For survivors of sexual violence, the fight doesn't end when the guns fall silent

(April 14 - Memorial Day for Survivors of Sexual Violence in Kosovo)

Memories are still fresh for the woman I met on a bleak February day in 1999, in a refugee camp in Kukes. She stood numb with pain, her two children clutched to her body. Her eyes were empty, lifeless, and unable to speak of what she had experienced.

I was simply numb to her pain. How could I remain indifferent to a pain that felt like a living flame in her heart?

Amidst that deep sadness, as a young doctor, newly graduated in Tirana, I realized that I had to pull myself together. For her, for her children. And for all the other victims that I didn't know yet, but that would later become the purpose of my life. The hug was a way to show her that she wasn't alone and, Her pain, was no longer just hers... She wasn't alone with her pain. It was the first step towards healing.

Overwhelmed by that sadness that weighed down the air amidst the thousands of cries and groans I heard, like a young doctor from Kosovo, faced with that pain that needed no words,  I realized that I had to pick up the pieces of myself. The hug I gave that silent woman was not just a gesture of empathy but a silent promise that she was not and would not be alone. It was the first shared step towards healing, a path we would walk together – with heart, memory and the strength that comes from solidarity.

That woman, the first survivor of sexual violence I knew, dictated my path. In her shocked eyes, in a presence numbed by pain and fear, I felt a silence crying out for help. Her body began to tremble after a warm embrace. Her broken heart was trying to beat again. That trembling was not only a sign of trauma, but also the beginning of a silent communication between us.

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She, and many other women and men I would later hear from, became the reason I decided to dedicate myself to this cause. It was more than a professional path; it was also a calling of my heart and mind. An unwritten oath to stand by survivors of sexual violence, to help them regain the dignity that war had denied them.

This mission was not just mine. It was built on the dedication of many collaborators, who with heart, knowledge and love, built a safe, professional, inclusive and collaborative environment at the Kosovo Center for the Rehabilitation of Torture Survivors, immediately after the war. There, every wall carried war stories but also the spirit of hope. We tried and continue to devote ourselves to creating a haven of hope for all those women and men, but also children, who had and still need rehabilitation from the wounds of rape and other tortures of war.

Their pain, in addition to being treated with great sensitivity, has today become a powerful voice. It is a voice that no longer demands mercy, but justice. A voice that invites us not to remain silent, but to act with professionalism and conscience to confront the past and build a future with more compassion and dignity for all.

The long road to recognition and justice               

The war did not end when the guns fell silent. For survivors of sexual violence, the suffering continued in silence and isolation. For years, we fought to challenge the entrenched stigma that kept survivors in further isolation. Public and international institutions at the time, reluctant to recognize survivors, left them in the shadows. But we refused to accept silence. Through KRCT, we launched awareness campaigns, mobilized all communities, and demanded legal recognition of survivors.

In 2014, after long and arduous advocacy mobilizing all layers of society by activists, women’s organizations, artists, and the media, Kosovo finally legally recognized survivors of sexual violence as civilian victims of war, granting them the right to a personal pension. This was a historic moment for social justice and an important step towards public acknowledgement of their pain.

However, the confrontations with this highly sensitive category of our population continued. Despite the legal framework, many survivors still face re-traumatization and a culture of shame that further silences them.

The example of those who broke the silence gave courage and hope to hundreds of others who still live with this deep wound left by the war, showing us that a voice suppressed by stigma and shame can become a force to change society.

Hope for everyone – even for men 

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Six years ago, on April 14, 2019, together with Vasfija, her family, and numerous activists, we gathered in Babimost — the place of pain and horror experienced over her young body. It was from this place, for the first time, that we called for April 14 to be recognized as the Memorial Day for Survivors of Sexual Violence.

After continuous advocacy, in 2023, this day was officially recognized as a Day of Remembrance and Recognition of the Suffering of All Women and Men Who Experienced Sexual Violence During the War. Vasfija's voice, transformed into a call for justice, gave voice to the wound of rape and became a symbol of resistance and human dignity.

During these years, another truth came to light: men were also victims of sexual violence during the war. In a society that glorifies masculinity, they often remain invisible and silenced by stigma. This wound becomes even deeper when the crime occurs in the presence of family members. It is a wound that does not heal easily, a pain that remains locked within the walls of silence. But these men also need to be heard, accepted and treated.

This day, April 14, which we mark in memory of the thousands of women and men who suffered sexual violence during the recent war in Kosovo, is also a call to recognize their voices. "From Silence to Courage - The Survivor Speaks" is a courageous step to break taboos and show that violence has no gender.

for the first time,  This year, KRCT will bring to the public the story of a male survivor, in the very same setting where Vasfija's sad but powerful voice first resonated. This action conveys the message that survivors of sexual violence are not those to blame – they are witnesses to the truth, seeking justice.

This moment will complete the mosaic of sad stories heard before, from a 16-year-old child like Vasfija, to Shyhretja who for the first time publicly demanded justice, for the rape she had experienced in the presence of her two and four-year-old daughters – a pain that takes the form of a family trauma. Its profound impact is reflected in Venesa, her daughter, who revealed her difficult journey at the 25th anniversary of the KRCT, calling for not being silent: “To the children of parents who have survived war crimes, I want to say: I am with you, in your silence, in your sadness and in your confusion.”

Today, by marking this day, we are completing the mosaic of voices unheard over the years. Voices that demand recognition, justice, and healing.

This is a day of remembrance, but also a call to action – to not let history forget and to ensure that the truth triumphs.

The voice of survivors is not silenced but valued 

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My and KRCT’s nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize is not a personal achievement, but a recognition of the struggle for justice and dignity of survivors. This nomination is a symbol of hope for all women and men who have experienced sexual violence, a testament that their voices cannot be silenced. Today is a call to not remain silent, to support and fight for a more just and sensitive society towards survivors of sexual violence during war.

The war does not end when the guns fall silent - it continues until all survivors feel heard, respected, and empowered and equal within the society they belong to.