Edition-11-Ver-8-10-10l.pdf.aspx
Fifty Years of Silence: Cry of the Raped
By Jan Ruff-O’Herne
Why did it take so long?
Perhaps the
answer is that these violations were
carried out against women. We have
all heard it said: this is what happens
to women during war. Rape is part of
war, as if war makes it right.
It was February 1944. I had been
interned in Ambarawa prison camp
together with my mother and two
young sisters for two years. One day
I was returning to my barrack from
one of my heavy camp duties when
all single girls from seventeen years
and up were ordered to line up in
the compound. We did not like this
command and immediately became
suspicious.
The Japanese guards then selected
ten girls. I was one of the ten.
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 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 soon realised that we
were travelling on the main road to
Semarang. The truck stopped in front
of a large house. Seven girls were
told to get out. I was one of them.
Nervously we kept together as we
were ushered into the house by the
Japanese officer who seemed to be in
charge.
--
The next day 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 not allowed to leave,
we were in this house for only one
purpose: for the Japanese to have
sex with us. We were enslaved into
enforced prostitution. 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.
When opening night arrived we were
all terrified. We were all virgins and
none of us knew anything about sex.
As we sat there waiting, fear had
completely overpowered our bodies.
Even up to this day I shall never forget
that fear. It was 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. But worst of all, I 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 the
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.
I was eventually dragged by a large
Japanese officer. 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!’ 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 had paid a lot of
money for opening night and he was
obviously annoyed. Consequently he
became very angry. I repeated again
and again ‘don’t! don’t!’ He was
of silence:
getting impatient by now and 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.
I never realised
suffering could be so intense as this.
And this was only the beginning.
Always and every time 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 time in the brothel, the
Japanese abused me and humiliated
me. The Japanese had ruined my
young life. They had taken everything
away from me: my youth, my selfesteem, my dignity, my freedom, my
possessions, my family. But there was
one thing that they could never take
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.
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.
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 that these atrocities against
women in war will never be forgotten
and will never happen again.
---
IHL magazine 7
https://www.redcross.org.au/getmedia/9455040f-bd32-43fa-a3b1-932f46a92976/Edition-11-Ver-8-10-10l.pdf.aspx
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