I happened upon a slight, elderly Libyan woman wearing a traditional white hijab, holding lonely vigil in the square outside the Benghazi courthouse. Haja had spent many evenings supporting the revolution the previous year. She was a local icon because of her steadfast participation in the protests that eventually led to the toppling of Muammar Gaddafi.
Haja’s kind eyes, gentleness and uncompromising conviction reminded me of my own hijab-wearing grandmother, who had passed away a few months earlier. I admired the fact that she was a woman defiantly standing in the midst of a throng of men in a conservative society, refusing to be silenced.
A few years later, in the summer of 2015, I was in South Sudan documenting the civil war. It was there, in the world’s newest country, that I met another inspirational woman, Nyacour, outside a small, muddy shelter at a camp for displaced persons.
She was one of dozens of women who had escaped marauding government forces and allied militias committing horrific human rights abuses. When Nyacour invited me inside her shelter, I did a triple take: underneath a mosquito net, in a makeshift crib, were her tiny newborn triplets.
I stood frozen in my gumboots, feeling both sadness and exhilaration. How amazing to witness life flourish here. At the same time, these babies transported me back to my own infant twin girls a continent away. When I told Nyacour of my twins, she responded with the most generous smile. We shared a moment forged in the bond of parenthood.
The interviews that I conducted over the years have scarred me, but I am also fortunate to have met incredible women whose resilience and strength continue to inspire me. I learned that hope can exist alongside profound despair.
I have also learned that although misogyny is ingrained into the fabric of every culture, gender inequalities worsen during times of conflict as women face increasing levels of violence, including rape, trafficking, abduction and early marriage.
Women are often the last to flee their homes and towns. During crises, families are more likely to pull their girls out from school, and those girls are less likely to return than boys. Despite this, women still manage to be the glue that holds communities and families together. Yes, they are survivors, but they are also resisters, activists and community leaders.
When it comes to human rights advocacy, how the story is told and who gets to tell the story is just as important as the story itself. As a human rights advocate, I collect information that I use to produce a compelling story to push policy-makers to act. I hope that this information will help end abuses, hold perpetrators accountable and lead to remedies for victims.
In today’s digital age, advocates must rely increasingly on multimedia to help make their case.
Images have far more impact than words alone. They present enormous advocacy opportunities but also a range of ethical challenges. Researchers should obtain people’s informed consent before any interview or photograph, which can be tricky in situations when someone has rarely (or never) encountered a camera.
I try to teach my law students that the most important trait of a successful human rights advocate is humility. Our role is never to “give voice to the voiceless.” Survivors of atrocities and other oppressed people already have a voice. The problem is that those in power refuse to listen. Our role is to provide a platform.
Haja, Nyacour and I come from different cultures, generations, genders, religions and distant corners of the world. But we share the same hope that our children and grandchildren will be able to grow up in a better world.
On some days, this dream feels more possible, even if only for a moment: after Libya’s first democratic election, or after the miraculous arrival of triplets in the midst of chaos. When these extraordinary women are captured on film they invite us to imagine that world, too.