Let's Talk About Rape — Empowering survivors, changing the narrative

They thought they broke my soul, but they broke theirs.

Shyrete

A wartime rape survivor from Kosovo

Today, I stand before you as a proud woman, a loving mother, friend, and a survivor’s rights advocate and activist. My life’s work is a result of me being a rape survivor from the war in Kosovo. My personal motto is, “They thought they broke my soul, but they broke theirs.” Every affliction that I have been through has led me to this moment, and today I share with you my story.

Society often labels perpetrators as ‘animals’. But I’ve never encountered any animals that have carried out acts as cruel and merciless as them. A result of the war which I live with is the inability to describe how I felt during that time. It’s as if there is an emotional disconnect. There are no words to describe everything that has happened to me. Human hate is a feeling which is unknown to me, and I find it hard to define the meaning of hatred, abuse, and destruction.

I will always remember the feeling of terror, the pressure that weighed on my shoulders knowing that my two daughters’ survival, as well as my own, was completely in my hands. It’s a feeling I relive often.

Let’s Talk About Rape® is a collaborative project with a therapeutic approach, where survivors set their own agenda and use a shutter release cable to take self-portraits as a powerful tool for healing and reclaiming their narrative.

Shyrete, Gjilan, Kosovo 2023

Shyrete

In 2019, the Duchess of Luxembourg hosted a conference for war-rape survivors. “What did you feel as you were being raped?” Although it was a simple question, which the other survivors and I were asked, it remained a question that rewired my brain. A painful event, one which had the ability to completely repress the affliction I had felt. When I was raped, all I could think about were my daughters. My eldest daughter was three years old, and my youngest was one at the time. I recall thoughts racing through my mind, the loudest thought being that I wanted them to die before me. I felt fear for them; they were my babies, and I couldn’t comprehend a reality in which they would have to suffer the way I had. I often question whether that makes me a bad mother for wanting my babies to die to avoid torturous pain.

1999, the year that changed our lives. I was alone with my daughters in our home in Gjilan, Kosovo, on the day that the perpetrators came uninvited and without any warning at all. My daughters witnessed me being raped and assaulted, and although they survived that day, that was the day that their innocence died. Serbian soldiers invaded my home. They were covered from head to toe, concealing not only their identities but their accountability also. I will never know who raped me, as I cannot identify them. I will never witness the day they will be held accountable for their acts. They will never face punishment for raping me. Nineteen years later, and that event still replays in my mind.

Shyrete, Gjilan, Kosovo 2023

Ever since that day, I haven’t been able to cook chicken again. The smell, the rawness, the nakedness, its exposed carcass— it reminds me of that day. It became a new reality for me to live in a state of vulnerability, as I’ve never felt comfortable since. Despite relocating to Canada, I will always feel as though those criminals stole my sense of safety. Moving, however, gave me the opportunity to organize my daughters’ lives and provide them with stability. I received an award for being the best mother of the year despite me being unable to save the innocence of my daughters and protect them that day. I would do anything if it meant the events of that day were wiped from their memories. I know my girls remember.

Our home was invaded, our space was invaded, my body was invaded, and our lives were never the same. My wish for them is to live freely, for them to never feel scared in the way they do. I wish for them to forget all of their insecurities and all of their fears. It took years for me to allow my girls to sleep separately from me; I would hold them close every night, and although we had moved, I was living in constant fear. Even small daily habits, such as taking a shower, felt impossible for me to do if I were alone in the house.

It took me a few years to be able to integrate into society again. I started off little by little, venturing out to local shops at first. I lived with a numbness for 14 years, which I never felt ready to unpack. My therapist assured me that there was no rush to confront the painful memories. “Don’t push yourself, and do not blame yourself. It’s important to take things slowly and see how you get on.” I understood her words, but I had already invested so much of my time in ruminating over this pain and living with it. I so desperately wanted to have peace.

Shyrete

A while later, I was treated for breast cancer and cancer which was also present in my womanly parts. My identity as a woman felt non-existent, and I blamed my rapists for this happening to me. The feeling of disgust, feeling dirty constantly, and hanging my head down in shame never left me. Sharing my story with others would always leave me feeling vulnerable; I always felt judged—as a mother and as a woman.

There are times when I have met people, and I feel as though they know what has happened to me before I’ve said a word. I can feel an unspoken sense of shame that they have towards me. Why does society judge war-rape survivors? I question why they do not trust our words, why our innocence falls upon the ears of the deaf, and why our experiences are invalid. I miss feeling safe; I reminisce on the days when I never had to worry. War and rape have affected my family immensely.

I came to a point when I knew it was time to speak up and be heard, to stand my ground. I didn’t want to feel vulnerable any longer. I wanted to feel liberated. I embarked on a new journey, one which saw me grow an internal strength I didn’t know I had, one which allowed me to be unapologetically myself and share my story. I became an activist and joined the Kosovo Rehabilitation Centre for Torture Victims. I met with a lady named Feride; she is like a guardian angel. She provided a listening ear, a compassionate heart, and dedicated her time to all of us.

Challenging the stigma and prejudice of war-rape survivors is no easy feat, but together, we can make a difference in the world.

Shyrete

When speaking with other Kosovar war-rape survivors, there was no judgment, no shame, and no guilt. Our bond was cemented through our emotions and not purely by our words. What happened to me is something that happens all over the world, but society closes their ears and eyes to such adversity.

I’ve overcome the biggest hurdles life.

I’ve overcome the biggest hurdles life has thrown at me: war, cancer, rape, and I have still been able to support others. To me, that is a miracle. I am passionate about raising awareness through campaigns and activism in Kosovo. I partake in international activism with the SEMA Global Network, a coalition advocating for survivors’ rights all around the world.

Through my commitment to supporting others who have faced similar challenges as I have, I was honored with the prestigious “Shote Galica” award, awarded by President Vjosa Osmani. Following this, two years later, I received “The Golden Women” award in 2023.

Challenging the stigma and prejudice of war-rape survivors is no easy feat, but together, we can make a difference in the world.