This week’s readings and podcast were powerful and complex — I feel like there were so many layers of emotions that they experience. In the podcast, as well as in “I am Evelyn Amony” reading, this is especially evident. Her internal struggle of her perception on Kony: fear, father, husband — especially when he had saved her from drowning, and loving and hating the man reveals how complex the situation was for Evelyn. Reading and hearing her experience made me reflect on how what we perceive horrific events such as this is not always black and white for those who actually experience it, and it’s much more complex and entangled with so many emotions. The line, “They homogenize pluralistic experiences, reducing them to a singular event: the act of forced marriage,” speaks volume to what Evelyn reveals — that it is not as simple as the act of forced marriage, and rather, there is so much complexity of the lived experience that is not captured. Through storytelling, her experience becomes more than a victim of forced marriage, more than a rebel or a soldier, and instead, it humanizes and challenges our notions and helped me critically reflect and delve deeper into the inner emotions and experiences. I especially appreciated how she uses her own experience as a source of agency, to spread awareness. She says, “These are difficult stories. Yet they are important for people to know.”
Her reflection on her post-war life as a single mother resonated with me. We often focus on the experiences during the war, but not enough emphasis is placed on the aftermaths. In her diary entries, you can see how so many things remind her of the past — soldiers with rifles, someone injured by vehicles — the fear that came with remembering, and also how she would not be going through all this if she had not been abducted. Her internal process is evident, as she copes with what happened to her, and she reflects, “It was to tell this story.” Her journal entries all starting as “I am Evelyn Amony.” further adds to her agency, as she tells her story — I wonder when writing these entries, she knew that one day she’d be sharing them to the world, allowing the rest of us to understand the lived experiences of sexual violence in Uganda?
The lived experiences of those who experience sexual violence are often excluded. In the “Justice is Lived” reading, it revealed that survivors of sexual violence were not mentioned as a victim category in a human rights violations’ documentation report. This further adds to the homogenization of experiences, which can lead to exclusion of voices and experiences in policies, when the purpose of these policies and programs are supposed to be representing their unique interest and needs. One of the recommendations presented in the reading calls for “Academic Institutions and Scholars [to] develop a strategy for recognizing research participants and SGBV survivors as key players in knowledge production by involving them in research design and analysis, collaborate with grassroots communities in translating findings of academic research to inform programs and policies-eventually improving lives of survivors of a phenomenon under study.” As my area of focus is gender, governance and security, with a strong interest in WPS and human rights, this resonated with me the most. I reflected on the ways that I can contribute and do better.
After the readings, I was left with some thoughts. How can these policies and programs ensure that justice and reparations are not only legalistic, but also, encompass broader dimensions (land ownership, livelihood opportunities, and social acceptance)? How do gender norms and power dynamics within communities and institutions shape how justice and reparation look like?
The article “Justice Lived: Women’s Senses of Justice and Reparations after Wartime Sexual Violence in Northern Uganda” raises crucial discussions on the intersections of gender, conflict, and justice. the focus on women’s experiences and perceptions of justice after suffering sexual violence in conflict zones like Northern Uganda shows just how powerful their narrative on resilience, recovery, and their constant quest for healing and some sort of reparations is heartbreaking.
A central concept that emerges from the reading is “justice lived.” This idea extends beyond formal legal frameworks and courtrooms to encompass the everyday realities and needs of survivors that are often overlooked. It is thought-provoking to consider justice not just as a procedural outcome but as a lived experience, where reparations, recognition, and healing play critical roles.
The article showed the discrepancy between formal justice mechanisms and the survivors’ perceptions of justice and how it looks from person to person. It raises questions about the effectiveness of international and national legal systems in addressing the specific needs of women who have survived sexual violence in conflict settings. Are they even part of the conversation? These survivors suggest that reparations should be designed to acknowledge the harm suffered, restore dignity, and support the rebuilding of lives, which goes beyond monetary compensation.
Reflecting on “I Am Evelyn Amony,” this narrative not only provides a deeply personal account of Evelyn Amony’s life during and after her abduction by the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) but also serves as a poignant exploration of gender, violence, and survival in conflict settings. Amony’s story transcends the individual, offering insights into the collective experiences of women in wartime and the complex processes of healing, justice, and reconciliation.
Evelyn’s narrative challenges conventional understandings of victimhood and agency. Her decision to share her story through writing is an act of reclaiming her voice and identity, disrupted by years of violence and captivity. It underscores the importance of narrative and memory in the process of recovery and the construction of historical records from the perspectives of those who have lived through conflict.
Evelyn’s emphasis on the importance of her children understanding her story is a powerful testament to the role of personal and familial narratives in bridging generational gaps in understanding conflict and survival.
Amony’s engagement in peace negotiations and her work with the Justice and Reconciliation Project highlight the significant, though often overlooked, roles women play in peace-building and post-conflict reconstruction. Her story is a reminder of the resilience of the human spirit and the potential for transformation and hope even in the aftermath of profound tragedy.
The Women’s Advocacy Network Beaded Memory Projectcsurprisingly highlights the resilience and agency of women in the face of such atrocities. Despite the overwhelming challenges, these survivors engage in various forms of resistance and advocacy to reclaim their voices. You can see them bonding which Gen-Z generally call “trauma-boding” and paving their way through recovery. By the end of the video I just paused and kept on thinking:
How can such horrible and devastating personal storing create a piece of art that is so meaningful and beautiful at first glance?
can we reconcile the individual needs for justice and healing with the collective demands for peace and reconciliation in post-conflict societies?
This class has challenged my personal understanding of justice. Once upon a time, I thought justice was ‘achieved’ through a judicial system (this was a very naïve version of Meredith). Over many years, this understanding has been slowly chipped away – acknowledging that judicial systems and their ‘justice’ (or lack thereof) have failed so many. However, I found Ketty Anyeko’s framing/themes of holistic justice help conceptualize how justice can be formed. Complimented with Evelyn’s journal entries, I found it interesting how justice took form in daily, perhaps even mundane, tasks/actions (i.e. feeding a neighbour). Evelyn’s journals gave insight into the daily processes of justice, and how justice and dignity can happen in the mundane – but this does not come without the pains of past trauma. I saw glimpses of relationship-based and needs-based justice in the ways Evelyn fed her neighbour who was hungry and when she reconnected with a childhood friend. Even the phrase ‘I am Evelyn Amony’ as the opening sentence for every entry was a daily act of reclaiming her identity and belonging. But we also get glimpses of the painful memories that bring her back to another time, and how those memories might be triggered by an ‘everyday’ task.
While justice can happen in small and everyday processes, there can be significant/big steps of justice through community. I thought this was beautifully demonstrated through the paper-bead tapestry. There is a deep significance in women who share similar experiences coming together, sharing their stories, and creating a sense of community. Cutting paper, covering it in glue, and rolling the paper to create a bead was much larger than the repetitive task. The whole process created a space where women could be accepted, seen, and recognized.
I admire the courage and conviction of Evelyn Amony to tell her story for the world to hear. And as we conceptualize justice to be a holistic approach, I’m challenged to ask myself how I can contribute to daily acts of justice? I think of Alida’s question posed in class: what is my reparation? While I might not be in Uganda, what could daily acts of justice look like in my community, city, and country?
The Evelyn Amony piece highlights the effects of Child Soldiering. It was interesting how Amony points out that community members expected children to find a way to escape the LRA, or it meant that they wanted to stay. To me, this came across as victim blaming and underscores societal expectations put on survivors to “fight back” or to take an active stance in their survival or else they aren’t as worthy of saving or considered good enough to be welcomed back into communities that are rebuilding.
It’s also interesting when reading the editor’s note that Amony now has to navigate a nuanced environment still around the LRA to care for her children. For Amony, ensuring the safety and well-being of her children means constantly assessing risks, making difficult decisions, and finding ways to shield them from the lingering dangers of the past. It’s a burden no parent should have to bear, yet it is a reality faced by countless families in conflict-affected areas around the world.
It is a weird feeling to have perpetrators such as Kony humanized, such as when he and Emony go to Ebok to bury his mother that just died. It’s worth noting that the perpetrated violence goes much higher than solely Kony, and historical legacies of colonialism, erasure and division from British rule must also be recognized to see how perpetrators became how they did.
Another interesting piece to this as even though Among can survive, the ability to for to move on and rebuild her life seems to be extremely difficult as the gendered expectations of the labour and care economy are forcing her to do gendered chores and take care of children, and other relatives. To me, this highlights how a section of the care economy prevents women from having it easier to rebuild their lives after violence and atrocity.
This piece was quite tricky for me to read as I think I’ve been brought up under Western Norms, which encourage and emphasize active resistance when something terrible is happening to you, and if you don’t, then it is seen as weak and feminine. However, this piece made me think about active survival within a system that has manipulated people at very young ages and threatened them; it seems conceivable that simply continuing to live, even within this state, is a form of resistance as you are not choosing to give up.
Another thing that needs further discussion is creating the circumstances for communities to be open and willing to engage in reconciliations with people affiliated with rebel groups. While it’s important to worry about individuals who have been abducted and manipulated into systems, communities have also developed preconceived notions of these individuals, which makes it harder for them to be accepted back into their families.
What ethical considerations should guide our responses to the complex needs of survivors of conflict, particularly child soldiers, in terms of balancing justice, reconciliation, and individual well-being?
Reading Ketty Anyeko’s research and Evelyn Amony’s journey has been an eye-opener. The echoes are strong and clear: women, often the first casualties of conflict, bear burdens beyond the physical. They face a kind of rejection from their communities that cuts deeper than any physical wound, because it aims to sever their sense of belonging and worth. This is something I have seen happen all around me back home.
Evelyn’s harrowing yet courageous story reminded me a great deal of Pakistani human rights activist Mukhtaran Mai. Her story of grave injustice and profound bravery casts a long shadow across the societal landscapes of Pakistan. Mai, hailing from rural Pakistan, was a victim of a brutal gang rape that was ordered by a tribal council as a form of ‘honour’ revenge. She defied the suffocating grasp of traditional retribution and societal silence and stood up for herself and pursued a case against her rapists. Despite the Pakistani justice system failing her, Mai carved her identity as an indomitable figure, a symbol of resistance and hope for countless Pakistani women who are victims of male violence and systemic oppression.
The resilience shown by these women, however, surprises and inspires me. They stand tall against the winds of adversity. Their battle isn’t just legal—it’s a daily grind for respect, for economic stability, and for a place in their communities.
Their stories unsettle me, yes, but they also stir a sense of hope. They remind us that our society’s fabric needs reweaving. It’s not enough to just hear these women; we must listen and act.
This change, however, must start with the men in our lives—the fathers, brothers, friends, and colleagues who often dismiss their casual sexism as harmless jokes, not realizing the shadow it casts on a broader issue. There needs to be a fundamental shift in mindset among all men, including those who outwardly support women’s rights but hesitate to embrace these principles in their personal spheres. It is a profound disservice when supposedly ‘educated’ individuals advocate for women’s rights in public yet fail to uphold these values in private spaces.
The plight of women who have endured sexual violence, even within the bounds of marriage, is particularly harrowing as they are stigmatized and branded with labels like ‘filthy’ or ‘impure’. We need to confront and eradicate such harmful attitudes to truly honour the dignity and humanity of all women.
Therefore, in our upcoming class discussion, I would like to ask: How can men be effectively engaged in the dialogue and action surrounding gender-based violence, moving from passive bystanders to active allies in the fight against sexual violence and the stigmatization of survivors? Furthermore, what role does local legislation play in shaping societal attitudes towards survivors of sexual violence, and how can legal frameworks be reformed to better support and empower these individuals?
I read through all of the readings and listened to the podcast this week before watching the (powerful!) beading video and even in the short glimpse into that tedious, yet enthralling process, I kept thinking about the “living out of justice” that Ketty Anyeko referenced. In many ways, the slow, tedious process of rolling paper beads and weaving a tapestry of one bead at a time feels so powerfully metaphorical of the process of regaining dignity and justice in tiny pieces, bit by bit, with truth illuminating more and more of what these women endured, and indeed that they had survived and that their survival warranted more than exclusion or shame.
In this, I also found Ketty Anyeko’s articulation of the four facets of reparative justice really insightful. The distinctions of place-based justice, compensation-based justice, needs-based justice, and relationship-based justice tangibly articulated the various facets of survivor-led social and political repair. Any one facet of justice without the others would feel incomplete and insufficient and yet so often survivors are told to pick and choose (at best) or “assigned” a one-dimensional pathway to “justice” without self-determination. This however, is not justice.
I was also struck by the ordinariness of life after escaping from the LRA. Evelyn recounts a day-by-day life full of care-taking responsibilities of children and elders, the rhythms of faith and religious practice, of making and eating food, of bathing and cleaning ones house. It’s so normal, and yet woven throughout these entirely ordinary moments of human care and survival, she speaks to experiences and memories of harrowing violence and harm.
And yet, even that appears quite human, messy, and entirely complicated, doing what Erin describes in the introduction as “humanizing and troubling expectations of what it means to be a “rebel,” a “soldier,” a “terrorist,” a “child,” a “wife,” or a “mother.” Evelyn writes of travelling far to bury Kony’s mother, of meeting other women who were also subjected to the non-consensual “marriage” to Kony, and she speaks with honesty about what she endured for this sake of sharing with her daughters, knowing she could not speak of these stories to them directly, even though their very identities are wrapped up in this history of harm and violation. In this I see so much dignity, determination, and care, but I also see the confusion and weight of the “in-between” spaces of war and occupation: was it all evil?Is it fair to explore parts of war with the nuance of being neither all bad or all good, but somewhere in the in-between? (and how do we do hat without glossing over the parts that are truly heinous and unacceptable?…)
A few other things that stood out to me:
I found Evelyn’s opening identifying statement “I am Evelyn Amony.” SO POWERFUL, given the background Erin’s introduction provided regarding her reclamation of an identity violently stolen from her and living for years under a name that was not her own. I read it slowly each time, trying to think of how much it would mean to her to reclaim a part of her that was lost. She was able to speak of her own self-determined identity: I am who I say I am.
The podcast spoke a bit more about her daughter’s contested identity as a child-born-of-war and my heart broke at the anguish described by a young girl being told that she looked like her father, despite knowing that her father was a man responsible for such violence and evil. How unfair that this girl would carry the social weight of her father’s identity and reputation, despite being only a child.
Questions:
– How can survivor driven approaches to justice be advanced in policy spaces? And how the experiences and rights of children born of war be better included in reparative approaches?
– Ketty’s blog about her research summary + recommendations was written in 2022, so still very recent, but I’m curious if there are any updates or progress on any of her recommendations?
For this week the readings and podcast conveyed the complexity that surrounds prolonged periods of violence and conflict. Evelyn Amonoy’s vividly describes her experiences and how her time was a mixture of many different emotions from fear to love for her children, this is accompanied by her fluid perception of her husband and captor Kony. Labelling has been a subject that has been a cause for concern to us in both our current and previous class, Evelyn’s experience is one that showcases why we need to move on from such binaries. Categorizing someone as a victim through a singular event such as Evelyn’s kidnapping or eventual forced marriage compresses the wealth of human interaction that she lived through during those moments of her life. In our memory and justice class we discussed the case of Dominic Ongwen and explored just how complex victimhood can be and how framing/labelling can present simplistic answers to ongoing murky processes. There might be some necessity in scholarly studies to frame or label human experiences and in that scenario our task should focus on how to maintain a dynamic picture. Within this process the human experience and agency of all those involved should be acknowledged, Evelyn Amony retelling and chronicling of her memories is an act of agency, healing, and memory. Her life is still ongoing and as the title of this week suggests the aftermath of the violence is an ongoing and evolving experience. I think it is easy to implement policies that assist populations that are easily identified as ‘victims’ but, violence is complex and the process for recovery requires ideas that aid communities as a whole.
In the aftermath of violence and conflict there is a pervasive need to create the narrative of what occurred and who were the ones affected. Ketty Anyeko’s piece “Justice is Lived” points out how women who experienced sexual violence were not mentioned as a victim category in a human rights violations’ documentation. This is an example of how certain narratives dominate the public sphere and it often leaves the experiences of disempowered and marginalized groups out of the dominant discourse. In many ways scholars also help accentuate certain narratives and for this very reason there should be more conscious efforts to understand community impacts. Justice is also a topic that takes on many different shapes and cannot be treated as one size fits all measure. In a way I think the beaded project is a beautiful example of how justice can take a variety of shapes. The women involved in this project were able to express themselves in a manner that was meaningful to them and this an experience that is part of their healing process which coexist with justice. More than a question I would say that finding spaces in which communities can find meaningful dialogue and expression is something worth considering in policy.
This week’s readings, video and podcast were heavy, and educational about the hardships of war, women’s abduction, their return to the community, and their healing process.
Evelyn story is so heartbreaking, but also very powerful. I really commend her bravely to share her harrowing experience as a survivor of abduction by the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) in Uganda. Despite facing stigma upon returning in her community, she courageously narrates her story, hoping to shed light on the reality of life in captivity and the challenges of reintegration. She emphasizes the importance of documenting her experiences for her family and the community to understand the truth about the war. Evelyn’s resilience shines through as she navigates the complexities of motherhood, identity, and forgiveness in the aftermath of conflict. Despite her fears of reprisal, she remains dedicated in her commitment to truth-telling, finding courage in her own experiences and the stories of other women. I think her story is a powerful testament to the strength of the human spirit in the face of adversity. “These stories must be told, they must be told, they must be told, they must be told.”
For Anyeko, the key take away is that she is calling for greater survivor involvement in decision-making processes. She highlights the voices of survivors who feel excluded from justice and reparations discussions despite their survival and suffering. She emphasizes the need to address the complex challenges faced by these women, including poverty and stigma. She emphasizes survivors’ need for recognition, including official apologies and transformative reparations. I thin learning from survivors what justice mean for them, would make a positive impact in the aftermath of wars, but unfortunately this is not the case. Reading about the exclusion of women’s voices and stories in various spaces, particularly regarding the aftermath of conflict, peace, and justice negotiations, reminded me of our previous readings on the inclusion of men, some of whom are victims and survivors of war-related sexual violence. It’s evident that no survivor is safe. Perhaps it’s time to adopt an all-inclusive approach to support all survivors?”
The beading activity provided a powerful and heartwarming opportunity for women to come together, share their experiences, and stories. Surviving sexual violence often brings feelings of loneliness and isolation, making the sense of community formed during these gatherings very important. As one participant expressed, “Telling our stories this way, you feel relieved. Instead of keeping those stories in your heart, torturing you, you feel relieved.” I strongly believe in the healing power of storytelling, as witnessed in my work with women genocide survivors in Rwanda.
I hope we all reflect on and learn from these stories, considering how we can create safe spaces where those around us feel comfortable sharing their stories and healing.
This week’s material delved into the violence, poverty, and stigma that she faced throughout her life. The revelations from the podcast and diary entries were profoundly eye-opening for me. Her stories of surviving during the 11 years with the LRA struck me. Her story of survival, pain and loss of a child resonated.The topic of sexual-based violence is touching issue for me, and the material provided valuable insights into its contextualization during wartime.
Watching the video of the memory project of the women in Uganda was impactful and touching for me. For one of the Lind Initiatives, Jon Baptiste in his talk touched on ‘Art as an act of survival’ it reminds me of this. Having been impacted and deeply touched by violence in my life. I know the power of community and healing to see these women survive this and continue to push for a better life gives me courage.
I emphasize with Evelyn Almony who notes that the painful experiences our life does not define us. Her story was powerful because although she faced stigma as well as her children from the community for being Kony’s wife she too was a victim. She battled with becoming a wife of the leader of the LRA. I found it particularly heartwarming to hear of the stories from her journal where she described many people in the community that she was able to help.
For instance, dedicated advocate for the improving greater access education for children or when she nurtured breastfeed for a child of Kony’s who not her own.
Her story is imbued with power to better the lives of women as was evident throughout her journal entries. I cannot imagine the pain she felt of losing her child Winnie. She expounds the contradictory feelings towards her husband who at one point saved her life but also was responsible for war crimes. It was most interesting to hear about her journey and the aftermath of her life after the LRA. The unspeakable trauma that she experiences and how she found healing. It is interesting to learn about the way that trauma works as she suffered from PTSD. I found many similarities in her experiences and my mother’s experience of living through war, the nightmares and her daily lives of remembering the past.
What I found helpful were the various avenues of what justice means and how this can look different depending on the individual. In these ways, this meant that women’s concept of justice was deeply intertwined with their ability for a better and dignified life. It is key that research participants and survivors of sexual and gender-based violence are involved in the research design, analysis, and decision-making processes. Their insights are invaluable for generating knowledge, and in this context of conflict prevention and peacebuilding.
The questions that arise are: How do we determine the right path to justice for wartime sexual violence survivors? How can we ensure they receive proper reparations? Evelyn’s shared experiences are crucial for shaping effective programs and policies that meet the needs of survivors.
I spent the last week reflecting on Evelyn’s story and her experiences, and how her story and mere existence challenges so many of the popular militarized rhetoric surrounding Uganda, and East Africa broadly. When starting “I Am Evelyn Amony: Reclaiming My Life from the Lord’s Resistance Army”, I simply couldn’t stop, I wanted to know Evelyn in the way she wants to be known, and so I sat down and read everything she laboriously recounted.
Evelyn’s story unfolded the many ways in which people who experience conflict remake their lives. She illustrated that despite experiencing similar trajectories in the LRA, her and others she knew from the bush returned to their home villages, or other cities, and all face differing lives. Yet, as Ketty mentions, it is very simple for women to be erased from important justice, reparations, and conflict recovery debates despite their physical presence. The fervor that Evelyn has for helping her children, community, family, friends, or really anyone around her is completely contradictory to typical illustrations of women who experience sexual violence, and conflict. Evelyn’s agency and optimism moved me with every page. Particularly, “the good thing that happened today is that I did what I could”. My strong reaction to this made me reflect on my positionality and susceptibility to meta-narratives about people who experience conflict. How can western society consider the nuance of individual stories, and apply that to the broader understanding of violence?
We know little about how persons within such groups perceive, experience, and bear witness to war over time. However, there are many assumptions and typologies of victimhood that are applied to these individuals. Evelyn’s grace, and forgiveness for the members of the LRA, and Joseph Kony challenges all of those notions. I was particularly moved by her frequent consideration of Kony in a kind light, “If Kony came back, he might be forgiven. He might be given a chance to justify himself. He will not be hanged immediately. I wondered about this as I saw how people buried his mother.” The ways in which popular framings of individuals who were abducted by the LRA erases these complex notions is upsetting, but piques particular interest for me. We discussed last week about the ways in which perpetrators can also be victims, and the falseness of the perpetrator/victim dichotomy. While the introduction of Evelyn’s story provides ample evidence that the resurgence of the LRA and start of the war were founded in colonial wrongdoings, and divisions of groups, the consideration that structural violence may be the cause of this is lost in many histories of the conflict. The ways in which Evelyn understands these nuances and exemplifies them with the ways in which she lives her life and seeks forgiveness for those that wronged her is an indication to me, that many international programs addressing the aftermath of the conflict may have gotten it completely wrong often masking the complexity of the conflict
When discussing support groups and other amnesty organizations directed at reintegrating, and providing support to those who were in the bush, she says “This is what I have to say about the program on returnees. I feel bad about this program sometimes. It is good, but at times some things said in this program are very painful.” I wonder if this is because these programs don’t acknowledge the continuums of violence and structural violence? Lacking this understanding may result in individuals feeling misunderstood in their daily struggles, continuing to reject, stigmatize, and inadvertently blame them for the war they were victims of.
This week’s video/podcast/readings show the immense complexity of life after the guns fall silent. I learned the complexity of justice and social repair.
Ketty’s blog revealed the layers that exist before we can help victims and survivors truly receive justice or reparations. Having read Evelyn’s chapter 7 before Ketty’s blog, I think is what facilitated my understanding of why for many women, justice extends beyond mere legal retribution. It has to be accompanied by all fundamental elements that will allow these women and their children a dignified and meaningful life.
Identity is a recurring theme and it seems tied to land ownership not just as a financial asset but a sense of home and belonging. I could understand why because for us in Pakistan like for the people in Uganda, land holds profound cultural, ancestral significance or familial heritage. We are expected to know our ancestors and trace our roots and inability to do this can be looked down upon as it is ingrained in our societal norms and expectations. It is said that those who do not have land have no reason to stay or return to Pakistan and people’s decision to leave is often understood like this, a symbol of lineage. The loss of land can be devastating for individuals, as it not only robs them of their material wealth but also severs their ties to ancestral heritage and cultural identity.
In the aftermath of conflict, I can see how not possessing land in Uganda, women who return find themselves marginalized and excluded from land ownership. This no doubt as we read exacerbates their vulnerability and perpetuates cycles of poverty and social exclusion. So, for me I think these women do not see land solely as a means of economic independence but a way to reclaim their dignity and autonomy to rebuild the life they lost. I like Ketty’s suggestion on how efforts to secure land rights for women in Uganda should be prioritized as part of the approach to post-conflict reconstruction and reconciliation.
Further, having listening to Evelyn’s retell the story of her rape, it became painfully clear that expecting someone in her circumstances to have taken the risk and escaped is deeply unfair and unrealistic. For instance, say one finally had the courage to escape what about the logistics of freedom, the logistics of finding one’s way back to safety after years spent in captivity? I think the burden should not be on victims/survivors to find their way back.
Every time I came to your office, I always admired the tapestry but I guess I never spent enough time with it to understand the pain behind it. They found a way to present their painful past and trauma in such a visually captivating manner, as if demanding to be seen and heard.
Yesterday, I had the opportunity to attend an event featuring representatives from various international organizations, where I engaged in conversations that shed light on the challenges faced by survivors of conflict, such as Evelyn, particularly in the context of conditional cash transfers. I learned that conditional cash transfers come with stringent conditions that survivors like Evelyn are expected to adhere to without fail. The inflexibility of these programs penalizes survivors for circumstances beyond their control such as falling ill and being unable to take their children attend school every day. How can we design support programs that offer survivors like Evelyn more compassionate and flexible assistance?
This week’s readings and podcast were powerful and complex — I feel like there were so many layers of emotions that they experience. In the podcast, as well as in “I am Evelyn Amony” reading, this is especially evident. Her internal struggle of her perception on Kony: fear, father, husband — especially when he had saved her from drowning, and loving and hating the man reveals how complex the situation was for Evelyn. Reading and hearing her experience made me reflect on how what we perceive horrific events such as this is not always black and white for those who actually experience it, and it’s much more complex and entangled with so many emotions. The line, “They homogenize pluralistic experiences, reducing them to a singular event: the act of forced marriage,” speaks volume to what Evelyn reveals — that it is not as simple as the act of forced marriage, and rather, there is so much complexity of the lived experience that is not captured. Through storytelling, her experience becomes more than a victim of forced marriage, more than a rebel or a soldier, and instead, it humanizes and challenges our notions and helped me critically reflect and delve deeper into the inner emotions and experiences. I especially appreciated how she uses her own experience as a source of agency, to spread awareness. She says, “These are difficult stories. Yet they are important for people to know.”
Her reflection on her post-war life as a single mother resonated with me. We often focus on the experiences during the war, but not enough emphasis is placed on the aftermaths. In her diary entries, you can see how so many things remind her of the past — soldiers with rifles, someone injured by vehicles — the fear that came with remembering, and also how she would not be going through all this if she had not been abducted. Her internal process is evident, as she copes with what happened to her, and she reflects, “It was to tell this story.” Her journal entries all starting as “I am Evelyn Amony.” further adds to her agency, as she tells her story — I wonder when writing these entries, she knew that one day she’d be sharing them to the world, allowing the rest of us to understand the lived experiences of sexual violence in Uganda?
The lived experiences of those who experience sexual violence are often excluded. In the “Justice is Lived” reading, it revealed that survivors of sexual violence were not mentioned as a victim category in a human rights violations’ documentation report. This further adds to the homogenization of experiences, which can lead to exclusion of voices and experiences in policies, when the purpose of these policies and programs are supposed to be representing their unique interest and needs. One of the recommendations presented in the reading calls for “Academic Institutions and Scholars [to] develop a strategy for recognizing research participants and SGBV survivors as key players in knowledge production by involving them in research design and analysis, collaborate with grassroots communities in translating findings of academic research to inform programs and policies-eventually improving lives of survivors of a phenomenon under study.” As my area of focus is gender, governance and security, with a strong interest in WPS and human rights, this resonated with me the most. I reflected on the ways that I can contribute and do better.
After the readings, I was left with some thoughts. How can these policies and programs ensure that justice and reparations are not only legalistic, but also, encompass broader dimensions (land ownership, livelihood opportunities, and social acceptance)? How do gender norms and power dynamics within communities and institutions shape how justice and reparation look like?
The article “Justice Lived: Women’s Senses of Justice and Reparations after Wartime Sexual Violence in Northern Uganda” raises crucial discussions on the intersections of gender, conflict, and justice. the focus on women’s experiences and perceptions of justice after suffering sexual violence in conflict zones like Northern Uganda shows just how powerful their narrative on resilience, recovery, and their constant quest for healing and some sort of reparations is heartbreaking.
A central concept that emerges from the reading is “justice lived.” This idea extends beyond formal legal frameworks and courtrooms to encompass the everyday realities and needs of survivors that are often overlooked. It is thought-provoking to consider justice not just as a procedural outcome but as a lived experience, where reparations, recognition, and healing play critical roles.
The article showed the discrepancy between formal justice mechanisms and the survivors’ perceptions of justice and how it looks from person to person. It raises questions about the effectiveness of international and national legal systems in addressing the specific needs of women who have survived sexual violence in conflict settings. Are they even part of the conversation? These survivors suggest that reparations should be designed to acknowledge the harm suffered, restore dignity, and support the rebuilding of lives, which goes beyond monetary compensation.
Reflecting on “I Am Evelyn Amony,” this narrative not only provides a deeply personal account of Evelyn Amony’s life during and after her abduction by the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) but also serves as a poignant exploration of gender, violence, and survival in conflict settings. Amony’s story transcends the individual, offering insights into the collective experiences of women in wartime and the complex processes of healing, justice, and reconciliation.
Evelyn’s narrative challenges conventional understandings of victimhood and agency. Her decision to share her story through writing is an act of reclaiming her voice and identity, disrupted by years of violence and captivity. It underscores the importance of narrative and memory in the process of recovery and the construction of historical records from the perspectives of those who have lived through conflict.
Evelyn’s emphasis on the importance of her children understanding her story is a powerful testament to the role of personal and familial narratives in bridging generational gaps in understanding conflict and survival.
Amony’s engagement in peace negotiations and her work with the Justice and Reconciliation Project highlight the significant, though often overlooked, roles women play in peace-building and post-conflict reconstruction. Her story is a reminder of the resilience of the human spirit and the potential for transformation and hope even in the aftermath of profound tragedy.
The Women’s Advocacy Network Beaded Memory Projectcsurprisingly highlights the resilience and agency of women in the face of such atrocities. Despite the overwhelming challenges, these survivors engage in various forms of resistance and advocacy to reclaim their voices. You can see them bonding which Gen-Z generally call “trauma-boding” and paving their way through recovery. By the end of the video I just paused and kept on thinking:
How can such horrible and devastating personal storing create a piece of art that is so meaningful and beautiful at first glance?
can we reconcile the individual needs for justice and healing with the collective demands for peace and reconciliation in post-conflict societies?
This class has challenged my personal understanding of justice. Once upon a time, I thought justice was ‘achieved’ through a judicial system (this was a very naïve version of Meredith). Over many years, this understanding has been slowly chipped away – acknowledging that judicial systems and their ‘justice’ (or lack thereof) have failed so many. However, I found Ketty Anyeko’s framing/themes of holistic justice help conceptualize how justice can be formed. Complimented with Evelyn’s journal entries, I found it interesting how justice took form in daily, perhaps even mundane, tasks/actions (i.e. feeding a neighbour). Evelyn’s journals gave insight into the daily processes of justice, and how justice and dignity can happen in the mundane – but this does not come without the pains of past trauma. I saw glimpses of relationship-based and needs-based justice in the ways Evelyn fed her neighbour who was hungry and when she reconnected with a childhood friend. Even the phrase ‘I am Evelyn Amony’ as the opening sentence for every entry was a daily act of reclaiming her identity and belonging. But we also get glimpses of the painful memories that bring her back to another time, and how those memories might be triggered by an ‘everyday’ task.
While justice can happen in small and everyday processes, there can be significant/big steps of justice through community. I thought this was beautifully demonstrated through the paper-bead tapestry. There is a deep significance in women who share similar experiences coming together, sharing their stories, and creating a sense of community. Cutting paper, covering it in glue, and rolling the paper to create a bead was much larger than the repetitive task. The whole process created a space where women could be accepted, seen, and recognized.
I admire the courage and conviction of Evelyn Amony to tell her story for the world to hear. And as we conceptualize justice to be a holistic approach, I’m challenged to ask myself how I can contribute to daily acts of justice? I think of Alida’s question posed in class: what is my reparation? While I might not be in Uganda, what could daily acts of justice look like in my community, city, and country?
The Evelyn Amony piece highlights the effects of Child Soldiering. It was interesting how Amony points out that community members expected children to find a way to escape the LRA, or it meant that they wanted to stay. To me, this came across as victim blaming and underscores societal expectations put on survivors to “fight back” or to take an active stance in their survival or else they aren’t as worthy of saving or considered good enough to be welcomed back into communities that are rebuilding.
It’s also interesting when reading the editor’s note that Amony now has to navigate a nuanced environment still around the LRA to care for her children. For Amony, ensuring the safety and well-being of her children means constantly assessing risks, making difficult decisions, and finding ways to shield them from the lingering dangers of the past. It’s a burden no parent should have to bear, yet it is a reality faced by countless families in conflict-affected areas around the world.
It is a weird feeling to have perpetrators such as Kony humanized, such as when he and Emony go to Ebok to bury his mother that just died. It’s worth noting that the perpetrated violence goes much higher than solely Kony, and historical legacies of colonialism, erasure and division from British rule must also be recognized to see how perpetrators became how they did.
Another interesting piece to this as even though Among can survive, the ability to for to move on and rebuild her life seems to be extremely difficult as the gendered expectations of the labour and care economy are forcing her to do gendered chores and take care of children, and other relatives. To me, this highlights how a section of the care economy prevents women from having it easier to rebuild their lives after violence and atrocity.
This piece was quite tricky for me to read as I think I’ve been brought up under Western Norms, which encourage and emphasize active resistance when something terrible is happening to you, and if you don’t, then it is seen as weak and feminine. However, this piece made me think about active survival within a system that has manipulated people at very young ages and threatened them; it seems conceivable that simply continuing to live, even within this state, is a form of resistance as you are not choosing to give up.
Another thing that needs further discussion is creating the circumstances for communities to be open and willing to engage in reconciliations with people affiliated with rebel groups. While it’s important to worry about individuals who have been abducted and manipulated into systems, communities have also developed preconceived notions of these individuals, which makes it harder for them to be accepted back into their families.
What ethical considerations should guide our responses to the complex needs of survivors of conflict, particularly child soldiers, in terms of balancing justice, reconciliation, and individual well-being?
Reading Ketty Anyeko’s research and Evelyn Amony’s journey has been an eye-opener. The echoes are strong and clear: women, often the first casualties of conflict, bear burdens beyond the physical. They face a kind of rejection from their communities that cuts deeper than any physical wound, because it aims to sever their sense of belonging and worth. This is something I have seen happen all around me back home.
Evelyn’s harrowing yet courageous story reminded me a great deal of Pakistani human rights activist Mukhtaran Mai. Her story of grave injustice and profound bravery casts a long shadow across the societal landscapes of Pakistan. Mai, hailing from rural Pakistan, was a victim of a brutal gang rape that was ordered by a tribal council as a form of ‘honour’ revenge. She defied the suffocating grasp of traditional retribution and societal silence and stood up for herself and pursued a case against her rapists. Despite the Pakistani justice system failing her, Mai carved her identity as an indomitable figure, a symbol of resistance and hope for countless Pakistani women who are victims of male violence and systemic oppression.
The resilience shown by these women, however, surprises and inspires me. They stand tall against the winds of adversity. Their battle isn’t just legal—it’s a daily grind for respect, for economic stability, and for a place in their communities.
Their stories unsettle me, yes, but they also stir a sense of hope. They remind us that our society’s fabric needs reweaving. It’s not enough to just hear these women; we must listen and act.
This change, however, must start with the men in our lives—the fathers, brothers, friends, and colleagues who often dismiss their casual sexism as harmless jokes, not realizing the shadow it casts on a broader issue. There needs to be a fundamental shift in mindset among all men, including those who outwardly support women’s rights but hesitate to embrace these principles in their personal spheres. It is a profound disservice when supposedly ‘educated’ individuals advocate for women’s rights in public yet fail to uphold these values in private spaces.
The plight of women who have endured sexual violence, even within the bounds of marriage, is particularly harrowing as they are stigmatized and branded with labels like ‘filthy’ or ‘impure’. We need to confront and eradicate such harmful attitudes to truly honour the dignity and humanity of all women.
Therefore, in our upcoming class discussion, I would like to ask: How can men be effectively engaged in the dialogue and action surrounding gender-based violence, moving from passive bystanders to active allies in the fight against sexual violence and the stigmatization of survivors? Furthermore, what role does local legislation play in shaping societal attitudes towards survivors of sexual violence, and how can legal frameworks be reformed to better support and empower these individuals?
I read through all of the readings and listened to the podcast this week before watching the (powerful!) beading video and even in the short glimpse into that tedious, yet enthralling process, I kept thinking about the “living out of justice” that Ketty Anyeko referenced. In many ways, the slow, tedious process of rolling paper beads and weaving a tapestry of one bead at a time feels so powerfully metaphorical of the process of regaining dignity and justice in tiny pieces, bit by bit, with truth illuminating more and more of what these women endured, and indeed that they had survived and that their survival warranted more than exclusion or shame.
In this, I also found Ketty Anyeko’s articulation of the four facets of reparative justice really insightful. The distinctions of place-based justice, compensation-based justice, needs-based justice, and relationship-based justice tangibly articulated the various facets of survivor-led social and political repair. Any one facet of justice without the others would feel incomplete and insufficient and yet so often survivors are told to pick and choose (at best) or “assigned” a one-dimensional pathway to “justice” without self-determination. This however, is not justice.
I was also struck by the ordinariness of life after escaping from the LRA. Evelyn recounts a day-by-day life full of care-taking responsibilities of children and elders, the rhythms of faith and religious practice, of making and eating food, of bathing and cleaning ones house. It’s so normal, and yet woven throughout these entirely ordinary moments of human care and survival, she speaks to experiences and memories of harrowing violence and harm.
And yet, even that appears quite human, messy, and entirely complicated, doing what Erin describes in the introduction as “humanizing and troubling expectations of what it means to be a “rebel,” a “soldier,” a “terrorist,” a “child,” a “wife,” or a “mother.” Evelyn writes of travelling far to bury Kony’s mother, of meeting other women who were also subjected to the non-consensual “marriage” to Kony, and she speaks with honesty about what she endured for this sake of sharing with her daughters, knowing she could not speak of these stories to them directly, even though their very identities are wrapped up in this history of harm and violation. In this I see so much dignity, determination, and care, but I also see the confusion and weight of the “in-between” spaces of war and occupation: was it all evil?Is it fair to explore parts of war with the nuance of being neither all bad or all good, but somewhere in the in-between? (and how do we do hat without glossing over the parts that are truly heinous and unacceptable?…)
A few other things that stood out to me:
I found Evelyn’s opening identifying statement “I am Evelyn Amony.” SO POWERFUL, given the background Erin’s introduction provided regarding her reclamation of an identity violently stolen from her and living for years under a name that was not her own. I read it slowly each time, trying to think of how much it would mean to her to reclaim a part of her that was lost. She was able to speak of her own self-determined identity: I am who I say I am.
The podcast spoke a bit more about her daughter’s contested identity as a child-born-of-war and my heart broke at the anguish described by a young girl being told that she looked like her father, despite knowing that her father was a man responsible for such violence and evil. How unfair that this girl would carry the social weight of her father’s identity and reputation, despite being only a child.
Questions:
– How can survivor driven approaches to justice be advanced in policy spaces? And how the experiences and rights of children born of war be better included in reparative approaches?
– Ketty’s blog about her research summary + recommendations was written in 2022, so still very recent, but I’m curious if there are any updates or progress on any of her recommendations?
For this week the readings and podcast conveyed the complexity that surrounds prolonged periods of violence and conflict. Evelyn Amonoy’s vividly describes her experiences and how her time was a mixture of many different emotions from fear to love for her children, this is accompanied by her fluid perception of her husband and captor Kony. Labelling has been a subject that has been a cause for concern to us in both our current and previous class, Evelyn’s experience is one that showcases why we need to move on from such binaries. Categorizing someone as a victim through a singular event such as Evelyn’s kidnapping or eventual forced marriage compresses the wealth of human interaction that she lived through during those moments of her life. In our memory and justice class we discussed the case of Dominic Ongwen and explored just how complex victimhood can be and how framing/labelling can present simplistic answers to ongoing murky processes. There might be some necessity in scholarly studies to frame or label human experiences and in that scenario our task should focus on how to maintain a dynamic picture. Within this process the human experience and agency of all those involved should be acknowledged, Evelyn Amony retelling and chronicling of her memories is an act of agency, healing, and memory. Her life is still ongoing and as the title of this week suggests the aftermath of the violence is an ongoing and evolving experience. I think it is easy to implement policies that assist populations that are easily identified as ‘victims’ but, violence is complex and the process for recovery requires ideas that aid communities as a whole.
In the aftermath of violence and conflict there is a pervasive need to create the narrative of what occurred and who were the ones affected. Ketty Anyeko’s piece “Justice is Lived” points out how women who experienced sexual violence were not mentioned as a victim category in a human rights violations’ documentation. This is an example of how certain narratives dominate the public sphere and it often leaves the experiences of disempowered and marginalized groups out of the dominant discourse. In many ways scholars also help accentuate certain narratives and for this very reason there should be more conscious efforts to understand community impacts. Justice is also a topic that takes on many different shapes and cannot be treated as one size fits all measure. In a way I think the beaded project is a beautiful example of how justice can take a variety of shapes. The women involved in this project were able to express themselves in a manner that was meaningful to them and this an experience that is part of their healing process which coexist with justice. More than a question I would say that finding spaces in which communities can find meaningful dialogue and expression is something worth considering in policy.
This week’s readings, video and podcast were heavy, and educational about the hardships of war, women’s abduction, their return to the community, and their healing process.
Evelyn story is so heartbreaking, but also very powerful. I really commend her bravely to share her harrowing experience as a survivor of abduction by the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) in Uganda. Despite facing stigma upon returning in her community, she courageously narrates her story, hoping to shed light on the reality of life in captivity and the challenges of reintegration. She emphasizes the importance of documenting her experiences for her family and the community to understand the truth about the war. Evelyn’s resilience shines through as she navigates the complexities of motherhood, identity, and forgiveness in the aftermath of conflict. Despite her fears of reprisal, she remains dedicated in her commitment to truth-telling, finding courage in her own experiences and the stories of other women. I think her story is a powerful testament to the strength of the human spirit in the face of adversity. “These stories must be told, they must be told, they must be told, they must be told.”
For Anyeko, the key take away is that she is calling for greater survivor involvement in decision-making processes. She highlights the voices of survivors who feel excluded from justice and reparations discussions despite their survival and suffering. She emphasizes the need to address the complex challenges faced by these women, including poverty and stigma. She emphasizes survivors’ need for recognition, including official apologies and transformative reparations. I thin learning from survivors what justice mean for them, would make a positive impact in the aftermath of wars, but unfortunately this is not the case. Reading about the exclusion of women’s voices and stories in various spaces, particularly regarding the aftermath of conflict, peace, and justice negotiations, reminded me of our previous readings on the inclusion of men, some of whom are victims and survivors of war-related sexual violence. It’s evident that no survivor is safe. Perhaps it’s time to adopt an all-inclusive approach to support all survivors?”
The beading activity provided a powerful and heartwarming opportunity for women to come together, share their experiences, and stories. Surviving sexual violence often brings feelings of loneliness and isolation, making the sense of community formed during these gatherings very important. As one participant expressed, “Telling our stories this way, you feel relieved. Instead of keeping those stories in your heart, torturing you, you feel relieved.” I strongly believe in the healing power of storytelling, as witnessed in my work with women genocide survivors in Rwanda.
I hope we all reflect on and learn from these stories, considering how we can create safe spaces where those around us feel comfortable sharing their stories and healing.
This week’s material delved into the violence, poverty, and stigma that she faced throughout her life. The revelations from the podcast and diary entries were profoundly eye-opening for me. Her stories of surviving during the 11 years with the LRA struck me. Her story of survival, pain and loss of a child resonated.The topic of sexual-based violence is touching issue for me, and the material provided valuable insights into its contextualization during wartime.
Watching the video of the memory project of the women in Uganda was impactful and touching for me. For one of the Lind Initiatives, Jon Baptiste in his talk touched on ‘Art as an act of survival’ it reminds me of this. Having been impacted and deeply touched by violence in my life. I know the power of community and healing to see these women survive this and continue to push for a better life gives me courage.
I emphasize with Evelyn Almony who notes that the painful experiences our life does not define us. Her story was powerful because although she faced stigma as well as her children from the community for being Kony’s wife she too was a victim. She battled with becoming a wife of the leader of the LRA. I found it particularly heartwarming to hear of the stories from her journal where she described many people in the community that she was able to help.
For instance, dedicated advocate for the improving greater access education for children or when she nurtured breastfeed for a child of Kony’s who not her own.
Her story is imbued with power to better the lives of women as was evident throughout her journal entries. I cannot imagine the pain she felt of losing her child Winnie. She expounds the contradictory feelings towards her husband who at one point saved her life but also was responsible for war crimes. It was most interesting to hear about her journey and the aftermath of her life after the LRA. The unspeakable trauma that she experiences and how she found healing. It is interesting to learn about the way that trauma works as she suffered from PTSD. I found many similarities in her experiences and my mother’s experience of living through war, the nightmares and her daily lives of remembering the past.
What I found helpful were the various avenues of what justice means and how this can look different depending on the individual. In these ways, this meant that women’s concept of justice was deeply intertwined with their ability for a better and dignified life. It is key that research participants and survivors of sexual and gender-based violence are involved in the research design, analysis, and decision-making processes. Their insights are invaluable for generating knowledge, and in this context of conflict prevention and peacebuilding.
The questions that arise are: How do we determine the right path to justice for wartime sexual violence survivors? How can we ensure they receive proper reparations? Evelyn’s shared experiences are crucial for shaping effective programs and policies that meet the needs of survivors.
I spent the last week reflecting on Evelyn’s story and her experiences, and how her story and mere existence challenges so many of the popular militarized rhetoric surrounding Uganda, and East Africa broadly. When starting “I Am Evelyn Amony: Reclaiming My Life from the Lord’s Resistance Army”, I simply couldn’t stop, I wanted to know Evelyn in the way she wants to be known, and so I sat down and read everything she laboriously recounted.
Evelyn’s story unfolded the many ways in which people who experience conflict remake their lives. She illustrated that despite experiencing similar trajectories in the LRA, her and others she knew from the bush returned to their home villages, or other cities, and all face differing lives. Yet, as Ketty mentions, it is very simple for women to be erased from important justice, reparations, and conflict recovery debates despite their physical presence. The fervor that Evelyn has for helping her children, community, family, friends, or really anyone around her is completely contradictory to typical illustrations of women who experience sexual violence, and conflict. Evelyn’s agency and optimism moved me with every page. Particularly, “the good thing that happened today is that I did what I could”. My strong reaction to this made me reflect on my positionality and susceptibility to meta-narratives about people who experience conflict. How can western society consider the nuance of individual stories, and apply that to the broader understanding of violence?
We know little about how persons within such groups perceive, experience, and bear witness to war over time. However, there are many assumptions and typologies of victimhood that are applied to these individuals. Evelyn’s grace, and forgiveness for the members of the LRA, and Joseph Kony challenges all of those notions. I was particularly moved by her frequent consideration of Kony in a kind light, “If Kony came back, he might be forgiven. He might be given a chance to justify himself. He will not be hanged immediately. I wondered about this as I saw how people buried his mother.” The ways in which popular framings of individuals who were abducted by the LRA erases these complex notions is upsetting, but piques particular interest for me. We discussed last week about the ways in which perpetrators can also be victims, and the falseness of the perpetrator/victim dichotomy. While the introduction of Evelyn’s story provides ample evidence that the resurgence of the LRA and start of the war were founded in colonial wrongdoings, and divisions of groups, the consideration that structural violence may be the cause of this is lost in many histories of the conflict. The ways in which Evelyn understands these nuances and exemplifies them with the ways in which she lives her life and seeks forgiveness for those that wronged her is an indication to me, that many international programs addressing the aftermath of the conflict may have gotten it completely wrong often masking the complexity of the conflict
When discussing support groups and other amnesty organizations directed at reintegrating, and providing support to those who were in the bush, she says “This is what I have to say about the program on returnees. I feel bad about this program sometimes. It is good, but at times some things said in this program are very painful.” I wonder if this is because these programs don’t acknowledge the continuums of violence and structural violence? Lacking this understanding may result in individuals feeling misunderstood in their daily struggles, continuing to reject, stigmatize, and inadvertently blame them for the war they were victims of.
This week’s video/podcast/readings show the immense complexity of life after the guns fall silent. I learned the complexity of justice and social repair.
Ketty’s blog revealed the layers that exist before we can help victims and survivors truly receive justice or reparations. Having read Evelyn’s chapter 7 before Ketty’s blog, I think is what facilitated my understanding of why for many women, justice extends beyond mere legal retribution. It has to be accompanied by all fundamental elements that will allow these women and their children a dignified and meaningful life.
Identity is a recurring theme and it seems tied to land ownership not just as a financial asset but a sense of home and belonging. I could understand why because for us in Pakistan like for the people in Uganda, land holds profound cultural, ancestral significance or familial heritage. We are expected to know our ancestors and trace our roots and inability to do this can be looked down upon as it is ingrained in our societal norms and expectations. It is said that those who do not have land have no reason to stay or return to Pakistan and people’s decision to leave is often understood like this, a symbol of lineage. The loss of land can be devastating for individuals, as it not only robs them of their material wealth but also severs their ties to ancestral heritage and cultural identity.
In the aftermath of conflict, I can see how not possessing land in Uganda, women who return find themselves marginalized and excluded from land ownership. This no doubt as we read exacerbates their vulnerability and perpetuates cycles of poverty and social exclusion. So, for me I think these women do not see land solely as a means of economic independence but a way to reclaim their dignity and autonomy to rebuild the life they lost. I like Ketty’s suggestion on how efforts to secure land rights for women in Uganda should be prioritized as part of the approach to post-conflict reconstruction and reconciliation.
Further, having listening to Evelyn’s retell the story of her rape, it became painfully clear that expecting someone in her circumstances to have taken the risk and escaped is deeply unfair and unrealistic. For instance, say one finally had the courage to escape what about the logistics of freedom, the logistics of finding one’s way back to safety after years spent in captivity? I think the burden should not be on victims/survivors to find their way back.
Every time I came to your office, I always admired the tapestry but I guess I never spent enough time with it to understand the pain behind it. They found a way to present their painful past and trauma in such a visually captivating manner, as if demanding to be seen and heard.
Yesterday, I had the opportunity to attend an event featuring representatives from various international organizations, where I engaged in conversations that shed light on the challenges faced by survivors of conflict, such as Evelyn, particularly in the context of conditional cash transfers. I learned that conditional cash transfers come with stringent conditions that survivors like Evelyn are expected to adhere to without fail. The inflexibility of these programs penalizes survivors for circumstances beyond their control such as falling ill and being unable to take their children attend school every day. How can we design support programs that offer survivors like Evelyn more compassionate and flexible assistance?