Women, War and Witness: At Westminster, Cinema Confronts the Silence Surrounding Sexual Violence in Conflict

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There are certain conversations that belong in Parliament not because they are political in the conventional sense, but because they concern the most fundamental obligations of a civilised society: the protection of human dignity, the pursuit of justice and the responsibility to listen when others have been silenced.

On Thursday, 5 November, the Houses of Parliament in Westminster provided the setting for Women, War and Witness: The Role of Women in Cinema in Times of Global Crisis, a parliamentary roundtable marking the opening of the Women and the World International Film Festival 2026, taking place in London from 5 to 12 November.

Invited by Casa León, I welcomed the opportunity to engage with an initiative addressing an increasingly urgent question: what responsibility does cinema carry when the experiences it documents are not simply stories, but evidence of profound human suffering?

The parliamentary programme brought together Ukrainian filmmaker Alisa Kovalenko, Syrian filmmaker Waad al-Kateab, Ksenia Bugrimova and Maria Vynohradova, with the participation of the Rt Hon Ian Murray MP announced in the official invitation.

Yet the significance of this gathering extends beyond its distinguished participants or its parliamentary surroundings. It concerns the relationship between cultural expression, historical memory and the ability of women to reclaim authority over experiences that conflict has sought to erase.

The Violence That Continues Beyond the Battlefield

War is commonly measured through territory, military expenditure, casualties and political consequences. Less visible are the forms of violence that continue to shape survivors' lives long after the immediate danger has passed.

Conflict-related sexual violence remains among the most difficult international crimes to document and prosecute. Survivors may face stigma, threats, displacement, psychological trauma and the fear that speaking publicly will expose them or their families to further harm.

The scale is considerable.

According to a September 2026 report by the United Nations Human Rights Monitoring Mission in Ukraine, 1,004 cases of conflict-related sexual violence were documented between February 2022 and July 2026. The report attributed the overwhelming majority to Russian personnel, while also documenting violations involving Ukrainian authorities.

The United Nations emphasised that the recorded cases do not represent the full extent of the violence. Restricted access, fear of retaliation and the deeply personal nature of these crimes make comprehensive documentation exceptionally difficult.

The wider international picture is equally disturbing. UN Women reported that approximately 676 million women and girls were living within 50 kilometres of a deadly conflict event in 2024, a reminder that the consequences of warfare reach far beyond the front lines.

Such figures demand careful interpretation. Statistics establish the scale of a crisis, but they cannot communicate the full consequences of a life altered by violence.

Behind every documented case is an individual whose experience cannot be reduced to a numerical entry in an international report.

Traces: When the Camera Becomes a Witness

Among the most significant cultural works connected to this conversation is Traces, the Ukrainian documentary directed by Alisa Kovalenko and co-directed by Marysia Nikitiuk.

The 85-minute Ukrainian-Polish production follows women who survived conflict-related sexual violence and torture during Russia's war against Ukraine. Rather than concentrating exclusively on the violence inflicted upon them, the documentary examines how survivors rebuild relationships, reclaim their voices and seek justice.

At its centre is Iryna Dovhan, a former captive who became an advocate for survivors and a leading figure in SEMA Ukraine, an organisation established in 2019 to support women affected by wartime sexual violence.

Through Dovhan's work, the documentary introduces women whose experiences might otherwise remain absent from the public record.

What distinguishes Traces is the position of its director.

Kovalenko is herself a survivor of captivity and sexual violence in Donbas in 2014. Her personal history gives the film a particular ethical dimension. She is not approaching these experiences solely as an external observer, but as someone who understands the difficulties of testimony, the consequences of silence and the importance of trust.

In her director's statement, she describes the principle underpinning the film: “Nothing about us without us.”

It is a deceptively simple declaration with profound implications for documentary filmmaking.

Who has the right to tell another person's story? How can filmmakers preserve testimony without exploiting trauma? And how can cinema give survivors agency rather than presenting them exclusively through the suffering they have endured?

These are not merely artistic questions. They are questions of ethics, representation and responsibility.

The film received the Panorama Audience Award for Documentary at the 2026 Berlin International Film Festival and was subsequently selected as Ukraine's submission for the International Feature Film category at the 2027 Academy Awards.

Its international recognition demonstrates the potential for documentary cinema to carry testimony beyond national borders and into conversations that might otherwise remain confined to humanitarian organisations and legal institutions.

Beyond Recognition: The Question of Justice

The importance of documenting wartime sexual violence has been recognised for decades under international law.

In 2008, United Nations Security Council Resolution 1820 explicitly recognised that sexual violence can be employed as a tactic of war and may constitute a war crime, a crime against humanity or an act associated with genocide, depending on the circumstances.

Nevertheless, the distance between international recognition and meaningful accountability remains substantial.

Survivors frequently encounter legal processes that are prolonged, expensive and psychologically demanding. Some perpetrators remain beyond the reach of national or international courts. Others benefit from the collapse of institutions or the practical difficulties of gathering evidence in conflict zones.

In this context, Ukraine's developing reparations mechanisms deserve particular attention.

According to the Traces impact documentation, 1,080 survivors had received compensation through an interim reparations initiative by January 2026. The programme represents an important attempt to provide recognition and material support without requiring survivors to wait until the conclusion of the war.

Reparations, however, cannot be understood simply as financial compensation. They also concern access to healthcare, psychological support, legal assistance and the restoration of personal autonomy.

Justice must ultimately be measured not only by the number of prosecutions secured, but by whether survivors are treated with dignity and provided with the means to rebuild their lives.

Why Women's Voices Matter in Cinema

The presence of women filmmakers in discussions of international conflict is particularly important because the historical record has so often been shaped by those who exercise military or political power.

Women have frequently appeared in accounts of war as grieving mothers, displaced civilians or victims requiring protection. Their contributions as investigators, filmmakers, journalists, organisers and agents of political change have received comparatively less attention.

Cinema offers an opportunity to challenge this imbalance.

Yet greater visibility does not automatically guarantee better representation. There is a responsibility to distinguish between giving someone a platform and assuming ownership of their experience.

The most thoughtful documentary work recognises that survivors have the right to determine what they disclose, how their experiences are represented and whether they wish to participate in public advocacy at all.

Silence, after all, should never be mistaken for consent or indifference. For some survivors, remaining private is itself an essential exercise of personal agency.

This distinction matters enormously in an age when distressing images circulate internationally within seconds, often stripped of context and sometimes reproduced without the permission of those depicted.

Filmmakers and journalists must therefore consider not only what the public has a legitimate interest in knowing, but also what responsibilities accompany the act of making suffering visible.

Westminster and the Responsibility of Cultural Institutions

The decision to bring this conversation into the Houses of Parliament carries a particular significance.

Parliamentary discussions of culture are sometimes associated primarily with funding, creative industries, economic contribution and national heritage. These remain important subjects, but they do not encompass the full public value of artistic expression.

Cinema can preserve evidence, challenge historical omissions and create opportunities for audiences to encounter experiences far removed from their own.

However, cultural recognition must not become a substitute for institutional responsibility.

A documentary can raise awareness, but it cannot independently guarantee protection. A festival can amplify testimony, but it cannot prosecute crimes. A parliamentary discussion can establish visibility, but its lasting significance depends on whether the issues raised continue to inform policy, funding and public understanding.

This is where the relationship between art and government becomes particularly important.

Cultural institutions can support responsible documentary production, safeguard artistic independence and encourage international collaboration. Governments and international bodies, meanwhile, retain responsibility for legal accountability, humanitarian protection and survivor-centred assistance.

Neither can fulfil the other's role.

The Importance of Listening

For those of us working across journalism, education, culture and the arts, there is a particular obligation to approach such subjects with intellectual seriousness and human sensitivity.

The temptation to describe every act of public testimony as inspirational should be resisted. Survivors do not owe the world an uplifting account of their experiences. Nor should their courage become a convenient narrative through which audiences are reassured that suffering inevitably produces strength.

Recovery is rarely straightforward, and justice is not guaranteed.

What deserves recognition is the determination of women who choose to document abuses, support one another and challenge the structures that have historically discouraged them from speaking.

The contribution of organisations such as SEMA Ukraine demonstrates that meaningful change frequently begins outside formal institutions, among individuals who understand a problem because they have lived through it.

Their work also reminds us that solidarity requires more than sympathetic language. It requires resources, sustained attention and a willingness to confront uncomfortable evidence.

A Conversation That Must Continue

As the Women and the World International Film Festival continues its London programme, the issues raised by its parliamentary opening deserve consideration well beyond the festival itself.

The importance of Traces lies not only in the experiences it records, but in the questions it asks of those who encounter them.

What happens to testimony once the screening ends? Who is responsible for preserving it? How can international attention be translated into meaningful support? And how do we ensure that the women whose lives are represented remain participants in the pursuit of justice rather than subjects of a temporary cultural conversation?

I am grateful to Casa León for the invitation to engage with this important initiative and for the opportunity to reflect on the responsibilities shared by journalism, cinema and public institutions.

There is considerable value in bringing filmmakers and policymakers into the same conversation, provided that the discussion does not end when the participants leave the room.

The lasting measure of such an occasion will not be the prominence of its venue or the visibility of its guests.

It will be whether the testimonies brought into public consciousness are met with the seriousness, protection and accountability they deserve.

Cinema cannot undo what has happened. But it can help ensure that what happened is neither denied nor forgotten.