I recently came back from the Central African Republic, where I attended the closing ceremony of our project there. Over the past two years we worked alongside survivors of conflict-related sexual violence in the town of Dékoa to provide interim reparative measures, co-designed to reaffirm dignity, stability, and hope while longer-term justice processes continue. I was incredibly moved by how much has changed since my first visit in 2021. It is a testament to not only the efficacy of our approach, but more importantly to the resolve and spirit of the men and women we worked with.
As part of the ceremony, a group of survivors performed a play reenacting their own lived experiences and what had happened to them. I was initially concerned about this. Had we asked them to do this? Could it trigger retraumatisation? I was reassured that this was their choice and that they decided to do this sketch.
They had rehearsed and dedicated their time to perfecting their parts and practicing exaggerated expressions, which elicited laughter from the audience. The crowd was entertained, despite the pain that ran through the storyline. It struck me to see moments of joy arising out of stories of deep suffering.
To see survivors witness a reenactment of violence and injustice similar to what they endured, and respond with strength, even humour, speaks volumes about how far they have come. It showed that they can confront what happened without being consumed by it. They are no longer defined solely by trauma but that they have moved from silence to using their voices. While resilience is often described in abstract terms, that day it was very alive for all to see.
Interim reparative measures are, by definition, a temporary bridge while waiting for formal justice or long-term State reparations. But what we witnessed at the ceremony was not temporary. It showed healing, transformation and regained agency.
The interim reparative measures project has taken away our shame
— A survivor in Dékoa
Throughout the project, we have seen individuals who once struggled to speak about their experiences now stand confidently in public. They are organising, advocating, and supporting one another. A great example of this was the march to mark Independence Day on December 1, when survivors proudly marched through the town centre, unafraid to show who they are and demand their rights be fulfilled. I also saw this in their choice of a playground as their collective interim reparative measure. They wanted a public space that would serve as a place of remembrance but also as a place of joy and laughter for children. It is something for the whole community to benefit from.
During an advocacy event officiated by the Minister of Humanitarian Action and National Solidarity, survivors shared the knowledge they had from the project on reparations and conflict-related sexual violence. I remain in awe of their confidence as they delivered their remarks on reparations to the State; they came from a place of empowerment and a need to see change in their country. The silence in the room while they spoke, the attention paid to them, and the later applause was encouraging. Their testimonies and messages to authorities should never be ignored.
In many ways, the closing ceremony was not a formal conclusion but rather a reminder that even in places deeply affected by conflict, communities can be rebuilt if they are supported. Survivors can reclaim their agency and voices, allowing them to heal in their own way while remembering what has come before.