Sexual violence is used as a weapon in every war. In conflicts around the world, it remains a persistent epidemic, destroying lives and communities in its wake. And when the fighting subsides, survivors are silenced and stigmatised, their trauma hidden, and their attackers unpunished.
But something powerful happens when we position their stories in public spaces.
A mural, sculpture or memorial can break decades of silence. It can make people stop, look, and finally see what's been ignored. Public art has this unique power - it doesn't just honour the past; it can push for justice today.
Right now, we must prioritise art that fights for the living, for survivors who carry invisible wounds while waiting for unattainable justice.
The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) currently estimates over 120 ongoing conflicts globally, with harrowing reports of sexual violence daily.
In Ukraine, the UN has recorded 236 cases of systematic sexual torture of Ukrainian men and boys in Russian detention centres since the war began in 2022.
These numbers aren’t just statistics. Tens of thousands of survivors carry this trauma daily, yet their experiences find no reflection in our public spaces. At a time when public monuments overwhelmingly commemorate a narrow part of history — often white, male, and militarised — we must expand our collective memory to include those historically ignored: women, people of colour, marginalised groups, and survivors of violence whose suffering remains unacknowledged.
In collaboration with over 20 anti-conflict related sexual violence organisations and survivors from over 30 countries, I co-created Petrified Survivors — the world’s first memorial honouring all survivors of conflict-related sexual violence (CRSV).
Unveiled on Thursday (3 July) at the British Embassy in The Hague, the collaboration involves the organisations of Nobel Peace Prize laureates Dr Denis Mukwege and Nadia Murad. Survivors have been at the heart of the design process, courageously sharing stories and emotions that inspired the memorial and its intricate symbolism, ensuring it truly reflects their voices.
Petrified Survivors builds on previous work with individual communities affected by CRSV. Through Mother & Child, which honours the Lai Dai Han — children born to Vietnamese women raped by South Korean soldiers during the Vietnam War — and Mother & Justice, which represents Yazidi survivors of ISIS atrocities, I saw the power of public art.
I was staggered by the feedback of survivors who expressed feeling a sense of visibility and validation that they had long been denied of, demonstrating that creating space for individual stories can facilitate wider healing and public recognition.
The more I worked with survivors across different contexts, the more I realised the need for a unifying memorial — one representing all survivors of sexual violence in war, wherever and whenever it has occurred.
I hope that my work can contribute to a greater shift in the public art realm.
Groups like Statues for Equality are pushing for gender balance in public monuments by 2030 — showing that we can reshape and re-centre who we honour.
But we must go further. We should require that public art includes women, minorities, and survivors; living people who have suffered and continue to suffer every day, and yet, still get up the next morning and carry on with strength and resilience. Not as an afterthought but built into policy.
Change won't come from individual artworks alone. It requires a commitment from governments, lawmakers, arts councils and institutions to collaborate, fund and prioritise survivor-led narratives. It means moving beyond token inclusion toward sustained visibility and justice. Policies must be developed that allocate space for these stories and protect their message from being diluted for political convenience or aesthetic preferences.
This urgency becomes more apparent when we examine the reality survivors face — given that the vast majority of survivors will never see justice via legal methods, organisations supporting survivors represent their only path to healing and hope.
Yet conflicts continue globally while funding for these vital organisations has been cut dramatically this year. In a world where formal justice remains unattainable for most survivors, these support networks become not just important, but essential alternatives to justice.
We can take concrete steps to realise change: ringfencing public funding for art that addresses social justice and marginalised communities, requiring survivor input in memorial design, and establishing policy targets for inclusivity in civic monuments.
These steps become more critical when we recognise that for many survivors, societal recognition and support may be the only form of justice they will ever receive. Such measures could ensure that memory isn’t just curated by the powerful but co-authored by those who have been historically erased.
Public art must do more than remember the past, it must confront the present. When it gives form to the trauma of those still living, it has the power to break silences, shift public will, and hold institutions accountable.
It can disrupt a culture that accepts impunity and remind us of our collective responsibility to seek justice. Symbolism is not enough. Representation must lead to recognition – and recognition must lead to real, lasting change.
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Rebecca Hawkins is the British artist behind the memorial, developed in collaboration with over 20 organisations and CRSV survivors from over 30 countries.
Rebecca Hawkins is the British artist behind the memorial, developed in collaboration with over 20 organisations and CRSV survivors from over 30 countries.