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    Women Facing War

      50 Years of Silence - Cry of the raped

      24 October 2001


      My experience as a woman in war is one of utter degradation, 
humiliation and unbearable suffering. During World War Two I was a so-called 
'Comfort Woman' for the Japanese Military, a euphemism for military sex 
slave. I was born in Semarang (Java) and had a most wonderful childhood, 
until my life was torn apart by the war.
      I was nineteen years old, when in 1942 Japanese troops invaded the 
former Netherlands East Indies (Indonesia). Together with thousands of other 
women and children I was interned in a Japanese prisoner of war camp for 
three and a half years.

      Many stories have been told about the horrors, insults, brutalities, 
suffering and starvation of the Dutch women in Japanese prison camps. But 
one story was never told, the most shameful story of the worst human rights 
abuse committed by the Japanese during World War 2. The story of the 
'Comfort Women' and how these women were forcibly seized, against their 
will, to provide sexual services to the Japanese Imperial Army. The world 
ignored these atrocities for almost fifty years. It has taken fifty years 
for these women's ruined lives to become a human rights issue.

      Why did it take so long? Perhaps the answer is that these violations 
were carried out against women. Women are always the victims in war. We have 
all heard it said: They are only women, this is what happens to women during 
war. Rape is part of war, as if war makes it right. Rape in war is a power 
game. It is used as a reward for the soldiers. In some countries like 
Bosnia, Rwanda and Kosovo, rape is also used as a weapon, and a means to 
genocide.

      It was February 1944. I had been interned in Ambarawa prison camp 
together with my mother and two young sisters for two years. I was returning 
to my barrack from one of my heavy camp duties. Suddenly there was a great 
commotion in the camp. A number of Japanese military arrived in army trucks. 
We were expecting to be called for roll call. However this time the order 
was given: All single girls from seventeen years and up were to line up in 
the compound. We did not like this command and immediately became 
suspicious.

      There was an air of fear throughout the camp, and some girls tried to 
hide. We were assembled in a long line and we trembled with fear as a number 
of high-ranking Japanese military walked towards us. We did not like the 
look of these Japanese, it was the way they looked us up and down. The way 
they laughed among each other and pointed at us. The young girls stood there 
frightened, heads down, not daring to look up. The Japanese paced up and 
down the line. At times our chins would be lifted so they could see our 
face.

      Up and down they marched, sneering, pointing, touching. After some 
discussion among themselves half the girls were sent away. I was left 
standing with still a long line-up of girls. My whole body was trembling 
with fear. The selection process continued until ten girls were ordered to 
step forward. The others could go back to their anxious waiting mothers. I 
was one of the ten.

      I could hear crying and shouting of the women, as they tried to pull 
us back, fighting bravely with the Japanese.

      Through our interpreter we were told to pack a small bag of belongings 
and report immediately to the front gate, where the trucks were waiting to 
take us away. We were not told any details. The girls and their mothers and 
indeed the whole camp, protested with all their might. The entire camp was 
in uproar, screaming, crying, fighting.

      It was all in vain. Oppressed and bullied by the enemy, broken and 
enslaved helplessly by a brutal force, we were sheep for the slaughter. The 
guards stood over us as we packed a few things. I packed my Bible, prayer 
book, crucifix and rosary beads. At that moment they seemed to me the most 
important things, like weapons they would keep me safe and strong.

      Flanked by the guards we were taken to the front gate, and we had to 
say goodbye to our mothers and loved ones. My mother and I could not find 
words to speak. We looked into one another's eyes and threw our arms around 
each other. There, in that moment, it seemed as if we both died in each 
other's arms.

      By this time all the girls were crying, as we were forced into the 
trucks.

      We huddled together like frightened animals. We had no idea where we 
would be taken.

      We soon realised that we were travelling on the main road to Semarang. 
As we came closer to the city, we drove through the hillside suburb of 
Semarang. The truck stopped in front of a large house. Seven girls were told 
to get out. I was one of them. We were soon to find out what sort of a house 
we were forced to live in. Nervously we kept together as we were ushered 
into the house by the Japanese officer who seemed to be in charge. Each girl 
was shown her own bedroom. I could not sleep that night and neither could 
the other girls. We ended up altogether in the one big bed, huddled together 
in fear, and finding strength in prayer.

      The next day some more Japanese came to our house, and we were all 
called to the living room. We were made to understand that we were here for 
the sexual pleasure of the Japanese. In other words we found ourselves in a 
brothel. We were to obey at all times, we were not allowed to leave the 
house. In fact, the house was guarded and trying to escape was useless. We 
were in this house for only one purpose, for the Japanese to have sex with 
us. We were turned into 'military sex slaves'. My whole body trembled with 
fear, my whole life was destroyed and collapsing from under my feet.

      We protested loudly that we would never allow this to happen to us, 
that it was against all human rights, that we would rather die than allow 
this to happen to us. The Japanese stood there laughing, saying that they 
were our captors and they could do with us as they liked, and if we did not 
obey our families would suffer. They produced papers for us to sign, written 
in Japanese, which we could not understand. We refused to sign. We were 
beaten, but did not sign.

      The following day we saw the front room of the house being turning 
into a reception area. We were ordered to have our photographs taken. We all 
looked at the camera angrily or with sad expressions on our face. The photos 
were then placed on a pin-up board in the reception area. We were given 
Japanese names, and flowers were put in our bedrooms.

      A Japanese woman arrived at the house.

      'At last, a woman,' I thought. 'A woman would understand and help us, 
surely.' But the woman showed no pity either. In the meantime the whole 
house was being geared up to function as a brothel.

      Opening night arrived. We were all terrified and we huddled together 
in the dining room. We were all virgins and none of us knew anything about 
sex. We were all so innocent and we tried to find out from each other what 
to expect and what was going to happen to us.

      As we sat there waiting, fear had completely overpowered our bodies. 
Even up to this day I shall never forget that fear, and in a way it has been 
with me all my life. I knew that the only thing that could help us now was 
prayer. I opened my prayer book and led the girls in prayer.

      As we were praying we could hear the arrival of more and more military 
to the house, the crude laughter and boots treading the floor, the 
excitement among the officers. We were ordered to each go to our own rooms, 
but we refused to go. We stayed closely together, clinging to each other for 
safety. My whole body was burning up with fear. It is a fear I can't 
possibly describe, a feeling I shall never forget and never lose. Even after 
more than fifty years I still experience this feeling of total fear going 
through my body and through all my limbs, burning me up. It comes to me at 
the oddest moments, I wake up with it in nightmares and still feel it just 
lying in bed at night. But worst of all I have felt this fear every time my 
husband was making love to me. I have never been able to enjoy intercourse 
as a consequence of what the Japanese did to me.

      The house was filling up with Japanese. We sat waiting in fear, 
huddled together till the time had come and the worst was to happen. One by 
one the girls were dragged into their bedrooms crying, protesting. They 
pleaded, they screamed, they kicked and fought with all their might. This 
continued until all the girls were forcefully taken to their rooms.

      After a while I hid under the dining-room table. I could hear the 
crying coming from the bedrooms. I could feed my heart pounding with fear. I 
held tight to my wooden crucifix that I had tucked into my belt around my 
waist. I had been wearing the crucifix like this continually. I though that 
wearing it might convey some message, and it would keep me strong.

      Eventually I was found and dragged out from under the table. A large 
Japanese officer stood in front of me, looking down at me, grinning at me. I 
kicked him on the shins. He just stood there laughing. My fighting, kicking, 
crying and protesting made no difference. I screamed, 'Don't! Don't! and 
then in Indonesian, 'Djangan, djangan.' He pulled me up and dragged me into 
my bedroom, he closed the door and I ran into a corner of the room. I 
pleaded with him in a mixture of English and Indonesian, and tried to make 
him understand that I was here against my will and that he had no right to 
do this to me.

      I curled myself up in the corner like a hunted animal that could not 
escape. 'O God, help me.' I prayed, 'Please God, don't let this happen to 
me.'

      The Japanese officer was in total control of the situation. He had 
paid a lot of money for opening night, and he was obviously annoyed, 
consequently he became very angry. He took his sword out of its scabbard and 
pointed it at me, threatening me with it. I told him that he could kill me, 
that I was not afraid to die and that I would not give myself to him. I 
repeated again and again, 'Djangan, djangan, don't, don't.' But he kept 
pointing the sword at me, touching my body with it, threatening to kill me. 
I pleaded with him to allow me to say some prayers before he would kill me. 
While I was thus praying he started to undress himself, and I realised that 
he had no intention of killing me. I would have been no good to him dead. He 
was getting impatient by now and he threw me on the bed. He tore at my 
clothes and ripped them off. He threw himself on top of me, pinning me down 
under his heavy body.

      I tried to fight him off, I kicked him, I scratched him, but he was 
too strong. The tears were streaming down my face as he raped me. It seemed 
as if it would never stop.

      I can find no words to describe this most inhuman and brutal rape. To 
me it was worse than dying. My whole body was shaking when he eventually 
left the room. I gathered what was left of my clothing and ran off to the 
bathroom. I wanted to wash all the dirt, the shame and hurt off my body.

      In the bathroom I found some of the other girls. We were all in shock 
and crying, not knowing what to do, trying to help each other. We washed 
ourselves as if it could wash away all that happened to us. I dared not go 
back to the dining room and decided to hide myself. I hid in a room on the 
back verandah. My whole body was shaking with fear. 'Not again, I can't go 
through this again,' I thought.

      But after a while the angry voices and footsteps came closer, and I 
was dragged out of my hiding place. The night was not over yet, there were 
more Japanese waiting. The terror started all over again. I never realised 
suffering could be so intense as this. And this was only the beginning.

      At the end of that first horrific night, in the early hours of the 
morning, seven frightened, exhausted girls huddled together to cry over lost 
virginity, to give each other comfort and strength. How many times was each 
one raped that night? What could we do? We were so utterly helpless. How 
could this have happened to us?

      In the daytime we were supposed to be safe, although the house was 
always full of Japanese coming and going, socialising, eyeing us up and 
down. Consequently we were often raped in the daytime as well. As soon as it 
was getting dark, the house would be 'opened,' and a terrible fear would 
burn up my body. Each evening I tried to hide in a different place, but I 
was always found then dragged into my room, after severe beatings.

      One morning I decided to cut off all my hair to make myself look as 
unattractive as possible. I cut my hair until I was quite bald. 'No one 
would want me like this,' I thought. But of course, it did not help me one 
bit. The rumour spread that one of the girls had cut off all her hair, and 
it turned me into a curiosity object.

      As the months passed all of us girls lost weight. We hardly touched 
our food. We shared our fears and our pain and humiliations. We were 
exhausted and our nerves were stretched to the limit. Continually we put in 
a protest to any high ranking officer that visited the brothel, but it 
always fell on deaf ears.

      Always and everytime the Japanese raped me I tried to fight them off. 
Never once did any Japanese rape me without a violent struggle and fight. 
Often they threatened to kill me, often they severely beat me.

      During the fights I hit out strongly and delivered mighty blows and 
kicks and scratches, and injured the Japanese quite often. Because of this 
and because of my persistent fights, I was told that if I did not stop the 
fighting they would move me to a brothel down town for soldiers; a brothel 
with native girls where conditions were worse.

      One day a Japanese doctor arrived at our house. Immediately I thought 
that he would be able to help us. Surely, as a doctor he would have 
compassion for us. I requested to speak to the doctor. But he showed no 
interest, no signs of compassion or apology. Instead, the doctor ended up 
raping me on the first day of his visit.

      In the days leading up to the doctor's visit, gynaecological type of 
equipment had been installed in one of the rooms on the back verandah. From 
now on we were to be examined for any possible diseases. Each time the 
doctor visited us he raped me in the daytime. The door of the doctor's 
examination room was always left open, and to humiliate us even more, any 
other Japanese were allowed to be looking on while we were being examined. 
They would come into the room or stand at the open door to look at us while 
we were being examined. This humiliation was unbearable, and as horrific as 
being raped.

      More anxiety came when I realised that I was pregnant. I was 
absolutely terrified. How could I give birth to and love a child conceived 
in such horror. Like pillars of strength the girls gave me their support and 
they advised me to tell our Japanese woman guard that I was pregnant. I 
approached a woman, and as an answer to the problem she produced a bottle 
full of tablets. I could not kill a foetus, not even this one. I continued 
to refuse the tablets. Eventually they were forced down my throat. I started 
my period shortly after.

      During the time in the brothel the Japanese had abused me and 
humiliated me. I was left with a body that was torn and fragmented 
everywhere. There was not an inch of my body that did not hurt. The Japanese 
had ruined my young life. They had stripped me of everything. They had taken 
everything away from me: my youth, my self-esteem, my dignity, my freedom, 
my possessions, my family. But there was one thing that they could never 
take away from me. It was my Faith and my love for God. This was mine, it 
was my most precious possession and nobody, nobody could take that away from 
me. It was my deep Faith in God that helped me survive all that I suffered 
at the brutal, savage hands of the Japanese.

      I have forgiven the Japanese for what they did to me, but I can never 
forget.

      When the war was over, the atrocities done to me would haunt me for 
the rest of my life. I could not talk about it to anyone, the shame was too 
great. I had no counseling, and I had to get on with my life as if nothing 
had happened. After seeing the Korean 'Comfort Women' on TV, I decided to 
back them up in their plight for an apology, and for justice and 
compensation. In December 1992, I broke my 50 years of silence at the 
International public hearing on Japanese war crimes held in Tokyo, and 
revealed one of the worst human rights abuses to come out of World War II. 
It is by telling my story, that I hope these atrocities against women in war 
will never be forgotten, and will never happen again.


      Jan Ruff-O'Herne



      Note: This speech is to be included in the forthcoming publication 
'Women and War' published by Kluwer International Press.





      Media contacts:

      Andrew Heslop
      National Communications Manager
      Australian Red Cross
      Telephone +61 3 9345 1865
      Mobile +61 419 579 209


      Pauline Wall
      Communications Officer
      International Committee of the Red Cross
      Telephone +61 2 9388 9039
      Mobile +61 418 485 120


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