Conflict is over, how did the Taliban treat minorities in Afghanistan

“I don’t believe the Taliban, because I think they’re a terrorist group,” said Sitara, a university student currently studying in Hong Kong. Sitara belongs to the Hazara community, one of the most persecuted ethnic minorities in Afghanistan.

Just weeks before the Taliban’s takeover of Afghanistan in 2021, she made a final visit to her home in Ghazni province. Before the trip, her family warned her about the risks, given the country’s increasingly unstable political situation. While she was there, Sitara recalled hearing gunfire near her home almost every day. “People still believed in the government,” she said, “but sadly, the government practically sold the country to the Taliban.”

Sitara explained that although the Taliban initially promised to allow women to work and study, she never trusted their intentions. “I don’t believe the Taliban because I think it’s just a short-term strategy to make the international community accept them as a legitimate government,” she said.

The situation, she added, is especially dire for women and minority groups. “They’re killing minorities and people on the streets,” she said, describing the violence that began as early as 2021. Out of fear of persecution, Sitara’s mother even burned all documents that could reveal her daughter’s education or foreign connections.

Tragically, Sitara believes that visit may have been her last. “I don’t think I can go back now,” she said quietly. “If I go, there’s a possibility I’ll be killed.

Afghanistan has a turbulent history spanning centuries. The modern state was founded in 1747. Civil war of succession and fighting against British colonialism ensued. The hard-fought independence of Afghanistan, unfortunately, was short-lived--it only lasted half a century. After a revolution led by the Afghan Communist Party, backed by the USSR, the country was occupied and heavily influenced by the USSR between 1973 and 1989. Once the Soviet Union had left Afghanistan, the population was wary of centuries of war and unrest, so they did not resist Taliban rule. However, due to the Taliban’s connection with Al Qaeda and Osama Bin Laden, the US invaded and soon took over the country and established an independent Government in 2004. This finally gave women and the underrepresented ethnicities a voice.

But the progress ended in 2021, after US troops withdrew from the country and the Taliban regained power. Just like Sitara predicted in 2021, the Taliban’s promise to protect the rights of women and minorities is indeed just window dressing. Under Taliban rule, women lost the right to work, go outside, get an education, and even to speak in public. Ethnic and religious minorities and the LGBTQ community in Afghanistan faced escalating levels of persecution. They became subject to arbitrary arrest, torture even execution.

Afghanistan is an incredibly ethnically diverse country, home to many ethnicities and religions. It includes Pashtuns (42 percent), Tajiks (27 percent), Hazaras (9 percent), Uzbeks (9 percent), Aimak (4 percent), Turks (3 percent), and Baloch (2 percent). Among this diverse population of 41 million, Pashtuns are the dominant ethnic group in Afghanistan. Taliban rulers are also Pashtuns. Although the official religion and most of the population are Muslims, a variety of religions are practised among the minorities, such as Christians, Sikhs, Hindus and Baha’i. However, since the Taliban came into power in 2021, religious freedom has been severely restricted. Nowadays, the entire population is being coerced to live under the strict interpretation of Sunni Islam.

“Afghanistan is a nightmare for religious freedom—and other fundamental human rights.” Out of the minority groups, Hazaras are the most persecuted since the establishment of the empire. This can be due to their practice as Shi’a school of Muslims. After centuries of systematic discrimination and forced migration, the population in Afghanistan declined sharply. Their situation has only worsened since the Taliban came to power in 2021. They lost their representatives in government, and also faced escalating violence from the Taliban as well as ISIS-K ( Islamic State – Khorasan).

“There is a genocidal campaign against the Hazara under the Taliban’s authority.” Said Azra Jafari, the first female mayor in Afghanistan’s history from the Hazara community. She voiced her concern regarding the treatment of ethnic minorities in Afghanistan. In her youth, she fled to Iran under the first Taliban rule from 1996-2001, and she constantly feared Taliban and ISIS attacks during her time in office as a mayor. In another interview with EWTN, she also said that being a woman from the Hazara minority made her a “third-grade person”. Although she is currently in exile, she encouraged minority women in Afghanistan to keep fighting for their rights.

Indeed, since the Taliban takeover, Hazara women faced ‘intersecting forms of discrimination’--are targeted on the grounds of both their gender and their ethnicity and religion. Talibans used ridiculous excuses like ‘bad hajab’ to arrest and abuse Hazara women. Mursal was a Hazara woman who was detained due to ‘ bad hijab’. She was beaten, had her head submerged under water and taunted with racially discriminatory remarks. In the videos released to show the arrest of Hazara women, they are all wearing hijabs covering their whole face. Unfortunately, even within women’s rights groups, Hazara women faced discrimination from other ethnic groups of women. “There is no solidarity with Hazara women, and we have faced insult and humiliation.”

To make the situation worse, Hazara women is also facing deadly violent attacks from ISIS-K. Since Taliban takeover of the country in 2021, there have been 13 attacks against Hazara community, killing more than 700 people.

Taliban leaders were criticised for a complacent attitude towards ISIS-K attacks on Hazara communities.

The Taliban’s restrictions on the media made it nearly impossible for journalists to record the plight of ethnic minorities and share it with the outside world. Youtuber Joe Fazer, who recently travelled to Afghanistan, revealed that he had to leave the country within 24 hours due to fear that he might be arrested for filming. Indeed, since 8^th Oct, the Taliban has begun imposing restrictions on social media platforms, severely curtailing the right to freedom of expression. Independent journalism remains vital for exposing abuses, supporting UN and ICC investigations, and giving voice to marginalised communities..

The violent attacks on ethnic minorities in Afghanistan had a devastating impact on their mental and physical health. Taliban withdrew financial support for victims of the violent attacks. For instance, a 16-year-old Safia became deaf and unable to speak after ISIS suicide fighters set off a bomb near her home. Her father, on a meagre wage, cannot afford to send her for hospital treatment. The mental scars of these violent attacks prevented the Hazara and Shia communities from exercising their fundamental human right, such as going to places of worship, work and education, for fear of an attack happening.

Although numerous government and NGOs are doing their best to help ethnic minorities in Afghanistan through exerting pressure on the Taliban government, the humanitarian assistance is far from adequate. Many NGOs like Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have highlighted the fact that ethnic minorities in Afghanistan, especially the Hazara community, are facing crimes against humanity and even genocide.

Currently, there is a case in the International Criminal Court regarding Afghanistan, for its alleged crimes against humanity, and an arrest warrant has been issued for the supreme leader of Afghanistan, Haibatullah Akhundzada. However, ICC lacks the power to enforce this jurisdiction, making it a merely symbolic gesture

Without international pressure, ethnic minorities and marginalised groups in Afghanistan face a bleak future. Richard Bennett, Special Rapporteur on the human rights situation in Afghanistan, warned in early 2025 that “Intensifying Taliban repression, expanding discrimination against women and girls…violations against ethnic and religious…are stark warnings that things in Afghanistan are only getting worse.”

Continued global attention and press coverage are essential. Governments worldwide must hold the Taliban accountable if it seeks international legitimacy. Expanding refugee and asylum programs is also vital to protect those fleeing persecution.

And for readers who feel moved by these stories — you can help too. Donate to organizations such as Afghanaid, the Refugee Council, or ARAP (Afghan Relocations and Assistance Policy). Start a fundraiser, sign a petition, or raise awareness on social media.

Your action today can help make the future a little brighter for Afghanistan’s minorities.

Article written by Lisa Shi, Nov 2025

Biblipgraphy

Afghanistan: ISIS Group Targets Religious Minorities | Human Rights Watch. 6 September 2022. https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/09/06/afghanistan-isis-group-targets-religious-minorities.

Afghanistan: New Restrictions on Telecommunications Raise Further Rights Concerns, Say UN Experts. 2025. https://www.ohchr.org/en/press-releases/2025/10/afghanistan-new-restrictions-telecommunications-raise-further-rights.

Afghanistan’s Hazara Community Needs Protection | Human Rights Watch. 13 September 2024. https://www.hrw.org/news/2024/09/13/afghanistans-hazara-community-needs-protection.

Amit Kumar & Aayushi Malhotra. ‘Factoring Ethnicity in Taliban’s Quest for Legitimacy | GJIA’. Georgetown Journal of International Affairs, 17 April 2024. https://gjia.georgetown.edu/2024/04/17/factoring-ethnicity-in-talibans-quest-for-legitimacy-an-anthropological-rewiring-of-the-power-structure/.

Amnesty International. ‘Afghanistan: One Year of the Taliban’s Broken Promises, Draconian Restrictions and Violence’. 15 August 2022. https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2022/08/afghanistan-one-year-of-the-talibans-broken-promises-draconian-restrictions-and-violence/.

Amnesty International. ‘Human Rights in Afghanistan’. Accessed 12 November 2025. https://www.amnesty.org/en/location/asia-and-the-pacific/south-asia/afghanistan/report-afghanistan/.

Campbell, Lisa J., Pamela Ligouri Bunker, and Robert J. Bunker. ‘The Islamic State – Khorasan Province (ISK): An Assessment of Current Operations’. Small Wars & Insurgencies, 12 August 2024, 1–26. https://doi.org/10.1080/09592318.2024.2388897.

EWTN, dir. As Afghanistan Faces Famine, 1st Female Mayor Azra Jafari Discusses the Taliban | EWTN News Nightly. 30 August 2022. 5:38.

Fereshta, Abbasi. Religious Freedom in Afghanistan: Three Years After the Taliban Takeover | Human Rights Watch. 20 March 2025. https://www.hrw.org/news/2025/03/20/religious-freedom-afghanistan-three-years-after-taliban-takeover.

Joe, Faser . ‘I Travelled To Afghanistan... And Left Within 3 Hours’. 22 October 2025.

Kerami, Kaweh. Silenced Voices: The Fall of Press Freedom in Afghanistan | OHRH. n.d. Accessed 12 November 2025. https://ohrh.law.ox.ac.uk/silenced-voices-the-fall-of-press-freedom-in-afghanistan/.

Moradi, Farkhondeh Akbari, Kobra. ‘Hazara Women: How Gender and Ethnicity Intersect in the Taliban’s Repression’. Just Security, 7 March 2024. https://www.justsecurity.org/93123/hazara-women-how-gender-and-ethnicity-intersect-in-the-talibans-repression/.

Newsweek. ‘Afghanistan’s First Female Mayor Speaks Out as Others Can’t | Opinion’. 9 October 2024. https://www.newsweek.com/afghanistans-first-female-mayor-speaks-out-others-cant-opinion-1966453.

Nina, Evason . ‘Afghan - Religion’. Cultural Atlas, 1 January 2019. https://culturalatlas.sbs.com.au/afghan-culture/afghan-culture-religion.

PBS News. ‘A Historical Timeline of Afghanistan’. 4 May 2011. https://www.pbs.org/newshour/politics/asia-jan-june11-timeline-afghanistan.

Poya, Dr Fawad. The International Criminal Court’s Pursuit of Accountability for Gender Persecution in Afghanistan: A Landmark Step for Justice (Part II) | OHRH. n.d. Accessed 12 November 2025. https://ohrh.law.ox.ac.uk/the-international-criminal-courts-pursuit-of-accountability-for-gender-persecution-in-afghanistan-a-landmark-step-for-justice-part-ii/.

Religious Freedom in Afghanistan: Three Years After the Taliban Takeover | Human Rights Watch. 20 March 2025. https://www.hrw.org/news/2025/03/20/religious-freedom-afghanistan-three-years-after-taliban-takeover.

Richard, Benett. UN Expert Warns of Intensifying Human Rights Crisis as Repression Deepens in Afghanistan. UN Human Rights Office of Commissioner. February 2025. https://www.ohchr.org/en/press-releases/2025/02/un-expert-warns-intensifying-human-rights-crisis-repression-deepens.

Situation of Human Rights in Afghanistan - Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights in Afghanistan (Advance Edited Version). A/HRC/55/80. UN Human rights , 2024. https://www.ohchr.org/en/documents/country-reports/ahrc5580-situation-human-rights-afghanistan-report-special-rapporteur.

South China Morning Post . ‘Afghan Student in Hong Kong Fears for Family Caught up in “Heartbreaking” Crisis Back Home’. 4 September 2021. 5:43.

In this episode Lisa discusses the post conflict experience of Afghanistan and the experience of minorities under the Taliban. She is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, King’s College, London.

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Post-Conflict Pop Culture: A look into how Youth-Cultural Diplomacy is shaping the international view of Kosovo and building bridges in the Balkan region

On the 1^st August 2025 in Prishtina, Kosovo, Dua Lipa stepped out on stage at the Sunny Hill Festival. Greeted with a roaring reception, this was not her first appearance; it was her idea in the first place.

Alongside her father, Dukagjin Lipa, a native Kosovar who moved to London in the 1990s following the war in the region, Dua launched the festival 2018 with the aim of bringing together not only Kosovars, but the wider Balkans and diaspora. Featuring performances from local artists to international names such as Miley Cyrus and Fatboy Slim, Sunny Hill has helped unite audiences through music while projecting Kosovo as more than just a post-conflict society.

The Balkans has long been a contested region of southeastern Europe. Once part of the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian Empires, and later incorporated into socialist Yugoslavia, it has been shaped by overlapping identities and territorial tensions. The violent breakup of Yugoslavia in the 1990s exposed these fractures, producing wars in Croatia, Bosnia and ultimately Kosovo.

Landlocked between Serbia, Albania, North Macedonia and Montenegro, Kosovo holds deep historical significance for Serbia, particularly through the symbolism of the 1389 Battle of Kosovo. By the late twentieth century, however, Kosovo had become overwhelmingly ethnically Albanian. In 1989, Serbian leader Slobodan Milošević revoked Kosovo’s constitutional autonomy, placing it under direct rule from Belgrade and marginalising Kosovo Albanians from public life.

By the late 1990s, an armed resistance known as the Kosovo Liberation Army was in heavy conflict with a harsh Serbian counterinsurgency. The conflict led to mass displacement and more than 13,000 deaths or disappearances between 1998 and 2000. Amid fears of ethnic cleansing, NATO launched a 78-day air campaign in 1999, forcing Serbian withdrawal.

Kosovo declared independence in 2008 but remains unrecognised by Serbia, as well as by Russia, China and five EU member states. This partial recognition has prevented membership in the United Nations and the European Union. Tensions persist, particularly in the divided city of Mitrovica, where ethnic separation remains visible. Economic strain, emigration and political fragmentation continue to shape the state’s trajectory. Yet this diplomatic stalemate does not fully capture the direction in which Kosovo’s society is moving.

Youth-led cultural initiatives suggest a different dynamic. Artists such as Rita Ora and Dua Lipa have amplified Kosovo’s global visibility. More significantly, they have reframed it. Non-state actors and digital networks have begun to influence perception in ways that formal diplomacy has struggled to achieve.

This new generation of cultural ambassadors born directly after the conflict, are often described as the Post-Memory Generation. They were raised on stories of the war, in households shaped by trauma, but they themselves have no lived memory of it. Today, anyone under twenty-six in Kosovo was born after 1999, and anyone under thirty likely has no personal recollection of the violence. Having the youngest population in Europe, with approximately fifty-three per cent of the population under twenty-five, over half the country has no direct memory of the conflict.

Rather than lived trauma, many carry transmitted trauma. Research suggests that children of parents suffering from war-induced PTSD are more likely to experience intergenerational psychological effects. Through family narratives, school curriculums and memorial days, the past remains the present, even for those that did not experience it.

This distinction matters. Identity formed through direct trauma tends to be anchored in survival and loss. Identity formed after trauma has other influences. Kosovo’s post-war generation has grown up not only with recent history of loss, displacement and anger, but also with the internet, a large diaspora network and a much more global culture surrounding them. The youth of Kosovo today may be the first post- conflict generation to grow up almost entirely online, and this gives them a unique opportunity. It could be possible that the digital environment is able to dilute inherited grievance. While war remains a strong part of the national narrative, it competes with other networks: global music scenes, friendships across borders, diaspora networks and a shared European youth culture. Identity is no longer constructed solely through memory but also through digital participation and global pop cultures.

This shift has consequences beyond the individual. A generation that does not define itself through victimhood is more likely to project confidence, modernisation and a push forward. Rather than arguing for recognition through the language of grievance, they signal normalcy through what they build, organise and create, and a willingness to move beyond history. In this sense, Kosovo’s post-memory generation is emerging as a form of informal cultural diplomacy. Through festivals, art, music and digital platforms, they present Kosovo not as a frozen conflict but as a functioning, creative, contemporary society.

Nowhere is this more visible than at the Sunny Hill Festival. What appears on the surface to be a music event is also a performance of national self-definition. Lipa and her father have brought international artists, diaspora communities and local youth into a shared space that feels global. It has no focus on politics, international or domestic, instead, it presents Kosovo as connected and youthful. For a generation born after the war, this is not an attempt to live in history, it is an effort to live beyond it. Ultimately, Sunny Hills acts as an influence beyond the state.

Each summer, the festival draws thousands of visitors from across Europe and the Kosovar diaspora. Flights into Prishtina are full, hotels are at capacity, the city comes alive and the economy booms. For members of the diaspora, Sunny Hill offers a chance to immerse in cultural heritage, and for international visitors, it is often a first encounter with Kosovo. This encounter is seen not through conflict reporting, but through music, crowds and a bustling capital city.

In a state still navigating partial international recognition, that visibility matters. Formal diplomacy remains slow and constrained by geopolitics. Cultural gatherings operate differently. Artists speak about performing in Kosovo, visitors share images online, and alternative narratives circulate without being framed as political argument. The country appears less as a frozen dispute and more as a functioning society. This does not resolve structural tensions, nor does it replace political dialogue. But it subtly shifts perception.

Sunny Hill therefore operates beyond the state. It brings international artists, regional audiences and diaspora communities into the same physical space, creating familiarity where distance once defined the relationship. In doing so, it expands how Kosovo is seen, both abroad and at home. For a generation born after the war, this is less about rewriting the past than about establishing a different baseline for the future. Recognition, in this context, is not demanded. It is normalised.

Peace has held in Kosovo for over two decades, but normalisation is still unfolding. While questions regarding sovereignty and recognition remain subjects of formal diplomatic negotiation, a quieter transformation is taking place outside of these negotiations. On stages, in cultural spaces and across digital networks, a generation without a lived memory of war is now reshaping how Kosovo is seen. This shift is not loud, and it is not official, but it is having an impact just as powerful.

Bibliography

Goff, Patrica, “Cultural Diplomacy,” in Nancy Snow, Nicholas Cull (eds.), Routledge Handbook of Public Diplomacy (New York, 2020), 30-37.

Nitaj, Laberion, “Art Festivals: A Bridge Between Serbia and Kosovo”, New Social Initiative, (August 2024), https://newsocialinitiative.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Policy-Paper-Laberion-Nitaj.pdf, accessed 13 February 2026.

Rosney, Daniel, “Sunny Hill: Dua Lipa’s Family Festival ‘Changing’ Kosovo’s Image”, BBC News, (30 July 2024), https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c72v40pmgv1o, accessed 13 February 2026.

Sassi, Lorenzo and Amighetti, Emanuele, “Kosovo: A young country, being shaped by its youth”, Politico, (2018), https://www.politico.eu/interactive/in-pictures-kosovo-10th-anniversary-future-being-shaped-by-its-youth/, accessed 13 February 2026.

See the Kosovo Memory book at: https://www.hlc-rdc.org/en/loss-database/kosovo-memory-book/

In this episode Alexia discusses the post conflict experience of Kosovo and how today’s youth are are taking ownership of their country using festivals and the arts to rebuild their nation. She is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, King’s College, London.

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From Rainbow Nation to Unfinished Freedom: Postmemory and the Search for Justice in South Africa

More than 30 years after apartheid’s legal end, South Africa remains one of the least equal countries in the world. The country once referred to as the “Rainbow Nation” is today a vivid reminder of apartheid through spatial and economic legacies: under-resourced townships, stark education and employment differences, and concentrated wealth. For the second and third generations of black South Africans, apartheid survives not only as testimony but as inherited spatial arrangements and inequality that continue to shape their everyday lives. That inheritance turns formal freedom into a symbolic condition and renders the Freedom Charter’s promise of redistribution, autonomy, and freedom an unresolved demand.

Context

In 1994, South Africa held its first democratic elections, resulting in the African National Congress (ANC), led by Nelson Mandela, emerging victorious (Gumbi et al., 2024). This event marked the end of apartheid (Afrikaans for “separateness”), a racial segregation system established in 1948 by the Dutch settlers’ National Party (NP). During apartheid, black people were forced to live separately from white people, denied access to many jobs, and discriminated against in wages and rights (such as voting), leading to widespread poverty. When the ANC came to power, this system was legally dismantled, and Archbishop Desmond Tutu famously coined the country as the “Rainbow Nation”: an ethnically and culturally diverse, equal, fair, and cooperative South Africa (Nelson Mandela Foundation, 2024).

However, present-day South Africa is far from being a “Rainbow Nation”. Although all South Africans are now legally free and equal, the legacy of apartheid still affects the economy and spatial distribution. This makes South Africa one of the least equal countries in the world, with 10% of the population controlling 80% of the wealth (Lawal, 2024). The economy grew after apartheid, but, since then, only a small portion of the GDP reaches black households (Lawal, 2024). Furthermore, gross debt reached 71.1% of the GDP in 2022 due to corruption and government inefficiency (Lawal, 2024). This has resulted in the absence of a middle class, highly unequal land ownership, and a wage difference between white and black households of $5,586 per month (Lawal, 2024). In early 2023, black unemployment was around 40%, while only 7.5% of the white population was unemployed (Lawal, 2024).

In addition, public schools lack resources and face persistent racism, while limited transport access makes it difficult for low-income families living in remote areas to reach former white schools, which continue to offer better facilities and resources (Lawal, 2024). Likewise, black students are still underrepresented in higher education (Lawal, 2024).

Another facet of apartheid’s legacy is housing. While there’s been a redistribution of population across the country, allowing black South Africans to move closer to city centres and business districts, rural and poorly equipped townships, where black populations were relocated to during apartheid, still exist. These townships, which remain racially segregated and are continuously growing, are separated by buffers from predominantly white, high-income neighbourhoods (Lawal, 2024). Government funds providing homes for low-income families contribute to this spatial inequality, as such houses are far from economic centres, with poor transport networks, making rural unemployment twice as high as in other parts of the country (Lawal, 2024).

The Freedom Charter and Human Needs

The persistence of structural inequalities contrasts sharply with the aspirations that once defined the anti-apartheid movement: the Freedom Charter of 1955. This document was adopted by the Congress Alliance, a coalition between the ANC and other liberation movements. It called for equal rights, democratic participation, economic redistribution, freedom to choose where to live, free and equal education, and the end of racial segregation (African National Congress, 1955). Although formal dismantling of apartheid occurred, the transformative vision outlined by the Charter remains distant in today’s South Africa.

To unpack this vision, we must trace three interlocking human needs at the heart of the Freedom Charter’s anti-apartheid struggle: social justice as the demand for economic redistribution and equal life chances; freedom understood not merely as legal rights but as the real capacity to shape one’s life; and autonomy as the capacity to live and work within dignified space. First, social justice questions whether legal change transformed into material equality or whether existing wealth patterns persisted. While the Freedom Charter promised a radical wealth transfer, the post-apartheid transition involved an elite pact between corporate capital and the ANC, leading to the adoption of neoliberal policies rather than a wealth redistribution to meet human needs (Gibson, 2012). As a result, these policies have led to the so-called Black Economic Empowerment (BEE) which has created a new elite of “black diamonds” whose wealth is entrenched in the dynamics of capitalism and quick profit rather than national accumulation (Gibson, 2012).

Second, while justice addresses redistribution, freedom highlights the gap between legal equality and material conditions, the latter essential to truly experience equality under the law. Although apartheid has been legally dismantled, the economic realities outlined above – 10% of the population controlling 80% of the wealth, massive black unemployment, and the continued relocation of poor black communities to peripheral townships – demonstrate that formal freedom doesn’t translate into substantive freedom, equal opportunities, or lived equality. Third, autonomy focuses on the spatial and economic barriers preventing people from controlling their own lives. Due to neoliberalist policies, a large proportion of black South Africans are forced to relocate to expanding state-funded townships outside economic centres and big cities. These cities, therefore, have been “deracialized” through a “bourgeois” phenomenon, as access to them is granted by money (Gibson, 2012). Spatial segregation thus continues in the post-apartheid era, showing how Fanon’s argument that colonial domination is inscribed in the “ordering and geographical layout” of societies remains true in a postcolonial society (Gibson, 2012). As black populations are relocated in these poor townships, they lose autonomy to live, move, and work with dignity, limiting their actual choices.

Apartheid Postmemory

Economic and spatial inequality become in this way a material form of postmemory. New generations inherit not the apartheid itself, but the urban structures and poverty through which its divisions continue. In this case, postmemory does not only take the form of indirect stories on the periphery of new generations’ consciousness but also acquires a real and vivid form through which second and third generations experience those stories first-hand.

The memory of the “Promised Land” – the vision articulated by the ANC and embodied in the Freedom Charter – also becomes central to apartheid postmemory. For new generations, freedom is not just a lived struggle, but an inherited narrative of hope: a promise of an equal and just country, where everyone has access to the same opportunities regardless of skin colour. Yet the persistence of economic exclusion, government corruption, and spatial inequality have turned this hope into disillusionment and anger. In this sense, postmemory operates not only through inherited trauma but through inherited expectation of justice that remains unfulfilled.

Nigel Gibson (2012) argues from a Fanonian perspective that the post-apartheid transition did not transform South Africa’s economic structure, resulting in an “incomplete liberation.” The degeneration of the “Promised Land” manifests itself in rising frustration among the poor, who experience freedom as symbolic (end of apartheid and political rights) rather than substantive (material transformation). The symptom of this frustration – xenophobia – has been directed towards “black foreigners” rather than political leaders or economic elites, as seen in the 2008 riots, targeting poor African migrants, while white foreigners – viewed as investors or tourists – have remained untouched (Gibson, 2012).

Nearly three decades after Desmond Tutu coined the term “Rainbow Nation,” the ideal remains aspirational. The ANC faces accusations of self-enrichment and of failing to deliver on material justice (BBC, 2024). While South Africa boasts linguistic and skin colour diversity and progressive rights, persistent inequality and racism contrast with the promise of equality, unity, and justice (Nelson Mandela Foundation, 2024).

Thus, in contemporary South Africa, apartheid postmemory isn’t confined to past suffering stories. It’s embedded in inherited spatial divisions, economic exclusion, and the expectation of justice yet to come. The born-free generation doesn’t experience apartheid directly, but inherits its spatial, economic, and affective legacies.

Bibliography

African National Congress. (1955). The Freedom Charter Congress of the People, Kliptown. https://www.anc1912.org.za/the-freedom-charter-2/

BBC. (2024). Thirty years since apartheid ended: What was it, how did it end, and why did it start? Retrieved 10/02/2026 from https://www.bbc.co.uk/newsround/68937527

Gibson, N. C. (2012). What Happened to the “Promised Land”? A Fanonian Perspective on Post-Apartheid South Africa. Antipode, 44(1), 51-73. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-8330.2010.00837.x

Gumbi, K., Kumwenda-Mtambo, O., Kongkunakornkul, P., Sen, S., & Sachdev, V. (2024). Thirty years after the end of apartheid, equality eludes South Africa. Reuters. Retrieved 10/02/2026 from https://www.reuters.com/graphics/SAFRICA-ELECTION/ECONOMY/egpbonzrgvq/

Lawal, S. (2024). South Africa: 30 years after apartheid, what has changed? Al Jazeera. Retrieved 10/02/2026 from https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2024/4/27/south-africa-30-years-after-apartheid-what-has-changed

Nelson Mandela Foundation. (2024). The Rainbow Nation ideal: an ever-distant promise. Retrieved 10/02/2026 from https://www.nelsonmandela.org/news/entry/the-rainbow-nation-ideal-an-ever-distant-promise

In this episode Laura discusses the post apartheid experience of South Africa. What the situation on the ground is decades down the road. She is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, King’s College, London.

Thank you for reading an A4R 🎨 Post. Don’t forget to try out gaming art NFT’s here. Every purchase scales our impact and pays our bills.

Forty-one years of conflict and 6 months of peace: Kurdish life in Türkiye after the PKK.

Figure 1: Turkey Vs Syria’s Kurds: The short, medium and long story (BBC, 2019)

Saida was 19 when drone strikes hit her village in Ghuzare, near the Turkish Syrian border, as Turkish authorities targeted the region for terrorist militants. Interviewed by Radio France, she described the rubble in her garden and the dust in her eyes. These attacks were common during the decades-long conflict between the Turkish government and the Kurdish Workers’ Party or PKK, labelled by that government as a terrorist organization. In May 2025, a ceasefire was declared, and the PKK announced its dismantlement after the imprisonment of its leader Abdullah Öcalan. However, questions remain about the Kurdish people and their rights in Türkiye after the long fight for cultural freedom and independence. How can populations that have been at war for so long finally coexist on the same territory, and what challenges do they face today?

The PKK was founded in 1978 as a secessionist group seeking Kurdish self-determination and socialism. Their original goal was to create a new State: Kurdistan, covering parts of Syria, Iran, Iraq and Armenia, but primarily in Türkiye. This desire for autonomy clashed with Turkish national interests, leading to armed conflict soon after its creation. This conflict lasted 41 years, causing the death of an estimated 40,000 people and a near coup in 2016. The conflict and the PKK’s creation stemmed from centuries of oppression of the Kurdish people, who were not recognised by their governments, and faced generations of assimilation and repression. Türkiye was especially harsh after World War I and the rise of Kemalist ideology, which called for a unified State. In the post-war period, laws were put in place to perpetuate what was seen as Turkish cultural domination. These laws prohibited Kurdish people from speaking their language, forming political parties, or having their own educational system. This situation persisted until around 2008 when there was a momentary desire for cooperation between the authorities and the Kurdish population. However, tensions remained. Although the PKK had abandoned the idea of a completely independent Kurdistan by the 21^st century, they still aspired to a semi-autonomous region, with the freedom to practice their customs and teach their children their language. With the dismantling of the PKK after their defeat in combat, there are uncertainties regarding these demands. This article will cover concerns such as political representation and interests, cultural freedoms, and community rebuilding in the post-war period.

Figure 2: Turkey’s PKK Conflict: The Death Toll | International Crisis Group (2016)

Recep Tayyip Erdogan has been Türkiye’s president since 2014 but has been in government since 2003. He is a central figure in the battle against the PKK and the fate of the Kurdish people. His Justice and Development Party is conservative and emphasizes Turkish nationalism. Initially, there was lenience towards the Kurdish, leading to pro-Kurd parties like the People’s Equality and Democratic Party (DEM), now third in the polls. This advancement of pro-Kurdish sentiment is significant for Erdogan’s hold on power. Securing Kurdish support is vital for winning the next election, as they represent one fifth of the Turkish population. With the capture of the PKK’s founder Abdullah Öcalan, Erdogan has depicted himself as the sole hero against the PKK. Much of Erdogan’s notoriety rested on the perception that he was the only one who could defeat the PKK, often sacrificing democracy to do so. In 2016 after the attempted coup in the capital Ankara by the PKK, the government set out policies regarding Kurdish government officials. Around 100,000 Kurdish people were fired from mayoral or journalism positions. Approximately 50,000 people were detained without trial, and many newspapers and local parties were shut down. The Turkish court has also attempted on several occasions to pursue the DEMs for PKK affiliation, without evidence. These political purges damaged relations between the Turkish government and the Kurdish populations in the southeast. These regions are isolated by mountains and vulnerable to foreign influence from Syria and Iran, as well as the People’s Protection Unit, a PKK branch still aspiring to fight. The Turkish government must integrate the Kurdish people into the Turkish political sphere to regain popularity in these far-off regions. Today, there is anxiety regarding the peace process. The people are tired of ongoing tensions, and most of the Kurdish people no longer support the PKK; however, one in three Turks distrusts the peace process with the militants. The general conservatism and prejudice ingrained in Turkish society cannot be overlooked when discussing peace processes between communities. Most of the Turkish people still remain reticent about integrating Kurdish people, who are still greatly underrepresented in Turkish politics.

How then, can people live together on the same territory after so many years of political tensions and violence? After the attempted coup in 2016, 24,000 people were curfewed before being displaced in the district of Sur in Diyarbakir. Many testified to Amnesty International, detailing the conditions of their displacement. Most of the people who left saw their homes destroyed by drone strikes or pillaged. Although leaving home at the risk of returning to nothing is frightening, fleeing was unavoidable. During the curfews and lockdowns, it was reported that people had little to no access to food and water and could not go out due to imminent threats. Autonomous weapon systems indiscriminately target civilians and fighters, as well as civilian infrastructure such as homes, businesses and heritage sites. Many demands were made by Kurdish communities to the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) to help protect and rebuild classified edifices from warfare. The destruction led to the downfall of Kurdish culture as a whole. A shepherd interviewed by France Culture in the region of Qandil near Iraq reported that when Turkish soldiers took over rebel bases in the mountains, they would also cut down century-old fruit trees that were typical of the region and part of Kurdish heritage. Assimilation does not simply occur through policymaking; it is also a fight to undermine a culture by breaking down its communities and depleting its resources. This includes the resources necessary for survival and customs. After displacement, most people who had lived as tight-knit communities were now dispersed across Türkiye, mostly in big cities where they were culturally minimized, and 60% of homes were targeted for upscale refurbishment plans by the government. Fighting for rights and representation is much more difficult from a position of isolation. The Turkish government demoralised the Kurdish people by perpetuating systemic poverty. They lived in poor conditions with little access to education or high-paying jobs.

Peace is difficult when resentment persists. The war against the PKK was a particularly deadly one. The 2025 British Home Office report estimates 6,677 deaths since 2016, including 614 civilians and 4,409 PKK members. Most civilian casualties were due to bombings by the Turkish government, suicide bombers, and mass shootings. These attacks occurred almost daily and affected all members of society. As for the combatants, returning home post-conflict is incredibly difficult. Turkish authorities reportedly used torture, leaving serious psychological scars, but the most damaging impact of all is the enduring hatred for the government, which is difficult to shake after 40 years of belligerence. Artis International’s concept of devoted actors is important in understanding the state of mind of the 70,000 demobilized fighters. These individuals, often young men, have been indoctrinated in a hate campaign against the Turkish government for four decades. Getting rid of that anger will prove to be difficult. A mayor in the region of Diyarbakir who was suspended for putting up flyers for Kurdish self-determination told of how his son left to join the PKK promptly after his demotion due to a feeling of uselessness in “doing politics.” Living next to your neighbour when a child or parent has been killed in a government drone strike or in a suicide bombing is a struggle that endures after the ceasefires. Living with the reality of death and conflict becomes more difficult if the scars cannot heal in a world of repressed speech and forced cooperation.

The solutions needed are transitional justice and accountability from both sides for the atrocities committed. The Turkish government allows for only one form of memory, that of a collective national story. By classifying the PKK as a terrorist organisation, the State has total control over public discourse and the arrangements for dismantling the rebel group. If deemed necessary for citizens’ safety, the government can and has shut down most of the Kurdish voices of autonomy and cultural freedom, deciding by itself what can and cannot be said against it and the country. There is a pressing need for the Turkish government to recognise the Kurdish people, their language and their customs. Without this recognition, there can be no proper representation. Through quotas in government and policies that move towards higher education of Kurdish people, Türkiye can exist as a diverse multi-ethnical country. Until the veil of silence is lifted, communities will linger in their anger, and peace cannot prevail.

Bibliography:

After the PKK: Peacebuilding challenges in Turkey, Syria. RUSI (2025). https://www.rusi.org/explore-our-research/publications/commentary/after-pkk-peacebuilding-challenges-turkey-syria.

Amnesty International (2021) Turkey: Displaced and dispossessed: Sur residents’ right to return home - Amnesty International.

Conflict between Turkey and armed Kurdish groups | Council on Foreign Relations (2025). https://www.cfr.org/global-conflict-tracker/conflict/conflict-between-turkey-and-armed-kurdish-groups.

Danforth, N. et al. (2016) Turkey and the PKK after the failed coup. https://warontherocks.com/2016/08/turkey-and-the-pkk-after-the-failed-coup/.

Lazo, L. (2025) ‘Irak : après la dissolution du PKK, les Kurdes dans l’attente de la paix,’ France Inter, 20 May. https://www.radiofrance.fr/franceinter/podcasts/le-reportage-d-un-jour-dans-le-monde/reportage-du-mardi-20-mai-2025-4099718.

Les Kurdes, peuples en colère (2023). https://www.radiofrance.fr/franceculture/podcasts/serie-les-kurdes-peuples-en-colere.

Q&A | Disbanding the PKK: A turning point in Turkey’s longest war? | ACLED (2025). https://acleddata.com/qa/qa-disbanding-pkk-turning-point-turkeys-longest-war.

In this episode Sophie discusses the post conflict experience of the Kurds. She looks at life after the 41 year conflict between PKK and Turkey She is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, KCL. This article was edited using Lex.page.

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Past, Present and Future: Integrated Education as a Tool of Post-Conflict Reconciliation

Conflicting narratives and identities have always been at the forefront of conflict, continuing cycles of hatred and entrenching the idea that one group of people is somehow bound to eternal enmity with another. This was apparent in several conflicts in the 1990s, from the Troubles in Northern Ireland to the Bosnian War and Rwanda; all of which possessed a strong ethno-sectarian dimension. Yet, as the ashes faded in the aftermath, the question of recovery inevitably went beyond simply reconstructing people’s lived environments. Homes can be rebuilt, but post-conflict societies soon find that revitalising community and individual relations involves a long, complicated process.

Simply ending strife does not eliminate the views and identities of different communities. Each may hold a differing perception of history that influences how they relate their experiences to society. Reconciling these views and bringing about mutual acceptance and understanding, is vital. It is necessary not only forging an equitable, durable peace but ridding the very roots that originally incited the conflict. To that end, integrated education has shown potential where it has been implemented. Designed to foster an environment of mutual respect and open-mindedness through an inclusive, well-thought curriculum, integrated education allows children to meet several human needs and truly move beyond the past. However, it remains a disproportionately underused tool in post-conflict settings even today. Practically, it can be difficult to implement, requiring a large infusion of money and specialist knowledge. This is most apparent in three well-studied post-conflict zones: Bosnia, Northern Ireland and Rwanda. Each has each pursued different, sometimes limited, approaches to integrated education, to secure the shared future that their citizens deserve.

Northern Ireland: Looking Beyond the Surface

CC: Pupils at a Northern Irish integrated school demonstrate their various nationalities, 2022, Integrated College Dungannon.

At its core, integrated education allows children to meet the fundamental human need of understanding both themselves and others. Mutual acknowledgement and acceptance of different traditions and views is one intended outcome of this unique system. Northern Ireland, which has had a long history of segregated education between Catholics and Protestants before and during the Troubles, began to pursue integrated education by transforming sectarian schools into mixed ones after the Good Friday Agreement in 1998.

Most students in integrated schools reported feeling at ease with discussing the aspects that formed their identities, whether religion or ethnicity. Through shared activities such as sports, the invisible, superficial fault lines that had once separated individuals were broken down. Misconceptions were addressed, critical discourse between students over differing views took place and a climate of co-operation and understanding was cultivated. As one student remarked, ‘I just identify with whoever talks to me.’ Despite this, the limited scale of implementation has meant that the benefits of integrated education remain restricted to a minority of Northern Irish schools.

Fifty such institutions have reportedly considered an integrated system but are a small proportion of the thousand schools present. The transition to integrated education is not a simple, linear process. It requires financial capital, thorough and systematic re-training of teaching staff and an overhaul of local curricula. As such, implementation on a national scale remains a difficult endeavour. Regardless, the net positives of integrated education in Northern Ireland are abundant, especially in the sphere of encouraging a culture of open-minded critical debate.

Rwanda: Schooling From Above

CC: Rwandan children consult a textbook, 2025, Global Partnership Education.

In the case of Rwanda, which suffered from a brutal genocide during a civil war from 1990-94, integrated education has been pursued as part of a state-mandated ‘Unity and Reconciliation’ programme. Where it differs from the integrated system in Northern Ireland is that it is a state-driven initiative. Emphasis is placed on a top-down narrative of Rwanda’s national history. By 2006, simple labels like ‘Hutu’ or ‘Tutsi’ that had once marked enormous rifts had been transcended. Instead, a shared Rwandan identity was cultivated, but, crucially, at the expense of being able to openly discuss different views of history. The Rwandan government defended this approach, framing any scrutiny of history as a potential hindrance to reconciliation efforts, a possible way of dredging up old wounds. This has discouraged students and teachers alike from engaging in history as a subjective discipline in favour of following a rigid, more authoritarian system of education that serves the state’s interests.

By 2020, this system was still in place with two challenges. Firstly, the inability of students to develop skills in critical thinking leaves them vulnerable to the inception of ethno-centric narratives that reinforce divides. Almost 10% of Rwandans believe that the family was the main source of old hatreds still disseminated amongst the younger generations. Second, a singular, brittle state narrative can be easily hijacked by a potential group seeking to reincite ethnic hatred. Students are therefore deprived of a key human need – that of participation. How can young people truly develop intellectual independence without the opportunity to be exposed to and critique different viewpoints? As Rwanda has demonstrated, integrated education features several different components that contribute to its efficacy.

Bosnia: The Key To Reconciliation?

CC: UWC students demonstrate their nationalities with flags, 11^th October 2024, UWC.

Integrated education can nurture a culture of understanding and identity that goes beyond those defined by simple hereditary cultural or religious characteristics. Above all, it can help to produce individuals capable of strengthening and enriching their nation’s democracy and society. Unlike Northern Ireland or Rwanda, Bosnia lacks a mainstream form of integration within their education system. The Dayton Agreement in the aftermath of the Bosnian War created convoluted administrative divisions across the country. These were formed along semi-ethnic lines that has resulted in a highly decentralised education system. Segregated education is the order of the day, except for UWC, the only integrated institution in the whole country.

Where integrated education has been prioritised for younger students in Rwanda and Northern Ireland, UWC comprises students aged 17-19, meaning its student body has experienced their formative years in segregated education. Students are expected to bring their engagement beyond the classroom through to community service such as helping at refugee camps. The physical contact with often homogeneous and insular communities can serve to break down psychological barriers that are invisible and far more pervasive than often thought. For example, Bosnian Muslims who had grown up with one dominant narrative met with Croats who followed their own. This opportunity was created through something as simple as community projects. This challenges the conception of integrated education as a purely academic tool and broadens it into a multidimensional model of reconciliation. Furthermore, student exposure to integrated education will pay long-term dividends by producing skilled leaders that can play a tangible role in constructing a genuinely pluralistic society.

A Tool In The Workshop of Peace

In conclusion, educated integration aims to facilitate reconciliation, not just through the mutual acceptance of the diversity of opinions, views and identities, but through the creation of an organic culture of co-operation and critical thinking. In the case studies that we have looked at, it has been a relatively local undertaking. Yet there has been a consistent demonstration of its effectiveness in contesting ethno-centric narratives that had once been the norm. The approach to the past is not one that buries it but rather examines it from varying perspectives to uncover the conditions that allowed conflicts to happen at all. The difficulty remains in making integrated education feasible on a community, and indeed, national scale.

As evident in the three countries, it is both fiscally costly and requires individuals willing to break ranks with their community’s conceptions of history and society. Neither is integrated education a panacea or a one-size-fits-all solution. Each post-conflict society is highly contextual, with sociocultural and geographical characteristics that must be taken into consideration. Instead, integrated education must be seen as part of a wider strategy to reconciliation; one that is slow and expensive but vital in ensuring an enduring, diverse peace. Through it, individuals are empowered to remember the past, manage the present, and prepare for the future.

Bibliography

Hodgkin, Marian, “Reconciliation in Rwanda: Education, History and the State” Journal of International Affairs 60, no. 1 (2006): 199-210. https://www.jstor.org/stable/24358020

Abbott, Lesley and Samuel McGuinness, “Northern Ireland pupils transcend cultural difference through transformed integrated schools: we don’t think about religion when we’re passing the ball, we just do it” International Journal of Inclusive Education 28, no. 28 (2024), 2072-2087. https://doi.org/10.1080/13603116.2022.2052194

Statista, “Number of schools in Northern Ireland from 2015/16 to 2025/25, by type.” Accessed 1 November, 2025, https://www.statista.com/statistics/385474/schools-in-northern-ireland/

National Unity and Reconciliation Commission. Rwanda Reconciliation Barometer 2020. 2020. https://www.rwandainthenetherlands.gov.rw/fileadmin/user_upload/Netherlands_user_upload/Documents/Updates/RWANDA_RECONCILIATION_BAROMETER_2020__N.pdf

Osler, Audrey and Irma Pandur, “The right to intercultural education: students’ perspectives on schooling and opportunities for reconciliation through multicultural engagement in Bosnia and Herzegovina” Intercultural Education 30, no. 6 (2019): 658-679. https://doi.org/10.1080/14675986.2019.1626576

In this episode Eban discusses the complexity of using integrated education to reconcile community differences in post conflict communities. He is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, KCL. This article was edited using Lex.page.

Thank you for reading an A4R 🎨 Post. Don’t forget to visit our gift shop here. Every purchase scales our impact and pays our bills.

As a fragmented Syria struggles to take shape, the shadowy threat of the Islamic State is re-emerging

Since 2011 Syria has endured a brutal civil war under the iron fist of Bashar al-Assad. More than half a million people have been killed and twelve million displaced. (ShelterBox, n.d.) However, this came to an end in December 2024, a historic turning point in a decade-long war, when Sunni rebel forces under Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) launched an offensive and seized Damascus. Despite the fall of Assad, the situation remains unstable. The rebels who stormed Damascus have a complex history, and as new power dynamics continue to take shape, all eyes are on interim President Ahmed al-Sharaa to see how he is going to govern a fragmented region and prevent a resurgence of IS. (ICCT, 2025)

While HTS maintains majority control and enjoys popular support, they form the de facto government. This depends on political legitimacy and economic reconstruction. However, while al-Sharaa pledged to protect all citizens, the recent attacks by IS has made people doubt their capacity to maintain stability. This will only be further hindered, as Sharaa, who formally led Syria’s offshoot of Al-Qaeda, Nusra Front, only broke away from the network a decade ago. As a result, HTS is still considered a terrorist organisation by nations such as the UK and the US. Various sanctions have been imposed making it very difficult to navigate Syria’s future given the region’s severe poverty levels. The EU has lifted some sanctions, and pledged €2.5 billion during the 9^th Syria Conference. However, this is conditional on the pledge that the rights of ethnic minorities are safeguarded in the new Syria (ICCT, 2025) (PRIF, 2025)

In the first few months of 2025, al-Sharaa’s legitimacy has also been questioned by a steady increase in sectarian violence. The Syrian Observatory for Human Rights estimated that more than 1,400 civilians have been killed in Latakia, mostly from the Alawite community. A minority religious group considered an offshoot of Shia Islam. (France 24, 2025) The Assad family belonged to this sect, who ultimately enjoyed disproportionate influence inside the former regime. (Reuters, 2025) These events took place during a period of unrest in the region due to armed clashes between Sunni Islamist-led government forces and insurgency fighters that are still loyal to the deposed regime. The conflict led to thousands of families seeking refuge in a remote Russian military airbase. This is the last Dalaal Mahna saw of her 25-year-old son, before being shot dead by gunmen. (BBC, 2025) Ethnic divisions intensified by decades of an authoritarian regime have left devastating lasting grievances, highlighting the deep polarisation that the new government has yet to overcome. As the interim government struggles for authority nationwide, these remote, poorly governed areas are becoming a fertile breeding ground for IS to exploit, to regroup and train new recruits with relative ease. (PRIF, 2025)

ISIS (The Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant), more commonly known as Da’esh or the Islamic State (IS), is a Salafi Jihadist group, with its origins in Al Qaeda in the security vacuum in the early 2000s following the US invasion of Iraq. Under the leadership of Abu Bakr Al-Baghdadi, IS broke away seeking to exploit the instability in the region during the war. In 2013 it began seizing territory, and by 2014 it had overrun the Syrian government, declaring a global Caliphate, claiming religious and political authority over the Muslim world. In the following years, IS would control a region the size of England, governing more than 12 million people, with 50,000 fighters from over 100 nations. Enforcing a rigid interpretation of Sharia law, committing mass atrocities, and displacing millions of Syrians. Posing a grave threat to regional stability, the U.S. led Global Coalition Against Daesh spent the next five years recapturing 95% of the region, with the final stronghold falling in 2019, reducing IS to a desert pocket with few insurgent cells. (PRIF, 2025) Despite the collapse of the self-proclaimed caliphate, signs of a gradual IS recovery is evident, with the danger of a resurgence due to a 10-fold increase in attacks. (United Nations, 2025) (BBC, 2015)

Following the collapse of the caliphate, IS has undergone a transformation from a territorial regime to a decentralised insurgent group. This has been made possible by the caches of gold and cash hidden in the Badiyah desert. Furthermore, as the Assad regime collapsed, they were furnished with a fresh supply of weapons from abandoned Syrian army stocks, allowing them to intensify their operations. In 2023, IS was responsible for more than 200 attacks against Assad’s forces and their Shi’a allies, killing more than 285 soldiers and 231 civilians. (Counter Extremism Project, 2023) However, by 2024 this number tripled with more than 750 deaths, illustrating the persistent and growing threat in Syria. (PRIF, 2025)

Walid-Basit Sheikh Mousa was only 21 years old when he was killed fighting IS in Northeastern Syria in February. Mousa was killed during a battle near a dam, with his body eventually being found by his family when searching the front lines. His mother, when speaking to the BBC said, “We buried so many of the young. May Daesh be wiped out completely. I hope not one of them is left.” (BBC, 2015)

Milad was just 40 years old when we was killed trying to push a suicide attacker out of a building. A further 24 people were killed at the Greek Orthodox Church in eastern Damascus in June 2025. The attacker, belonging to IS, began shooting indiscriminately before setting off an explosive injuring 60. The first attack since HTS overthrew Assad’s regime, and the first targeting of the Christian community since 1860. The attack was an attempt to undermine the security and stability of all religious communities. Milad’s family members expressed this opinion stating, “We are not safe here anymore.” (EURACTIV, 2015) (BBC, 2025)

The shadowy threat of the group remains severe in Syria, as the U.S. Government estimates that 1500 to 3000 active fighters remain. The group has been forced to abandon the dream of the caliphate and has undergone a radical structural and operational change. The group now relies on a less hierarchical structure and a more decentralised network of regional affiliates who operate with greater autonomy than ever before to enhance the chances of survival. (ICCT, 2025) The old battle against IS mostly continues in the Kurdish-controlled regions in the Northeast, as 10,000 fighters are currently being held in detention camps, where 75% inside are estimated to still be deeply committed to the ideology. A further 60,000 IS- affiliated individuals remain in ticking- time bomb detention camps, where they are arguably increasingly vulnerable to radicalisation. (PRIF, 2025)

The group is seeking to rebrand itself behind bars, as in camps such as Al Hol and Roj, a new generation is being raised through the ‘Cubs of the Caliphate’ programme. These children were separated from their families, often experiencing the brutal murder of their parents, and herded into re-education camps, where their traumas were moulded into rage. The early indoctrination of these young male soldiers became an integral component of the army of the future, due to the notion that they would be more hardline than their predecessors. (PRIF, 2025) As a result, Kurdish authorities are reporting breakout attempts and mass rioting at the centres, as IS remains determined to free an important aspect of their fighting force. A humanitarian source speaking to Reuters stated that “IS will come for the people they’ve wanted to come for.” (Reuters, 2025) This was evident in January 2022, when IS blasted a hole in the exterior wall of al-Sina prison camp, triggering a 10-day battle against allied forces. By the time the prison was back under the control of Kurdish forces, 500 were dead, and hundreds had escaped back into IS. This was the deadliest IS attack since they lost their last stronghold. (The Washington Post, 2025)

US-funded organisations have been integral in closing the gap in basic provisions and countering the threat emanating from IS today, as the government struggles to secure the camps after the conflict. (Margolin, 2025) However, recent aid cuts of $117 million by the Trump administration poses a severe security threat, as these camps hold the “potential next generation of the Islamic State.” If destabilised, IS will be able to reinforce its ranks, restore their operational capabilities, and destabilise Syria’s new government. (BBC, 2025) (ICCT, 2025)

The defeat of IS marked a significant turning point in the fight against terrorism, IS ceded to control swathes of territory, but is now clear that its “enduring defeat” is not assured, as its threat persists globally (BBC, 2019) Following the fall of Assad’s regime in December 2024, the tenuous control of the de facto government and ongoing sectarian violence has led to a security vacuum in the region. IS is actively seeking to exploit this, allowing them to regroup and reorganise to pose a lethal and adaptive threat. All eyes are on HTS in the fragile environment. If instability persists and hostilities continue, there is a severe risk of an IS resurgence.

References

BBC, 2019. The rise of fall of the Islamic State group: The long and short story [online] Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-47210891 [Accessed 10 November 2025]

France24, 2025. Hundreds massacred in Syria casting doubt on new government’s ability to rule. [online] Available at: https://www.france24.com/en/middle-east/20250310-massacre-of-1-500-in-alawite-heartland-casts-doubt-on-new-syrian-government-s-ability-to-rule [Accessed 3 November 2025]

Gol, J. 2025. Inside an Islamic State camp shaken by US aid cuts [online] Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cglyg1wdee3o [Accessed 6 November 2025]

Guerin, O. 2025. Inside Syria’s jail for IS suspects as officials say attacks by group a rising. [online] Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cze6y5x8np8o [Accessed 1 November 2025]

Hakari, M.A. 2025. Without a Caliphate, But Far From Defeated: Why Da’esh/ISIS Remains a Threat in Syria in 2025. [online] Available at: https://blog.prif.org/2025/04/07/without-a-caliphate-but-far-from-defeated-why-daesh-isis-remains-a-threat-in-syria-in-2025/ [Accessed 2 November 2025]

Killani, F. 2025. BBC finds Syrian families sheltering at Russian airbase from sectarian attacks. [online] Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cyve9prq3qjo [Accessed 5 November 2025]

Margolin, D. 2024. U.S. Funding Cuts Risk Jeopardizing Counter-Islamic State Operations [online] Available at: https://www.washingtoninstitute.org/policy-analysis/us-funding-cuts-risk-jeopardizing-counter-islamic-state-operations [Accessed 5 November 2025]

Mehra, T. 2025. The Threat of ISIS in a Fragmented Syria. [online] Available at: https://icct.nl/publication/threat-isis-fragmentated-syria#:~:text=As%20new%20power%20dynamics%20in,from%20a%20prison%20in%20Hasakah. [Accessed 1 November 2025]

Michael, M. 2025. Syrian forces massacred 1,500 Alawites. The chain of command led to Damascus. [online] Available at: https://www.reuters.com/investigations/syrian-forces-massacred-1500-alawites-chain-command-led-damascus-2025-06-30/ [Accessed 2 November 2025]

Michalopoulous, S. 2025. ISIS suicide bomber kills 22 at Orthodox church in Syria [online] Available at: https://www.euractiv.com/news/isis-suicide-bomber-kills-22-at-orthodox-church-in-syria/ [Accessed 6 November 2025]

Loveluck, L., and Cahlan, S. 2022. Prison Break: ISIS fighters launched a brazen attack to free their comrades [online] Available at: https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2022/02/03/syria-hasakah-isis-prison-attack/ [Accessed 2 November 2025]

Reuters, 2025. Terror Threat by ISIL ‘remains volatile and complex,’ Security Council Hears [online] Available at: https://news.un.org/en/story/2025/08/1165692 [Accessed 1 November 2025]

Reuters, 2025. US aid cuts risk riot, breakouts at Islamic State-linked camps in Syria [online] Available at: https://www.reuters.com/world/middle-east/us-aid-cuts-risk-riots-breakouts-islamic-state-linked-camps-syria-2025-02-14/ [Accessed 4 November 2025]

Sinjab, L. 2025. ‘We’re not safe here anymore’ – Syria’s Christians fear for future after devastating church attack [online] Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c79q8p8qx1do [Accessed 3 November 2025]

ShelterBox, 2024. The Syrian Conflict Explained. [online]. Available at: https://shelterbox.org/where-we-work/syria/conflict/ [Accessed 1 November 2025)

Waters, G. 2024. The Central Syria ISIS Insurgency in 2023. Counter Extremism Project.

In this episode Cerys discusses the post Asad experience of Syria and the potential of ISIS re-merging. She is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, KCL. This article was edited using Lex.page.

Thank you for reading an A4R 🎨 Post. Don’t forget to visit our gift shop here. Every purchase scales our impact and pays our bills.

Gacaca: A lesson in justice.

History

Neighbours, colleagues, friends, and family members, killing neighbours, colleagues, friends, and family members. No safety within homes or communities. No aid from governments. No apparent end to ongoing human tragedy. Incomprehensible atrocities for those who didn’t experience it. This was the horrific reality that characterised a long 100 days for the Tutsi people of Rwanda.

The Rwandan genocide marks a truly dark moment in human history. It was the culmination of decades of conflict and division, sparked in the late 1800s by German and Belgian colonisers who promoted interethnic division. In the years following, an increasingly hostile divide formed between the Tutsi and Twa minority groups and the Hutu majority.

Throughout the 1900s, Rwanda faced much conflict and political instability. The 1959 Rwandan revolution replaced the Tutsi monarchy with a Hutu-led republic, forcing many Tutsi to leave the country. These circumstances led to Rwandan discontent that in turn triggered the 1990 Rwandan civil war between the Tutsi Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) and the Hutu government. The war lasted almost four years before President Juvénal Habyarimana established a tenuous peace agreement (the Arusha Accords, 4 August 1993). However, this wasn’t to last.

On April 6, 1994, President Habyarimana was killed when his plane was shot down. The culprits are still unknown, and it’s debated whether the RPF or Hutu extremists killed him. Regardless, this event was instrumental in the start of the Rwandan genocide. Hours after his death, the government’s crisis committee ordered the systematic killing of Tutsi people throughout the country.

The genocide was carried out by the Rwandan Armed Forces and extremist Hutu militias, who killed an estimated 800,000 to 1,000,000 Tutsis and politically moderate Hutus over the course of about 100 days. Furthermore, it is estimated that during the same time frame between 100,000 and 250,000 women were raped. The atrocities only ceased when the RPF overthrew the Hutu government in July 1994.

Recovery in the form of Gacaca courts

With the Hutu government overthrown and the genocide now at an end, the new Rwandan government had the monumental task of bringing the perpetrators to justice in a torn nation. One of the most difficult problems was the sheer amount of Rwandans accused of genocide-related crimes. Due to the high number of Hutu civilians involved, by 2001 over 120,000 Rwandans were awaiting trial - far too many for the official justice system to handle in a reasonable time.

The establishment of Gacaca courts was the solution for this process of justice. These community courts, held throughout Rwanda, aimed to swiftly address the multitude of accused perpetrators and uncover the truth of the genocide.

The model of the Gacaca courts was a unique one. Originally a way of dealing with local disputes in small communities, they were set up in outdoor spaces for community involvement so victims of the genocide and other community members could be involved in deciding the fate of those involved in the murder of Tutsis. The judges (Inyangamugayo) were locally elected and decided the fate of the accused after hearing evidence from witnesses and the defences of the accused themselves.

Four categories of genocide-related crimes were outlined: Masterminding the genocide and committing acts of sexual violence, participating in the killings, physical assault, and destroying Tutsi property. If the offender was found guilty of the first two crimes, they would be placed within the traditional court system, but if guilty of the latter two, the punishment was in the hands of the Inyangamugayo.

However, what was perhaps most unorthodox in this system was the focus on restorative justice (a focus on reconciliation between victim and offender). The Gacaca courts gave perpetrators an opportunity to explain themselves, confess, and ask for forgiveness from their communities - often leading to reduced sentences.

Were Gacaca courts effective?

Gacaca courts were effective in establishing societal cohesion and in preventing renewed violence. Through the communal aspect of the courts, victims were able to gain emotional security by learning the truth of the events of the genocide. In this sense, the courts were effective in achieving restorative justice

However, the courts were flawed. Rigorous legal processes weren’t followed, evidence was only presented in the form of spoken testimony, and above all, a confession of guilt and an expression of remorse allowed perpetrators to have reduced punishments. From a retributive justice perspective (where punishment for perpetrators is at the forefront of the process), this simply feels wrong.

The 7 Fundamental Human Needs

In answering whether the Gacaca courts were effective in producing real healing within Rwanda, we can look to the 7 fundamental human needs to pinpoint the effectiveness of the courts. These are essential needs for human flourishing that are believed to be cross-cultural and timeless.

Safety/security and survival - The Gacaca courts’ justice acted as a deterrent for future similar crimes and removed dangerous members of society.

Understanding - A key feature of the Gacaca courts was the understanding they provided. By creating an environment for victims to hear offenders speak and hear evidence given, they were able to get to the truth (such as who committed which acts).

Connection (love) and acceptance - As the courts were based in communities and verdicts were reached on a community basis, a deep connection was established within the communities. However, connection was not only found within innocent members of the community, but with guilty members also. And, of course, through the reconciliation, acceptance was also achieved in both victims and offenders.

Contribution/participation - The role of community members (particularly the Inyangamugayo) in the courts is a testament to the contribution people were able to achieve. Furthermore, since the courts finished, people have been able to live in a socially cohesive society that allows them to work as a community.

Esteem, identity, significance - This is an area in which, unfortunately, Rwanda’s recovery from genocide is less successful. Though esteem is not neglected, in the sense that Rwandans are not restricted in their capacity to be recognised as competent and capable, parts of identity are restricted. In the interest of societal cohesion, all references to ethnicity are discouraged within Rwanda. This is problematic as ethnicity is an integral part of identity, particularly after a joint struggle like Rwanda’s.

Self-determination (Autonomy), Freedom, and Justice - Though Gacaca addressed urgent post-conflict needs, lasting autonomy and freedom has not been seen within Rwanda. Rwanda is currently run by an authoritarian state that limits individual freedom significantly through surveillance and political suppression.

Self-actualisation and self-transcendence - Due to the lack of freedom in Rwanda, the ability for self-actualisation and self-transcendence is significantly limited.

Philosophy vs practicality

The use of the Gacaca courts then begs the question: what can we learn from them? And, upon further reflection, we can ask what they teach us as they raise large questions about moral philosophy and justice, and the trade-off between principle and practicality. Should we do things because they are practically useful, even if they are dubious in philosophical principle and consistency? Perhaps the retributive “an eye for an eye” approach is not morally correct.

It’s important to recognise that the negligence of retributive justice in Rwanda was for the sake of societal healing. If Rwanda was to have taken a retributive approach to justice, there is no guarantee that victims would have been able to find peace and that perpetrators would have been able to be reintegrated into society.

Rwandan recovery in a global context

Despite the merits of the Gacaca courts in meeting some fundamental needs, they did not achieve a perfect solution to the country’s issues. Rwanda is under an authoritarian government that greatly limits the political and personal freedoms of its people. It is then up to us to ask whether the authoritarian control of Rwanda is worth the societal cohesion. Furthermore, we should also consider how much of the current social cohesion is due to Gacaca, and how much is due to suppression of freedom?

Other countries that have experienced similar conflicts aren’t in the same position as Rwanda. For example, after the war and genocide in Bosnia and Herzegovina, the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia was set up. This did prove to be effective in dealing with perpetrators, but compared with Rwanda, Bosnia and Herzegovina lack reconciliation as the justice process was retributive and lacked mechanisms to ensure reconciliation. Here justice and principle were placed above societal practicality.

We can also look to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission established after apartheid in South Africa to investigate human rights abuses. Though this was beneficial for reconciliation through open dialogue between victim and offender, the commission resulted in hardly any punishments for perpetrators, leaving victims feeling unsatisfied. This contrasts with Rwanda where both punishment and reconciliation were achieved.

The point in comparing these countries’ responses to conflict is not to determine which is best, but rather to consider where we draw our moral lines. When and why should we abandon practicality? Principles? Justice? What should we favour?

Conclusion

Regardless of the answers to my questions (if there are any), we can certainly learn from the Gacaca courts. Faced with some of the worst crimes, Rwanda prioritised restorative justice, cohesion, and truth over procedural purity. Yes, Rwanda still has problems, but we must give credit where credit is due, and in the case of the Gacaca courts, they provided moral necessity when the country faced societal collapse. The lesson of Gacaca, then, is not that we should always prioritise practical benefit over philosophical consistency, but that in desperate times it may be necessary to focus on practical healing as a moral priority.

Resources list

Acha, D.K., MD and DMin. (2015). The 7 Fundamental Human Needs | Servants University | Training Servants for Christ. [online] Available at: https://www.servantsuniversity.com/the-7-fundamental-human-needs/.

Department of Public Information (2014). The Justice and Reconciliation Process in Rwanda. [online] Available at: https://www.un.org/en/preventgenocide/rwanda/assets/pdf/Backgrounder%20Justice%202014.pdf.

Ted-ED (2023). What caused the Rwandan Genocide? - Susanne Buckley-Zistel. [online] www.youtube.com. Available at:

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Al Jazeera English (2012). Rwanda’s gacaca courts questioned 10 years on. [online] YouTube. Available at:

.

In this episode Oliver discusses the post conflict experience of Rwanda and the experience of Gacaca courts and how well they have served the need for justice. He is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Oxford University Career Services.

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Surviving Fragments: Navigating the Experience of Displacement Through Objects

Behjat Omer Abdulla, a refugee artist from Kurdistan, fled his home in the 1990s due to escalating conflict. After he settled in Sweden, he created Unidentified Objects (2015), a series of graphite drawings focused on unidentified archaeological artifacts left behind after ISIS looted the Mosul Museum. Each object is held in latex-gloved hands against black backgrounds.

Abdulla’s portrayal of unnamed and damaged objects represents evidence of life disrupted by violence, of stories told from the fragments left behind. Abdulla communicates the importance of reframing conflict stories through the objects that populate them, returning autonomy to the storytellers by returning their possessions in this work.

The refugee experience is surrounded by loss. Displacement includes the loss of possessions, beyond the emotional loss of home, culture, and connection. Everyday objects can hold incredible emotional value, especially when you are forced to leave them behind.

This article will explore two post-conflict communities where objects have helped refugees adjust and regain autonomy. Examining these stories through the objects can provide new perspectives on balancing post-conflict survival with rebuilding.

The Soccer Ball in Kakuma Refugee Camp

The Kakuma Refugee Camp, established in 1992, is a large-scale UN-organized settlement in Kenya. It was founded for the ‘Lost Boys of Sudan’, around 20,000 Sudanese boys displaced after the Nuer and Dinka ethnic groups faced persecution during the Second Sudanese Civil War (1987-2005). It’s home to refugees from Sudan, Somalia, and Ethiopia.

The football has become a symbol of hope, resilience, and community for the inhabitants of Kakuma Refugee Camp, transcending its role as sports equipment or toy. Starting from an informal group of boys playing football together after significant losses, the soccer ball now represents more than just a piece of inflated rubber.

In 2018, Kakuma United was officially registered with the National League, supported by the UN Refugee Agency and the Lutheran World Foundation. In a recent UNHCR article, Tayyar Sukru Cansizoglu, UNHCR’s Head of Sub Office in Kakuma, says that in the camp, ‘football goes beyond sportsmanship – it has become a symbol of unity, peace and love for refugees and the host community.’ [1] The soccer ball serves as a catalyst for social cohesion, allowing individuals to forge connections, build friendships, and reclaim agency and autonomy in their post-conflict lives.

The soccer ball in Kakuma Refugee Camp is more than entertainment. It’s a path to empowerment for refugees rebuilding their lives after conflict. The team has flourished, becoming the best in the league in their first year and only losing one match in 2018.

Refugees in Kakuma use the sport to turn adversity into opportunity on the camp’s pitches through soccer tournaments and informal matches. They empower themselves through the soccer ball, reclaiming agency, shaping their destinies and defying displacement to pursue a future filled with hope and possibility.

Immaculée Ilibagiza’s Rosary and the Rwandan Genocide

The Rwandan Genocide occurred between April and July 1994. It was triggered by ethnic tensions between the Hutu majority and Tutsi minority. After the assassination of President Juvenal Habyarimana on April 6, 1994, the conflict escalated into widespread violence by the Hutu-led government and militia against the Tutsi. It is estimated that between 800,000 to 1 million people were killed in three months, leaving a trail of trauma and destruction shaping the country’s history.

Immaculée Ilibagiza survived with seven other women in a bathroom, hidden behind a closet in a Hutu pastor’s house, for 91 days, while most of her family was killed.

Since then, Ilibagiza found refuge in the United States and became a successful author of several books. In her works, she details how her faith and prayer helped her during the ordeal and shaped her post-conflict adjustment and ability to forgive the perpetrators.

Ilibagiza’s book The Rosary: The Prayer That Saved My Life” is of interest. She highlights the physical rosary as a symbol of hope throughout her experience. It protected and guided her through despair and gave her courage to endure and survive the genocide violence.

Immaculée emerged from hiding, her rosary remaining a tangible reminder of the importance of faith and forgiveness to overcome hatred and adversity. It inspired her to share her story and advocate for healing and reconciliation after the genocide.

What We Take with Us: Understanding People Through Things

The soccer ball at Kakuma Refugee Camp has inspired humanity in the face of adversity. It goes beyond a play object, becoming a catalyst for social cohesion, empowerment, and autonomy among refugees rebuilding post-conflict lives. Through sport, individuals in Kakuma find connection and reclaim agency and belonging in a world marked by displacement and uncertainty.

Amid the horrors of the Rwandan Genocide, Immaculée Ilibagiza found solace, strength, and spiritual resilience in her rosary. Her story has resonated with countless others, adding a new dimension to the rosary as an object of faith. For Ilibagiza, the rosary serves as a reminder not only of her displacement and loss but also of her post-conflict experience. It is a symbol of healing, adjustment, and forgiveness inspired by her struggles.

These are two examples of significant tools in the lives of refugees in and after conflict. The soccer ball in Kakuma Refugee Camp and Ilibagiza’s rosary remind us of the resilience and humanity of refugees and conflict survivors. Examining refugee experiences through everyday objects helps us understand how these reminders of humanity and home can aid in increasing autonomy and adjustment in post-conflict areas. Objects serve as practical reminders of self-hood and humanity, despite their small presence amidst conflict.

With the rise in refugee populations over the past three years, more attention has been given to the experience. The International Rescue Committee released an article in 2015 entitled, What’s In My Bag? [2] In it, they interview refugees from different conflict areas and ask them to reveal the contents of their bags.

One thing becomes clear. Despite the often limited space for refugees, many carry objects like phones, documents, and an SD card full of family photos from home. Whether these objects make it through the arduous journey is left to chance, but their inclusion amongst the necessary items speaks not only to a desire for connection, but also to a hope for the future. A hope embodied in objects.

In this episode Elysia discusses the importance of objects and their meaning in communties rebuilding themselves once the conflict is over. She is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Oxford University Career Services. This article was edited using Lex.page.

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A Landscape Still at War: Cambodia’s Ongoing Battle with Landmines

Cambodia’s long peace is still haunted by weapons buried just beneath its feet. Three decades after the return of the monarchy and the birth of multi-party democracy, remnants of war are still very much present in the beautiful landscape of a country with a brutal history. Landmines contaminate the landscape, shaping the country’s physical and psychological terrain.

The northwest region, especially along the Thai border, remains a hotspot (Taskdal, 2011). It was here that some of the heaviest fighting unfolded. By 1995, Cambodia earned the grim distinction of having “a mine for every man, woman, and child” (Feingold, 1995). Many of these devices were planted indiscriminately across farmlands, forcing farmers to choose between feeding their families and risking their lives. The consequences ripple outward with reduced agricultural output, stunted economic growth, and communities trapped in cycles of fear and poverty. Even Cambodia’s cultural treasures weren’t spared. Angkor Wat, a UNESCO World Heritage site, was once surrounded by hidden explosives that deterred visitors and complicated preservation efforts.

Angkor Wat, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, 2025

Their danger lies in their simplicity. Most landmines rest just five centimetres below the surface. A few kilograms of downward pressure - far less than the weight of a child - can activate a spring-loaded firing mechanism. This mechanism strikes the detonator, triggering the explosive core. The resulting blast unleashes a brutal upward wave of force, causing devastating injuries in an instant (McGrath, p. 33, 2000). Planting a landmine costs as little as three dollars. Finding and destroying that same device can cost between $500 to $1000 hundred dollars (Feingold, 1995).

Legacy of Conflict: How Decades of War Buried Cambodia in Landmines

Cambodia’s recent history is scarred by extraordinary violence. Between 1975 and 1979, the Khmer Rouge pursued a fanatical vision of a “pure” agrarian society, resulting in the deaths of an estimated 1.5 to 3 million people, nearly a quarter of the population (Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies, 2025).

The regime’s collapse came only after Vietnam invaded in 1978, toppling the Khmer Rouge and installing a new government. But instead of ending the suffering, the intervention triggered years of civil war. As battles shifted across provinces, both Khmer Rouge fighters and Vietnamese forces planted the land with mines - crude, plentiful, and lethal (Feingold, 1995).

Furthermore, dangerous explosives were also left behind from the Vietnam War. Many of these mines, deployed by U.S. forces, remained undetonated in Cambodia’s soil (Taskdal, p. 189, 2011).

What remained after decades of conflict was the natural landscape turned into a weapon. Its rural fields and temples were littered with the remnants of war that would continue to claim lives long after the fighting had ceased.

Fields of Fear: How Landmines Endanger Cambodia’s Farmers

Cambodia remains one of the most heavily landmine-contaminated countries in the world. Unlike some post-conflict regions where danger zones are cordoned off with barbed wire or warning signs, Cambodia’s minefields are often invisible. In 2006, a staggering 90% of victims reported that there was no signage to indicate the presence of explosives (Taskdal, p. 189, 2011).

The people who suffer most are the farmers who rely on the land for survival. Faced with the impossible choice between farming contaminated soil or facing starvation, many continue to work fields riddled with hidden mines. The consequences are devastating. Injuries caused by landmines often result in death or life-changing disabilities. The International Committee of the Red Cross estimates that around 150,000 Cambodians live with disabilities, many of them having lost limbs to explosions (ICRC, 2018).

And even after amputation and medical treatment, the danger doesn’t end. As researcher Taksdal notes, “the disabled survivor or the family members will have to enter the mined area again and again, as they depend on farming, collecting wood or using other natural resources to sustain the family” (Taksdal, p. 189, 2011). Sok, a Cambodian farmer interviewed by Taskdal, lost a limb after stepping on a landmine, still remembers the moment that changed his life: “The accident happened three years ago, I was out in the jungle on my plot of land clearing the bush. I was not working for anyone else; I was trying to expand the farmland” (Taskdal, p. 191, 2011).

Clearing the Path to Peace: APOPO’s Mission to Reclaim Cambodia’s Land

APOPO, an international NGO, is dedicated to clearing landmines and returning safe, usable land to communities worldwide. Its work is rooted in a simple mission: restoring lives by restoring land. As McGrath notes, “countries in transition from war to peace may find that landmines laid by all combatant forces present a very real obstacle to reconciliation” (McGrath, p. 46, 2000). APOPO confronts that obstacle head-on, helping countries like Cambodia rebuild by making once-dangerous grounds safe again. So far, its work in Cambodia has cleared 33 million square metres of land and safely destroyed more than 49,000 landmines (APOPO, 2025).

To do this, APOPO relies on an unexpected ally: the giant African pouched rat. Native to Tanzania, these animals are trained to detect the chemical compounds found in explosives. Each time a rat correctly identifies a landmine, it is rewarded with food. When it locates an explosive, the rat scratches the ground to alert the deminers. Crucially, because the rats weigh so little, they can safely walk over active mines without triggering them (AFP, 2022).

APOPO Centre in Siem Reap, 2025

After visiting the centre in July 2025, it was immediately clear that the team holds deep respect and affection for their ‘mini rat heroes.’ Staff members proudly introduced us to several veteran rats, treating them with the same care given to any decorated service animal. Their contributions have not gone unnoticed. In the past, APOPO’s rats have received international recognition - including Magawa, now deceased, who was awarded the animal equivalent of Britain’s highest civilian honour for bravery for his extraordinary work in detecting landmines (AFP, 2022).

Myself at APOPO Centre in Siem Reap, 2025

APOPO’s impact extends beyond farmland. The organisation has also been working in Preah Vihear, the ancient Hindu temple complex designated as a UNESCO World Heritage site. By clearing landmines from the surrounding grounds, APOPO is not only protecting local communities but also helping to safeguard and restore one of Cambodia’s most significant cultural treasures (Mena Report, 2024). The work at Preah Vihear also speaks to a deeper national need: after decades marked by genocide and cultural devastation, restoring and protecting heritage sites is a vital step in rebuilding Cambodia’s identity and reclaiming what violence sought to erase.

Looking towards the future

Cambodia’s struggle against landmines is far from a relic of the past - it is a daily battle for safety, dignity, and the right to live without fear. From farmers risking their lives to feed their families, to heritage sites still recovering from the scars of conflict, the legacy of war is etched into the country’s soil. Yet amid the devastations, organisations like APOPO offer a path forward. Their innovative work not only clears deadly explosives but restores livelihoods, protects culture, and rekindles hope in communities long held hostage by hidden weapons.

But Cambodia still has a long way to go. As of November 2025, the disputed border territory between Thailand and Cambodia near Preah Vihear remains a source of tension - despite a 1962 ruling by the International Court of Justice, which signified it belonged to Cambodia. Thailand threatened to suspend a US-brokered ceasefire after a landmine explosion along the border injured four Thai soldiers - an incident Cambodia claimed involved mines left over from earlier conflicts (The Associated Press, 2025). This episode underscores just how long-lasting and geopolitically dangerous the landmines challenge remains.

Bibliography

AFP International Text Wire in English, Cambodia’s landmine-sniffing rat hero dies. 11 Jan 2022, <Cambodia’s landmine-sniffing rat hero dies - ProQuest> [accessed 12 November 2025]

APOPO, ‘APOPO in Cambodia’, 2025, <APOPO In Cambodia • APOPO> [accessed 12 November 2025]

Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies, ‘Cambodia’, University of Minnesota, 2025 <Cambodia | Holocaust and Genocide Studies | College of Liberal Arts> [accessed 12 November 2025]

David A. Feingold, Silent Sentinels, Coward’s War, 1995, <Silent Sentinels, Coward’s War - Alexander Street, a ProQuest Company> [accessed 12 November 25]

International Committee of the Red Cross, ‘Cambodia: So little, yet so much for people with disabilities’ 5th June 2018 <Cambodia: So little, yet so much for people with disabilities | International Committee of the Red Cross> [accessed 12 November 2025]

MENA Report, Cambodia: APOPO extends collaboration for landmine clearance in cambodia with CMAC. (2024, Jan 02). <Cambodia : APOPO Extends Collaboration for Landmine Clearance in Cambodia with CMAC - ProQuest> [accessed 12 November 2025]

In this episode Beth discusses the post conflict experience in Cambodia and the issue of land mines left behind. She is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, KCL. This article was edited using Lex.page.

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How the movie “Hiroshima mon amour” redefined the art of storytelling after a traumatic experience

“You saw nothing in Hiroshima”: The impossibility of representing trauma

Hiroshima mon Amour opens with a powerful scene: a man tells a woman that her effort to learn about what happened in Hiroshima is vain, and he keeps repeating “Tu n’as rien vu à Hiroshima, rien” (translation: “You saw nothing in Hiroshima, nothing”). The woman emphasizes her personal journey to learn about the event, visit museums, and watch historical documentaries. Both bodies appear as mutilated by the experience of love and the experience of Hiroshima, where destructive events are paralleled with an impossible love story. This questions how to effectively narrate the aftermath of a war horror, and how documents that might seem effective and complete are in fact impersonal and could never provide an effective insight about what happened and how people recovered from the trauma. Those experiences are impossible to represent accurately through a documentary, but rather remembering them through human experience such as love and death becomes a path to understanding those historical events.

Trauma is universal: personal and national experiences mirror each other

Initially, Alain Resnais, the director, was asked to make a movie about the atomic bomb. But he did not want to document or recreate the horror created by the atomic bomb, instead wanting to make a fiction movie that could be understood by a Western audience that did not experience the horror that signified the end of the war, a moment of relief. Thus, he juxtaposed two traumatic experiences: a woman’s experience in Nevers after German occupation, where she had her head shaved, and the man’s experience after the Hiroshima bomb. He shows the universality of trauma that is not grounded in one country but is rather universal, as every human being might experience it. In the movie, one line is “C’est comme si le désastre d’une femme tondue à Nevers et le désastre d’Hiroshima se répondaient exactement” (“It is as if the disaster of a shaved woman in Nevers and the disaster of Hiroshima answered each other exactly”), showing that both tragedies appear the same.

Another powerful scene shows the universality of trauma from a personal to a national dimension, where each protagonist says to the other “Hiroshima. C’est ton nom” (“Hiroshima is your name”) and “Ton nom à toi est Nevers” (“Your name is Nevers”). This scene overemphasizes how their experiences as persons reflect a broader psychological experience in a specific place. They are depersonalized, losing their individual identities and instead becoming experiences grounded in a specific time and period. It also shows how one traumatic experience mirrors another, and accessing trauma comes indirectly: we access the man’s traumatic past about Hiroshima through the woman’s experience of Nevers. Traumatic experiences can only be accessed through substitutions and displacements; we can never relive the whole story.

Trauma disrupts time and memory: storytelling through fragmented narratives

The movie also questions the notion of time and how people live it during and after trauma. For the woman who fell in love with the enemy, a German, during the war, she can’t differentiate her present Japanese lover and her past German lover: every memory is mixed, their identities become blurry. This shows how trauma is remembered not through images or documentaries but through the characters’ inner voices. When history of trauma can only happen through listening to someone’s experience, the narrative becomes non-linear and blurry; it doesn’t transmit an understanding of horror but the horror itself through fragmented, tormented narratives that can’t reconstruct a specific event but show how they experienced it.

The movie contradicts traditional techniques of storytelling, going against the committed literature movement of 1950s France, which was directed by Sartre and focused on the obligation of literature to represent reality as much as possible with detailed descriptions and politically engaging messages. Indeed, the movie opposes a commemorative system that reduces trauma into manageable facts and images that erase the singularities of survivors’ experiences. The movie ultimately shows how museums of commemoration tend to create one narrative of trauma that does not include all experiences. The movie also goes beyond narrative memories that integrate specific events into existing mental schemes, where this process of narrativization oversimplifies all experiences, focuses on one perspective while relativizing others, and transforms the past into something that can be told.

Furthermore, compared with other forms of commemoration, traditional monuments raise multiple questions such as who has the right to be remembered, whether states should construct those monuments since they were active participants in wars, and how to properly represent the unprecedented scale of violence. Then, “counter-monuments” began to exist: they were more inclusive because they necessitated audience engagement, had multiple voices, did not represent a single meaning, and were more of a process reflecting an ongoing act of remembering, not fixed memory. They leave traces without claiming to represent the whole picture. Thus, Hiroshima mon amour acts like a counter-monument because it does not pretend to represent Hiroshima or Nevers, but rather reconstitutes a testimony or the sensations lived by someone who experienced it.

Cinematic techniques express the inexpressible nature of trauma

The strong use of flashbacks puts the spectator in the place and time of the scene, recreating the exact circumstances and putting us in an anxious atmosphere. They permit a subjective memory representation and describe events more accurately. It also uses blurry scenes and fragmented memories. The movie’s vocation is to show how trauma is characterized by its resistance to coherent narrative memory, as traumatic experiences are overwhelming, unordered memories that disrupt mental frameworks and demand a structure representing disorientation, exhaustion, and losing usual markers. The movie embodies traumatic experiences as it does not reflect a coherent narrative but an elliptical one that is hard to understand and follow. The spectator is lost as the person who experienced the trauma; the past becomes blurry. This is what Marguerite Duras wanted to reflect: the movie contains many uncertainties about where we are, when, and who the two main characters are. It mixes the story of the two lovers and actual documentary footage such as museum exhibits, to show the intersection between personal experience and history. When the woman is imprisoned during the German invasion, one scene is striking: as she is imprisoned in a cellar, we lose track of time, we see scratched walls and a close-up of her scratched hands, like we scratched our own hands. Immersive scenes also help to reflect and tell traumatic experiences better.

Healing and remembrance: forgetting as part of remembering

The movie, beyond storytelling about social trauma to remember, also entails forgetting suffering and shows the impossibility of translating nuclear devastation into images or dialogues that reveal historical truth. Resuming life after trauma might depend on museums of commemoration because of their limiting representation. Naming each other by the country they are from at the end of the movie also shows reconciliation with their own history by forgetting traumatic details, reliving other memories, and the need for post-conflict communities to move on from tragedy. The woman’s experience of not being able to forget her past also shows the difficulty of detaching from an indelible past and the necessity to forget to fully live in the present, which she does not succeed in doing in the movie. The film shows that through acknowledging forgetting the past, one can live without losing it. Writing about trauma needs to happen within a framework that remembers that forgetting is part of the creative work.

The movie also indirectly establishes itself within the cultural needs of post-conflict communities, reflecting the challenges of remembrance and cultural heritage. It shows how individual grief can be exchanged to enable collective international trauma, reflecting the need for cultural needs to be represented and heritage constructed. The film reflects on the difficulties of international memory and how to translate it between individual and collective memories, across national boundaries and cultural differences. One’s grief allows understanding someone else’s grief: the two protagonists did not live the same experience but did not succeed in telling the whole story of their trauma and still understood each other’s pain. The exchange of traumas creates equivalence but not equality: the woman loses her German lover, whereas Hiroshima killed many people. It is about exchanging traumatic experiences and recognizing that fully understanding the other’s experience is impossible.

Beyond its symbolic significance on Hiroshima, the movie delivers useful lessons for how we should narrate trauma today. With the abundance of photographs and videos in the modern world, information can easily be manipulated to create one narrative, which hinders individual experience in a conflict.

Bibliography:

Boyd Goldie, Matthew. “The Rhetoric of Grief: Hiroshima Mon Amour.” English Language Notes 46, no. 1 (2008): [page numbers not available].

Buendía Padreda, Sara. “Exploring the Interplay of Memory and Poetry in Rive Gauche Cinema: A Study of Muriel and Hiroshima Mon Amour.” Revista Foco 17, no. 3 (2024): 1‑11.

Holmqvist, Jytte. “Memory and Identity in the Emotive Map of Alain Resnais’ Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959).” NANO: New American Notes Online 1, no. 6 (2014).

Just, Daniel. “The Poetics of Elusive History: Marguerite Duras, War Traumas, and the Dilemmas of Literary Representation.” Modern Language Review 107, no. 4 (2012): 1064‑1081.

Ledwina, Anna. “Une dialectique de la mémoire et de l’oubli : Hiroshima mon amour de Marguerite Duras.” Quêtes littéraires, no. 12 (2022): 73‑84. https://doi.org/10.31743/ql.14868.

McKee, Stephen. “The Memorial Film: Commemoration through Cinema in Alain Resnais’ Hiroshima Mon Amour.” [Publication details not fully available].

Mohsen, Caroline. “Place, Memory, and Subjectivity, in Marguerite Duras’ Hiroshima mon amour.” Romanic Review 89, no. 4 (Nov 1, 1998): 567.

Roth, Michael S. Hiroshima Mon Amour: You Must Remember This. (Yale University Press),

Varsava, Nina. “Processions of Trauma in Hiroshima mon amour: Towards an Ethics of Representation.” Studies in French Cinema 11, no. 2 (2011): 111‑123. https://doi.org/10.1386/sfc.11.2.111_1

In this episode Alia discusses the complexity of healing and trauma in post conflict Japan. She is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, KCL. This article was edited using Lex.page.

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Woven Hope: How Crafts are Restoring Identity after ISIS

In the aftermath of ISIS, the rhythm of the loom filled the silence left by war. For the women of Iraq, each pattern woven became more than simple fabric, it highlighted liberation and quieter forms of rebuilding. In the towns of Mosul and Sinjar, women who once fled violence sat side by side, restoring the traditional crafts of their ancestors. For the Yazidi community, these crafts became the very lifeline which would restore identity, purpose, and pride. Each handmade item told a story of loss and resilience in a land steadily sitting itself back together. So, how is identity being rebuilt from ruins?

Context: After ISIS

Between 2014-17, the Islamic State seized large parts of northern Iraq, including Mosul and Sinjar. The Yazidi community, a religious minority within the region, faced genocide: thousands were either killed or enslaved; women and young girls taken captive; villages ransacked and destroyed; and cultural artefacts looted or burned.

In the defeat of ISIS, survivors returned to a homeland physically and spiritually scarred. As such, communities rebuild from nothing - homes, livelihoods, and trust.

In a fragile land, traditional crafts were not only symbolic of heritage, but they represented a pathway to healing, security, and self-expression.

Rebuilding Through Human Needs

Survival, Security, and Safety

The first step was ensuring survival. After the destruction by ISIS, very little was left and craftwork quickly became a source of income and safety for women. Local NGOs and international partners established women’s cooperatives and sewing workshops across northern Iraq. Many participants were forcibly displaced or widowed during the time of ISIS, and so these spaces gave women the means to earn a livelihood, while remaining securely within their communities.

For Yazidi women, weaving and embroidery became more than a stream of income, it allowed them to reclaim agency in an environment where they had once found themselves hopeless. Kurti Khalaf Haso, aged 50, began tailoring business in 2016 with a simple sewing machine. In 2021, she was awarded over $2500 from the UNDP, along with business management training. Haso experienced significant personal losses during the rule of ISIS, and the opportunity to expand her business provided stability for her family (UNDP ‘Iraqis Rebuild’, 2024).

Wool is processed and spun by hand at the Khanke Carpet Factory. Sarah Ali/UN Migration Agency, 2018.

Understanding - Reconnecting with Culture

Beyond the fabric: crafts offered a bridge between the past and present. In Sinjar, older women taught the younger generations of symbols and stories woven into traditional textiles. The symbols of sacred peacocks, the sun, and the flame have become vessels of collective memory, once threatened by war. The revival of each motif reclaims a culture once targeted for erasure.

The revival of crafts is not just nostalgia, it is understanding. The use of traditional crafts allowed women to reconnect with their identities before the conflict, anchoring their selfhood in something enduring and distinctly Yazidi. Crafts rebuilt the social fabric that war had torn through - in acts of creation, communities rediscovered trust and the possibility of peace.

Contribution and Participation

As women found ways to contribute, the possibility of healing deepened. Elders began to train younger women in old designs and traditional techniques, while youth workshops encouraged creativity and ancestral motifs. Schools began to introduce craft sessions with an aim to ensure children could learn their heritage through practice.

Teaching and producing ensures survivors became active participants in the recovery of their culture and economy.

Yazidi women during vocational training. Sarah Ali/UN Migration Agency, 2018.

Esteem and Identity

Each finished piece strengthened pride for Yazidi women, with each item sold ensuring financial independence, and renewed self-worth. For many Yazidi women, these crafts represented visible and active survival - proof that after devastation and ruin, beauty could be crafted through their own hands.

One displaced woman from Sinjar, Mayasa Broo Rasho, stated: ‘“I never had the opportunity to attend school, not even to learn how to read and write… When I was accepted to work on craft and weaving products, I was determined to learn everything I could… (this work) helped me mentally.” (FreeYezidiFoundation, ‘Resilience through Crafts & Enterprise)

These creations became both income and affirmation for these women, restoring dignity where humiliation had once thrived.

Freedom and Self-Determination

Freedom concerns the power to choose, and for survivors, crafting offered them freedom which had once been stripped from them. Some women began to adapt traditional patterns into more modern forms and art and fashion, exporting their personal identity into each woven product.

Each act of creation became a form of resistance against the forces that once tried to erase them. Each artisan defined her own narrative and crafted independence, creativity, and control.

One Yazidi artisan, Flous, explained: “My mind can relax a little when I come to the factory and work.”, (IOM UN Migration, ‘Weaving A Brighter Future’).

Self-Transcendence: Weaving Legacy

The final thread in this story concerns legacy, as younger generations of artisans are now digitising traditional patterns and utilising social media to promote their work. Through digital storytelling, artisans ensure agency over their culture, while working against possibilities of future cultural erasure. These stories are not only remembered, but they are shared globally.

The efforts of Yazidi women represent the highest form of recovery, transcending trauma to preserve identity and culture for future generations. Memory is woven into examples of resilience.

Healing Trauma through Creation

The rule of ISIS left deep wounds - emotional, physical, and spiritual. After surviving captivity, forced displacement, and loss of families, silence replaced speech and pain became easier to carry alone.

In workshops across the north of Iraq, weaving and embroidery has become the language of healing. These small, deliberate acts of selecting colours and aligning patterns helped to restore a sense of control against deep wounds of trauma. For survivors, this control is crucial.

When women work side by side, trauma gives way to trust, and conversation replaces months of silence. This becomes a collective way of stating: we are still here, and our culture remains.

The Numbers Behind Recovery

Data from aid agencies offers a clearer picture of recovery, while thousands of Yazidis remain displaced, growing statistical evidence suggests craft and culture is helping them to heal:

1. In the United Nations Development Programme sewing workshops, a total of 280 women were trained across four cities, (IOM UN Migration, ‘Weaving A Brighter Future’).

2. In the same UNDP sewing programme: 480 school uniforms were produced by the trainee artisans, (IOM UN Migration, ‘Weaving A Brighter Future’).

3. In Khanke, 30 women organised an all-female team at a carpet factory, several were internally displaced and eight were breadwinners for their families, (IOM UN Migration, ‘Weaving A Brighter Future’).

4. In Anbar, the number of machines in a workshop grew from 10-24 to support displaced and vulnerable women. (IOM UN Migration, ‘Women Supporting Women: Sewing in Abu Ghraib’).

5. Dr. Hayat Ibrahim, a psychology professor at the University of Baghdad, established a workshop in the Abu Ghraib District to gather 20 women to produce uniform vests for schoolgirls - although not specifically concerning Yazidi women, this demonstrates the importance of crafting and practice in the face of sectarian conflict. (IOM UN Migration, ‘Women Supporting Women: Sewing in Abu Ghraib’).

Image of a rug crafted by female artisans in Khanke, listed on the FreeYezidiFoundation.

Global Threads of Hope

Across the world, creativity has become a powerful language for recovery. In Rwanda, genocide survivors weave Agaseke peace baskets, while some in Afghanistan embroider motifs once banned by extremists to reclaim their right to beauty and expression.

According to UNESCO, the global cultural and creative industries employ nearly 30 million people, generating over $2,250 billion annually (UNESCO, ‘New Report shows cultural and creative industries account for 29.5 million jobs worldwide’). As such, culture has been proven to be an engine of recovery and resilience.

So what?

So, what does this mean for Iraq, and for us?

For Iraq, every rug woven and every pattern revived is more than artistry, it is a declaration that culture survives conflict. For Yazidi women, they are not merely recovering from war, they are redefining what peace looks like through their own hands.

For the rest of us, it is a reminder that peacebuilding is not solely for politicians, it is in classrooms and workshops, where dignity is reclaimed thread by thread..

When communities rebuild through culture, they survive and teach the world how to heal.

Bibliography

1. FreeYezidi.org, (https://freeyezidi.org/free-yezidi-crafts-enterprise/)

2. FreeYezidi.org, (https://freeyezidi.org/voices-from-field/resilience-through-crafts-enterprise/#:~:text=“My%20name%20is%20Mayasa%20Broo,not%20cause%20harm%20to%20anyone.)

3. Iraq.iom.int, (https://iraq.iom.int/stories/weaving-brighter-future)

4. Iraq.iom.int, (https://iraq.iom.int/stories/women-supporting-women-sewing-abu-ghraib?)

5. Unesco, (https://www.unesco.org/en/articles/new-report-shows-cultural-and-creative-industries-account-295-million-jobs-worldwide?)

In this episode Rabab discusses the post conflict experience post ISIS. She looks at how the arts and crafts are supporting the rebuilding of community and helping victims deals with mental health issues. She is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, KCL. This article was edited using Lex.page.

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Struggles and Strengths: Tamil Women and Children in Post-War Sri Lanka 🇱🇰🙏

2009 marked the end of a three-decade-long civil war in Sri Lanka. Ethnic tensions between Tamils and Sinhalese had been simmering since Sri Lanka gained independence from British rule in 1948. Key flashpoints include the 1983 pogrom known as “Black July” and the long-standing insurgency led by the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), both of which inflicted severe violence and unrest on Sri Lankan society. The defeat of the LTTE in May 2009 brought the war to a close, but it also triggered an immense humanitarian crisis.

Swathes of Internally Displaced Refugee Camps sprung up in the Northern Province districts such as Vavuniya and Kilinochchi, as well as in the Eastern Province in areas like Tiruchirappalli and Madurai. At the peak of displacement, nearly 300,000 Tamil civilians were housed in these camps, and by 2010, approximately 106,000 remained. High-security zones in military-occupied areas, extensive landmines, and destroyed infrastructure made it nearly impossible for many families to return home. Beyond Sri Lanka’s borders, over 100,000 Tamil refugees sought shelter in India, residing in camps managed by the Indian government. The treatment of these refugees became a politically charged issue, especially following the assassination of Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi by the LTTE, which led to harsher conditions and discriminatory treatment for the Sri Lankan refugees.

The difficulties faced by refugees in camps are vast and often too harrowing for words to adequately capture. The refugee experience is not homogeneous, and the trauma manifests in myriad ways. Women and children, in particular, often face unique and less visible forms of repression. Recognizing and understanding the realities faced by Tamil women and children is crucial for comprehending the reality of post-conflict Sri Lanka in its totality - realities of both struggle and strength.

The struggles of women and children

Temporary shelters were hastily erected in the refugee camps, causing structural vulnerabilities. The absence of doors left the approximately 89,000 female-headed households vulnerable to significant security risks, and several unrelated families were often in the same tent. Privacy was rare for women, and for simple acts of changing clothes, women would often leave the camps to neighbouring meadows with little light, increasing their vulnerability to sexual assault. The female body regularly became a site of violence, causing great grievance to the women and simultaneously attacking the Tamil communities' honour values and inner sanctum. Female autonomy over their own body was brutally stripped away in efforts to dehumanise Tamil communities. In the Tamil populated area of Mullaitivu, the disproportionately high rates of birth control, alongside the forced contraception in Kilinochchi, implies systematic discrimination, potentially as a tool of ethnic oppression. The strong military presence in these camps created a particularly hostile environment for women. Tamil women reported regular instances of being watched by soldiers while bathing, and older women reported soldiers expecting sexual favours in return for bringing food to their family. Despite the UNHCR establishing a desk in some camps for women to report abuses, the lingering military personnel near the desk scared many away from reporting such abuse. Such direct threats to the security and safety because of overcrowding and forced exposure was not exclusive to adult women. Refugee children were also extremely vulnerable to sexual and physical abuse. In the ‘warehouses’ in Indian refugee camps, coercive methods again reveal how female bodies were weaponised as instruments of state control. Interviews also describe instances of young girls being provided with cell phones, taken to lodges, or sent to garment factories - situations that often resulted in sexual abuse.

Resource scarcity was another grave challenge. Acute shortages of food and water plagued camps in Sri Lanka and India. NGOs rationed their resources and would prioritise nutritional supplement food for pregnant mothers and children under 5, leaving 70% of children in the largest camp in India between 6 and 15 malnourished. The heaviest burden of scarcity fell on women, who sacrificed their own rations for their children and spent hours queuing in the heat for additional supplies. Fetching water, an arduous task requiring long walks, exposed women to the risk of sexual assault. Further, the scarce access to resources and institutional support made them vulnerable to coerced sexual practices as they were limited in ways to provide for their family. To provide for one’s family was core to the cultural connection and acceptance of Tamil women.

The need to belong is a universal human need, just as physical safety and survival are. Embodying social structures, norms and values are what allow for this sense of belonging. The conditions and compositions of the refugee camps attack the very foundations of the infrastructure of the community. Tamil women particularly are historically understood as the bearers of culture, and their loss of agency in maintaining the home threatens their very value in society. As male and female refugees are often split up when entering a camp, it is rare that families are able to stay together. Women and children feel very remote from their extended family and support networks. Their sense of identity as a contributing member of a larger community is grossly undermined. The self-esteem of children in this context is also vulnerable as the stigma associated with being a refugee, and all the stereotyping and discrimination it entails, greatly affects their confidence. Without strong education support, this sense of self as an emerging member of the community is further damaged. Whilst post conflict recovery in education was a priority for UNICEF, significant challenges remained post war in terms of the quality of education and infrastructure. Many children were out of full-time education and thus estranged from a social practice that develops awareness of their role in society. Women and children alike suffered greatly under the post-conflict social and cultural disintegration.

The strength of women and children

The realities of Tamil women and children in refugee camps are inhumane and deeply disturbing. Yet such a narrative runs the risk of casting both women and children as passive victims of repression. Children especially are often treated as subjects who are unable to grasp the complex political realities. This is far from the truth. In fact, stories from across the camps reveal cases of admirable creativity and defiant exertions of agency amidst such brutal conditions. A particularly inspiring case comes from India, where there was a children’s parliament in every Sri Lankan refugee camp. The parliament is made up of a prime minister, a deputy prime minister and a minister for eight other sectors including health, education and communication. It was the minister’s duty to support the network of children across the camp, clearly nurturing the human need for contribution and participation. If a child cannot go to school due to inadequate school supplies, the minister of education would inform the minister of communication and alert the supporting NGO officers to solve the situation. Despite the repeated restraints on self-actualisation and self-determination from limited resources and inadequate infrastructure, Tamil children regularly used their agency. They established informal networks to address complex problems in the camps, supporting the growth of their community, and in turn, themselves.

Women’s efforts were fundamental to the post-conflict reconciliation process. Goodwill missions to north and east regions formed part of efforts to foster understanding between Tamil and Sri Lankan communities, with women offering free Tamil classes to bridge divides between ethnic groups. Despite few formal roles being available to Tamil women in shaping the transitional justice policies, they were key to agenda setting activism. At a time when independent research was prohibited, many women courageously shared their testimonies with NGOs, despite the constant threat of surveillance and harassment from the military and police. Their statements played a crucial role in shaping key UN reports and advocating for human rights at the UNHRC, underscoring that violations persisted even after the war’s conclusion and strengthening the call for an international investigation. Meanwhile, women activists on the ground took legal action and mobilised protests, demanding that authorities address issues such as disappearances, land grabs by the military, and sexual violence.

The human need to be understood, to connect and to contribute is palpable in these efforts. Despite enduring unimaginable suffering, assault and dehumanisation, many Tamil women and children continued to find ways to restore hope and worked to build their community from ruins into something once again recognisable.

In this episode Mercy discusses Sri Lanka and it’s post conflict concerns. She is a student journalist with us on a placement organised with Oxford University Career Services. This article was edited using Lex.page.

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The Kachin State in Myanmar: the Plague of Gender-Violence at the hands of the Tatmadaw

Countries in South-East Asia grapple with a long history of conflict and violence, Myanmar is not stranger to this. Since their independence in 1948, the country has struggled to develop due to a lack of comprehensive government action. Furthermore, the existence of minority ethnic groups across the country who fight for their autonomy has made unification even more difficult.

This article aims to look into gender-violence in the Northern Kachin State of Myanmar. It highlights the struggles of the Kachian people at the hands of the Myanmar Army, the Tatmadaw, investigating the pain inflicted by the Tatmadaw on the Kachin community and how legal mechanisms allow these crimes to go unpunished. Finally, it highlights how to address gender violence in this community.

The Struggle for Kachin Autonomy in Myanmar

Myanmar (then Burma) gained independence from British rule in 1948. However, the country struggled with ethnic conflicts, corruption, political instability, and economic challenges. In 1958, the democratically elected leading party handed power to the military to fix the situation, which was returned in 1960 (McKenna, 2024).

Yet, the central government in Myanmar neglected the Kachin State and its people. The Christian minority suffered religious suppression from the predominantly Buddhist government, which restricted religious practices and destroyed churches (McKenna, 2024). The state faced significant socio-economic challenges, including poverty, illiteracy, lack of education, and inadequate healthcare.

As a result, the Kachin Independence Organization (KIO) was formed to advance the rights of the Kachin people. Their armed branch, the Kachin Independence Army (KIA), engaged in conflict in 1961 with the Burmese Government's Army, the Tatmadaw. This conflict was characterized by guerrilla warfare against the Tatmadaw until the 1990s, when peace negotiations began.

Both parties recognized the need for economic development in resource-rich Kachin State. The government promised a framework for dialogue regarding the political autonomy and recognition of the Kachin Peoples, a priority for the KIO.

This led to a 1994 ceasefire, marking a temporary halt to fighting, which did not last. In the 2000s, the Tatmadaw began to build up their army in the Kachin region. The KIO perceived this as an attempt by the government to exert control over the region. Furthermore, in early 2011, negotiations over Kachin people's rights stalled. In June, the Tatmadaw launched an offensive against the KIA, breaking the ceasefire and leading to a devastating conflict (Hein, 2024).

The Prime Minister at the time, General Thein Sein, attempted to negotiate another ceasefire between the KIA and the Tatmadaw. Yet the Tatmadaw did not respect this authority and continued to attack even after a bilateral ceasefire agreement in 2013.

Since 2011, fighting between the KIA and Tatmadaw has decreased but still continues. However, the fighting in the Kachin State has led to significant displacement of the population in Northern Myanmar. Forests and land have been destroyed by fires, forcing people into Internally Displaced Persons Camps (IDPs). The Myanmar Campaign Network reports 1.4 million people in IDPs, with 36% of these camps denied UN humanitarian aid by militant groups. Moreover, Women and girls in these camps face higher risks of human trafficking and sexual violence. Additionally, there is widespread drug and alcohol use by displaced men, resulting in an increase of domestic violence (Kuehnast & Sagun, 2021).

The Tatmadaw's Weaponization of Gender, Ethnicity, and Religion in Myanmar

Conflict and displacement create spaces of impunity, allowing criminals to evade justice. This is especially relevant for the Tatmadaw, an army known for abuse and violence. This military has a widespread culture of tolerance towards humiliation and the deliberate infliction of severe physical and mental pain, often through rape and sexual violence targeting women (Kuehnast & Sagun, 2021). The Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights reported that Tatmadaw's military operations against the Rohingya (another religious ethnic group in Myanmar) and ethnic groups in Northern Myanmar employ large scale brutal and sexual violence as part of a deliberate strategy to intimidate, terrorize, and punish the civilian population. The Tatmadaw dehumanizes gender, ethnicity, and religious identity of minority groups across Myanmar as a tactic for domination. Their clearance operations in Northern Myanmar, especially Kachin State, involve rape and violence as 'a tactic of war' (Human Rights Council, 2019).

In one notorious case in 2011, a 28 year old mother named Sumlut Roi Ja was kidnapped by Burmese Army Soldiers from her home in the Kachin State (Nyein, 2015). Her location is unknown, yet it is widely believed that she was raped and murdered by soldiers who enjoy impunity in conflict areas like the Kachin State. Her case became well known for being one of the few that went to the Supreme Court, as a result of her husband who fought for justice at every level of Burma's judiciary. However, the case was dismissed in 2012 due to a lack of evidence. Roi Ja's story is just one part of a long list of women who have suffered from abuse at the hands of the Tatmadaw (Nyein, 2015).

In 2019, the Human Rights Council published a report on "Sexual and gender-based violence in Myanmar and the gendered impact of its ethnic conflicts." In a section of this report, they interviewed 65 survivors, families of survivors and victims, witnesses, and experts from Northern Myanmar, detailing their experiences since 2011. These findings highlighted the horrors survivors faced in Myanmar at the hands of the Tatmadaw.

These stories, too graphic for this blog post involve young girls subjected to strip searches, gang raped, forced to labor, and kept as sexual slaves. It is heartbreaking to hear these stories. This experience is not just unique to women; many men face similar sexual violence. These men are often accused of involvement with the KIA and forced to confess through abuse, leading to charges under Unlawful Association Section 17(1) (Human Rights Council, 2019).

Barriers in Reporting and Punishing Sexual Violence

Moreover, there are minimal consequences for the Tatmadaw regarding rape and sexual violence. The Tatmadaw leadership does not punish rape related to military activity and covers it up. Soldiers are protected under article 381, which suspends the right to justice during emergencies (Human Rights Council, 2019). In one case, after a survivor reported a rape, the Tatmadaw leadership visited the survivor's home and abused relatives while confiscating property.

Furthermore, survivors struggle with a pattern of victim blaming. When a rape is reported in Northern Myanmar, it's publicized. Victims struggle with humiliation. One survivor says, "the victim is always pointed at and everyone knows she was raped." (Human Rights Council, 2019) This makes it difficult to report sexual violence levels in Myanmar. Women's organizations are more reliable for reporting incidents of sexual violence. They provide treatment after incidents, which is rare in most communities. Yet these organizations are hard to access.

Addressing Human Rights Violations in Myanmar

It is clear that the Tatmadaw has violated international human rights law and committed war crimes in Myanmar. The international community must make significant progress to address this issue. This could include recommending a criminal tribunal to the International Criminal Court or to pressure the Government of Myanmar to change through the release of an official statement.

Additionally, the Government of Myanmar should make efforts to address the issue. This includes eliminating the culture of rape in the Tatmadaw the culture of rape through explicit claims to soldiers against the use of sexual violence. A judicial framework must be established for civilians to report incidences of rape so an investigation can occur and action can be taken. Moreover, there is a pressing need for all displaced people (especially survivors) to access basic medical services, this includes sexual health and psychological support. The Government should ensure that international organizations have access to all IDP camps to provide humanitarian aid.

In this episode Ava discusses the Kachin expereince in Myanmar She is a student journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, King’s College, London. This article was edited using Lex.page.

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Beyond the Ceasefire: Colombia’s Journey Towards Lasting Peace

By exploring the landscape of Colombia eight years after the landmark 2016 Peace Agreement, this article hopes to explore complex interplay of human rights violations, economic instability and cultural shifts that have characterised the country’s journey to peacebuilding. In particular, I will emphasise how Colombia still grapples with structural inequalities that remain largely unaddressed, allowing new armed groups to fill the power vaccum left by the FARC. The persistence of gender-based violence against women and LGBTQ+ similarly highlight the harmful legacy of conflict on Colombian society.

Historical overview

Colombia has been beset by wars and the legacy of conflict since the country’s creation in 1819. To understand the nature of peacebuilding, it’s important to be aware that Colombia holds the distinction of being the Latin American country with the highest number of armed conflicts. In this environment where peace is often fleeting, peace agreements have proved temporary and have often been to no avail.

In the 19^th century, for example, conflicts between regional elites most frequently ended in informal ‘gentlemen's agreements.’ These agreements allowed the militarily weaker side to maintain a degree of political authority, albeit in a subordinate role to victors. This tradition of informal peace practices within Colombia’s diplomatic processes has complicated the formalisation of lasting peace agreements for two main reasons: firstly, by creating a cycle of distrust towards formal agreements and secondly, failing to address structural inequalities.

These weaknesses have influenced the outcome of more recent history and can partly explain the 52-year conflict between the Colombian government and the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), which emerged in the wake of La Violencia. The end of this period of bloody Civil War between the Liberal and Conservative factions of Colombian society inspired the creation of guerilla groups in the 1960s. The formal power-sharing agreement which ended this period of war left the socially and economically marginalised groups in Colombian society excluded.

Lack of representation once again emphasised politicial inequalities and contributed to popular disullusionment. This sentiment mobilised left-wing guerilla groups to organise against the state and challenge the legitimacy of formal peacebuilding efforts. This enviornment havve rise to the FARCC, a peasant-veteran group affilitaed with Colombia’s Communist Party.

The FARC’s creation in 1964 marked a significant escalation in conflict. Primarily focused in rural areas crucial to their revolutionary struggle against land inequality, they took up arms against the newly unified government. Since the 1990s, the FARC’s involvement in drug trafficking activities and high-profile civilian attacks has led to their recognition as a terrorist organization by the UN, the US, and the Colombian government.

Widely recognised as the longest running domestic conflict in the Western Hemisphere, the violent confrontation between the FARC and Colombian government resulted in the death of over 200,000 people and displaced around 5.7 million more. It is within this context of prolonged conflict that peacebuilding efforts in Colombia should be understood. While the nuances of peacebuilding can significantly differ from those in other countries, particularly in Europe where formal treaties have been established, Colombia broadly recognises the function of peacebuilding strategies as relying on the direct containment of violence. The 2016 Peace Treaty reflected this with the call for an immediate ceasefire and government pledges to address systemic inequalities intended to provide a lasting resolution to domestic conflict.

What is the Peace Agreement?

On the 24^th of November 2016, the Colombian government and the FARC signed a Peace Agreement which concluded over 50 years of conflict through a bilateral ceasefire.

Pioneered by President Juan Mauel Santos, the agreement centered on four key principles: the incorporation of the FARC into Colombian politics (by granting them five seats in Congress for the next two terms), the re-integration of former FARC insurgents into civilian life, the disarmament of the FARC, creation of Special Jurisdiction for Peace (to address criimes committed during the armed conflict).

Initially, this peace deal was set to be ratified through a public referendum that took place in October 2016. However, public disapproval with the conditions of the agreement, particularly regarding the creation of the FARC as a political party and possibility of reduced sentences for FARC perpetrators who collaborated in uncovering the truth about crimes committed during the conflict, led to its rejection by 50.2% of the population. Rather than conducting a second referendum, Santos made minor amendments to the agreement and subsequently ratified it through Congress, a decision that raised public scepticism and put the legitimacy of his government into question.

Despite this, the immediate impact of the agreement proved successful. In 2017, with the help of the UN, the Colombian government oversaw the disarmament of all FARC registered arms and the reintegration of 7000 former insurgents into civilian life. By aligning with the peacebuilding goal of eliminating direct violence, the Colombia government proved effective in appeasing the FARC and removing the most significant source of violence in the country.

The agreement also initiated significant political inclusion that paved the way for the election of the first left-wing president, Gustavo Petro, in August 2022. Petro was primarily elected for his pledge to implement ‘Paz Total’ between 2022 and 2026, an updated version of the 2016 Peace Agreement which aims to extend the ceasefire to other insurgent groups.

Within his first few months in power, the president passed the Law 418 of Paz Total which offered an opportunity for negotiations between the ELN and EMC, the two largest remaining guerilla groups, and the Colombian government to address sources of the ongoing domestic conflict. The dialogue based approach of Gustavo Petro’s government has, for the first time, reflected a government effort to address structural violence in Colombia. Cooperation with armed groups, such as the ELN, has led to an end to violent practices like hostage-taking and represent a peaceful effort to represent previously marginalised voices.

The investment of over $2 billion COP in December 2021 for the Colombia in Peace Fund (supporting victims of the conflict) is a step towards rebuilding communities affected by years of violence. Investment in social programs and the inclusion of civil society in internal peace discussions are key strengths of public opinion toward Petro’s administration. Importantly, they highlight the government efforts to understanding the root causes of conflict and seek to legitimise its approach to successfully transforming a post-war society.

These shifts in inclusion and funding are crucial in promoting social reconciliation between the government, insurgent groups and civilians and ensures that peace efforts are durable and representative for all Colombians.

What is still be done?

Despite the best efforts of the government, the possibility of peace remains elusive for many sections of Colombian society. As noted by Amnesty International, Colombia is still to date the ‘most dangerous country in the world’ when it comes human rights and individual protection. Efforts to address structural inequalities within society fall short of expected international norms. The ongoing culture of violence that exists within Colombian society can be seen through the widespread occurrence of gender-based and sexuality-based violence. The reported killing of 21 LGBTI people in 2023 motivated by ‘violence due to prejudice’ and negative perceptions of sexuality raises significant doubts about the potential for genuine social cohesion and unity in Colombia’s post-war society. The disparity between the enactment of the Gender Parity bill, passed in 2023, and the government’s declaration of a national state of emergency regarding gender-based violence the same year highlights a disturbing reality: sexual violence, rooted in the country’s normalisation of violence and power imbalances, may persist long after the formal end of the conflict.

Above all, the hardest struggle for the Colombian government to overcome is the socioeconomic conditions that reproduce armed conflict and structural violence. Though recent efforts of the Gustavo government with Paz Total has encouraged an updated ceasefire linked to social transformation, funding in social programs aimed at alleviating poverty and addressing wealth disparities in the country remains insufficient.

The close relationship between poverty and the radicalisation of marginalised guerilla groups has yet to be effectively addressed. Between 1964 and 2016, the FARC’s control over large parts of rural Colombia and their recruitment of insurgents in these regions was driven by financial inequality. While the Colombia in Peace Fund has indicated government investments in rural development, the rise of the ELN and EMC in recent years suggests security conditions in these areas have yet to improve.

Looking towards the future

The 2016 Peace Agreement marked the end of over 50 years of conflict that claimed the lives of thousands of people. The bilateral ceasefire was a historically signficant moment in Colombia, with the complete disarment of the FARC allowing a return to peaceful society. For the first time in history, the Colombian people were able to elect a left-wing President Gustavo Petro, who promised a revised ‘Paz Total’ peace agreementt aimed at fostering inclusive dialgoque and addressing the root causes of violence in the country. While the socioeconomic conditions causing the radicalisation of guerilla groups have yet to be fully addressed, Pedro’s open negotiations the ELN and EMC represent a critical step toward broadening peace efforts. Violent attacks on the LBGTQ+ community and the government’s declaration of a national state of emergency regarding gender-based violence reflect the challenges that contiue to be faced in translating progressive legislation into effective protection for marginalised communities.

In this episode Lola discusses the Post Conflict experience of Columbia 8 years after the peace deal. She is a student journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, King’s College, London. This article was edited using Lex.page.

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Workshops for Reconciliation: An Unexpected Tool for Community Healing

November 21^st, 2006, marked the end of a decade-long civil war. The Maoist Insurgency in Nepal began in 1996, launching the “people’s war” against the government and monarchy after failed negotiations (Human Rights Watch, 2004). Ten years later, the armed conflict ended after the signing of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement, and the emergence of the Communist Party of Nepal (Lunn, 2013). In 2008, the former insurgents formed a democratic party that became the elected government and formally abolished the monarchy.

However, the end of the conflict was not the end of the struggles for Nepalese communities. Wars do not happen without a trace, and certainly do not disappear without one either. Long-term political instability has many consequences, including fragile political structures, corruption, and socio-economic struggles. One particularly overlooked consequence is the impact on citizens’ mental health and their social relationships (The New Humanitarian, 2013; Saud, 2025). The war may have ended, but the mark it left on the Nepalese psyche remained. Wars destroy more than landscapes and infrastructure; they impact the human spirit, depriving people of their human needs: safety, understanding, and connection (Acha, 2015).

Naturally, in 2006, peace was fragile in post-war Nepal, and the constant threat of hostility loomed over citizens. Disadvantaged communities were the most vulnerable to violence, as local socio-politics remained an adversary for peace (The Asia Foundation, 2024). Tension filled the air, with mistrust between neighbours, suspicion of socially isolated veterans, and further marginalisation of oppressed groups. Citizens who had only known violence for years had to learn to coexist. The fragmentation of these communities was not unusual in post-conflict societies, but threatened to rekindle conflicts over minor disputes. The people of Nepal could have continued to fall into these patterns. Instead, they rebuilt through community workshops, an unexpected, mundane but effective solution. For a post-conflict Nepal community, this was a step towards peace, trust, and stability. These spaces were dedicated to rebuilding their lost human needs; they became a place for education, reflection, and healing. Built on the determination of local citizens, fuelled by volunteers, these workshops became a beacon of hope for a country amidst chaos for a decade.

Preventing conflicts in local communities

In rural communities where the conflict was most active, war tensions remained high. Political differences and the trauma of armed conflict impacted the fabric of social relations. The Maoist Insurgency was a violent battle of ideology. The end of physical violence doesn’t mean the end of ideological warfare. Once over, violence does not cease to exist; instead, it slips into people’s minds. It enters conversations, household conflicts, neighbourhood disputes, and local politics. Soon, it fractures an already wounded community, causing divisions and spreading distrust. Consequently, it cultivates a culture where any dispute carries weight and escalates into open hostility. This fragile environment required an accessible solution that reshaped conflict resolution, helping these communities unlearn violence and embrace communication.

Community mediation workshops emerged to heal fragmented social relations with compassion and education. They brought together volunteers from local figures, including teachers, farmers, religious leaders, and most importantly, marginalised individuals like women and Dalits, to be trained mediators. NGOs such as The Asia Foundation launched these community mediation workshops to improve social relationships, tackle injustices, and promote diversity (Valters, 2016). Through dialogue exercises, role-play, and active listening, local citizens overcame post-war dynamics. The workshops were integrated into local governance with the introduction of the Village Development Committee (VDC). The goal was to create a space to tackle disputes and prevent escalation, with neutral third-party mediators trained by NGOs in peacebuilding (Valters, 2016). Although not suitable for all conflicts, such as highly criminal cases, these local centres attempted to address three key human needs: understanding, connection and safety. Instead of causing division through differences, they provided the tools and resources to empower citizens to resolve issues through conversation rather than violence (Valters, 2016).

Local Peace Committees (LPCs) were established throughout Nepal’s districts to secure and maintain peace at the micro level (Andries and Olivier, 2008). During Nepal’s transition to peace, these were essential to identify and navigate tensions in local communities psychologically affected by warfare, to coexist with political oppositions, successfully reducing violence (Andries and Olivier, 2008). Implementing these community-driven workshops faced obstacles, challenges, and failures; nevertheless, they demonstrated an active effort to give a voice to the voiceless. After a war, distrust of political figures is often high among marginalised communities, who may feel suspicion or distance from official government bodies. By creating neutral and community-led workshops, citizens received an accessible alternative to the traditional court, restoring safety and security in daily life. They nurtured these communities to harbour their connection, emphasising the importance of understanding. Peace was not restored immediately within the communal districts by radical government changes, but gradually through ordinary people’s efforts to overcome their struggles.

The return of former combatants to society

After the war, many ex-combatants didn’t receive the peaceful homecoming in a new, improved society that they expected. Instead, there was a mass demobilisation of thousands of young men and women into a society that was fearful, suspicious or resentful of them. Many had joined the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) at a young age, sacrificing their formative years of education and development to fight for a better tomorrow. Research involving 241 ex-PLA fighters reveals the ‘tomorrow’ they received was unemployment, social isolation and stigmatisation from a world that valued the education they sacrificed (Robins et al, 2016). Only a quarter of these ex-combatants returned to their original communities after being forced to relocate due to socio-economic reasons or political differences, seeking refuge with others who share their experiences (Robins et al, 2016). Hence, the war’s conclusion left them with a loss of community and purpose.

In this case, workshops set up by NGOs, LPCs, and ex-combatant networks aimed to heal the mental scars of war and reintegrate ex-combatants into society, promoting social belonging. It cultivated a unique space for veterans to share their experiences without judgment. They could express the conflicting experiences of war, reflecting on what they endured inside and outside the battlefield, giving them back a voice, which they had desperately wished for (Robins et al, 2016). By nurturing their sense of connection and belonging, the workshops addressed their loss of human needs and focused on communal healing after enduring shared trauma. One ex-combatant expressed relief in finding others who related to his struggles, explaining that it reduced his isolation (Robins et al, 2016).

For political and social integration, these workshops fulfilled veterans’ needs for understanding and connection by allowing them to reclaim their voice. One function was to enable these former soldiers to find new purposes, become educated, develop skills, and build a new life outside of combat, granting them the right to self-determination. They also set up coexistence workshops to promote understanding of ex-fighters’ perspectives to the wider community, including mixed groups or through a representative for the veterans (Robins et al, 2016). This allowed them to challenge misconceptions and reclaim dignity, encouraging society to no longer view these individuals in a one-dimensional way as former combatants but as neighbours, sons, daughters, and people. Restoring their self-esteem, providing reassurance that they were no longer byproducts of war and were free to be anyone they wished to be.

The impact of workshops

The echo of war lingered long after November 21st, 2006. Political instability from a decade of armed conflict, and even longer periods of political tension, couldn’t be easily erased. While restructuring the nation’s political sphere is usually the global focus, often, the collateral damage is the neglect of human needs. These workshops didn’t reverse all the consequences that emerged from war, and it would be unrealistic to expect them to counter decades of political animosity and neglect. Despite this, the workshops sought to restore citizens’ human needs. In retrospect, it did so much more by uniting citizens, promoting dialogue, not violence, and reshaping responses to internal conflict. It brought together groups, encouraging them to see eye-to-eye, from neighbours quarrelling over land to ex-combatants and their former communities. These workshops served various purposes, keeping the interests of overlooked, voiceless individuals at their core; working to restore citizens’ lost humanity and restore a sense of safety, understanding and connection. This symbolises the power of ordinary citizens and the peace they can achieve despite the odds.

This year, 2025, Nepal has successfully overthrown the government for the second time in 20 years through the ‘Gen Z Protests’ (Pokhare and Ellis-Petersen, 2025). Unlike 2006, this was not the work of an established insurgency but mainly a youth mobilisation. The unity of this moment did not come from nowhere; it was a result of decades of community peacebuilding after reconciliation in 2006 and represents hope for a better future for Nepal.

Reference list

Acha, D.K. (2015). The 7 Fundamental Human Needs | Servants University | Training Servants for Christ. Servants University. Available at: https://www.servantsuniversity.com/the-7-fundamental-human-needs/. [Accessed 3 November 2025].

Andries, G. and Olivier, J. (2008) Local Peace Committees in Nepal: Some Reflections and Lessons Learned. Kathmandu: Ministry of Peace and Reconstruction / GTZ.Available at: https://www.peaceinfrastructures.org/sites/g/files/zskgke471/files/Home%20Documents/Local%20Peace%20Committees%20-%20Some%20Reflections%20and%20Lessons%20Learned/Andries-Olivier_LCPsReflectionsNepal_2008.pdf [Accessed 4 Nov. 2025].

Human Rights Watch (2004). Nepal: Between a Rock and a Hard Place: II. Background. [online] Hrw.org. Available at: https://www.hrw.org/reports/2004/nepal1004/2.htm#_ftn6 [Accessed 3 November 2025].

Lunn, J. (2013) Nepal’s endless peace process, 2006–12. House of Commons Library, Standard Note SN04229, 11 October.

Pokhare, G and Ellis-Petersen, H. (2025). Unease at slow pace of change in Nepal one month on from gen Z protests. [online] the Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/oct/11/nepal-gen-z-protests-one-month-on-slow-change [Accessed 4 Nov. 2025].

Robins, S., Bhandari, R. and the ex-PLA Research Group (2016) Poverty, stigma and alienation: Reintegration challenges of ex-Maoist combatants in Nepal. Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York. Available at: https://berghof-foundation.org/files/publications/Policy_brief_Ex_Maoist_Combatant_in_Nepal.pdf [Accessed 4 Nov. 2025].

Saud, N.B. (2025). The Art of Peace? Dêudã Culture and Its Role in Community ‘Peacebuilding’ in Nepal’s Far-western Communities.Available at: https://research.uca.ac.uk/6805/1/1.%20UCA_2109573_Saud_Nar_PhD%20_Thesis_Art-of-Peace_Deuda_2025-08-14_Final.pdf [Accessed 4 Nov. 2025].

The Asia Foundation. (2024). “From Divisiveness to Problem Solving: Harnessing the Power of Dialogue in Nepal.” AsiaFoundation70 - The Asia Foundation. Available at: https://asiafoundation.org/about/asiafoundation70/ [Accessed 5 Nov. 2025].

The New Humanitarian. (2013). Nepal’s post-conflict mental health needs neglected. Available at: https://www.thenewhumanitarian.org/analysis/2013/12/12/nepal-s-post-conflict-mental-health-needs-neglected? [Accessed 3 November 2025].

Valters, C (2016). Building justice and peace from below? Supporting community dispute resolution in Asia.Kathmandu: The Asia Foundation.Available at https://asiafoundation.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/08/Building-Justice-and-Peace-from-Below.pdf [Accessed 3 November 2025]

In this episode Syeda discusses the Nepalese experience of using workshops as a community healing tool post conflict. She is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, KCL. This article was edited using Lex.page.

Thank you for reading an A4R 🎨 Post. Don’t forget to visit our gift shop here. Every purchase scales our impact and pays our bills.

The Jaffna Library: Rebuilding Tamil Identity and Community Through Books

Introduction

Books. Not something that most people give a second thought to. Boring. Nerdy.

But what if the books that made up your culture – literature, history, religion – were destroyed?

That is what happened to the Tamil people during the Sri Lankan civil war.

And in today’s post-conflict Sri Lanka, libraries such as the Jaffna Library are integral to the rebuilding of Tamil culture and identity.

In this article I will focus on how the Jaffna Library in Sri Lanka has helped the minority Tamil people to reclaim both their individual and cultural identity after decades of destruction in the civil war. The Library offers bibliotherapeutic facilities: ways for individual readers to reconnect with themselves, understand their own life narrative, and become empowered to shape their future through reading. Bibliotherapy has been proven to be a super important part of post-conflict reconstruction, as individuals can reforge a sense of self after the devastation of war. The rebuilding of the Library has also been a way to reclaim Tamil identity as a whole: as the books and the building itself are restored, so are the literary, historical, and religious elements of the Tamil culture.

Background: Sri Lankan Civil War

The Sri Lankan civil war lasted from 1983 until 2009.

The war was between the Sinhalese majority, who largely controlled the government, and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), who wanted to create a separate state for the Tamil minority. They failed, however, with the government defeating them in 2009. The Sinhalese population tends to be Buddhist, and the Tamil tend to be Hindu, which has cultural, linguistic, and of course religious implications on their respective identities. Rather than just a clash of cultures and ethnicities, however, recent analyses of the civil war suggest that the conflict was a result of British imperialism, which left both groups struggling to reclaim the power and identity they had before Western colonisation.

Now, in post-conflict Sri Lanka, the Tamil people are still largely displaced. Their cultural, linguistic, and Hindu landmarks continue to be overruled by the Sinhalese and Buddhist majority. However, through cultural touchstones like the Jaffna Library, the Tamil identity is slowly but surely being reforged.

Post-Conflict: the resurrection of the Jaffna Library

The Jaffna Library was destroyed down twice: once in a fire before the war in 1981, and then again during the conflict. The Library seems to have been a target, which is not surprising considering the wealth of what it contained. Before its destruction, the Jaffna Library contained valuable Tamil texts, including ancient scrolls that cannot be replaced – and are now lost to the flames and bullets of war. These texts ranged from Hindu philosophy to Tamil history: all priceless pieces of Tamil culture and identity.

The Library can be seen as a microcosm for the loss of Tamil culture, language, and religion that occurred during the civil war – and is still in the process of being rebuilt today. The Library is also a symbol of rebuilding Tamil identity in post-conflict Sri Lanka. The Jaffna Library was reopened in 2004, five years before the war officially ended. Like how the initial burning of the Library foreshadowed the incoming war, its restoration signalled that the end of open conflict was in sight. The Library is much more than a warehouse of books: despite the destruction of many of the ancient Tamil texts, the Library continues to represent the Tamil identity. For example, a statue of the Hindu goddess Saraswati has been put in the entrance, and all visitors are required to remove their shoes before entering, in respect of Tamil cultural practices.

The Library also facilitates bibliotherapeutic practices, helping individual citizens heal after the decades of civil war. An important study by Sri Lankan librarians Arulanantham and Navaneethakrishnan details their findings after conducting a survey in the Jaffna district, concerning the intersection of bibliotherapy and public libraries. As well as reinforcing the importance of bibliotherapy in post-conflict Sri Lanka, Arulanantham and Navaneethakrishnan found that, even if the librarians weren’t explicitly using the language of bibliotherapy, they were implementing bibliotherapeutic practices. This included: providing reading resources for counselling centres; a mobile library to provide support for orphanages; book launch and exhibition days; and special facilities for patients and disabled people. This illustrates the crucial role of libraries in post-conflict contexts such as the Jaffna district. These services allow vulnerable people to access reading materials that will improve their mental health, proving the vital role of books in helping societies to heal after war. There was also significant interest among librarians in increasing the role of bibliotherapy in their libraries.

There are also some personal anecdotes of Tamil Sri Lankans who have seen personal benefits after regularly going to the Jaffna Library. A variety of age demographics find value in visiting the Jaffna Library. 15-year-old Shareeq Ahmed found a connection to his history by reading about “what happened on the day I was born.” And 75-year-old Rajenthiran Selvanayagam used the Library three times a week; a safe-haven and an escape from the memories of war.

Jaffna Library and the 7 Human Needs

The 7 human needs are fundamental for all people, across all cultures and countries. During and after crises like the Sri Lankan civil war, these needs are often not met. The Jaffna library helps the people of Sri Lanka to rebuild their sense of individuality and community by contributing to these needs.

1. Safety and security. The Library is a place where people like Rajenthiran Selvanayagam can go for a time of solace, self-care, and time alone to reflect.

2. Understanding. By reading about their culture’s history, people like Shareeq Ahmad are empowered to understand their history and identity as a people. The reading resources distributed to counselling services will also help people understand their own experiences of conflict, and build their own personal identity through bibliotherapeutic reading.

3. Connection and acceptance. By being given fair access to reading materials, people made vulnerable by the war are able to connect with others in a safe and welcoming environment, and be treated with equality and dignity.

4. Contribution and participation in community. The books launches and exhibitions create a welcoming and inclusive community space, with events that people can participate in. This is so important in rebuilding a sense of togetherness, as Tamils can gather together to celebrate their culture’s literature.

5. Esteem and identity. By having access to their own literature, including historical and religious texts in their own language, the Tamil minority in Sri Lanka are able to learn about and celebrate their people, as well as their own personal identities in relation to their wider culture.

6. Self-determination. Books are an empowering tool. By providing reading resources for disadvantaged people and people in counselling, the Jaffna Library facilitates the autonomy and independence that comes from being able to read and think for yourself.

7. Self-actualisation and self-transcendence. Rajenthiran Selvanayagam links his library experiences to the spiritual practices of meditation. As proved by bibliotherapy, reading can indeed enable powerful self-reflection as the reader turns inward during their reading experience. In this way, the Jaffna Library allows Tamil Sri Lankans to pursue much needed spiritual and psychological healing in the post-conflict era.

Conclusion

So, the Jaffna Library is both a symbol and an instrument of the rebuilding of Tamil culture, language, and religion in post-conflict Sri Lanka. As a symbol, the rebuilding of the Library represents the ongoing restoration of the Tamil identity: as the Library has been saved and reconstructed, so has the Tamil heritage. The Jaffna Library has also been a practical vehicle for the Tamil people as individuals. The Library has facilitated bibliotherapeutic services, encouraging Tamil Sri Lankans to connect with their culture and with their inner selves through reading. Books are not just boring. Nerdy. They are a vital part of both individual and cultural identity – and as such are integral to the reforging of the post-conflict community in Jaffna and beyond.

In this episode Stella discusses the Jaffana Library’s role in rebuilding the Tamil cultural identity in Sri Lanka. She is a student journalist with us on a placement organised with Oxford University Career Services. This article was edited using Lex.page. Image with Napkin.Ai

Thank you for reading an A4R 🎨 Post. Don’t forget to visit our gift shop here. Every purchase scales our impact and pays our bills.

Children of war: How Lebanon’s cycle of conflicts keeps shaping its youth

Decades after the Civil War, generations of Lebanese are still fighting an invisible battle—the one within

When the 4-year old Hussein Mikdad survived an Israeli airstrike in Lebanon in October 2024, his invisible scars ended up being more severe than the external ones. The strike killed almost his entire family, including his mother, three siblings, and six relatives. He and his father, Hassan, were the only survivors. He underwent surgery to treat fractures on his right thigh and arm, but trauma made him go back to diapers as he started wetting his bed again. In an interview with the Associated Press (AP), his father said that he barely speaks and never talks about his dead mother and siblings. The story of Hussein and Hassan is a portrait of a larger phenomenon in a country that, since the 1975 Civil War, has struggled with a cycle of wars. While Lebanese communities rebuild themselves after each conflict, the internal battle seems more challenging to address. What happens when a nation’s trauma is inherited across generations?

“Deprived of the safety, stability, and support that school provides, many of these children are left without the spaces they need to play, learn, and heal”, said United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) Executive Director Catherine Russell in a statement last year. “War tears apart the safe and nurturing environments children need. When children are forced to endure prolonged periods of traumatic stress, they face severe health and psychological risks, and the consequences can last a lifetime.”

Over the past decades, Lebanon has experienced brief periods of peace interspersed with bloody conflicts. The Lebanese Civil War lasted fifteen years (1975–1990). During this period, Israel invaded the country twice: first targeting southern Lebanon in 1978, and again in 1982 when they reached the capital, Beirut. However, the fighting did not remain confined to these areas, spreading to Lebanese towns and refugee camps. Thousands of Palestinians displaced during the Nakba (1948–1949) settled in Lebanon, where their families still live today.

Since the end of the civil war, the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) have gone to war with Lebanon three times: in 1996 (Grapes of Wrath War), 2006, and most recently in 2024. According to Israel, all operations have targeted Hezbollah, a Shia Islamic political party and the most powerful paramilitary group in the Middle East. Founded by Lebanese clergy in response to the 1982 Israeli occupation, Hezbollah, like Hamas in Gaza, is backed by Iran. Each time, combat left a trail of destruction and trauma in its wake.

Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is the primary consequence of war trauma experienced by children and adolescents. According to a 2013 systematic review examining the impact of this mental disorder on Lebanese teenagers (aged 10–19) during armed conflicts, “trauma and the ensuing PTSD may delay their development processes by causing regression to dependency on parents and others”. Since it’s a “transitional period from childhood to adulthood”, many turn to alcohol or substance abuse, exhibit antisocial behaviour, and experience learning and academic problems.

Based on eleven studies published between 1988 and 2013, the paper revealed that rates of PTSD in adolescents surged during recent conflicts. While rates of PTSD ranged from 8% to 14% during the civil war (1975–1990), this figure reached 21% in the 1996 conflict and ranged from 15% to 35% by the 2006 July War. These results were considerably higher than in peaceful countries such as Oman (0.5%) and the United States (8%), although they did not reach the levels recorded in more extreme settings, such as refugee and displacement camps in Iraq and the Palestinian territories (peaking at 87% in some cases).

Although less data is available on the psychological impact of the 2024 conflict in Lebanon, international organisations have highlighted its intergenerational effects. According to UNICEF, more than 400,000 children were displaced from their homes last year, with many fleeing multiple times. While reconstruction is ongoing, many have not yet returned home and are struggling to learn, as many schools were partially or completely destroyed or converted into shelters. UNICEF reported that more than 200 children were killed during the conflict. “We have seen generations of trauma in Lebanon, and we are seeing it again,” said Ettie Higgins, UNICEF’s deputy representative in Lebanon, in an interview with Sky News last year.

War trauma also has a deep impact on parents who experienced conflicts and social upheavals in the past. Zayoun was 17 in 2006, when Israel and Hezbollah were at war. Her family was forced to flee their home but was able to return after the ceasefire. However, she told the Associated Press that the conflict had become more challenging. “They’re hitting everywhere,” she told the American news agency last year. “Do they want to hurt our children? We are not what they are looking for.”

Maria Elizabeth Haddad, the International Medical Corps manager who supports psychosocial programmes in Beirut, said that displaced children had shown anxiety, hostility and even aggression in shelters, ignoring rules and talking back to their parents. In some cases, they have developed speech problems and exhibited signs of psychosis, she told the Associated Press. “There are going to be residual symptoms when they grow up, especially related to attachment ties, to feeling of security,” Haddad said last year. “It is a generational trauma. We have experienced it before with our parents. They don’t have stability or search for stability. This is not going to be easy to overcome.”

Recalling war memories can also occur in events unrelated to armed conflicts. A study by the European Journal of Psychotraumatology found that events such as the 2020 Beirut port explosions, which resulted in 220 deaths and the destruction of entire neighbourhoods, and the 2021 protests against the Beirut blast case, which escalated into an armed dispute between two political parties in the capital, also triggered cumulative stress in children and parents. According to the research, “Prior parental exposure to traumatic events, alongside persistent economic and social stress, has a cascading impact on parenting and parents’ supportive abilities, and consequently yields unfavourable psychosocial outcomes for subsequent generations”.

The study’s interviews revealed that previous trauma was still vivid among Lebanese parents. “I thought I was over all this, but I have been having flashbacks and nightmares about the war, how we had to escape from village to village, and the bombings all night long. We are all children of war”, said a parent of a 13-year-old boy.

Research has shown that there is a high prevalence of mental health disorders among the Lebanese population. According to a national study published by Frontiers in Psychiatry and conducted in 2022, 47% of the Lebanese population screened positive for potential depression, 45% for potential anxiety and 43% for PTSD.

Now, 50 years after the Lebanese Civil War, with memories of the most recent conflict between Israel and Hezbollah still fresh, many fear that any peace would only be temporary. A nationwide survey conducted by Annahar newspaper and International Information between 25 March and 2 April 2024 found that more than 51% of Lebanese citizens are concerned about the return of war. Furthermore, 42% of respondents said that they or their family members had been directly harmed by conflicts, with 23% reporting deaths or injuries, 19% property damage and 19% forced displacement.

For young generations, decades of instability have turned the desire to rebuild the nation into an eagerness to leave. According to a 2019 Generation What poll, nearly 72% of Lebanese people aged 15–29 stated that they would be happier if they didn’t live in Lebanon. The study noted that this is a generation that operates mainly in survival mode and is in a constant search for individual exit strategies, correlating this to the fact that many were born during the civil war or the aftermath of the Israeli-Hezbollah conflict. Indeed, more than political or socio-economic factors, 68% of Lebanese youth blame previous generations for the challenges they face today.

Bibliography

Abou-Saleh, M. T., & Ghubash, R. (2014). Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in Adolescents in Lebanon as Wars Gained in Ferocity: A Systematic Review (1975–2006). Frontiers in Public Health, National Center for Biotechnology Information (NCBI) / U.S. National Library of Medicine.
Retrieved from https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC4147728/

Generation What? Arabic Countries – Lebanon. (2019). National Report: Youth in Lebanon. Civil Society Knowledge Centre (Lebanon Support).
Retrieved from https://civilsociety-centre.org/sites/default/files/resources/gwac_national_report_lebanon_en_0.pdf

American Psychological Association (APA). (2020). Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (5th ed., text rev.). Washington, DC: Author.
(Referenced contextually for PTSD definitions and criteria evolution.)

European Journal of Psychotraumatology. (2024). Intergenerational Trauma in Lebanon: How Parents’ War Memories Affect the Mental Health of Adolescents Exposed to the 2024 Conflict. Taylor & Francis Online.

Associated Press (AP). (2024, October). Traumatized by War, Hundreds of Lebanon’s Children Struggle with Wounds Both Physical and Emotional.
Retrieved from https://www.ap.org/news-highlights/uncategorized/2024/traumatized-by-war-hundreds-of-lebanons-children-struggle-with-wounds-both-physical-and-emotional/

United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF). (2024, November). War in Lebanon Inflicting Devastating Physical and Emotional Impacts on Children. Press Release.
Retrieved from https://www.unicef.org/press-releases/war-lebanon-inflicting-devastating-physical-and-emotional-impacts-children

Sky News. (2024, November). Conflict in Lebanon: Children Left Withdrawn, Anxious and Confused After Being Caught Up in the Violence.
Retrieved from https://news.sky.com/story/conflict-in-lebanon-children-left-withdrawn-anxious-and-confused-after-being-caught-up-in-the-violence-13229484

Frontiers in Psychology. (2025). Cumulative Stress and Parental Trauma Among Lebanese Parents of Adolescents Exposed to War in Beirut. Retrieved from https://www.frontiersin.org/journals/psychiatry/articles/10.3389/fpsyt.2024.1444245/full

In this episode Emanuelle discusses the post conflict experience in Lebanon and the issue of multiple cycles of conflict the country has experienced. She is a Citizen journalist with us on a placement organised with Department of War Studies, KCL. This article was edited using Lex.page.

Thank you for reading an A4R 🎨 Post. Don’t forget to visit our gift shop here. Every purchase scales our impact and pays our bills.

As Syria stands on a point of change, what is the fate of families living in ISIS refugee camps?

The final ISIS stronghold of Baghuz Fawqani fell in March 2019, marking the end of its seven-year rule over Syria. With the defeat of ISIS, the women and children, assumed to be affiliated with the group, were held in camps across northeast Syria and Iraq. The largest of the Syrian refugee camps is al-Hol, whose population reached 70,000 in March 2019, overwhelming camp authorities and placing huge strain on humanitarian supplies.

Globally, these refugees represent a real problem. On the one hand, foreign governments don’t want to import extremism, but these people, as individuals, have human rights as well. The balancing of these two needs is often left for NGOs to deal with. In reality, however, it is a global problem, and governments can’t just wash their hands of these individuals.

Their right to security is at risk as many at al-Hol camp are unable to access necessary medical care. This is due to a lack of specialist medical care within the camp and northeast Syria’s weak healthcare system.

Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) runs several clinics within al-Hol camp but often struggles to get approval for patients requiring specialist care from outside of the camp. In 2021, MSF referred 381 patients, including 63 children, for secondary and specialist healthcare.

However, many of those referred did not receive medical treatment. MSF reports that, in 2021, a total of 286 medical referrals to external health facilities were rejected by authorities, of which 205 were due to “security reasons.”

Medical facilities are particularly limited in the annex, a heavily guarded section of al-Hol camp housing 11,000 foreign women and children, mostly from North Africa and Europe. Unlike the main camp, the annex is without a fixed clinic. Instead, it relies on one static clinic and three mobile clinics run by MSF.

However, the mobile clinics are regularly interrupted due to security incidents, and to reach the static clinic patients must pass a checkpoint where they are registered and subjected to body searches and photographs. Furthermore, there is no access to health services in the annex after 1pm.

The limited services available in the annex mirrors their position globally. Some are viewed as subscribing to radical ideologies, with many having willingly left their home countries to join ISIS. Therefore, there is little drive internationally to help these refugees. The lack of medical care in the annex is just the tip of the iceberg, many have been abandoned by their respective countries who have refused repatriation and even stripped them of their citizenships.

Al-Hol’s conditions are further limited by a lack of any formal legal policies and practices in place to govern the camp. It has become increasingly lawless and suffers from extreme criminality, violence and insecurity. Residents are caught between the repressive measures of the security forces and the increasingly violent criminal groups.

MSF reported that in 2021 the leading cause of death in al-Hol camp was crime related, which accounted for 38% of all the deaths in the camp. In addition to this, 30 attempted murders were reported in the camp in the same year.

The causes of violence range from allegations of spying for the security forces, extortion of money by criminal groups, or to social control. It’s been reported that individuals affiliated with IS have been killed due to their lack of adherence to the camp’s cultural and religious norms.

Camp authorities have set up safe zones to house residents threatened by armed groups. However, the security of these safe zones is severely limited. On 12 November 2021, a group of armed men wearing uniforms entered the designated safe zone before shooting and killing two people and injuring several others.

The camp continually fails to fulfill residents’ needs for safety and security, breeding an atmosphere of lingering fear and constant apprehension. The need for safety and security is crucial for the residents of al-Hol who have endured years of war.

Foreign women and children are unable to leave al-Hol camp. Many governments have been reluctant to repatriate their citizens for the fear of importing extremism.

Although some governments have taken back their citizens, for example, Kazakhstan repatriated 156 of its children in October 2019. Yet the total number of children repatriated from the three main camps in northeast Syria is only 350. This is remarkably low considering 7,000 foreign children remain in these camps.

These children struggle to find connection and acceptance as they are refused repatriation by their home countries. This inability to connect to their home countries leaves them isolated and more susceptible to radicalization at the hands of those affiliated with IS and other criminal groups.

Some nations have resorted to stripping their nationals of their citizenship, ultimately leaving them without any form of protection or belonging. The British government has supported this method and since 2010,150 people have had their citizenship stripped.

This harms opportunities for international cooperation as other nations must take on the cost of detaining, housing, or prosecuting stateless individuals. This is particularly impactful on the administration of northeast Syria who is already dealing with the costs of reconstruction.

Citizenship stripping is seen as an ineffective method for fighting extremism as it leaves individuals without the possibility of rehabilitation. It also has serious implications on the individual as it deprives them of a much-needed identity and sense of importance.

Local prosecution, in Syria or Iraq, is seen as an alternative to repatriation. In theory, if people in these camps were successfully and fairly prosecuted, they would in turn be imprisoned or released from detention, and therefore there would be no need for the camps.

Many nations are attracted to local prosecution because local authorities have better access to witnesses and evidence, and it allows the country to avoid the costs associated with prosecution at home.

Concerns have been raised about the judicial process in Iraq and Syria. For example, Iraqi law convicts a person for joining ISIS not because of the defendant’s actions. In 2019, the French government received criticism when four French nationals were sentenced to death in a hasty trial in Iraq. Activists said the Iraqi courts often relied on circumstantial evidence and confessions made under duress.

The chance for foreign nationals to clear their names through local prosecution may not be available to the women and children of al-Hol camp. Syrian prisons are already filled with male militants who may have to face trial. It is likely these male prisoners would take priority over the women and children. Furthermore, the Kurdish administration in Syria has said they will not prosecute these women and children.

As the Kurdish administration struggles to provide adequate support and protection for the camp, this lack of engagement from foreign governments is concerning. While many governments are against repatriation, an alternative could be to help fund the detainment of their respective nationals. Actions such as this may help alleviate the strain placed upon the Kurdish administration as they attempt to rebuild their territory.

Today the issue of al-Hol camp is more pressing than ever. The question on everyone’s lips is, how is the international community going to help rebuild Syria now the Assad regime has fallen. Part of this is how we deal with the people in refugee camps such as al-Hol. Left unchecked, the camps in northeast Syria could become future breeding grounds for radicalization and undermine the sense of liberty taking hold of Syria today.

In this episode Sorley discusses Syria and the issues of families in the refugee camps there. He is a student journalist with us on a placement organised with Oxford University Career Services. This article was edited using Lex.page.

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Silenced Echoes: The Unseen Barriers to Tamil Eelam’s Post-War Recovery

On May 19, 2009, there came a moment of collective exhalation, a palpable release of tension as the last shots were fired and the 26-year-long sectarian conflict between the Sri Lankan armed forces and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) ended conclusively yet bloodily. Despite the widespread relief of much of the war-weary international community, the scars of civil conflict persist as enduring reminders of the trauma inflicted upon Tamil Eelam, marked by extrajudicial massacres, targeted suicide bombings of key political figures, and widespread detentions. Fifteen years on, countless barriers continue to plague this vulnerable population, casting a long shadow over their hopes for a future free from the shackles of hostility and oppression.

After the Sri Lankan Civil War, Tamils often find themselves entangled in a web of legal, economic, and socio-political obstacles that hinder their path to recovery and reconciliation. Many barriers loom large, but the most significant one is the lack of transitional justice mechanisms, influenced by the overwhelming pro-Sinhalese political influence in the judiciary. Speaking out against state-sanctioned abuses of power towards ethnic minorities, notably among human rights activists, lawyers, and political opponents, is met with a severe crackdown marked by physical attacks, death threats, and arbitrary detention. This almost omnipresent atmosphere of fear and intimidation raises concerns about the extent to which the fundamental human need for self-determination and autonomy within the Tamil community is compromised.

Press freedom, once a beacon of democracy, remains under siege. Strict media regulations, purportedly aimed at ‘protecting government interests’ from ‘unethical reporting,’ merely strangle online and offline news outlets. Meanwhile, journalists lament the suppression of voices critical of the establishment. Consequently, the public's access to information is severely restricted, with heavily biased reports from state-controlled media dominating the narrative landscape. This monopoly on news not only skews perspectives but also stifles open discourse on crucial matters, posing a significant obstacle to the democratisation of post-war Sri Lanka.

The government of Sri Lanka has also resorted to drastic measures such as website blocks and frequent raids on media offices, posing a significant threat of media censorship. According to the media advocacy group 'Networking for Rights in Sri Lanka', the government has progressively restricted access to information since June 19, 2007. It started by preventing access to TamilNet, a prominent news and opinion website covering Tamil issues, followed by blocking dozens of other news sites advocating for minority rights. In a more chilling demonstration of assaults on press freedom, Tamil Eelam has witnessed targeted killings of at least 41 Tamil media workers, allegedly by state actors or paramilitaries. Similarly, the haunting occurrence of attacks using petrol bombs on the offices of Maharajah Television stations in Pannipitiya serves as a stark reminder of the dangerous environment in which journalists operate in the country.

The government’s continuous refusal to repeal the oppressive Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA) is fueling the palpable suppression of free speech within the island, despite the frequent introduction of new bills. The sweeping powers of this draconian legislation allow courts to accept any statement made by the accused as evidence, regardless of its origin, even if extracted under conditions of torture and coercion. Additionally, the glaring lack of robust witness protection laws and the widely reported lack of independence of the National Human Rights Commission further hinder efforts for accountability. In this environment, a culture of impunity thrives, perpetuating a cycle of injustice and denying closure to the numerous victims and families who bore the brunt of the Civil War's atrocities.

Yet, the issue of ideological divisions transcends the Sinhalese and Eelam Tamil communities; a similar divide emerges between the Tamils remaining in Sri Lanka and their counterparts scattered across the globe, ranging from Canada and the U.K. to Malaysia. The Tamils in Sri Lanka, exhausted by decades of war, long to return to a stable and conflict-free life and therefore prioritise rebuilding their lives within a unified nation alongside significant reforms to foster progress and inclusivity. Their reluctance to engage in armed struggle is in stark contrast to the international diaspora, where the dream of Eelam, an independent Tamil homeland, burns fervently. Their profound commitment to Tamil nationalism deepens the divide between the two groups, as leaders in the diaspora dismiss Tamil politicians in Sri Lanka as either traitors collaborating with the government or as too feeble to advocate for their own people's rights, intensifying tensions and highlighting the complexity of achieving identity, respect, and recognition for the Tamil people.

Above: Tamils from across Europe protest in Geneva, Switzerland against Sri Lanka's military offensive against Tamil rebels in February of 2009 (Shutterstock image)

Amidst the aftermath of the Sri Lankan Civil War, a lesser known but critical facet must also be explored: the plight of the internally displaced Tamils. Despite the conflict’s end, over 115,000 individuals remain confined to camps or transitional centres; many of whom were forcibly relocated against their will. For the 407,000 who have returned to their communities, challenges abound– accessing necessities such as food, water, shelter and sanitation remains difficult. Moreover, the lack of educational and employment opportunities not only complicates their reintegration but also serves as a deterrent to the displaced, casting a shadow over their hopes of returning to some form of normalcy.

However, the most pressing challenge facing the displaced is undoubtedly their struggle to reclaim land seized by the Sri Lankan military during the war, intended to establish security buffer zones around military installations and other high-value targets. Even years after the end of hostilities, much of this land remains inaccessible to its rightful owners. Facilitated by exploitative prescriptive title policies that allow individuals living on the land for over a decade to claim legal ownership and other legal loopholes, the courts continue to stall lawsuits and writ applications filed by landowners who often lost their title deeds. The already cumbersome process of reclaiming ownership is made worse by the military's view of the occupied land as economically valuable for their purposes, such as army camps and bases. This perpetuates a cycle of displacement and disempowerment for affected individuals. Shockingly, the Ministry of Relief, Rehabilitation, and Reconciliation does not recognise them as internally displaced persons (IDPs), depriving them of crucial state support. This underscores the ongoing hostilities and differential treatment faced by Tamils and other ethnic and religious minorities.

In the complex web of challenges after the war, the main obstacle to effective resettlement lies in the government's lack of political will and neglect in prioritising long-lasting solutions. Despite the potential for funding from willing donors, humanitarian organisations have to grapple with restrictions on programming and access, hindering their efforts to address the urgent needs of this vulnerable population. Meanwhile, the state's unwavering fixation on promoting return as the sole option sidelines more viable alternatives. This exclusion, combined with the prohibition of local integration in ethnically diverse regions like Trincomalee, reinforces the existing ethnic status quo. The result? Tamils are stripped of their autonomy, deprived of the right to choose where they call home and left grappling with the daunting task of rebuilding their shattered lives.

The challenging journey of Tamil Eelam towards healing and justice remains filled with obstacles, including systemic discrimination and political inertia, as well as the relentless stifling of basic rights. These obstacles remind us that the echoes of wartime repression still linger and overshadow the hopes of the beleaguered Tamil community. However, amidst the turmoil, the resilience of this vulnerable community continues to shine through the cracks of devastation. Despite facing overwhelming odds, the spirit of hope flickers in the hearts of courageous Tamil journalists who refuse to be silenced and the countless NGO workers who tirelessly strive to rebuild these devastated communities from the ground up. As we witness their struggles, let us not ignore their plight, but instead stand in solidarity, amplifying their voices and advocating for the dignity and rights that they have fought and sacrificed their lives for over the course of many years. Every 27th of November, Tamils worldwide come together to observe Maaveerar Naal (or Great Heroes' Day), a solemn occasion to honour the 50,000 Tamil lives lost during the Civil War. May this day serve as a poignant yet resolute testament to the indomitable human spirit and the unwavering pursuit of a more just and peaceful tomorrow, both for Tamils in Sri Lanka and beyond.

In this episode Adithi discusses the Tamil post conflict expereince in Sri Lanka. She is a student journalist with us on a placement organised with War Studies Department, King’s College, London. This article was edited using Lex.page.

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Bridging the Divide: Public Art’s Role in Northern Ireland’s Reconciliation Journey

The Northern Irish Conflict:

From the beginning of the 1960s to the signing of the Good Friday Agreement in 1998, Northern Ireland experienced The Troubles, one of the bloodiest, most divided periods of the region’s history. The divisions fought over in the conflict were longstanding socioeconomic and political issues dating back to the 17^th century which ultimately exploded between predominantly Protestant Loyalist communities and predominantly Catholic Nationalist communities. Throughout the conflict, public art was used as a form of expressing political allegiances in certain areas, marking territory and honouring martyrdom or political sacrifice. This was most visible in the many murals which emerged across Northern Ireland, as well as the increase in propaganda posters. After the conflict, public art was used as a tool for reconciliation between the opposing sides as artists strove to find connections and similarities between communities through their work. The question that remains is how successful can public pieces of artwork really be in rebuilding post-conflict communities and healing intergenerational traumas? What progress has there really been in public art in Northern Ireland since 1998?

The history of public art in Northern Ireland

Historically, public art within Northern Ireland has often been political. Loyalist areas have a longstanding history of murals, particularly those demonstrating a desire for maintained union with Britain, rather than Irish independence. As such, public art often depicted Loyalist symbols such as William of Orange or The Battle of the Boyne, a significant Protestant victory over Catholic King James II. The murals would often be repainted in time for Protestant celebrations on 12^th July.

Image depicting a William of Orange mural retrieved from https://www.iwm.org.uk/history/how-murals-illustrate-northern-irelands-political-landscape

However, during The Troubles, murals began to appear in Catholic, Nationalist areas of Northern Ireland as well, beginning with murals which commemorated hunger strikers and steadily becoming more political. Public art then stretched to encompass propaganda posters which emerged particularly on the Republican and Nationalist sides. These were unflinchingly political and militant, using artistic expression to condemn government policies such as internment and the armed violence of Bloody Sunday as well as to increase suspicion of the ‘enemy’. This can be seen in the image below which portrays two British army soldiers dragging a civilian body under the words “JUDGE JURY EXECUTIONER”, condemning violence by the military towards civilians.

Image retrieved on 17/12/24 from https://cain.ulster.ac.uk/images/posters/ira/index.html

These types of posters became a common expression of public art, however, as the conflict drew to a close, there was a shift as art began to be used as a mechanism for reconciliation and peace.

Below, we will examine several public artworks within Northern Ireland to explore the power of art as a connecting force in divided post-conflict communities.

From protests to peace

Image of ‘Hands across the divide’ retrieved from https://theramblingwombat.com/2017/05/03/hands-across-the-divide/

‘Hands across the divide’ (1992), having been installed in one of the last few years of the conflict, is one of the first indicators of this shift in artistic expression to focus on reconciliation and is a powerful example of public art as a tool for collective healing post-conflict. The position of the sculpture above the Craigavon Bridge is of utmost importance as, during The Troubles, this bridge came to signify the division within Northern Ireland, with Catholics generally living on the city side of the bridge and Protestants on the Waterside.

The artwork functioned as a physical representation of a shared desire for peace and reconciliation at this time. Notably, the figures hands do not quite reach each other, powerfully demonstrating how this peace and unity had not yet been achieved but the effort to do so was in motion, visible in the physical exertion of both figures reaching across to bridge the gap. Whilst militant public art did continue to be produced, following this installation in Derry/Londonderry, it began to have a more peaceful focus, particularly after the Good Friday Agreement was signed in 1998 which marked the ‘official’ end of the conflict.

An example of such peace-focused artwork is the Millenium Sculpture in Strabane, more commonly known as ‘The Tinnies’ (2000).

Image of ‘The Tinnies’ retrieved from https://garethwray.com/product/millennium-sculpture-tinneys-strabane/

Strabane (which was an IRA stronghold during The Troubles and witnessed numerous bombings and violence from both sides of the conflict) is situated on the border between the North and the Republic of Ireland, meaning that the conflict was especially politicised in the area. ‘The Tinnies’ were constructed just two years after the Good Friday Agreement as part of a cross-border scheme to physically represent a ‘new and shared beginning for the community’. The figures are joyful, portraying three musicians and two dancers, and have a strikingly different tone to art made during the conflict. Far from presenting violence or division, the focus is on the unifying crafts of music and dance. As such, ‘The Tinnies’ are an example of how public art was used to embody a shared, hopeful entrance into the new millennium, in which there was an effort to leave division behind.

In 2007, the message of hope within public art became all the more explicit as the ‘Beacon of hope’ emerged on Belfast’s skyline.

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Image of the ‘Beacon of hope’ retrieved from https://www.dreamstime.com/editorial-stock-photo-beacon-hope-sculpture-belfast-northern-ireland-uk-september-steal-statue-thanksgiving-square-called-also-nuala-image80287798

On the globe which the figure stands on, one can find the names of the many cities which the residents of Belfast have migrated to throughout history, presenting Belfast as part of a much broader geographical space than was felt during the insular period of The Troubles. As such, the piece presents a future for Belfast which faces out towards the world proudly, evident in the figure confidently reaching forwards. Likewise, the symbol of the circle which the figure holds reflects the idea of everything being linked together, implying a projection of community and unity through this figure. This is a stark contrast to the art of The Troubles, especially when juxtaposed with the propaganda posters examined above which purposefully highlight differences rather than connections.

As Northern Ireland then entered a new decade, there was an influx of public art which signified a new era of peace. The most obvious example of this is the Peace Bridge which was built in 2011 and bridges the physical and political gap across the River Foyle.

Image of the Peace Bridge retrieved from https://www.apm.org.uk/about-us/50-projects/technology/the-peace-bridge-londonderry/

Inspired by ‘Hands across the divide’, the bridge has two arms which reach in the direction of one another, forming a ‘structural handshake’ at the centre and thus manages to both physically and metaphorically connect the two communities from either side of the bridge. Visible from any point along the river, this artwork is as public as it could possibly get and was used in over a million crossings within just over a year of opening.

2011 also saw the construction of Belfast’s RISE sculpture and Derry/Londonderry’s Mute Meadow. Contrasting in approach, the spherical structure of RISE symbolises a “new sun rising to celebrate a new chapter in the history of Belfast”, firmly situating the focus on the future, whereas Mute Meadow looks back to the past. Found on former British army barracks, the piece is inescapably infused with the history of its location and yet its ambiguous meaning allows for interpretation by viewers and thus encourages progression, escaping the fate of becoming prescriptive or illustrative. In this manner, the artwork, whilst giving a nod to the past, empowers the city to move forward and write their own future.

More recently, the region has also seen a development in the mural tradition with an influx of murals with less politicised artistic subjects. Although sometimes these new murals do have a political focus, they are less often about the conflict of The Troubles. This is evident in the mural entitled ‘Love Wins’ which was highly political when it was painted in 2016 as it formed part of the same sex marriage campaign, a deeply controversial debate at the time.

Image of ‘Love wins’ retrieved from https://www.itv.com/news/utv/2016-08-01/love-wins-mural-unveiled-for-belfast-pride

As such, murals have become part of political and social campaigns, with one being created in 2017 as part of the campaign over suicide awareness and Belfast’s International Wall being transformed into the Palestinian Wall in response to the current situation in Gaza. However, there has also been a shift towards murals honouring cultural achievements within the region. One such example is the iconic ‘Derry Girls’ mural which celebrates the success of the TV show of the same name. Likewise, you could mention the ‘An Irish Goodbye’ mural which commemorates the Oscar-winning success of a Northern Irish short film, or the mural commemorating the punk band The Undertones – the list simply goes on.

Image of the Amelia Earhart mural in Derry/Londonderry retrieved from https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cj7d80dgj05o

A further development that public art has seen in recent times is the appearance of a number of historical murals which do look to the past, but a past beyond The Troubles, emphasising that this is not all the region has to offer – it had a rich cultural past before The Troubles, just as it has a rich cultural present. Above you can see the iconic mural celebrating Amelia Earhart’s landing in Derry/Londonderry in her successful mission to be the first female pilot to cross the Atlantic but Northern Ireland is also host to murals commemorating its connection to the linen industry, the surprise arrival of a killer whale in the Foyle in 1977 and many other historic events. Whilst murals referencing The Troubles continue to be painted, these are often less intense and militaristic than in the past, such as this mural of women preparing food for the Ulster Freedom Fighters:

Image of a UFF mural retrieved from https://sharedfuture.news/street-art/

All of these artworks form part of a broader regional campaign and desire to rebrand Northern Ireland’s image, moving away from the all-consuming nature of the region's troubled past. Through public art installations, street art festivals, and murals celebrating cultural achievements, there is a concerted effort to shift the narrative and encourage pride in the citizens of Northern Ireland regarding their native land. Tracking the history of public art in the region post-conflict, there is a clear trajectory towards public art that focuses on shared cultural identity, social progress, and a hopeful vision for the future, rather than entrenching old divisions. However, the work of reconciliation is ongoing, and public art will likely continue to play a key role in Northern Ireland's journey towards lasting peace.

Bibliography

Barber, Fionna (2014) At Vision's Edge: post-conflict memory and art practice in Northern Ireland. In: Memory Ireland, volume 3: The Famine and the Troubles. Syracuse University Press, Syracuse, NY. ISBN 978-0-8156-5264-9

Gareth Wray Photography. (2024). Millennium Sculpture - Tinnie’s - Strabane | Irish Landscape Photographer. [online] Available at: https://garethwray.com/product/millennium-sculpture-tinneys-strabane/ [Accessed 20 Dec. 2024].

Imperial War Museums. (n.d.). How murals illustrate Northern Irelands political landscape. [online] Available at: https://www.iwm.org.uk/history/how-murals-illustrate-northern-irelands-political-landscape.

Institution of Civil Engineers (ICE). (2024). Peace Bridge: A Symbol of Unity Across Borders. [online] Available at: https://www.ice.org.uk/what-is-civil-engineering/infrastructure-projects/peace-bridge [Accessed 20 Dec. 2024].

Milliken, M. and Smith, A. (2022). The Post Conflict Generation in Northern Ireland: Citizenship education, Political Literacy and the Question of Sovereignty. Education, Citizenship and Social Justice, 17(3), p.174619792211145. doi:https://doi.org/10.1177/17461979221114551.

Orozco Diaz, B. (2016). Shared Future News — Branding peace: Public art in ‘post-conflict’ Northern Ireland #ESRCfestival. [online] Shared Future News. Available at: https://sharedfuture.news/branding-peace-public-art-in-post-conflict-northern-ireland-esrcfestival/ [Accessed 20 Dec. 2024].

Ulster.ac.uk. (2024). CAIN: Murals: Rolston, Bill. Contemporary Murals in Northern Ireland. [online] Available at: https://cain.ulster.ac.uk/bibdbs/murals/rolston.htm#murals [Accessed 20 Dec. 2024].

In this episode Rachael discusses the Northern Irish experience of using Public Art to build their national identity. She is a student journalist with us on a placement organised with Oxford University Career Services. This article was edited using Lex.page.

Thank you for reading an A4R 🎨 Post. Don’t forget to visit our gift shop here. Every purchase scales our impact and pays our bills.