, using it as a shield when it suits them, and then turn it into a weapon to tarnish her image whenever it’s convenient?
This situation also reminds me of the controversial Hudood Ordinance in Pakistan, introduced during the regime of Zia-ul-Haq (whom I personally blame for much of Pakistan’s problems, but it is irrelevant right now). This law demanded that rape victims provide testimony from four adult male Muslim witnesses to prove their case. It’s no surprise then that I and many women like me have learned to move through life in silence.
These stories make me think about how we, as a society, deal with the trauma of sexual violence. There’s this balance between silence and speech. Women are often forced into silence, either by the weight of societal expectations or for their own safety. But when their stories do come out, it’s often not on their terms, but rather twisted to fit someone else’s agenda. This contradiction is so clear in the lives of the Enayetpur women and the Korean comfort women – hailed as heroes on one hand, yet stigmatised and shamed in their own communities.
Why is it that even today, a woman’s honour and sexuality are tightly controlled and scrutinised? Whether it’s in a village in Bangladesh or the political scene in Pakistan, it feels like women’s bodies are still battlegrounds for moral and political debates. This also makes me wonder about our responsibility in telling these stories. How do we ensure that in trying to shed light on these issues, we don’t end up exploiting these women’s experiences all over again?
This week’s material discussed the painful realties of conflict sexual and gender-based violence as seen in Tiffany Hsiung’s documentary. The film illustrated the stories of the grandmothers who embodies resilience and survival. I was captivated by the connections among the stories of women from the Asia Pacific Region during wartime, from Korea, the Philippines, and China whose narratives revealed the depths of unspeakable trauma.
My knowledge on this topic was limited and this documentary was eye opening for me. While watching this film I experienced so many emotions ranging from tears, outrage, to hope. It is important to ensure there is a responsibility to ensure that their stories are heard and remembered.
Rosa Lola’s story struck a particularly struck a deep chord with me. It was through her struggle to break the silence on her experience of sexual violence, although there was the burden of shame that was imposed by society. It is a stark reminder of victim-blaming that remains pervasiveness in society today. The women are continuing to fight for the justice for the trauma that they endured.
What I enjoyed about the film is they showed moments of stillness with family members a daughter with their mother, sons with their mothers sharing their stories learning their family history. Furthermore, the moments of community healing where the grandmothers came together to share their stories, supporting each other through the unimaginable pain, showed how powerful collective strength can be towards the healing journey.
It made me reflect on the responsibility that we bear in bridging the gap between the past and present. I hope as a descendant of survivors of the Khmer Rouge Regime in Cambodia that I can bridge the connection with my own family. The film captured the lived experiences where their voices were heard and ensuring that these stories are not forgotten.
This makes me think to the Me-Too movement which sheds light on the prevalence of sexual violence that is currently still and ongoing issue where victims of sexual violence may feel that shamed into speaking out. If they chose to speak out some may fear that their perpetrators may not face any repercussions for their actions. Thus, why sexual violence is vastly underreported. I think it is important to prioritize the creation of a more just society that supports survivors and holds perpetrators accountable for their actions.
From the Soh reading, what I found particularly interesting about this article is that it highlighted how in terms of ‘comfort women’ there tends to be a focus on the economic aspect while not adequately underscoring that this is human rights issue.
From the Mookherjee reading, this reading highlighted the notion that sexual violence is still a matter that invokes stigma and secrecy. Mookherjee alludes to the sanctions and scornful remarks, reinforcing the culture of silence. It discussed societal pressures like “khota” continue to inhibit survivors from speaking out.
Questions that came up for me during this week:
What strategies can we use to bridge the gap between past and present, and what role do the children of war have in preserving and family history?
As policymakers, what proactive steps can we take to enact fairer and more just policies that effectively aid survivors of sexual violence?
Soh mentions how Japanese viewed Korean women, colonial subjects of Japan, as “sanitary public toilets”. This disgusting objectification of Korean women is an apt example of how the military and even simpler, power structures take advantage of the body of women. We previously talked how women’s bodies serve as a different military apparatus depending on the occasion and in this scenario, we see how marginalized women bodies are used and abused in war efforts for the ‘benefit’ of the military.
Soh’s article on comfort women provided an important perspective on how and why this issue has long been silent but I would also argue that it shows how power structures create these spaces. One of the quotes in Soh’s article is from a Korean taxi driver explaining how Koreans need to move on from the past and deal with more important things like catching up with Japan. This is a talking point that I constantly heard back home, in other Latin American countries, in the US, and other countries, this pervasive idea that a ‘bright’ future can only be achieved once you move on from the past. Colonialism and war leave wounds on a whole society but as previously mentioned in any situation where power is involved those who are most affected are the ones in the margins such as women. In countries where narratives of progress are laced with ‘moving on’ how can we switch this narrative to one of ‘processing”.
Woven in both the Soh and Mookherjee articles was the idea of how society can control women through the stigmatization of their survival. In Soh’s article there is a recounting of how women would commit suicide to prevent the possibility of rape during wartime. Mookkherjee’s explanation on how the government ‘honoring’ survivors of wartime rape not only stigmatizes women of marginalized backgrounds but also furthers spaces where survivors opt for silence is another example how women’s experience of violence is being controlled. Coercing silence from survivors is an act of violence however, these survivors resisting opting for silence does not mean their experience and memory disappears for future generations. Through silence and omissions, the next generation learns and maintains memories alive. There are also those that decide to break the silence as shown in The Apology and their actions of resistance take a different shape from years of maintaining silence. It cannot be understated that there is no right way to survive or resist, and in this context how can one traverse through this delicate line while respecting an individuals choice.