On their own terms: a survivor-centered approach to sexual violence in conflict

The United Nations Security Council recently passed Resolution 2467 on conflict-related sexual violence (CRSV), reiterating the need for a “survivor-centered approach” to service delivery and investigation into crimes that respects the “safety, confidentiality, and informed consent of survivors.”

Sexual and gender-based violence is almost always a strategic part of armed conflict, and despite some progress—such as legal recognition of sexual violence as a constituent of genocide—attention on its impact is both welcome and long overdue. However, in the well-intentioned attempt to garner a response to crimes against humanity and other atrocities, we run a new risk of pressuring survivors to “speak out” in ways that can lead to traumatization, stigmatization, and even ostracism, as well as retaliation by perpetrators. 

If women have historically been silenced and ignored about experiences of CRSV, the inverse is now true: survivors are being pressured to share their stories, emphasizing heinous details of sexual abuse and little else.

A wide range of actors, from humanitarian organizations to governments, NGOs, and the media, compel women to tell their stories in ways that focus on the details of their rape, sometimes repeatedly and with little information or support. These interactions are often public, displaying the identity of survivors along with their painful narratives. We see it in the ways journalists and NGOs gather and construct narratives to report on and raise awareness of atrocities. We have met Yazidi survivors, for instance, who shared their experiences in the media but were not informed they could remain anonymous, or who requested but were denied anonymity. Some were encouraged to tell their stories with promises of aid or implied expectations that their relatives could be found. Many expressed concerns about retaliatory risks related to disclosure of their names and faces by the media, citing cases where ISIS beat their family members still in captivity as punishment.

In recent cases of atrocities, survivors have been interviewed so frequently and by multiple actors that that they could not always distinguish between journalists, NGO workers, or academic researchers, creating confusion and unrealistic expectations. Separate documentation efforts with the same population can lead to repeated interviews of survivors, and many of these cannot be later used in criminal cases, either domestically or internationally, because they were not conducted by authorized individuals or do not meet requisite standards. Repeated testimony collection not only triggers trauma, but it also raises expectations that justice will be achieved, which until now has been elusive.

From a survivor-centered perspective, those who want to tell their stories—or provide testimony as part of an investigation despite the inherent emotional difficulty—have the right to be made fully cognizant of potential consequences, positive and negative. Those working to document the testimonies of survivors know that the ability of individuals living with psychological and physical trauma to make key life decisions is often hindered. Desperation for solutions and justice means that some survivors have agreed to provide testimonies without fully understanding how that information will be used, what risks they might face, and how it will benefit either themselves or the broader cause. The sense of futility after going public, caused by the lack of timely or serious global responses, can add to survivor frustration and even despair.

There are broader issues to consider in terms of how various actors gather and disseminate narratives and testimonial evidence of CRSV. In some cases, descriptions of sexual violence that border on pornographic—with headlines that refer to women as “spoils of war” or “former sex slaves” (despite calls by survivors not to do so)—risk women being perpetually defined by the crimes committed against them. This portrayal can strip away women’s agency and resilience and obscure a more complex understanding of women’s experiences of atrocity crimes.

While women themselves have historically been silenced about rape and denied the right to seek justice, the current use of graphic depictions of sexual violence, as well as the accompanying pressure on survivors, does have historical precedents. For example, during the Armenian Genocide, Western humanitarians were urged to fundraise and support their Christian sisters who were being “defiled” by the enemy. Armenian survivor Aurora Mardiganian was persuaded to have her story told in a book and then a film, in which she herself acted. She recalled being terrified when the actors dressed in Turkish costume appeared. She was coerced into—literally—reliving the genocide.

Despite good intentions, such awareness-raising narratives can actually serve to essentialize women as solely victims of sexual crimes, reinforcing the notion that men’s experiences are universal and women’s are “other.” PhD candidate Michelle Ringrose, whose research examines NGO narratives of survivors, told us, “There is a strong focus on graphic narratives of sexual violence in civil society advocacy that foregrounds the victimhood of women.” She said this can render some women’s experiences invisible: “If women are not seen as inherently passive victims, their voices, actions and experiences are excluded from the dominant narrative.”

In practical terms, internalized notions of honor and shame manifest in survivors’ continuing fears of being ostracized, particularly those who have children as a result of rape. Just last week, the Yazidi Spiritual Council issued an unprecedented decree stating that women and their children, ostensibly referring to those born of rape, could return to the community, only to reverse it just days later due to community pressure. In the refugee camps of Bangladesh, the stigma for Rohingya women is severe: many women are hiding pregnancies and therefore not receiving medical care, while a number of babies born following rape have been found discarded.

A further potential consequence of the CRSV narrative is that women are disempowered from contributing to post-conflict responses. Although the Resolution notes the under-representation of women in peace and security, Ringrose has told us that “the prevailing focus of sexual violence and victimization in civil society advocacy reinforces women’s sexuality as the basis for oppression, rendering them too vulnerable to participate as active agents in post-conflict states.”

Creating an environment in which CRSV can be spoken about openly as a crime is far preferable to the historical silence around rape, which reinforced women’s shame and normalized men’s behavior. However, a survivor-centered approach must be on survivors’ own terms; it is the right of survivors to be fully informed about their options to allow them to decide when and how they share their experiences, and for what purposes. In bringing CRSV to the fore of accountability processes, we must be careful not to sideline other experiences of women, portraying a more holistic narrative of their lives and identities beyond sexual violence and associated trauma. Implementing a survivor-centered approach requires being intentional about both the concept and the practice. Informed consent, appropriate support, and greater awareness of the longer-term consequences of the CRSV narrative must also factor into an understanding of “survivor-centered.” Otherwise, survivors of CRSV, who face pressure to be champions of the cause, have just replaced one shackle with another.