Female Fighters in Armed Conflict Listening To Their Own Béatrice

Female Fighters in Armed Conflict
This book explores the why and the how of women’s participation in armed struggle,
and challenges preconceived assertions about women and violence, providing both
a historic and a contemporary focus.
The volume is about women who have participated in armed conflict as
members of an armed group, trained in military action, with different tasks within
the conflict. The chapters endeavor to make women’s own voices heard, to discover
the untold stories of women as perpetrators and facilitators of military violence,
and the authors do this through the use of personal interviews and the study of
primary documents. The work widens the geographical perspective of feminist
security studies to discover in what ways the historical, political and social context
has motivated the women to participate in military action, and presents new case
study data from Germany, Ukraine, Turkey, Israel, Palestine, Cameroon, India, the
Philippines, Vietnam and Latin America. Temporally, the chapters cover almost
two centuries, from the late 19th century to the present day, touching upon a wide
variety of examples of armed conflict, from wars of independence to the Second
World War. Bringing together approaches from politics, history, anthropology and
area studies, the chapters are informed by the fundamental insights of feminist
research and address such pivotal questions as hegemonic masculinity in the armed
forces and the relation between women’s armed violence and female agency.
This book will be of much interest to students and researchers in gender and
security studies, armed conflict and history.
Béatrice Hendrich is a professor of Turkey studies at the University of Cologne,

Germany.
Routledge Studies in Gender and Security
Series Editors: Laura Sjoberg, University of Florida, and Caron E. Gentry,

University of St. Andrews
This series looks to publish books at the intersection of gender studies, international
relations, and Security Studies. It will publish a broad sampling of work in gender
and security – from private military companies to world wars, from food insecurity
to battlefield tactics, from large-n to deconstructive, and across different areas of
the world. In addition to seeking a diverse sampling of substantive work in gender
and security, the series seeks a diverse author pool – looking for cutting-edge junior
scholars alongside more established authors, and authors from a wide variety of
locations and across a spectrum of backgrounds.
Gendering Military Sacrifice
A Feminist Comparative Analysis
Edited by Cecilia Åse and Maria Wendt
NATO, Gender and the Military
Women Organising from Within
Katharine A. M. Wright, Matthew Hurley and Jesus Gil Ruiz
Gender and Drone Warfare
A Hauntological Perspective
Lindsay C. Clark
Gender and Civilian Victimization in War
Jessica L. Peet and Laura Sjoberg
The Gender and Security Agenda
Strategies for the 21st Century
Edited by Chantal de Jonge Oudraat and Michael E. Brown
Gender Mainstreaming in Counter-Terrorism Policy
Building Transformative Strategies to Counter Violent Extremism
Jessica White
Female Fighters in Armed Conflict
Listening to Their Own Stories
Edited by Béatrice Hendrich
For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge.com/

Routledge-Studies-in-Gender-and-Security/book-series/RSGS
Female Fighters in
Armed Conflict
Listening to Their Own Stories
Edited by Béatrice Hendrich

First published 2024
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Names: Hendrich, Béatrice, 1964- editor.
Title: Female fighters in armed conflict: listening to their own stories/
edited by Béatrice Hendrich.
Description: Abingdon, Oxon; New York, NY: Routledge, 2024. |
Series: Routledge studies in gender and security | Includes bibliographical
references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023009454 (print) | LCCN 2023009455 (ebook) |
ISBN 9781032353173 (hbk) | ISBN 9781032353180 (pbk) |
ISBN 9781003326359 (ebk)
Subjects: LCSH: Women soldiers–History. |
Women and the military–History. |
Women and war–History. | Women in combat–History.
Classification: LCC UB416 .F446 2024 (print) | LCC UB416 (ebook) |
DDC 355.0082–dc23/eng/20230530
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023009454
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023009455
ISBN: 978-1-032-35317-3 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-1-032-35318-0 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-003-32635-9 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359
Typeset in Times New Roman
by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India
Contents
List of contributors vii
1 Female fighters in armed conflict: Introduction1

BÉATRICE HENDRICH
PART 1
The historical perspective: Changing perceptions,
repeating patterns?19
2 A woman in power in 19th-century South Asia: An inspiring life

path for struggles against injustice 21
RICHARD HERZOG
3 Fighting for peace, fighting for the country?: The inclusion of

women in Turkey’s national defense in the late 1930s 39
BÉATRICE HENDRICH
4 Soldaderas and Guerrilleras: Camp followers and female

fighters in Latin American armed conflicts in the 19th and 20th
centuries 60
BARBARA POTTHAST
5 Discourses about women, bodies and military combat in

Vietnam: “In my heart, I always wished to go” 78
HUE NGUYEN THI AND EVA FUHRMANN
vi Contents
PART 2
Case studies 1: Women in national armed forces 103
6 Transfer, transformation and use of combat experience inside

Nazi concentration camps, 1942–1945: The fight continues after
the battle 105
OLESIA ISAIUK
7 Women soldiers in frontline war rooms: Protecting the nation

on the backstage of war 126
AYELET HAREL
8 Women of color in the armed forces of Germany: Invisibly exposed? 146

EGZONA GASHI AND BÉATRICE HENDRICH
PART 3
Case studies 2: The gender of sacrifice and agency169
9 Gendered resistance: Self-portrayals of female suicide bombers

in Palestine171
BRITT ZIOLKOWSKI
10 Jihad with a woman’s face: Boko Haram female fighters in

Cameroon191
AIMÉ RAOUL SUMO TAYO
11 Demythifying the caliphate: Asymmetrical dependencies of

radicalized women in jihadist groups in the Philippines 211
CHARLOTTE MEI YEE CHIN
Index233
Contributors
Charlotte Mei Yee Chin, M.A., works as research associate and lecturer at the
Institute for Islamic Theology at the University of Osnabrück, Germany. Her
research interests include religion, gender, radicalization and prevention of violent
extremism and her PhD dissertation focuses on the topic “Demystification of the
Caliphate – Reintegration of (De)Radicalized Females in Southeast Asia”.
Eva Fuhrmann received her PhD in Southeast Asia studies at the University of
Bonn, Germany. She currently is a research associate at the Institute of Social
and Cultural Anthropology at the University of Cologne, Germany. Her research
focuses on gender, work and learning in Vietnam.
Egzona Gashi holds a bachelor’s degree of social work and is currently a master’s
student in gender studies at the University of Cologne, Germany. Her work focuses
on intersectionality (especially migration and gender) and gender-based violence.
Ayelet Harel is a professor of political science at Ben-Gurion University’s

Conflict Management and Resolution Program, and the Department of Politics and
Government, Israel. Her research is at the intersection of politics and feminist interna-
tional relations. Her latest coauthored book is titled Breaking the Binaries in Security
Studies: A Gendered Analysis of Women in Combat (Oxford University Press, 2020).
Béatrice Hendrich is a professor of Turkey studies at the University of Cologne,

Germany. Her research areas are gender history and the religious landscape of
Turkey, religious topoi in the literary history of Turkey and the history of the
Muslim/Turkish community of Cyprus. She leads a research group on female war-
riors in Turkey.
Richard Herzog is a postdoctoral research fellow at the History Department of

Philipps-Universität Marburg, Germany, and at a DFG Collaborative Research
Centre. His main research focuses on Latin America, decolonial studies and intel-
lectual history, specifically from a transnational perspective.
Olesia Isaiuk received her PhD in Lublin, Poland, in 2016 with her dissertation
titled “Lviv University during the First World War”. She does research at the Center

viii Contributors
for Liberation Movement Studies and at the Lontsky Prison National Memorial
Museum, Lviv, Ukraine, with a focus on Ukrainian victims during the Third Reich.
Hue Nguyen Thi, PhD, is a researcher at the Department of Area Studies, the
Institute of Vietnamese Studies and Development Science, Vietnam National
University, Hanoi, Vietnam. Her research interests are Vietnamese history and
culture; gender and gender equality; and current social and cultural changes in
Vietnam, particularly in the countryside.
Barbara Potthast is a professor of Latin American history at the University of

Cologne, Germany. Her research interests include the history of gender and fam-
ily, and social movements, as well as processes of collective identity formation in
Latin America.
Aimé Raoul Sumo Tayo, PhD, is an associate researcher at the laboratory, Observer
les Mondes En Recomposition (OMER), “Observe the Worlds in Recomposition”
of the University of Liège and a visiting professor at the University of Maroua,
Cameroon. His research focuses on borders, wars, counterinsurgency strategies
and contemporary criminal threats. He recently completed a Swiss Government
Excellence Postdoctoral fellowship at the University of Lausanne, Switzerland,
after a French Ministry of Foreign Affairs postdoctoral fellowship at the University
of Paris Descartes, France.
Britt Ziolkowski, PhD, is a scholar of Islam and researcher at the State Office
for the Protection of the Constitution in Baden-Württemberg, Germany. In her
research, she focuses on Islamic political movements (specifically, the Salafi
movement and Hamas), gender and radicalization.
1 Female fighters in armed conflict
Introduction
Béatrice Hendrich
Beyond the androcentric narrative: What this book is about

This is a book about women who join armed conflicts. While their participation is
not always as combatants on the battlefront, they are clearly members of an armed
organization, serving outside the administrative or medical barracks, trained in the
use of certain weapons – even if only for the sake of self-defense – and deployed
in conflict areas.
The persons presented in this book as women identify as female; or at least they
do not oppose being identified as female. As such, the book does not explicitly
inquire about the experiences of queer soldiers or the national conscription rules
toward transpersons. Our focus is on female persons in armed organizations, on
their self-positioning and experiences, and routines and practices in a field that is
connoted as masculine, and in which women still count as “the other” (Kümmel,
2006), as the minority and exception, no matter how long the history of women in
armed battles, how fast the number of deployed women recently has been increas-
ing, how rapid the change of deployment rules has been throughout the last decades
or that many national forces feel pushed to reconsider gender diversity in their
employment policies. This approach may be criticized for promoting the idea of a
world consisting of cis persons, of “‘properly’ gendered bodies … crucial to our
imagining and doing of war” (Welland, 2018, p. 132). While we acknowledge that
engaging with armed women (and men) necessitates critically addressing feminini-
ties (and masculinities), we focus in this very volume on one aspect in the area of
gender in war and violence.
The book considers women’s participation in armed fighting a historical given,
notwithstanding highly different percentages or forms of deployment and military
duties throughout history and in different world regions. The book is not in doubt
that women are mentally, intellectually and physically able to command and exert
violence, to think in categories of “enemy and ally”, and that some of them believe
in the necessity of armed combat – (albeit not always in) the same way men do. To
acknowledge women’s participation in acts of violence does not at all clash with
the reality of women being endangered by male violence worldwide in a gender
specific and massive way. Nevertheless, it allows a differentiated understanding
of women’s reality. It makes it possible to develop new perspectives on the social
and cultural circumstances and power relations that shape women’s lives, and to
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359-1
2 Female Fighters in Armed Conflict
apply Kimberlé Crenshaw’s concept of intersectionality (1989) to the analysis of

all these aspects.
Moreover, if the presence of women in various instances of armed conflicts is
a given; silencing their presence renders it impossible to speak about the concrete
circumstances of their participation, deployment or armed self-defense. Female
fighters are exposed to additional forms of threat and danger in conflict zones that
need to be addressed, not silenced, academically and politically. Unfit equipment
and pathetic sanitary conditions are among the many problems experienced by ser-
vicewomen. Instead of pondering on the unfit female body, the focus should be
geared toward solving the issue of unfit equipment and addressing physical needs.1
Another issue is the long-standing “hesitation” to deploy women in combat roles,
which produces curious results: In the British Armed Forces, for instance, women
had been included in combat situations without being allowed to carry a weapon
until 1981 (Goldman, 1982, p. 6). In other instances, the weapon as a status symbol
can be denied to women: Cases are known from non-state armies or rebel groups
where young people and women are used in lower non-soldier status, with bad or
no equipment at all, for allegedly minor duties, which are nevertheless life-threat-
ening. This observation is in line with Laura Sjoberg’s argument that “gender often
constitutes what counts as security and what does not” (2016, p. 53).
This book is about women participating in armed conflict, as members of an
armed group, trained in military action, at varying positions and with different tasks
within the conflict. The armed groups in question here differ in their organizational
degree, power and status. There are national armed forces as well as paramilitary
units, and non-state armed opposition groups (NSAGs; Mazurana, 2013). The book
does not aim to discuss the differences between state violence and other forms of
military violence, or between soldiers and terrorists. This is partly due to the chal-
lenges of defining terrorism and separating it from other forms of organized armed
violence. Arguing from a historical perspective, which is indeed the approach of
several chapters in this volume, not a small number of insurgents, rebels and terror-
ists are known to constitute the core of the later national forces, after the success of
the insurgency, thereby dislocating the distinction between soldiers and terrorists.
What is even more important in the frame of this volume is that we did not want to
observe women’s activities through a normative or moral lens, since this approach
would obstruct our real goal, which is listening to women and their stories. It is,
however, within the scope of academic freedom, and justified by the key topic of
each chapter, that some of the contributors discuss certain violent acts as terrorism,
particularly in the case of suicide bombing.
The chapters included in this volume are based on fundamental insights of femi-
nist research and gender studies, and are also indebted to the burgeoning litera-
ture on women and gender in international relations and security studies. Feminist
research ethics is a shared and indispensable ground for the chapters. This applies
to both the contributions from social and political sciences and the historically
oriented ones. Some main aspects of feminist research ethics, such as the empow-
erment of the research participants or reciprocity between the researcher and the
participants (Kingston, 2020, p. 533), are, however, not applicable to the analysis of
Female fighters in armed conflict 3
historical documents or only in an intermediate form. Nevertheless, self-reflection,

deconstruction of power relations and avoidance of reproducing inequalities and
(implicit) hierarchies (Leprince and Steer, 2021, p. 11) are also necessary qualities
of any feminist research in the humanities. Ultimately, the authors in this volume
all believe that rigid categorizations and dichotomic thinking are dangerous; they
not only fail to enrich our understanding of the world but also silence and obscure
the complex diversity and relationality that we set out to analyze.
Cynthia Enloe’s legacy in feminist security studies (FSS) is fundamental here
for two reasons: She not only compelled us to ask “Where are the women?” during
our preparatory online sessions, but she also emphasized the significance of “femi-
nist curiosity”, which allowed us to critically inquire personal certainties about the
gender aspects of armed combat and armed forces, and broaden the disciplinary
horizon by taking our own research projects further. This was done in some cases
by relocating soldiering women from the margins of the research into the center, in
others by focusing on the beginning of a story instead of the end; the question of
how and why women happen to join armed activities instead of describing the dis-
armament and reintegration process. We also endeavored not only to broaden but
to transcend disciplinary restrictions toward a feminist transdisciplinary approach,
in the sense of “opening towards a reflexive transgression of artificially imposed
boundaries” and “consistently and repeatedly leave our disciplinary comfort zones
and go into unfamiliar knowledge fields” (Hughes, 2020, p. 2). We do not claim to
have realized this goal in toto, but one could argue that for feminist transdiscipli-
narity, the journey is the goal.
In addition to these early classics of Enloe or Yuval-Davis (Yuval-Davis and
Anthias, 1989; Yuval-Davis, 1997), the recent generation of in-depth studies has
inspired, supported and facilitated the process of reading, listening and interpret-
ing what we came across in our documents and in the field. There is now a sound
basis of theoretical work that explores the relation between gender and security
from different angles, including the regional differentiation of FSS (Leprince and
Steer, 2021; Stern and Towns, 2022), soldiering and citizenship (Lomsky-Feder
and Sasson-Levy, 2017) and women’s violence (Gentry and Sjoberg, 2015).
There are also comprehensive works such as Women and War by Carol Cohn
(2013a) and the Routledge Handbook of Gender and Security (Gentry, Shepherd
and Sjoberg, 2018).
Two subfields among the more recent publications were particularly helpful:
The first is the growing number of empirical case studies on the gendered experi-
ences of women during their participation in the armed forces or during the post-
war reintegration process (Gentry, Shepherd and Sjoberg, 2018; Harel-Shalev and
Daphna-Tekoah, 2020; Katto, 2020; Hlatky, 2022). The second includes studies on
different aspects of security that do not focus on gender issues as their main subject
but include the gender dimension of the issue under investigation in an organic
manner (Ware, 2012; Hutchinson, 2018; Hagemann, 2019; Varma, 2020).
In hindsight, the book chapters should have discussed more explicitly the broad
issue of embodiment (Narozhna, 2022); the militarization and mutilation of the
(masculine) body (Sünbüloğlu, 2018); or the enactment of embodied experiences
in art, literature and mass media (Baker, 2020). That being said, an integration of
narrative approaches and embodiment (Heavey, 2015), both experienced and nar-
rated, has been implemented in this volume in Chapter 7 by Ayelet Harel on Israeli
women soldiers in frontline war rooms, and in Chapter 5 by Hue Nguyen Thi and
Eva Fuhrmann about female warriors in Vietnam.
Listening to their voices

A crucial interest in all chapters collected in this volume was to make women’s
own voices heard. This endeavor comes with a variety of challenges; some of the
challenges are discipline-specific, some are the result of the specific circumstances
in security studies. For historians, for example, discovering the untold stories of
women having joined an armed fight and/or military violence is still a novelty.
A fundamental reason for this belatedness in research is the dominance of male
“experts” both in general historiography and in military history (Hagemann, 2017,
p. 180). Women’s experiences, voices and memories are considered part of the
private sphere, while men constitute the public, and the public constitutes male his-
toriographers’ key interest (Hagemann, 2019). This purposeful negligence of the
presence of women in historical armed conflict is obviously not related to historical
and social reality, as its continuation in male narratives on more current conflicts,
particularly in patriarchal societies, such as in Bosnia (Smeulers and Simić, 2019)
or India (Basu, 1991; Patel, 2022), demonstrates.
Furthermore, as part of feminist reflexive empowering practice, the contribu-
tors have sought ways to make women’s voices heard in an authentic way. In the
case of field studies, qualitative interviews seem to be a suitable tool to ensure this.
However, in security studies, qualitative studies have their limits: Due to the pecu-
liar circumstances of research in this field, many approaches are difficult, if not
impossible, to apply. In his chapter on Boko Haram female fighters (Chapter 10),
Aimé Raoul Sumo Tayo, for instance, mentions the challenge of talking about
women “who do not use speech as their primary mode of expression” (Ashby,
2011) in a context where stories about them often define them. There are only a
handful of studies that can build on such an extended sample of 100 interviews as
that of Harel-Shalev and Daphna-Tekoah (2020).
Research in security is also confronted with challenges regarding security sen-
sitivity. Security sensitivity is all encompassing: It covers the researcher, inter-
view partners and their surroundings, and handling the collected data (Gurol and
Wetterich, 2021, p. 109). Therefore, it might be impossible, harmful or ethically
unacceptable to interview women during an ongoing underground activity, a related
engagement with an armed troop or even after their deployment. Another problem
with interviews is the lack of any pristine authenticity; the interview as well as the
interview partners are part of a setting that is formed by power relations and only
decipherable in its context. In a (post)colonial research environment, it is almost
impossible to eliminate asymmetric power relations from the qualitative research
process. Kate Coddington (2017) suggests replacing the interview with other forms
of engaging with relevant persons, for example, participating in activists’ meetings,
and reading all sorts of written documents much more intensely. These are not only
egodocuments and artistic works produced by persons of interest, but also all kinds
of interviews and videos, including third-party productions such as newspaper arti-
cles or parliamentary debates and court documents (Strange, 2010; Lafi, 2018).
By means of collecting and comparing as many different texts as possible, careful
reading and historical and political contextualizing, women’s voices and narratives
can be retrieved against all historiographical odds (Purvis, 1992).
Soldiers, combatants, fighters: Why “war” is still a more complex

battle zone for women than for men
The individual chapters in this volume differ in their regional and historical refer-
ences. Likewise, women’s motives for joining the struggle and their experiences
during this struggle are of quite different natures. One of the common features,
however, is that women’s participation in the armed struggle is a significantly
more complex field than that of men’s. This applies to women’s rank in the mili-
tary hierarchy, their tasks, the evaluation of their activity by the military and
civilian environment and the assessment of whether they perform “genuine” sol-
dierly or military tasks at all, or whether they provide simple support services.
Women’s participation in armed struggle is not taken for granted; moreover, they
are under much stronger pressure to justify themselves. When women volunteer
for service in the armed state forces, they are asked why they do it at all. When
women, for social and economic reasons or under threat of violence, are forced
into a fight, which then in retrospect is interpreted as immoral by the victori-
ous side or the majority society, the contempt for women is significantly greater
than for the male combatants (Mazurana, 2013, p. 151). These different aspects
are used in a way that reinforce and justify each other. In a way, it means that
because women are unfit for real – i.e., manly – duties; if they want to join, they
have to do the less glorious tasks and be content with that. As a result, women
are on average deployed in positions of markedly lower status. These are by no
means only “female activities” such as nursing, office work and making coffee
(Yuval-Davis, 1997, p. 101, cited in Sjoberg and Via, 2010, p. 82). Rather, these
are potentially high-risk tasks, such as safehouse keeping, espionage, ammuni-
tion transport or reconnaissance in the field.2
Due to fewer career opportunities, which are often already predetermined by
law through maximum quotas and restrictions on certain positions, women in regu-
lar armies earn less and benefit less from retirement pensions or financial care that
would be their due for post-traumatic stress disorder or bodily traumatization. In
historical cases where women joined informal insurgent troops that were included
in the emerging state forces after the victory, such as the Vietnamese Youth Shock
Brigade or the Turkish nationalists during their War of Liberation (1919–1922),
the women were excluded or had to campaign for financial support in their old age,
because they were not considered to have been regular soldiers. In cases where
women serve in higher positions, tokenism sets in. Their visibility as an exception
to the rule rises overproportionally, “resulting in strong pressure for performance
excellence … and polarization of gender differences, which encourages behavior

that adheres to gendered stereotyping” (Lomsky-Feder and Sasson-Levy, 2017, p.
144).
So, women’s tasks and positions in warfare and insurgence are numerous but
often underrated, unpaid and located somewhere between or beyond the usual
ranks and carrier paths. The Female Engagement Teams and Cultural Support
Teams, active in international military missions, are a telling example of how to
increase the number of female soldiers in regular armies without de facto integrat-
ing them into established male units.3 In the same vein, it is almost impossible to
delineate the physical space within which women fighters’ activities take place.
While the front line is usually conceived of as men’s space, women are deployed in
spaces that appear to be located at a (safe) distance from the war zone; in ambigu-
ous spaces such as a safe house or the territory occupied by the enemy (as a spy);
a war room, at the supportive infrastructure in the rear; or at the home front, in
civil defense and paramilitary activities. This observation clearly corresponds to
the feminist perspective on war that contests and refutes the existence of “a clear
location and a distinct beginning and end” of war (Cohn, 2013b, p. 21).
The issue of naming female fighters is likewise no small feat. The definition of
“combatant” is indeed a frequently discussed matter in the literature. Moreover,
even though the Third and Fourth Geneva Conventions have endeavored to define
a combatant clearly and comprehensively, it is often the fighting parties who decide
in the final analysis whom to call a combatant. According to the convention, a
combatant is someone who is authorized to use force in a violent conflict “under
a clear chain of responsible command” (Medecins sans frontieres, n.d.). Denying
the status of combatant of a person means denying the right to be treated as a
prisoner of war (POW) in case of captivity. Combatants and POWs, respectively,
cannot be prosecuted for their execution of violent orders, and they enjoy certain
rights during imprisonment. Denying this status leads, in effect, to uncontrolled
forms of punishment against everyone who is identified as having exercised vio-
lence as a noncombatant, and this affects civilians in self-defense more often than
not (Medecins sans frontieres, n.d.). The cases of female soldiers of the Red Army
during the Second World War in Olesia Isaiuk’s chapter (Chapter 6), and of the
female members of the IS-affiliated Boko Haram in Cameroon in Sumo Tayo’s
chapter (Chapter 10), exemplify how and why female warriors are more likely to
be denied the legal safeguards of combatant status.
There is, however, a second aspect in the definition of the combatant that should
be taken into consideration. Hlatky (2022) traces how armed state forces them-
selves have been trying to exclude women from what they define as combat posi-
tions for a long time, based on the presumption that women are mentally and bodily
unfit. Not recognizing women’s contributions, Hlatky maintains, eventually turned
into “hypocrisy” (p. 31) when the US was at war in Kuwait and Iraq where “women
who were deployed faced no less risk than their male counterparts but were not
recognized for their contributions or eligible for combat medals because they were
technically barred from combat roles” (pp. 31–32). Harel’s chapter (Chapter 7)
provides an example of the increasing blurring of “the line between combat and
non-combat” (Hlatky, 2022, p. 32) due to the increasing technicalization and digi-
talization of warfare. The Israeli female soldiers serving in war rooms in proximity
to the war zone challenge the definition of combatant as well as of war space.
It is remarkable that women have access to NSAGs more easily than to state
forces.4 The organizations’ rhetoric about why they include (or reject) women,
is manifold. A very common aspiration, as often adopted by politically left lean-
ing revolutionary groups, is to achieve the desired social equality even during the
struggle. Publicly shaming men who have yet to join in the struggle (or who have
been considered not to be fighting wholeheartedly) may also be a reason for wom-
en’s demonstrative participation. This perspective is also held by women them-
selves, as Britt Ziolkowski’s chapter on Palestinian female suicide bombers reveals
(Chapter 9). Beyond the rhetoric, pragmatic reasons exist, such as the existence of
tasks that should be explicitly performed by women or the lack of male combat-
ants. Women’s ways into an NSAG are also diverse: Ranging from being violently
forced to passionately supporting the cause (Loken and Matfess, 2017). Just as entry
into an NSAG is more flexible than into a state army, the division of non-combat
and combat tasks is less cemented and more adapted to current needs (Mazurana,
2013, p. 150). From a gender studies perspective, female fighters always come with
an extra benefit for the organization: They ideologically solidify the cause (national
unity or revolutionary equality), they strengthen the bond between the organization
and the civil population (Dirlik, 2018), they hand down the message to the next
generation (their children) and under certain occasions they can trick the other side
because they are not perceived as fighters or terrorists.5
Finally, the chapters in this volume present several instances where, for the
women, the armed fight has come to an end or not started yet, but it is (still) a domi-
nant part of their everyday lives, of body and mind. Evidently, wars do not start
with the shooting of the first bullet, nor do they end with the declaration of ceasefire
(Cohn, 2013b, p. 22). This can be traced in the establishment of an encompassing
system of militarizing the society of Turkey between the World Wars (as discussed
in Chapter 3 by Béatrice Hendrich), the continuation of the fight by Ukrainian war-
riors during their imprisonment in the concentration camps of Nazi Germany, or
women’s social and economic living conditions when they are back in civil society
after their armed fight, as explored in several chapters of the volume.
Beyond the Eurocentric narrative

When we planned this book, we intended to include contributors from a vari-
ety of countries and diverse academic backgrounds, so that we could widen the
geographical range of the case studies; discover in what ways specific historical,
political and social contexts motivated women to participate in armed organiza-
tions; and provide an inclusive approach on FSS. This ambition was based on the
awareness of the generally inadequate inclusion of the Global South in (femi-
nist) security studies and international relations, both in terms of the location of
research institutions and scholars, and in terms of the appropriate consideration
of issues and perspectives emanating from the Global South. In security studies,
which “derives its core categories and assumptions about world politics from a
particular understanding of European experience” (Barkawi and Laffey, 2006,
p. 330), a decentered perspective is still the exception, not the norm. It is even
argued that the absence of the Global South is not an unintended byproduct of
“Western-Centrism” but a “constitutive practice” (Bilgin, 2010) in security stud-
ies. It appears that from its beginning, the relatively young discipline of FSS has
been aware of the shortcomings and distortions of both White security studies
and White feminism. However, being aware of a challenge does not necessarily
lead to overcoming the same, as Katerina Krulišová and Míla O’Sullivan (2022)
show in their outline of FSS’s short history: the high ethical and thematic stand-
ards that the discipline sets for itself include a consequent anti-imperialist stance,
awareness of the significant achievements of (women’s) movements and activists
especially in the Global South, and a focus on “lived experience, positionality,
reflexivity, and emancipation of marginalized subjects” (p. 35). At the same time,
internationally visible research is still produced at established research institutions
in the Global North (Krulišová and O’Sullivan, 2022, p. 36). As Krulišová and
O’Sullivan also demonstrate, the academic periphery includes European geogra-
phies such as “CEE, South-eastern and Southern Europe” (p. 36), and, one could
add, all the borderlands with strong intellectual ties with Europe, despite their
continual othering by Europe, such as Ukraine and Turkey.6 In recent years, the
number of specific case studies related to the Global South and comparative works
has increased considerably (Asaad and Hasanat, 2022; Steenberg, 2022; Katto,
2020). This can be considered a major step toward an inclusive research area, but
there remains inexorably a dependence on publishing criteria and rules of aca-
demic writing created by the center (Kloß, 2017), and a substantial need for mate-
rial resources facilitating an exchange of academics and activists from different
parts of the world on equal footing.
When we prepared the book, we were confronted with all sorts of COVID
restrictions but also with a rapidly emerging “digital turn” in academic conversa-
tions. Taking advantage of these circumstances, we circulated a call for papers and
“met” with everyone interested in the topic during multiple but short online meet-
ings. This provided the opportunity to include discussants and contributors from a
variety of countries. Throughout the process, as always happens, tentative contribu-
tors withdrew. While some informed us about their reasons for withdrawal – often
related to difficulties because of the pandemic – others just disappeared. We had the
experience that it was more difficult to continue communication with people located
at research institutions in the Global South. Relying on earlier experiences in global
cooperations, we, the core group from Cologne, had the impression that their teach-
ing load and the demands of their employers, but also differing modes of academic
communication reduced their motivation to stay with us. A positive example of suc-
cessful cooperation is Chapter 5 by Hue Nguyen Thi (Vietnam National University,
Hanoi) and Eva Fuhrmann (University of Cologne) on female participation in the
Vietnamese military from the 1940s to the present. To sum it up, an open call for
papers and digital communication means are not enough for “more balanced rela-
tionships in the global system of knowledge production” (Kloß, 2017, p. 13), and it
will take persistence and doggedness before the easily stated “internationalization
approach” of academia in the Global North turns into productive reality.
So, while the topics treated in this collected volume are located on four conti-
nents, the academic background of the contributors is still, to a significant degree,
shaped by European academia. Yet, we endeavored to decenter Europe, to ques-
tion the homogenizing national perspective on war and peace, to display how war-
related and war-justifying discourses travel at an accelerating speed in a globalized
world, and how personal and political networks connect world regions beyond the
colonial divide. At the same time, the chapters present seemingly similar phenom-
ena that are not necessarily the result of similar circumstances.
Some contributions in this volume explicitly tackle a “fluidity between suppos-
edly separate scales” (Al-Bulushi, Ghosh and Grewal, 2022, p. 2) such as Global
South/North or different religious communities; for example, the chapters about
women of color in the armed forces of Germany (Gashi and Hendrich, Chapter
8), or women from a variety of countries including Germany and Finland joining
the Islamic State in the Philippines (Chin, Chapter 11). Yet those chapters with
a focus on a specific country also mirror cultural, economic and political inter-
connectedness between regions more or less far from each other, as a result of
colonial continuities and “neo-colonial globalization” (El Habbouch, 2019, p. 3).
Richard Herzog’s contribution on the Lakshmibai (Chapter 2), a female ruler dur-
ing the British colonial rule in South Asia, illustrates the significance of one his-
torical exemplar figure for early anti-colonial insurgents, various Indian nationalist
agendas and for the Rani of Jhansi Regiment, which was established in 1943 as
part of the Indian National Army, and was composed of volunteering women from
Malayan rubber estates.
Postcolonial states share the experience of a war of independence with the coun-
tries in the eastern Mediterranean, in this case, Turkey and Israel, even if the politi-
cal and historical context of these countries is decidedly different. The impact of a
war of independence on women’s lives is a telling case in point, since it provides
both universal and specific aspects. The assessment of an armed struggle against
external enemies as a progressive, liberating and thus justified act has turned into
an integral part of the national founding DNA in many different countries from
the North as well as the Global South. In those countries, it constitutes an almost
insurmountable hindrance to the activities of feminist pacifists. On the other hand,
it is often argued that there exist fundamentally different feminist perspectives
on warfare in postcolonial countries, almost irreconcilable with the perspectives
of feminists from the North. One argument is that the convergence of African
women’s fight for equality with their anti-colonial fight (Oluwaniyi, 2019, p. 5) is
completely missing from the European feminist experience. Another argument is
that for “women in the Euro-American sphere, access to combat has been read as
claiming equal citizenship with men”, while for “women in the Global South, their
claim to combat has often prioritized national self-determination for the colonized
people” (Magadla, 2021, p. 27).
Countries that are not so unambiguously located on the colonial world map are
often out of sight of postcolonial studies.7 The chapter “Fighting for peace, fighting
for the country?” (Hendrich, Chapter 3) illustrates the ambiguity in which feminists
of Turkey found themselves in the 1930s when, on the one hand, they declared soli-
darity with the women of the colonized countries and their call for independence
and armed resistance, and, on the other hand, they invoked the “Western model”,
according to which military service was an element on the way to civic equality.
Likewise, the broad range of women who fought wars not strictly anti-colonial but
still aiming at overcoming an oppressive rule, such as civil wars or the anti-Fascist
resistance in Europe, or women who consider themselves a part of the international
anti-imperialist war against the very state whose citizenship they hold, is missing
from the discussion. The Third World Women’s Alliance (TWWA), based in the
USA, is an eminent example of this globalizing perception of armed female resist-
ance (Gosse, 2005). The TWWA conceived of women’s fight as self-defense:
Whereas the struggle for liberation must be borne equally by all members of
an oppressed people, we declare that third world women have the right and
responsibility to bear arms. Women should be fully trained and educated in
the martial arts as well as in the political arena. Furthermore, we recognize
that it is our duty to defend all oppressed peoples. (Third World Women’s
Alliance, 20 December 1971)
Decentering Europe is a requirement in FSS as much as it is inescapable to avoid

any essentialization of the “women of the Global South” and to take account of
“the multiple manifestations of subaltern subjectivities” (Souza, 2019, p. 9). A new
level of digital post-spatiality adds to the complexity of the Global South as a “sub-
versive perspective” (Kloß, 2017) and a “normative conceptualization” (Demir,
2017, p. 55). The twisted and multispatial biographies of women supporting and
fighting for local and global organizing powers such as the Islamic State, cannot
be adequately analyzed without using an approach that includes all those aspects.
The structure of the book

The book consists of three parts. The chapters are, however, not arranged accord-
ing to their geographical references or along a timeline but according to common
key topics and structural approaches. The first part, titled “The historical perspec-
tive: Changing perceptions, repeating patterns?”, includes chapters that scrutinize
change and continuity over an extended time span. Richard Herzog’s chapter
(Chapter 2) on the female ruler of Jhansi, Lakshmibai, traces the cultural and
political reception of a woman in an unexpected position. After the death of her
husband, the Maharaja of Jhansi in northern India, she declared herself to be his
heir and became one of the leaders and emblematic figures of the massive upris-
ing against British colonial rule in South Asia of 1857. She died while actively
involved in armed battles. In the following decades, she turned into a legendary
figure for the Indian independence movement, Indian nationalism and related liter-
ary production. The “Rani of Jhansi Brigade”, established in 1943 as a regiment of
the insurgent Indian National Army, was one of the few all-female combat units
of the Second World War. The example of the Jhansi Brigade also strengthens
our claim that women’s armed fight or female units have a strong tendency to be
organized from the beginning as a symbolic exception to the rule, with peculiar and
unclear rules and duties, independent from the women soldiers’ perspective and the
danger of their activities. The Jhansi Brigade was trained but never participated in
active combat. While the effect of such a brigade’s existence on Indian women’s
self-esteem is mostly positively rated, it can also be argued that the political gain
it has offered to its creator, the second president of the Indian National Congress,
Subhas Chandra Bose, is higher than what it has done for the women who remain
politically underrepresented to this day.
In Chapter 3, titled “Fighting for peace, fighting for the country?”, Béatrice
Hendrich analyzes Turkey’s public discourse on women’s soldiering in the 1930s.
In the second decade of the Turkish Republic, the War of Liberation had already
turned into a blueprint for militarizing the whole society, including girls and women,
covering all parts of life from formal education to pastime activities. Women’s inclu-
sion was presented in relation to the already established meta-narrative of the poor
but brave Anatolian women who contributed to the War of Liberation by carrying
ammunition to the field, or, in rare cases, by actively participating in armed com-
bat. Meanwhile, the influential all-male politicians and militaries of the time were
eager to keep the women outside this last stronghold of masculine homosociality,
the armed forces, even after educational institutions and the parliament had already
opened their gates for females. Allowing girls into the organization for gliding and
parachuting, the Turkish Bird; establishing military preparatory school classes for
girls; and neighborhood courses on civil defense, particularly for women, were meant
to reconcile differing expectations. Unlike in other countries, the Second World War
did not lead to the official inclusion of women in the armed forces of Turkey.
Women’s participation in (post)colonial insurgent and state forces, their histori-
cal background and political context are treated in Barbara Potthast’s chapter as
well as that of Eva Fuhrmann and Hue Nguyen Thi. Potthast (Chapter 4) focuses
on women as agents in armed conflicts in Latin America over the last two centu-
ries. Until the mid-20th century, female participants were variously characterized
as providers, camp followers or as idealistic supporters, while during the second
half of the 20th century, the figure of the female guerrilla fighter became promi-
nent. Their use of arms was evident, but they were still idealized and characterized
by “female” attributes, such as beauty and sacrifice, albeit in service of a political
cause. Regarding women and violence in armed conflicts, Potthast poses some fun-
damental questions in her chapter, such as the motivations for participation in vari-
ous ways and the conflicts with traditional roles, as well as questions concerning
intergroup gender relations, public discourses and memories about these women,
especially in post-conflict societies. She argues that a long-term perspective can
shed light on persistent structures and problems as well as changes in gender roles.
Hue Nguyen Thi and Eva Fuhrmann’s chapter (Chapter 5) investigates the (dis)
continuities of female participation in the Vietnamese military from the 1940s to
the present. Based on a critical analysis of public discourses related to women and
war, both today and in the past, and drawing on narrative interviews with female
veterans, the chapter outlines and compares the place of women in NSAGs as well
as in today’s state forces. During the fight for independence, from 1945 to 1975,
women in all parts of the country took up arms to join the fight. Numerous female
fighters who lost their lives during the war became national heroines. Today, there
is no formal law that prevents women from joining military or security forces;
on the contrary, women are encouraged to contribute to the nation’s defense and
security. While being constructed as courageous and brave defenders of the nation,
women are simultaneously depicted as the caretakers of the family. The chapter
also provides a precise background of the Vietnamese state with its institutions
such as the Vietnamese People’s Army, the Communist Party and the Vietnamese
Women’s Union, all of which closely cooperate to produce and control the roles
women can assume inside and outside the army.
The second part of the volume, titled “Case studies 1: Women in national armed
forces”, focuses on the service within and for state forces, looking closely at a vari-
ety of physical places and political expectations that altogether constitute this wide
space of serving the nation. Chapter 6, by Olesia Isaiuk, is on Ukrainian women
who were imprisoned in Nazi concentration camps during the Second World War.
This study sheds light on a group of female fighters neglected by political memory,
historiography and academic research, similar to the Jhansi Brigade. Before impris-
onment, these women had been participating either in underground activities in the
frame of the Ukrainian nationalist movement, led by Stepan Bandera, or in officially
recognized armed forces such as the Red Army of the USSR. While the structure of
the Red Army and the Banderites (named after Bandera) was completely different,
and the women’s training and tasks had different focuses, both groups considered
themselves fighting for an already existing, legally recognized state under occupa-
tion. In the concentration camps, they not only shared the same experiences but
also shared the contention that imprisonment was an integral part of their fight, and
that the fight had to continue, even in a modified way, during captivity. According
to Isaiuk, the women endeavored to reorganize themselves inside the camp and to
support the weaker inmates. Additionally, they considered survival as a necessary
task that would allow them to continue their armed fight after imprisonment.
Ayelet Harel’s chapter (Chapter 7) presents a special case of inclusion and exclu-
sion from the front lines, of being noncombatant but in proximity to combat at the
same time, using the example of Israeli female soldiers serving in war rooms. In
the past decade, female soldiers assigned to strategic war rooms have become sig-
nificant participants in war; with some of them running and commanding the war
rooms. Because of both their locatedness (Susan Bordo) and professional capacity,
they challenge the traditional concepts of security, war and gender roles. The use of
various visual devices, which bring images of war into the war room, affects how
the women in there both “experience” and “make” war. Even though they are not
physically present on the battlefield itself, this has not stopped them from being
exposed to extreme violence. In Isaiuk’s chapter, protection is carried out toward
other women and children by the imprisoned female soldiers as a part of the military
masculine role model the female soldiers attune themselves to once they acquire the
status of a combat soldier. The Israeli combat-support soldier in the strategic war
room, according to Harel, protects both the state and the soldiers in the battle zone,
while at the same time being protected by the combatants. While the diversifying of
military tasks may question the understanding of gendered roles in the military, this
doubt, as formulated by Orna Sasson-Levy (2002, p. 357), that whether this devel-
opment will ever “undermine[s] the hegemonic order” of masculinity, remains.
Chapter 8, “Women of color in the armed forces of Germany”, by Egzona
Gashi and Béatrice Hendrich, discusses the consequences of intersectionality in the
German Federal Armed Forces, the Bundeswehr, with a focus on migrant German
women and women of color serving within the Bundeswehr in different positions.
The guiding question is how these women experience their military service and
how they make sense of themselves in this core institution of the nation-state and
“hyper-masculine organization” (Lomsky-Feder and Sasson-Levy, 2017, p. 1). The
study shows that discrimination based on religion, ethnicity and gender often over-
lap and multiply in the case of women of color, who are often of Muslim creed
given Germany’s immigration history. The chapter outlines the recent history of
changes both in German citizenship law and in regulations regarding conscrip-
tion and serving in the armed forces since these changes constitute the backdrop
of the topic. Intersectionality, German nationalism and racism, citizenship, and
the significance of (a precarious) language form the theoretical framework of the
discussion. The empirical part of the analysis is based on two original qualitative
interviews as well as on further published material such as videos, interviews and
semiautobiographical books. The research process itself showed that the German
case remained hitherto untouched by the academia, while similar cases such as
the situation of female soldiers of color in the US Army have been substantially
researched and written about.
The third part of the book, titled “Case studies 2: The gender of sacrifice and
agency”, looks at female members of organizations located in the field of political
Islam. The presentation of these three chapters, by Britt Ziolkowski, Aimé Raoul
Sumo Tayo and Charlotte Mei Yee Chin, respectively, by no means intends to sug-
gest that there is a special form of violence just because these organizations are all
Islamic. Instead, they are connected to each other by certain elements that illustrate
the main questions of this volume remarkably well. To begin with, the participation
of women in armed violence by organizations that promote a most binary and patri-
archal worldview, seems to challenge established concepts of gender and security.
Second, the deployment of female suicide bombers is not a new phenomenon. It
can be argued that male-made propaganda finds more and more rhetorical devices
to justify women’s participation. Third, the effort to include women is often stipu-
lated by ideological concerns, a lack of “manpower” and the hope to mobilize
hesitating men. Fourth, (inter)national security institutions have realized quite late
that women can commit “such things”. Indeed, the Western conception of Muslim
women as being essentially passive caters to this perception. Finally, participation
in such extremely violent organizations as Boko Haram, for example, brings to
the fore, once again, questions related to our understanding of agency and military
sacrifice: How are supposedly “female” forms of sacrifice – for the family, but also
for the extended family in form of the nation – and men’s soldierly sacrifice of
dying during a battle connected to each other? Do we have to discuss the matter of
agency in joining an armed group or perpetrating violence separately in each case,
or does participating in an organization based on order and obeying constitute a
loss of agency in any case?
Ziolkowski’s chapter (Chapter 9) focuses on the self-portrayal of Palestinian
female suicide bombers during the Second Intifada. It examines the written testa-
ments and visual documents of three women who carried out their acts with the
support of the Aqsa Martyrs Brigades, the Palestinian Islamic Jihad and Hamas.
The visual documents in particular underline the possibility of reading martyrdom
as the ultimate fulfillment of patriarchal motherhood, while shattering the myth of
the peaceful woman at the same time.
Sumo Tayo (Chapter 10) provides a rare case of research based on original
interviews with female former jihadists, Cameroonian army officers and former
Boko Haram captives, prominent counterinsurgency actors, and eight former sui-
cide bombers arrested before or during the attacks. The author discusses the weap-
onization of female bodies by Boko Haram, cosmetic feminization in the context
of a military phallocracy, and the mobilization of women by Boko Haram in the
hypermale combat role as well as in intelligence and support activities. The reasons
for women’s participation in armed conflicts, he concludes, cannot be reduced to
one single idea like victimhood.
Finally, in Chapter 11, Chin highlights the continuing significance of the Islamic
State (or Daesh) in the Philippines as well as women’s increasing relevance in
these groups. Her chapter analyzes dependencies of radicalized women in jihad-
ist groups there and focuses on the social context from which women “depart” in
order to join these groups. To this end, she gives an overview of the historical and
political background of the Philippines, illustrates the roles and functions of female
jihadis, and shows how the intersection of multiple oppressed identities enforces
marginalization and vulnerability resulting in the radicalization of women. Based
on her holistic understanding of the initial conditions of radicalization, she con-
cludes that contrary to radicalization theories, which focus mainly on ameliorating
socioeconomic conditions of the individual, group narratives facilitating radicali-
zation processes must additionally be addressed.
A distinctly important motivation for presenting this book was undoubtedly
the authors’ desire to address and scrutinize their own view of gender in violent
conflicts within a transnational exchange among colleagues. Our exchange was
realized in the form of repeated online meetings, since the COVID pandemic had
forced us to try new ways of academic cooperation. However, while the pandemic
made us revise our hesitation toward exclusively online meetings, the next crisis
undermined many certainties about pacifism and armed fighting in Western Europe:
the Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. From a Western European per-
spective, doing research on war and peace has acquired a different quality since
then. The chapters included in this volume are both the result of individual research
and of the online meetings. The hope is that we can feed additional knowledge and
perspectives, as well as productive questions, into the field of feminist international
relations and security studies.
Notes
1 A NATO report from 2021 criticizes both the lack of appropriate equipment and of
adapted healthcare (vaginal and urinary tract infections are common, menstrual cycle
symptoms are not addressed, pregnancy is just regarded as a “mishap”) and demands
explicitly “to mainstream the inclusion of female research subjects” in future research
projects (Braithwaite and Lim, 2021, pp. 48, 58, 75).
2 It seems that the categorization of “traditional male” and “female” tasks in the field
should be discussed further. Taarnala (2016) also includes not only cooking and caring
but also intelligence in the noncombatant female area. Cohn, however, underlines the
importance of “male care” for a successful combat (2013b, p. 23).
3 “The term itself [cultural support team] took sex out of the equation; however, the teams
still solely comprised female Servicemembers” (Katt, 2014, p. 109).
4 Quantitative data is provided by Wood and Thomas (2017); Mazurana (2013).
5 The deployment of (allegedly pregnant) women in violent action, and the blindness of
the hegemonic institutions toward women’s sheer ability to exert violence has a long
history. One wonders if this arrangement, which is only successful in a world of totally
gendered perception and prejudice, will now come to end. After all, the (inter)national
institutions have started to understand that “IS brides” are not victims that should be
rescued and sent home without any interrogation.
6 Catherine Baker (2021) shows how the population of former Yugoslavia is categorized
as non-White and to which extent this arbitrary categorization is related to practices of
securitization.
7 For a case in point, see Fatma Müge Göçek’s “Parameters of a postcolonial sociology of
the Ottoman Empire” (2013).
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Part 1
The historical perspective

Changing perceptions, repeating patterns?
2 A woman in power in 19th-century
South Asia
An inspiring life path for struggles against
injustice
Richard Herzog
Introduction
The Rani, the damsel fought for Jhansi,
Recount her valor, people of India!1
With this plea ends the long poetic narrative written by the Indian independence
activist and poet Subhadra Kumari Chauhan in 1930 about Lakshmibai, the Rani
(female ruler) of Jhansi. Lakshmibai was an emblematic figure and one of the main
leaders of the massive uprising against British colonial rule in South Asia in 1857.
This raises two questions: How was it possible for the image of this local ruler to
expand into serving as a model for all of India nearly 70 years later? How and for
what purposes was this legend of the Rani used by politicians and writers at the
time of the Indian independence movement?2
To trace the origins of the legend, this chapter starts with an overview of its roots
in Hindu mythology and folk poetry, as well as of its reception in British “mutiny
novels”. Fictional works by Indian authors provide information about its exploita-
tion in Indian nationalism in the mid-20th century; Subhas Chandra Bose’s “Rani
of Jhansi Brigade” further illustrates its application to pressing political struggles
and issues of gender inequality. It was one of the few all-female combat units of the
Second World War, mobilizing women and girls in an unprecedented form. While
traditional history writing sees the military as an exclusively male domain, the
Rani’s legacy forcefully exemplifies that women have been key players in military
conflicts throughout history.
The time frame covers 1857 to the period shortly before independence in 1947.
Due to the scope of the question, I limit this chapter largely to the literary recep-
tion of the Rani.3 Indian literature on the Rani is especially extensive, comprising
at least three biographies, and several novels and plays, as well as numerous (often
unpublished) poems. In addition, many official British accounts of the Rani’s life
are preserved in the archives of the East India Company and the British Raj. Due
to this almost one-sided documentation, we are much better informed about her
“actual” life from the British than the Indian perspective. Despite or because of
this, Indian historians in particular have relied on legends and local lore in addition
to archives. Especially in Jhansi, a city in the North Indian region of Bundelkhand,
today in the state of Uttar Pradesh, the study of the Rani is considered sacred. In
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359-3
addition, only a small number of writings by the Rani herself have survived: A few
letters to British administrators from the period leading up to the lapse of Jhansi in
1858, mostly concerned with this British takeover of rulership. The controversies
surrounding the assessment of the rebellion – as a military revolt or as the first
national war of independence, among others – also had a considerable impact on
the discussions about the role of the Rani in it (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, pp. 157–
158; Pati, 2007, p. 1)
This problematic state of sources means that her own voice is quite distant and
filtered through writings about her, mostly by male authors, hence this chapter’s
focus on the Rani legend. Key excerpts from the memoir of the captain of the Rani
of Jhansi Brigade, Lakshmi Sahgal, add an important female voice to this chapter,
in keeping with this edited volume’s themes.
These transversal foci allow for a contextualization of how different images of
the Rani were used to further both British-colonialist and Indian-nationalist politi-
cal agendas in multiple, contrasting ways. The transepochal approach further adds
to a broader research discussion of the uprising of 1857 and of studies on gender,
representation and military history. While the focal point throughout the chapter
is on her role as an influential female fighter, other aspects of her legend – among
them the Rani as mother, politician and anti-imperial icon – should be taken into
consideration in order to better understand her multifaceted history and legacy.
The chapter thus sheds light on Lakshmibai’s continuing function as a female
role model for feminist and subaltern causes, whose heritage remains intrinsically
linked with interests derived from processes of national identity-building. A brief
overview of her short but significant life helps contextualize and better assess the
legend of the Rani.
The Rani’s biography

Due to the proliferation of legends and the scarcity of contemporary sources, it’s
difficult to distinguish between fact and fiction in the Rani’s life story; even her
date of birth (around 1827) is disputed. She was born in Varanasi as the daughter
of a Karhade Brahmin, Moropant Tambe, and was given the name Lakshmi after
her marriage, in honor of the Hindu goddess of prosperity and victory. It is reported
that the Rani learned to read and write and even to ride and fight, in her childhood
in Bithur – exceedingly unusual for a Brahmin daughter in those days. Popular
stories recount that she played with other later revolutionary leaders: Nana Sahib,
Rao Sahib, Bala Sahib and Tatya Tope. These seem to be based on subsequent
legends, since these different persons also came from very different social classes
(Jerosch, 2003, pp. 15–17). In 1842, the young woman married the much older,
childless Maharaja (ruler) Gangadhar Rao of Jhansi, taking the name Lakshmibai.
After the marriage, she had to live in seclusion and follow the court etiquette with
purdah, especially in the beginning.4 In Jhansi, however, she also continued her
unconventional military training; there is talk of the formation of a women’s regi-
ment, to which the Rani herself taught riding and fencing (Lebra-Chapman, 1986,
pp. 17–19; Jerosch, 2003, pp. 29–32).
Woman in power in 19th-century South Asia 23
The marriage remained childless after the early death of an heir to the throne.
Fearing British annexation, the Maharaja adopted a distant relative, Damodar Rao,
shortly before his death in 1853. The governor-general Lord Dalhousie then applied
the rule of “lapse” of territories without legitimate heirs to Great Britain, leav-
ing the Rani as a widow without a principality. According to this rule, Jhansi had
formerly been under the Maratha Empire, which had been taken over by the East
India Company, so that the latter now held sovereignty (Jerosch, 2003, pp. 32–35).
Subsequent attempts by the Rani to object to the annexation and have her adopted
son recognized were rebuffed by Dalhousie (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, pp. 33–38)
After the start of the revolt of 1857, the Indian military mutinied in Jhansi
as well, beginning in June. Jhansi, located in the North Indian region of
Bundelkhand, was strategically important due to its location at the junction of
four major roads (see Figure 2.1). A major problem of the rebellion, which was
suppressed by 1858–1859, was the lack of a coordinated organization as well as
conflicts of interest among leaders and troops, who often joined the British or
switched sides. Therefore, instead of a nationwide war, there was rather a series
of rebellions in different (especially north and central) Indian regions, owing to
similar causes – mainly economic, political and social exploitation by the British
(Pati, 2007, p. 1). Princes in Bundelkhand also condemned the British actions
in the region, so sporadic uprisings occurred even before the mutiny took hold
there, but they did not spread more widely until 1858, during the late stages of
the rebellion (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, pp. 49–50).
The role of the Rani in these revolts and especially in the infamous 1857 mas-
sacre in Kanpur, in which all the English men, women and children of the place
were killed, was and is highly controversial. It is generally considered the worst
massacre of British civilians during the entire revolt and is known as the Bibighar
massacre. However, the Rani’s involvement in the revolt is more commonly dated
in recent research to a period after the massacre, to 1858 at the time of immediate
threat from the British, based in part on eyewitness accounts such as that of the
British T.A. Martin, who absolved her of participation in the massacre (Lebra-
Chapman, 1986, pp. 52–60 and 66–67).5 According to a letter from the Rani her-
self, probably dated 12 June, she was not able to support the British at all due to
a lack of soldiers of her own, at the same time condemning the rebels’ cruelty
(Jerosch, 2003, p. 67).
A final appeal against the lapse of Jhansi to Lord Dalhousie on 14 June is worth
studying in more detail. In it, the Rani highlighted that the people of Jhansi had
held no complaints under her late husband’s rule. In addition, for four months after
the Maharaja’s death, she herself had maintained the state’s administration, show-
casing her great competence to organize state affairs, which the British had decided
to completely ignore (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, pp. 37–38). For the Rani, this meant
that the British government had called off any form of negotiation, turning instead
to the “exercise of the power, without the right, of the great and strong against the
weak and small” (IOL [India Office Library], F/4/2600, quoted in Lebra-Chapman,
1986, pp. 37–38).6 She then alluded to other, successful cases of adoptions that
had been sanctioned in nearby princely states. In her letter’s conclusion, the Rani
Figure 2.1 A map of North India by an unknown author, 1912. (From The Cambridge Modern History Atlas.)
convincingly argued that the dispossessions “of” herself and her ward effectively
meant a “gross violation and negation of the Treaties of the Government of India
[...] and if persisted in they must involve gross violation and negation of British
faith and honor” (IOL, Z/E/2600, quoted in Lebra-Chapman, 1986, p. 38). Her
detailed knowledge of colonial judicial procedure comes through in her detailed
arguments. Lastly, she noted her own sorrow due to the deprivation of her “author-
ity, rank and affluence”, leaving her reduced to a state of “subjection, dishonor and
poverty” (IOL, Z/E/2600, quoted in Lebra-Chapman, 1986, p. 38).
Following this letter, Lakshmibai’s spirited requests to the East India Company
were no longer answered, which led her to arm Jhansi against the advancing British
troops. After fierce resistance to the siege, the Rani fled and after another rebel
defeat at Kalpi, her initiative succeeded in capturing Gwalior. The uniform-wear-
ing Rani was killed in a cavalry skirmish outside Gwalior on 17 June, in one of
the last major battles of the revolt (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, pp. 93–95, 99–103 and
109–117).
The birth of a legend

… Though a lady, the bravest and best leader of the rebels.7
The remark made by Sir Hugh Rose, the great adversary of the Rani, shows how
her martyrdom immediately won recognition on the Indian as well as the British
side. Her military feats alone as well as her courage on the battlefield as the first
woman to fight the British inspired generations of writers, painters and Indian
patriots (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, p. 117; Rag, 2010, p. 78). Social factors like-
wise encouraged the creation of legends, including Lakshmibai’s ritual support
of the Jhansi’s poor, her participation in religious festivities, and the inclusion of
women and members of various religious groups in her army (Jerosch, 2003, p.
268; Rag, 2010, p. 95). From the British perspective, a more nuanced assessment
of the Rani compared to other rebel leaders took place, for example, in comparison
to the demonized Nana Sahib – Sir Rose’s portrayal of her as the best rebel leader
and the “Indian Joan of Arc” is not exceptional here, especially after her death.
Nevertheless, the aforementioned controversy surrounding Lakshmibai’s role in
the Bibighar massacre included critical voices that highlighted her alleged brutality
toward innocents (Sen, 2007, p. 1755).
The great importance Hindu society attaches to myths as well as its cyclical
conceptualization of time result in a different understanding of history compared
to those found in Western societies. Here, myths play a central role in creating
meaning and identity, and the line between real and epic heroes and deities, and
thus between real and fictive, is often blurred. In addition, the traditionally largely
oral transmission of cultural norms and the strongly spiritual orientation of South
Asian classical literary traditions has created a fertile ground for the spread of the
Rani legend. In this regard, the integration of her legend into folk culture and ulti-
mately into India’s collective memory is its chief characteristic (Lebra-Chapman,
1986, pp. 118–119).
In folklore
According to Lebra-Chapman (1986, p. 119), legends take on a history of their

own, “apart from the people who inspired them”. This is evident in the interconnec-
tions between the Rani legend and Hindu folk traditions through which it gained
influence. In poems and stories, the Rani is often equated with the goddess Durga
and her destructive embodiment Kali, as are her battles against the British Raj with
theirs against the demon Mahishasura. Superhuman powers are attributed to her,
and she is even said to have wielded two swords with the reins held between her
teeth (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, pp. 123–124 and 131).
Another clear parallel is made to the deity Shakti as a cosmic elemental force and
in this way linked to the archetype of the mother, quite widespread in Hinduism.
Thus, astrologers are said to have predicted already at Lakshmibai’s birth that she
would embody characteristics of the three main goddesses Lakshmi, Durga and
Saraswati. Moreover, her role as mother and protector of her adopted son Damodar
Rao is emphasized in many statues and paintings, where she is depicted riding with
her infant son tied around her waist (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, pp. 125–127). The
legend builds on myths and images of powerful and active female deities, among
them Kali and Shakti, rooted in female agency.8
The Rani legend developed in the Jhansi area, where the memory of the Rani is
still passed down from one generation to the next through oral tales in poems, bal-
lads and songs. It was not possible to publish texts praising the rebels during British
rule and especially in the wake of the rebellion.9 Nowadays, parts of this oral tradi-
tion are available to us in written form, while the rest is either lost or lives on in
the memory of poets. In addition, the legend is present in a variety of paintings and
statues, especially in Jhansi, Gwalior, Nagpur and surrounding areas, situated in
museums, public places or markets (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, pp. 127–129).
A very personal and regional image of the Rani can be gleaned from
Bundelkhand’s folk songs, where rural and everyday aspects of her life are empha-
sized and her problems – for instance, the struggles of ruling as a young widow –
are dealt with sympathetically. Vernacular expressions of sympathy with the Rani
emphasize the local support for the rebellion in Jhansi. Interestingly, the folk tradi-
tion records only the ruler’s total devotion to the rebellion once she acted against the
British, notwithstanding the possible tensions between her and the sepoys before
1858 (Rag, 2010, pp. 64–67). At the same time, however, Bundelkhand’s oral tra-
dition can be seen in a continuum of local resistance to foreign rule, reaching back
all the way to the Bundela rebellion of 1842 to 1857. The folk songs of fakirs10
denied any legitimacy to British institutions as invaders. The virtues of folk leaders,
and in some cases even the participation of lower-class village communities, were
emphasized alongside those of the rebel leaders (Rag, 2010, pp. 67–69 and 73–74).
According to traditional understandings of honor, the Rani here embodied truth
in the struggle against British falsehoods (Rag, 2010, p. 91). Moreover, there were
numerous mentions in local folklore of female leaders such as Sheili Devi and
Nanhi Rani of Jigri, as well as of loyal servants of the Rani, including Mundar
and Sundar from her women’s corps known as Durga Dal. This important role of
women in Bundelkhand is related to the fact that, in addition to traditionally “mas-

culine” tasks such as governing and fighting, they largely continued to follow the
central rituals and practices of local culture and worship. For Lakshmibai, these
included visits to the temple of the family goddess Mahalakshmi, support of art-
ists and Brahmin scholars, and distribution of warm clothing to beggars in winter
(Rag, 2010, p. 94–95). According to Pankaj Rag (2010, p. 78), popular culture thus
provides us with strongly divergent images of the Rani – from a young, troubled
woman to an infallible demigoddess – which depend greatly on the difficulties and
hopes, as well as the changing circumstances of the population.
In colonial novels
The Rani of Jhansi similarly occupied a special place in colonial British dis-
course as well, as one of the few important female rebel leaders. This was also
because her story contained a particularly large number of surprising twists and
turns, at least as seen by the English. In addition to being portrayed as an enemy
to whom the infamous Bibighar massacre in Jhanis was attributed, she para-
doxically emerged as a tragic figure and loyal ally who fell victim to colonial
strategies of annexation and “home rule”. Thus, the British fascination with the
legendary heroism of the Rani resembled her Indian recognition in several ways
(Sen, 2007, p. 1755).11 This was reflected in “mutiny novels”, provoked by the
great rebellion and hugely successful in both colonial India and Britain. The
main goal of this new genre was to establish the supposed moral and military
superiority of the British in the wake of massive uncertainties regarding British
domination after 1857 (Sen, 2007, p. 1754).
In the following decade, reports portrayed the Rani mostly negatively, which
also coincides with stereotypical depictions of “native” Indian women of the time,
who were labeled as treacherous and cruel. Similarly, the 1887 mutiny novel The
Rane: A Legend of the Indian Mutiny written by Gillean (Col. J. N. H. Maclean)
describes the Rani as a ruthless seductress who uses her sexuality to manipulate
her white enemies. This calculated use of seduction for political purposes feeds the
stereotype of the brutal Asian ruler, as well as that of the treacherous Brahmin, with
an additional misogynist dimension (Gillean, 1887, pp. 1757–1758).
A racist and sexist exaggeration of public opinion in the New Imperialism phase
of British rule is also reflected in novels such as The Queen’s Desire (1893) by Hume
Nisbet. In it, a voluptuous and promiscuous Rani is depicted as falling for a lower-
class British soldier who, however, abandons her and eventually even unknowingly
kills her in her final battle. This twist of fate appears all too clearly as a revenge by
the superior British military on the rebellious India, here embodied by a Rani heavily
drenched in orientalist tropes (Nisbet, 1893, pp. 1758–1759; Singh, 2014, pp. 33–34).
These examples, however, can be contrasted with mutiny novels of a different
orientation, including, most notably, Philip Meadow Taylor’s Seeta of 1872. The
novel contains a rare admiring portrayal of the Rani, in which she appears as a
courageous, deceived warrior queen – betrayed by the British despite her highly
successful rule (Sen, 2007, p. 1756). In Michael White’s later work, The Jeanne
d’Arc of India (1901), published in the US, Lakshmibai remains celibate. She is
also acquitted of the guilt of the Bibighar massacre in this novel, in contrast to
Taylor’s. This creates an image in the tradition of the European warrior maiden,
bringing to mind particularly Joan of Arc as victor over English invaders; but also
that of the celibate fighter, a central ideal of militant Indian nationalism.12 Through
comparisons with Durga/Kali and the anachronistic attribution of patriotic feel-
ings for India instead of Jhansi to the Rani, the text once again presents her as an
embodiment of Indian nationalism (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, p. 136; Sen, 2007, p.
1760). This comes out clearly in her prophetic farewell speech:
“If I have sinned against the laws of my caste, it was for the love of my
country. Surely, thou wilt forgive a woman who has tried to inspire others to
be brave and just. Oh India”, she cried, [...] “a day will come when their law
shall be no longer obeyed, and our palaces and temples rise anew from their
ruins. Farewell!”
(White, 1901, p. 295)
These characterizations as an icon of anti-colonial resistance show, on the one

hand, the multiplicity of interpretations of her legend in colonial discourse that
were then possible and publishable. These interpretations range from dominant
portrayals to orientalist demonization and sexist degradation of the Rani on to
implicit criticisms of British actions. On the other hand – together with popular
representations – they also influenced her very positioning as a major role model
for emerging Indian nationalism.
Uses in Indian nationalism I: In Indian literature
A legend can be perpetuated on a regional level through folk art; however, to influ-
ence an emerging national consciousness requires additional, more effective and
wide-ranging methods. The Rani legend increasingly spread beyond Jhansi: An
artwork portraying the Rani of Jhansi on horseback killing an Englishman with her
sword from the late 19th century provides one particularly impressive example of
this process (see Figure 2.2). In addition to poems, paintings and songs, numerous
Indian novels and plays about the Rani appeared, positioning her in the then-domi-
nant, Indian nationalist discourse as a heroic mother who fought for her son and for
his inheritance. The first book on the subject was written in 1888 by Bengali author
Chandi Charan Sen, who specialized in patriotic themes (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, p.
135; Deshpande, 2008, p. 856).
Probably the best-known fictional book on Lakshmibai, Jhansi ki Rani [The
Queen of Jhansi], written in Hindi by Vrindavanlal Varma, was published in 1946.
The author was from Jhansi, and his grandfather had fought on the side of the rebels.
In his historical novel, he depicts the ruler as a nationalist heroine: The embodiment
of an idealized Indian femininity, deeply rooted in tradition. She is portrayed as
participating in a resistance movement that encompassed Maratha history and local
past – in the novel she reveres the Maratha ruler Shivaji as well as Chhatrasal, lord
Figure 2.2 A
rtwork from an unknown artist, The Rani of Jhansi on horseback kills an
Englishman with her sword; painting ca. 1860. (From the San Diego Museum of
Art Collection, painting owned by Edwin Binney the 3rd).
of Bundelkhand, who resisted the Mughal expansion into her territories. Thus, the
Rani likewise appears as an Indian patriot and her behavior in the rebellion is lent
additional context and gravitas (Varma, 1992; Deshpande, 2008, pp. 856–858).
Much like in the folk songs of Bundelkhand, Varma emphasizes her humanity – to
set her apart from the British colonialists, and to criticize British racism as well as the
feudalist tendencies of many native rulers. At the same time, he portrays Jhansi under
Lakshmibai’s rule as a place of interreligious harmony, thus putting the rebel demand
for the restoration of Mughal rule into perspective (Deshpande, 2008, pp. 859–860):
[The important revolutionary leader, Tatya Tope, told the Rani,] I met a lot
of eager Muslims; they say that the Empire should be established again in
Hindustan. I said, ‘Swarajya’ [self-rule] and Empire can actually co-exist.
When they said, how, I said that people would establish their own rule in
their regions and provinces, and while the emperor could certainly intervene
in them, his seal would be on inter-provincial issues and big matters.
(As quoted in Deshpande, 2008, p. 860)
In this way, the author articulates his own vision of anti-colonial and autonomous
possibilities in the novel, but from a reformist Hindu perspective. By character-
izing the Rani as a progressive, educated and patriotic widow acting in the service
of a larger political cause, Varma presents an idealized past that is reshaped for a
nationalist mission. At the same time, his authorial blending of historical Indian
sources with fantasy contributes to the blurring of fact and fiction in the reception
of his protagonist (Varma, 1992, pp. 860–862; Singh, 2014, p. 166).
One main source for Varma was an early Lakshmibai biography: D. B. Parasnis’
Jhansi Sansthanchya Maharani Lakshmibaisaheb Yanche Charitra [A biography
of Queen Lakshmibai of Jhansi (1894) written in the Marathi language and pub-
lished in a Hindi translation in 1938. Western-educated Parasnis sought to create a
modern, patriotic historiography in Marathi, in this case by contradicting colonial
historians who would portray the Rani as a scheming rebel. Eyewitness accounts
took a central role and Lakshmibai’s militancy was associated with a regional poli-
tics based on caste and masculinity (Deshpande, 2008, pp. 862–865).
The Hindi translation published at the height of the nationalist movement, on
the other hand, was far more critical of British actions during and after 1857. The
abridged version by an unknown translator shortened the original text by about
100 pages and included major modifications that have often been overlooked. Its
incorporation into a Hindi context also deemphasized the larger impact of Maratha
history on Bundelkhand. In addition, it portrayed Gwalior’s ruler Shinde, who
remained loyal to the British in 1858, more negatively. This influential translation
again illustrates the changing perceptions and nationalistic overtones the rebellion
had attained by the mid-20th century. What is more, “it served as another smooth-
ing layer in the accumulating nationalist narrative about Lakshmibai, Jhansi and
1857” (Desphande, 2008, pp. 865–866).
The most famous modern poem about the Rani, the “Jhansi ki Raani” [The Queen
of Jhansi] mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, written in Hindi by Subhadra
Kumari Chauhan, is still taught and memorized in many schools today, especially in
northern India. Chauhan joined Gandhi’s campaign of non-cooperation in 1921 and
was the first female satyagrahi13 to be arrested in Nagpur. She campaigned for rights
for women and Dalits (“untouchables”), as well as against dowry, before tragically
dying in a car accident in 1948 (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, p. 134; Rag, 2010, p. 63).
Given Chauhan’s nationalist sentiments, it is not surprising that the nationalist
quest for freedom emerges as the central motif of her poem. In this respect, Jhansi’s
fate is embedded in the context of the disastrous impact of British trade, economic
and social policies on indigenous Indian states. While it is true that the concept of
“nation” as conceived by the 20th century liberation movements had not yet devel-
oped in 1857, when rulers and sepoys fought for their own more local territories
and homelands, Chauhan’s projection of modern nationalism does not seem wholly
out of place, insofar as the rebellion, with its focus on British claims and posses-
sions, and clearly advanced seminal anti-colonial claims (Rag, 2010, p. 65).
A distinctive feature of the poem is that Chauhan drew inspiration for it from
a Bundelkhand folk song; by adopting its refrain, the Rani is ascribed masculine,
warlike qualities: “O Rani of Jhansi, how well like a man she fought” (Rag, 2010,
p. 64).14 Other elements, such as the equation with Durga, are also reminiscent
of traditional poetry (Chauhan, 2010). For these reasons, too, the poem has often
been presented as a continuum to oral narratives from 1857. This is contradicted
not only by its nationalist orientation but also by its different emphases – Chauhan
focuses on other important leaders of the revolt and jagirdars15 such as Nana Sahib
and Tatya Tope, in addition to the Rani; while in folk poetry local leaders play a
greater role as initiators of the Jhansi rebellion and community cohesion (Rag,
2010, pp. 69, 74 and 85).
Here, once again, a unified, iconic portrayal of the Rani is evident in her recasting
as a nationalist role model and “freedom fighter” – in a poem that has itself become
part of the country’s oral tradition (Rag, 2010, p. 69).16 This depiction stands apart
from historical facts, chief among them the Rani’s turn to revolt, which is attested
as relatively late, since she was still making petitions to the British authorities as
late as June 1858 (Sen, 2007, p. 1755).
Uses in Indian nationalism II: The Rani of Jhansi Brigade
Through Mahatma Gandhi’s use of deep-rooted symbols, Indian women were

mobilized for the independence movement to an unprecedented degree. For Gandhi,
women represented religious and moral role models rather than active combatants,
in keeping with his doctrine of non-violent resistance. The role of women was mod-
eled on the goddess Sita as a self-sacrificing housewife. Following this, spinning and
weaving were more in keeping with “female nature” for Gandhi (Hills and Silverman,
1993). However, his view of women differed greatly from that of another important,
more controversial pro-independence campaigner – Subhas Chandra Bose (known
by the honorific title Netaji or “Respected Leader”). The former Congress leader
Bose attempted in vain to convince Hitler to come to India’s aid from 1941 onward;
in 1943 he traveled by submarine from Germany to Japan, securing Japanese col-
laboration for his Indian National Army (INA) (Sahagal, 2013).17
In contrast to Gandhi’s more conservative view, Bose, a strong proponent of
armed resistance, saw women as activists. Moreover, he wanted to abolish child
marriages, purdah and the ban on widow remarriage through specific programs. He
insisted on female education, economic independence for women and the right not
to marry: According to Bose, Indian women were denied their basic human rights.
Like Gandhi, he used ancestral images of women, but chose a historical figure that
both matched his notion of powerful women and served as a metaphor for Indian
resistance to British rule (Hills and Silverman, 1993, pp. 754–755).
From 1943 up until his death in 1945, Bose led the INA of his “Provisional
Government of Free India” from exile, which acted against the British colonial
government. It drew thousands of former prisoners and volunteers from the Indian
expatriate population in present-day Malaysia and Burma to fight alongside the
Imperial Japanese Army against British and Commonwealth forces in Southeast
Asia. By naming the women’s regiment of the INA after the Rani of Jhansi, Bose
gave expression to a new form of Indian female heroism that merged nationalist
and feminist ideas (Hills and Silverman, 1993, pp. 753–755).
Under Bose’s leadership, 1500 Indian women in Burma, British Malaya and
Singapore; Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs; poor and rich alike, adopted the uniforms
of the Rani of Jhansi Regiment between 1943 and 1945. The INA was largely made
up of poor migrant workers from the diasporic Indian community in East Asia
(Viswanath, 2014, p. 63). Bose dreamed of “thousands of Ranis of Jhansi” in his
“last war of independence” (Hills and Silverman, 1993, p. 743). Importantly, accord-
ing to Geraldine Forbes, the Rani Regiment was “not only […] India’s first and only
women’s regiment [but also] one of the first conscious attempts in world history to
integrate women into the military as a fighting force” (Forbes, 2013, p. xiii).
The recruits’ duties consisted of military and medical missions for which they
were trained – most were trained as combatants and a minority as nurses. Their
training and their uniforms were the same as those of the male soldiers. According
to female recruits, the regiment was also intended to promote the empowerment
of women’s rights in peacetime. Bose was even challenged by women soldiers
to prove his commitment to large-scale female mobilization – through a petition
demanding their right to fight signed in their own blood (Hills and Silverman,
1993, pp. 744–746; Forbes, 2013, pp. xxi–xxii).
By early 1945, the British Indian Army had reversed the Japanese attack on
India. Nearly half of the Japanese forces and half the INA forces were killed, and
the INA – including the Rani Regiment – finally surrendered with the recapture of
Singapore in September 1945. Since, after its training, the regiment had arrived at
the Malaysian front when the Japanese and INA forces were already retreating in
1943, they would never serve in battle, a major frustration for the female soldiers.
Many returned to Singapore without seeing action, while some who remained to
help in Burma were taken prisoner – including the female commander of the regi-
ment, Lakshmi Sahgal (Forbes, 2013, pp. xviii–xix). Still, even though the soldiers
did not take part in active combat, they were involved in several skirmishes and
endured air attacks, capture and interrogation. From this perspective, marginalizing
them because of their retreat appears as a male judgment, somehow marking out
only those who participated in battle as “true soldiers” (Forbes, 2013, p. 62).
A memoir written by Lakshmi Sahgal provides us with a valuable personal
account of the Rani Regiment. A few main points and perspectives from this rich
source will be discussed, due to this chapter’s scope. Sahgal was a medical doctor,
a military leader and would continue her activism following her return to India
after the end of World War II, working on behalf of refugees as well as for the
Communist Party of India (Marxist). Sahgal strongly believed in equal rights for
women and in the necessity for women to participate in the Indian freedom strug-
gle. She was always financially independent due to her medical practice, allowing
her to freely pursue her political and advocacy work that challenged conventional
norms of what was and was not acceptable for Indian women. In this way, Sahgal
and her memoir, as well as the regiment’s female warriors, subverted the tradi-
tional role of nurturing peacemaker in Indian society (Sahgal, 2013, p. 62).
When Subhas Chandra Bose took over control of the INA, he made Sahgal the
captain of the newly formed Rani of Jhansi Regiment, as well as the Minister of
Women’s Affairs of the provisional Azad Hind government; she came to be known
in India by the sobriquet “Captain Lakshmi” (Forbes, 2013, pp. xvi–xvii).
Sahgal had been strongly in favor of the INA’s formation: “I had always […]
felt that the final blow for independence would have to come from armed struggle”
(Sahgal, 2013, p. 43). At the same time, it was clear to her that “no mass move-
ment can succeed if one entire section of the community were to remain outside
it” (Sahgal, 2013, p. 138). In her memoir, the captain applauds Bose for realizing:
How deeply [Indian women] felt the chains of slavery, which in their case
[were] doubly strong as it was India’s domination by a foreign power that
had retarded her progress and had kept alive the antiquated superstitions
which bound down women far more than [they] did men.
(Sahgal, 2013, p. 140)
In this narration, a sharp awareness by both Bose and Sahgal of the deeply inter-
twined nature of discrimination by way of British colonial policies and of sexism
comes through.
The Rani Regiment’s legacy remains contradictory. The INA has been called
“The Forgotten Army” in “India’s Untold War of Independence” (meaning the
INA’s battles), but even within this still quite marginal history, the Rani Regiment
has been marginalized and often remains erased from male author’s writings on the
INA (Forbes, 2013, p. xiii; Viswanath, 2014, p. 60). On the one hand, at the time
the regiment was not taken seriously by Japanese nor by British troops, as they did
not consider it a threat. This was due to the relatively small size, but also surely to
misogynistic attitudes toward female soldiers. On the other hand, the fact that the
regiment’s soldiers never fought in battle – unlike the historical Rani – undermined
their claims for equality in the eyes of male soldiers.
In an interview conducted in 1989, more than 45 years after the Regiment’s
formation, Sahgal commented on the positive psychological effects of recruitment
on the soldiers: “You see, the main thing was, they were being made to feel like
human beings. Before that, they were mainly being treated like cattle”. For her, in
the aftermath of the war, the experience of participating in an armed force “made
them very much more independent. They would voice their opinions and not cow
down. It gave them a lot of self-confidence” (Sahgal, 2013, pp. 169 and 171). Then
again, as Gita Viswanath points out, Sahgal glosses over more controversial issues
in her memoir, chief among them the court martial held in independent India for the
officers who had joined the INA. While their sentence was finally remitted, it did
raise uncomfortable questions about what it meant for Indian soldiers of the British
army to rebel (Viswanath, 2014, p. 63).
It becomes clear, then, that analyzing the regiment in purely military terms is
too simplistic. As Forbes argues, its larger goal was sociopolitical: Both Bose and
Sahgal wanted to build a structure that would allow women to realize their full
potential to become equal partners in a newly built India (Forbes, 2013, pp. xxviii–
xxx). Then again, Bose held more strategic goals as well: The women’s regiment
might counter then-current accusations against the INA of being a puppet army
indirectly formed by the Japanese. To quiet such claims, the regiment made up of
highly motivated women would showcase the voluntary recruitments into the INA.
Beyond such practical considerations, there is no doubt that the creation of the Rani
Regiment was a novel and meaningful move that transcended mere representation:
“The INA being a revolutionary liberation army used women as symbols of moder-
nity that promised equality between the sexes. Bose’s gesture of inducting women
in his INA, motives notwithstanding, was far ahead of its time” (Viswanath, 2014,
p. 61).
Despite the INA’s ultimate military defeat, the formation of the Rani Regiment
nevertheless succeeded in mobilizing women and girls in an unprecedented way.
They committed themselves to the liberation struggle independently, together with
men and women of other castes and religious affiliations. This mobilization was
bolstered by Bose’s charisma and his references to mythical elements with pre-
dominantly female attributes such as Kali and the Indian motherland, as well as
to the Rani legend, which was once more effectively invoked, and in the process,
reinterpreted (Viswanath, 2014, pp. 749–750 and 757). Clearly, the Rani’s hold
over Indian imaginations, or rather that of her multiple, evolving legend, was ever
strengthening during the mid-20th century.
The ever-changing Rani: An outlook

One explanation for the persistence of the Rani legend is certainly the multitude
of different facets it has taken on over time. Whether for British or Indian groups,
whether as a deceived widow or a goddess of revenge, a cunning seductress or an
Indian Joan of Arc, a nationalist or feminist icon, the portrayal has been subject
to constant change from 1858 until independence. This took place in relation to
developments of the time, such as the rise of Indian nationalism, but also depended
on the backgrounds of the respective authors. The very divergent representations
in British narratives, some of which were highly prejudiced, also reveal a lack of
colonial authority that was to be remedied by references to the past and, at the
same time, a renewed political program manifest in policies of the British New
Imperialism (Singh, 2014, p. 2).
The independence movement’s appropriation of the legend, in turn, built on
myths as well as regional folk art and even isolated works of colonial-era lit-
erature, thus appealing to a broader public. In addition, there was an interplay
between Indian literature and political instrumentalization, so that the Rani as a
role model finally passed from regional to national memory18 during the struggle
for decolonization.
During this protracted process, numerous discrepancies between the mythicized
and the historical Rani evidently occurred, beginning with her martyrdom. This
included stylizations, for instance, when her attachment to local traditions did not
fit into the respective image, or the projection of an Indian patriotism and modern
interpretations of the rebellion into the 19th century. These artifices served to adapt
her image to the present moment as an accessible legend, then as now. At the same
time, her biography, with its combination of traditional and modern elements, has
not lost any of its powerful impact on collective imaginations.
For even after India’s independence, Lakshmibai’s influence continues through
poems learned in schools, through comics, films, election posters, and novels – for
example, as a cameo in Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children – all transmitting
their own ideas of their protagonist. Moreover, she remains visible in the public
space via Rani statues erected especially in Bundelkhand, but also in many Indian
regions – often portraying her as a warrior queen on horseback. Her influence is
also tangible in a women’s organization in Nagpur, Rashtra Sevika Samiti (RSS),
which continues to sing her praises (Lebra-Chapman, 1986, p. 133; Jerosch 2003,
p. 271). This organization mainly focuses on the institution of the family, wherein
motherhood is considered the most powerful role for shaping the development of
the Hindu nation. The RSS “evokes … Hindu women from history as an aspi-
rational ideal for its members to embody … For her fight against the British the
[RSS] regards Lakshmibai Newalkar (1828–1858), queen of Jhansi … as an inspir-
ing leader and the one [female leader] embodying exemplary netr̥ tva [leadership]”
(Tyagi, 2020, p. 135). Evidently, despite Indians having succeeded in overthrow-
ing British domination decades ago, the identity-forming effect of the Rani is still
very much visible and relevant to the present day.
One particularly meaningful example to the continued influence of the Rani is
literature written by Dalits (Scheduled Castes, formerly known as “untouchables”).
It generally combines myths with memories and stories from 1857 as well, but in
contrast to more mainstream literature uses them to portray the rebellion as part of
the Dalit liberation struggle. A central role is played by the “Viranganas”, mostly
female heroes who are also incorporated into campaigns of political parties, espe-
cially the Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP). The BSP aims to represent the groups at
the lowest levels of the Hindu social system, with its main support coming from
Dalits. The BSP’s central focus lies in its opposition to and strong criticism of the
inequalities of the caste system. Lakshmibai’s legend forms the background of
numerous Virangana stories, including that of Jhalkari Bai. The latter is said to
have disguised herself as the Rani after the ruler’s escape and to have gone into
battle in her place. Thus, the Dalit heroine is portrayed as more courageous than the
Rani herself – after all a member of a higher caste who is said to have collaborated
with the British. Due to the lack of sources, the voices of the historical Viranganas
are difficult to reconstruct; their accounts are largely based on male authors and
are therefore not necessarily representative of Dalit women. On the other hand,
different images are conveyed here by recourse to Rani legends, which counteract
dominant, negative stereotypes of Dalit women (Gupta, 2007).
Concluding remarks
Role models are needed in the world’s largest democracy, especially in view of
issues such as women’s emancipation and large-scale violence against women
that are still all too pressing. The empowered female ruler serves as a precedent
and figurehead in her historic, active roles as mother, strategist and fighter. Her
example showcases the agency wielded by women both in battle and as inspira-
tion for future generations’ activism. We have seen other possible role models:
Subhadra Kumari Chauhan as an activist for satyagrahi and women’s rights, or
Subhas Chandra Bose and Lakshmi Sahgal, who brought female fighters together
in one regiment regardless of their religion or social status. For them, too, the Rani
of Jhansi was a trailblazer.
Notes
1 From the translation by J. L. Kanchan, quoted in Lebra-Chapman (1986).
2 A first exploration of the chapter’s topic from my side (posted in 2016) can be found
online at the Cross Asia Repository of the Heidelberg University Library: https://fid4sa
-repository.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/3916/.
3 For the Rani in Indian visual art, see Lebra-Chapman (1986, pp. 127–128 and 137–141).
For a brief historiographical overview, see Lebra-Chapman (1986, pp. 157–165).
4 The Islamic tradition of physical seclusion of women through veiling and via separate
areas in buildings. The practice was taken up among Hindu elites by the 19th century.
5 See also Sen (2007, p. 1755): “T. A. Martin subsequently wrote a letter to the Rani’s son,
Damodar Rao, saying that she ‘took no part whatever in the massacre of the European
residents of Jhansi in June 1857. On the contrary, she supplied them with food for two
days after they had gone into the fort’”.
6 From the National Archives of India, New Delhi, Foreign Consultations, April 1854;
India Office Library, British Library, London (hereafter: IOL), F/4/2600, quoted in
Lebra-Chapman (1986, pp. 37–38).
7 Forrest, G. W., Selections from the Letters, Despatches and other State Papers preserved
in the Military Department of the Government of India 1857–58, Kolkata, 1902, vol. 4,
139 (quoted in Jerosch, 2003, p. 14).
8 In a poem by the Jhansi folk poet Bhaggu Dauju Shyam, the Rani is compared to Kali,
but at the same time to the male trinity of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva as well, see Rag
(2010, p. 77).
9 Only two ballads about the Rani written shortly after the rebellion survived in parts, one
written by the Datia court poet, Kalyan Singh Kudara, the other by the poet Madnesh;
see Lebra-Chapman (1986, pp. 129–130).
10 An itinerant ascetic or wonder-worker, traditionally used for Sufi Muslim ascetics. The
term has also been frequently applied to Hindu ascetics since the Mughal era.
11 For a detailed discussion of colonial British writings on 1857 more generally, see Erll
(2007, pp. 176–216).
12 Singh sees the comparison with Joan of Arc, the European model of heroic and sacred
femininity, rather as an attempt to downplay Lakshmibai’s anti-colonial attitude; see
Singh (2014, p. 67).
13 A person who practices satyagraha, Gandhi’s strategy of non-violent resistance.
14 For the complete refrain in Hindi and English, see Rag (2010, p. 64, lines 5–17).
15 Autonomous or semiautonomous rulers who collected taxes as a form of revenue, based
on land grants (jagir)]
16 For an English version, see also http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jhansi-ki-rani-eng-
lish/.
17 Forbes, Introduction, in Sahgal (2013, pp. xvii–xviii). Due in part to his alliances with
fascist regimes, Bose remains a controversial figure in India until today. For a classic
study, see Gordon (1997).
18 Aleida Assmann (2008) here refers to the “construction of a national memory” through
“such points of reference in history that strengthen the positive self-image and are in line
with certain goals of action”.
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3 Fighting for peace, fighting for the
country?
The inclusion of women in Turkey’s national
defense in the late 1930s
Béatrice Hendrich
Introduction
In 2017, the internet journal Derin Tarih (Deep history) launched an article titled “A
message from Atatürk to the women on the occasion of the 8th of March: ‘no vot-
ing right without military service’”.1 Written under a scientific guise and employ-
ing a highly polemical tone, the article insinuates two things: First, the women of
Turkey had to fight for their rights. These rights were not granted to them as a gift
from Atatürk.2 Second, Atatürk and others had intended to force women into mili-
tary service in exchange for granting them their civil rights. While the first argu-
ment has gained validity as the result of critical gender studies in Turkey and can
be considered a much-needed revision of the earlier narrative, the second argument
is rather makeshift and lacking precise foundation. It is, however, meaningful that
in 2017 the matter of female soldiers was still, and again, being brought forward in
the context of women’s citizenship in Turkey.
Taking its cue from this, this chapter retraces the historical discussion on wom-
en’s place in the national security structure of Turkey in the second half of the
1930s. This is the time period between the World Congress of the International
Alliance of Women held in Istanbul in 1935 and the beginning of the Second
World War.
The years covering the period between the inauguration of the Turkish Republic
in 1923 and the internationally praised World Congress in 1935 saw the most rapid
political and societal change in Turkey. Women’s legal equality and the opening
of the educational system for girls and women had been among the milestones of
this change. In the political sphere, the Lausanne Peace Treaty of 1923 ended ten
years of war in Turkey,3 and the great number of bilateral friendship agreements
in the following years heralded a new period of peace. However, the collective
experience of the National Struggle, interior conflicts as well as military conflicts
in neighboring areas and around the Mediterranean Sea, culminating in the emer-
gence of Fascist regimes, provided the Turkish government with a convincing jus-
tification to maintain a strong army, even at economically dire times. In 1927,
conscription for all male citizens of Turkey was made compulsory. Conscientious
objection has not been an option since.
Considering the weight of female equality in the Turkish modernization dis-
course, one wonders how the state defined the place of women in the national
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359-4
defense structure. In the period under consideration in this chapter, one sees a
prevailing tendency to include women in the structure but not as regular soldiers
in the armed forces. Military preparation courses and public home defense lessons
for girls and women, as well as the popularization of scouting, skydiving, and fly-
ing were presented as an equally honorable way of defending the country. While
stories about exceptional female warriors in Ottoman and Turkish history have
been very popular from late Ottoman times until today,4 there was no intention to
convert the adoration for exceptional women into concrete law. There is no – and
there has never been – obligatory military service for women. The right to pursue
a military career was allowed for only a few women in 1955; between 1992 and
2001 women were allowed to serve as combatants (Kuloglu, 2005, p. 557).5 In
2018, merely 1.2% of all armed military personnel were female – the smallest
percentage in all NATO member countries (NATO, 2018, p. 281). In 2022, the
first female general was appointed.6 In view of this almost insignificant number of
female military personnel, one might assume that the related discourse may not be
of any political or social relevance. The chapter argues that the discourse’s signifi-
cance lies precisely in this tension between the sheer numbers and its discursive
potential and versatility.
As a key element of feminist (historical) research, the chapter endeavors to
make women’s voices heard, by “studying their own accounts and analyzing their
own construction of their lives and life histories”, as Ayse Durakbasa and Aynur
Ilyasoglu (2001, p. 195) wrote in their study on Turkey’s first generation of “mod-
ern women”. However, it is not possible to realize this task to a fully satisfying
degree due to the difficulties of retrieving relevant accounts from the archives.
Political pressure and censorship in the late 1930s, for instance, hampered the pro-
duction of independent or critical publications. Nevertheless, their stories can still
be salvaged, at least partially, by means of collecting and comparing diverse texts
as well as by a critical reading informed by “a feminist narrative approach to secu-
rity” (Wibben and Metha, 2018).
Before delving into the historical perspective, it is necessary to discuss the place
of militarism and the relation between gender and militarism in the Turkish state
and society.
Feminism, nationalism and militarism in Turkey

It was a most significant step in security studies when the gender perspective
was added to the analysis of war and nationalism in the late 1980s (Enloe, 1988;
Yuval-Davis, 1997; Blom, Hagemann and Hall, 2000; Goldstein, 2001; Harders
and Roß, 2002). Once this perspective was presented to the academic commu-
nity, it was no longer possible to carry out serious research without taking into
account the gendered power relations as well as gendered imaginations in the
field of war, terrorism and violence. Ayşe Gül Altınay (2000, 2004) was the
first to embark upon research on Turkish militarism and Turkish military history
through the lens of gender. Since then and together with the huge increase in
feminist and gender studies in and on Turkey, a significant number of relevant
Fighting for peace, fighting for country? 41
publications has come out (Metinsoy, 2017; Hendrich, 2019; Ahmed and Aksoy,
2020; Çağlayan, 2020). However, the discourse on women’s soldiering through-
out the history of the Turkish Republic, women’s inclusion in the national
security structure, and their demand for the general – not exceptional – right to
soldier, to have a military career, have not yet received the academic attention
they deserve.
The discourse on women’s soldiering in the widest sense, be it women’s inclu-
sion in the security structure of the state or their participation in irregular troops as
combatants, is without a doubt directly related to the modernization discourse that
had already been at the center of debates for Ottoman policy makers and intellectu-
als in the 19th century (Hanioğlu, 2008, p. 73). The revision of women’s status and
tasks inside family and society was considered a key element of modernization,
as was militarism (Provence, 2017, p. 13). Because of this shared background,
Ottoman and Turkish feminism is closely linked with nationalism and militarism
from its onset. In the early decades of the Turkish Republic, “the main legitimizing
discourse for the woman question in Turkey has been that of Turkish nationalism”
(Kandiyoti, 1989, p. 139). The emergence of a feminism as part of the civil soci-
ety centered on women’s own needs and perspectives would have to wait many
decades.
During the 1920s and 1930s, the place of the new Turkish woman was continu-
ally discussed in relation to women’s share in winning the war of independence
and their future duties in a militarized society and state. In this public discourse,
women’s duties were not limited to cooking, caring and teaching – at home as well
as in the new state institutions – but they included active participation in national
defense. Only a small number of people would object to this idea in its entirety.
The remaining question was to what extent and by which specific activities would
women support national security. Was it enough to give birth to future soldiers,
to raise and to feed them, and in the case of war to support the soldiers behind
the lines by all kinds of war-relevant activities? Or did the new political equality
mean to include female conscription? By their recently audible voices, women
themselves underlined both the necessity of national defense and the importance of
women’s participation in it. Some women, however, discussed women’s military
service not in terms of duty but as a right. To them, gender equality meant having
the right to serve the country in every capacity, and this could only be achieved by
opening the military ranks to women.
In a nutshell, the public discourse toward peace, (robust) peace building and
women’s military service did not follow a clear path during the early years of the
Turkish Republic. While some argued that modern warfare, including the use of
combat planes, was no longer in need of sheer muscle power and would render the
(voluntarily) inclusion of women in the national forces an appropriate decision (M.
Şevki, 1927), others stressed women’s role as mothers of soldiers. An advertising
slogan of the Republican People’s Party underlined that the duration of manda-
tory military service for boys (“your babies”) had been shortened from 3 years
to 18 months and that “Peace means woman. The peace-loving RPP [Republican
People’s Party] is your party” (Hanımlar! Belediye intihabına iştirak ediniz, 1930).
Suffrage and military service

In Turkey, women gained passive and active suffrage much earlier than in many
other states, first in 1930 on the municipal, and later in 1934 on the national level.
February 1935 marked the first time female parliamentarians entered the Great
National Parliament of Turkey. The literature indicates that this political success
was rather an outcome of the government’s strategic roadmap: To symbolically
stress the cultural difference from the Ottoman mentality, to prove an increasing
democratization toward the West and “to dissociate his (Atatürk’s) single party
regime from the European dictatorships of the time” (Kandiyoti, 1987, p. 321;
Özkan-Kerestecioglu, 2001, p. 26).
The public debate, which took place concurrently at the time the bill on wom-
en’s suffrage was passed, connected the citizenship right of voting with the citizen-
ship duty of military service right away.7 In December 1934, when the bill passed,
women’s military service made headlines on newspapers as follows: “After the
women were given the right to elect and be elected deputies, a new trend emerged,
especially among the deputies. According to this trend, women should also be sol-
diers” (Kadınların da asker olmaları isteniyor, 1934). In another article from the
same period, female teachers and students at a Girls’ Institute shared their impres-
sions on suffrage and military service for women. Their fashion teacher mused: “To
become a parliamentarian! No. But I would like to become a soldier … please note:
Not a soldier behind the front lines but a combatant” (Kadınlarımızın meb’usluğu,
1934). A student similarly voiced her wish to be part of the army as follows:
Since I was a child, I had no girlfriends. When I was a child, I was like a soldier. I
always run, rode and jumped … I don’t think that the (proud) Turkish army will
need the women. However, the Turkish woman who has proved her shrewdness
among the Turkish warriors in Turkish history, can become conscripted volun-
tarily, not in order to help the Turkish army but to carry out her duty.
Another female student voiced her excitement over the possibility of serving her
country as a soldier:
I’m a child of a military family. Whenever a military company marches

down the road, my heart is full of excitement. Currently, I’m a scout. Maybe
my lucky fate will give me the present of becoming a soldier.
(Kadınlarımızın meb’usluğu, 1934)
The then president of the Turkish Women’s Union (Türk Kadınlar Birliği),8 Latife
Bekir, declared her happiness for a law that would “send women to military ser-
vice” (Türk Kadını heyecan içinde, 1934).
The matter of peace and the World Congress

The 1930s were the time of “High Kemalism” (Çağaptay, 2002), the exclusive
rule of the Republican People’s Party (RPP; Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi, CHP), and
of the assertive promotion of women by the state to outstanding positions. The
participation of women in international events such as the Miss Universe Contest in

1932, or the Berlin Olympiads of 1936 representing modern Turkey was considered
a national task. By the same token, international scientists and public intellectu-
als were invited to major congresses held in Turkey. The World Congress of the
International Alliance of Women for Suffrage and Equal Citizenship (IAW) in 1935,
organized by the Turkish Women’s Union, symbolizes both the state-controlled pro-
motion and the significance of war and peace in the public discourse. The state
supported the idea of holding the congress in Istanbul because it helped enforce
the international image of the new republic as a place of progress and modernity
(Özkan-Kerestecioglu, 2001, p. 26). The strong tradition of support of peace and
disarmament in the international feminist movement (Stöckmann, 2018) was not
supported unanimously in Istanbul. It was not only the male politicians in Turkey
who had an issue with disarmament, but also feminists from different countries,
including Turkey. The dividing line between those women who argued in favor of
military self-defense, including women at support duties or as combatants, and those
who propagated an anti-militarist approach and disarmament, ran, roughly speaking,
between women from the West, including the colonial powers, and women from
countries under pressure by the great powers, from Estonia as well as from Egypt
and India (Libal, 2008, pp. 39–40). Turkish women speaking up for disarmament
were a minority (Şükufe Nihal, 1935). Nezihe Muhiddin, founder of the Turkish
Women’s Union, argued that disarmament is a naïve idea “since war is an unavoid-
able human disaster,” and maintained that “we will invite the world’s women to
defend whichever nation is attacked unjustly” (Suat Derviş, 1935). One can presume
that most feminists in Turkey supported the state’s ideology of armed peace.9
Yet, despite women’s support of official politics, the Turkish Women’s Union
“self-dissolved” in May 1935, right after the World Congress. It did so at the behest
of the government. As documents show, this did not come as a surprise (Ünal,
2016, p. 555).10 The official reading was that the disbanding had been the organiza-
tion’s own decision because the women of Turkey had reached total equality, the
union had fulfilled its tasks and so there was no longer a need for an independ-
ent feminist organization in Turkey (Özkan-Kerestecioglu, 2001, pp. 28–29). The
literature mainly discusses three intermingling reasons for the forced dissolution:
the political climate in Turkey of the later 1930s, the increasing pressure on any
organization or network outside of and acting independently from the ruling RPP,
and the “matter of peace”. Given the international political situation and Turkey’s
security politics, a call for disarmament and a non-militarist foreign policy was
not acceptable for the government (Toprak, 2015; Ünal 2016; Eralp, 2021). The
Kemalist state’s peace was an armed one, careful to suppress any upheaval at home
and to anticipate any military danger abroad, while the IWA’s peace was one of
(moral) disarmament, peace education and democracy.
Preparation for military service classes

In the middle of the 1930s, there existed a variety of competing voices and perspec-
tives on how to include women in the national security design. On 4 November
1936, several Turkish newspapers had the military service for women on their title
pages, though with differing statements, and in the following days, they criticized
one another for providing wrong information. While some newspapers insinu-
ated that women would be outright treated like men in a new military service law
(Haber), others shifted their focus to the inclusion of girls’ military training in the
school curriculum (Yeni Asır), whereas the ruling RPP’s mouthpiece Cumhuriyet
provided only vague information on the topic but offered several articles at once
glorifying Atatürk’s progressive perspective on soldiering women in a speech by
him in 1931. The article titled “In the case of mobilization, our women will do
military service” in Halkın Sesi mentioned the tasks women would be asked to
do in such a case, such as health service, back office or intelligence. Preparation
would start at high school including summer camps, similar to the boys’ camps.
Beyond that, “those who do not attend school will be taught at separate courses”
(Seferberlikte, 1936).
The front page of the Turkish newspaper Son Posta on 11 November 1936 con-
tained articles on a Fascist gang in Russia, the Civil War in Spain, the continuous
dispute on the district of Alexandrette,11 new regulations on civil servants’ payment
and “Women’s Military Service” (Kadınların Askerliği). These seemingly separate
stories create a coherent narrative not only due to their reference to conflict but
also due to the way they are presented. Three of the four photographs on the front
page show young women: female members of the Spanish resistance with shaved
heads and in a poor condition after being captured by the Fascists on one picture.
On the other two, Turkish young women and men, proudly parading the streets
with rifles on their shoulders and learning how to handle the rifle.12 A closer look
at the said headline on women’s military service shows that Son Posta combined
two topics in one narrative: the introduction of military lessons for schoolgirls, and
the inclusion of women in the national military system. While the first topic was
on the verge of being implemented at the time when the article was published, the
second was rather like a revenant: never completely taken off the political agenda
and never resolved.
Military education for boys at state schools had a certain tradition in Turkey,
beginning with the late Ottoman Empire (Gündüz, 2018, pp. 290–291). The les-
son’s name and focus, and the number of hours taught per week changed from
time to time, but it was an undisputed part of the school curriculum in the 1930s.
Füsun Üstel characterizes the 1930s as a time when “the expansion of the milita-
rist understanding of citizenship was intended to accelerate via the school system”
(2016, p. 136).
Primary sources related to the introduction and implementation of girls’ mili-
tary preparation classes in 1936–1937 are scarce. Based on research literature
(Gümüşel, 2015, pp. 195–207; Aycan et al., 2018; Gündüz, 2018; Gezer, 2020) and
newspaper clippings, the general picture shows that in 1936, military education in
girls’ classes or schools was an issue of public interest, and in 1937, Preparation for
Military Service Classes for girls became mandatory and relevant for passing the
class. The girls should be trained not only in support duties or at the home front, but
also in the use of machine guns (Gündüz, 2018, p. 296). Photographs (Aycan et al.,
2018, p. 230) and oral memories prove that the girls not only learned to march and
greet like soldiers but to handle the weapons inside the school compound, albeit
not without occasional accidents (Kazankaya, 2020, pp. 50–51). Protection against
poisonous gas attacks was also part of the curriculum, included in chemistry les-
sons (Milli Seferberlik Direktörlüğü, 1939). Textbooks for girls’ classes differ in
some respects from those of the boys: less technical or topographic details and
more stress on care and health work (Gümüşel, 2015, pp. 206–215).
The introduction of the classes was justified by the reasoning that this would
be “a major move for the nationalist and revolutionary Turkish girls who are des-
tined to take a position side by side with the men in the defense of the country”
(Kızlarımızın Askerliği, 1937). The newspapers gave the impression that it was the
girls’ own desire to join the preparatory training and not to be treated differently
from their male classmates:
The female students at this school (a high school in Istanbul) did not want to
be separated from their boyfriends in the military service class and told the
school administration that they would follow the class together with them.
(Genç Türk kızları askerliğe başladılar, 1936)
The production of the ultimate soldier-Turk was ensured through the whole educa-
tion system, formal or otherwise. Law 3225 from June 1937 is an impressive proof
of this approach since it enlarged the Ministry of Culture (Kültür Bakanlığı)13 by
a Mobilization Directory (Seferberlik Direktörlüğü) that oversaw taking “precau-
tions for protection from all air and gas attacks, the development of the Preparation
of Military Service course and camps, and the coordination of military con-
cerns, teachers, and students” (Gündüz, 2018, p. 296). The Directory of Physical
Education and Scouting (Beden Eğitimi ve İzcilik Direktörlüğü) was also part of
the Ministry of Culture. According to Law 3225, the directory controlled both
physical education and scouting both within and without the formal school system.
Scouting and public training for poison gas attacks (“gas conferences”) beyond
the school curriculum were available, if not even mandatory, for girls and women.
To this paramilitarist structure, a state organization for gliding and skydiving called
the Turkish Bird (Türkkuşu) was amended in 1935. The Turkish Bird had female
members since its foundation.
The modern female soldier

In 1936 and 1937, military service of women, in support and care duties and even
as combatants, was more intensely discussed than ever before. Some arguments
of the earlier years were still in circulation: In exceptional times, in times of need,
women must support the combatants in different roles, as fearless and sacrificial
backups and replacements.14 These were expanded by new representations and
arguments, all in line with the zeitgeist of the 1930s in Turkey. Almost 15 years
after the war, the image of the brave Anatolian woman carrying ammunition during
the National Struggle had become the historical basis for expectations toward the
young republican urban woman. Republican girls were expected to attend Turkish
state schools where they would learn everything needed in modern life: from arith-
metic to hygienic housekeeping, from breeding doves for the national intelligence
Figure 3.1 A
cartoon, Bay Amcaya göre (According to Mr. Uncle). According to Mr.
Uncle: - Look here. Women’s military service has finally become more than a
rumor. - Once the law has past the parliament, this step will be taken. - When
the privates see next to them Officer Zehra, they will be so astonished! - But I
ask myself one thing: while the law is being prepared, will they have in mind
the urban woman or the villager? - Mr. Uncle [answers]: Obviously the urban
woman since during the War of Independence, the woman from the village has
already shown her commitment (1936).
service (Gümüşel, 2015, p. 207) to how to use a machine gun. They also needed
to discern and “acquire” their Anatolian role models’ character, the “innate” sense
of commitment and selfless bravery. This new narrative is best illustrated by the
cartoon Bay Amca (Mr. Uncle) (Figure 3.1).
The new female soldier was also discussed in scientific terms: Is the female body
suitable for heavy physical tasks? The question was directed at doctors, and they
brought forward contradictory arguments: Some said women were physically and
mentally underdeveloped, always in need of a rest, unable to control subordinates, and,
because of their delicate and peaceful quality, it would be completely against nature
to employ them as soldiers (Kadınların askerliğine tıbbi mani yoktur, 1936). Others
alluded to Russian and Spanish female warriors and their military access (Kadınların
askerliği, 1936; Kadınların askerliğine tıbbi mani yoktur, 1936). An army physician
and gynecologist eventually had an evolutionary approach. While women were for
the time being physically and mentally unable to fight at the front but fit enough for
other military tasks, he argued, military training in general would strengthen women’s
health and endurance, so one day they might even become combatants. But what was
more significant in the gynecologist’s view was the belief in progress and a better
future following it: “Because of the training and education our girls and women will
go through, because of our [well trained] women, the whole generation will be stur-
dier and more beautiful” (Kadınların askerliğine tıbbi mani yoktur, 1936).
M. Şevki (Mehmet Şevki Yazman, 1896–1974), a public intellectual, parliamen-
tarian and trained soldier, emphasized the sheer necessity of women’s service. He
repeated some of his earlier arguments such as the positive example of female sol-
diers inside the Red Army, the demographic need for women joining the military
structure, and the “totality” of the next war.15 The question was no longer if, but
how to soldier. What was more, the interest in natural sciences in the 1930s allowed
M. Şevki, like other authors, to explicitly tackle the issue of menstruation: “I’m
not an expert in these affairs, but I know that during the War of Independence the
[ammunition] carrying village women in my division did not refrain from their ser-
vice in times of fight even during their menstruation” (M. Şevki, 1936). By saying so,
he set himself apart from the then internationally held conviction that menstruation
was a disease and thus evidence of women’s physical and psychological weakness.16
Despite the official narrative that Turkish women were fully emancipated
since they had gained suffrage in 1934, women’s own voice did not really come
through. The newspapers quoted happy girls looking forward to learning shoot-
ing or skydiving. The National Parliament, which could have been a stage for the
female delegates, had turned into a rubber stamp for party-controlled decisions.
One exception is Suat Derviş’s (1936) article titled “To be a soldier, one needs
bravery”. In the guise of a chat with a small witty boy, Suat Derviş sketches the
dominant political air of the time – other countries may once again unite and launch
a war against Turkey – and mentions in passing the prevailing “arguments” against
women’s military service: Their hair is too long and their heels too high. While the
author seems to be amused by these statements coming from the mouth of a small
boy, the final statement reads like a riddle: “To be a soldier, one needs the brave
heart of a man”, says the boy, and the author answers: “You are right, I don’t have
that heart. No woman can possibly have that heart”. The ambiguity of the statement
implies two possible interpretations: Either women are not brave, or that men and
women are entirely different. The latter sounds more like Suat Derviş and includes
a very subtle critique of militarism. However, the defensive tone of an otherwise
self-confident and popular author demonstrates how politically sensitive a topic
women’s military service must have been in those years.17
The Turkish Bird

Aviation became a major matter of prestige for all states of the Global North in
the beginning of the 20th century. The first military aircrafts were in use during
the Ottoman–Italian War in 1911. The establishment of a national aircraft indus-
try, military air forces and the training of pilots were among the most eminent
goals of Turkish politics since the establishment of the Turkish Republic in 1923.
“The ephemeral wonder of planes in the air” (Ferguson, 2018, p. 2) fitted the
nationalists’ intention of demonstrating the nation’s greatness. Military aviation
became a cornerstone of the overall security structure. While the literature out-
lines the gendered, masculine nature of “airmindedness” (Ferguson, 2018, p. 2),
the propagandistic value of women pilots and particularly “first women pilots” was
also immense (Gils, 2011). Women and aviation were closely linked both in the
Ottoman Empire and Turkey, where the belated societal and technical moderniza-
tion went hand in hand with the emergence of feminism. With the state-sponsored
feminism of the republic and its oscillating gender images under the guidance of
“the father” Atatürk, the photographs of young women in uniform, caressing their
aircrafts or bombs (to be dropped from the fighter) get an almost erotic undertone.18
The skydiving and gliding organization Turkish Bird (Türkkuşu) was an impor-
tant component of aviation politics. When young skydivers – girls and boys – jumped
out of planes at official festivities, it proved progress, emancipation and bravery
in the eyes of the spectators (Türk kuşu gençlerin dünkü muvaffakıyetleri, 1936).
On Republic Day (Cumhuriyet Bayramı) of 1936, October 29, in the presence of

Atatürk, an air show was organized in Ankara, including female skydivers (Türk kuşu
gençlerin dünkü muvaffakıyetleri, 1936). The same day, Turkey had to mourn its
“first female aviation martyr”,19 Eribe Hürkuş, who died “during a training jump …
because of excitement”, according to the newspapers. The statements following her
death are evidence of how Kemalist state feminism is related to militarized sacrifice
and technical advancement. The young women of the Turkish Bird were expected
to follow the historical example of women fighting during the National Struggle. At
the same time, they symbolized a shift of the fight from the Anatolian soil to the air
space above.20 At Eribe’s burial, the head of the Turkish Aviation Organization gave
a speech that depicted her as an appreciated daughter of the republic:
You steadfast children of the Turkish Bird, you know how much I love you,
like a father does, so you can guess how much pain I feel because of Eribe’s
death. What comforts us, is that we have seen once again the bravery of a
Turkish woman who fights in every field side by side with the Turkish man,
who is not afraid to shed blood if necessary. […] You see that [the Turkish
woman] is active not only on land and sea, but also in the air, relentlessly,
fearless, and despising death, so that they won’t fall behind their mothers who
fought at the borders of the Sakarya [river]. […] Happy for your friend that
she gave her life at this young age for our cause of aviation (hava davamız),
instead of dying in an average traffic accident.
(İlk hava şehidi Türk kadını, 1936)
The text appeared in several other newspapers, complemented by an additional

statement from the attorney general. According to the newspapers, the attorney
general had stated during Eribe’s funeral that Turkey would see very soon men and
women carrying out all military tasks side by side. The newspapers purposefully
added to this news pictures of foreign female soldiers such as of the Red Army
(Türk kadınları asker oluyor, 1936) or of a female Chinese honorary colonel (Kadın
bir diplomat, 1936). The general’s statement obviously fueled the discussion on
women’s military service, which evolved throughout winter 1936–1937. In the fol-
lowing months, newspapers published interviews with excited girls who wished to
become professional skydivers or soldiers.21 In hindsight, the propaganda on girls’
military education, scouting, skydiving and flying reads like a preparation for the
military destruction of the Dersim region in 1937–1938. The political propaganda
in support of the so-called Dersim Harekatı was, to a hitherto unknown degree,
dominated by a gendered discourse.
Sabiha Gökçen and the Dersim Harekatı

The paramilitary organization the Turkish Bird and the military operation of 1937–
1938 at the Dersim region in Eastern Anatolia are linked to each other in the per-
son of Sabiha Gökçen, who was one of the adopted daughters of Atatürk, and a
teacher and exemplary figure for the girls at the Turkish Bird. In 1937, she joined
the so-called Dersim Maneuver (Dersim Harekatı) as a fighter pilot. Her outstand-
ing biography has been more recently outlined by Ayşe Gül Altınay and others
(Altınay, 2004, 2009; Hür, 2013).
Altınay (2009) has conceptualized Sabiha Gökçen as the privileged “proud war-
rior”, one of the three societally accepted roles for women of those years. The other
roles of that triad, the soldier-wife and the sacrificing mother, “play an important
role in keeping the warrior position as an exception” (Altınay, 2009, p. 92). The
discursive construction of this proud – woman – warrior should be considered in
relation to its counterdiscourse: The depiction of the Dersim region and its inhab-
itants as underdeveloped bandits and heathens whose exotic and loose women
are in need of rescue by the state. The reconstruction of this discourse is based
on the newspaper articles of that time and to a much smaller extent, on Sabiha
Gökçen’s autobiography, written by Oktay Verel, which was published as late as
1982 (Gökçen, 1994).22
The war on Dersim evolved into two campaigns during 1937 and 1938. The
population of the region was and is until today of Alevi faith and Kurdish eth-
nicity. This endogamous minority has been living in this remote mountainous
region since Ottoman times, establishing their own cultural and social rules. They
were economically poor due to the harsh living conditions but autonomous in
most aspects of daily life and religious practice. While most Alevis had hailed
the advance of the republic replacing the Sunni-Ottoman rule, some Alevis of the
Dersim region saw no need to surrender to the new power which was, in terms
of faith and language, as alien as the former one, and even more intrusive with
its armed forces and all-encompassing Turkification campaigns (Van Bruinessen,
1994; Törne, 2017). The “stubborn” resistance of “some bandits” and their unwill-
ingness to accept neither the power nor the promise of civilizational progress,
rendered this conflict an ideological one with fundamental importance for the
future of the Turkish state. In the eyes of the Kemalists, Dersim was a “canker”,
a “zone of illness that needed surgery” (Kieser, 2011, pp. 4 and 11). While the
campaign as such started in March 1937, the council of ministers decided for a
more radical approach in May 1937: Kill all insurgents. This included an attack
by the air force.23 At the time, Sabiha Gökçen was on the verge of completing her
military aviation training. When she heard about the campaign, she wanted to join
it despite her male comrades’ and superiors’ initial rejection of this idea (Gökçen,
1994, pp. 115–117).
On the actual days of the air attack, newspapers were suspiciously silent on any
issue regarding Dersim and its insurgents even though the unrest had been covered
before. Toward the end of the month, however, Sabiha Gökçen made headlines,
being awarded with a medal “because of her success” (İlk Kadın tayyarecimiz,
1937), although it was not specified to what this success referred. It becomes clear,
however, that this success included both her efforts in the Turkish Bird and her par-
ticipation in a recent military campaign. During the award ceremony, the pilot her-
self expressed her gratitude for the opportunity to join the military expedition and
“to gather some precious experience” (İlk Kadın tayyarecimiz, 1937). The related
news coverage of the following days and weeks was dominated by two intermin-
gling topics. On the one hand, Sabiha Gökçen was depicted as a role model, the
proud female warrior setting an example for all Turks and as proof of Turkey’s
success in modernization. On the other hand, parallel to the propagation of that
image, with the lift of the military secrecy, Dersim, its people and the military
campaign returned to the public agenda, becoming even more present than ever
before. Saime Sâdi, a nationalist female journalist,24 wrote about Gökçen in June
1937 as follows:
During the latest Dersim Maneuver, as a soldier and aviator in the army,
as a Turkish woman, she flew like an eagle over the highest mountains of
Dersim. She unleashed her bomb the same way her brother [does] on the
cliffs, where malice sprouts. She descended with lightning speed from diz-
zying heights, spewing fire at them from the barrel of her machine gun.
Defying death lurking among the dreadful, jagged cliffs, she sought the ban-
dits’ hideouts one by one, saw, identified, shot, and reported. […] This is
not like going to the beaches by car. […] This is outright joining a war, car-
rying out a duty which puffs up the Turkish woman’s chest with pride. […]
Woman and man are one. Neither more nor less. The homeland belongs to
all of us, the regime and the republic to all of us. So, we will protect it at the
risk of such deaths.
(Saime Sâdi, 1937)
This newspaper campaign culminated in an article where the subjection of one of

the alleged bandits, Seyit Rıza,25 by the hand of a Turkish woman, was explicitly
formulated. Under the heading “Sabiha Gökçen met Seyit Rıza yesterday. The old
bandit greets powerlessly the heroic Turkish girl who had bombed [him] during the
maneuver” the article continues:
When Sabiha Gökçen arrived here (in Elaziz) she wanted to see Seyit Rıza.
… When he saw the pilots, he put his hand to his head and straightened his
beard. He was told “this is Atatürk’s daughter who had thrown the first bomb
at you.”
(Sabiha Gökçen dün Seyit Rıza ile görüştü, 1937)
Sabiha Gökçen herself did neither at that time nor later in her autobiography ques-
tion her duty or dwell on details. When a journalist asked about her feeling while
throwing bombs at living people:
The young Turkish girl answered without hesitation: “The target of the bomb
was not human in my eyes, but a kind of a moving target. Since my superiors
had considered it a patriotic duty to throw a bomb, I had no other thought
than … to do it well.”
(Yalman, 1937)
The narrative surrounding her person and her “success” at Dersim was a signifi-
cant part of the securitization policy of the state. Together with the many other
newspaper articles of the time on the national defense activities and the looming
threat of a new world war, the daily news on her activities was meant to motivate
and encourage other young women to participate in national defense activities.
More important, however, she was the ideal figure for pointing at the difference
between the modern and civilized, secular but Sunni Turks, and the underde-
veloped, wild Kurdish-Alevi tribes. The number of articles on strange or exotic
traditions of Dersim and the happy prospect of Tunceli26 at the hand of the new
Turkish leadership exploded in the summer of 1937. Many of these articles mused
on Dersim women and their cultural particularities: “In Dersim, woman’s position
is rather strange. Sometimes, she dominates the man absolutely, many times she is
the man’s absolute slave” (Dersimde kadınlar nasıl kaçırılır, 1937). Also, there is
“no regular wedding” – no formal wedding at a state office – and sexual relations
outside of wedlock happen on a regular basis. In those cases, the religious special-
ist, the dede, runs a religious ceremony to absolve the loose woman from her sin
(Dersimde kadınlar nasıl kaçırılır, 1937). Some women handle the gun better than
any man in the region (Sergerde Ali Şir, 1937).27 However, what is praisewor-
thy for Turkish heroines, is reprobate for wives of Kurdish bandits. Seyit Rıza’s
“young and beautiful wife” is reported to have used her female attraction in order
to prevent “the 70 years old head of the bandits” from surrendering to the state by
wearing “a three-skirted caftan, a Tripoli belt on the waist, a silver and silk tasseled
fez on the head, and a very artistic outfit with silk embroidered pockets” (Tunceli
mıntakasında, 1937).
The story of Sabiha Gökçen and her involvement in Dersim reveal two main
characteristics of the period: the absolute primacy of militarized thinking over
social or moral consideration, and the confusion about women’s societal role. This
confusion was not restricted to the judgment of the behavior of Dersim’s women;
it could also be traced in the relation between fathers and daughters, the state and
its women, Atatürk and Sabiha Gökçen. Her mythicized readiness to die for the
country shows the conflation of gender images: While to die for the country is often
qualified as a male duty, women have to care for the survival of the nation (Ase
and Wendt, 2019), Sabiha Gökçen was expected to sacrifice her life in order to
safeguard the country as well as the sexual honor of her own and the national body.
It is important to note that even in the heydays of Kemalism, the inclusion of
women in the security structure, particularly their military training and career in
the professional cadres, was not supported by everyone in the ruling circle. Even
Sabiha Gökçen, who was the posterchild of female fighters within the army, was not
allowed to have a military career after Dersim. She remembers how she demanded
to continue her military career but was denied her right, which meant that the right
of all women was also denied. Atatürk had made Marshal Fevzi Çakmak decide
on this issue and the marshal told the young woman: “I do not at all agree that our
girls and women should become soldiers. For a nation to exist, its women need to
live” (Gökçen, 1994, p. 228).
Conclusion
The chapter focused on the discourse on women’s soldiering in Turkey during the
second half of the 1930s. It covered the institutionalization of military service for
women and the diverse voices regarding the embedding of women in the national
security structure. It was shown that in the 1930s the state worked vigorously to
change the way women participated in public life. This included giving women the
right to vote and stand for election, organizing the World Conference of Women,
and teaching girls and women war-related skills such as civil defense, skydiving
and the use of simple weapons. In 1936–1937, some voices advocated military
service for women parallel to that for men. Newspaper articles quoted school-
girls who looked forward to military preparatory lessons in schools and a future
as soldiers or paratroopers. The expectation that the next war would be a “total”
one (Sencer, 2017, p. 42) made it seem all the more urgent to include women in
the security structure. With Sabiha Gökçen’s participation in the operation in the
Dersim region and the media treatment of Gökçen’s national sense of duty and
capability, it seemed only a matter of time before women would also be granted
that civic right: joining the armed forces.
It became apparent, however, that influential voices in the military and political
spheres saw women’s national role primarily in procreation and care work. The
proud warrior women of wars past and present remained exceptional figures who
buttressed the conservative understanding of gender roles, as Altınay has shown
(2009). While the exceptional female warriors were needed because of their sym-
bolic value, average women were incorporated into the security structure so that
they would take on concrete tasks as they had done during the independence war.
The Turkish mobilization law of August 1944 included women and men between
the ages of 16 and 60 in the defense of the country (Dalaman, 2022, p. 164), and the
military lessons for girls remained part of the curriculum. After the Second World
War (in which Turkey did not actively join), the political scene started to change
again, toward a strong alliance with the US and an equally strong anti-communism,
including a period of social revisionism and an explicit emphasis on the mother
role (Emen-Gökatalay, 2021).
Rikke Schubart argues regarding the superheroines of action movies that a
“woman with a gun does not signify a man with a phallus. She is always daughter,
mother or amazon, always a fantasy, always using a fetich offered by him. And
she is always at his command, at his feet and at his service” (1998, p. 213). This
description of the fictional heroines coincides to an astonishing degree with the
situation of Turkey’s heroic female fighters.
The women who had supported the National Struggle and the establishment
of the new nation-state were neither superheroines nor average women. They
had not dismissed the idea of care work as basically a female duty, but they had
a clear vision that equality meant equal citizenship and equal citizenship meant
equal rights and duties, including suffrage and military service. Additionally, the
armed forces were a highly prestigious institution and everything “military” was
held in great esteem. These women expected their share in glory and power, and
they believed in the need to defend the new country. Therefore, in the case of the
early Turkish Republic, the remaining question is not why the women wanted
to join the national forces but why the men so vigorously kept them outside the
barracks.
Notes
1 “Atatürk’ten kadınlara 8 Mart mesajı: ‘Askerlik yapmayana oy da yok!’” Derin Tarih is
a product of the Albayrak Holding and Media Group, which are said to have close ties
with the JDP (Justice and Development Party, AKP).
2 Mustafa Kemal Atatürk (1881–1938) was the founding father of Turkey. He promoted
female emancipation as a significant element of the national modernization process.
3 Balkan Wars (1912–1913), First World War, the National Struggle (Milli Mücadele,
1919–1922).
4 There is an ample production of (graphic) novels and children’s books such as Turgut
(2018), published by Kahramanlar Org, a publisher dedicated to heroic Turkish war sto-
ries.
5 Numerous alternations to the law have been put in place since then, which requires a
separate discussion of its own in further articles.
6 According to a NATO report of 2019, the percentage of armed full-time women in the
Armed Forces of Turkey has dwindled to 0.3%; certain duties and branches are not open
to women (NATO 2019, p. 509).
7 The feminists of Turkey had campaigned for women’s suffrage since the foundation of
the republic in 1923. Since then, women’s military service has been discussed as a corol-
lary of suffrage. See for, example, Altınay, (2004, p. 33).
8 The Turkish Women’s Union was established in 1923 under the lead of Nezihe Muhiddin.
See Çakır (2006); Zihnioğlu (2003).
9 This inherited burden of “armed peace” for the sake of the country’s survival can still be
found on the shoulders of current women’s groups (Coşar, 2010, p. 162–163).
10 In a letter exchange between Rosa Manus and a board member of the union, Necile
Tevfik, Rosa Manus concluded: “We, the board members of the Alliance, had the hope
that after the successful congress it would be possible to keep your organization alive”
(Manus, 1935).
11 The issue of the district of Alexandrette, the Turkish-Syrian border region including
Iskenderun and Antakya, was only settled in 1938 with the inclusion of the region in the
territory of the Turkish Republic. In the years before, political and violent regional and
international pressure had not led to an agreement. Most likely, the increasing military
threat by the Fascist states in Europe made Great Britain and France accept the final
decision in the favor of Turkey. See further Zürcher (2021, pp. 202–203).
12 This thematic focus on woman and war, as well as the combination of the two on a front
page of a Turkish newspaper is neither a mere coincidence nor a new phenomenon.
Newspaper issues published during the weeks of the International Women’s Congress in
1935 display the same choice of headlines. This phenomenon is without any doubt worth
a much deeper media theoretical analysis. However, this will have to be discussed in a
different paper.
13 Ministry of Culture was the new term for the former Ministry of Educational Affairs
(Maarif Vekaleti).
14 Ayşe Gül Altınay (2004, p. 15) argues that there was a clear shift from the idea of national
and patriotic duty to the idea of the innate soldier quality of the Turk in the second half of
the 1930s. However, the ideas do not replace each other. While the “innate quality” can
be traced back to Ziya Gökalp and earlier, the idea of national duty (vazife) is still valid
in the late 1930s.
15 M. Şevki was a supporter of the Turkish Women’s Union. He wrote pieces for The Way
of Women (Kadın Yolu), the Women’s Union’s journal, such as “Women and military
service” (‘Kadınlık ve askerlik’, 1927).
16 In the US, for example, in 1934, the first female passenger pilot was not allowed to fly
during her menstruation (Gils, 2011, p. 56).
17 For more on the feminist journalist and author Suat Derviş, see Hendrich (2022) and
Berktay (2006).
18 The photographs of the first Turkish bomber pilot Sabiha Gökçen or the first civil pilot
Bedriye Tahir Gökmen are available on many internet pages, e.g., https://www.thk.org.tr
/turk_havacilik_tarihineyon_veren_kadinlar or https://tr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sabiha_G
%C3%B6k%C3%A7en. There is ample literature on the presentation of women with
weapons in media, the phallic symbolism of weapons and women participating in the
phallic power in a patriarchal phallocentric society (Germanà, 2020; Li, 2020).
19 All the newspapers used more or less the same wording “ilk hava şehidi Türk kadını”.
20 After decades of relentless efforts for the advancement and rise of the Ottomans and the
Turks, symbolized in the names of the associations such as the Women’s Association
for the Rise of the Fatherland (Teali-i Vatan Osmanlı Hanımlar Cemiyeti), the symbolic
importance of national aviation cannot be overestimated.
21 For example, Bursalı genç parasütçü (1936); Es (1937).
22 For the context of this commissioned work, see Adak (2015).
23 The most severe strike, however, took place in August 1938. The death toll was higher
than 13,000, plus more than 11,000 deportees (Kieser, 2011, pp. 5, 11).
24 For some remarks on her work and political views, see Bali (2015).
25 Seyit (also: Sey, Seyid, Seyyid) Rıza was “perhaps the most important tribal chief, in
addition to being a religious figure” (Kieser, 2011, pp. 4 and 11), so his capturing in
September 1937 and execution can be considered the greatest triumph of the military
campaign of 1937.
26 With the establishment of a province called Tunceli in 1935, the renaming of the Dersim
area set on. In the newspaper articles of 1936–1938, both names can be found. There is a
certain tendency that Dersim is used in a folkloristic, nostalgic or negative context, while
Tunceli is the name of the new, Turkish, project.
27 Zarife and her husband Ali Şer were most famous for joining first the Koçgiri upheaval
in 1921 and later that of Dersim. They lost their lives at the hand of other Dersimis
(Kieser, 2011, pp. 4 and 11).
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4 Soldaderas and Guerrilleras
Camp followers and female fighters in Latin
American armed conflicts in the 19th and 20th
centuries
Barbara Potthast
Introduction1
Traditional, and even contemporary, discourses frequently depict women and
children as pacific beings who are mainly affected by war as victims2 (Elshtain,
1987, pp. 3–13; Macdonald, 1987, pp. 1–26). Without denying the specific forms
of violence enacted against women during war, this article focuses on women as
agents in armed conflicts in Latin America over the last two centuries. Despite a
long-standing patriarchal culture and Catholic role models of the abnegated and
mourning Holy Mary, women have actively participated in Latin American armed
conflicts since at least the struggles for independence at the beginning of the 19th
century. Until the mid-20th century, however, their roles were variously character-
ized as providers, camp followers or as idealistic supporters. I argue that even these
roles, however, sometimes demanded aggressive, if not violent, action.
During the second half of the 20th century, the figure of the female guerrilla
fighter became prominent. Their use of arms was obvious, but female fighters
were still quite often idealized and characterized by “female” attributes, such as
beauty and sacrifice, but in service of a political cause.3 In this chapter, I trace
some fundamental questions related to women and violence in armed conflicts,
such as the motives of women to participate in various ways, conflicts with tradi-
tional roles, questions of intergroup gender relations, as well as public discourses
and memories about these women, especially in post-conflict societies. A long-
term perspective can shed light on persistent structures and problems as well
as changes in gender roles. This article draws on the analytic tools and theories
from the field of gender studies, especially the scholarship Joan Scott and Judith
Butler (Scott, 1986). Scott reminds us that personal ties are always characterized
by power relations and that those based on gender can be considered elemental.
Butler’s “gender trouble” (1999) is basic in the sense that this chapter is about
the problems (trouble) that result from the ascription, reproduction and essen-
tialization of gender roles. The chapter is also informed by the concept of inter-
sectionality, which considers the interrelatedness of basic social markers, such as
gender, class and ethnicity, as well as their embeddedness in local and cultural
settings (Anzalduá, 1987; Crenshaw, 1989).
Women as protagonists in armed conflicts do not, however, comprise only
those who take up arms, but also those who play important roles in logistics or
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359-5
Soldaderas and Guerrilleras 61
communication. Especially among rebel groups and in early modern armies, no

formal units existed for these tasks, as they were quite often carried out by people –
women, more often than not – who did not formally belong to the group of fighters.
This informal group of actors is often referred to as camp followers, first of the
armies that fought for independence from colonial rule early in the 19th century,
and later for the guerrilla groups in the first part of the 20th century. The distinc-
tion between armed fighters and active supporters is thus not always clear, and one
might ask whether it makes sense at all. In this chapter, I thus point to the various
and shifting roles that women played in armed conflicts in Latin America from the
19th century onward, highlighting their increasing participation in guerrilla groups
in the 1960s, where about a third of the fighters were women. The main questions
that I pose include: How can we account for the important participation of women,
given traditional gender roles and the Latin American tradition of “machismo”?
What kinds of gender trouble arose from this situation and how did female fighters
reconcile their role as combatant with essentialized ideas of women as mothers and
as “angel of the home” (angel del hogar)?
Generally speaking, opinions on women participating in armed conflicts oscil-
late between consent and praise because of their contribution to the pursuit of a
common goal, such as national independence or a just society, and a general con-
demnation of women’s use of violence. In this context, the role of women as moth-
ers is an important issue, since motherhood is usually considered incompatible
with violence and death. Given these contradictions, women have more difficulties
justifying their active support of armed struggles, not only because of the assumed
pacifist character of women, but also because their participation in such strug-
gles seems incompatible with the most important female role, that of the mother.
Women who voluntarily resigned from that role are viewed as having lost their
femaleness, not only by men, but also by other women. This contradiction proved
to be one of the main points of conflict within modern guerrilla groups and an
important cause of disenchantment among many female fighters, as I will argue in
this article. The camp followers of the 19th and early 20th century, however, had
no choice but to have children and carry them along, but this was judged differently
since female roles of chastely behavior and tender motherhood were not considered
part of lower-class women.4
In order to highlight long-term patterns of continuity and change, I concen-
trate on significant examples, notwithstanding the specificities of each group and
context. In terms of chronology, and for practical reasons, I focus on two periods
that also reflect changes in gender roles. The first one spans from the wars of inde-
pendence in Latin America at the beginning of the 19th century to the Mexican
Revolution between 1910 and 1920, in which women played important logistical
and other support roles, but active participation in the combat was scarce. In this
period, I identify a marked ethnic and social bias, as participating women were
mostly from lower classes, often indigenous or mestizo, whereas women of the
elite participated in ways and in settings that were acceptable for their gender.
Public imagery and historical memory about both groups were, and still are to a
certain degree, laden with racism and prejudice. During the second period, ethnic
and social distinctions lost importance since women of all classes participated, but
their conflicting gender roles began to become a point of discussion and conflict for
women in armed groups.
Damas patriotas: The elite auxiliaries

At the beginning of the 19th century, the Spanish and Portuguese empires in Latin
America dissolved in the context of Europe’s Napoleonic Wars, and most Latin
American colonies gained independence. However, these wars, which lasted from
about 1810 to 1824, depending on the region, were followed by internal con-
flicts over state formation, perpetuating violence and fighting for several more
decades. The wars of independence are usually associated with a national hero
and are mainly considered a masculine affair. If women entered the “pantheon of
national heroes”, it was because they hosted male fighters in a conspiratorial salon,
or because they were the mother or wife of a male hero (Cherpak, 1995; Quintero
Montiel, 2001, pp. 58–64; Guardia, 2010, Introduction). The Argentine Mariquita
Sánchez de Thompson is one such woman. In her salon, the tale goes, patriots sang
the national anthem for the first time. This scene is replicated in many school and
popular history books and in a painting by Pedro Subercaseaux (1880–1956).5
Manuela Sáenz, the most famous, but also most controversial female hero of the
independence movement, is the partner of the most prominent male hero, General
Simón Bolívar.6 In her biography, the most important female roles of the time
merge: She was the impeccable hero who supported and loved her companion
and saved his life more than once due to her attentiveness. At the same time, she
embodies the dangers of public life for women, the transgression of boundaries
and female roles in wartime. The transgressions of traditional female roles, in par-
ticular, led leading men of the time, as well as even historians and biographers of
Bolívar, to struggle with the role of Manuela Sáenz and, finally, to explain most of
her actions in the context of saving her partner’s life. This act was not analyzed in
political terms, but as motivated by the love of a woman (Earle, 2000; Chambers,
2001; Murray, 2001; Quintero Montiel, 2001). However, Manuela Sáenz had
strong political and strategic opinions, which she discussed with Simón Bolívar.
She became his political adviser, his secretary and archivist, and she organized
the sanitary and alimentary logistics of the insurgent army. It seems that she par-
ticipated actively in the decisive battle of Ayacucho, but this is one of the many
disputes, especially since traditional historians do not like to accept this7 (Murray,
2001, pp. 301–304). Due to her important contributions to army logistics, Bolívar
had already awarded Manuela Sáenz the title of capitán, but when he raised her to
coronel after that battle, their fellow libertador, General Francisco de Santander,
protested. In defense of his decision, Bolívar not only justified the measure, but
also defended the presence of women among the troops, generally. He thought
them to be necessary not only “for the tranquillity of the troops”, but also because
they formed part of the “booty” (botín) that could not be denied to the soldiers
(Bolívar to Santander, 1993, p. 156). By these terms, Bolívar alluded, on the one
hand, to the fact that many women were forcefully abducted, and, indeed, were
sexually abused by the soldiers; on the other hand, he had important non-sexual
services in mind, which these women provided for the armies.
Rabonas and Soldaderas: Auxiliary women of the lower classes

Manuela Sáenz accompanied General Simón Bolívar during various military cam-
paigns, as did many other women who followed men into battles. In these insur-
gent armies, no formal logistics groups had been established, so responsibilities for
preparing food, washing and caring for the wounded fell to the women. Women
also comforted the soldiers at night. Sometimes they helped to transport weapons
or spied on the enemy, but they rarely actively participated in battles. In some
cases, these infelicitously termed “camp followers”8 were organized in a military
manner and established ranks identical to those used by men (capitana, sargenta)
(Reséndez Fuentes, 1995; Potthast, 2011, pp. 278–281). With some exceptions,
the contribution of these women to the armies has been largely neglected, both
in historical memory and even by scholars (Davies et al., 2006; Martínez Hoyos,
2012). Part of this negligence is due to the fact that these women came from the
lower strata of society, were mostly rural and often indigenous, and almost all illit-
erate. They left no traces in writing or in archives, as did Manuela Sáenz. Scholars
mostly know of them through visual sources (e.g., paintings and later photographs)
or through the perspectives of foreigners or members of the Europeanized upper
class. Their descriptions reflect the classist and often racist biases of their group.
A good example of this perspective is the report of Flora Tristan, a woman of
Peruvian descent who grew up in France, and later became a forerunner of femi-
nism and socialism. She observed a group of female troops who participated in a
civil war in Peru during the 1830s:
At the very end of the camp, behind the soldiers’ tents, were quartered the
rabonas with their jumble of cooking-pots and children. […] The rabonas
are the camp-followers of South America. [ …] They form a considerable
troop, preceding the army by several hours so that they have time to set up
camp, obtain food and cook it. […] The rabonas are armed; they load onto
mules their cooking-pots, tents and all the rest of the baggage, they drag after
them a horde of children of all ages […]. When they arrive at their destina-
tion, they choose the best site for the camp […]. If they chance to be near an
inhabited place, they go off in a detachment to get supplies; they descend
on the village like famished beasts and demand food for the army. When
it is given with a good grace they do no harm, but when they are refused,
they fight like lionesses and their fierce courage overcomes all resistance.
Then they sack the village, carry their loot back to the camp and divide it
among themselves.
These women, who provide for all the needs of the soldier […], receive no
pay and their only reward is the freedom to rob with impunity. They are of
Indian race, speak the native language, and do not know a single word of
Spanish. The rabonas are not married, they belong to nobody and are there
for anybody who wants them. They are creatures outside society: they live
with the soldiers, eat with them, stop where they stop, are exposed to the
same dangers and endure far greater hardships than the men. When […] one
considers that in leading this life of toil and danger, they still have the duties
of motherhood to fulfil, one is amazed that any of them can endure it.
[…] Several able generals have sought to find a substitute for the service
the rabonas provide and prevent them from following the army, but the sol-
diers have always revolted against any such attempt and it has been neces-
sary to yield to them. They are not at all sure that the military administration
would be able to provide for their needs, and that is why they refuse to give
the rabonas up. [emphasize BP]
(Tristan, 1987, p. 179f)
This statement resembles Bolívar’s justification for allowing women into the ranks
of the troops. Yet, during the Mexican Revolution at the beginning of the 20th
century, soldiers would still not rely on anyone but a woman for food9 (Reed, 1978,
p. 45; Poniatowska, 2002, pp. 64–65). However, rape, mistreatment and wife-
beating were also part of the daily life of many women in the camps.10 And, as
the statement of a woman who had lived through the Mexican Revolution shows,
many women reacted to this violence by becoming violent and aggressive them-
selves: Used to being beaten as a child, Jesusa Palancares felt obliged to punish her
father’s lovers when she went to the army with him. Later on, she beat and hurt
the lovers of her husband, an officer to whom she was married against her will, in
every possible way (Poniatowska, 2002, pp. 66f and 103f). The way Jesusa tells the
story, however, reveals that even though she was conscious of her transgressions,
she was caught in traditional gender roles, since she constantly refers to herself as
being “bad” or “mean” (mala, perra):
Pedro [her husband] got nicer after I threatened to shoot him. But then I got
mean. From the time I was little, I was mean, I was born that way … The
blessed Revolution gave me self-confidence. When Pedro pushed me over
the edge, I thought: “I’m going to defend myself or he can just kill me and be
done with it”. If I hadn’t been mean, I would have let Pedro abuse me until
he killed me. But there came a moment when God must have said to me:
“Defend yourself” … And I took out the gun.
(Poniatowska, 2002, p. 101)
This statement is exemplary in at least two ways: First, it shows the degree to
which violence formed part of the lives of these women, whether violence against
them or perpetrated by them. Second, it draws attention to the motives of the
rabonas, who mostly participated because it was their duty to take care of a man,
whether a father, husband or brother. How voluntarily they assumed this role is
difficult to say, but we might assume that it was not very different from what young
women in guerrilla movements stated later on: Some were forced to join the army,
while others saw no future in their village and preferred to be with someone they
knew. Contrary to the women in the second half of the 20th century, however, few
of these 19th century women followed the troops for political reasons (Potthast,
2009).
How did contemporaries judge women who had to overcome traditional gen-
der roles in order to survive under these circumstances? As seen in the preceding
citations, many women themselves were uncomfortable with their behavior and
considered themselves “bad”. Flora Tristan considered them as “creatures outside
society”. Later generations either denied, forgot or reinterpreted the transgres-
sions of these women in the armies in order to make them compatible with tradi-
tional social and gender roles (Brown, 2005, pp. 36–51; Potthast, 2009, 2015). In
Mexico, after the violent phase of the revolution, military leaders tried to dismiss
the presence of women among the troops as a fiction or stated that they had only
participated in the army of the others (Salas, 1995, p. 97). In popular memory, the
role of the soldaderas was reinterpreted too. Popular songs such as the “corrido de
la soldadera” start every verse with the following lines:
Abnegada soldadera / de tu bien querido Juan / tú le cubres la trinchera / con

tus ropas de percal / y le das la cartuchera / cuando se pone a tirar.11
Selfless soldadera / of your beloved Juan / you cover the trench / with your
woven clothes / and you give him the cartridge / when he fires the gun.
The first two lines then mark the beginning of every verse. By this repetition the
adjective “abnegada”, abnegated or selfless, becomes the dominant characteris-
tic of the soldadera, and brings her back in line with the sacrificing consort and
mother. The famous corrido, “La Adelita”, remembered the woman as a person
who had to stay home, and las adelitas, as the soldaderas were later called because
of this song, inspired romantic novels and films (Salas, 1995, p. 97). This reinter-
pretation of the role of women during the armed struggles helped to reconcile the
phenomenon of women fighters with traditional gender roles, thereby stabilizing
society by reinforcing the patriarchal family and gender order. A similar process
can also be observed among demobilized female guerrilla fighters during the sec-
ond half of the 20th century.
The Guerrilleras of the 20th century

Between battle and the kitchen
The second period of active, continent-wide participation of women in armed

struggles in Latin America occurred in the context of the Cold War, involving uto-
pian visions of a just society as well as efforts to bring about this society through
armed conflict.
The most important event that triggered different political and guerrilla move-
ments in Latin America was the remarkable success of Cuban guerrillas under Fidel
Castro and Ernesto “Che” Guevara in 1959. The event inspired various groups in
other countries, and the new Cuban government, under leadership of Che Guevara,
attempted to export the revolution by sending a guerrilla group to Bolivia in order

to start a revolutionary process there. There were a few women among the Cuban
guerrillas, but gender was not a theme that they discussed. The central line of argu-
ment among the Latin American left of the 1960s and 1970s was that the class
struggle was the most important political issue, with gender being relegated to a
“minor contradiction”. Once socialism was established, or so the story goes, these
minor antagonisms would almost automatically vanish. Many revolutionaries (and
other left-wing groups) even warned that any discussions of “the gender question”
would only divide and weaken the movement. Besides, the vision of women’s
roles in armed groups was a rather traditional one. Women were welcome as sup-
porters but not considered fighters. Che Guevara, who quickly became an icon of
the revolution worldwide, was no exception, and his view of women’s roles was
paradigmatic for many revolutionaries at that time. In his manual on the theory and
method of guerrilla warfare, he wrote:
The part that the woman can play in the development of a revolutionary pro-
cess is of extraordinary importance. It is well to emphasize this, since in all
our countries, with their colonial mentality, there is a certain underestimation
of the woman which becomes a real discrimination against her.
The woman is capable of performing the most difficult tasks, of fighting
beside the men; and despite current belief, she does not create conflicts of a
sexual type in the troops … In the rigorous combatant life, the woman is a
companion who brings the qualities appropriate to her sex … The transport
of objects, messages, or money, of small size and great importance, should
be confided to women in whom the guerrilla army has absolute confidence …
But also, in this stage a woman can perform her habitual tasks of peacetime;
it is very pleasing to a soldier subjected to the extremely hard conditions
of this life to be able to look forward to a seasoned meal which tastes like
something. (One of the great tortures of the war was eating a cold, sticky,
tasteless mess).
(Guevara, 1985, pp. 132–133)
Even though a minority, women who participated in the armed struggle were not
inclined to restrict their actions to reproductive work and support. The most famous
women fighter of the time, Tania “La Guerrillera”, as she is sometimes referred to,
struggled to be included among Che Guevara’s troops and allowed to participate in
the fighting (Rojas and Rodríguez Calderón, 1971).
Tania, whose real name was Hayde (Haydée) Tamara Bunke, was an Argentine-
German who went from East Germany to Cuba in 1961. There she was recruited by
the Cuban Secret Service. In 1964, she was sent to Bolivia with a false identity in
order to prepare for struggles of the Cuban guerrilla group under Guevara’s leader-
ship, which started in 1966. Her task was to gather political and military informa-
tion and build a network of supporters. In 1967, she guided a group of international
visitors, and some new fighters, to the camp where Che Guevara and his group had
initiated guerrilla warfare. Because of several unforeseen incidents, her car was
found by the Bolivian military, where she had left some compromising papers. As
her role was discovered, she had to remain with the guerrillas. Until today, it is
unclear whether this happened by accident or whether Tania provoked the incident
in order to be able to stay with the guerrillas.
In the camp, Tania first carried out “typically feminine” tasks, such as cooking,
as well as other atypical but role-compatible tasks for her gender, such as analyz-
ing the radio news. After a long dispute with Che Guevara, she finally was given a
rifle and became part of the guard. Her role as an active fighter was short, however,
since one month before the entire group was exterminated, Tania and the rear guard
were trapped and shot by the Bolivian military (Rodríguez Ostria, 2011).
Tania’s story is revealing, not only because she was the female counterpart to
Che Guevara, but because we also find typical features of female fighters, both
during her life and afterlife. Her transition from supporter to fighter, and the cir-
cumstances surrounding this shift, make her a transitional figure between women
involved in Latin American conflicts of the 19th and 20th centuries. In addi-
tion, judgments about her actions reveal typical gender stereotypes about fight-
ing women. Given the lack of evidence, most biographers speculate about Tania’s
“negligence” when going to the revolutionaries’ camp. Some of them, not very
surprisingly, speculate that she was in love with Che and wanted to be close to or
even die with him. Others present her as a traitor, a femme fatale or a triple agent
(East German, Russian, Cuban). In this way, they make recourse to anti-female
stereotypes, mostly in order to disqualify the guerrilla effort as a whole. Yet others,
who supported the case of the guerrillas, speculate that Tania was tired of life in
the shadows and wanted to become a real fighter (Zapata, 1997; Estrada Lescaille,
2005).
The fight for equality among the guerrillas

As seen in the case of Tania and Che Guevara, visions of women’s roles in armed
struggles were changing, but they were still mostly considered unable to engage
in armed combat. This slowly changed in the next generation, but the reconcilia-
tion of female identities with armed combat remained difficult. During the 1960s
and 1970s, in many Western countries, discontent with existing political systems
led to new, mostly socialist ideas, and the appearance of armed groups that sought
to achieve their aims by violence. Some of these groups involved women in key
active roles, such as the Weather Underground in the United States or the Rote
Armee Fraktion (RAF) in Germany. In Latin America, visions of a better society,
characterized by social and economic justice, spread among the younger generation
of Latin Americans and were nurtured by the successes of Cuban Revolutionaries.
This generation had benefited from the literacy campaigns and reforms to colleges
and universities, but were disappointed by the unfulfilled promises of moderniza-
tion and progress. The circulation of Marxist ideas among students and academics
also led to the formulation of specifically Latin American theories about ways to
achieve a fair society. In the 1950s and 1960s, the “dependency theory” perspec-
tive, an influential theoretical framework formulated by leftist sociologists and
economists, sought to explain “underdevelopment” and social injustice in Latin

America by appealing to colonial exploitation and postcolonial structures of an
unequal exchange. In Brazil, Paulo Freire developed a literacy campaign with
revolutionary content, the “Pedagogy of Liberation”. The opening of the Catholic
Church to social questions after the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965) led to
the formulation of a Latin American “Theology of Liberation”. Although these
latter perspectives did not promote armed struggle, many young Latin Americans
concluded that reformist strategies would not lead to any improvements of social
justice. Armed struggle seemed the better, if not the only, option to them. In this
context, several revolutionary groups took up arms, and Che Guevara, who had
been killed in Bolivia in 1967, became an icon for young people, female as well as
male, around the world (Wickham-Crowley, 1992; Castro, 1999).
While women played only a minor role among the Cuban guerrillas, the new
groups in the 1970s and 1980s had more and more women in their rank and file,
although rarely among their superior ranks. In these decades, approximately
one third of guerrilla groups were comprised of female fighters (Luciak, 2001;
Kampwirth, 2002). Although most women joined armed struggles for general
political reasons, many of them started to reflect about gender equality over the
course of their affiliation. Some, like women in the Nicaraguan Frente Sandinista
de Liberación Nacional (short: Sandinistas, FSLN), became disappointed after the
success of the revolution, which had promised gender equality, but in the end merely
returned to traditional gender roles, even within the revolutionary government.
In the following section, I will concentrate not so much on the topic of gender
equality, but, in accordance with the long-term perspective, I will consider the
motives of women who joined the armed struggle as well as their eventual disap-
pointment. I focus especially on the roles that were afforded to them within the
guerrilla movement, including their views of the contradictions between armed
struggle and femaleness.
My focus will be on a Columbian revolutionary movement, which can be seen
as a link to the former movements, not only chronologically, but also and mainly
because it was the first movement to include a large number of women in their
rank and file. It was also the first movement in which women assumed leadership
positions (Londoño Fernández and Nieto Valdivieso, 2006, p. 12). In addition, two
of the leading guerrilleras extensively documented personal memories and reflec-
tions of their trajectory.
In 1966, a year before Che Guevara died, Columbian priest and guerrillero
Camillo Torres was killed in fighting. In Columbia, a prolonged armed conflict,
which started in the 1940s and is not yet over, led to the formation of several
armed groups that fought against undemocratic politics and semifeudal socioeco-
nomic conditions in the countryside. In 1970, after another supposedly fraudulent
election on 19 April, a new guerrilla movement called the Movimiento 19 de Abril
(M-19) was founded. The movement was only demobilized in 1990, following
peace talks and a new constitution in 1991. For the analysis of the role of women
in this movement, I draw on the autobiographies of two prominent women.
One of them is Vera Grabe, who participated in various functions within the guer-
rilla, including its executive board, for about two decades. After demobilization,
she turned to politics and was elected as a senator through the short-lived political
party formed by the M-19. Later on, she worked with human rights groups, an
engagement that she continues to pursue today. The other woman, María Vásquez,
was also a long-term fighter with M-19. Due to personal motives related to her
role as a mother, she left the guerrilla shortly before the demobilization. Upon her
return to civil society, she had to come to terms with her masculinized role as a
guerrilla and the feminized role of a mother. Her autobiography, titled “To write
in order not to die” (Escribir para no morir), is the result of her reflections. María
Vásquez did not, however, enter politics.
The biographies of these two women, as well as further insights from interviews
with other guerrilleras, will first help to analyze the specific Latin American con-
text in which a large number of young women entered the armed struggle. Their
own reflections on the struggle, as well as the demobilization process, will subse-
quently help to clarify personal and sociopolitical problems.
Compared to other Columbian guerrilla groups, the actions of M-19 were less
violent and radical. Another important feature for our purposes is the fact that
in 1982 the M-19 held a conference in which participants discussed the role of
women in the guerrillas. In this conference, one comandante was of the opinion
that “women do not fit into the army and only cause disorder” (“las mujeres no
caben en el ejército porque sólo generan desorden”). The women present immedi-
ately protested and gender roles were treated in more nuanced ways following that
conference. In addition, two women, Vera Grabe and Nelly Rivas, were elected to
the board of the guerrillas (Grabe Loewenherz, 2000, p. 166). While Nelly Rivas
died during her term, Vera Grabe was reelected for a second term. Although the
M-19 was known for being the guerrilla movement most open to gender issues, she
was the only woman on the board at the time. The underrepresentation of women
among higher ranks and directorates is characteristic of all Latin American guer-
rilla groups, even the later ones in Nicaragua in the 1970s or the indigenous-mes-
tizo Zapatistas in Mexico in the 1990s.12
Nevertheless, the 1970s are characterized by a change in the role of women in
rebel armies. Despite the failure of Che Guevara in Bolivia, most young people
still were of the opinion that armed struggle was the only possible path to radi-
cally transforming society. Equally important was a change in strategy: The later
groups did not follow the Cuban theory of a revolutionary vanguard, but counted
on the inclusion of broad sectors of society. This led to the participation of more
women and further reflection of gender issues in armed struggle. The first Latin
American guerrilla group to include gender issues in their program was the FSLN
in Nicaragua. In this respect, some authors speak of a huge qualitative step from
the Cuban Revolution in 1959 to the Nicaraguan in 1979. Since then, the number
of women in Latin American guerrilla movements oscillated around 30% (Luciak,
2001; Kampwirth, 2002).
The founding “Historical Program” (1969) of the FSLN included several pas-
sages on the rights of women, many of them related to the topic of motherhood.
Generally speaking, however, gender was not a major issue in the beginning, and
women joined the guerrillas because of general political problems. However, many
women became conscious of double standards in relation to their role over the
course of their participation in armed struggle, as I will explain in the following

sections (Luciak, 2001; Kampwirth, 2002).
Gender, sexuality and motherhood

While the “camp followers” of the 19th century carried their children alongside with-
out anyone objecting, the female fighters of the 20th century had to choose between
motherhood and armed struggle. This problem, however, did not exist for fighting
fathers. Motherhood and the double standard for men and women were some of the
main issues that women had to face in armed struggle and often the first step in their
disenchantment with “the cause”. While society, and quite often even their partners,
criticized female fighters for having abandoned their families and children, such
abandonment in the case of men was considered a heroic act of sacrifice. Although
most women entered armed struggle before becoming mothers, sexuality and mater-
nity were among the most painful issues for them. Little research has been pursued
on this topic, but almost all memories and testimonies of ex-combatants reflect on
it to some degree. As to sexuality, a topic mostly addressed by male guerrillas as a
“disorder” among the troops, it seems that it was not a problem until a woman got
pregnant. Violence against and among partners was unusual, and if it occurred, it
was strongly condemned. Sexual violations were apparently rare, probably due to
military discipline and control, but the line between consensual and forced sex is
blurry, as related by several ex-guerrilleras in Colombia (Hörtner, 2009, pp. 112–
116; pp. 123–126). Sexual violence was, however, a problem if women combatants
were caught by the enemy, as it was then, and unfortunately remains, part of war
strategy. María Eugenia Vásquez reflects on this issue as follows:
As a militant revolutionary, I use my femininity to good advantage. My gender

was useful for throwing people off track, dodging searches and getting infor-
mation. The most macho men, the ones who underestimated us, wouldn’t grant
us the status of enemy, and we took advantage of that. But when they discov-
ered that we had penetrated their territory, war territory, they became implac-
able foes. They punished us twice as hard, once for being subversives and
again for being women. This is why, when guerrilla women are tortured, rape
or sexual assault in one form or another is almost always part of the treatment.
(Vásquez Perdomo, 2005, pp. 242–243)
Most autobiographies by former female fighters do not often address torture and
sexual violation, but they do raise another traumatic topic: forced abortion.13 Others
were excluded from the group when they became pregnant because they had sup-
posedly infringed the rules of conduct, which stipulated that fighters should not
have children. Vera Grabe writes:
The hardest thing was the abortion … What for many is an ethical and legal
question, for us is, in addition, suffering and violence. This [problem] has
been one of the most critical debates I had with myself … The big difference
was that you, the leading compañeros, had historical responsibilities and
children, because there were wife-mothers who cared for them [the children]
and raised them, with immense generosity and the vision of keeping the
paternal image high.14
(Grabe Loewenherz, 2000, p. 179)
For her fellow fighter, María Eugenia Vásquez, there was at first no doubt where
her responsibilities and loyalties lay. She had two children born during her time as
an active guerrillera, and both were raised by another family:
I renounced motherhood for the second time. I left the lives of my boys in the
hands of others, trusting that we would have time together under better con-
ditions in the future. War was not compatible with motherhood. Once more
I put my mission as a soldier above my personal life. I did this with sadness,
but without regret.
(Vásquez Perdomo, 2005, p. 219)
Only when her first son died at the age of 13, far away from her and without her
knowing about it, this event
… broke me in two. I was sufficiently prepared for my own death, and I had
borne the deaths of my beloved compañeros in battle … The hope and faith
in the revolutionary project that I had kept alive through the years no longer
made sense to me.
Resuming her life as a guerrilla in the light of gender relations, Vásquez

concludes:
Love and emotional relationships were areas in which there were fewer mas-
culine transformations. Perhaps in the areas of politics and participation,
even in the recognition of operational abilities of some of the compañeras,
progress was made. But in the intimate arena of couple relationships, our
compañeros were like all other Colombian men. We, the compañeras, the
guerrilleras, paid a high price for innovating and transgressing the norms of
matrimony, affection and sex.
The bitter fruits of the struggle

The Nicaraguan writer and ex-guerrillera Gioconda Belli, who fought with a
group that had for the first time addressed gender issues in its program, nev-
ertheless had similar experiences as Vera Grabe and María Eugenia Vásquez.
She actively participated in the struggle against the country’s dictator and lived
through problems of reconciling armed struggle and motherhood. She became a

feminist along that way. But more than that, after the triumph of the revolution,
she became disillusioned with the Sandinista Revolution because of their lack
of attention to gender issues. In her autobiography, she recalls how Sandinista
women already faced problems during the first revolutionary government, for
whom she worked in several functions. Some ex-guerrilleros began to discuss
the “old” problem of the cohabitation of women and men in the barracks. Belli
wrote:
For the first time ever, I heard someone suggest that perhaps women should
be barred from active service. I considered it ludicrous and said so. How
could they even think such a thing when women had already proven them-
selves to be as able fighters as men during the insurrection? Nevertheless,
some months later, the top army officials … decided that from that point on
women would only occupy administrative posts.
(Belli, 2002, p. 149)
This quote is exemplary of the frustration that many female fighters felt after demo-
bilization. Their contributions and sacrifices to the cause were neither adequately
recognized nor gratified either politically or socioeconomically. In addition, the
quote draws attention to the fact that, after the armed conflict, even revolutionary
governments returned to traditional gender roles.
Former fighters, as well as researchers, agree that we can only assess whether
the active participation of women in armed struggle led to changes in dichotomous
visions of gender roles and created new opportunities for women, after the violent
phase of the struggle is over. In many cases, the answer is a negative one15 (Bayard
de Volo, 2001; Hörtner, 2009).
Conclusion
Male16 and female fighters face specifically gender(ed) dilemmas when struggling
for better societies, whether for independence or a better, fairer and more peaceful
society. In order to achieve their goals, they resort to the use of violence. While
men negotiate prescribed gender roles in conflict situations, women must also rec-
oncile images of their role as gentle and loving with the new role as fighter. Images
of the abnegated, selfless mother, and the pacific “angel of the home” enter into
conflict with imagery of an active, even violent, fighter in pursuit of sociopolitical
aims. Society also judges different subjects’ actions differently according to gender
and political positions.
Whereas we rarely find egodocuments from women who formed part of armed
groups in the 19th century, but only descriptions and judgments by observers, we
can draw on testimonials and interviews from women in the 20th century. For this
and other reasons, the analysis of both groups draws on slightly different topics, but
these themselves are revealing. While the active and sometimes violent participa-
tion of women in armed conflicts of the 19th century has mostly been overlooked,
or even romanticized by later generations in order to enforce traditional visions of
gender and family, women in the 20th century began to reflect on gender trouble
in contexts of active female participation in armed conflicts. Most of them eventu-
ally became dissatisfied with these struggles, not only for political reasons, but
quite often because of the impossibility of reconciling their roles as fighters with
those as mothers, contrary to male counterparts who did not face such contradic-
tions. Whereas women of the 19th and early 20th centuries probably considered
themselves as transgressing their roles – or as “bad”, in the words of Jesusa – they
did not question their female duties to support male fighters. Women in revolu-
tionary armies of the 20th century began to question this role, and it seems that
responsibilities for food and logistics were more equally distributed among men
and women. Yet, other issues became sources of conflict. Although many guerrill-
eras initially felt equal and respected, when it came to occupying lead positions,
the gender gap could not be overlooked. But most of the women fighters only
started to fundamentally question gender roles when they got pregnant and/or had
children, as these situations disclosed an implicit double standard. Female fighters
thus began to reflect on this topic and felt the ambiguity even more acutely after
demobilization. Being an ex-guerrillera was much more difficult than being an
ex-guerrillero, since there was significant mistrust of women who had left their
families, and even their children, or who renounced motherhood in order to join an
armed group (Londoño Fernández and Nieto Valdivieso, 2006). Societies that still
rely on traditional gender role models tend to fall back on dichotomies of pacifist
and caring women and tough and belligerent men. Female participation in armed
conflicts is thus either declared as deviant, or, as in the 20th century, reduced to
the service of female fighters not so much to a political cause, but to supporting
a specific man. This image remains hard to overcome, as we have seen, with the
examples of Tania. But the memories and political writings of ex-guerrilleras,17
who not only reflect on their personal careers but also on wider political and social
problems, help us to better understand the motives and struggles of these female
fighters.
Notes
1 This chapter is based on two earlier chapters of mine, “Rabonas, Soldaderas, Guerrilleras:
Mujeres protagonistas en conflictos armados en perspectiva histórica” (2022) and
“Female Soldiers and National Heroes in Latin America” (2009). I thank Jonathan
DeVore for his careful reading of the English text and his valuable comments.
2 However, the distinction between women who voluntarily participate in fighting and
those who are victims of such actions is not always easy, since some are forced to join
the armed groups for one reason or another.
3 See, for example, photographs of Instituto Nacional de Estudios Históricos de la
Revolución Mexicana (1992, p. 75) or some of the iconic pictures of the Nicaraguan
Revolution.
4 There is an ongoing debate on the question whether lower class and/or indigenous peo-
ple had different gender and honor codes than the upper-class families, but this cannot
be discussed here. See Caulfield et al. (2005).
5 For a traditional version of the life of Mariquita Sánchez, see Rodríguez (2000). For
a more differentiated view, see Batticuore (2011). For Chile, Sarah Chambers (2015)
wrote an analysis of the independence movement in gender perspective.
6 There is an enormous number of biographies on Manuela Sáenz. Two of the most promi-
nent are by Rumazo González (1970) and Hagen (1957) (English original: Four sea-
sons of Manuela, 1952). For more bibliographical details, see Murray (2001), Quintero
Montiel (2001) and Chambers (2001).
7 In descriptions of Manuela on the battlefield, the image of the “Amazonian” woman is
invoked several times.
8 At the beginning of the 19th century, however, these women were referred to as troperas,
(from tropa, “troop”) or vivanderas (those who provide víveres, i.e., food for, but who
also live with [viven] the troops), or simply as juanas. In Ecuador, they were known as
guarichas, and in Peru, as ravañas or rabonas. Mexicans during the Revolution called
them soldaderas, a word presumably derived not from the word soldado, although these
women often were defined simply as “the Mexican soldier’s women”. The word rather
was derived from Spanish soldada, an old word for sueldo (pay), since they were enti-
tled to collect pay for their husbands in order to provide for them. At the end of the 19th
century, Cubans called their female independence fighters mambisas, a word of African
origin, used by the Spaniards to describe a filthy and dishonest person. The freedom
fighters, free colored in their majority, adopted the word and called themselves proudly
mambises and mambisas. See Tirado Meijía (1976, p. 58); Alzola de Cvitanocich (1981);
Salas (1995, pp. 13–36).
9 One of the few authors to address the question of the ethnic origin of the female sol-
diers and soldaderas in the Mexican Revolution is Reséndez Fuentes (1995, pp. 530–
547).
10 Especially for the Mexican Revolution, we have abundant testimonies of such abuses.
See Salas (1995, p. 87–88), or John Reed, a U.S.-American observer who was struck by
how rapidly and emotionless a soldadera passed (or was passed) to another man if hers
had died (Reed, 1978, pp. 99–109).
11 The full text, as well as some photographs, can be found in Instituto Nacional de Estudios
Históricos de la Revolución Mexicana (1992, p. 75).
12 For other Colombian groups, see Londoño Fernández and Nieto Valdivieso (2006, p.
31–32). There is only one exception, the Maoist Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path)
of the 1990s in Peru, which had a higher number of women on the directing board.
Nevertheless, this presence does not mean that the group was dedicated to gender equal-
ity or female emancipation. See Coral Cordero (1998).
13 Hörtner (2009, p. 126–135) points out that there were marked differences in the atti-
tudes toward forced abortion between the two major guerrilla groups, the FARC and the
ELN.
14 Some years after her abortion, Vera Grabe was pregnant for a second time. This time,
she decided to have the baby, although her fellow compañeros from the board strongly
opposed the decision (Grabe Loewenherz, 2000, p. 273). However, the baby girl grew
up far away from her mother and the troops.
15 The Nicaraguan case is especially dramatic, since the Sandinista Daniel Ortega, initially
president from 1985 to 1990, and now president since 2006, has in his second term as
president abolished many of the achievements of women during the first revolutionary
government.
16 Men who are pacificists, or who refuse to fight for different reasons, such as, e.g., non-
able-bodied men, face their own gendered stigmas, which have probably been underana-
lyzed by scholars as well.
17 See, for example, Grabe Loewenherz (2017).
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5 Discourses about women, bodies
and military combat in Vietnam
“In my heart, I always wished to go”
Hue Nguyen Thi1 and Eva Fuhrmann
Introduction
Collective memory of the Vietnamese nation includes a long list of venerated
female fighters, which begins in an ancient past with the mythical figures of the
two Trưng-Sisters (Hai Bà Trưng) and Lady Triệu (Bà Triệu). During the fight for
independence, from 1945 to 1975, women in all parts of the country took up arms
to join the fight. A number of female fighters who lost their lives during the war for
independence became national heroines. Today, there is no formal rule that pre-
vents women from joining military or security forces; to the contrary, women are
encouraged to contribute to the nation’s defense and security. However, women
are simultaneously constructed as courageous and brave defenders of the nation
and caretakers of the family. Our aim in this chapter is to add a perspective that
focuses on what motivated women to become soldiers in both past and present.
We approach this question through critical analysis of public discourses related
to women and war, both today and in the past, drawing on narrative interviews
with female veterans. In mid-2021, we conducted interviews with former female
soldiers, young volunteers, militiawomen and guerillas who joined the army in
North Vietnam between 1970 - 1975.
Our research builds on a solid foundation of critical research into discourses
on femininity in Vietnam, from the pre-colonial period, through the 20th century
wars, to the present day. These discourses are linked in clear ways to discourses
about the nation. As has been discussed by other scholars, the nation is not gen-
der-neutral, but rather a highly gendered construction (Mayer, 2002). McClintock
(1995, p. 354) notes, “Women are typically constructed as the symbolic bear-
ers of the nation … but they are denied any direct relation to national agency”.
While Tran (2012) has already investigated symbolic meanings of women for the
Vietnamese nation-state, we further explore the gendered discourses of women
viewed as mothers and nurturers of the modern Vietnamese nation, pointing to
ambiguities when women take up arms to defend that same nation-state. Thus,
we critically examine how these gendered notions of nation and national security
reproduce power relations through discourses about femininity and the military.
To begin, however, it is necessary to consider who counts as a “female fighter”
in this chapter. Through colloquial use of the term, it appears clear that a fighter is
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359-6
Discourses about women, bodies and military combat in Vietnam 79
someone who carries a weapon and uses it in combat. Certainly, with reference to
female fighters, the transgression of gendered normative boundaries is a defining
aspect. However, during the course of this chapter, we will question the concep-
tion of “soldier” or “fighter” as those who carry weapons and use them during
armed conflict.
First, we propose an emic approach to this question. The women whom we
spoke to regarded themselves as veterans and former female soldiers (nữ bộ đội),
as they were trained in the use of weapons and were ready to use them if needed.
They told us about their comrades who had died while transporting goods and
working on roads, as well as wounded women on the battlefields in the South.
According to Ms. Nguyễn Thị M. (Kim Sơn, Ninh Bình) - who worked as a nurse
at the hospital during the 1970s:
In 1972 to 1973, many injured female soldiers were transferred to the hospi-
tal for treatment, many soldiers lost both legs, many lost their hands, burned
their faces because of bombs and bullets, and many suffered from mental ill-
ness. Every day, I had to take care of many wounded soldiers, most of them
were serious.
(Ms. Nguyễn Thị M. - Corporal - Nurse, time in
the army 1971 - 1977, hometown: Kim Sơn, Ninh
Bình)
Although these female soldiers were not directly on the battlefield, they were
involved in the fighting through their experiences. This not only affected their
physical health; in many cases, it caused psychological trauma. However, despite
the many difficulties, the fierceness of the situation, and even facing death, the
young women were determined to go to battlefield.
Second, from a historical perspective, there were different understandings of
the terms “soldier” or “fighter” that were in use in Vietnam. As Raffin (2011,
p. 72) states, the term soldier was used throughout Vietnam’s history in a more
inclusive sense, built on the historical tradition of employing peasants as soldiers.
In pre-colonial Vietnam, soldiers had agricultural duties when they were not fight-
ing. This strategy was adopted by the Communist Party of Vietnam (CPV) in the
1950s, as they commanded the army to be self-sufficient, producing their own
food and supporting people during harvest.
Third, we argue that Vietnam became an increasingly militarized society
during the fight for independence. This process involved the militarization of
everyday life, as all social practices and activities were (re)oriented so that they
would contribute to national defense. Kruse (2017) describes this phenomenon
as the “modern war society” (Kriegsgesellschaftliche Moderne), referring to
the transformations that great wars initiate in societies. Enloe (2007) traces the
connections between militarism, globalization and feminism in contemporary
societies by pointing out that militarism can not only be found in military insti-
tutions, but in global production chains and social relations. Thus, we argue
that militarism is still present in Vietnam, not only through military firms and
members of the army itself, but through their broader influence on society as a
whole.
Militarization is not only a process that transforms social relations, but it is
also inscribed in bodies. Baker (2020) points to the tension between bodies that
experience war and the perception of bodies at war, or militarized bodies. We
develop this idea by elaborating the mutual conditionality of a subject’s own bod-
ily experience of war and expectations about the subject’s body at war. Women
who wanted to join the struggle for independence described their efforts to ful-
fill criteria for acceptance as soldiers. Additionally, the aesthetics of war (Baker,
2020) have played an important part in the inscription of militarization into gen-
dered Vietnamese bodies perceived as ready to fight, as will be shown below.
This chapter begins with a short overview of women in the military in Vietnam
and of femininity and feminism in Vietnam through Confucianism and Socialism.
Based on a review of the previously mentioned body of research, we establish
how gender polarization has influenced Vietnamese society over history, and we
especially consider how a public discourse of gender equality that took shape in
Vietnam early in the 20th century was utilized by various actors.
The next section explores the relation between gendered social norms and the
need to mobilize all available resources between the 1940s until 1975. In these
years, we argue, an “atmosphere to join the front” (không khí ra trận), as one of
the women we spoke to called it, was created that included mobilizing women for
combat, especially in the 1970s. Young women were especially inspired by this
atmosphere to participate in the fighting.
The subsequent section of the chapter is concerned with the post-war period.
During the 1980s, the Vietnamese state military underwent massive demobiliza-
tion campaigns. While still accepted in the military, women are mainly presented
as caregivers and their representation as soldiers thus continues to be influenced
by traditional gendered practices.
Finally, in the last section of our chapter, we will discuss (dis)continuities that
interpenetrate discourses of femininity and the military over the past 80 years in
Vietnam, as we illustrate throughout the chapter. These discourses are informed
by material and immaterial aspects, including the need to form a new nation state
through the war as well as bodily experiences during that war.
Women and the military in Vietnam

From the 1940s until 1954, Vietnam struggled for independence from French
colonialism during the “Indochinese War”. During the Second World War, vari-
ous nationalist and communist groups were active in the resistance against France.
In 1940, they regrouped under the Vietnamese Revolutionary League (Việt Nam
Độc lập Đồng minh Hội), or the “Việt Minh”, which was able to mobilize peo-
ple for their armed struggle (Taylor, 2013, pp. 530–531). After the Japanese
emperor’s surrender in 1945, the Việt Minh were able to bring most of Northern
Vietnam under their control, forming a new government in Hanoi. French troops
re-occupied southern parts of the country between October 1945 and March 1946,
and regained control over parts of the North, including Hanoi, by November 1946.
The Việt Minh government retreated to the Northern Highlands and undertook a
war of resistance. That conflict ended with the creation of two Vietnamese nation
states, the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (DRV) to the north of the 17th paral-
lel, and the Republic of Vietnam (RV) to the south, with both governments claim-
ing to represent the whole country. From 1954 until 1975, these two states were
at war. In the South, a communist resistance organization, the National Front for
Liberation (NFL), was founded. The North, under the Workers’ Party of Vietnam
enjoyed support from the USSR, while the United States supported the RV gov-
ernment, eventually entering directly into the conflict. In Vietnam, the U.S.’s
entry into the war led to naming the conflict, “the War against the USA”, while
it was called the Vietnam War outside the country. Over the course of this war,
women actively participated on the side of the DRV and under the NFL. In 1975,
the DRV defeated the RV and, in 1976, the Socialist Republic of Vietnam (SRV)
was founded under the re-named Communist Party of Vietnam (CPV). While
today, Vietnam’s national army, the Vietnamese People’s Army (VPA), does not
have mandatory conscription for women, they may enlist voluntarily.
Women’s contributions to combat varied, as did Vietnamese society’s per-
ception of female fighters during the war period. On 20 October 1930, during
the first congress of the Indochinese Communist Party, the Vietnam Women’s
Union (VWU) was established, although under a different name at that time.
The Union’s task was to mobilize Vietnamese women to build the “new social-
ist woman” and to contribute to the fight against the French colonial regime.
During the Indochinese War, women who joined the Việt Minh were referred to
as “female guerilla fighters” (nữ du kích). They were mostly involved in local
clandestine operations, including work in transportation or communication, and
even in assassination plots. Today, many of these female guerilla fighters, for
example, Phạm Thị Xuyến or Hà Thị Quế, who was called the “Female Việt Minh
General” (Bà tướng Việt Minh) (Báo Quân đội nhân dân, 23 January 2021), are
honored by the state and the people of Vietnam for their contributions to achiev-
ing independence from France.
After 1954 in the DRV, however, no mandatory military conscription for
women existed. Teerawichitchainan (2009, p. 68) estimates the percentage of
women from the Red River Delta who served in the VPA between the 1950s and
1995 as a low, single-digit number. Only in the late 1960s, with the intensification
of war, the VPA began to accept female soldiers (Turley, 1972). Thus, female
fighters from the North mostly joined as volunteers or became part of the youth
shock brigades (thanh niên xung phong) at a very young age.
Youth shock brigades were first established during the Indochinese war and
its members formed smaller groups for fast infrastructure interventions, such as
repairing or clearing roads ahead of the general army. However, they were also
tasked with leading musical performances to help uplift the soldiers’ morale. The
main area of their deployment was the Trường Sơn range where they contrib-
uted to the building of the “Ho Chi Minh Trail”, a supply route that supported
the movement in the South. In media and art, they were often referred to as
the “Flowers of Trường Sơn Forest”. As Gottschang Turner (1998) describes,
despite their critical tasks, these groups were to a large degree regarded as sup-
plementary and were not consistently registered in military documents. In many
cases, however, those in the youth brigade were among those who bore the main
burden of the war effort and the group was constituted by a large percentage
of young women. Despite their poetic nickname, these women suffered tremen-
dously from a lack of hygiene and difficult living conditions (Gottschang Turner,
1998; Guillemot, 2009). After 1965, the number of female youth shock brigades
rapidly increased due to the “three responsibilities” campaign implemented by
the VWU.
Women from the South, who wanted to support the cause of the DRV, usu-
ally joined the NFL as guerilla fighters (nữ du kích) (Tétreault, 1996; Eisner,
2018). After the end of the war, in 1975, women continued to be part of the VPA,
although in small numbers, while higher ranks in the administration were mostly
filled with men, with a few exceptions. In commemoration of the war, women
were largely excluded until the 1990s. By then, “heroic mothers” were decorated
with medals as a means to acknowledge their loss of children and other family
members. The memory of women’s roles during the war is enthusiastically upheld
by the VWU. Enloe (1996), while impressed with national museums dedicated to
Vietnamese women’s contribution to the war, is slightly cautious as she surveys
prominent artifacts in those museums. These items, such as needlework, represent
a discourse dominated and directed by a male gaze. While women’s contributions
to the war are presented in such museums and public discourses, the adopted per-
spective is clearly gendered, emphasizing perceived feminine qualities, such as
motherhood or longing for peace.
Today, there is significant research into women’s participation in the Indochinese
War and the Vietnam War. With the economic “Đổi mới” reforms intensifying
in the 1990s, feminist research in Vietnam Studies began to increase in promi-
nence, both within and outside the country. Although the bulk of that research
focused on the influence the reform process had on women in Vietnamese soci-
ety, some researchers included historical perspectives on women during the war
period. These include the edited volume, Vietnam’s Women in Transition (Barry,
1996), which featured the contribution by Enloe mentioned above. Werner (1981)
reviews women’s roles during wartime in the DRV, while Gottschang Turner
(1998) portrays the life stories of several women who fought for the DRV or the
NFL. In her more recent ethnographic research, Eisner (2018) focuses on war
memories by women who participated in the war as guerilla fighters in the South.
Nguyễn (2001) studies the involvement of female fighters during the Vietnam
war, drawing on a variety of sources to compile statistics on female soldiers who
joined the VPA between 1954 and 1975. Her research shows that women mainly
worked in the medical corps as well as in logistics and intelligence units. While
Nguyễn focuses on the situation in the North, Vũ (2004) analyses the participa-
tion of women in political struggles during the war in the South, especially the
role of the renowned “Long Haired Warriors” during those years. While the latter
two publications provide invaluable information on the participation of female
soldiers during the Vietnam War, they mainly provide statistics without exploring
other aspects of the lives of female soldiers.
While the research summarized above deals with the role of women in the
military in the past, including continued remembrance of their struggles, inquiry
into the situation of women in the Vietnamese military abruptly ends at that point.
Research on the military in Vietnam today is mostly limited to exploring its eco-
nomic role since the reform period.
Femininity and feminism in Vietnam

In discussing gender, femininity, and feminism in Vietnam, we inevitably enter
into politicized debates that can be traced as far back as the 13th or 14th centuries,
as Tran (2018) so meticulously details. This discourse was – and certainly still
is – embedded in power relations that have shaped various periods since then.
Whether emperors aiming to distance themselves from the powerful neighbor to
the North, colonists trying to justifying their colonial mission, or revolutionar-
ies seeking to mobilize people to fight against the former – all of these groups
have variously participated in shaping contemporary views of gender relations
in Vietnam. Arguably, however, both Confucianism and Socialism have been
among the most influential philosophies – or ideologies – contributing to the con-
struction of femininity in Vietnam today.
Proving exceptionalism is a powerful aim of historical scholarship on Vietnam,
both today and in the past (Tran, 2018). An emphasis on the higher position of
women in pre-historic Vietnamese society has been important to arguments that
seek to contrast Vietnamese culture with China. From the 1920s onwards, popular
myths about women were employed in the construction of this argument. Such
myths begin with the modern interpretation of the founding myth of the Việt peo-
ple. According to this story, a mythical being named Âu Cơ, a fairy and ancient
mother to all Viet, created the Vietnamese nation together with her husband, a
dragon king, and both jointly defended their descendants. Two sisters who fol-
lowed in her footsteps are regarded as exemplary models for Vietnamese women.
The Trưng Sisters (Hai Bà Trưng) allegedly raised an army against the occupying
Han Chinese forces in the year 41 C.E., and were able to defeat them for a short
time. However, the Han army ultimately vanquished the sisters. Their sacrifice
is interpreted as an act of love for their country’s freedom and against foreign
domination. Imagery of the sisters riding on elephants to fight for their native land
is probably known to all Vietnamese people. Another heroine widely known in
Vietnam is a princess, Lady Triệu (Bà Triệu), who fought against the same enemy
roughly two hundred years later. According to the annals of the Lê-Dynasty in
the 13th century, Lady Triệu was able to assemble various chiefs in her army and
rebelled against invaders from the North. Together with zealous folk tales and
songs, these stories built the basis for the official narrative of an ancient matriar-
chal society. Women in these narratives are represented as unflinching defenders
of their homes and of the nation. However, they also nurture their children and
venerate their fathers and husbands. According to these tales, this world of equality
between the sexes ended due to oppression by invaders from the North, who not
only exploited the people, but eliminated all cultural traits they deemed barbaric
and uncivilized (Lê, 1973). While these narratives, among others, construct an
image of an ancient matrilineal society that occupied the Red River Delta, and
depict cultural adaptions from China that resulted in a patrilineal society (Mai and
Lê, 1978), historical and anthropological evidence do not unequivocally support
historical claims about a former matriarchal society (Tran, 2018).
Daoism, Buddhism and Confucianism arrived in what today is known as North
Vietnam sometime during the first centuries C.E. from China. In the 2nd century
B.C.E., the Han-dynasty extended its sphere of influence to the South, into the
area of the Red River Delta. They not only brought technical and administra-
tive knowledge with them, but also religious influences. Chinese administration
was based on Confucian ethics, which was eventually transferred to provinces
in the South. Scholars still debate the extent to which Confucianism was able
to penetrate worldviews of the common population beyond the educated elite.
Tran (2018), Hakkarainen (2018), Kelley (2006) and Yu (1994) agree that
Confucianism in Vietnam was most influential from the 13th century onwards,
after the first independent states were established in the area of the Red River
Delta. Together with other influences from Buddhism and Taoism, Confucianism
was particularly utilized by local elites as a means to consolidate state power and
was disseminated to the general population through teachings and writings. While
Confucianism was based on Chinese sources, the spread of the doctrine itself was
subject to processes of local adaptation. Indeed, Chinese sources from the period
criticize their southern neighbor for loose conduct.
Yu (2011, p. 25) suggests that restrictive Confucian norms regarding women
were more important to local elites, while women in lower strata of society were
less affected by it. He argues that two systems existed in parallel. Women from
educated and wealthy families were actively taught to obey Confucian rituals.
Women were expected to follow the “Three Obediences” (tam tòng), namely, to
serve the father at home (tại gia tòng phụ), serve the husband upon marriage (xuất
giá tòng phu) and serve the children after the death of the husband (phu tử tòng
tử). They also internalized the “Four Virtues” (tứ đức): Industriousness (công),
appearance (dung), speech (ngôn) and conduct (hạnh). Meanwhile, accord-
ing to Yu (2011), rural and other women from the lower social class absorbed
Confucianism more passively, adapting moral obligations to the realities of eve-
ryday life. These women contributed income to the household, especially through
petty trade, in addition to farming and doing housework. Nevertheless, they were
still bound by social norms that followed a strictly gendered social hierarchy.
At the beginning of the 20th century, Western feminist ideas arrived in Vietnam
through colonialism (Chiricosta, 2010). French colonial policy contributed in par-
ticular by creating schools for girls. However, these schools were mainly attended
by members of the urban upper class and did not have a large effect on women
in the countryside or from the poorer segments of society (London, 2011). While
feminism first spread primarily among women from the elite, who were educated
in the colonial school system or even went to school in France, some Vietnamese
feminists soon turned to communist ideas, as the disadvantage of poor women in
the countryside became evident to them (Chiricosta, 2010). Although women in
Vietnam embraced the fight for gender equality, this adaptation of Western ide-
als was disapproved of by nationalists and communists alike, as they perceived
it as another source of domination by the West (Turley, 1972). In various news-
paper articles from 1946, the communist criticism becomes particularly evident.
Western feminism was criticized as “limited”, as it was unable to realize that
the enemies of women were not men, but the exploiting colonialists. Therefore,
women should join with men in common struggle against colonialism.
Ho Chi Minh and other leaders of the communist movement in Vietnam were
deeply impressed by Lenin’s anti-colonialist thought and acknowledged Lenin’s
ideas on the equality of women. However, they were also influenced by various
other ideas of the time and, to some extent, even incorporated some Confucian
doctrines into their thinking. This is especially visible in the context of women’s
liberation (Chiricosta, 2010; Vu, 2017). The notion that respect for women in the
ancient Vietnamese society was suppressed by Confucianism was “recycled” by
communist rhetoric. An example is the image of the Trưng Sisters, which was –
and still is – used repeatedly for propaganda purposes. In 23 of 54 newspaper
articles from the 1940s that we analyzed for this chapter; the Trưng Sisters were
cited as “shining examples” that could help to mobilize women for participation
in the war. This narrative also encouraged men to join the fight by showing how,
in the past, even women were brave and achieved many victories.
In the pre-colonial period, Confucian scholars employed the same narrative to
distinguish the Vietnamese state from China, the dominant neighbor to the North.
French explorers and researchers employed imagery of a Vietnamese woman
ready for salvation through Western-style modernization (Tran, 2018). However,
leadership of the CPV not only aimed at gender equality but also sought to pro-
mote women’s contributions to the creation of a new nation-state, thus emphasiz-
ing the “mothering” and “nurturing” qualities of women. This created an approach
to the “new woman”, incorporating both progressive views of equality and more
traditional notions of women as care workers (Pettus, 2003, p. 10). The task of the
VWU since the war was thus to promote a discourse of femininity that included
visions of women as serving the nation through participation in political bodies,
work and combat, as well as women caring for children and the elderly. The lat-
ter received special emphasis following the reform program, as the state’s role in
social services was reduced (Luong, 2016).
In what follows, the short overview of gendered discourses in Vietnam pre-
sented above will be elaborated in more detail with respect to its influences on the
perception of women taking part in military conflicts since the 1940s.
An “atmosphere to join the front”: Women fighting for independence

To understand women’s motives to join the war efforts between the 1940s until
1975, we analyzed two sources. First, we looked at widespread revolutionary press
publications from the period, such as the daily newspapers “Quận đội Nhân dân”
(People’s Army), “Nhân dân” (The People), “Tiếng gọi phụ nữ” (Women’s Voice)
and “Báo Cứu quốc” (Rescuing the Nation). Second, we conducted a number of
life history interviews with VPA-veterans of the War against America, recount-
ing their experiences as they planned to enter the army during the 1970s. Based
on these sources, we found that the Việt Minh, and later the DRV government,
both created an “atmosphere to join the front” that first drew young people into
the movement and then into recruitment offices. At least from 1970 onwards, this
mobilization effort was also directed at women.
Mobilization during the Indochinese war took place on many fronts, from
literature and poetry to propaganda, demonstrations, and revolutionary struggle
movements. People did not necessarily join the mobilizations due to their alle-
giance to communist ideology. The daily newspaper, “Báo Cứu quốc”, the mouth-
piece of the Việt Minh, was first published in 1942 and used to distribute political
information, speeches and literary pieces. The newspaper regularly published a
column named “Women’s page”, reporting on women who were active in “cứu
quốc”-movements. The term “cứu quốc”, which translates as “national salvation”,
is a popular term that was introduced by the Việt Minh at the end of 1941 in order
to attract people who positioned themselves as patriotic and anti-colonial, while
not necessarily communist. The Việt Minh Front subsequently established sev-
eral national salvation associations, such as “the Youth for National Salvation”
(Thanh niên cứu quốc) or “Women for National Salvation” (Phụ nữ cứu quốc),
among others. These movements were mainly formed in urban areas, where the
movement was quickly able to attract people during the first half of the twentieth
century. Through research focused on the early 1940s, Jamieson (1993, pp. 186–
187) describes the excitement created through secret resistance to French authori-
ties – citing the former ambassador of the RV in the United States Bùi Diễm’s
memoire as illustrative – which attracted a young urban generation that decided
to join the movement. In this situation, political ideology was not as important
as the feeling of community and change. During the 1940s, people in Vietnam
experienced hunger and poverty. Thus, it can be assumed that those who were less
educated did not join the movement as a result of their dedication to communism,
but rather because of their experiences of poverty resulting in their opposition to
French rule.
Specific role models were also used to encourage participation in the move-
ment. In 1946, during the Việt Minh government in Hanoi, the newspaper “Báo
Cứu quốc” published several articles about urban women who were willing to
give up their comfortable lives, and break with their Confucian ethics, in order
to join the revolution. For example, the article “Comrade Trung made a decisive
sacrifice for the nation”, was published on 27 June 1946 (Báo Cứu quốc, Vol.
277) and presents the life of a woman named Phạm Lê Thị Trung. According to
the article, she was born into a wealthy family but nevertheless felt that it was her
duty to join the communist movement. Her decision is depicted as a struggle to
overcome several social barriers. Another example is the article, “Memoirs of a
woman who saved the country”, published in Báo Cứu quốc (Vol. 285, 18 July)
in 1946. The article conveys the earnest desire of a woman to dedicate her life to
the revolutionary struggle. These narratives were apparently intended to motivate
women, especially those from wealthy backgrounds, to join the communist move-
ment, as they offered examples of peers who had already followed the call and at
the same time presented morally correct behavior.
A second motive is that of gender equality. In March 1946, the paper “Tiếng
gọi phụ nữ” published the “Speech of women for national salvation” read at a
meeting of the “Sisters for national salvation” on 8 March 1946. It was aimed at
encouraging young women to join the fight to save the country, while simultane-
ously demanding equal rights for men and women in education as well as mar-
riage. Once again, the authors made use of the Trưng Sisters, who led the rebellion
against Chinese occupation in the first century C.E.:
We women are bound by many customs: Men are elevated by society while
women are belittled; sons are allowed to study, are valued for their work in
society. But women are always considered minors: Throughout their whole
life, they must follow their father, their husband, their children. They are not
allowed to inherit possessions; they are not allowed to receive education like
men. If a woman holds power, then she will be looked at like a monstrous
omen
(Tiếng gọi phụ nữ, Vol. 19, 14 March 1946,
translation by authors).
Today, the country is in a severe situation. The history of Vietnam is at a

turning point. We must try, sisters, to be worthy daughters of the two female
heroes who sacrificed themselves for the country’s independence! Those two
women’s blood of bravery is boiling in our veins. Following the example of
the two women who saved the country, we can decide to fight for the protec-
tion of our people’s freedom
(Tiếng gọi phụ nữ, Vol. 20, 20 March 1946,
translation by authors).
The article, “Rich and intellectual women in the movement for women’s libera-
tion”, in Báo Cứu quốc (Vol. 289, 11 July 1946) points in the same direction.
Addressed to all women, the editors argue that the position of women is not only
behind the door of the family’s home, serving husbands and children, but also as
an active part of society. Women should participate in social and political work as
well as in fighting. The speech concludes that the movement for women’s libera-
tion must be carried out in parallel with the revolutionary and national liberation
movement. In these speeches and newspaper articles, women were called to fight,
both in the sense of carrying arms as well as contributing through other means.
From 1954 to 1960, the fighting mainly continued in the South, as a fight
between communist groups against the Diem government (Vu, 2004). In December
1960, the National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam was established,
and, in February 1961, armed groups operating in the South were unified into the
Liberation Army of the South, commonly known as the “Viet Cong”. There were
now three military forces in alliance with the Communist Party of Vietnam: In
the North, the VPA, including local militias and defense groups, as well as the
Youth Shock Brigades that were reactivated in the 1960s as an auxiliary force to
the VPA, and, in the South, the Liberation Army of the South. While women were
widely accepted in the Youth Shock Brigades, and in the Liberation Army of the
South, the VPA did not generally accept female recruits.
In August 1964, an incident with an American aircraft carrier in the Gulf of
Tonkin resulted in the open entry of American forces into the fighting. Soon
after, bombardment by the United States began in the North. Subsequently, in
May 1965, President Ho Chi Minh signed a local mobilization order, mobiliz-
ing a part of non-commissioned officers, reserve soldiers, and a part of citizens
in the army reserve who had not yet served in the army. Finally, in March 1966,
with permission of the Prime Minister, the Ministry of Defense issued a directive
on the recruitment of women. According to Directive No. 67/QP, women were
mainly assigned to administration, logistics and medical units, but also to the
armed forces. The directive generally stipulated that not more than half of the
members of one unit of the armed forces should be female.
Based on our interviews, we conclude that Directive No. 67/QP met the aspi-
rations of young Vietnamese women in this period. According to research by
Nguyễn Thị Ngọc Lam, after the issuance of Directive No. 67/QP, the number
of women in all branches of the military significantly increased, especially in
the medical corps, administration and logistics. Before the issuance of the direc-
tive, women were not allowed to participate in the main army force and were
not ordered directly to the front. They were usually deployed to operate at the
rear to support the front lines. Nevertheless, the “three responsibilities” campaign,
implemented by the VWU from 1965 onwards, aimed at mobilizing women to
participate in the war effort in three ways: First, through maintaining production
while men were gone at war, second, by taking care of the family, and, third,
by being ready to take up arms and defend the home and homeland against the
enemy. This campaign especially encouraged young women in the North to join
local militia groups and the Youth Shock Brigades in the 1960s.
The photograph “O du kích nhỏ” (“A little Guerilla”) taken by Phan Thoan
in 1965, depicts a female member of the Youth Shock Brigades, a small woman,
pointing her gun at the tall American pilot, William Andrew Robinson, who was
shot down with his plane and subsequently captured. In the photograph William
Andrew Robinson hangs his head, she walks upright and has a determined look.
In 1967, the picture became widely known in the DRV as it illustrated a national
postal stamp. The message it conveys is obviously related to the context men-
tioned above, showing that all Vietnamese people have joined the fight, even
women. In a 2018 interview with Nguyễn Thị Kim Lai – the woman in the photo-
graph – she explained the context:
At that time, I was 1.5 meters tall and weighed 37 kilograms. William Andrew
Robinson was 2.2 meters tall and weighed 120 kilograms. I was the first to
be discovered, also the smallest in the squad, so everyone let me hold the gun
to win the American pilot. On the way back, journalist Phan Thoan took the
picture
(VNExpress, 30 April 2018).
Published on 30 April 2018, the national holiday in remembrance of the country’s

reunification, this interview and the accompanying image reflects an omnipresent
narrative about the War against America as a war between a David and Goliath.
However, it was not until 1970 - 1971 that women in the North were actively
recruited for the VPA. As of December 1972, the number of female soldiers working
in hospitals accounted for 62.38 %, 56.4 % in the information department, 67.5 % in
manufacturing and repairing and 47.3 % in fuel logistics (Nguyễn, 2001).
Interviewees who joined the army as female soldiers in the 1970s recounted
that what prompted them to enlist was the “atmosphere to join the front”. In every
village in Vietnam of the North, mass organizations, such as the VWU, promoted
campaigns to mobilize men and women to join the army. The campaigns that were
implemented by local members of mass organizations and their media outlets
created an atmosphere of patriotism, including the desire to dedicate and sacri-
fice one’s life for the country. Ms. Phạm Thị H., a corporal-engineer soldier who
participated in the building of the Ho Chi Minh Trail, enlisted in the army in the
1970s from her hometown Yen La commune in Bac Ninh Province. She recalls
the impression that media and propaganda had on her as a young girl:
In the 70s, the loudspeakers announced the situation on the battlefield all
day long, in the countryside all the young people went to [the southern bat-
tlefield]. I stayed at home to farm with my mother and siblings, but in my
heart, I always wished to go to the South, contribute to the fight to protect the
country. I hid from my mother to get a medical check-up to join the army.
Dedication to the war effort was so strong in Ms. Phạm Thị H. that she even tried
to hide her poor health condition from recruitment officers. Ms. Phạm Thị H. not
only describes the atmosphere compelling her to join the battle field, with all her
heart, but she also describes her embodiment of militarization, defining her body
as fit for fighting, in spite of her mother’s concerns.
For young girls who often joined at a very young age, their peers, classmates
and friends provided important motivation, as Ms. H. describes further as she
continues her narrative. Likewise, Ms. Nguyễn Thị H., who enlisted in 1971 and
rose to the rank of a corporal, described the situation with her peers in the follow-
ing way:
During the years of resistance, the whole country went to war, my classmates
volunteered to join the army, I always wished to go to the battlefield in the
South, hoping to contribute to the war. I joined the army entirely as a vol-
unteer, a personal desire and aspiration, wanting to contribute a little of my
ability to defend the country.
The “atmosphere to join the front” was not only created through propaganda cam-
paigns, but it was also fostered through very material experiences of everyday
life. People suffered from U.S. bombardments in the North, which brought the
war to their doorsteps. Families and villages were afraid for loved ones who had
already left to fight. Many people encountered scenes of healthy and wounded sol-
diers during the war. Ms. Hoàng Thị T., who enlisted in the army in 1971, recalls
her eagerness to follow the soldiers she saw on the streets into the army:
Every day, on the way to school, I met many smiling soldiers, who were
going to the front. At that time, in my mind, that image was extremely beauti-
ful, so I also wanted to become a soldier. Originally, the reason I wanted to
join the army was because I liked that atmosphere and the images of soldiers,
although the government didn’t require young girls to join the army.
(Mrs. Hoàng Thị T., Sergeant – engineer army [road
construction], enlisted in the army 1971–1975,
hometown: Hoằng Sơn, Hoằng Hóa, Thanh Hóa).
Ms. Hoàng Thị T.’s experience of militarized bodies as “extremely beautiful”

resulted in her own wish to mold her body to the requirements of the enlistment
offices. Ms. Nguyễn Thị M., a corporal nurse who joined the army in 1971, simi-
larly explained how eager she was to enlist when restrictions on women to become
soldiers were lifted:
I volunteered at the age of 17, in the 10th grade. I joined the army in early 1971,
my sister also joined early in 1973. In our family, we were five sisters. In the
early part of war, only men could go to war, so my parents were very sad. They
thought they can’t help the country. After the government allowed women to
join the army, all of our sisters volunteered to join the army, to contribute to
protecting the homeland, the country, and helping the people in the South
(Ms. Nguyễn Thị M – Corporal – Nurse, time in
the army 1971–1977, hometown: Kim Sơn, Ninh
Bình).
As can be seen in this quote, being impressed with the glory of the war was not
only a concern of the young generation, but it was also an issue for some parents.
Ms. Nguyễn Thị M. recalls that her parents were devastated having only daughters
who could not join the army, but that they were relieved when the policy changed.
Ms. Dương Thị Vịn, Vice President of the Association of Former Members of
the Youth Shock Brigades, and Former Vice President of the Ho Chi Minh City
Women’s Union, shared the following with a journalist:
The atmosphere in those days was heroic and very vibrant. Joining the resist-
ance war, saving the country, everyone felt like we were going on a pil-
grimage. Although we knew that being on the battlefield would be grueling
and violent, everyone was still excited when we prepared to go. During the
days on the battlefield, bombs and bullets were as common as our meals, the
alarm’s sound had not stopped yet and already called again. But we were still
alive, we still fought and sang. We sang for each other, we sang to mobilize
our spirit, and we sang for our fallen comrades
(Nhân dân online, 4 August 2014).
While these motives that encouraged interviewees to join the army were created
in an atmosphere that glorified the war, the actual experience of war was dev-
astating. After enlistment, recruits attended a three-month basic training course
that helped them build physical strength, receive basic military training, as well
as training for the jobs to which they were assigned in the army. The majority of
women were not directly assigned to the front, but rather to supportive infrastruc-
ture in the rear. From this position, however, as Ms. Nguyễn Thị M. recalls, the
women were not shielded from the cruelties of war. Ms. Hoàng Thị T. explains
that they often became engaged in fighting. Moreover, they regarded themselves
as soldiers. While they did not carry weapons most of the time, they were trained
to use them, and they were often under clear attack by the enemy.
Under these circumstances, some people doubted their participation in the
war. For the young girls who were away from home for the first time, life in the
military was not easy. When they enlisted, they imagined a heroic life in battle,
based on imagery of soldiers they had seen in a hurry on the marching vehicles.
After entering the army, they had to get used to living under circumstances that
were life threatening. Apart from threats of injury or being killed by the enemy,
they lived in an environment where hygiene was difficult to maintain and illness
easily spread. Ms. Hoàng Thị T. vividly describes how women on the march suf-
fered from not being able to attend to sanitary issues. She also told us how she
suffered from malaria and dysentery for nearly a year. She became extremely
thin and weak to the point that her commanding officers repeatedly told her to
discharge herself from the army and get treatment. But she wanted to stay with
her comrades.
After 1975, most women returned to their civilian lives. Higher ranks in the
military continued to be filled by men, apart from a few exceptions, such as the
former NFL guerilla fighter and commander, Nguyễn Thị Định, who became the
first female general in the Vietnamese People’s Army. Today, there are still only
a few female generals in the VPA, as part of the medical corps (hoilhpn.org.vn,
2014). In addition, the majority of female fighters were not active in the state mili-
tary, but in the Youth Shock Brigades and guerilla groups in the South. As such,
they were not regarded as veterans and thus did not receive pensions.
From the early 1940s until 1975, an “atmosphere to join the front”, as Ms.
Phạm Thị H. described it, was built by the Việt Minh in the area under their con-
trol and later by the government of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. This
atmosphere was difficult for people to resist, especially young people who were
apparently drawn to narratives about the heroic and glorious fight for the father-
land, as interviews showed. In many cases, while the idea of liberating the coun-
try was held in high esteem by women, the initial incentive was to be part of a
community, such as one’s school mates or soldiers who could be seen on the
streets. During the anti-colonial war between 1945 and 1975, people were mobi-
lized by campaigns that created the “atmosphere to join the front”. The campaign
was not only a means for generating more human resources for the fight, it was
also “a complex social process and organizational tactic” directed at forming a
new nation state (Lentz, 2011, p. 560). The basis for this atmosphere was the nar-
rative that the nation needed to be protected from foreign invaders. It was infused
by imagery of female heroines fighting as fiercely as men from the beginning of
the 20th century. This immaterial mobilization joined the materiality of war, as
bombs destroyed homes and people regularly saw the wounded bodies as soldiers
passing by.
Continuing the tradition: Female soldiers today

The period from 1975 to today is, on the one hand, characterized by demobiliza-
tion and economic reforms that deeply affected the military in Vietnam. On the
other hand, this period has also involved opening to the global economy and mul-
tilateral political entities, such as the United Nations. Apart from defense of the
country, the main goal of the military today is therefore the enforcement of eco-
nomic progress and representation of the country in various global engagements.
Research on the contemporary military in Vietnam is limited and almost exclu-
sively focuses on civil-military relations as well as economic activities of the
Ministry of Defense and the Vietnam People’s Army (VPA). In the context of our
research, this body of research illuminates current reporting about female soldiers
and women in the military, illustrating the integration of civil and military sectors,
as can be observed in media reports.
Today, military service in Vietnam is compulsory for men between 18 and 26,
while women of the same age can volunteer. As Thayer (2009, p. 4) notes, the
VPA has reduced the size of its regular army since the 1980s and can now easily
fill its ranks. However, the army is competing for skilled young people with the
general economic sector. The law on military service lists a number of situations
under which men of conscription age can be exempt from the conscription list,
which is put together by local militia. Based on conversations with Vietnamese
men from urban areas, it appears easy to avoid conscription, especially if the
family has financial resources. However, the military offers a range of welfare
benefits to employees. Therefore, especially for people without personal wealth,
the army is an attractive employer.
The above-mentioned relations between the civil and military sectors in
Vietnam are based on three phenomena in the Vietnamese military apparatus, as
Raffin (2011) and Thayer (2000, 2014) describe. First, through its historical devel-
opment, understanding of the VPA as consisting of “civilians in uniform” is rooted
in society (Raffin, 2011). Raffin (2011) explains that this is based on the historical
practice of engaging soldiers in agricultural work during peacetime. During the
war against France, as well as the Vietnam War, this practice was reactivated.
Today, soldiers continue to be engaged in non-military economic activities, which
predominantly includes work in the medical sector. The campaigns directed at
women during this period provide vivid examples of the practice.
Second, the VPA is clearly the military extension of the Communist Party
of Vietnam. “Building Socialism” and providing security to the current politi-
cal system are the core tasks of the VPA, visible in its dual leadership (Thayer,
2014). Based on this, Croissant (2016, p. 561) describes the VPA as an army of
the party. The army is controlled by a commission of the party’s politburo and
part of the Vietnam Fatherland Front, or the VWU, which is strongly involved in
political campaigns directed at female soldiers. These campaigns, as will be dem-
onstrated below, mirror the current perspective of femininity as it is propagated
by the VWU, as an organ of the CPV.
Third, economic reforms of the 1980s – commonly referred to as đổi mới
(renovation) – initiated massive demobilization campaigns by the VPA, and ulti-
mately led to larger economic involvement of the VPA (Thayer, 2000). While
the VPA was already active in agricultural production since its establishment in
1944, these activities were intensified during the following years. Part of the aim
of reforms was to force the VPA to finance itself, which led to a growth in invest-
ment outside the military sector. One of the most prominent examples is the large
telecommunication company, Viettel. The extension of activities into the civilian
sector, which occurred at the same time that the size of the standing army was
reduced, resulted in a larger number of employees working in that area.
Although the VPA has undergone a tremendous transformation, from being
one of the largest standing armies worldwide, to a smaller, but financially more
independent army, the discourses surrounding female soldiers have not signifi-
cantly changed. Women as active soldiers are less common than might be antici-
pated, given their role during the two long wars in the 20th century. The little
recognition given to female soldiers and guerilla fighters by the VPA, and its
mainly male leadership, has been a point of criticism since the 1970s (Tétreault,
1996, p. 50).
The findings presented here are based on articles from online-editions of daily
newspapers from 2016 to 2021 on “military women” (phụ nữ quân đội), the pre-
dominant term used to describe female military personnel. This timeframe was
chosen as it corresponds with the five-year legislative period and mobilization
campaigns of the period. Mobilization campaigns directed at women during that
time were regularly reported in the newspaper articles, as well as public speeches,
that were analyzed here. Drummond and Thomas (2003) present these campaigns
as directed at households, as a means employed by the state to involve itself in
the private sphere. These campaigns not only convey information, but they seek
to create “civilized” behavior in people’s private life. Although these campaigns
present a glossy, idealized picture of society, these campaigns tell us about the
government’s perspective on society. As was mentioned above, the VPA is
directly linked to the party and is thus involved in implementing party politics.
The VWU understands itself as representing the interests of the women in the
VPA. Generally, there is strong censorship operating in Vietnam’s media land-
scape, preventing media reports from straying from policy proclamations by the
government. Thus, media reports analyzed in this section do not reflect personal
statements by news journalists, but rather neatly orchestrated presentations by the
government. News reports often present the results of public campaigns imple-
mented by organizations such as the VWU.
One interesting phenomenon that can be found in these campaigns is the seem-
ingly contradictory weight put on both, fighting for national security and for care
work. Lenin described care work as “the most unproductive, the most savage
and the most arduous work a woman can do” (Resistance Marxist Library, 2003,
pp. 67–68). However, it was also depicted by the VCP as the most important task
that women could contribute to Vietnam’s economic progress in the past. Since
the 1940s, discourses about women in Vietnam continued to emphasize women’s
role in the economy and in the fight against foreign invaders, as laborers and care
workers. This view is discernible in various campaigns of the VWU, as well as in
political speeches that refer to those campaigns. As the VWU is also the organiza-
tion tasked with mobilizing women in the VPA, this corresponds with the view
of women in the Vietnamese military. In 2016, the General Secretary at that time,
Nguyễn Phú Trọng, emphasized this theme in a speech about women in the VPA,
as quoted by a newspaper clipping:
Women in the army should continue the tradition of female heroes in being
indomitable, steady and courageous; the tradition of the daughters of the
Trưng sisters and Lady Trieu, who have the blood of a heroic people; the
tradition of the heroic VPA; at the same time, studiously fulfilling their duty
and striving for a happy family. This is twice the burden, but also twice the
honor and happiness
(Nhân dân Điện tử, 7 December 2016, translation
by authors).
The motif depicted in this statement was chosen as the central campaign slo-
gan by the meeting of women in the army for the five-year period from 2016 to
2021. As can be expected, newspaper clippings from the period constantly point
to women’s tasks to create a “happy family” (gia đình hạnh phúc), with children
attending school and getting good grades, clean houses and yards, and so forth.
Reports of official meetings and presentations praise women for contributing to
the campaign’s success, while spending less time reporting on military training or
deployment of women to conflict areas. This is in contrast to reports from meet-
ings by the army in general, which usually omit women altogether, speaking of
“the military” (quân đội) in a generic way, without mentioning gender.
This image of caring women, even as soldiers, is repeatedly reproduced in
newspaper reports and pictures of female soldiers. I will describe one picture here
as an example, which is included in an article reporting how female soldiers from
Military Area Four welcomed new recruits to the compound (Báo Quận khu Bốn,
10 March 2021). The picture shows five male and two female soldiers outside
in what appears to be the yard of a military complex. Four of the men are seated
on either side of a picnic bench, with newspapers on the table. One of the men is
standing next to the bench opposite one of the women, who is handing him a glass
of tea. The other woman is handing a glass of tea to a male soldier sitting on the
bench. Two other male soldiers already have their drinks on the table before them.
Everybody is smiling happily at one another, which gives the impression that
the scene was staged for the photographer. The caption to the images describes
it as “new soldiers receive refreshments from their sisters”. The activity “water
cups on the exercising field” is one of the campaign activities organized by VWU
groups and neatly combines the idea of women serving and nurturing the nation
by serving men. Following an article about a senior lieutenant, and president of
the women’s union at a military school for tank officers, she invented the idea of
“water cups on the exercising field” to support recruits on the training field dur-
ing hot days (Lao Động - Xã Hôi, 10 April 2020). Another newspaper clipping
describes female soldiers preparing meals for new recruits to make them feel at
home in their new surroundings (Lao Động, 15 March 2021).
There are several themes present in these depictions of women as soldiers.
We already mentioned the notion of women as caretakers and nurturing mothers,
which is consonant with official narratives of Vietnamese femininity. Since
the 1920s, women have been presented as warriors and mothers of the nation.
However, another aspect of this display is that of power relations between peo-
ple and the state. While women are encouraged to be active in production, and
in securing the nation, they must also take part in an important aspect of society
that is not provided for in total by the state: Reproductive work. Keeping the idea
alive that a happy family relies on the presence of a caring mother who puts her
children’s’, husbands’ and parents’ well-being over her career, relieves state insti-
tutions of this task. Hy Van Luong (2016) also points to this link in his analysis
of gender relations in Vietnam. It also reproduces power-relations that emphasize
the higher status of men.
However, Vietnam is embedded within the global circulation of goods and
ideas, and thus local discourses are shaped by globalized discourses on gender
and the military. Since Vietnam is part of the United Nations, participation in
global debates on gender mainstreaming has been included in political rhetoric.
The idea of including more women in peacekeeping missions builds on the essen-
tializing notion of women as peaceful human beings, somehow less capable of
cruelty and exploitation than men (Duncanson and Woodward, 2016). Certainly,
this discourse is not new to Vietnam. Any museum in Vietnam dedicated to
the hardships of war usually includes exhibits that exemplify the dedication of
Vietnamese women who were captured by the enemy and imprisoned under cruel
conditions. One kind of exhibit portrays the meticulous needlework that was pro-
duced by imprisoned women. Under inhumane conditions, women stitched pic-
tures of children holding hands around a globe with peace doves flying overhead.
Two motifs can be found in these exhibits. First, women were able to maintain
their femininity, expressed through needlework, even under the most inhumane
conditions. Second, their sole thought was directed toward the construction of
peace, not revenge or anger. Today, women are sent on peacekeeping missions
to fulfill the demands of gender mainstreaming. A newspaper article published in
2020 reports on the goal of the Vietnamese government to send more women on
United Nation peacekeeping missions (Tuoi Tre News, 28 November 2020). The
first female soldier was sent to South Sudan in 2018, and, at the time of the arti-
cle’s publication, 63 of the Vietnamese United Nations soldiers involved in build-
ing health infrastructure tents were women. The accompanying image shows a
colonel sewing face masks during the COVID-19 pandemic in the Central African
Republic. Again, a female soldier is presented holding a rifle, but rather engaged
in a feminine task.
In 2021, a new activity was initiated by the VWU to celebrate the conclusion
of the previous campaign period and the beginning of a new one. A newspa-
per article invited artists to submit photographs of women in the army (Phụ nữ
Việt Nam, 13 May 2021). To exemplify the kinds of works that were expected, a
number of high-quality pictures were included, among those the image described
above depicting the “water cups on the exercising field” exercise. While images of
women in non-combat situations were selected, the pictures also included female
soldiers in active duty with weapons. In the comments section, one reader noted:
“I did not think women could fight!” What an ironic expression in a country that
was once famous for a picture of a woman with a rifle pointed at an American
soldier as presented above.
To summarize the arguments of this section, it is clear that female fighters’
bodies are continuously constructed as peaceful and caring, although there may
be a shift toward more militaristic imagery in recent years. Today, the motiva-
tion to join the military in Vietnam cannot be traced to a specific atmosphere
to protect the nation. One strong motive that was revealed in informal con-
versations was the expectation of steady income and welfare benefits. While
the number of soldiers was significantly reduced in the 1980s, especially in
rural areas and among low skilled men, the military still appears to be a viable
career option. On the other hand, men in urban areas, and those who are highly
skilled, usually aim at removing themselves from conscription lists. While there
is no mandatory conscription for women, the military aims at promoting gender
equality in its ranks by openly discussing the low number of female officers in
the higher ranks, as well as introducing quotas for female recruits in military
schools (Việt Nam Mới, 30 March 2021).
Discussion: (Dis)Continuities
The goal of our research for this chapter is to understand continuities and dis-
continuities in discourses about femininity and the military in Vietnam, from the
1940s to today. This not only included public discourses, as represented in news-
papers, but also narratives by female veterans who explained how they came to
be soldiers.
We found an important difference between the period of war and today, namely
the “atmosphere to join the front” created through propaganda from the 1940s to
1975, and the immediate threat that war posed to people’s lives. This atmosphere
infiltrated people’s everyday lives, and motivated them to actively participate in
the national community in order to defend its freedom. As the nation was in the
making at that point, war efforts promoted by the Việt Minh, and the govern-
ment of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam, were not only directed at mobi-
lizing human resources for the fight, but also aimed at constructing the nation.
As interviewees reported, this atmosphere was all-embracing and motivated their
dedication to voluntarily join the war. Today, there is a need for further research
to better understand women’s motives to join the army. However, while pride in
the nation, and the willingness to defend it, may have been part of the motivation,
expectations of steady income and social security clearly offer further incentives.
The continuity we encountered was in the narrative of women defending
the nation, embedded in discourses of femininity and the military. The mobili-
zation of people from the 1940s onwards was pervaded by narratives about the
Vietnamese people’s matrilineal past, and the ability and will of women to con-
tribute to the cause of national salvation. Examples of this past were found in
national heroines, such as the Trưng sisters or Lady Triệu. This view of the past
not only motivated women to join the fight, but it also served as a means for dif-
ferentiating the Vietnamese people from the “invaders”, thus contributing to the
community’s identity.
While this narrative remains active in discourses about femininity and fight-
ing, the meaning appears to have returned to the original meaning. In the early
1970s, at the height of the fighting, the narrative aimed at motivating women
to join the army, as recruitment figures show. Before, women were expected to
support the war through local militias in their hometowns, maintaining food pro-
duction and producing other supplies, while doing care work at home and in the
medical corps. The idea of defending the home was used in a more literal sense,
as women were expected to stay at home to perform their duties. This interpreta-
tion of the narrative extends back to the leading figure of Vietnamese nationalism
in the early 20th century, Phan Bội Châu, who acknowledged women’s ability to
fight, but emphasized their responsibilities as mothers and wives (Andaya, 2020,
p. 268). After 1975, this idea returned to the forefront of public discourse. The
VWU emphasizes women’s duties as caregivers and their responsibility to cre-
ate a “happy family”. Activities by women in the military reproduce the idea of
women in the role as nurturers of the nation – in this case, represented through
giving food and providing male soldiers and new recruits with the feeling of being
at home.
In her discussion of gendered symbols of the nation-state in post-conflict set-
tings, Omar (2004, p. 50) concludes that leaders of national struggles for inde-
pendence, whose success depended on their ability to mobilize fighters, resorted
to the “manipulat[ion]” of “female symbols” and connect “women’s concerns
with the national agenda”. After liberation, Omar suggests, this form of empower-
ment was diminished. In Vietnam, however, this national agenda was still in the
making, and research suggests that leaders of the communist party were initially
impressed by the idea of gender equality. We argue that public discourses about
femininity and the military were informed by material aspects as well. The need
of bodies for the war effort in the 1960s led to a change in the discourse. Women
were not only encouraged to be part of the reproductive force in support of the
war, but increasingly to join the army. After the end of the war, there was an
oversupply of “bodies” or soldiers, but female bodies were still needed in the
army. In the 1990s, the legitimation of the CPV was at stake after social welfare
was reduced during the economic reforms. Women, reproducing practices of care,
read as feminine, were needed to evoke feelings of community during the years
of war. At the same time, they fit global discourses of gender mainstreaming and
thus represent a modern society.
Note
1 Research by Dr. Nguyen Thi Hue is funded by Vietnam National University, Hanoi,
under the research project QG, code QG.21.54, “Trading activities of women in rural
areas and their impact on the life of households in the Red River Delta” (Case studies
in Phu Luu and Dinh Bang villages, Tu Son town of Bac Ninh province).
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Part 2
Case studies 1
Women in national armed forces
6 Transfer, transformation and use
of combat experience inside Nazi
concentration camps, 1942–1945
The fight continues after the battle1
Olesia Isaiuk
Introduction
According to Nicholas Wachsmann’s pertinent description, when a Nazi concen-
tration camp (Konzentrationslager or KL) is discussed, we usually think of the
Holocaust and the most infamous camps, completely disregarding the less vis-
ible contexts and lesser-known groups among Nazi victims (Wachsmann, 2015,
p. 27). One such group is the Ukrainian women – members of the Organization of
Ukrainian Nationalists’ Banderite faction (OUN(B) or Banderites2) and Soviet Red
Army Prisoners of War (POWs) – who were prisoners in the KLs and participated
in camp resistances. Both of these entities were characterized by military, para-
military or underground experience that formed specific perceptions of reality and,
ultimately, specific behaviors upon being imprisoned in the German concentration
camps. The main locations of their resistance experience explored in this research
are Auschwitz and Ravensbrück in 1942–1945.
Using the Ukrainian example, the main aims of this chapter are to describe
and analyze personal reasoning, motivation and resistance mechanisms of female
army soldiers or members of underground militarized groups who are in captivity,
and to identify the mechanisms by which military and underground experience
are transformed into underground activity in the realities of concentration camp
conditions. Additionally, the chapter brings the gender perspective into the discus-
sion, which is often silenced in studies on KL resistance. By focusing on female
POWs’ activities, the chapter calls into question the so-called male and female
qualities in masculine-connotated spaces such as armed combat and survival under
violent conditions. It also looks at the female experience in Eastern Europe during
World War II in high-threat situations, connected with the possibility of physical
and sexual violence3; and at the women’s emotional reactions, motivations and
justifications that stimulated them to resist.
The relevant literature basically covers three main topics. The first is the con-
centration camps in the Third Reich and the resistance within them – as exem-
plified in Eugen Kogon’s classic work (Der SS Staat: Das System der deutschen
Kionzentrationslager, 1983) to the latest monograph by Nikolaus Wachsmann
(2015). While there is a rich and significant body of work on Auschwitz, their
relevance to the present study is limited since those texts did not single out ethnic
Ukrainians in their focus on the Jewish victims.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359-8
The second topic is that of female participation in anti-Nazi resistance – more

precisely, female Red Army soldiers and POWs as well as the experience of
women from the Ukrainian nationalist underground movement. In both groups,
ethnic Ukrainian prisoners of the Nazi concentration camps could be consid-
ered as le grand absent. They are usually identified by Western researchers as
“Russians” and “Russian POWs” or are subsumed under general categories such
as “Ostarbeiter” (Eastern workers), “Red Army prisoners” (Pohl, 2011; Reinhard
and Keller, 2020), etc. Ukrainian researchers do not actually differ significantly
regarding this delineation either (Slavik, 2015; Lehasova, 2019). Ukrainian prison-
ers of Auschwitz are divided and dispersed under a variety of social and political
categories and groups of prisoners.
Resistance is stereotypically perceived as a male endeavor and, in effect,
Ukrainian female resistance participants are kept in the background in the literature.
This forces researchers to use extrapolation to reconstruct specific ways and means
of resistance. On the other hand, female memoirs are a rich source for an analysis
of their agency and how they cope with the reality of their situation. It should be
noted that most recollections about Auschwitz by male authors do include chapters
devoted to women’s experience in the camp, including, for example, Wachsmann’s
monograph. The appearance of research by Sarah Helm (2015) and the testimony
of a survivor point at the shift in research in recent decades allowing female survi-
vors to recount their own stories.
As for the group of Ukrainian POWs at Auschwitz who had been imprisoned
due to their individual involvement in anti-Nazi resistance organized by the
OUN(B), the only publication is a 1996 monograph in Ukrainian by Mychajlo
Marunchak that focuses on Ukrainian political prisoners in Nazi concentration
camps, albeit from a male point of view. This research is well complemented by
studies about the female experience – namely, that of Ukrainian and Polish par-
ticipants in nationalistic anti-totalitarian resistance movements – in concentration
camps of the GULAG. The most recent, and most complete to date, investigation
of this type is Oksana Kis’s 2018 monograph in Ukrainian (English edition, 2021).
Nevertheless, in the context of the research on Nazi concentration camps, studies
of GULAG prisoner experience are useful primarily as materials for comparison
and juxtaposition.
The third main topic the literature addresses is the theme of survival and resist-
ance under conditions of chronic threat, including imprisonment in concentration
camps. This is analyzed with reference to trauma theory, based on the works of
Bruno Bettelheim, Viktor Frankl, Dave Grossman, Judith German and many oth-
ers (Glinska, 1967, pp. 174–232; Bettelheim, 1986; Craig, 1993; German, 2015;
Grossman, 1996). The most important of these is Bettelheim’s concept, as informed
by Frankl’s studies, because both were formulated on materials based on the expe-
rience of concentration camp survivors. The theoretical considerations include the
notion that a totalitarian regime, with its system of force and violence, aims at
changing human nature, a view also underlined by Hannah Arendt. This perspec-
tive serves as the starting point of this chapter. Its essence is that the main goal of
the concentration camps was not to repress political opposition or exploit labor but
Transfer, transformation, combat experience 107
what the totalitarian party activists called “re-education”, imposing a total change
of one’s usual picture of the world, priorities, lifestyle, personal connections, group
loyalties and so on. The goal of such a transformation was to form a completely
new human, endowed with all the desired characteristics. All the other outcomes,
such as forced labor and eliminating political opponents, were only a “bonus” from
the perspective of the aggressor.
According to Bettelheim’s observations, imprisoned persons under this kind of
pressure turn psychologically into children. The position of the “parent” in their
internal world is occupied by the totalitarian perpetrator, who is personified in the
concentration camp guard, and this specific degradation of their personality can
be attributed to prisoners perceiving their atavistic (“childish”) behavior as usual
and normal, to the deterioration of individuality, and to the loss of planning skills
and capabilities (Bettelheim, 1986, pp. 100–102). The perpetrators, embodied
here in the SS guards and representatives of the KL administration, transformed
all elements of everyday life into elements of the repressive system, aimed at
breaking and blurring the prisoners’ personalities. The total impossibility of con-
trolling the guards’ actions served to generate such emotional convictions that
everything depended on ensuring their good mood. As a result of such actions,
Bettelheim concluded, resistance under concentration camp conditions meant a
fight not only for physical survival but also for preserving one’s own autonomy
through any means necessary to understand and perceive the world in relation to
one’s own experience, as well as the capacity to make decisions and plans for the
future without the participation and influence of the totalitarian “parent”.
Before analyzing the experience of Ukrainian women at Auschwitz, a brief
summary of these women’s political and military activities that led to their
imprisonment is necessary. Female Red Army military personnel that were cap-
tured as POWs by the Nazis ending up in the concentration camps were mostly
in the medical corps. Specifically, a well-known group of female Red Army pris-
oners, led by Eugenia Klemm, consisted of medics captured in Crimea (Helm,
2015). However, female Soviet military personnel had a variety of military spe-
cializations beyond support-oriented ones: pilots, snipers, gunners and others
(Kryłowa, 2012, pp. 155–159).
The presence of women in the Red Army followed the same logic of the massive
mechanization campaigns of the 1930s, when girls and women were encouraged
to learn how to operate agricultural machinery: It was to ensure that production
levels be maintained if war broke out and men began to be sent to the front en
masse. Within the army, before the war, women were assigned either support roles
or the female connotated roles such as medicine. However, this changed at the
very start of the war due to pressure partly from massive female volunteer enlist-
ment and partly due to the German assault on Russia despite the pact between
Hitler and Stalin (Kryłowa, 2012 pp. 114–127). Even though there was partial
equality, the career prospects of most of these women did not go beyond junior
officer ranks.
Based on the limited information available, most of the prisoner cohort of female
members of the nationalist underground were urban-born or had lived in urban
settings for some time, having usually arrived in towns and cities to attend gym-
nasium school and the university. This education would particularly make them
aware of their motivation to fight and would provide deeper reflection and wider
social ties beyond their limited localities of origin. Olena Voitovych and Lidiia
Ukarma, for example, were arrested while they were studying at German higher
education institutions in Berlin, or Daria Hnatkivska who was a student of the Lviv
Conservatory in the 1930s. Their marital status varied from unmarried, single girls
to married mothers. In the underground, women usually took on support roles:
communications, scouts, paramedics and safe house keepers. As a result, the so-
called OUN “network” (sitka), which supported UPA (Ukrainian Insurgent Army,
Ukrayins'ka povstans'ka armiia) combat operations (starting in 1943), was made
up mostly of women. In this network, women, including Olena Mostovych, Mariia
Kos and Kateryna Zarytska, were able to attain the highest ranks of said “careers”.
However, as they climbed the ranks, the level of danger increased too, with the
totalitarian special forces redoubling their efforts to eliminate both male and female
leaders of the underground.
A number of researchers, including Olena Petrenko, regard this division of labor
as evidence of misogynistic practices in the Ukrainian nationalist underground,
citing gender roles that were characteristic in a traditional society. However, this
point of view could be disputed, given that the soldier bearing arms depended most
of all on personnel carrying out these duties. The lives and liberties of underground
members depended on the communications liaisons (zviazkovi) and safe house
keepers (hospodyni); therefore, given this level of interdependence, any affirma-
tion of discrimination against women in role distribution in the underground would
be disputable. On the other hand, it could be argued that the division of labor fol-
lowed the conventional ways of life and gender roles that every member of the
underground, without exception, had grown up in.
Everyday life in KL as a battlefield

According to Bettelheim and similar researchers, the main goal of resistance is to
preserve one’s own picture of the world and autonomy of thought and everyday
activities, based on one’s needs and worldview. On the other hand, Bettelheim
observed that groups in concentration camps, which were united based on strong
political or ethical worldview systems and were connected by strong internal emo-
tional connections, had a better chance of survival (Bettelheim, 1986, p. 20).
We share this point of view as a touchstone of this chapter. Hence, it follows
that the main resistance for female Ukrainian fighters in Nazi concentration camps
took place in everyday life, and their main tools were self-organization and daily
rituals aimed at resisting the Nazis, exercising what limited freedom was possi-
ble in everyday decisions, maintaining their own personal connections, etc. The
main motivation was to survive to continue fighting. Although their ideological
fundamentals were significantly different, sometimes even antagonistic, the actual
mechanism was almost the same. In fact, the main enemy of the OUN(B) were the
Soviet Union4 (Mirchuk, 1968, pp. 94–95) and the Red Army, trained to enforce
Soviet ideology and to spread political domination over the world. Nevertheless,
this research does not take into account the aforementioned difference for two rea-
sons. The first one is the fact that, following the observations of Bruno Bettelheim
(1986), Viktor Frankl (2007), Craig Howes (1993), Dave Grossman (1996), Anna
Glinska (1967, pp. 174–232) and others, there is no specific ideology that serves as
a base to form the necessary skills for resistance; rather, the common features seem
to include motivation, self-reflection and a conscious personal system of values.
The second one is that political differences had no special significance for prison-
ers, for their collective identity and solidarity were based on remaining steadfast
against the concentration camp guards and administration as well as; this is dem-
onstrated in numerous memoirs and confessions written by former prisoners from
different countries and having different political preferences.
The concept of “resistance in concentration camp” is akin to “survival tactics”,
since every day of imprisonment in Nazi concentration camp was really a race for
survival. A clear representation of this concept is Krzysztof Dunin-Wąsowicz’s
(1983, p. 52) analysis of resistance, in which he identifies three main stages of
resistance in concentration camp:
• the struggle for physical survival “from day to day”, which involved helping
the weak and sick, evading attention, redistributing surplus food or medicine,
obtaining “positions” (job assignments) or work in special workshops, where
the conditions for political prisoners were more or less acceptable;
• the struggle for dignity, bolstered by factors such as underground religious life,
psychological support and underground cultural events;
• deliberate efforts to harm the Nazi system, which entailed sabotage and plan-
ning and carrying out escapes.
The first stage is, in fact, considered a type of resistance insofar as one of the
purposes of the concentration camp detention was the physical destruction of the
prisoner. If a prisoner belonged to a “category intended for extermination”, his or
her survival constituted a resistance so long as he or she remained alive.
Soldier prisoners, both male and female, had an important advantage in the
depicted context. Contrary to most other prisoners, they regarded their imprison-
ment as a continuation of their anti-Nazi fight by other means. They transferred
and transformed their own experience into the conditions of imprisonment, which
meant that they were aware of the possible risks given their occupation and duties,
and whether male or female, they had no doubt at all about who they were and why
they were imprisoned in the camp. All these circumstances provided opportunities
from the very beginning to form their own view of the situation, to interpret every
detail according to their own understanding and, finally, to form their own internal
domain over their everyday actions. Moreover, being military personnel instilled
in them a survival goal that might otherwise seem irrational: survive to continue
to fight.
Compared to other Ukrainian groups, the main distinction of the underground
anti-Nazi fighters was their ability to establish intrinsic internal mutual aid
networks; significantly, they were formed on the basis of both ethnic and political
convictions. They aimed not merely at physical survival but survival to maintain
the struggle for Ukraine’s independence. Thus, imprisonment was understood as
the next round of the fight within which the Nazis were positioned as the principal
enemy. Such a stance provided the possibility of avoiding psychical destruction
and of constructing and preserving one’s own autonomy in assessing one’s situa-
tion and deciding on everyday actions.
As a result, psychological factors play a role in the process of modifying the
tactics familiar to the OUN. First, the main emphasis shifted to preserving one’s
individuality as best as possible, minimizing the impact of traumatic factors. This
was especially important given the fact that one of the main traumas for prisoners
was profound personality change.
Modern psychological studies that focus on war and violent trauma have under-
lined the importance of several characteristics – which are common in military
men and women – to avoid trauma and to organize successful resistance against
the system of violence. According to a study by Judith German (2015), it is impor-
tant to establish deep personal contacts inside the group, to maintain contact with
a group leader (p. 47), to create possibilities to impact events and to build one’s
own picture of the world (pp. 96–98). She concludes that high motivation, ability
to communicate, and the presence of an internal sense and logic of situations and
events are the principal conditions for the ability to resist.
This kind of logic was confirmed by researchers of POWs in later wars. Craig
Howes (1993, p. 18) notes that according to collected confessions, younger and
less educated soldiers were less resistant; they even expressed readiness to col-
laborate with the enemy that captured them and their comrades. Describing his
own experience of being a POW, one of Howes’s sources indicated that “without
disciplined organization, resistance and even survival may be impossible” (p. 24).
This does not mean that the rest of the female prisoners of Ukrainian origin did not
participate in acts of resistance, but the described groups include only those who
had combat experience and specific roles.
The next section analyzes and reconstructs, where possible, the ways and
means of everyday resistance by Ukrainian female soldiers and demonstrate
how the experience of military service and/or underground operations was trans-
formed into a foundation for resistance under conditions of the enemy’s total
advantage.
Continuing the fight by different means

For the general argument of this chapter, the example of the Red Army POWs is
more fitting than those from of the OUN(B) because formal military life contains
many elements that can be helpful in severe conditions, including in concentration
camps or other situations that can be characterized as prolonged mental violence.
German observers and authors of memoirs have noted that their first and often
strongest impression of female Red Army officers was that they were well-organ-
ized and prepared to defend their own rights and to continue to fight in other ways
(Otto and Keller, 2020, p. 299). An additional factor was the training of young
women as fighters for the ideals of the “state of workers and peasants”, which was
accomplished by Soviet propaganda before the war. Researcher Anna Kryłowa
(2012, pp. 59–60) comments that it was an element of managed social transforma-
tion, which included preparing for a future war. This facilitated the formation of
an ideal portrait of a Soviet girl as a person who broke with the traditional female
roles, which were accused of being “bourgeois” (Kryłowa, 2012, p. 63) and pro-
moted shooting and other training in military skills. Such propaganda positioned
girls as warriors for the coming bright future and included a rigid division of the
world into “us” and “enemies”.
Paradoxical as it may seem, the Communist propaganda had instilled a feeling
of belonging and self-identity for women. In line with Bettelheim’s postulate, it
had already prepared them to withstand the Nazi ideology and worldview. The situ-
ation is more complicated for the female OUN(B) members. These young women
had no formal or otherwise military training, but ironically became members of an
organization led by former army officers. Thus, the OUN was based on military
structures and took its own members as the soldiers of the underground army. A
characteristic of the OUN was that the duties of each member of the organization
also applied to their daily behavior and activities. These requirements were codi-
fied in “12 signs of character in a Ukrainian nationalist” and “44 rules of life for
a Ukrainian nationalist” (Mirchuk, 1968, pp. 126–130). In practice, these rules
governed the decision-making principles of individual OUN members and the prin-
ciples that they should be guided by, and both parameters were clearly linked to
their “belonging” to the OUN.
The basic common organizational structure of the OUN was the “fives”5 – cells
of five people. These members communicated only among themselves, and their
direct leader maintained contact with the senior commanders in the hierarchy
(Mirchuk, 1993, p. 120). With such a grassroots organization and level of con-
spiracy, intraorganizational communication took place on a hand-to-hand basis. It
is often recounted in the memoirs of OUN members of different periods that they
were recruited to the underground by older friends or colleagues in training or
various clubs and interest groups (Savchyn, 2003, pp. 46–49). Such cells could be
organized to perform a specific task, as was the case with the female intelligence
group led by Maria Kos (Posivnych, 2010, p. 96). Apart from their specific train-
ing, most of these girls and women carried out tasks that were fully compatible
with “normal” military activity. For example, Daria Hnatkivska-Lebed was the
leader of an intelligence group (Mirchuk, 1968, p. 122), Halyna Platkiv served as a
drill sergeant (Orenchuk, 1992, p. 759) and Lidia Ukarma was the “housekeeper”
of an underground flat.
A strong military element in the training system of the underground organiza-
tion had the additional effect of promoting the formation of strong motivation, a
sense of institutional affiliation and internal discipline. This practice also fostered
understanding the importance of their own contribution to the overall reputation of
the OUN. It should be noted that in the given context of confinement, the behavior
and activities of the female OUN members were not connected to the ideological
system of the OUN(B), all the more so that in the narrow sense it was constantly
evolving. Moreover, the primary motivation of the OUN(B) in that case, was to
maintain the solidarity of the prisoners against the Nazis. Evidence for this can be
found in the memoirs of members of the Polish underground who describe their
interactions with Ukrainians in the Nazi prisons and concentration camps in 1942–
19446 – relations that prior to the war had been fraught with violent interethnic
conflict. Recollections of foreigners who remark upon the high level of solidarity
among Ukrainians – as well as their solidarity with non-Ukrainians – are docu-
mented also by Oksana Kis in her research of the GULAG (Kis, 2021). Moreover,
based on GULAG and other, post-Stalin Soviet camp materials, a sizable num-
ber of recollections of Jews have been recovered who during their incarceration
communicated with imprisoned OUN(B) members, and observed a high level of
personal integrity in conjunction with solidarity in the face of a common enemy
(Hejfec, 2000).
Evidently, the experience of previous imprisonment was crucial in the success
of networking by imprisoned members of the OUN(B), although the strategy for
behavior in prison was not similar to that in the KL. Nevertheless, this experience
shortened the adaptation period and instilled self-organization skills under circum-
stances of total control. Also, the fairly long period of existence of the OUN made
it possible to accumulate a collective experience of resistance based on a set of per-
sonal experiences, and to filter out those parts that were unjustifiable or ineffective.
However, motivational and ideological differences between the female mem-
bers of the OUN and those of the Red Army became insignificant in comparison to
their common experience of being incarcerated in a concentration camp as women.
This experience included, among other aspects, at least a partial difference in their
resistance strategies compared to “male” ones. As far as physical survival is con-
cerned, the “male” and “female” tactics were almost identical, with both men and
women striving to build assistance networks, providing emotional and moral sup-
port and shoring up one’s personal endurance. This involved establishing a certain
internal “logical order” that made sense of the incarceration and extremely difficult
conditions as an outcome of the ongoing struggle, etc. Ultimately, any formation
of a hierarchy of gender roles was virtually non-existent, simply because the men’s
and women’s concentration camps and corresponding divisions of mixed concen-
tration camps were strictly segregated. Therefore, the only discernible difference
can be in how mutual assistance and perceived benefit were organized, based on
social roles that were established before imprisonment. Camp realities, however,
prevailed over seemingly gender-specific roles; male prisoners, for instance, were
forced to take on looking after minors, including children aged 12–14 (Mirchuk,
1968; Marunchak, 1996). Nevertheless, there was one area that even in the camps
remained purely female: infant care and everything concerning the reproductive
function. Moreover, women at Auschwitz were under a constant additional threat
of forced pseudo-medical experimentation, in particular concerning fertility and
sterilization; in the case of the Ukrainians, it is even mentioned in the memoirs
of male former prisoners (Mirchuk, 1968). In addition, some women arrived at
concentration camps already pregnant or with babes in arms. The infants often met
with a tragic fate, but starting in 1943, the mothers with children were allocated a
separate barrack. Finally, some women were forced to work in the camp brothel,
with quite mixed consequences for surviving the KL (Sommer, 2009).
However, in the context of Bettelheim’s views and based on women’s experi-
ences in the GULAG as studied by Oksana Kis (2021), we may also conjecture that
the traditional female gender role gave women one significant advantage. Women
could more quickly and consciously muster the resources (or mechanisms) required
to survive, which, in the realities of the concentration camps, was the main battle-
field of resistance anyway. In fact, in these same oppressive circumstances, the
traditional female role of caregiver transformed rather easily to the role of female
warrior – more easily compared to males facing the same challenge. Nevertheless,
making such comparisons should be done with caution, for judging by the evidence
of recollections, the possibilities of preserving one’s personal autonomy in every-
day circumstances were incomparably narrower in the Nazi concentration camps
than in the GULAG.
Background: How they found each other in the KLs

The communities of female Ukrainian prisoners at Auschwitz and Ravensbrück
were formed in two different ways. Most of the female OUN(B) members were
arrested in 1942, through the activity of a special interrogation Gestapo group
under Wilhelm Wirsing, which was established just that autumn. Some of them
were students at German high schools in Berlin; for example, Olena Vityk studied
at the Berlin Arts Academy, as did Lidia Ukarma and others (Vityk-Voitovych,
1992, p. 787). The precise number of this group of students is unclear, possibly
between 10 and 20 (Marunchak, 1996, p. 244).
The so-called Lviv group – named after their place of arrest and previous
imprisonment before transport to Auschwitz – consisted of girls and young women
arrested by the Sicherheitsdienst (SD)7 in the Distrikt Galizien during 1942 and
1943 and accumulated in the notorious “prison on Lontskoho”8 in Lviv. In the
autumn of 1943, having beat back the Germans at Stalingrad and begun their
westward revanche, when the Soviet troops crossed the Dnipro River and reoc-
cupied Kyiv in November, the Nazi authorities in Western Ukraine started empty-
ing the prisons through the mass transfer of prisoners to German concentration
camps (Marunchak, 1996, p. 102). Groups of young women were transported to
Birkenau. The Kalendarz wydarzeń w KL Auschwitz, a calendar documenting the
full list of Auschwitz operations based on archival documents and confessions,
notes that on 28 September 1943 five prisoners were transported from Lviv (Czech,
1992, p. 527) and that on 3 October 239 imprisoned women transported from Lviv
were registered at the camp (Czech, 1992, p. 531). The history of the Red Army
POWs at Auschwitz, including Ukrainians, started on 27 February 1942, the day
of the “transport of the 536” (Otto and Keller,2020, p. 295). Most of these women
were doctors and nurse’s aides captured during war action on the Southern Front,
mainly in Crimea. A few smaller groups of female Soviet POWs were transported
to Ravensbrück during 1943–1944 (Otto and Keller, 2020, pp. 296–302).
Apart from the mentioned groups, it was common to transport forced labor-
ers to Auschwitz and Ravensbrück – the so-called Ostarbeiters, who had fled and
were caught. From April until September 1944, there were also Ukrainian Jews
from Transcarpathia among the Hungarian Jews who were deported to Auschwitz,
because the Ukrainian territory of Transcarpathia was occupied by Hungary during
World War II (Slavik, 2015).
Facts from the archives: Tracing individual stories

Thus, we can observe and analyze the ways in which battle and military experience
were transformed into resistance against the KL system, which presumed to change
human nature through prolonged physical and mental violence. These women used
methods that traditional gender socialization regarded as “female”, and at the same
time they organized resistance based on their underground and military experience,
which is regarded as more “male” in traditional “female” spheres. For example, they
rescued children from the “blood transfusion station” at Auschwitz and cared for the
older members of the prison community, or they helped a fellow prisoner who was
forced to participate in medical experiments with female fertility and sterilization.
The first stage of aiding was finding one another (Ukrainian nashi, “ours”)
among newly arrived prisoners and those who were already imprisoned for some
time. In the case of imprisoned female OUN(B) members, the most often used
“meeting points” were the registration point (Orenchuk-Maruszak, 1992, p. 760)
or the barracks:
I learned that older Ukrainians were located in the same barracks on a lower
floor. The daughter of one of them, Mrs. Hnatkivska, Oda Lebed, Mykola’s
wife, was isolated in the so-called “bunker” with her infant daughter. There
were Ukrainian students from Berlin, Vienna and Lviv – Lida [Lidia]
Ukarma, Olenka [Olena] Wityk, Darka [Daria] Sydir, Mariyka [Maria]
Orenchuk, Anna Khorkava, etc.
(Eliashevska-Froliak, 1992, p. 766)
The arrested women formed a network of mutual aid, aimed at helping ill and
older comrades. For example, Lidia Ukrama systematically helped Oleksandra
Hnatkivska and Maria Hryhortsiv, Daria Hnatkivska’s mother and aunt
(Hantkivska-Lebed, 1992, p. 757). It is a complicated task to identify the leader of
the Ravensbrück imprisoned OUN(B) group, but according to mass testimonies, it
is possible to deduce that it was Olena Vityk-Vojtovycz. According to the mem-
oirs of survivors, she regularly communicated with the rest of the group members
and had contact with Ukrainian women who were imprisoned in other barracks
(Orenchuk-Maruszak, 1992, pp. 760–761; Elishevska-Froliak, 1992, pp. 764–765).
The Red Army POWs were invariably transported together, in large or small
groups. Eugenia Klemm, born in 1900, was older by almost a generation, while the
rest were young girls approximately 20 years old. After marching on foot through
the whole of Ukraine – from Yalta to Kherson to Proskuriv (today Khmelnytskyi)

to Równo (Rivne) – they were transported to the Soest camp (Helm, 2015, pp.
253–256).9 There, they were deprived of their status of POWs and the camp admin-
istration proclaimed to them that they must work as “regular” prisoners. The whole
group rejected this, and the main ideologist of the resistance was Eugenia Klemm.
The women appealed to the Geneva Convention about the illegality of losing POW
status (Helm, 2015, p. 257).10 Thus, all of them were transported to Ravensbrück
for “disobedience” and “sabotage” (Helm, 2015, p. 258).
It was wholly reasonable, as Otto and Keller (2020, p. 296) also contend, that
one should not have had any expectations of success with this resistance. First,
they were in a situation fully controlled by the Nazis, and second, they did not have
enough knowledge of international law concerning POWs. Nevertheless, echoing
Bettelheim, this resistance act guaranteed all of them three vitally important things:
a reference group, a leader whom they could trust, and an awareness of their own
agenda and their own picture of the world, marked by collective resistance. They
went to Ravensbrück conscious that they were punished unfairly and illegally pur-
suant to international law, and this circumstance determined their point of view
against the Ravensbrück reality and formed their motivation to resist. They organ-
ized a newsfeed to the rest (Helm, 2015, p. 263). This was crucial in the face of
news blockades and of mass propaganda aimed at the prisoners to change their self-
perspective, and it helped to maintain contact with outside reality. The routine of
hearing and telling the news formed their own order and preserved a minimum of
autonomy in their everyday actions. The third element, as retold by witnesses, was
befriending younger girls and providing them moral support. According to Judith
German (2015, p. 47), an understanding and trustworthy group leader is one of the
most important elements of successful resistance against oppressors.
Otto and Keller (2020, p. 307) have observed that information about the female
resistance movement is very rare. But when analyzing available confessions, it is
possible to observe significant characteristics that reflect Bettelheim’s theory. First,
both mentioned female groups consisted of educated women, who were highly
conscious of the reasons of their own imprisonment and their own position against
the Nazis. Second, they formed their own space through a mutual aid network,
where they decided about their own actions for everyday situations and preserved
their autonomy over decisions. Above all, they were united by deep personal con-
nections, which were formed long before imprisonment, and at the same time by
membership in the same organizations, inside of which everyone had their own
place in the hierarchy.
Motherhood in the KL: Tragedy or battlefield?

Witness evidence has shown that in Auschwitz, while women got opportunities
to process their own military experience, they were also plunged into traditionally
female roles such as bearing and raising children. Dozens of pregnant women and
mothers of newborn babies found themselves in separate barracks at Birkenau, a
female subcamp of Auschwitz. One of them was Anna Polszczikova (1994, p. 64),11
a former Soviet medical officer and wife of a Soviet infantry officer, Aleksander
Polszikov (Polschikow). She avoided capture in the first months of the war, was
deported as a “regular” prisoner and arrested for sabotage at the factory where she
worked. After a brief imprisonment in Vienna, she was deported to Auschwitz with
a large group of female prisoners.
Children were also among the prisoners in the concentration camp, as family
members or children of women sent to Auschwitz. On rare occasions, women
arrived pregnant, and their child was born in a special maternity barrack. Until May
1943, the only possible fate awaiting a pregnant prisoner was death, because every
newly arrived woman with clear signs of pregnancy was sent, according to the
Auschwitz jargon, “for some gas” after the initial “selection” process (Ciesielska,
2015, p. 78). In May 1943, special maternity barracks were organized with the
imprisoned Polish midwife Stanisława Leszczynska becoming the designated
obstetrician (Ciesielska, 2015, p. 79). Her helpers were her daughter Sylwia and
another doctor called Irena Węgierska (Ciesielska, 2015, p. 79–80).
Until spring 1944, one could stay in the special barracks only during the last
days of pregnancy and the first weeks of the newborn’s life. After this period, the
child was separated from its mother, and the woman was sent back to her “work
commando” (Ciesielska, 2015, p. 80). If the newborn died, the mother immediately
would be sent back to the general camp. The procedure changed in spring– sum-
mer 1944, when it was accepted to leave mothers with newborns for a longer term
in the special barracks. None of these arrangements applied to Jewish mothers,
whose children were killed shortly after birth. All these circumstances led to some
minimally organized level of resistance in the “children’s barracks”. This resist-
ance was concentrated around three goals. The first was to get additional nutrition
for mothers and children as well as other necessities; the second was to try to save
the lives of children, who often died from poor eating and living conditions; and
the third, the more dangerous one, was to save Jewish children by exchanging them
with stillborn children of non-Jewish women.
Polszczikova (Polschtschikowa) arrived at Auschwitz in August 1944
(Polszczikova, 1994, p. 56) and was placed in the special maternity barracks a
few days after her imprisonment; her son Victor was born on 15 October 1944
(Polszczikova, 1994, p. 58). She was a “new number”, which meant healthier
and stronger than the rest of her fellow prisoners. Thus, she became a wet
nurse, for example, to the son of a French woman, Jeanette (Polszczikova,
1994, p. 61), and to the daughter of a Polish woman, Danuta Kwiatkowska,
named Jolanta (Polszczikova, 1994, p. 62). Polszczikova’s case demonstrates
two specific characteristics. First was the conscious perception of the camp’s
guards and representatives of the camp’s administration as the enemy and as
“fascists”. She based her own position in the camp on the dichotomy between
“fascists who kill women and children” (Polszczikova, 1994, p. 44) and “me
and my friends who try to survive and save our children” (Polszczikova, 1994,
p. 61). This enabled her to plan her own actions. Second was a strong will to
survive and to save children. She named her newborn son Victor, which is
rather symbolic since it connected, in her view, two Latin words: vita meaning
“life” and victor connected to “victory” (Polszczikova, 1994, p. 59).
These saving efforts and networks could not be as strong and well-organ-
ized as desired for two reasons: different native languages among the women
in the maternity barracks, and the sad fact that a great part of the children died
within a short time after birth, which results in the mothers being sent back to
the main camp. That being said, women managed to organize, for example, col-
lective nursing, i.e., mothers who had more breast milk fed the children of other
women, their comrades in misfortune. According to the memoirs and confessions
(Polszczikova, 1994),12 there was one more activity the imprisoned mothers tried
to do: They secretly went inside the special barracks with children forced to serve
as blood donors in order to feed them and lift their spirits.13 They had better nutri-
tion than the children in the maternity barracks, but they were victims of uncon-
trolled blood taking.
The researcher Maria Ciesielska (2015) identifies the maternity barracks and
a separate children’s barracks nearby as no. 15 and no. 16, respectively, though
she says nothing about a blood donation station. A more detailed recount comes
from the memoirs of the surviving victims, for example, that of Anna Kowal (mar-
ried Stryzhkova), who now lives in Kyiv.14 She became an Auschwitz prisoner in
autumn 1943 and found herself in the special barrack no. 16. The only persons with
whom the children had contact were female SS guards and a German military nurse.
Stryzhkova’s memoirs describe the latter as a constant appearance in her nightmares
for a long time after the war. Also, according to her memoir, adult women prisoners
organized a way for night visits in the children’s barracks. They would sneak in,
share pieces of food they had saved for the children, tell them stories and sing lulla-
bies in different languages. This “other barracks” that these women came from could
only be the maternity barracks, because all the rest of the barracks were situated in
the general camp, which was separated from the special barracks by a special net.
Polszczikova (1994, p. 49) recounted how once she followed two Polish women
prisoners to the next-door barracks and saw healthy, non-starving children, which
was very rare in the camp. She wondered why these children were very silent and
practically noiseless; they did not play as children would. When she asked about it,
the Polish prisoners explained to her that these children were regular blood donors
(Polszczikova, 1994, p. 49). Thus, we may surmise that there existed certain prac-
tices of using children as medical resource in addition to the well-documented
pseudo-medical experiments by Mengele.
A real test for the organized women’s resistance was the final defense of the
Auschwitz garrison in January 1945. According to Ciesielska’s data (2015, p.
84), 247 pregnant women in late term and 156 newborns were left in the camp.
After a few hours sheltering in the barracks, the women organized small groups,
which went to the deserted “Kanada” barracks in order to take clothes and toys
for the children, and food for the children and themselves (Polszczikova, 1994,
pp. 76–78). One of the leaders of this move was Kateryna Schadenko (Russian:
Ekaterina Szadenko), also a former Red Army soldier (Polszczikova, 1994, p. 79).
The case of Daria Hnatkivska

Daria Hnatkivska’s situation presents a special case. When she was caught in Lviv
and imprisoned, she was already an interesting catch for the SD since she had
a famous husband, Mykola Lebed, one of the leaders of the OUN(B). Although
he lost his own leading position after the Third OUN Great Congress in spring
1943 for “undemocratic and autocratic leadership”, he was still a prominent mem-
ber of the Ukrainian resistance.15 Hnatkivska herself (1912–1989) was an OUN
member from the beginning of 1930s and served as an intelligence agent. Her sym-
bolic significance was also heightened by being among the accused in the Warsaw
trial of the mid-1930s, a trial for the OUN cell that killed the Polish internal min-
ister Bronisław Pieracki.16 Hnatkivska was accused of taking part in this political
killing by surveilling the victim (Mirchuk, 1968, pp. 390–396). During the trial, her
appearance and composed behavior won her popularity even in the Polish press.
When she was arrested in 1944 by the Gestapo, Hnatkivska found herself under
triple pressure: as the wife of a prominent underground leader, which meant her
potential use as an instrument of Nazi blackmail; as mother of a baby daughter
Zoya; and as a symbolic figure for numerous female members of the Ukrainian
underground. She faced her first violent interrogation in the first hours of her Nazi
imprisonment, being questioned about the names of underground activists whose
photos the interrogators showed to her. She was beaten for her refusal to identify
them (Hnatkivska-Lebed, 1992, p. 755). Furthermore, she was forcibly detained by
the Gestapo for the purpose of blackmail. The Gestapo officers planned to provoke
Lebed into making an underground visit or trying to liberate his wife and child
(Hnatkivska-Lebed, 1992, p. 754). When these attempts failed, Daria and her child
were transported to Ravensbrück.
The second infliction of violence was when the Nazis blackmailed her with
her child’s fate. When she requested for the return of her child after her arrest, the
Nazi officer informed her that her 1½-year-old child had been shot (Hnatkivska-
Lebed, 1992, p. 755). When she heard the child’s cry in the prison’s hall, she
understood that they only used her child as a bargaining chip. The mother and the
child were united after long pleas. The risk of losing her child and total uncertainty
of their future were the worst inflictions on her morale: “The worst thing was that
I knew that my child is sentenced to death by enemy. But I cannot do anything”
(Hnatkivska-Lebed, 1992, p. 755). As such, she realized two important aspects of
her situation: She was completely powerless against the perpetrators, and a suc-
cessful resistance and taking over the enemy was impossible. Therefore, the only
mode of resistance left for her was to regard her imprisonment as an actual stage
of resistance.
She used every opportunity to save her child. When they were transported to
Ravensbrück, she tried to give her child to SS-Untersturmführer Wurm for him
to pass the child to some civilian person in the street (Hnatkivska-Lebed, 1992, p.
755). When this failed, she used help of another prisoner in Ravensbrück to shelter
her daughter from the unwanted gaze of SS guards (Hnatkivska-Lebed,1992, pp.
756–757): Because of her “Nordic” features, her daughter Zoya became an object
of interest for “racial specialists” and was experimented on a few times in “racial
procedures” (Hnatkivska-Lebed, 1992, p. 757). If these measures proved that lit-
tle Zoya’s features were equal to the “Nordic standard”, then Zoya would become
a member (and victim) of the Nazi program for “Germanization” of non-German
children with “Nordic” faces and bodies. Hnatkivska and her daughter spent nearly
a year in the internal prison at Ravensbrück during the war.17
Art as preservation of the senses

A rather rare but specific way of resistance was through underground art. It was
also one of the most paradoxical forms of resistance under the conditions of the
concentration camps. Considering the horrendous living conditions of the prison-
ers, art may seem completely unnecessary – not least because it usually entailed a
loss of resources needed to survive. However, if one includes the logic of resist-
ance, according to Bettelheim and Frankl, one can consider underground art as an
opportunity and means of forming one’s own space, establishing a private author-
ity over one’s own decisions and perceptions (Frankl, 2007, p. 73).18
First, the underground art formed an inviolable space of decisions and tastes,
inaccessible to concentration camp guards or the agents of camp administration.
The creators and viewers could decide on their own whether they wanted to create
the art. They chose the art form from various possibilities, and they formed groups
that were connected by personal communications and common goals and motiva-
tions. Ultimately, participants in underground art transcended the spaces imposed
and regulated by their persecutors. They formed an alternative world with their
own rules and were sustained by alternative senses that were chosen according
to their own desires and needs. Thus, they formed a space of everyday autonomy
within which women could develop their future actions. This position was highly
dangerous for the aggressors, who claimed to change the meaning of life, because
it led out of a strong utilitarian scheme of survival, and created a longer planning
horizon out of the “prisoner–persecutor” duality. Besides, such art was also self-
therapy in situations when open action and speech was prohibited.
The history of female Ukrainian political prisoners in Nazi concentration camps
includes two instances of underground art. First, are the paintings of Ravensbrück
by Olena Vityk-Vojtovycz. She was arrested and incarcerated at Ravensbrück as
a student of the Berlin Academy of Arts (Vityk-Vojtovycz, 1992, p. 787). During
her imprisonment she sketched scenes from Ravensbrück everyday life. All these
pictures were completed after liberation and formed a coherent visual series.19 In a
later interview she reported making very tiny art pieces from toothbrushes or bread
(Bezchlibnyk-Butler, 2021).
The second instance of artistic resistance was the editorial work by a group of
female Ukrainian prisoners at Auschwitz, arrested in different times and initially
imprisoned at the Lviv “prison on Lontskoho”. After months of interrogation, they
were transferred to Birkenau, the women’s subcamp of Auschwitz. They faced
brutality, hunger and senseless forced labor such as carrying stones to and fro
(Klymyshyn, 1987, p. 107). Eyewitnesses of this labor noted after the war that it
was “aimed at depriving the women, nothing else” (Klymyshyn, 1987, p. 108).
Unfortunately, no memoirs have been found by any of the female Ukrainian pris-
oners at Auschwitz, and researchers are forced to reconstruct their collective resist-
ance based on the memoirs of other persons, including the males of the Ukrainian
prisoner community. According to these memoirs, the women were able to contact
Ukrainian men at the main Auschwitz camp who were also OUN(B) members.
The first result of such contacts was that they sent food from the main camp to the
women, using a special method. Every Friday one of SS guards, Untersturmführer
Scherpe, transported a medical sterilizer to the prison hospital at Birkenau. He
used one of the prisoners who worked in the male hospital to carry the package.
The Ukrainian prisoners bribed the guard and arranged for one of the group’s
members, Mychajlo Marunchak (1996, p. 126) to put a piece of butter into the ster-
ilizer and take it to Birkenau to one of the female group members (pp. 127–128).
Based on their earlier successful cooperation, these women and male Ukrainian
prisoners formed a group with the ironic name “Auschwitz editorial board” in
1944 (Kowal, 2016, p. 104). They compiled an underground women’s magazine
titled Zhinocha nedolia (Female misfortune) (Kowal, 2016, p. 104). The name was
not random; it was a play on the name of the pre-war Ukrainian feminist journal
Zhinocha dolia (Female fortune) (Kowal, 2016, p. 105). Zhinocha nedolia con-
tained poetry, sketches and lyrics (Kowal, 2016, p. 105). Although the main share
of the work was carried out by male prisoners at the main Auschwitz camp, women
distributed copies of the magazine in notebook form among their own network
and organized underground readings. The possible identity of the person (or, more
likely, two persons) who concealed and smuggled out the journal according to
Maria Savchyn’s memoirs, was a girl called Ksenia, imprisoned at Auschwitz, who
chose to return to the underground after her own liberation and lifesaving medical
treatment:
She was small in posture, fragile, with blue eyes and a blond braid and
friendly smile … Leaving the camp, Ksenia managed to take with her the
magazine “Female Misfortune” secretly edited in the camp by Ukrainian
women political prisoners. She passed it to Orlan, and I had the opportunity
to review it. The magazine was written by hand, on rough gray paper, in
diligent handwriting, with illustrations also made by hand. The tone of the
magazine is ironic and humorous.
(Savchyn, 2003, pp. 93–94)20
The case of this magazine is actually quite typical, because organizing the publica-
tion of books and periodicals, as well as active publicity/propaganda measures, was
generally a strong characteristic of the Ukrainian independence movement.
Conclusion
The analysis of the surviving testimonies allows us to recreate, at least in part, the
internal reasoning, motivations, strategies and resistance mechanisms of Ukrainian
women in Nazi concentration camps. Given the paucity and often fragmentary, or
summary, nature of the recollections, coupled with the uneven representation of
the different prisoner categories, the possibility of tracing gender aspects of this
subject – including the essentially “female” topic of motherhood and childcare – is
indeed a remarkable scholarly success.
In sum, female Ukrainian combatants imprisoned by the Nazis were able to
resist them in various ways, ranging from editing and smuggling an underground
paper to organizing help for children imprisoned in a separate block and sentenced
to death through forced blood depletion at Auschwitz. They helped victims of
pseudo-medical experiments at Ravensbrück and protested the forced labor of
POWs. A significant portion of the resistance practiced by the women entailed
counteracting the threats that emerged due specifically to their gender roles, includ-
ing being subject to fertility experiments or forced to work at the camp brothel.
Another aspect of the purely female resistance and purely female experience was
protecting children, despite the thanklessness of the efforts. Given the number of
objective threats to themselves and the children, whatever they did could also have
been to preserve their own moral compasses, namely, the possibility of knowing
that as carers for their own or others’ children they did everything they could to at
least ease the burdens of those children.
The descriptions provided here illustrate that both groups of Ukrainian women
imprisoned in the Nazi KLs – Red Army POWs and OUN members – successfully
utilized their own personal organizational structures to adapt to underground resist-
ance conditions in the concentration camps; interpersonal connections developed
in the underground or the army also helped. These two types of connections – the
personal or familial and the corporate institutional–hierarchical – came to coex-
ist and coalesced in the KLs and later beyond them, too. Such dualism played a
double role in the KLs. On the one hand, personal friendships and the awareness
of common experience formed groups, which provided help and moral support.
On the other hand, remembering earlier hierarchical relationships helped to form
the networks that aimed to render mutual aid faster than they would have without
them. Unity of both types of connection formed a personal community that served
as a source of moral support and “soft social control” and organized the networks
aimed at resistance. Experience of hierarchies in the army or the underground cre-
ated opportunities to form effective structures in the camps, with precise divisions
of responsibility.
It should be noted that there were some unexpected results of this study. First,
it appears that in forming a resistance within concentration camp conditions, the
role of ideology – any ideology – is in effect quite minimal. At most, it contributed
to the motivation for survival: In the case of OUN(B) members it was independ-
ence for Ukraine and in the case of Red Army POWs it was victory over the fas-
cists. This was primarily because of the exceptionally difficult living conditions
in the concentration camps, which did not allow for any resources beyond those
occupied with physical survival. Although we know from male recollections that
ideological leanings did play a role in forming resistance networks, in the present
case, the sources do not really allow one to trace the influence of the same.
A second surprise is the meticulous attention to recording experiences in the con-

centration camp, as seen in the example of the underground magazine. Evidently,
this aspect of the Ukrainian prisoners’ activity, as is obvious from perusing issues
of the journal, applies mostly to the OUN(B) members, given that the Red Army
personnel were always subject to relentless Soviet propaganda.
In a nutshell: The prewar experience of participation in military and/or para-
military structures with strong propaganda proved useful for adaptation. Indeed,
the main problem of prisoner adaptation in the KLs was not the harsh material
conditions but forming a meaningful and internally coherent picture of the world.
From the perspectives of former Red Army officers or OUN members, the situation
was entirely clear. The arduous and unarmed resistance in the camp represented the
continuation, the next stage, of their struggle. Survival did not represent the physi-
cal rescue of the individual but was understood as a step toward the continuation of
the struggle after liberation.
Notes
1 Part of this chapter’s title is a paraphrased version of the title of an essay by Michael
Walzer (1969), “Does the fight continue after the battle?”
2 The Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN) was established in 1929 as a merger
of nationalist organizations in Western Ukraine with the Ukrainian Military Organization
(Ukrainian acronym UVO), aiming to reinstate Ukraine’s independence, which had been
destroyed by the Bolsheviks in 1919–1921. The OUN splintered into two parts in 1940 as
a result of a prolonged internal conflict; the factions were named for their respective
leaders: Andriy Melnyk, “Melnykites” or OUN(M); and Stepan Bandera, “Banderites”
or OUN(B). The Banderites preferred the tactics of self-assertion and fait accompli poli-
tics toward other nations and states. In the spring of 1941, the OUN(B) established an
agreement with the German military command to organize separate military battalions,
namely, Nachtigall and Roland; these were intended to be the foundation of a future
army for an independent Ukraine. At the same time, the OUN(B) prepared a declara-
tion of Ukrainian independence, which was proclaimed on 30 June 1941. Disregarding
it, the Nazis arrested all leading figures of the OUN(B) and imprisoned them in KLs at
Auschwitz, Majdanek, Dachau, Mauthausen, etc.
3 Especially in context of Auschwitz; see “Kobiety z bloku 10”; Helm, Sarah, “If This Is
a Woman”.
4 See also “Struggle for Independence (1917–1920)” in the Internet Encyclopedia of
Ukraine.
5 The system of fives (p’iatky), or more rarely called “links” (lanky), was one of the basic
principles for maintaining the secrecy of OUN tactics. It entailed forming small cells of
OUN members that were assigned specific tasks (for example, intelligence, propaganda)
with contact limited to others inside the group only.
6 Lanckorońska Karolina. Wspomnienia wojenne; Smoleń Kazimierz.
7 SD (Sicherheitdienst) was the intelligence agency of the SS (Schutzstaffel) and
the Nazi Party NSDAP in Nazi Germany. Established in 1931, the SD was the first
Nazi intelligence organization and was considered to be a sister organization of the
Gestapo (Geheime Staatspolizei, formed in 1933) through integration of SS members
and operational procedures. The SD was administered as an independent SS office
between 1933 and 1939, when the SD was transferred to the Reich Security Main Office
(Reichssicherheitshauptamt, or RSHA) as one of its seven departments.
8 The “prison on Lontskoho” was (and today still is, as a memorial museum) situated in
Lviv on Łącki Street, today Bandery Street. It housed political prisoners during interwar
Polish rule as well as during the Soviet and Nazi occupations.
9 The internment camp for officers Oflag VI A (Offizierslager) was located in Soest, North
Rhine-Westfalia.
10 Under the pretext that the Soviet Union had not ratified the 1929 Geneva Convention
on Prisoners of War, Russian POWs were extraordinarily maltreated in Nazi camps and
prisons.
11 The English transcription from Cyrillic is Polshchikov(a).
12 See Konaszewischtsch Larysa (Larissa), https://ost-arbeiter.com/simonova-konashevich
-larisa-stepanovna/simonovas/ж Stryzhkowa-Kowal Anna; https://ost-arbeiter.com/
strizhkova-anna-mixajlovna/.
13 See https://ost-arbeiter.com/strizhkova-anna-mixajlovna/.
14 See https://ost-arbeiter.com/strizhkova-anna-mixajlovna/.
15 Mykola Lebed (1909–1998) was the de facto leader of the resistance after the total
arrests of OUN(B) members between July and September 1941, and organizer of armed
resistance in 1942–1943. After the transfer of underground leadership to the so-called
Bureau in summer 1943, Lebed became the leader of the Security Service (Sluzhba
Bezpeky, or SB). For a detailed biography and international reception of Lebed, see
Rudling (2018).
16 The Pieracki Affair or Warsaw Trial was held from 18 November 1935 to 13 January
1936.
17 She was evacuated to the town of Lehnin (near Potsdam) in November 1944 and escaped
with help of the OUN to Italy where she stayed until 1948, then immigrated to New York
in 1950 (Bezchlibnyk-Butler, 2021).
18 This effect was partially described on GULAG examples in research by Kis (2021).
19 Some of her paintings are now exhibited at the Memorial Museum Ravensbrück. For
examples of the paintings, see https://www.stiftung-bg.de/fileadmin/user_upload/
Gedenkstaetten/Ravensbrueck/Veranstaltungen/2022/EK_Ravensbrueck.pdf (last
access 16.04.2023).
20 Author’s translation.
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7 Women soldiers in frontline war rooms
Protecting the nation on the backstage of war
Ayelet Harel
Introduction
War plays an important role in the construction of gender and of the social roles
of men and women. In this context, recent decades have seen a change in the way
women are viewed, no longer solely as victims of conflict and wars but also as
agents of change (Yadav, 2021). In parallel, in the current era of what is termed as
the “new war”, advanced militaries are moving to what is commonly dubbed the
“high-tech war”. In this “new warfare”, which also includes conflicts between state
and non-state actors (Miodownik and Barak, 2014; Barak et al., 2020), conven-
tional face-to-face battles are being complemented by “surgical” aids that include
drones, technological surveillance and various other techniques that are aimed at
evaluating and tracing the “legitimate targets” of wars and armed conflicts (Emery,
2020). Some aspects of these so-called high-tech wars are thus conducted through
modern war rooms equipped with highly sophisticated instrumentation.
The war room is not a new concept. In the warfare of today, a war room, being
a command center that serves as a point of coordination for military activities,
may be located either in proximity to the battlefield or at a considerable distance
from it. The current chapter focuses on the experiences of women soldiers in the
Israel Defense Forces (IDF), who served in war rooms (also known as operation
or situation rooms) located in proximity to the battlefield – in this case, on Israel’s
borders and in actual conflict zones. Interviews with these women soldiers revealed
that they did not experience remoteness or detachment while serving in such war
rooms but, rather, a sense of proximity to the battle and to the combatants on the
ground, accompanied by a strong sense of responsibility and involvement in every
step of the battle. The role of women soldiers serving in war rooms was eloquently
described by Lilly, a female operations officer, in explaining her tasks in a war
room located on one of Israel’s borders:
The war room is the heart of the war, in which we take care of everything.
We see everything that is going on; we make decisions; we order where to
shoot and what to do. From ordinary things to emergencies, we do it all …
They [combat soldiers] are counting on us to take care of them.
At present, women in militaries around the globe serve in a variety of combat and
combat support positions. In parallel, new technologies of warfare are transferring
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359-9
Women soldiers in frontline war rooms 127
more soldiers from the sidelines into the “new wars” battlefield in roles that are
considered combat support positions. In this capacity, sharp thinking, an ability to
concentrate and mind skills often replace the physical strength that is needed on
the battlefield itself. Accordingly, more women soldiers are becoming significant
participants in war by virtue of their assignment to strategic war rooms, some of
them as commanders. Even though such women soldiers are not located physi-
cally in the battlefield, they do indeed participate in war by promoting “security”
for their countries and for their fellow soldiers, and by being responsible for
injuring the enemy. The stationing of women in frontline war rooms equipped
with the latest technologies that bring the reality of the war zone into the war
room thus challenges the traditional concepts of security, war and gender roles.
A review of the literature on women soldiers serving in combat or combat sup-
port positions revealed that scant attention has been paid to the experiences of
women stationed in war rooms. While much has been written about the integra-
tion of women into the military (Sasson-Levy, 2003; MacKenzie, 2015; Harel-
Shalev and Daphna-Tekoah, 2020), including their experiences as drone operators
(Daggett, 2015; Holz, 2021) and as masters of new technologies in modern war-
fare (Masters, 2005 and 2008; Manjikian, 2010), very few scholarly works have
addressed the experiences women soldiers have in strategic war rooms near the
battlefield – experiences, in which women soldiers have begun to take a leading
role in “managing war” and in “achieving security” (Harel-Shalev, 2018). The cur-
rent chapter thus addresses this lacuna in the ever-growing body of knowledge on
security, since the narratives of women soldiers in war rooms can assist scholars
in exploring and reevaluating different aspects of the concepts of security and war.
Such narratives may challenge both the conventional wisdom definitions of war
and the binary conceptualization of warfare as an explicitly gendered act, in which
men soldiers actively protect allegedly passive and weak women (Shepherd, 2006;
Harel-Shalev and Daphna-Tekoah, 2020).
Women soldiers should not be regarded as a unified group. The experiences
of women in the military are diverse and can vary markedly from one soldier to
another, depending on roles, locations and level of exposure to trauma (Daphna-
Tekoah et al., 2021). I therefore sought to position women serving in war rooms on
the continuum of military experiences and to investigate how these women soldiers
perceive their service in gendered terms. In doing so, I also aimed to shed new light
on the role of women in the military by exploring the narratives of women in key
positions in frontline war rooms. Thus, with the dual purpose of learning about
the everyday experiences and challenges of these soldiers and of exploring new
framings for the analysis of the new wars environment, I applied feminist inter-
national relations (IR) theories and methodologies for conducting and analyzing
personal interviews with 40 Israeli women whose mandatory military service was
spent in war rooms. The analysis revealed nuanced narratives of war, intertwining
protection, agency, security and insecurity.
As mentioned earlier, the current study does not deal with distant, safe com-
mand centers but focuses rather on the experiences of women soldiers in the IDF,
in war rooms located in proximity to the battlefield. Although “war room” is not
a new term in war histories, war rooms on the front line may decentralize power
structures and represent a relatively new form of battlespace. By examining the
narratives of women soldiers serving in war rooms that are located, conceptually
and physically, on the border between the home front and the traditional battlefield,
one can trace how these women take part in managing wars in this arena. It should
be noted that this study was conducted against the background of the ongoing fierce
struggle that is taking place in Israel to open more roles to women that are currently
regarded as traditionally masculine roles in the IDF.
I regard it fitting to conclude the Introduction with quotes from two interviewees
that capture the essence of the typical war room scenarios of this study. In describ-
ing her role in a war room located on the border between Israel and the West Bank,
Shiri, an operations officer, explained:
Everything reaches the war room, from the smallest details, such as adminis-
trative matters, vehicles that are stuck [in enemy territory] or missing equip-
ment, etc., through issues of wounded soldiers, up to the larger events of
an operation … shooting, fighting, etc. … There are many routine ordinary
things, but the core activity of war rooms continues to function during battles
and emergency situations.
Michal, an operations sergeant, further elaborated on the significance of military

service in war rooms equipped with visual technologies and the contribution of
these technologies to the forces in the battlefield:
In the war room, you see everything; you see more than the soldiers in the
field see; you see the whole picture … When the men soldiers from my troop
were “in” [the battlefield] … they did not see terrorists coming toward them,
but … I saw … I had to tell them to step back.
Even though women such as Shiri and Michal are not positioned physically in the
battlefield, they presented their participation in war as being very significant – as,
in fact, it is – and it is this type of participation that raises questions regarding the
status of female soldiers in the newly framed battlespace (Manjikian, 2010; Harel-
Shalev, 2018). It is questions of this nature that the current study addresses.
Gender and the new wars

A better understanding of the active roles played by both women and men
in contemporary wars is necessary if their potential for bringing about social
change is to be fulfilled. It is thus vital not to embrace the binary narrative
that has been damaging to both women and men in past transitions. Instead,
the focus must be on understanding and redressing the asymmetrical systems
of power that subordinated sections of the population and made them vulner-
able to the exercise and abuse of power.
(Chinkin et al., 2020, p. 3)
Feminist and critical scholars guide us to critically study how militaries are sus-
tained, deployed and utilized (Enloe, 2015; Lomsky-Feder and Sasson-Levy,
2016). They also make us aware of the need for a gendered analysis of the con-
tradictory and insecure construction of masculinity in new wars (Parpart, 2011;
Chinkin and Kaldor, 2013). It is this call to arms that led me to pursue the current
research on women soldiers in war rooms in the context of new wars.
In modern times, the borders of war are blurred both in time and in space: It
is often quite difficult to pinpoint where a war starts and where it ends (Gregory,
2011). In addition, in the wars of today, there is a shift from battlefield to battlespace
(Garraway, 2011; Dufort, 2013; Rech et al., 2015; Perugini and Gordon, 2017) and,
in concert, the character of those who participate in war is changing. In battlespace,
many more actors are involved (Garraway, 2011; Dufort, 2013), including women
soldiers, civilians and insurgents, in addition to the traditional military (Perugini
and Gordon, 2017). Moreover, Chinkin and Kaldor (2013, p. 169) state:
New wars have a different logic from old wars, stemming from differences in
the type of actors, the goals, the tactics and the forms of finance. In particular,
old wars tend to be extreme in the sense of maximizing and totalizing vio-
lence, while new wars tend to be persistent and more difficult to end.
The context for evaluating battlespaces no longer pertains exclusively to one-on-one

conflicts – a state vs. another state or a military vs. another military – but rather to any
state that is involved in a military occupation or in any type of military intervention.
Military forces act in battlespaces through landscape and terrain (Rech et al.,
2015). Today, “terrain” can be both seen and sensed in many ways by combat-
ants in the battlefield, and thus issues of whether and how technological changes
impact warfare are becoming crucial in debates centered on critical security
studies. With the increased use of high-tech military methods (Peoples and
Vaughan-Williams, 2015, pp. 184–185) and the growing importance of military
intelligence and the visual elements of war (Mirzoeff, 2012), the ongoing evolve-
ment of battlespace is giving rise to discussion as to whether smart technologies
and smart weapons are changing the nature of warfare (Peoples and Vaughan-
Williams, 2015, p. 186). In parallel, the home front of the new war is burst-
ing with examples of “visualities” and types of surveillance that are routinely
deployed in battlespace (Amoore, 2007). It would thus appear that the new tech-
nologies of warfare, such as unmanned weaponry and vehicles, could potentially
alter both the conduct of warfare itself (McDonald, 2013) and our understanding
of war as a gendered activity (Manjikian, 2014).
The consequences for gender relations of the entry of new technologies into the
military arena are well documented in the literature. According to Masters (2005,
p. 123), that differed in the past:
The signifier soldier was confined to combatants, in other words, men who
actually engaged in physical battle. The fusion of technology and masculin-
ity has significantly blurred this traditional distinction.
In other words, “reducing the importance of the masculine warrior body as a hier-
archal criterion creates conditions for blurring gender differences” (Lomsky-Feder
and Sasson-Levy, 2018, p. 54). To complicate this gender blurring even further,
new technologies of warfare are enabling more women to be positioned in “protec-
tor” roles, without the need for substantial physical effort (Manjikian, 2014; Harel-
Shalev and Daphna-Tekoah, 2020).
Chinkin et al. (2020, p. 4) make the following point:
A woman may voluntarily join fighting forces for all sorts of reasons, includ-
ing challenging accepted gender roles or acting in conformity with them by
following a male lead. She may be content with traditional “women’s tasks”
… or seek leadership and active participation in fighting.
In this context, I address the concept of hegemonic masculinity in relation to the

new war and the new battlespace. Hutchings (2008, p. 40) cautions us:
Framing of contemporary international politics in terms of masculinity logic

locks our social scientific imagination into a very familiar world in which
we already understand how things work ontologically in terms of value hier-
archies. But it also provides a massively efficient short cut for the cognitive
tasks of categorization and analysis.
Hutchings (2008) also warns us away from using binary oppositions when discuss-
ing masculinity and femininity in war. Brown (2012, p. 4) further suggests that
understanding how the flux in gender roles is affecting the military requires a more
nuanced understanding of masculinity and femininity. In this spirit, I note, that, in
practice, the binaries of femininity and masculinity are blurred in the war room and
therefore I refrain from speaking about a single “female experience” in war rooms.
The current article, therefore, joins the stream of scholarly research that looks
at security from different aspects and examines changing definitions of war (Enloe,
2000; Hudson et al., 2009; Zalewski, 2015). In that sense, it calls for an exploration
of the issue of protection (Young, 2003):
In historical stories, women’s need for protection causes wars, and men are
expected to fight those wars as women’s protectors and heroes. These stereo-
types legitimate both the social dominance of masculinity and the institution
of war.
(Sjoberg, 2006, pp. 895–896)
Additionally, Tickner (1992, p. 128) calls attention to inequalities in the military

and claims that the relationships between protectors and protected deepens gender
inequalities, since a militarized version of security privileges the masculine char-
acteristics that elevate men’s status. Specifically, feminists have theorized how the
interface between technology and gendered bodies has disturbed the constructs of
femininity and masculinity.
In this study, I explore the narratives of women soldiers who are not involved
in direct combat but nonetheless occupy a substantial part of battlespace by vir-
tue of their service in forward war rooms. Even though women in war rooms are
usually not defined by the military as “combatants”, they most definitely do par-
ticipate in war, promoting security, protecting other soldiers and being responsible
for inflicting injury on the “other”, while they themselves might sometimes be
“insecure”. In my analysis of the narratives, I sought insight both into the politics
of war (Sylvester, 2012; Dufort, 2013) on the front line (beyond the war rooms
of the high command) and into the manifestations of the new war being fought in
forward war rooms. I thus extend the discussion of women in the military by ana-
lyzing women’s experiences in the forward war room and the significance of these
experiences for the battlespaces of the present.
Method, study design and participants

In Israel, military service for women became mandatory soon after the creation of
the state in 1948. In recent decades, the IDF, like the militaries of other nations, has
created new opportunities for integrating women soldiers into combat and combat
support roles (Harel-Shalev, 2021). Unlike conscription for men, women’s service
in combat-related roles is voluntary and is thus considered far more prestigious
than traditional feminine military roles (Izraeli, 2001; Golan, 2015; Fogiel-Bijaoui,
2022). Combat support roles in the IDF include managing war rooms, working in
field intelligence, and executing other security-related and combat-related tasks.
Informed by the empirical and theoretical insights gained by feminist scholars
who have analyzed various roles of women and gender in conflict and conflict
resolution (Sjoberg, 2016; Yadav, 2021), I set out to study women serving in for-
ward war rooms. The inclusion criterion was therefore service in the IDF in a com-
bat support role in frontline war rooms on various borders and in conflict zones.
The women participants in this study had served on Israel’s borders with Syria,
Lebanon and/or Egypt, and/or the borders with the Occupied Territories (either
the West Bank or the Gaza Strip). Some of them had served on more than one
front. All the participants were no longer on active military service at the time of
the interviews, although some of them were still being called up for reserve duty.
The participants had all been inducted into the IDF at the age of about 18 for two
to seven years. Some of them served the minimum mandatory period of two years,
while others signed up for additional periods of up to seven years.
The 40 women participants in this study, aged between 21 and 33, were identi-
fied through snowball sampling. A series of personal interviews were held with
them between 2014 and 2020, such that the maximum time elapsing between the
interviews and the end of the military service or release from reserve duty was ten
years. The interviewees, who held different ranks, had served in a variety of roles
in different units (intelligence, infantry and navy) during their military service.
The factor common to all study participants was that they served in forward war
rooms, irrespective of the exact nature of their roles: Some served as lookouts,
operations sergeants, officers or radio supervisors; others were in charge of various
advanced intelligence tools; yet others were responsible for operating unmanned
intelligence-gathering vehicles from within a war room.
The in-depth semistructured interview with each participant, who was identified
by a pseudonym, started with obtaining informed consent. To enable the interview-
ers (the researcher and trained research assistants) to become acquainted with and
reveal the experiences and the dilemmas of these combat support women soldiers,
the interviews lasted for approximately one up to two hours. The interviews were
held in Hebrew and, with the participant’s consent, were audiotaped and tran-
scribed for subsequent narrative analysis. (The transcripts were later translated into
English.) Each interviewee was asked a series of questions, starting with “Please
tell me about your military service”. This was followed by “Would you please
share your military service experiences in the war room?” Follow-up questions
were open-ended to capture the women’s own narration of their experiences. More
specific questions were used to clarify the stories as the interviews proceeded.
The method of narrative analysis used in this study is intended to enable
researchers to appreciate nuances, to explore various narratives in parallel and to
be attentive to the way in which individuals make sense of their own experiences
(Moss and Al-Hindi, 2008; Wibben, 2011; Shepherd, 2012). Narrative analysis is
thus acknowledged to be an important tool in IR (Suganami, 2008; Wibben, 2011),
and the analysis of a variety of narratives plays a crucial role in making sense of
world politics (Suganami, 2008, p. 329). I have found this approach to be par-
ticularly suitable for evaluating women’s perspectives in conflict-ridden situations
(Harel-Shalev and Daphna-Tekoah, 2020).
Findings: Combat support soldiers in action

Feminist research regarding the making and fighting of wars has urged scholars of
security to broaden the definition of war and to explore women’s multiple roles in
conflict, while being attuned to the context of the complex relationships between
gender, gender-based stereotypes and political violence (Gentry and Sjoberg, 2015;
Sjoberg 2016). The experiences of female combat support soldiers in war rooms
assist us to do exactly that. For example, Sharon, a war room commander, stated:
In this role, I am actually in charge of the girls [women combat support
soldiers] inside the operations war room and … that means that I am the one
taking command. Incidents in which I decide what to do, everything is on
my shoulders. I am in charge … it is difficult, with a lot of stress … I am in
charge of nine girls; the base is 1.5 km from the border; there is “action”.
Sharon’s narrative emphasized her sense of responsibility and her understanding of

her role in the military – indeed a narrative that may hint at a shake-up of gender
roles in the military. Dana continued the theme:
The men serving in war rooms often feel “less valuable” than combat men.
We [the women] do not feel the same way. I know that I contribute so much
to this army, to the country, and I don’t have any doubts whatsoever about
the necessity of my role. They [men in the war room] are often driven by ego,
and feel less “heroes”.
Another important aspect of the context of the interviewees’ military service

relates to the differences in the levels of intensity of the conflict on Israel’s various
borders. Israel is a country that is involved in violent and armed conflicts on a daily
basis, but vast differences were found regarding the experiences of women soldiers
in war rooms on the different fronts – Syria, Lebanon, Egypt, the Gaza Strip and
the West Bank – as Miriam, who was in charge of war rooms and intelligence-
gathering visual systems on two fronts, indicated:
There are substantial differences between a “peaceful border” and a “war-

border”. On the border with Egypt, it is a “quiet” border because there is
peace [between Israel and Egypt] … there is some smuggling and some ille-
gal entries, but the tension levels are different. In Gaza, it is mostly terrorist
activity; it is serious; and everybody is alert … it is a matter of life and death.
It is completely different [from a peaceful border].
Despite the differences in the interviewees’ experiences, two major themes were
common to the narratives – sensing war and fighting war – as discussed next.
Sensing war
The current study belongs to a research stream that aims to bring narrative analysis
of war experiences into security studies (Wibben, 2011; Shepherd, 2012), in this
case by emphasizing how our research participants sensed and felt IR every day
(Åhäll, 2018). There are different ways of engaging with and studying war experi-
ences and multiple contested possible conceptualizations of military experiences
in the new wars environment (Dyvik and Greenwood, 2016; Åhäll, 2018). In their
narratives about their service in forward war rooms, the women soldiers covered a
variety of experiences and encounters with war. They described their roles in the
war room and their experiences in great detail – how they had experienced battle
space through seeing, sensing and facing a variety of experiences of armed conflict.
For example, Michal said:
I served on the border throughout my entire military service, at first as an

operations sergeant and then as an operations officer. Those two years felt
as if they were my entire life. There were some very intensive periods there
… in which you stay in the base and spend many hours in the war room. It
comes to the stage at which you know every stone in the area, every blind
side. Every incident that happens in your area of operations becomes a part of
you, everything becomes personal; every mistake; everything that could have
been done differently; every soldier who was killed; every success; every
successful incident, [or] prevention of an incident – everything becomes a
part of you.
It is generally held that the practices of war and the skills of men soldiers are
built through training and disciplining (McSorley, 2013). This notion is also true
for women combat support soldiers serving in war rooms. In their narratives, the
women soldiers emphasized the skills that they had acquired through their encoun-
ters with violence and war. For example, Tiffany and Shiri, both operations officers,
explained how they were trained to function well during long and difficult shifts.
In Tiffany’s words:
The encounter for the first time with alarms and missiles demands that you
get a grip very fast and execute your role as best you can, even when you
are terrified … there is a loud BOOM, you see “fireworks” above your head,
but you have to continue functioning as usual and manage the operation
as if nothing has happened. Under my command, there were six or seven
[male] operation sergeants … it brings great satisfaction, you become a pro-
fessional, and a specialist … I served in a very masculine environment …
I was a few meters from the border; there were many missiles and many
intrusions.
Shiri added:
It is a matter of being awake during the night and functioning … it is actually

not merely being awake; it is being alert … A very challenging role, inten-
sive, with lots of uncertainties about the schedule … with huge responsibility
… Placing girls in this role, it is not obvious. It is not a simple role … Girls
at the age of 18, 19, 20 who take huge responsibility … It is not trivial that
girls of that age are dealing with such responsibilities, not in our country and
not abroad.
The visual element of the battlespace was dominant in many narratives. Indeed,
research has dealt with the importance of the visual representation of war in vari-
ous spheres (Guittet and Zevnik, 2015). In war rooms, the visual elements of bat-
tlespace are crucial and complex. For example, Galit’s description of the death of
one of her comrades in a battle, as she saw from the war room, emphasizes the
significance of the “visuality” of battlespace:
The thing is that with these screens [in the war rooms], you are on top of
everything. You often see movement, track it down and manage to prevent
terror attacks and casualties; after that you feel satisfaction and pride. Along
with these incidents, there are other incidents in which you see the casualties
in front of your eyes, you feel the pain in every part of your body. It is so
frustrating.
Images of war (Guittet and Zevnik, 2015; Peoples and Vaughan-Williams, 2015)
have indeed become a substantial part of battlespace, as presented in the narrative
of Moran, an operations sergeant, in describing her routine in the war room:
Even to see everything that is ‘on camera’ on these plasma screens or to

hear the military radio … [is intense]. I was sitting in the war room during
an operation, with the earphones. I heard them [men combatants] from the
battlefield, I saw them on camera … You hear “we are being shot at” and this
is really difficult … I was stressed out … it is so stressful to see them from
the war room like that.
Sylvester (2012, p. 502) recommends that to understand the essence of war as an

experience of the body, one has “to focus on less abstract and more people-centered
elements of war”. The narratives of the interviewees were precisely focused on these
elements: The physical proximity to death, the surreal reality of war and devastating
scenes were recurring themes in the interviewees’ narratives of “sensing” war. By
bringing the reality of the war zone into the war room, technology “obliges” many
more noncombatant soldiers to experience battlespace. Even when the combat sup-
port soldiers interviewed in this study were not physically on the battlefield, they were
in physical danger, under extreme stress and burdened with many responsibilities.
In contrast to the distant war rooms of defense secretaries (Jose, 2016) and of
drone operators (Daggett, 2015; Holz, 2021), the war rooms described in this arti-
cle are located in proximity to the battlefield. Not only did the interviewees experi-
ence war and witness the death and injury of other soldiers via the visual systems
in the war rooms, but they themselves were in danger. Ella, an operations sergeant,
in describing a situation in which a missile landed inside the war room, emphasized
how the war room is a part of the new battlespace and how it is not necessarily safe.
Another interviewee, Jana, described a surreal experience in a war room in which
she was very close to being hit by a bullet that had ricocheted off the phone to hit
the wall next to her. The narrative theme of sensing war thus included huge respon-
sibility, emotional burden, functioning under stress, exposure to combat, trauma
and death, alongside striving for professionalism.
Fighting war on the backstage of the battlefield
Until recently, the dominant discourse about war regarded men in combat as
the actors “making war”. Women were mentioned in scholarly research mainly
as victims of war or as marginal actors. Nonetheless, a debate has been evolving
over whether making war is safe for women (Shepherd, 2016) and whether more
women should be active participants in war (MacKenzie, 2013). The current find-
ings reveal that women soldiers in war rooms are not merely sensing war and/or
being affected by war, but they are – to a large extent – fighting war. The narratives
of the interviewees indicate that just as technological devices are an indispensable
part of the new battlespace, so too are the women soldiers who manage war rooms.
Tamara, an operations officer in the West Bank, explained:
There are those who are in the battlefield, and there are those who are behind
the scenes. I feel that I did things, but this was always on “the backstage of a
war” that is being conducted and managed behind the scenes. The operations
sergeants are on the backstage of the war, the combatants are in front. But
the combatants cannot function without us, the war rooms’ teams. If there is
no back-up and assistance from the war room, there will be chaos … [In the
war rooms] you prioritize the incidents, you see what is happening, and then
you prioritize the operations.
Some years ago, Sjoberg (2006, pp. 895–896) summed up the then current thinking
on male hegemony in the military:
In historical stories, women’s need for protection causes wars, and men are
expected to fight those wars as women’s protectors and heroes. These stereo-
types legitimate both the social dominance of masculinity and the institution
of war.
The narratives of the women soldiers indicated how these ideas are changing: They
repeatedly mentioned that although they are not considered to be combatants, war
room soldiers play a substantial role in making war. The women repeatedly empha-
sized the crucial nature of their roles and how they protected the combatants, and
they, likewise, resisted the notion that their role was marginal.
As mentioned earlier, the women interviewees served in various roles in for-
ward war rooms. Each soldier had participated in making war in a different manner.
Shani, for example, explained her responsibilities as a lookout:
[In the war room] there is no certainty what will happen next; you are fight-
ing with yourself not to blink, not to close your eyes, even for a second. It
is about human lives … In a recent operation, a lookout spotted a terrorist
squad … This role serves as the “eyes” of the entire state, and the entire
army.
Advanced military technologies are cast as being “superior in almost every way to
the human male body”: Better at information and intelligence gathering, better at
“remote sensing”, faster, more responsive and more resilient, such that the “eyes
and ears” of the military are no longer at the mercy of human error (Masters, 2005,
p. 122; Masters, 2010). The women soldiers who serve in war rooms as operators
of visual technologies or unmanned vehicles do indeed serve as the eyes and ears
of the military and the state, while at the same time being human rather than a
piece of computerized software. But what does it mean to be human in war? What
does it mean to be a woman at war? What kind of dilemmas, ethical or otherwise,
do women in war rooms face? In some sense, the stationing of women in forward
war rooms positions them as major players in modern battlespace, with the paral-
lel potential to cause the militarization of their lives and to expose them to ethical
dilemmas.
Roni, who served in a war room where she was in charge of operations and radio
encryption, shared her dilemmas:
There were so many dilemmas there [in the war room] … There was a situ-
ation in which we had concrete information about the location of a wanted
terrorist, and they wanted to take him down, but on the roof, there were three
kids; they put them there to play soccer, and we saw them standing there, and
we knew who was inside the building. I remember the brigade commander
and the other officers holding their heads, and we had to cope with a serious
dilemma … they didn’t know what to do. It was the lives of three kids versus
“something” that could save many lives, but in the end, they didn’t do it, they
didn’t shoot … I saw with it my own eyes.
In the war room, the operations officers see vividly via the advanced technologi-
cal equipment both “their side” and the “enemy-other”; they see flesh and blood.
However, in their narratives about their war experiences, the soldiers referred
mainly to their own side of the conflict. They did, however, give voice to some
critical stances with regard to state policy.
Technology and current battlefields
Technology can be regarded as a productive site of power/knowledge. The insertion

of technological elements into today’s battlefields has changed the experience of war
for both combatants and noncombatants. Vasquez (2008) argues that while visual
technology makes the experience of war more intimate and brings more participants
into battlespace, it might also generate a psychological distance between the viewer
and the viewed. Moreover, if, in the past, only men who actually engaged in physical
battle were a part of the hegemonic masculinity of the military (Masters, 2010), the
entry of technology into battlespace has changed the situation. Miriam, who served in
a war room as a lookout and later as a visual systems intelligence officer, described:
We were initiating operations. If it weren’t for us, incidents would not have
been prevented and would have reached the border with Israel. You are pro-
viding time for the combat forces to get ready and prepare themselves for
battle; you identify things before incidents occur; you collect intelligence;
you feel that you are a part of something big. I wanted to serve as a combat-
ant, but it didn’t work out, so I said – if not a combatant, so at least I will
serve in the most intense area of operations.
Tamara, an operations officer in the West Bank, explained not only how women
soldiers were involved in decision-making, but also how influential she herself had
been in her area of operations:
I remember that the deputy brigade commander called me and asked: “where
do you think I should position the forces and what is the best location for
each force”? I actually … demonstrated on the map where he should locate
each force … He backed me up and implemented what I had suggested.
The narratives of Miriam and Tamara illustrate, in different ways, how knowledge
and expertise are fundamental to various actors in battlespace. Their knowledge
was garnered through the technological equipment and visual systems located in
the war room and they used this knowledge to assess the safety/danger of their
brothers-in-arms. Common to Tamara’s and Miriam’s narratives, then, are the
ways in which technology in the military may serve not only to reach beyond the
borders but also to blur boundaries and gender roles. Edith further emphasized:
I was directing the troops. I was directing them. This gave me a sense of
satisfaction. There were [combat] forces that entered the war room before
crossing the border and requested of us: “take good care of us”. It is encour-
aging and [morale] boosting.
One may indeed ask how might new technologies reconfigure the gendered aspects
of warfare (Manjikian, 2014). Manjikian (2014, p. 60) concludes that the availabil-
ity of additional war-fighting technology is unlikely to open up additional opportu-
nities for women or to substantially alter the gender configuration of warfare. This
view also appears in the research of MacKenzie (2015) regarding the objection
to the incorporation of women into masculine roles. Nonetheless, while men are
still shaping today’s militaries and wars, one can identify incremental progress in
shaking up and reshaping gender roles through the significance of the war room in
battlespace. Along with the traditional gender roles, which are still the norm, the
entry of women into the strategic war room enables women to position themselves
as protectors and men to allow themselves to be protected by women, without a
threat to their masculinity.
According to Brownson (2014), in some instances, combatants – women and
men – unite in a what she terms as a “differentiated solidarity” that recognizes men
and women as full group members, while at the same time accepting their differ-
ential contribution to combat effectiveness. This idea is reflected in the example
of “take good care of us”. That having been said, there were other instances in
which the interviewees had been disregarded or marginalized. In some instances,
the gender hierarchy was deep-rooted. Edith reported such an incident:
I was familiar with MY area of operations … Nevertheless, there were inci-

dents in which I was disregarded … Once I found an intruder. I went to
conduct an inspection of a specific post. A [male] combatant was escorting
me, and I saw someone passing by, it was completely dark, and I told him:
“there is someone here”. He said: “shut up, there is no one here. This is an
operational task, just be quiet”. We kept on going and I saw a man standing
in front of me. I quietly grabbed the hand of the combat soldier [to signal to
him that the intruder was there], and he arrested him.
This example clearly emphasizes that male soldiers remain the primary definers of
military culture, to which women have to accommodate themselves (King, 2015).
Therefore, although the women interviewees understood and interpreted their vital
part in battlespace, they were particularly frustrated when men soldiers – and the
system itself – did not acknowledge their significant contribution. They faced
various conflicts in their attempts to prove themselves as worthy of the immense
responsibility endowed upon them. Some of the women soldiers indicated that they
coped with additional gendered challenges such as sexist remarks. Such conflicts
are clearly not positive events, but the situations created by conflict could become a
vehicle for women’s empowerment (Yadav, 2021), particularly since the narratives
radiated a strong sense of agency.
Another challenge facing women in war rooms was to take on the role as pio-
neers in certain positions. Lior mentioned that she was happy that she was able to
bring up the next generation of women operations sergeants, despite the difficulties
she had faced. Paving the way for the younger generation of women soldiers in
particular combat-related activities was, however, a substantial battle for some of
the interviewees. Ronit, for example, served in war rooms and was the first woman
soldier to be in charge of operating an unmanned vehicle. She described how she
conducted a daily routine of mechanical maintenance of the unmanned vehicle,
how she learned the route that the vehicle was required to follow and how she
risked her life many times while she fixed a mechanical problem on the vehicle
when it was in enemy territory. She further explained:
You might think that I was playing a computer game, but I was actually driv-
ing [the vehicle]. I performed an innovative role … I think I contributed a
lot … I was the first officer in this role; therefore, I actually established this
function; I wrote the entire combat manual, and I have a lot of experience; the
entire operation [of unmanned vehicles] is built on things that I created and
experienced.
Operating unmanned vehicles enables women soldiers to conduct combat-related

roles without a substantial physical effort. The requirements for these roles are
responsibility, patience, acuity and good reflexes (Manjikian, 2014); in that sense,
women are no less professional than men. Indeed, the increased use of new tech-
nologies of this type through military service in war rooms could initiate a process
that could affect the gender makeup of battlespaces.
Michal’s description (at the end of the Introduction) of herself as protecting,
warning and instructing men soldiers to abort their mission so as to avoid being
harmed represents, to some extent, a shift in gendered constructs of protection:
Women in battlespace – in strategic war rooms where they “see” the wider combat
picture – have the power to direct men soldiers away from harm in the battlefield
(Harel-Shalev and Daphna-Tekoah, 2020). These women both experience war and
make war. Enloe (2014) indicates that, traditionally, men are supposed to “protect
women and children”. The reality of modern war rooms may challenge this con-
cept. Women soldiers in the war room – as another set of eyes – have become the
protectors of combatants in the battlefield.
Discussion and conclusion

War rooms are located, both physically and conceptually, between the traditional
battlefield, which may be termed “war proper” (Sjoberg and Via, 2010; Shepherd,
2016), and activities outside of “war proper”, which are included in battlespaces.
In the context of the evolving knowledge about security and new wars, the narra-
tives of women soldiers in war rooms can assist scholars to explore various aspects
of new wars. This chapter shows that the narratives of women soldiers serving
in forward war rooms may challenge both the traditional definitions of war and
the binary conceptualization of warfare as a gendered act in which soldiers (usu-
ally men) actively protect allegedly passive women (usually civilians). The current
analysis of the narratives of women soldiers serving in war rooms reveals wider
processes that are currently evolving in the militaries and battlespaces of today.
In terms of cultural and psychological changes in gendered activities, the par-
ticipants in the current research served in the military and participated in wars in
an era in which women are demanding equality in various spheres of life. In par-
ticular, these women’s self-perceptions and expectations have been shaped – and
are still being shaped – against a rapidly changing domestic and foreign landscape:
In this landscape, young Israeli women are struggling for equal participation in the
military (Izraeli, 2001) and are demanding that more roles in the IDF be opened to
women. Also Israel, as a sovereign state, is shifting from offense toward defense as
the preferred way to protect itself in the face of new security threats (Barak et al.,
2020). These sociopolitical processes, along with technological advances and their
implementation in battlespace, therefore, affect women soldiers’ narratives of war.
In parallel to the gradual entry of women into a variety of traditionally mas-
culine roles in society in general and in the military in particular, women soldiers
stationed in forward war rooms are taking a more active part in managing war
and in instructing troops on how to relocate themselves within the battlefield, if
necessary. These women are de facto “fighting war” in a battlespace that lies –
physically and conceptually – between the home front and the battlefield. Even
though such women are not defined by the military or by society as “combatants”,
they do indeed participate in war, promoting security, protecting combatants, being
exposed to physical danger and being responsible for injuring the other. Moreover,
new technologies of warfare are, to some extent, enabling more women both to be
positioned in a protector role, taking charge in both routine activities and emer-
gency situations, and to fulfill their potential outside the traditional gender roles,
without the need for substantial physical prowess.
The reality of the war room changes the concept of protection, a central theme in
security studies (Young, 2003; Eichler, 2015; Harel-Shalev and Daphna-Tekoah,
2020), in two main ways: First, women soldiers serving in the war room can func-
tion as the eyes and ears of the military and the state, and therefore they are posi-
tioned as protectors of the state, while dichotomously being protected by combat
soldiers. Second, in a different kind of protection, women combat support soldiers
protect combatants and guide them in the battlefield via the war room. Yet, in
this context, the meaning of “protection” is nuanced: On the one hand, motherly
protection is evident in the women soldiers’ attitudes to men soldiers, while at

the same time, their “warrior” capabilities are demonstrated both by their actions
in battlespace and by their own insistence that they are taking an active part in
warfare. These aspects of protection call into question the meaning of hegemonic
masculinity in the military, a meaning that seems to be evolving in new wars and
battlespaces. Looking at women serving in war rooms enables us to question the
binary nature of masculinity and femininity, while exploring a possible flux in
gender roles and changes in the femininity/masculinity divide.
The use of advanced technology and various visual devices in war zones, which
bring images of war and the reality of the war zone into the war room, are cur-
rently shaping the new battlespace. This reality affects how women in war rooms
both “experience” and “make” war. In both these activities, women combat support
soldiers, who are not present in the battlefield itself and are not directly involved in
combat, are being exposed to extreme violence.
An analysis of a variety of narratives, such as those presented in the current
chapter, can play a crucial role in making sense of new wars and battlespace. The
whole range of advanced high-tech weapons, alongside information and communi-
cation technologies, brings more women into battlespace and exposes more women
soldiers to the surreal and devastating reality of war, while at the same time giving
them the tools to make war, to hurt others and to protect combatants. In this study,
the women soldiers serving in war rooms understood and internalized their vital
roles in battlespace, yet they expressed their frustration at the fact that they did not
always receive the requisite acknowledgment for their important work from men
soldiers or from the military system at large. The women’s desire for acknowledg-
ment of their contribution to the military was evident in their narratives, as has been
found in previous studies (Sasson-Levy, 2003; Lomsky-Feder and Sasson-Levy,
2016).
A fascinating theme that emerged from this analysis was the interviewees’ level
of involvement in the military, their dedication to the job and their devotion to one
another. At the same time, it was evident that most of the narratives made scant
references to the other side of the conflict and hardly related to the casualties of the
other side. This omission could be related to the fact that these conscripts had been
granted the right to serve in combat-related positions in return for obedience and
devotion to duty (Sasson-Levy, 2003). Finally, one should remember that soldiers
in conflicts and wars mostly tend to be attentive to their “own side of the conflict”
(Woodward and Jenkings, 2013).
Military service has strong historical ties to masculinity and the transforma-
tion of boys into men (Brown, 2012, pp. 3–17). What, then, is military service
for women? How do women experience war and make war? Understanding these
aspects of war constitutes a significant part of the exploration and understanding
of new wars. It may be said that women who serve in war rooms are located on
the backstage of war, which is allegedly the “natural” place for women in war.
However, the findings of this study indicate that the place of these women is at
the heart of the battlespace. Moreover, although objections to the incorporation of
women into substantial roles in the military in various countries are still widespread
(MacKenzie, 2015), the experiences of women soldiers seem to be indicative of an

incremental change in gender roles that is occurring in the military: Women sol-
diers are actually fighting war, in every sense of the term.
Feminist scholars tend to conceptualize war and political violence in ideas that
are broader than traditional notions (Sjoberg, 2009). In the current chapter, I applied
narrative analysis to broaden knowledge about women’s experiences in combat-
related activities, aiming to identify the experiences and dilemmas of women fac-
ing the challenging and unusual situations of combat and warfare. Women soldiers
in war rooms are shaping the new battlespace and are challenging the traditional
concepts of security, war and gender roles. These processes are occurring in paral-
lel to the entry into battlespace of the advanced technology that brings the reality
of the war zone into the war room. Taking a critical feminist approach to studying
the military can thus contribute to generating a more realistic accounting of gender
roles in the military (Enloe, 2015, p. 3) and of the broader processes inherent in the
creation of today’s new wars.
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8 Women of color in the armed forces of
Germany
Invisibly exposed?
Egzona Gashi and Béatrice Hendrich
Introduction
When Ich diene Deutschland (I Serve Germany) by Nariman Hammouti-Reinke
was published in 2019, it immediately made it to the German bestseller list.
Evidently, the (professionally prepared) autobiographic narrative of a migrant-
German female soldier addressed a fascinating issue in the eyes of the readership.1
This chapter is in a sense an academic approach to the same issue. It discusses
forms of intersectionality in the German Federal Armed Forces, the Bundeswehr.
This chapter is also about confusion (in migration affairs), hesitation (to tackle
discomforting questions), prejudices (toward interlocutors, Germans, migrants,
women, militaries, civilians, etc.) and the insistence that there is nothing worth
talking about it. The research process and the experiences of the researchers dur-
ing this process are also made part of this chapter because they help clearly dem-
onstrate the specificity of the issues. The research process also showed that the
German case remained hitherto untouched by academia, while similar cases such
as the situation of female persons of color (PoC) in the US Army have been tackled
already. The chapter, therefore, discusses what we can take from that research and
apply to the situation in the Bundeswehr.
The chapter outlines the recent history of changes both in German citizenship
law and in regulations regarding conscription and serving in the armed forces
since these changes constitute the backdrop of the topic. Intersectionality, German
nationalism and racism, citizenship, and the significance of (a precarious) language
build the theoretical frame of the discussion. The empirical part of the analysis
is based on two original qualitative interviews as well as on further published
material such as videos, interviews and semiautobiographical books. The inter-
views were conducted with persons who (1) identified as females; (2) identified
as women of color, or were the child of a migrant family, or had acquired German
citizenship after birth; and (3) have received basic or extended military training in
the Bundeswehr.
The guiding question is how PoC women or women from migrant families
experience their military service in the Bundeswehr and how they make sense of
themselves in this core institution of the nation-state and “hyper-masculine organi-
zation” (Lomsky-Feder and Sasson-Levy, 2017, p. 1).
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359-10
Women of color in armed forces of Germany 147
Gender, nationality and the Bundeswehr after 1999

Since the beginning of the new millennium, German citizenship law as well as con-
scription rules have undergone major changes. It is no coincidence that both areas
are part of a long-due reform project that has not yet come to an end. The backdrop
is a changing public attitude toward gender roles, the demand by pressure groups to
revise the German citizenship concept of ius sanguini, and the end of the 16-years-
long era of political and technical stagnation under chancellor Helmut Kohl in
1998. At the same time, concrete aspects made the revision of both policy areas
necessary: The ius sanguinis, which granted German citizenship to families living
in the USSR because of their so-called historical roots in the Volksdeutsche (ethni-
cally German people), while rejecting the same right to third-generation families
living in Germany, presented not only an outdated understanding of citizenship and
nationhood but also – quite rightly – had a smack of racist nationalism. In 1999, the
birthright citizenship, “a limited ius soli regulation” (Naujoks, 2009), was intro-
duced. Without going too much into detail of this bill and the following modifica-
tions, the most significant change was that from now on, a person born in Germany
to a foreign parent, who had resided in Germany lawfully, would automatically be
granted German citizenship (Anil, 2005, p. 454). In 2021, the government took the
decision to further ease naturalization and allow dual citizenship on a regular basis.
The issue of the dual citizenship may appear as a minor question in the general
picture; however, the way it is treated in the public discourse in Germany is very
telling. The dominant belief that one person cannot hold more than one citizenship
(Naujoks, 2009) underlines the persistence of an essentialist concept of nation.
In 2000, the European Court of Justice ruled that the hitherto restricted access
for women to the Bundeswehr – there had been a total of 117 female military physi-
cians or musicians in 19852 – contradicted the principle of equal treatment of men
and women. Tanja Kreil, a trained electronics technician, had applied for a job in
the maintenance department; upon being rejected, she filed a lawsuit that she won
(Kraus, Kreitenweis and Petzold, 2020, p. 106). In the same decade, the national
armed forces had to cope with increasing technological requirements; it needed
well-trained specialists instead of a great number of badly prepared civilians.3
Consequently, Germany dissolved4 mandatory military service in 2011. As a result
of these two far-reaching reforms, the number and composition of military person-
nel have changed dramatically. By 2018, the number of persons employed in the
Bundeswehr had dropped from half a million to roughly 180,000, 21,000 of whom
were female (Frauen bei der Bundeswehr). Therefore, the army had to attract new
personnel in direct competition with the general labor market and shrinking num-
bers of skilled workers due to demographic change. The Bundeswehr launched
an advertisement campaign aimed at the now growing segment of naturalized or
German-born migrants and PoC, male and female (Fedtke, Hellman and Hörmann,
2013, p. 40).
This is how, after 2000, a (unspecified) number of women whose names, reli-
gious affiliations or family history shackle the German imagination of national
homogeneity entered the Bundeswehr and have since been “serving Germany” in
support and combat positions.
The research process: Looking for the non-existing or the invisible?

“Female veterans who are defined as ‘women of color’ and honorably discharged
from the armed forces of the US” (Tennessee Department of Revenue, n.d.) can
purchase a vehicle plate that includes the words “Women Veterans of Color”. In
Germany, a similar situation would be unthinkable for several reasons. The least
important reason is the different rules of vehicle plates, which in the US have indeed
become pop culture items through which personal or ideological statements can
be expressed. The cultural references of the term “veteran” or “women of color”
would be lost on German people; they do not carry the same sense of familiarity
or recognition in Germany as they do in the US. There is also a tendency among
German soldiers to disguise their adherence to the armed forces for fear of nega-
tive reaction: “some comrades no longer wear uniforms on their way from home to
the barracks … because they do not want to be mobbed”, states Hammouti-Reinke
(2019, p. 19) critically.
The research process of this chapter has faced several challenges: A dismissive
attitude of feminist studies toward research in military affairs, the lack of any previ-
ous research on women of color in the Bundeswehr, the distrustful attitude of the
armed forces toward researchers from a different professional background and the
hesitation of (former) soldiers to talk about their experiences.
The insufficient research on women in the military can be attributed, among
other things, to the historically close relationship between peace and conflict stud-
ies and gender studies in Germany (cf. Dittmer, 2009, p. 11, following Seifert,
2001, pp. 134–135; Leonhard and Werkner, 2005, pp. 14–15). The question of the
integration of women in the military therefore remains particularly controversial in
circles of feminist scholars. Some more recent publications, however, pay respect
to the new reality of the growing number of women soldiers (Dosdall, 2021;
Schmidt and Trautwein, 2021; Hendricks, 2020; Kraus, Kreitenweis and Petzold,
2020; Kümmel, 2016). The war against Ukraine is expected to fuel the academic
discussion soon.5
While the research on women in the Bundeswehr is meager, research on
“migrant female soldiers” does not even exist. Numerous scholarly publications on
the situation in other countries, especially in the US and in postcolonial countries
have been published. Initially dealing with the situation of Black men in the US
Army, the first publications referred to the associated labor market and economic
discrimination, exclusion mechanisms, and the intertwining of racist and sexist
admission requirements (cf. Enloe, 1980). The articles in Ethnicity, Integration and
the Military (Dietz, Elkin and Roumani, 1991) focused on the aspect of national
armed forces as a vehicle of social integration in a variety of countries. Ronald
Krebs (2006) discussed 20 years later if and how participation in the army can
bolster minorities’ claims for a “first-class citizenship” in Israel and the US. Vron
Ware (2012) shifted the focus to “military migrants”, recruits from Commonwealth
countries serving the British Army. These recruits with their peculiar citizenship
status are expected to fight for Britain, for their army, not as mercenaries, while
being stigmatized inside and outside the barracks as “foreigners”.
In Germany, the topic appears in media discourses in the context of “integra-
tion or racism debates” and the “self-presentation” of the Bundeswehr as diverse
and diversity sensitive. The only academic publications with a specific focus on
migration and the Bundeswehr so far are Gerhard Kümmel’s edited volume Die
Truppe wird bunter (2012) and Fedtke, Hellmann and Hörmann’s Migration und
Militär (2013). An exceptional work is Berger and Römer-Hillebrecht’s Juden und
Militär in Deutschland (2009), which discusses the history of Jewish Germans in
the armed forces of Germany. The volume shows the inadequacy but also the over-
lapping zones of categories such as nationality and religious affiliation, and above
all the fluidity of these categories.
However, a look at the literature on other national armies helps identify criti-
cal issues for analysis. Even though the relationship between Black and White
soldiers is evidently different, say, in the army of South Africa from that in the
Bundeswehr for historical reasons, the challenges that women of color face in dif-
ferent armies are still quite comparable. Vron Ware, for instance, mentions the case
of a Caribbean female member of the British Army. The woman was discharged
from the army because she had neglected her official duties due to childcare (when
she could not find an affordable babysitter). She sued the army, and although she
won the case, she was subsequently treated in a discriminatory manner both in the
media and through social media. Her will and attempt to equally fulfill her role as
the carer for her children and her role within the service was interpreted negatively.
As a woman from a poor country with several children, she was seen as having
only “pecuniary” intentions – which was why she had become a soldier – and at the
same time she was accused of maintaining an immoral lifestyle (Ware, 2012, pp.
195–199). Studies in the US forces show that sexual harassment and other forms
of violence affect Black women to a significantly higher degree than White sol-
diers (Breslin, Daniel and Hylton, 2022). Whatever the particular circumstances,
all authors conclude univocally that this situation has to be actively addressed both
by the responsible institutions and the academic research design. With reference to
the British Army, Ware argues that “the notion that racism could be expunged from
the army simply because people were used to obeying orders had been pretty much
discredited”. The new “attempt to encourage soldiers to talk about their experi-
ence” of discrimination is considered to be much more fruitful (Ware, 2012, p.
194). In their conclusion, Breslin, Daniel and Hylton call for the establishment
of an “inclusive systems of sexual harassment prevention … namely, (for) those
whose social identity lay at the intersection of multiple categories of inequality”
(2022, p. 410). In light of these findings, the complete neglect of intersectionality,
both by the Bundeswehr and by research, is thought provoking.
When conceptualizing this research, it was self-evident from the beginning
that the voices of the soldiers themselves should be heard, by means of qualitative
interviews. But this endeavor became another challenge. Attempts were made to
find interview partners through private contacts and by directly contacting female
soldiers already known in the media as well as through official channels. Despite
efforts over several months, only two interviews could be conducted. Just one of
the soldiers who were contacted privately finally agreed to be interviewed. In this
chapter she is called Mirushe. The second interviewee was an active soldier who
was contacted because she had previously given interviews with TV programs.
From the reactions of the privately contacted veterans and female soldiers who
are on active duty, it became clear that there is a general fear of traceability of
personal information, since migrants are virtually invisible in the given research
context but particularly visible in the Bundeswehr. Due to the particularly sensitive
data and for the purpose of protection as well as the avoidance of traceability of
personal data, many sociodemographic data (including biographical, professional)
and information about the interviewee Mirushe (e.g., the rank, ethnic-cultural posi-
tioning, stay abroad) had to be strongly anonymized in the transcript in consulta-
tion with her. Thus, excerpts of the interview also had to be deleted entirely.
The second interviewee was master sergeant Hülya Süzen, an expert in reli-
gious pluralism at the Zentrum Innere Führung (Bundeswehr Center for Leadership
Development and Civic Education). She is a highly visible figure in the media and
was specifically made available by the institution for the interview. Symbolized
by her uniform, she was primarily present in her professional role as a soldier and
“representative” of the Bundeswehr. The interview was conducted online; due to
the internal regulations of the Bundeswehr regarding dealing with the “public”, the
interview was accompanied by a press officer who was not an active participant in
the interview. The interviewed female soldier and the press officer had been in con-
tact several times, but saw each other for the first time in the context of the digital
interview. The press officer read male and non-migrant. Despite these “barriers to
research” and restrictions to the interview, the interviewee reflected and elaborated
relatively openly on her experiences. Based on a detailed narrative of biographi-
cal key instances, which had taken place inside and outside the army, gender- and
ethnocultural-coded experiences and processes of othering were mentioned. The
partial effect of dominant narratives in the Bundeswehr, such as the narratives of
equality and high performance as a means of success, on the subjectivation process
of the interviewee could also be seen.
We also approached the Zentrale Ansprechstelle für den Umgang mit Vielfalt
(the central point of contact for dealing with diversity). After several months of
friendly exchange through emails, including a detailed description of our research
and the questions we wanted to ask the women, we were finally allowed to apply
for conducting the research. At that point in time, our project as such had almost
come to an end, so we refrained from producing further paperwork.
Likewise, our initial hope of cooperating fruitfully with Deutscher.Soldat. e.V.
(German Soldier Association) was completely frustrated. The association was
established in 2011 by soldiers “with migration background” and supporters; its
vision is “a Germany of coexistence, in which common values outweigh visible
differences. A nation in which those who feel and want to be perceived as such are
considered Germans” (Deutscher.Soldat. e.V., n.d.). Nariman Hammouti-Reinke
has been a board member of the association for many years and is its main external
representative. We had supposed that the association would be interested in aca-

demic research on topics that it put on the agenda itself; that it would be interested
in seeking answers to questions such as, what is it like to serve in the Bundeswehr
as a (female) naturalized German or a PoC? What are their personal experiences
both inside the institution and in the civilian world? However, we failed to estab-
lish trust or contact with possible interviewees. A board member expressed the
fear that we would be looking (eagerly) for conflicts inside the Bundeswehr, and
exaggerating cases of racism and nationalist attitudes, which are presented and
discussed in the media from time to time. Toward the end of our research, we con-
tacted the board one more time, offering to discuss our findings critically, which
they declined citing lack of time.
Considering our experiences in the research process, we contend that there is a
relation between the lack of relevant research and the failure to find interviewees.
Gurol and Wetterich (2021) argue that field research, particularly in international
relations and security studies, needs careful and detailed preparation. From that per-
spective, our research design may have been doomed to fail. On the other hand, our
questions did not relate to military strategies, political views on the Bundeswehr,
weapons systems or similarly sensitive areas. We had believed in the slogan that
German soldiers were “citizens in uniform”, which at the same time meant for us
that we could talk to the female soldiers about their individual biographies while
maintaining the standard data security in the social sciences. Both the lack of other
studies and the unwillingness to talk to us could give the impression that we wanted
to analyze and problematize something that does not exist. However, this impres-
sion is countered by the studies on other armed forces as well as by the academi-
cally established knowledge about the specific challenges faced by persons who
identify as both female and migrant. This raises the question of whether specific
circumstances make it difficult to deal openly with the issue in Germany.
Talking about migration: Missing words

The study is interested in the experiences and perspectives of persons who (1)
identified as females; (2) identified as women of color, or were the child of a
migrant family, or had acquired Germany citizenship after birth; and (3) have
received a military training in the Bundeswehr. Obviously, the second part of the
definition refers to ethnicity and citizenship, but why was it necessary name three
subcategories?
Academic writing requires clear terminology. Striving for a language that fits
with a continually evolving social environment is a constant process and will
always be imperfect. With this in mind, the use of categorical terms may only
appear to offer clarity. In reality, they might not exactly fit a social context or they
might create an illusion of differences that do not really exist. Above all rests the
German hesitation to accept migration as an element of the own past and presence.6
The lack of appropriate and established terms (such as the “women veterans of
color” mentioned before) is a direct result of this silenced past and present.
In Germany, “foreigner” and later “migrant” had meant, for some decades, “a
person with roots in Turkey”, a (male) Turkophone Muslim. However, this ste-
reotypical imagination was never true. There is a long list of countries of origin
and specific reasons why people came to settle in Germany (Hanewinkel and
Oltmer, 2018), not to mention the 14 million Germans, who left their homeland
in Eastern Europe during and after the Second World War, and settled in West
Germany to remain foreigners and unwelcomed refugees for decades. However,
until the end of the 1990s, the German governments as well as the German popula-
tion, including the established migrants, simply refused to see this reality. It was
bluntly rejected to call Germany a country of migration. Migrants were identified
as “foreigners”, an exception in an otherwise homogeneous country. Germany’s
“race amnesia” (El-Tayeb, 2016) is stunning, given the long and plural migration
history of Germany, including the history of Afro-Germans.7 Since 2000, a tough
and tiring discourse has emerged. In this context, conservatives still see migration
as something that must be controlled and restricted. The need for skilled workers
for the labor force of an aging society rendered the picture more complex. The
result of the political and legal decisions is currently an “immigration policy send-
ing conflicting messages” (Hertner, 2022, p. 465). This is the societal and political
background that undermined and frustrated the creation of an appropriate language
when talking about anything related to migration or ethnic and religious plurality.
The more recent use of the term “migrant” instead of “foreigner” seems an
improvement but the question “who is a migrant” still begs a clear answer. Are
those living in the former USSR Germans based on the ius sanguinis rule, whereas
those who migrated to Germany 60 years ago are migrants? Will a shift take place
in status with naturalization, or is it related to an ascribed cultural otherness? The
term is not only fuzzy in daily use, but it is also not helpful for statistical purposes.
It can be used arbitrarily for any political end (Wolter, 2018, p. 35). The term
“person with migration background” entered the German language at the end of
the second millennium (Will, 2019, p. 541). Since 2005, it has been used as an
official category (Will, 2019, p. 544). Its definition by the Federal Statistical Office
is as follows: “A person has a migration background if s/he or at least one of his/
her parents did not acquire the German citizenship at birth” (Will, 2019, p. 545).
What seems to be a handy term that respects the diversity of migration histories,
simultaneously turns these people into persons “not being part of the general popu-
lation in Germany – even if they are Germans” (Will, 2019, p. 553). No wonder
not everybody, who is, by definition, a member of this category identifies with the
term. Indeed, in 2019, the Bundeswehr administration had calculated that 12% of
the soldiers belong to this category, while only 8.9% of the soldiers had considered
themselves having a migration background (Streitkräfteamt, 2022, p. 13).8
Unlike foreigner, migrant, or person with migration background, “people of
color (PoC)” is a term of self-empowerment. It does not categorize persons on
an alleged ethnic belonging but refers to the common experience of being racial-
ized, discriminated and othered. It is important that it is a non-exclusivist category,
affirmative toward diversity, not depending on a person’s phenotype. Being based
on the rejection of cultural essentialism and on self-reflexivity (Ha, n.d.), it is the

subject’s decision how to acquire a PoC consciousness.
Notwithstanding occasional discussions of the inclusion of European Union citi-
zens in the Bundeswehr,9 holding German citizenship is the sine qua non condition
of becoming a soldier in the Bundeswehr. The common quality of holding German
citizenship, of being German, is expected to function as a glue as it was intended to
do in the historical beginning of the national armed forces. However, in social reality
there exist different categories of being German. From the perspective outside the
armed forces, “serving Germany” does not seem to be sufficient evidence of being
German. A dark(er)-skinned person in a Bundeswehr uniform still represents an
irreconcilable contradiction in the eyes of the White-majority society (Hammouti-
Reinke, 2019, pp. 83–85). But even inside the forces, naturalization can turn into a
second-class citizenship, for example, in particularly stressful military situations.
Lieutenant Soraya Alekozei, born in Afghanistan, was deployed to Afghanistan as
an interpreter and radio reporter. She remembers how she suffered from the mistrust:
When German soldiers fell and many of my comrades suddenly perceived

me as an Afghan for the first time. When they saw me with different eyes and
in their grief were unable to distinguish whether I was a friend or an enemy.
(Alekozei, 2014, p. 167)
In the experience of Mirushe, one of our interviewees, the Bundeswehr is indeed a

mirror of the German society, albeit in a negative sense:
I believe that the Bundeswehr is an even more extreme mirror than soci-
ety already is. I don’t believe that we have a successful integration here
[in Germany], that sounds absolutely pessimistic, and all the less in the
Bundeswehr.
(Mirushe, interview)
With all these arguments in mind, the question remains whether it is wiser to
endeavor to shape social reality by a normative, homogenizing use of language,
arguing that there are only and exactly two categories: Germans and foreigners;
or whether the silencing of ruptures or plural perspectives constitutes verbal vio-
lence and suppression. Authors such as Fatima El-Tayeb (2016, p. 20) emphati-
cally reject the color-blind approach as reproducing the existing power structure.
It is true that in the official rhetoric, the Bundeswehr is no longer color-blind but
“colorful” (bunt), meaning diverse. But what does “diversity” refer to?
Diversity management in the Bundeswehr: Diversity without

intersectionality?
In 2022, the Bureau for the Armed Forces10 published in condensed form the results
of a study titled “Diversity and inclusion in the Bundeswehr” (Bienert, Dehmel and
Koch, 2022). The aim of the study was to produce for the first time relevant data
on diversity in all units of the army, including the administration, and to single
out areas where discrimination takes place and improvement is needed. Diversity
is split into “six core dimensions: Gender, age, handicap, ethnic and cultural
belonging, religious or spiritual belonging, gender identity and sexual orientation”
(Bienert, Dehmel and Koch, 2022, p. 9). The report comes to the conclusion that
both disabled persons and women experience more discrimination than others,
while having a “migration background” has no statistical impact.
This study is one example of the increasing number of studies and publications
carried out by the institutions of the Bundeswehr on the matters of integration
(of persons with migration background and women), inclusion, equality, diversity,
discrimination and racism in the forces. New laws, regulations and offices are con-
sidered the basis of this new understanding of the Federal Armed Forces, which are
no longer White and male but diverse.11
Notwithstanding that the understanding of gender equality etc. and the concepts
applied have changed and developed during the last 20 years (Dosdall, 2021, p.
467), the forces’ dominant approach to diversity falls short of the current academic
as well as activist discourse. To begin, there is a hesitation to use the term “diver-
sity” (Diversität) in popular publications for fear that it could be seen too “aca-
demic” or “activist” to reach the “general public”. Instead, the publications use the
words “plurality” (Vielfalt) and “colorful” (bunt) in the sense of diverse/diversity.
It is true that “colorful” instead of “diverse” is widely used in German discourses. It
appears to be applicable in a variety of cases, e.g., referring to the colors of the rain-
bow and queerness, or stressing the difference between a diverse, open society and
a “brown”, Fascist one. But unlike diverse/diversity, plurality and colorful(ness)
signify everything and nothing; something positive, not disturbing, not challenging,
not demanding. In the study by Bienert, Dehmel and Koch quoted earlier, the focus
is on the Bundeswehr’s “inclusion” of the “plurality groups” (Vielfaltsgruppen)
as an employer. The goal is the elimination of any circumstances inside the forces
that may lead to experiencing discrimination because of the employee’s belonging
to one of these groups.
Obviously, the Bundeswehr applies a managerial approach to equality and
diversity (Dosdall, 2021; Schmidt and Trautwein, 2021). Dosdall argues:
The Bundeswehr managerializes equality law by adapting institutionalized

practices to harness equality law for the purpose of winning future employ-
ees … increasingly similar to the way companies make use of equality law
for their purposes.
(2021, p. 455)
He concludes that implementing equality law merely to increase attractiveness as

an employer, leads to, among other things, neglecting other areas relevant to equal-
ity. It can even lead to a stabilization of discriminatory practices if, for example,
sexual harassment is understood as a management problem and not as systematic
discrimination (Dosdall, 2021, p. 465).
Fiona Schmidt adds that in the public presentation of both the German police
and the Bundeswehr, gender diversity appears – exclusively – as a binary system
(2021, p. 49). In this regard, one can also ask why the “core dimensions” of diver-
sity in the said Bundeswehr study include two separate categories, that of “gen-
der” and that of “gender identity and sexual orientation”. The Bundeswehr and
its research institutions appear to be still looking for the appropriate positioning,
perhaps also in view of the vociferous anti-gender and anti-diversity discourse that
has also taken root in Germany.
What renders the Bundeswehr’s approach to diversity highly questionable is the
complete absence of intersectionality. The core dimensions are presented as iso-
lated items, unrelated to and not affecting each other. While the concept of diver-
sity helps to see differences and to address their potential in all societal, economic
and cultural areas, the concept of intersectionality, as it was coined by Kimberlé
Crenshaw 1989, allows us to understand the ways oppressive institutions and
power relations operate dependently of each other and influence a person’s lived
experience. Crenshaw’s critique of the “single-axis framework” in White feminism
that does not allow for seeing and addressing marginalized women can be applied
to other societal and institutional areas (Emmerich and Hormel, 2013, p. 213),
including major state institutions such as the armed forces. The shortcomings of
a diversity approach without intersectionality have been discussed extensively in
the literature.
The significance of masculinity and national identity for a state’s armed forces
makes it clear that migrant women and/or women of color occupy a particularly
marginalized position in this institution. The categories of “gender” and “natio-
ethno-cultural affiliation”, as well as their relation, are embedded in an institutional
context that produces exclusions in a specific way. These persons addressed here
not only navigate in social space as “woman” or “ethnic other”, but also in their
additional identity as soldier.
Situations occur to a female PoC soldier that other soldiers will never experi-
ence, exactly because they are tailored to offend or accuse a person who is non-
White, non-Christian and non-male. A Facebook post depicting a bra made of
bacon that was sent to Hammouti-Reinke’s account (Hammouti-Reinke, 2019, p.
89) has its offensive effect only through the intersection of religious and gender
discrimination.
The so-called Cologne New Year’s Eve of 2015–2016 is another instance
where sexism, racism, Islamophobia and White feminism overlapped and blended.
During the night, a significantly high number of women who were celebrating in the
famous area between the Dom, the railway station and the Rhine side, were sexually
assaulted by men. The men were identified by the media as North Africans. In the
following days, the assaults became interpreted as Muslim men assaulting German
women, and “a cipher for a supposed threat to the nation. It contains sexist as well
as racist constructions of enemies and differences” (Schmidt and Trautwein, 2021,
p. 56, authors’ translation). People identified as Muslim migrants were expected by
the White majority of Germany to distance themselves from the “mentality” of the
assaulters explicitly and to apologize for what their “co-religionists” and “coun-
try fellows” (Landsleute)12 had done. They themselves became victims of ver-
bal and physical assault. PoCs in exposed positions like Hammouti-Reinke were
particularly targeted by such accusations and attacks. Therefore, she published a

personal statement where she rejected the stereotypical accusations and meaning-
less categorizations: “My parents came to Germany from Morocco 52 years ago.
The consequence was not rape and crime, but six new German children. My sib-
lings work as dance teachers … and I am a German soldier” (Hammouti-Reinke,
2019, p. 90). While many supportive replies were posted, there was no shortage of
racist comments, stating that serving the Bundeswehr did not render her German
and that her blood would forever be Moroccan (Hammouti-Reinke, 2019, p. 91).
The bra-of-pork post was among these reactions.
In their analysis of diversity management in both the Federal Police and the
Bundeswehr, Schmidt and Trautwein show how “the night” continues to be instru-
mentalized as an argument in a specific understanding of national security. In
an image video, one can see police officers walking across the Dom area, while
the voice off-screen comments: “We work for Germany. And for the people in
Germany … We are security. We are the Federal Police”. The authors conclude:
“To maintain the narrative of security, there needs to be a threat from a coun-
terpart who cannot be part of the ‘we’ which in turn is embodied by the federal
police” (Schmidt and Trautwein, 2021, p. 56). This video clipping illustrates not
only the intrinsic exclusivist character of national security institutions, but also the
powerful persistence of narratives that draw their justification from their referenc-
ing to multiple categories of diversity at once, in this case gender, nation(ality)
and religious belonging. This leads to greater vulnerability among members of the
security forces who are ascribed several categories of difference at once or who
self-identify as such.
Last but not least, a successful diversity management is based on an effective
institutional structure. The distribution of responsibility among various depart-
ments of different organizational units makes the implementation of changed
policies a tedious affair (Wullers, 2016). Other countries address diversity in the
forces far more explicitly. In the UK, Muslim soldiers are organized around the
Armed Forces Muslim Organization (https://afma.org.uk/). The US at least has
arrived at calling out and pointing at racial issues, making them visible by giving
them a name – a situation from which Germany is still far away (El-Tayeb, 2016,
p. 6). The American Office for Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (ODEI) which
“envisions a Department of Defense that reflects the face of the Nation” is directly
aligned under the Office of the Under Secretary of Defense of the US (https://diver-
sity.defense.gov/). A proper institutional structure, supported by a continuously
developing critical diversity management, would help to prevent new inequalities
and minority hierarchies.13
Language matters: The language mediators

For business enterprises, diversity management has become a versatile tool with
the clear goal of increasing profits. The Bundeswehr can profit from the diversity
of its employees in at least two directions. One is to come closer to the requested
match between the diversity of the general society and that of the troops to increase
the social acceptance of the Bundeswehr (Bienert, Dehmel and Koch, 2022, p. 5).
Another is the additional language skills or cultural knowledge that can strengthen
both communication and military success in foreign deployments or participation
in international forces (Wullers, 2016).
The PoC soldiers themselves assess their – ascribed or real – additional com-
petencies differently. Interviewee Mirushe was encouraged to apply to the armed
forces during a graduate convention because of her “sought-after” language skills.
She considered this focus on her so-called native language skills “disappointing”, as
she felt primarily recruited for inherited, even innate skills, and not on the basis of
her completed studies and the “acquired” skills that came with it. Unlike Mirushe,
Hammouti-Reinke considers her additional competencies as “fruits of my child-
hood and youth” and “my trump card, my gift for the armed forces” (Hammouti-
Reinke, 2019, p. 26). From her experience, the possible impact of these skills is not
yet sufficiently recognized nor consistently applied in the work of the Bundeswehr.
Despite her positive attitude toward the recognition of additional skills, she also
realized a certain narrowing down of her capabilities to the (innate) language skills
during her employment interview: “He asked a few more questions here and there,
but he was really only interested in one thing: my language skills” (Hammouti-
Reinke, 2019, p. 31).
Süzen has experienced that she is successful in her work precisely because
she does not conform to the social expectations, either of conservative Muslim
migrants, or of men, or of the White-majority society. As a woman and a soldier, a
Muslim without a headscarf, a person with a darker skin color,14 and a German with
knowledge of Turkish and Kurdish, and with no fear of contact with supposedly
such different groups as the Bundeswehr or a Turkish mosque congregation, she
is faced with an initial astonishment that then turns into curiosity and acceptance:
If the Bundeswehr makes a phone call to a [Turkish] mosque community

… in Turkish, the imam at the other end is flabbergasted. Or if the Yazidi
community gets a phone call in Kurdish, then the pire at the other side is
absolutely amazed. That is totally beautiful and sometimes funny. On the
one hand, it helped that I am multilingual and on the other hand, it was also
the case that in one of my first performances, that was some kind of event of
the different mosque congregations in Koblenz, many people came to me and
said, “We are so proud of you”.
(Süzen, interview)
Thus, the “benefit approach” of migration-related multilingualism on the one hand

leads to a strategic recognition of linguistic competencies, but on the other hand,
it also functions as an ethnocultural identity marker and differentiation criterion
that is associated with experiences of exclusion. The othering associated with
the mastery of an “unusual” language is exacerbated when the same language is
understood as a culturally pejorative marker in everyday civilian life. Mirushe has
learned not to talk too loud in her parents’ language when she is out shopping.
Dirim and Mecheril (2016, p. 448) see language as a “central element in producing
and securing the national ‘we’” and thus also of a “non-we”. Language mediators
like Mirushe can find themselves in a double-bind situation, being simultaneously
an insider and outsider, German and migrant, included in military activities but as
a noncombatant. She describes this paradoxical situation pointedly with the oxy-
moron of “love-hate”:
So, the thing is, this also has to be said, as a language mediator you have
such a special position. First of all, it’s a love-hate relationship with you, they
depend on you, because they could never do their reconnaissance without
you, but actually they don’t want you to be there because you’re from the
outside and they’re from one location, they’ve all known each other for ages,
and you’re kind of peeking into their little microcosm and maybe you’re
finding out things that you shouldn’t see, that they wouldn’t like to show in
front of others.
In international operations as well as in the Bundeswehr, the appreciation of soft

skills has significantly increased, especially in militarily tense situations (Tomforde,
2012a, p. 248). The literature shows that the appreciation and professional status
of good communication skills, sensitivity, professional performance in an interna-
tional environment and language competencies, however, also depend on gender
and ethnocultural belonging of the person in charge.
In the case of international peace missions, the mediator is a major position
that should be held by a – stereotypically defined – masculine man who is capable
of talking to his (male) counterpart in a masculine way and consuming enough
alcohol. Related to the hierarchy of racism, the competence to occupy this posi-
tion ascribed to a woman is related to her ethnocultural belonging, coming from a
European country being a clear advantage (Bjertén-Günther, 2020, pp. 46–47). In
the Bundeswehr, soft skills are often regarded to be feminine and less prestigious
competencies (Tomforde, 2008, p. 74; Dittmer, 2009, p. 214). In this respect, the
employment of migrant women as interpreter and cultural mediator underlines once
again the paradoxical situation that they are held in esteem because of their specific
competencies, while at the same time confronted with unarticulated obstacles of
intersectionality in their career, i.e., holding a second-class citizenship, being a
specialist of non-prestigious non-(Western)-European languages and cultures, and
being a woman.
The significance of religious belonging

Religion matters in the Bundeswehr in various contexts. It is recognized as one of
the core dimensions of diversity; every soldier is entitled to firm protection from
discrimination based on religious belonging or conviction (Bienert, Dehmel and
Koch, 2022, p. 9). As a result of the specific understanding of secularity in German
law, the Bundeswehr is neither a space free of religious symbols or practice, nor is
it a defender of Christian beliefs. About 56.1% of the soldiers adhere to a Christian

church; 38.5% to no religious congregation; and 5.4% identify as a believer of
other creeds such as Islam, Judaism and so forth. The approximately 3000 Muslims
are the biggest community among those. Military chaplains and rabbis offer their
services, while the question of religious support for Muslims remains. Beyond this
internal configuration, religion has become a major issue with regard to interna-
tional security policies and military deployment since the 9/11 attacks. In Germany,
Islam has come to be the most important religious other. Parallel to this develop-
ment, Muslim culture, Islamist militancy and “the Muslim” are among the main
topics of military training and strategy.
Muslim PoC soldiers such as our interviewees have to deal with all these layers
of religion. Being Muslim has never constituted a legal hindrance to employment
in the Bundeswehr. However, the army has tacitly expected that the prospective
soldier would adapt to the existing circumstances and assimilate. Religiously per-
missible food, or an adaptation of the conditions of deployment with regard to
prayer times or the annual fasting period – insofar as this is at all possible from
a military point of view – was not even envisaged for a long time. The matter of
appropriate food is not only of significance for Muslims, but also for members
of other religions and vegetarians. Food is more than physical nutrition. It is a
means of inclusion and exclusion in communities and classes. While sharing the
same food practices endorses a common identity, adhering to rules other than the
main group’s is perceived by the majority as provocation and is sanctioned accord-
ingly. The matter of pork, which has long been a popular staple of the menu in the
Bundeswehr, has constituted a specific challenge to our interviewees. It was not
only the lack of any real choice – either eating pork or getting by with salad15 – but
also the discriminatory conduct of the institution and the fellow soldiers. Hülya
Süzen remembers the uneasiness she felt when she entered the troop kitchen as a
very young woman:
At that time there was only one dish. That is, when I went into the troop
kitchen … a huge hall where two hundred people eat, ‘Muslim food’ was
shouted [at me] and then I got my side dish. Everyone stopped eating and
stared at me. I was nineteen years old [.] And it made me very uncomfort-
able; when they looked at me and thought “Ah well, and it’s a woman!”
(Süzen, interview)
Hammouti-Reinke comments ironically on the serving of pork meat, repeat-

ing twice the adjective “large” in relation to the otherizing label on the food
container:
When we were in training, the food was brought out in big thermos food
containers. And on a thermos was then always a large – with a yellow sticker
on it – there was then a large ‘Muslim’ on it. […] That’s just not so nice.
(Hammouti-Reinke, 2020)
In Süzen’s eyes (2021), the end of this stigmatizing practice is an improvement:

“The Bundeswehr is so diverse today. We have three different dishes to choose
from. No one has to notice anymore that you don’t eat pork”. While the options in
the troop kitchen have increased, the catering outside the barracks, during training,
is still not adjusted to the new diversity.
The consumption of alcohol appears in the interviews in two contexts: First, as a
tool of religious othering and, second, as ritualized element with masculine conno-
tations aiming to foster a sense of mutual belonging. The Muslimness of Mirushe,
who considers herself “not so religious”, was put to the test by a Christian male
administrator during their first encounter:
The first thing he did to me, I think because he wanted to see … no, that’s
absolutely ridiculous, he gave me a shot glass, he got a cognac from his shelf,
… filled up a shot glass for me, which the other guys also did, at twelve in
the morning … and greeted me and said somehow “Welcome Mirushe” and
yes … he probably also thought that I wouldn’t drink it, no. Of course, I have
skolled it (laughing). Yes, but do you know what I mean? … So, then some-
thing like that also happened with others.
Although Mirushe consumes alcohol in her private life and passed the test on that
day, she felt “not German enough” by the way this was requested of her by her
comrades, migrants and non-migrants alike. She avoided the social gatherings in
the evenings where the consumption of alcohol played a major rule and “the girls”
socialized with the male instructors.
Muslim female soldiers are also confronted with the peculiar image of Muslim
women as passive and silent victims of their religion (Castro, Varela and Dhawan,
2016). This image can have an impact in two ways: on the Muslim female soldiers
themselves, and on one’s perception regarding the upcoming mission in an Islamic
country and the women one will encounter there. Süzen’s superior was anxious that
as a Muslim woman Süzen would not be respected in the mosque congregation and
would therefore not be able to fulfill her task.
It was super interesting, because all of us, really all of the supervisors, had
a real stomachache and said: “Will this be received positively? Then, you
don’t wear a headscarf either, no”? For the traditional … maybe that would
be an issue or something, and … I don’t want to, I’m not that religious. But it
was really interesting that, on the contrary, they perceived it very positively,
because they said that even in a weaker position, let’s say, as a woman, to
make yourself so strong, that they found fascinating.
(Süzen, interview)
When deployed in Muslim countries, Muslim female soldiers are expected to be

particularly culturally sensitive on the one hand, while on the other hand they
themselves seem to be in need of protection from the civilian population by their
male fellow soldiers (Dittmer, 2009, p. 231). Rules of conduct that are intended to
provide protection and security would be taught to the female soldiers during oper-
ational training as part of “intercultural awareness (Rücksichtnahme)”, as Dittmer
illustrates with the following example:
You don’t look a man directly in the eye … I know that in some situations
I need a male companion, because as a woman I am not readily accepted
as a contact person … But then I know that’s how negotiations work, and
I’m prepared (Berghahn, officer, advisor for women’s issues at the Federal
Ministry of Defense).
(Dittmer, 2009, p. 231, authors’ translation)
Gender sensitivity in a military mission is highly required. Overemphasizing wom-

en’s oppression in Muslim countries, however, especially combined with a neglect
of women’s vulnerability in Europe, constitutes at the same time a central legitima-
tion narrative for the operations. The narrative presumes its own civilizational level
and the necessity to civilize the other (Dittmer, 2009, p. 221).
Religion matters in the Bundeswehr neither as spiritual empowerment nor as an
element of individual identity. Religion is considered a core dimension of diversity,
an item that can be managed in order to minimize frictions and enhance a mission’s
success. On the other hand, the particularly challenging situation of Muslim migrant
female soldiers in the Bundeswehr is explicitly addressed by both the interviewees
and Hammouti-Reinke. What Tomforde formulates for Muslim soldiers in general,
appears to be particularly valid for Muslim female soldiers: (1) Muslim soldiers
tend to behave in a conformist manner, foregoing religious requirements. So far, no
official networking has been attempted. (2) The cultural and religious knowledge of
Muslim soldiers has not yet been systematically made available for foreign missions.
If superiors become aware of these competencies, however, there is a great deal of
interest in them for their usefulness in foreign deployments. (3) When soldiers are
unwilling to ignore derogatory remarks or place a higher priority on their religious
duties, conflicts arise: “In this case the Bundeswehr as an organization is still called
upon to facilitate the integration of people of other faiths into daily service routine
and to consciously promote interreligious dialogue” (Tomforde, 2012b, p. 106).
Conclusion
The aim of this chapter was to shed light on the experiences of women of color
or women with a so-called migration background serving in the German Federal
Forces, the Bundeswehr. This topic has not yet received any critical attention. The
present study is based on the analysis of generally accessible audio and video mate-
rial as well as interviews conducted by the authors. For the evaluation of these
materials, it was necessary to discuss various contextual factors. Here, the histori-
cal conceptualization of German citizenship as well as the changing recruitment
policies of the Bundeswehr proved to shape women’s experiences in both civilian
and military contexts.
No precise figures exist on the percentage of women of color in the German

armed forces. Around 13% of all soldiers are women, and between 9% and 12%
of all soldiers have a statistically recorded migrant background. This means that
the number of female-identified soldiers is significantly below the demographic
average, but the number of people with a migration background is approaching the
national average. Around 3000 Muslims serve in the Bundeswehr. The number of
people of color, who do not necessarily have a migration background, cannot be
determined.
The unclear figures and the presumably not very high absolute numbers of
migrant female soldiers or women of color raise the question of the relevance of
dealing with the topic at all. This is countered by various arguments: (1) A rela-
tively small number of affected persons does affect neither the scientific nor the
social relevance of a topic. (2) An increase in the group of persons defined here
should be expected in the next few years. If this is not the case, it would lead to new
research questions. (3) International research on the situation in other armed forces
shows the relevance of the topic both for the persons concerned and for the armed
forces themselves. (4) Diversity and equality have become prominent issues in the
external presentation of the Bundeswehr. Particularly in view of this presentation,
which is massively supported by advertising and publications, it is the task of sci-
ence to take a critical look at the actual situation.
The study revealed that there is a strong reluctance to discuss this issue at
various levels. Research as well as Bundeswehr institutions, associations and the
female soldiers themselves are clearly reluctant to discuss let alone problema-
tize the topic. While the research community has yet not addressed the issue, the
Bundeswehr side tends to argue that loyalty and camaraderie as well as modern
diversity management will solve any problems that may arise. The female soldiers
interviewed have different views on the successful integration of ethnic, religious
or gender minorities.
It is striking that the Bundeswehr invests a lot of time in its diversity manage-
ment, but behaves more like a business enterprise that has discovered diversity
management as a new tool for improving performance. The Bundeswehr, which
itself claims to function as a mirror of society and a place of integration, should
question this approach. The intersectional perspective is missing here, as is an
awareness of the empowerment of the individual through actual and not just rhe-
torical support for religious or ethnic difference.
An unexpected result of the study was that language is a key term in several
regards. On the one hand, we experienced our own lack of appropriate language
and terminology, and on the other hand, for the women quoted in this chapter, lan-
guage skills determined their very specific position in the Bundeswehr. The study
was also able to show that PoC soldiers face mutually exclusive expectations. The
ascribed special competencies of a linguistic and cultural nature are desired as long
as they serve the military project. At the same time, these competencies lead to
exclusion, othering and racialization of the same individuals.
As shown in other studies, women in the armed forces still face certain forms
of discrimination or are always required to perform particularly well in terms of
tokenism. In the case of women of color, who are particularly often Muslim due
to German history, experiences of discrimination of a religious, ethnic and gender
nature overlap and multiply. Not only do they face the challenge of navigating the
non-Muslim food served in the army as well as alcohol-based rites, they are also
observed and tested to see whether they conform to the image of the subjugated
Muslim woman, how clearly they distinguish themselves from it, and whether they
show “innate” cultural sensitivity as a Muslim woman and the rational behavior of
a German soldier that ensures security and respect.
It is often argued that, since it is a “mirror of society”, sexism or racism are
expected to be present in the Bundeswehr, albeit less so than in the civilian world,
and to be better managed. However, the Bundeswehr is also an institution with
structures and duties that are not part of the civilian world. After a look at the situ-
ation in other countries’ armies, a brave discussion of the aforementioned issues
would strengthen not weaken the Bundeswehr.
Notes
1 This autobiographic work can be considered one of several autobiographic/autofic-
tional works by (former) female Bundeswehr soldiers who – with the exception of Lira
Bajmaraj – joined the Afghanistan mission (Bajmaraj, 2009; Groos, 2009; Alekozej,
2014).
2 These are the numbers of the armed forces of Western Germany. After the German uni-
fication in 1989, the forces of Eastern Germany were dissolved and the personnel and
material included in the Bundeswehr. This also added to the floated number of soldiers in
the 1990s. For the situation of female soldiers in Eastern Germany, see Markus (2020).
3 Henrik Dosdall doubts this version and argues that it was about an early reaction to a
pending judgment of the Federal Constitutional Court. The court was expected to revise
the conscription law drastically (Dosdall, 2021, p. 462).
4 In the legal sense, mandatory service was not ended but “paused”, since everybody can
be drafted in case of general mobilization.
5 As a first example of a paper tackling gender dynamics in this war, see Wojnicka,
Mellström and Boise (2022).
6 This hesitation is without a question related to the idea of German fascism of a homo-
geneous German race and nation. The still only insufficiently solved conflict between
the German state and expatriated Nazi victims about regaining their German citizen-
ship (Beucker, Zylbersztajn and Rath [2019]) is a telling proof of this uncanny layer of
Germany’s migration discourse.
7 The Chief Music Master Gustav Sabac el Cher, born 1868 in Berlin, was the only Black
Prussian soldier of his time. His father had been abducted from Abessinia. His son was
missing in action in 1943 as a soldier of the Nazi Reichswehr (Pieken and Kruse, 2008).
8 About 14.1% of Germany’s population is statistically categorized as German with
migration background. https://www.bpb.de/kurz-knapp/zahlen-und-fakten/soziale-situ-
ation-in-deutschland/61646/bevoelkerung-mit-migrationshintergrund/.
9 See, e.g., the discussion in the German federal parliament in 2016 Zur Möglichkeit eines
Militärdienstes von Ausländern und Ausländerinnen in den Streitkräften ausgewählter
Staaten: Rechtliche Grundlagen, Einstellungsvoraussetzungen, Anzahl [On the possibil-
ity of military service of foreigners in the armed forces of selected countries: Legal basis,
recruitment requirements, numbers], in WD 2 – 3000 – 115/16. Deutscher Bundestag,
2016.
10 “Streitkräfteamt”, an office of the federal armed forces.
11 Dosdall (2021) and Fedtke, Hellmann and Hörmann (2013) provide lists with relevant
publications throughout the last 20 years. The Annual Report 2021 by the Parliamentary
Commissioner for the Armed Forces (Wehrbeauftragte Eva Högl) is the most recent
and comprehensive official report on the state of the Bundeswehr in all aspects (https://
www.bundestag.de/parlament/wehrbeauftragter/jahresberichte), while journals such as
Y – Das Magazin der Bundeswehr or Arbeitgeber Bundeswehr: Im Visier approach with
a lively design and shorter articles for a general readership inside the forces.
12 The term “country fellow” is amply and often indiscriminately used in German. It does
not explicitly state a common nationality or ethnicity of the addressed persons, but with-
out a doubt it is an instrument of othering and de-Germanization.
13 “Single-level conceptualizations of diversity management do not adequately account for
power disparities demarcating the interplay between individual choices and structural
conditions, or between agentic and structural equality and diversity concerns” (Gotsis
and Kortezi, 2015, p. 5).
14 Without a doubt, whether a person is “Black” or “White” is in the eye of the beholder
and depends on dominant visual habits. In Germany, the attribution of dark skin color
already starts with people of “southern type”.
15 One should be aware that refraining from eating pork is, from the perspective of Jewish
and Muslim food prescriptions, only a minimum adjustment. The application of all rules
of kosher or halal food would mean something very different.
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Part 3
Case studies 2
The gender of sacrifice and agency
9 Gendered resistance
Self-portrayals of female suicide bombers in
Palestine
Britt Ziolkowski
Introduction1
In the course of the Second Intifada, between 2000 and 2005, there was a wide-
spread outbreak of violence in which Palestinian anger was directed toward the
State of Israel, its military and its citizens. This period was marked by count-
less suicide bombings carried out under the aegis of different Palestinian militant
groups. Most of the suicide bombers were men who detonated explosives in public
places in Israel, usually on buses and in restaurants, but also at Israeli checkpoints.
In this respect, the Second Intifada was an uprising of men.2
At times, however, the fundamentally male character of the Second Intifada
was disrupted. There were 10 women among the more than 100 Palestinian suicide
bombers (UTA, 2006). In addition, a number of women were apprehended and
arrested before they could carry out their attacks. There is a long tradition of female
involvement in wars and conflicts in Palestine (Peteet, 1991) and the Islamic world.
Even in the early period of Islam, i.e., the seventh century, Islamic sources attest to
the fact that women also participated in battles (Al Hibri, 1982, p. 210; Allen, 2005,
p. 319). In the 1950s and 1960s, they fought alongside men in the Algerian War
(Bouatta, 1994, p. 19). Moreover, in Lebanon, organizations such as the Syrian
Socialist National Party and Hezbollah utilized women as suicide bombers as early
as the 1980s. Besides, this kind of female participation is not limited to the Islamic
world. Similar evidence can be found in societies around the globe, such as the
Russian Narodnaya Volya in the 19th century, the Irish Public Army, or the Red
Army Faction in Germany in the 1970s (Bloom, 2007, p. 94).
Despite all these historical and contemporary examples, the myth of the peace-
ful woman persists.3 This myth is supported by patriarchal structures and thought
patterns, i.e., a relational construct in which the man has a privileged position and
the woman must be subordinated. While the Palestinian society is still strongly
patriarchal,4 developments have taken place in other countries that led to the dis-
empowerment of this construct to some extent. Nonetheless, the latter cannot quite
reconcile with the concomitance of femininity and outward violence either. A cur-
rent example of this is the treatment of women who have joined the Islamic State
(IS): Attributions such as “the IS bride” (BBC, 2022) or “the IS girl” (Zeit-Online,
2021) negate and even mock women’s responsibility in having consciously joined
such organizations. In this respect, it is certainly no exaggeration to say that the
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359-12
Palestinian female suicide bombers of the Second Intifada challenged not only the
norms of the Palestinian society but also the stereotypes that are prevalent globally.
Much has been written about the female suicide bombers in Palestine over
the past 20 years. Some works focus on the motives of the women (Victor, 2005;
Berko and Erez, 2007), while others deal with the perception and the reception of
the phenomenon of female suicide bombers in Palestine (Hasso, 2005; Franke,
2015). Other publications examine the visual language of women (Straub, 2021).
This chapter, however, will investigate the voices of women and how much of a
role gender plays in them. The analysis is based on three case studies selected to
represent a range of women and forms of representation. The women’s last wills,
as well as photos and videos, are taken into account in order to analyze their self-
representations. Thus, this article is about the voices of women that come through
texts and pictures.
Since the analysis brings together the concepts of gender and resistance in the
Palestinian context, something should be said about the terminology. “Gender” is a
term that describes people’s social roles as they are constructed and attributed with
reference to the perceived biological sex of a person. As an analytical category,
gender aims to reveal the power relations among the subjects of predefined gender
identities. In societies that are structured around gender binaries, gender norms
indicate what the roles of men and women are and should be in a specific social
context. Furthermore, in this chapter, I also use terms such as femininity and mas-
culinity, which are complex constructions of culturally shaped attributions. What
gets to be defined as feminine or masculine differs based on social factors such as
religion, class and national culture.
In addition, “resistance” is the term used by both militant organizations and
the bombers themselves to frame suicide bombings in the Palestinian territories.
Moreover, both the term “resistance” and the description of the female suicide
bombers as “Palestinian” reflect the self-perceptions of the women. All female
suicide bombers came from the Gaza Strip or the West Bank, which used to form
a political unit at the beginning of the 2000s.5 The women considered themselves
as Palestinians and defined their attacks as acts for the Palestinian cause. All the
women felt closely connected to the Palestinian resistance, “the Palestinian national
struggle” (Berko and Erez, 2007, p. 500).
Case studies
The examples analyzed in this chapter include the cases of three women bombers:
Darin Abu Aisha, Mirfat Masud and Reem Riyashi. Their attacks were claimed by
three different Palestinian organizations: the Fatah-linked Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades,6
the Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ)-linked Quds Brigades,7 and the Hamas-linked
Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades.8 While they agree on the need for armed resist-
ance against the Israeli occupation, the organizations differ fundamentally from
one another in their goals and ideologies. The Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades, for
example, are considered secular, while the other two organizations pursue an
Islamic agenda. As the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades subordinate religious beliefs and
Gendered resistance 173
goals, it seems consistent that it was the first organization to open itself to the use
of women as suicide bombers. The organization claimed the attacks of five women
in total. After several years, the other two organizations followed. The Izz ad-Din
al-Qassam Brigades claimed responsibility for the acts of two women and the Quds
Brigades used three female suicide bombers. Unlike Fatah, Hamas and PIJ pursue a
gender ideology based on rigid religious beliefs. Like all Islamists, Hamas and PIJ
strive for an Islamic society that is built on the idea of a moral family. This point is
important in understanding why these organizations have had a harder time recruit-
ing female suicide bombers. From their perspective, the conditions surrounding a
suicide attack hardly allow for a woman to become a suicide bomber. It is highly
difficult to maintain the gender segregation, which these organizations strictly
demand in all areas of life, during the preparation of the attack and the attack itself.
The attitude of the Palestinian militant organizations toward the issue of female
suicide bombers is not the subject of this chapter. Nevertheless, a brief digression
on this topic is worthwhile. Indeed, tension characterizes the organizations’ stance
on this matter, for the general attitude on the question of whether women should
be allowed to carry out suicide attacks is not in sync with the reactions to female
suicide bombers who have perished in the course of their actions. None of the
organizations have really expressed unreserved views on female suicide bomb-
ers publicly. In many cases, there are divergent voices within one organization.
In some other cases, the official position has changed within weeks (Ziolkowski,
2011, p. 96). When organizations publicly opposed women’s participation in sui-
cide bombings, they did not just cite the aforementioned gender segregation argu-
ment (Victor, 2005, p. 45). Sometimes they claimed that there were enough male
volunteers and that the use of women was unnecessary (Issacharoff, 2006, p. 48).
They also posited that men work more efficiently than women. In this context,
they additionally asserted that men are psychologically more stable than women
(Victor, 2005, p. 222). However, this basic attitude is at odds with the tributes that
female suicide bombers and respectively their families received in the form of cer-
tificates and martyrologies. The women are referred to as “martyrs” and “heroes”
in these documents (Ziolkowski, 2011, p. 80). This area of tension is certainly
of interest to my research question, especially in terms of the ways in which the
female suicide bombers relate to it.
Before I present the case studies, I will make a few preliminary remarks about
the documents analyzed in this chapter. In principle, the data available to me is
of highly variable quality and coverage. For example, in only one case did I have
access to the entire video testament. Another one differs from the others because
I was able to interview the family of the female suicide bomber, which gave me a
great deal of contextual knowledge about this woman.9 As such, my insight into
each case comes with different presuppositions. This in turn affects what I hear
through their voices and how I interpret what I hear.
In addition, we must bear in mind that the suicide bombers’ last wills are con-
tract-like texts that follow a certain form. As a rule, these documents consist of
three parts: an announcement of the attack, its legitimization and appeals to the
readers. Additionally, a Qur’anic verse is often found at the very beginning of the
last will. Within this framework, however, the authors set individual priorities. This
chapter thus tries to extract the individual women’s voices from the standard form.
The visual documents were mostly made by the Palestinian militant organi-
zations. It was common, for example, for suicide bombers to be filmed reading
their last wills. The internet also offers photos that appear to be excerpts from the
video wills. In addition to these videos and photos, there are photo montages. For
example, one montage shows all ten Palestinian female suicide bombers (al-Istish-
hadiyat, 2013). Such montages are not included in this study, as the self-determi-
nation of the women is central to my inclusion and consideration of documents.
Accordingly, I will only discuss photos and videos that the women were aware of
having been made and the contexts of which can be reconstructed.
Darin Abu Aisha
Darin Abu Aisha was born in 1981 in Nablus, West Bank. She lived there with her
parents until she executed her suicide attack. Like her entire family, Abu Aisha
sympathized with Hamas. While at university, she was involved with the student
wing of the organization.10 She carried out her attack, in which she killed herself
and injured several Israeli soldiers, on 26 February 2002. Previously she had asked
the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades, Hamas’s armed wing, to support her in her
plan. The organization refused, as they were not willing to turn a woman into a
suicide bomber.11 Consequently, for pragmatic reasons, the young woman turned
to the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades, which had previously claimed responsibility for an
attack committed by a woman. Abu Aisha, who was single and had no children,
was the second female suicide bomber of the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades.
Last will: “The role of Palestinian Muslim women is no less significant than the role
of our mujahidun brothers”
Abu Aisha’s written testament (FDS, 2017) is full of gender-related references. At

the beginning, directly following a Qur’anic verse, she states that “the role of the
Palestinian Muslim women is no less significant than the role – in terms of rank
and prestige – of our mujahidun12 brothers”.13 She later defines the role of women
as “not limited to weeping for the husband, brother or father”. Rather, Abu Aisha
emphasizes that women, in addition to giving birth to “an army of martyrs”, become
“human bombs” with their bodies. In the past, this statement has been interpreted
as a possible criticism of the Hamas leadership. It seems plausible that Abu Aisha
is referring directly to Ahmad Yassin, who was the spiritual leader of the organiza-
tion at the time. Shortly before Abu Aisha’s suicide bombing, Yassin had defined
the role of the Palestinian woman in the resistance along the lines of tasks that he
attributed to the “second line of defense in the resistance to the occupation: She
shelters the fugitive, loses the son, husband, and brother, bears the consequences of
this, and faces starvation and blockade” (quoted in Hasso, 2005, p. 31). Abu Aisha’s
message can be read as a direct reaction to this: She counters Yassin’s attribution of
passive roles to women with the possibility of active participation in the resistance.
In the testament, Abu Aisha explains why she believes that men and women
should fight side by side in the Palestinian resistance. Overall, the document offers
three arguments. First, she sees herself in the tradition of women who are and have
been a part of the Palestinian resistance. Thus, she writes that “Muslim Palestinian
women have occupied and continue to occupy a position of primacy in the path
of jihad against injustice.” However, over whom they have this primacy is not
explained: The other Muslim women of the Middle East? Or the Palestinian men?
Nevertheless, it seems that Abu Aisha wants to emphasize the long-standing tra-
dition of women’s participation in the resistance and in jihad.14 She presents this
participation as a matter of course, as something that has been the case for a long
time and as something that should continue. In her appeal, she addresses “all [her]
sisters” and calls on them “to continue on this path [of jihad]”. It becomes clear
that Abu Aisha even sees herself and her attack as following in the footsteps of a
specific woman when she writes: “[I have] decided to become the second female
martyr who completes the path and the way that the martyr Wafa Idris began”.
Wafa Idris is considered to be the first Palestinian female suicide bomber. Even
though it is sometimes suggested that Idris’s act in January 2002 was an accident,15
Abu Aisha ’s words indicate that she believed the act to be self-determined and
that it motivated her own.
Second, in addition to invoking a tradition of female resistance, Abu Aisha cites
the influence that she, as a woman, can achieve with her deed. With great self-
confidence, she presents her attack as an act of revenge:
For the severed limbs of our martyr brothers and sisters … for the inviola-
bility of our religion and our mosques … for the inviolability of the Aqsa
Mosque and the houses of God, which have been turned into bars practicing
what God has forbidden, violating our religion and despising the message of
our prophets.
Abu Aisha therefore considered her suicide bombing to be an act of great politi-
cal, religious and moral significance, as well as a potentially influential one. She
believed that with her attack she would avenge the Palestinians killed by the Israeli
military and the attacks on Islam (that is, what she perceived as such). Moreover,
she sees the suicide bombing as a contribution to “destroying the Zionists and
destroying the legend of the chosen people of God”.16
Third, Abu Aisha argues that her act will be rewarded by God. For example, she
introduces her testament with Sura 3/195:
And their Lord responded to them, “Never will I allow to be lost the work of
[any] worker among you, whether male or female; you are of one another.
So those who emigrated or were evicted from their homes or were harmed
in My cause or fought or were killed – I will surely remove from them their
misdeeds, and I will surely admit them to gardens beneath which rivers flow
as reward from Allah, and Allah has with Him the best reward”.17
By referring to a Qur’anic verse that speaks explicitly about both men and women,
Abu Aisha emphasizes that her deed receives recognition from God. The Qur’anic
verse refers to Muhammad’s emigration to Medina, but she applies its message
to the Palestinian resistance: she stresses that she, like male suicide bombers, will
gain access to paradise because of her participation in the jihad.
It can be assumed that Abu Aisha was aware of breaking gender norms, pre-
cisely because she presents her act as something self-evident. Otherwise, it would
be hard to explain the apologetic statements. Moreover, they only seem logical if
we consider the setting of the attack: Abu Aisha, who was closely associated with
Hamas, found no support for her action from this organization. Instead, she had
to turn to a rival, secular organization, which had already taken responsibility for
the act of an earlier female suicide bomber. In this respect, her written last will is
testimony to her attempt to convince Hamas (and all others who have excluded
women from jihad) that women are able to and should carry out suicide bombings.
Visual testimonies: Political mimicry as means to an end
Before Abu Aisha’s attack, the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades recorded a video of her
reading her last will. Sequences of the video are shown in an Iranian documentary
on Palestinian women martyrs (KFS, n.d.).18 Since the entire recording is not avail-
able, it is not possible to verify definitively whether the text Abu Aisha reads out
in the video fully matches her written last will.19 She wears a dark coat and a white
hijab20 in this video. In the background, symbols of the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades
and Fatah dominate. A map of Israel and Palestine as a unified territory is printed
on a large white cloth. In the middle of the cloth there is a masked head; only the
eyes are visible. Alongside the head, which has no body, is a hand holding a gun.
Below it there is a green grenade. The words “al-Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades, Fatah”
appear underneath it. On one side of the white cloth hangs a kufiya.21 On the other
side is the emblem of Fatah. Farther down “Revolution until victory” is written.
Rifles and grenades are painted in the middle. Abu Aisha is briefly seen reading
her last will. At another moment in the video, she can be seen holding a pistol in
one hand and looking at the camera. With the other hand, she holds up a Qur’an.
There is another visual document of Abu Aisha in addition to this video: an
undated photo that was distributed by the family after the attack (FDS, 2017). One
of Abu Aisha’s sisters reported that the photo was taken at an uncle’s house, but
her family was not present at that occasion. Afterward, when they saw the photo,
they asked Abu Aisha about it. She allegedly answered that she had prayed with her
cousins at the uncle’s house and said that the photo was taken for “entertainment”.22
The temporal link between the day the photo was taken and the day Abu Aisha exe-
cuted her attack remains unclear. Nevertheless, the photo is relevant to this chap-
ter’s discussion. Abu Aisha can be seen standing in front of a white wall. Behind
her hangs a green flag with the emblem of Hamas clearly visible. Abu Aisha herself
is wearing a wide, gray coat and underneath it a white pullover. She is dressed in
a white hijab and a green headband bearing the inscription “Izz ad-Din al-Qassam
Brigades”. A green scarf, which is decorated with the Palestinian flag on one side
and the emblem of Hamas on the other, hangs around her shoulder. She is slightly
smiling. Her right hand is raised and clenched into a fist. Only the index finger
extends upward, symbolizing the tauhid sign that expresses the oneness of Allah,
the most fundamental tenet of Islam. In her left hand she holds a kind of a dagger
that she points at her body.
When we compare the two documents, what stands out the most is the differ-
ence in how Abu Aisha’s desire to participate in the resistance is framed. The
self-portrayal in the video presents the agenda of Fatah and the Aqsa Martyrs’
Brigades as being a struggle for a nation, i.e., a struggle that is territorially limited.
The symbolic power of nationalism, for example, is displayed in the map of the
region, on which Israel and the Palestinian territories are merged into one large
Palestine. The kufiya can also be considered a national symbol. However, with the
intertwinement of religious and national symbols, the image staged by Abu Aisha
in her uncle’s house is in line with Hamas’s agenda. The Palestinian national flag
printed on Abu Aisha’s scarf is an example of a national symbol, while the tauhid
sign is an example of a religious one. The green color of the scarf and the flag on
the wall also have a religious character. The hand with the dagger pointed at one’s
own body, especially in combination with the tauhid sign, symbolizes the desire
for martyrdom in the name of faith, in the name of the one God.
These differences propose a stronger significance when evaluated in terms
of how the photo was staged by Abu Aisha herself, whereas the Aqsa Martyrs’
Brigades were responsible for the video. It can, therefore, be assumed that the sym-
bols in the photo correspond more to Abu Aisha’s attitudes than the presentation
in the video does, especially since it is known that she sympathized with Hamas
and was involved with its student association. The video probably highlights Abu
Aisha’s pragmatic alignment with the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades and their agenda, in
whose name she carried out her suicide bombing.
In terms of gender elements, the two visual documents scarcely differ. First, it
should be noted that Abu Aisha’s dress follows the Palestinian customs. She does
not deviate from what is considered acceptable for a woman. However, in com-
bination with the other symbols, especially the grenade, the rifle and the dagger,
the documents are also a testimony of gender transgression. Although there is a
long tradition of women’s participation in political violence in Palestine, female
involvement in such acts is still not fully recognized by the society. This lack of
recognition is also the case in many other social contexts even 20 years after Abu
Aisha’s act. The journalistic attributions to women who have joined the IS attests
to this neglect. Thus, Abu Aisha and the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades challenge and
undermine not only Palestinian but also global gender norms.
Mirfat Masud
Mirfat Masud was born in 1988 and lived in the Gaza Strip her entire life. She car-
ried out her suicide bombing on 6 November 2006 in Beit Hanoun, near a group of
Israeli soldiers (SQ, n.d.-a). She killed herself and injured one soldier. The Quds
Brigades, which is the armed wing of the Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ), claimed
responsibility for the attack. Masud was the third female suicide bomber from the
ranks of the Quds Brigades. She was single and had no children.
Last will: “I am a daughter of the Quds Brigades”
There are women suicide bombers who express very personal views in their last
wills, yet hardly any gender reference can be found in their self-portrayal. Masud is
one such case. In her written last will (SQ, n.d.-a), we find the obligatory passages
dealing with the announcement of the attack, its legitimization and the appeals to
her readers. Unlike Abu Aisha, Masud does not seem to feel the need to justify her
attack specifically as the deed of a woman. Although she announces her deed as
that of “a daughter of the Quds Brigades”, the self-attribution ibna (daughter) is
merely the feminine form of the term ibn (son), which is a common expression in
the region for belonging to a family or an organization.23
Similar to Abu Aisha, Masud legitimizes her act by saying that she wants to take
revenge “for all the massacres of the occupation, and most recently the massacre
of Huda Ghaliya’s family”. Huda Ghaliya was a girl whose family was killed in an
explosion on a Gaza beach in 2006.24 Responsibility for the explosion was never
conclusively assigned, and the Israeli military cleared itself of responsibility for
it. However, Palestinian organizations, such as the PIJ, instrumentalized the event
as an example of Israel’s actions on Palestinian soil and against Palestinian citi-
zens. In the martyrology of Masud, the Quds Brigades point out that she was “very
touched” by the story about Huda Ghaliya (SQ, n.d.-a).
In addition, Masud justifies her act by saying that it is legitimate in the eyes of
God. At one point she writes that she carries out her attack “with God’s permis-
sion”. Likewise, there are references in various places to the fact that she expects to
be rewarded after death. At the beginning of her testament, for example, she cites
Sura 29/69: “And those who strive (jahadu) for Us – We will surely guide them to
Our ways. And indeed, Allah is with the doers of good”. The Arabic verb jahadu in
this Qur’anic verse is related to the object “for our cause”. The verse can be under-
stood both in a non-violent way and as endorsing violence. However, the use of
the generic masculine (alladhina jahadu) is of greater importance for my research
question. The verse addresses both men and women but without explicitly referring
to women. Rather, women are corepresented. Yet, Masud makes the reward she
expects also clear, when in the context of the appeal to her mother she writes: “We
will meet in the highest paradise”.
Unlike Abu Aisha, Masud explicitly addresses her appeals to a diverse group
of people: First to her family in general, then to her mother, then to her uncles and
aunts, and finally to the Palestinian people and the mujahidun in the Islamic world
(“from Iraq to Chechnya”). She urges her family several times to lead a life that con-
forms to Islam. For example, she writes: “My beloved family, I advise you to fear
God and work to meet Him”. Her father receives the least attention compared to the
other addressees: Masud only asks him for forgiveness. To her uncles and aunts,
she declares that parting from them pains her greatly. Addressing her mother, she
calls on her to be patient and to ask God to reward her daughter. The message to the
Palestinian people seems ambivalent. On the one hand, she calls on them to “keep
on the path you are on, this type of resistance”. On the other hand, she asks else-
where: “Why are our cheap souls not with the cause of this homeland?” As such, it
is not entirely clear whether she thinks that the Palestinian people are sufficiently
engaged in the resistance or whether she demands from them more participation
in it.
The voice of Masud, speaking through her written last will, calls for a life that
conforms to Islam and advocates the struggle for Palestine. However, she seems
to see herself as a building block for the resistance as a whole. The palpable anger
that comes through in her text is directed against the State of Israel, not against
Palestinian gender norms. We also need to take into account the timing of Masud’s
attack. She carried out her act in 2006, four years after the bombings of Abu Aisha
and Wafa Idris. Even if the total number of female suicide bombers has remained
low since then, it is possible that this phenomenon was socially accepted to some
extent at the time Masud executed her attack. This would mean that there was
no special need to justify her act as that of a woman. Masud’s written last will,
however, also sheds light on the question of authenticity in the sense of personal
originality: To what extent is what is said congruent with the speaker herself? To
what extent does the voice fit with the values, attitudes and motives of the women
(Jongman-Sereno and Leary, 2019)? Related to the case examined here: Does what
we read come from Masud herself? Do the motives for the suicide bombing men-
tioned in the text coincide with Masud’s actual motives? To what extent was it
important that the motivating factors were not mentioned? Or is the document a
pure propaganda of the PIJ?
Visual testimonies: From phallic symbol to symbolic power
No video of Masud reading her last will has been found. However, there are sev-
eral photos of her available online that seem to come from a video testament (SQ,
n.d.-a; DW, 2006). What is striking about the photos is the dominance of the color
black. Both Masud’s clothes and the background are in this color. Masud is wear-
ing an abaya,25 a hijab and a baseball cap. Behind her is a large cloth imprinted
with the Islamic creed. A Qur’an lies on the table in front of Masud. She herself
holds a Kalashnikov and looks confidently into the camera. In these photos it is
obvious that the act is framed in religious terms. This emphasis is indicated by
several symbols: the Qur’an, the Islamic creed and the color black. The Qur’an
symbolizes God’s word, while Muslims traditionally use the color black as a sign
of rebellion against outrageous rulers (Heine, 2018, p. 167).
In addition, the documents are striking from a gender perspective. Although
Masud’s clothing can be considered largely gender conforming, the baseball cap,
which is mainly worn by boys and men in Palestine, stands out as an outlier.
Furthermore, the visibly staged long gun stands for violence and resistance. As
such, these photos essentially fit into the Palestinian visual language: Weapons are
one of the most widely used symbols in Palestine. In terms of resistance, they have
a military and mobilizing effect on both men and women. The rifle is omnipresent in
everyday life and a frequently culturally staged motif (Peteet, 1991, p. 107). At the
same time, these images create a field of tension, for in contexts like these, weapons
are repeatedly interpreted as phallic symbols (Heringer, 2015, p. 129). The weapon
symbolizes the phallus that advances in the hostile terrain. Moreover, socially rec-
ognized masculine qualities are associated with this portrayal: The weapon stands
for courage, defense and fighting strength (Dittmer, 2014). Consequently, a tension
arises from the fact that the weapon, originally associated with masculinity, is in
the hands of a woman. The social attributions of masculinity and femininity are
challenged in this way, as the image defies the patriarchal logic of gender labels.
Even though the photograph is merely representative (for Masud carried out her act
with an explosive belt), the weapon gives symbolic power to the woman holding it.
However, are such images an expression of empowerment in order to over-
come oppression? From Masud’s perspective, and especially because she looks
so confidently into the camera, this question could well be answered with a yes.
From her perspective, the attack gives her agency. It enables her to act within the
framework of the Israel–Palestine conflict, which has been going on for a very long
time and is seen by many as unsolvable. At the same time, the act enables her to
break from the rigid gender norms of Palestinian society. The pictorial representa-
tion of Masud has an important function in this defiance: It enables the narrative
of empowerment – as the overcoming of (perceived) political and social oppres-
sion – to persist.
Reem Riyashi
Reem Riyashi was born in the Gaza Strip in 1981 and lived there all her life. Her
attack on 14 January 2004 took place at the Israeli border checkpoint Erez in
the Gaza Strip. In addition to herself, she killed four people, and several others
were injured. Both the Qassam Brigades and the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades claimed
responsibility for her act, as it was a joint operation.
Riyashi was the first female suicide bomber of the Qassam Brigades. She was
married and had two children; the younger one was one and a half years old at
the time of the attack (KSIDQ, n.d.-a; IW, n.d.). Hamas had been the organiza-
tion with the fewest female suicide bombers and the case of Riyashi underscores
Hamas’s highly cautious stance on the question of whether women should be
allowed to carry out suicide attacks. The biographical details that are unique to
the two Hamas suicide bombers are crucial to the discussion on their position:
They were married and had children.26 All the other female suicide bombers of
the Second Intifada were single. In fact, these biographical distinctions match
statements made by Hamas’s political leadership. For example, as early as 2002,
Abd al-Aziz ar-Rantisi said that women would be allowed to carry out suicide
attacks, if they fulfilled their demographic role – that is, if they had given children
to the Palestinian society and thus contributed to the continuation of the collective.
Clearly, as an organization with an Islamic agenda, it was exceedingly important
for Hamas that women fulfill their primary duty as mothers and wives before car-
rying out a suicide bombing.
Last will: “Halfmen have led the ummah to subservience and exposure”
Even 20 years after Riyashi’s suicide bombing, her video testament can be found
on the official homepage of the Qassam Brigades (KSIDQ, n.d.-a). Similar to
Masud’s will, the speech does not contain any gender-specific features. Riyashi
announces her suicide attack as the act of a “daughter” of the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam
Brigades and as a “joint operation” of Hamas and the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades. She
legitimizes her act by referring to Sura 9/111:
Indeed, Allah has purchased from the believers their lives and their proper-
ties, [in exchange] for which they will have Paradise. They fight in the cause
of Allah, so they kill and are killed. [It is] a true promise [binding] upon Him
in the Torah and the Gospel and the Qur’an. And who is truer to his covenant
than Allah? So rejoice in your transaction which you have contracted. And it
is that which is the great attainment.
Like Masud’s last will, Riyashi’s testament contains a Qur’anic verse that uses
the generic masculine. The message of the verse can be summarized as follows:
in exchange for their lives and possessions and as a reward for their willingness to
fight, believers gain access to paradise. The verse does not exclude women; they
are corepresented. Furthermore, Riyashi, like Masud and Abu Aisha, refers to tak-
ing revenge for “the army of occupation’s crimes in Nablus, Jenin and Rafah”.
Riyashi’s case is particularly special, because in addition to her official one,
another testament by her is available on the internet. However, this second one
is not on any official Hamas homepage (IW, n.d.). The second, written testament
differs fundamentally from the first one especially along the lines of gender ref-
erences. In this second one, Riyashi addresses the document’s readers and notes
that they do not include men: “For I see no more men in our ummah27 except for
a remnant in Palestine and Iraq, for you are the remaining hope for this ummah
after it is free of men”. Instead of men, she says, there are only the “halfmen” (ash-
bah ar-rijal). She accuses them of having led the ummah into “subservience and
exposure”. Riyashi describes these halfmen as sages, scholars and intellectuals,
self-appointed elites who “have set their banners at half-mast”. The term “half-
men” thus seems to refer primarily to Muslim politicians and rulers who, Riyashi
implies, lack qualities of leadership. The accusation of having led the ummah into
“subservience” could mean subservience to Israel. She clearly chooses words of
displeasure for the politicians who were at that time (and still are) mainly male in
the Muslim world. On the other hand, she notes that in Palestine and Iraq, at least,
there are still a number of real men.28 She probably means the mujahidun.
She appeals first to the so-called halfmen and then to the women. Addressing
the halfmen, she advises them to disentangle themselves from the kind of speech
that no longer makes one fat and is of no use to hunger. I urge them to rid them-
selves of deception and hypocrisy … And I urge them to withdraw from their
pulpits to which they have dedicated themselves, for they do not belong there.
Accordingly, she calls for an end to their politics and demands their removal from
the political stage. The women, on the other hand, she encourages: “And to women
I advise that they attach the nun an-niswa29 to their attributes and their names,
and the ta at-tanith30 to their deeds, for they are entitled to it and are worthy of
it”. Women should be proud of themselves. They should stand by their femininity
and recognize that they can do a great deal on behalf of the resistance. In this way,
Riyashi elevates women above the halfmen who do not live up to their masculinity.
Yet, it should be noted that at no point does Riyashi formulate what “femininity”
and “masculinity” mean to her and/or where the boundary between the two con-
cepts lies. At the least, her statements leave a great deal of room for interpretation.
Like Abu Aisha, Riyashi also addresses the role of women as mothers: “From your
wombs, O you women, shall come forth the children who will bring back the glory
of this ummah, writing it with their blood and with their severed limbs”. This can
certainly be understood as an appeal. She sees women as having a responsibility
to give birth to children. However, not just any children. The phrase “to write with
blood and severed limbs” (which is often used in martyrs’ wills) alludes to future
mujahidun and martyrs. So, for Riyashi, jihad is the way to bring back glory to the
ummah.
Last, she addresses an appeal to the then president of France, Jacques Chirac,
“who wants to ban the hijab for Muslims in France”. She is referring to his efforts
to ban religious symbols from the schools at the time, such as the Jewish kippa,
large crosses and Muslim headscarves. The bill passed France’s national legis-
lature and was signed into law by Chirac in early 2004, the year Riyashi carried
out her suicide bombing. Contrary to what one might assume, Riyashi does not
renounce this ban. Instead, she calls on Jacques Chirac:
Make [the hijab] compulsory for Muslim men, starting with the rulers. And
… make it equally obligatory for them to cover their submissive faces,
because it is shameful and they should not be allowed to be seen, not in the
East and not in the West.
However, this message leaves certain questions unanswered, such as Riyashi’s

views on the acceptability of the niqab, the face veil. It seems that she views the
niqab as a garment that is being used to keep women in their subordinated position.
What this means exactly remains unclear. Is she criticizing the niqab as a dress
style? Or does her statement indicate the acceptance of the niqab as a means of
hiding women who are reprehensible? The latter interpretation certainly coincides
with Hamas’s Islamic agenda. Like all Islamists, women are seen as a potential
source of fitna (sedition, temptation) in the Hamas context. It is women, according
to this mode of thinking, who render men weak and careless, from which the need
for strict gender segregation in society is derived. The hijab and niqab are means
to implement this demand.31
Furthermore, Riyashi anticipates the criticism she might receive for her deci-
sion to commit a suicide bombing attack: some might say that she is “on the path
to ruin herself”, that it is “a suicide”, that it is “stupid” and that she “abandoned her
children and did not preserve the sanctity of her husband and her family”. In her
defense against such commentary, she says, “I am a believer, in that my provider
and the provider of my children after my death is my Lord, who rules me and car-
ries on the upbringing of my children after my death”. The reference to her children
is gender specific in that Riyashi was the first mother during the Second Intifada to
perform a “martyrdom operation”. Male activists who carried out such attacks were,
with few exceptions, childless singles (UTA, 2006). In a patriarchal society such as
that of Palestine, the father is the linchpin of the family, but the responsibility for
the children lies primarily with the mother. By citing God as the to-be provider for
her children, Riyashi counters the expected accusation that she is neglecting them.
The reference to incurring damage on the “sanctity of her husband and her peo-
ple” also has a gender-specific connotation. Riyashi was aware that she was break-
ing gender norms. Suicide bombers were usually not allowed to let their families in
on their plans. Moreover, in preparation for the act, they were also alone with peo-
ple who were not part of the family. For female suicide bombers, this configuration
meant that they had to violate Palestine’s culturally rooted norms of gender segre-
gation. Consequently, in order to preempt accusations of immorality, she empha-
sizes that she is a devout Muslim and that her act is permitted and guided by God.
The gender-specific elements of this written testament can thus be summarized
as follows. First, the document testifies to a two-layered dichotomous representa-
tion of role models. On the one hand, it contrasts the “good men” (mujahidun in
her words) with the “bad” ones (halfmen). On the other hand, the halfmen have
to compete with women. The subtext of her message questions gender roles and
gender expectations: What is expected of men and women? How are masculinity
and femininity defined? Do the men and women Riyashi deals with correspond to
these attributions? What is also striking is the apparent fervent anger that comes
through in Riyashi’s document. She is downright derogatory about those men who,
in her view, do not act in a masculine manner. Only the mujahidun are spared her
wrath. In contrast, she implicitly calls on women to be proud of what they have
achieved as women in the resistance. Second, Riyashi makes it clear in the docu-
ment that she is aware that she is subverting gender norms. She anticipates that
many Palestinians might resent her decision to perform a suicide bombing attack as
a wife and a mother. At the same time, she insists that this resentment is misplaced,
for, once again, she sees herself as a devout Muslim and her act as desired by God.
In this way, she keeps accusations of child neglect and immorality at arm’s length.
Visual testimonies: The mother, her child and the rocket
In the video of Riyashi reading her last will that is produced by the Qassam
Brigades, the Palestinian woman is seen sitting at the table. The dominant color in
the video is green. Riyashi wears a camouflage suit, a hijab and a waistcoat. She
wears the Islamic creed both on a headband over her hijab and on a sash on her
upper body. She holds a Kalashnikov. On the table, which is covered with a Hamas
flag, are grenades and rockets, as well as a Qur’an from which Riyashi recites the
Qur’anic verse. In the background is a large green flag on which the Islamic creed
is printed. The green color – the color of Islam and Hamas – alongside the Qur’an
and the oversized representation of the Islamic creed in the background symbolize
the religious framing of the attack.
Once again, the weapons play a major role in the framing of the testament in
terms of gender representation. Riyashi holds the Kalashnikov in a way similar
to Masud and thus maintains the phallic symbol usually associated with men and
masculinity. Compared to the photos of Masud, in Riyashi’s video a larger number
of weapons can be seen. Riyashi also sets herself apart from Masud and Abu Aisha
through her choice of clothing. She wears a camouflage suit that evokes various
associations. Symbolizing uniformity, it is meant to show that Riyashi is part of
the group, i.e., the Qassam Brigades. It is suggestive of an involvement in military
combat. However, it is important to mention that for women to wear a camou-
flage suit in Palestine is extremely unusual. Like the Kalashnikov, then, the suit is
merely a means of staging: It is unlikely that Riyashi was wearing it (at least not in
plain sight) when she committed her attack.
In addition to the video testament, a number of photos that show Riyashi with
her children are available. These photos may have been taken at the same time as
the video testament was made, since Riyashi wears the camouflage suit in them as
well. One photo shows Riyashi and one of her children in front of the backdrop
that is seen in the video testament. Both are waving at the camera and the child is
holding a rocket. Another photo shows her with her two children sitting on her lap,
in a more domestic setting, possibly the children’s room. Looking at these photos, a
tension arises, a “macabre refraction” (Straub, 2021, p. 196). On the one hand, her
behavior toward the children can be described as caring and intimate; on the other
hand, her military dress and weapons stand for violence and aggression.
Riyashi’s visual representation intertwines the concepts of motherhood, as a
central aspect of femininity, and jihad, as a primarily masculine domain. In the
Palestinian context, the two concepts are considered compatible traditionally only
in a specific setting that can be summed up in the term “martyr’s mother”. The
phenomenon of the martyr’s mother dates to the 1930s, when the Arab population
revolted in an armed uprising against the British Mandate rule. Many Arab men
died during the conflict. Their mothers refused condolence and instead even showed
pride and joy at the martyrdom of their sons (Peteet, 1991, p. 50). As a fighting
mother, Riyashi transcends this traditional attribution. Her self-representation (and
her suicide bombing itself) underscores the severity of the Palestinian plight and
the ubiquity of the national struggle, while symbolizing the sacrificial dimension
of motherhood. At the same time, such imagery leads men to feel ashamed of the
necessity of women’s commitment in the struggle. Such a setup thus invites the
question of whether the Qassam Brigades staged the motif of the fighting mother in
order to call the men to jihad (Peteet, 1991, p. 107).
Conclusion
It was not always possible to prove beyond reasonable doubt which of the voices
presented in this study were the authentic ones of Palestinian female suicide
bombers. Whose values and motives have we been presented with? Who speaks
through the documents? Is it the female suicide bomber, or are the videos and testa-
ments propaganda? The documents of Darin Abu Aisha and Reem Riyashi point to
this area of tension. In the case of Abu Aisha, we could see that in her video testa-
ment she pragmatically adopted the symbols of the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades for
herself and her actions, even though in reality she stood for other political values.
We are more likely to find answers to the questions of who Abu Aisha was and
what her message said by looking at the photo she took in the house of her cousin.
For Riyashi, on the other hand, there are two last wills. One is available on the
homepage of the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades as a video recording and serves
as an official document. The other, less official one is available on internet forums.
The messages conveyed by the two documents could not be more different. Against
the background of these dualities, Mirfat Masud’s position can be mentioned as
well: It seems probable that in her case, too, her written last will is not (completely)
congruent to her values and motives.
In any case, it is noteworthy that all three women’s voices present significant
gender-related concerns within the Palestinian resistance. In the case of the written
last wills, we can assume that the aspects they mention reflect each woman’s per-
sonal agendas. Abu Aisha’s will, for example, can be read as an apologetic treatise
on her decision to commit a suicide bombing attack as a woman. She apparently felt
compelled to justify herself in this way after Hamas, with which she was associated
throughout her life, rejected her desire to carry out a suicide attack in their name.
Riyashi went beyond the apologetic portrayal and vented her views on the distribution
of roles between men and women: Muslim rulers were devalued as “halfmen”, while
Palestinian women were praised as women. Both Riyashi and Abu Aisha were aware
that their attacks transgressed gender norms, but at the same time they presented their
deeds as willed by God, and in that sense not out of the ordinary, thus avoiding poten-
tial accusations of immorality. Furthermore, both Riyashi and Abu Aisha ascribe great
importance to the Palestinian women in the context of the resistance, particularly as
mothers of the future jihad generation. This attribution assigns a special status to
women, because anyone can become a suicide bomber but only women can give birth.
In Abu Aisha’s case, moreover, we could see a reference to the statements
made by the Hamas leadership. The organization refused her wish to be a suicide
bomber, because she was a woman. Leaders, including Ahmad Yassin, had repeat-
edly confirmed this stance publicly. Abu Aisha obviously could not accept this
without comment. In her will, she made it clear to the entire Hamas leadership and,
in principle, to the entire world, where she places women in the Palestinian resist-
ance: not in the second line of defense but in the front line. This case therefore also
shows that women of course do not live in isolation but are influenced by a variety
of discourses surrounding them. In the case of the visual documents, it appears that
gender has become a key part of the representation. The audience experiences a
sense of rupture in viewing the visual documents, even if they do not come from
a conservative-traditional society like the Palestinian one. Rather, the depiction of
a woman – and even more disturbingly, a mother – with a gun and in camouflage
challenges the widespread myth of the peaceful woman. Since outward violence is
usually attributed more to men than to women, the presented symbolically charged
images and videos subvert expectations and render female capacities for violent
resistance more self-evident than they are.
Riyashi’s visual self-representation also presents a peculiarity and points to a
field of tension. On the one hand, she fits into the possibility of reading of martyr-
dom as the ultimate fulfillment of patriarchal motherhood, based on attributions
such as self-denial and self-sacrifice (Bloom, 2007, p. 102). On the other hand, it
can be assumed that the photos of Riyashi and her children were taken and pub-
lished primarily for one purpose: To urge men to do their duty, that is, to perform
the task for which Riyashi was exceptionally assigned.
In summary, however, it must be stated that the three women discussed in this
chapter set out to perform suicide attacks consciously and in a self-determined
manner. Their self-determination as such is clearly indicated not only in their tes-
taments but also by their self-confident attitudes in the videos and photos. The
women were eager to make an active contribution to the Palestinian resistance. For
them, sacrificing their lives seems to have been a matter of course. At the same
time, they felt that they had to be seen “morally on the right side”: they were taking
righteous revenge for what they perceived as crimes of the Israeli occupying power
and believed that God approved of their actions. However, the documents also shed
light on the challenge of dealing with and evaluating alleged self-representations:
Which voices are authentic? Who was censored, and how? And above all, what are
the voices and messages that we do not hear? Such questions will always be with
us when we examine the kinds of data presented in this chapter.
Notes
1 This chapter follows up on a study published by the author in 2011 (see Ziolkowski,
2011).
2 In this respect, the Second Intifada was fundamentally different from the First Intifada,
in which the general population, including men and women, young and old, played an
important role (Kuttab and Johnson, 2001, p. 30).
3 On the myth of the peaceful woman and the perception of female violence, see Künzel
(2009).
4 On patriarchal social structures in Palestine and their impact on the situation of women,
see PASSIA (2015).
5 In 2007, a bipolar political system emerged: in the West Bank, the Fatah-led Palestinian
Authority continued to govern, while Hamas ruled the Gaza Strip from then on (Bröning
and Meyer, 2010).
6 Fatah is a secular political group founded in the 1950s, whereas the Aqsa Martyrs’
Brigades (Kataib Shuhada al-Aqsa) first appeared in 2000. For a long time, the links
between the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades and Fatah were unclear. Since the mid-2000s, how-
ever, experts have seen strong evidence of an organizational link.
7 The Quds Brigades (Saraya al-Quds) are the military arm of the PIJ, an organization
founded in the 1980s. PIJ’s ideology comprises of Palestinian nationalism and fragments
from the ideas of the Muslim Brotherhood as well as other Islamic groups in Egypt. In
addition, the revolutionary ideas and statements of Ayatollah Khomeini have been incor-
porated. Such an incorporation of ideas is what makes the ideology of the PIJ distinct,
since the movement is made up of Sunni Muslims but Khomeini was a Shiite cleric.
Compared to Hamas and the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades, the organization has less followers
and is therefore considered a revolutionary vanguard.
8 The Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades (Kataib ash-shahid Izz ad-Din al-Qassam) is the
armed wing of Hamas. The Islamic Resistance Organization Hamas, which was founded
in 1987, is a mass organization, and like the PIJ, a splinter from the Muslim Brotherhood.
The organization’s program embraces both pan-Arab and Islamic ideals and Palestinian
nationalism. An important distinguishing feature of Hamas from the other two organiza-
tions is its charity work, which is believed to be a major part of its activities.
9 Interviews with the family members were conducted in 2009, 2010 and 2013 for a book
project on Palestinian female suicide bombers (see footnote 1) and a study on women’s
participation in Hamas (Ziolkowski, 2016).
10 I conducted the interviews with the mother on 30 July 2009.
11 In a martyrology published by Hamas about Darin Abu Aisha, the organization explains
the context of the rejection. For example, the text says that the person who turned down
the young woman’s plan was not someone who represented the right political and reli-
gious viewpoint. In this way, the organization externalizes the responsibility for the deci-
sion, which in retrospect is presented as being wrong (RITI, 2009).
12 Mujahidun is the plural form of the Arabic term mujahid, which refers to a male person
who engages in jihad.
13 Unless stated otherwise, the translations of the Arabic texts are mine.
14 On women’s participation in the Palestinian resistance, see Peteet (1991).
15 The explosion occurred when she tugged at her bag, which was caught on the door, as
she was leaving a store (Victor, 2005, p. 37). Therefore, it has been suggested that her act
was more likely an accident (Schneiders, 2006, p. 110).
16 Darin Abu Aisha uses the term “Zionist” synonymously with “Israelis” and “Jews”.
17 I used the Saheeh International translation for the English Qur’anic verses.
18 The documentary was acquired in 2008 at the Martyrs Museum in Tehran during an
exhibition on Palestinian women suicide bombers.
19 The family could not provide the video because it was lost when the house was demol-
ished. Moreover, notably, the Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades, unlike the other two organiza-
tions, does not have a homepage. Therefore, there is no official digital platform for the
publication of documents.
20 A hijab is a woman’s headscarf.
21 A kufiya is a checkered black-and-white scarf that is usually worn around the neck or the
head.
22 I conducted the interview with the sister on 3 May 2010 in Ramallah.
23 There is ample evidence on the Quds Brigades’s website that the designations ibn (sin-
gular; son) or abna (plural; sons) are used for male members of the organization; see, as
an example, SQ (n.d.-b).
24 On the explosion on the beach of the Gaza Strip and Huda Ghaliya, see McGreal (2006).
25 An abaya is a simple, loose overgarment worn by Muslim women in Palestine.
26 The second female suicide bomber of the Qassam Brigades was Fatima Najjar. At the
time of her attack, Najjar was already over 50 years old, a mother and a grandmother
(KSIDQ, n.d.-b; Erlanger, 2006).
27 Ummah is the Arabic word meaning “community”. In the context of Riyashi’s last will,
it refers to the community of all Muslims.
28 She seems to be referring to the occupation of Iraq by US forces between 2003 and 2011.
29 The Arabic letter “nun” is the initial letter of the Arabic word niswa (women). The nun
an-niswa is the feminine plural form of verbs.
30 The Arabic letter “ta” is the initial letter of the word tanith (femininity). The ta at-tanith
is the feminine form of nouns.
31 On the sexual dimension of patriarchy in the Islamist context, see Ziolkowski (2021).
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10 Jihad with a woman’s face
Boko Haram female fighters in Cameroon
Aimé Raoul Sumo Tayo
Introduction
In both public discourse and the literature on war, women as combatants have
been ignored or considered taboo until recent times. Even when, in the context
of “totalization of war” and the indistinction between battlefield and home front
(Holeindre, 2018), women pay the “blood tax” (Cabanes, 2018), their role is very
often forgotten. Moreover, women themselves speak very little about their war
experience (Alexievitch, 2016). This may be because, at least in part, despite the
discourses and practices of feminization in modern armies, the gender barrier is
watertight when it comes to the question of access to combat (Audouin-Rouzeau,
2020). Paradoxically, it is within some jihadist groups, which are considered very
conservative on the issue of the distribution of gender roles, that gendered war
norms are transgressed.
This chapter draws on the case of Boko Haram,1 a jihadist insurgency in the
Lake Chad Basin, to examine the forms and modalities of the transgression of gen-
dered norms of war through the participation of women in war violence in an insur-
gency and jihadist context and where national armies have not engaged any women
in the various combat units fighting on the front lines against the insurgents. It also
deals with their motivations and their recruitment process.2
This chapter’s anthropological and sociohistorical approach has made it pos-
sible to put into perspective the mobilization of women by Boko Haram as part of
its combatant actions. Because the gendered norms of war result from social and
historical constructions, particular circumstances allow questioning of “natural”
tendencies within societies that are known to be conservative on gendered repre-
sentations and social practices. In the Lake Chad Basin, this dynamic has allowed
a growing mobilization, instrumental or not, of women in the hypermale combat
role and intelligence and support activities. There are two concurrent processes:
Women’s direct participation in combat and the sexual division of military work,
with specific forms of gender juxtaposition. While most of Boko Haram’s female
fighters perform tasks deemed feminine and require “naturally” feminine skills,
some have been engaged in combat under extreme conditions in Cameroon, thus
showing skills regarded as masculine. This chapter also highlights the dynamic of
the weaponization of female bodies by Boko Haram. It emancipates itself from the-
oretical frameworks developed within primarily Western cultures that often carry
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359-13
the mental maps of their community (Balzacq, 2016), and it gives voice to female
Boko Haram fighters who explain the why and how of their commitment.
Gender and war: A historical and theoretical perspective

Considering the “cultural” (learned and socially transmitted behavior) and the dia-
chronic dimension of women’s participation in warfare makes it possible to put
into perspective the current dynamic of the growing mobilization of women in
contemporary jihadist groups.
Historical and anthropological perspectives
The conventional view of male and female identities with regard to collective vio-
lence considers the former as warriors and the latter as noncombatants (Carreiras,
2006). There are also norms associated with manliness when it comes to war, such
as protection, bravery and self-sacrifice, and others related to womanliness, such
as innocence and fragility (Sjoberg, Cooke and Neal, 2011). Indeed, in most socie-
ties, the idea that “war is made for women3 and not by them” has been profoundly
internalized (Roberts, 2018). Therefore, a certain gender determinism assigns spe-
cific roles to the man and the woman: The former would ensure the defense of
the group and the latter the offspring (Fouchard, 2015). In most local societies
within Cameroon, a woman represents fecundity and is the source of security and
strength. The man is characterized by virility (Richard, 1977). The Cameroonian
woman carries the image of a mother, who ensures biological reproduction and
plays the role of mediator, through exogamous marriage, in the context of inter-
community exchanges. In some societies of Northern Cameroon, among the Fali,
for example, despite the spectacular practices that seem to suggest a weak position
for the woman, she reigns over the home while the man is the master of rela-
tions external to the home (Barbier, 1985). This gendered distribution of roles may
explain that when women are involved in professions associated with masculinity,
they are often identified by their sex, while the profession’s name identifies those
associated with femininity. It may be the reason why we talk of female fighters, not
female nurses, for example (Sjoberg, Cooke and Neal, 2011).
Until recently, and particularly in national armies, women have been denied
the right to fight and lead wars, except for a few war heroines and mythological
figures.4 However, anthropologists have shown that excluding women from war
is more of a matter of male domination over the mastery of tools and technology
than a gender difference (Tabet, 1979). Moreover, the relationship of gender to the
warrior function is socially determined by conventions (Cuchet, 2013). The First
and Second World Wars are full of examples of women breaking war stereotypes
and fighting (German, 2013). However, these remain as isolated examples. In other
words, the conceptualization of women as noncombatant figures is still prevalent,
despite timid feminization initiatives (Forrest, 2018). In Africa, women played a
prominent role during nationalist struggles. For example, during the Eritrean lib-
eration war, women acted as fighters within the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front
(EPLF) (Hale, 2001). Women’s participation in nationalist struggles in Africa
Jihad with a woman’s face 193
consisted of their role in support functions, notably the mobilization of troops,

intelligence operations, nursing, transport and supply (Adugna, 2001).
Despite the gradual “feminization”5 in national armies, the physical, physio-
logical and psychological differences between men and women (perceived or real)
still strongly structure the gendered distribution of military work. The same idea
is embedded in most cultures, foremost among which are androcentric traditions
and practices and a gendered division of war-related tasks (Weber, 2015). The
situation is even more problematic in Africa. Low representation of women in the
army is one of the few things that unite the African countries, which are quite
diverse in their experiences and histories in every other aspect. The Cameroonian
army, for example, experiences cosmetic feminization, and the military phalloc-
racy (Ondoua, 2013) is still significant. The place of women in the military and
their relation to warfare was defined by the long-time minister for defense, Sadou
Daoudou: “In case of mobilization, boys and girls will not play the same role. The
boys will be used as fighters while girls will be used as secretaries, nurses, and
intelligence officers, with more talent than boys”.6 It is probably why, despite the
government’s discourse on feminization in the Cameroonian army, there are no
women in the various fighting units engaged on the front line of the fight against
Boko Haram. On the other side, terrorism, in general, is deemed a gendered activ-
ity. But terrorist groups exploit rigid stereotypes of masculinity and femininity
(Ndung’u and Shadung, 2017). Thus, in the Cameroonian context, Boko Haram
has shaken up the gendered rules of war.
Nevertheless, women’s involvement in terrorist activities seems to be an oxy-
moron because women are associated with peacefulness, nurturing and care rather
than violence in the collective psyche (Sjoberg, Cooke and Neal, 2011). Their pres-
ence in violent groups “falls outside these ideal-typical understandings of what it
means to be a woman” (Sjoberg and Gentry, 2007). On the question of women’s
involvement in Boko Haram’s suicide bombings, Saïbou Issa (2021), a prominent
specialist on this group, highlights the contrast between the acts they take and their
attitude in the demobilization camps: “I wonder how young women with such
soft speech, with the maternal fiber, thus displayed, worrying about the future of
their very young children and reunification with their husbands, have they gone to
extremes”. Even in contemporary jihadi networks, militarized masculinities inform
armed conflict (Duriesmith and Ismail, 2019). Female members of terror groups
used to assume supporting roles such as logisticians and recruiters. However, since
the 1970s, with the rise of left-wing terrorist groups such as the Red Army Faction,
they have actively participated in combat roles. The dynamic also concerns nation-
alist groups such as Euskadi Ta Askatasuna (ETA) and jihadi groups (Raghavan
and Balasubramaniyan, 2014).
Surprisingly, the dynamic of feminization also concerns Islamist terror groups.7
Salafist movements are generally very conservative concerning the status of women.
For them, a woman’s role is to stay at home and “carry the children of the mujahi-
deen and not an explosive belt” (Trévidic, 2014). In the Lake Chad Basin particu-
larly, the arrival of Wahhabism8 in the 2000s has impacted the social and political
field. Above all, it has influenced gendered representations and social practices
that, at best, value women in their maternal role. The arrival of women in the
jihadist terrorist field stems from an appeal launched in 2009 by Umayma Hassan
Ahmed, the wife of Ayman Al-Zawahiri, Al Qaeda’s late leader. In a letter, she
legitimized women’s participation in jihad by references to the life of the Prophet.9
In the same vein, jihadi group leaders such as Sheikh Ahmed Ismail Yassin, who
was also the spiritual leader and one of the cofounders of Hamas, have issued a
fatwa (a non-binding legal decision in Islam) “that gave permission to women to
participate in suicide attacks as well as listing the rewards in ‘Paradise’ that these
female martyrs would receive upon their deaths” (Shirazi, 2010). This recourse to
women points at the doctrinal changes within Salafist jihadist movements.
Since 2016, Boko Haram has split into two factions: the JAS and ISWAP. The
first faction allows women to engage in violence, while the second condemns it
(Bryson and Bukarti, 2018). Thus, these two current factions within the jihadist
movement in the Lake Chad Basin do not agree on the gendered division of war
labor. According to testimony from a defector interviewed by Crisis Group:
Islamic State told [Shekau, former Boko Haram leader] that an amaliya [a
suicide attack by a girl or a young woman] can happen only when you are
surrounded and have no exit. Then, maybe, a girl can decide to sacrifice her
life. But you cannot put a jacket [rigged with explosives] on a girl and send
her to attack civilians.
(Foucher, 2020)
Despite this doctrinal debate, the group currently holds the record for the number
of women and girls mobilized for suicide bombings. A study of the modalities
of these “transgressions” of gendered war norms (Teboul, 2015) by Boko Haram
allows one to measure its scope. This mobilization confirms that male and female
roles are less biological than the fruit of cultural and historical constructions. As
such, they are changeable.
Methodology
Women’s increased presence in terrorist organizations for kinetic and supporting

roles is a great challenge for academic analysts, policy makers and counterterror-
ism professionals (Howard, 2011) for several reasons. The main methodological
and ethical issue this present study faces was the secrecy that lies at the heart of the
organizations where it was necessary to conduct investigations on Boko Haram’s
female fighters. Boko Haram is first and foremost a sect, even before being a jihad-
ist movement. Therefore, it cultivates and operates through secrecy. In addition,
because of pressure from the national armies of the Chad Basin, the sect has made
concealment and clandestine action an essential element of its strategy. The sec-
ond methodological pitfall relates to conducting research on the military, where
speech is reputed to be rare and at least disciplined (Deschaux-Beaume, 2011). The
mastery of some “access codes” to the different fields allowed me to overcome the
secrecy-related difficulties. The selection of the “correct” gatekeepers, who would
ensure that the researcher had access to the pertinent resources, for example, was
decisive in conducting this research. Ensuring the anonymity of the participants
was also paramount.
Another methodological and ethical challenge of this research has been the
global perception of Boko Haram. In effect, the perception of this type of movement
is often clouded by the hatred people feel for the acts and values it embodies. As a
result, traditional approaches consider “terrorism” as an illegitimate mode of action
and, therefore, the researcher should not question those who implement this modus
operandi because their discourse would be unhealthy and erroneous (Balzacq,
2016, p. 142). As far as this is concerned, this work is part of critical approaches
to the study of terrorism as it gives a voice to the actors of the insurrection. The
author’s view is that the frequentation of its object of analysis does not disturb,
under normal conditions, the results of the scientific observation of the phenom-
enon. To understand the mentality of those considered terrorists, when possible, the
researcher must meet them to collect much more than their speech. Burgat (2007, p.
16) noticed that “the unsaid is sometimes more important than the explicit, the allu-
sive more significant than the statement”. Furthermore, at this level, the researcher
must make the first effort over himself, especially if he belongs to a society that is
a victim of terrorist acts. The challenge for the researcher on Boko Haram consists
in what Audouin-Rouzeau (2020) calls “the prior rejection of any demonization”.
One may argue that a male researcher, who identify himself as Christian, may
have legitimacy issues when it comes to writing about the experience of female
fighters within an Islamic context. Historically, men’s narrative of female violence
is usually demeaning, misogynistic or ambivalent. Therefore, the challenge for this
research is to talk about women “who do not use speech as their primary mode of
expression” in a context where stories about them often define them (Ashby, 2011).
Moreover, as Alexievich (2016) points out, women must be more present in war
narratives: They must defend their history, which would not be a female history of
war: “Everything we know, however, about war, has been told to us by men. We
are prisoners of ‘masculine’ images and ‘masculine’ sensations of wars”. However,
this research is coming from a scientific framework and is based on firsthand expe-
rience and narratives of some of these female fighters themselves. It is a question
of honoring the dialogical contract between myself as the researcher and those who
agreed to speak.
This chapter relies on primary sources, including interviews in prison with
prominent counterinsurgency actors and eight former suicide bombers arrested
before or during the attacks. A dozen “demobilized Boko Haram fighters” who
benefit from the voluntary return program initiated by the Cameroonian authorities
were also interviewed. After analyzing the various contents, the obtained data were
cross-checked during surveys with local communities and through the consultation
of some administrative and military archives in Cameroon between 2014 and 2021.
The various biases that might arise from the status of the certain sources mobilized
have also been considered.
There are certain limitations of this research. First, the people interviewed
as part of this research do not constitute a representative sample of the female
fighters and “human bombs” mobilized in the context of Boko Haram operations in
Cameroon. Moreover, their narratives may be biased, because, as “losers” whose
action has failed, their reasonings are probably different from those whose attacks
succeeded due to luck or their more persistent determination (Pedahzur, 2005, p.
138). However, those women remain a source of firsthand and first-rate informa-
tion, provided that the researcher considers the possible biases that their status may
induce. Thus, some of these women may represent themselves as victims because
of their imprisonment, following a process of disempowerment highlighted by
Mats Utas (2005) through his concept of “victimcy”.10 From an ethical standpoint,
the interviews were voluntary, and anonymity was guaranteed to the informants. In
addition, no form of compensation was offered to the contacts to ensure that their
participation remains voluntary and not clouded by any material gain.
Theoretical perspective
Feminist conceptualizations of violence strongly influence this chapter, as they

offer a good perspective by observing and connecting the micro and the macro
level of violence production. Traditionally, there are four general and not mutually
exclusive approaches to gendered terrorism: The positivist approach addresses the
composition rather than the motivation and considers gender as a variable among
others. Another is the instrumentalist approach, which assesses the impact of tra-
ditional gender norms on the role of women and men in terrorist organizations.
The third approach is related to gendered motivations, particularly the ideological,
cultural, economic and social factors that influence women’s involvement in terror-
ist groups. The fourth is the feminist methodology, which focuses on the structural
factors within societies (Phelan, 2020).
This research, however, emancipates itself from hegemonic feminism (Spivak,
1985) and the “universalism” of White and Western feminism (Dechaufour, 2008).
It is part of a postcolonial approach to feminism that, among others, applied by
such people as Fatima Mernissi (1975) or Deniz Kandiyoti (1996), deconstructs
the orientalist vision of Muslim women perceived as total victims of the patriarchal
order. However, above all, this work differs from the criminalizing, disempow-
ering, infantilizing and victimizing approaches to the mobilization of women in
jihadist groups. Indeed, the contempt and hatred of terrorists lead to not consider-
ing their modes of action as part of the war and, consequently, denying them the
status of soldiers (Lynn, 2018). It is thus a question of denying them the privilege
of combatant and the protection of the Fourth Geneva Convention (Baudrillard
and Derrida, 2015). Following this logic, combatant status is rarely recognized for
women who act within non-state armed groups. Female suicide bombers’ involve-
ment in suicide bombing is usually regarded as abnormal. Most studies on this phe-
nomenon are based on the Western, patriarchal, orientalist and Western feminist
cultural and theoretical approach, which labels the concerned women as victims.
Women’s participation in warfare and terrorism is perceived as a disruption to
their stereotypical representations (Sjoberg, Cooke and Neal, 2011). Humanitarian
discourse highlights women’s vulnerability in conflict, obscuring deeper dynamics

and diminishing opportunities for action (Kinne, 2015).
This work is also emancipated from approaches that focus on women’s men-
tal state, their physicality, their sexuality and their victimization by “backward”
cultures. These approaches insist on their desire for revenge when male family
members are drafted into the military, killed or arrested (Shirazi, 2010). These
approaches undermine these women’s vital roles and, paradoxically, overlook their
identity as violent actors (Editorial Note, 2017). Women’s motivations are gener-
ally seen as personal, whereas men’s are political and ideological since they are
dedicated to a cause (Banks, 2019). In contrast, terror groups tend to project those
women as mythical heroes (Rajan, 2011).
This work does not exclude the hypothesis of mobilization of Boko Haram’s
female fighters as a joint contribution to the struggle for an Islamic state in Northern
Nigeria, for example. In some ways, taking up arms allows women to show real
courage on an equal footing with men. Historically, and regardless of the space
considered, women have shown that they can wield violence that most civilizations
attribute to men. Some of these women could have affirmed, weapons in hand, that
they have their place in the war fights whose stakes concern their entire society.
This mobilization can constitute, in many ways, a refusal of subordination.
Women and Boko Haram’s strategy in Cameroon

Women’s participation in terrorist organizations is usually classified into two cat-
egories: Primarily, they are propagandists, recruiters, fighters and suicide bomb-
ers. They also play secondary roles as mothers and wives (Editorial Note, 2017).
Seran de Leede (2018) noted that women play a complementary role to men.
Their involvement is not a new phenomenon, but since the 2000s, with the rise of
jihadi groups such as Al Qaeda and Islamic State, their numbers have increased on
various battlefields. An analysis of the trajectories and personal histories of Boko
Haram’s members in Cameroon shows a gender division of jihadi work.
Boko Haram’s female fighters
Zenn and Pearson (2014) suggest that “Boko Haram’s ideology casts men in hyper-
masculine combat roles”. For Hilary Matfess (2017), “female fighters are not a
defining feature of Boko Haram”, even though she admits having noticed “apoc-
ryphal tales” of women fighting for Boko Haram. The norm is the involvement of
women in Boko Haram’s terror campaign.
However, the reality from the Cameroonian field of the insurgency is that
women and teenagers have participated in major Boko Haram attacks on army
posts. They have been used sometimes as human shields. It was the case in October
2014 when Boko Haram tried to take over the military post of Ashigashia. The
jihadists had put in front of them women and children.11 Women played a more
active role in an ambush against a convoy of Cameroonian army liaison vehi-
cles between Amchidé and Limani on 17 December 2014. During this operation,
women and children were shouting as a way of demoralizing the opponent, and
the primary maneuver of the insurgents was supported by two armored vehicles
that had remained in retreat. Some women participated directly in the fighting,
while others were tasked with picking up the wounded and bodies of deceased
fighters.12 It should be noted that the women were trained in firearms and archery
(Abatan and Sangaré, 2021).
Boko Haram’s female fighters also took part in the attack against the Rapid
Intervention Battalion barracks in Limani and Amchidé. Those who were not
armed were responsible for collecting the wounded and the dead, because one of
the characteristics of insurgent war physicality is that the body of the mujahidun is
not left on the battlefield, except in cases of force majeure. Other women were also
tasked with picking up weapons from dead or wounded fighters, whether insur-
gents or Cameroonian soldiers.
Women and support service for Boko Haram
Historically, women in jihad mainly assume supportive roles. They work on propa-
gating jihadist ideology; recruiting; raising funds; and transporting goods, mes-
sages and weapons. But some plan and execute suicide attacks, for example (De
Leede, 2018). Women’s involvement in Boko Haram operations in Cameroon
stems from operational imperatives, including ensuring some logistics and the pas-
sage of checkpoints for operational purposes. Indeed, a conservative and traditional
conception of the distribution of roles between the sexes facilitates the infiltration
of women perceived as less dangerous (Bourgois and Hewlett, 2012). They can
therefore hide weapons and explosives under their garments (Warner and Matfess,
2017) and in bags of corn flour. However, the part of logistics where they are most
active is the supply of food that they buy in local markets for Boko Haram fighters.
Their presence in the supply chain is due to their comparative ease with mobility,
especially when men are at risk of arrest whereas women are not due to their per-
ceived lack of danger. Women supply Boko Haram with loincloths, shoes, drugs,
kitchen utensils, salt, rice, oil and shoes. After purchasing, they deliver or bury
them at a specific place they indicate to the sponsors. These sponsors then pick up
the goods in the middle of the night.13 Yata was one of Boko Haram’s female logis-
ticians. She spent eight years within Boko Haram with her husband. After he died,
she remained with Boko Haram and settled in Djimini. She had become one of the
many women who worked to supply Boko Haram. She was arrested in 2016 by the
Cameroonian army.
In addition to supplies, women are essential in concealing goods looted by Boko
Haram, such as goats, mattresses and motorcycles. The two activities are linked
because the sales proceeds are used to buy food and fuel for the insurgents. One
of these women interviewed in prison says that until September 2016, she would
refuel in black markets, the most famous of which was a night market located in
a vast field of onions. They mainly bought plates, goats, mattresses, motorcycles,
millet and beans. The insurgency has thus strengthened a parallel economy of the
concealment of looting products.
The lure of profit and the difficulties of daily life also forced women to become
logisticians of the Islamist sect from whom they received money to make pur-
chases, thus drawing subsidies to feed their families. The attraction was even more
significant as the sect bought the produce intended for its fighters at high prices. In
the same vein, women gradually play a leading role in acquiring chemical precur-
sors and batteries for improvised explosive devices (IEDs) such as fertilizers. They
often deliver the products to Boko Haram on the farms, but sometimes the insur-
gents collect their purchases at night in the villages by bike. However, the primary
delivery method is to leave early in the morning, around 5 a.m., when the soldiers
leave the checkpoints to pass the baton to the vigilance committees.14
In recent months, many women have emerged from the underground, very often
at the request of their husbands with whom they keep in touch. The network of
some local telephone operators goes beyond the borders, and the women oversee
buying phone credit for their relatives. The Cameroonian army has become aware
of women’s roles in surrendering their husbands.15 Therefore, they play an essen-
tial role in the DDR program (disarmament, demobilization and reintegration) as
intermediaries.
Boko Haram’s suicide bombings: The weaponization of female bodies
Within jihadist groups, the primary combat function performed by women is to

become human bombs (Horne, 2018). Warfare has two dimensions: the physical
and the psychological (which Clausewitz calls “moral factors”). One of the com-
mon places of women’s participation in warfare is that they are deemed to compen-
sate for their physical weakness with their moral abilities.
Before the split between JAS and ISWAP, one of the main specialties of Boko
Haram was its use of women and children as suicide bombers. Indeed, the Islamist
sect holds to date the world record of the group that has deployed the most women
for suicide attacks. The leadership of the Islamist sect has undeniably subverted
the norms relating to women’s struggle: The context is precisely favorable to this
instrumental use of women (Warner and Matfess, 2017). In Cameroon, between
2015 and 2020, Boko Haram perpetrated 162 suicide attacks, with 463 dead and
669 wounded. Women and girls under 13 carried out at least 104 attacks, killing
263 people and injuring 565.16 This participation of women could be more sig-
nificant since the authorities could not identify the gender of 29 suicide bombers
because of bodily damage caused by the explosions.
On 30 July 2015, in a village called Makalingay, the Cameroonian army
arrested two female suicide bombers, Zena and Maryam, aged 23 and 19, respec-
tively. Between 2015 and 2021, the army and the vigilante groups arrested many
other females suicide bombers. Beyond women, Boko Haram regularly mobilizes
teenagers for its suicide operations. A 2016 UNICEF Report (2016) revealed that
one-fifth of the sect’s suicide bombers were children, three-quarters of whom were
girls. Boko Haram extensively uses young children in suicide bombings to the
extent that the local population has sometimes killed children suspected of wearing
an explosive belt (Markovic, 2018). The latter mainly target civilian infrastructures.
For example, on 31 October 2017, a girl blew herself up in the middle of a group
of children playing, killing five and injuring two others. Also, a teenage girl tried
to attack the Rapid Intervention Battalion camp in Waza, in the department of
Logone-et-Chari, in 2015.
Post-attack analyses make it possible to account for those suicide bombers, act-
ing very often in pairs or trios. After arriving in the selected town, they would move
around the target and choose the ideal timing. In the case of the Fotokol attack in
2015, the main target seems to have been a bar where Cameroonian and Chadian
police, gendarmes and the military used to drink. The absence of the military at this
bar, called Quartier Général, had pushed the two to review their plan. After con-
sulting with her partner, the first suicide bomber blew up her charge at a mall. The
second one activated her explosive charge at the entrance of the Rapid Intervention
Battalion base. The two explosions killed 14 people: 10 civilians, 2 soldiers (a
Cameroonian and a Chadian) and the 2 suicide bombers themselves. There were
also 14 wounded: 7 military personnel and 7 civilians.
In addition to being human bombs, women are vital in preparing for attacks,
first as psychological trainers and second as spies gathering intelligence. Women
also play an essential role in intelligence and recognition of targets. Tchellou,
for example, was responsible for receiving the suicide bombers in Djimini, help-
ing them recognize their targets in Kolofata and the surrounding area before they
committed action. Tchellou says she was trained as a suicide bomber during her
third year in Sambisa, Boko Haram’s main sanctuary, until 2016. She joined the
sect in 2011 with her entire family. When she was about to complete her training,
she expressed the wish to raise her children. Her request granted, and she was
instructed to move to the Nigerian border village of Djimini, where she was to
receive the suicide bombers and transport them into Cameroon.
The why and the how: Women’s own accounts on their careers in
Boko Haram
The interviews with women Boko Haram fighters focus on the arrangements for
joining the jihadist group and the reasons for their mobilization in armed military
action.
The arrangements for entry into radicality
Interviews with former Boko Haram members in prison and in communities in

Cameroon reveal voluntary recruitment cases as well as numerous forced recruit-
ments. Most of the female fighters and logisticians of Boko Haram I interviewed
were forced to join the Islamic sect. It was the case of three women abducted
by Boko Haram during the Bama attack. One of them was the wife of a soldier
deployed in Maiduguri at the time of the insurgent attack. She had to convert to
Islam during her stay in Sambisa, where she was married to a Boko Haram zone
commander with whom she had a child. She was trained in weapons and took part in
Boko Haram’s attacks in Nigeria and Cameroon after the death of her husband.
Apart from this example, the forced recruitment of women has sometimes
followed intimidation campaigns, including beheadings, burning of villages and
targeted killings. Many teenagers who were kidnapped during the Boko Haram
attacks on Cameroonian villages later committed suicide attacks. The children who
were mobilized in suicide attacks in Cameroon were, for the most part, abducted
and then indoctrinated. The Sun reports on the case of a teenager named Amina
who was kidnapped and indoctrinated, then sent to the field to commit a suicide
attack with another teenager by Boko Haram. They were given 20 Naira (about
64 cents) for a meal: “They said if we press the button, the bomb will explode and
we will automatically go to heaven” (Warner and Matfess, 2017, p. 24). In addi-
tion to these forced recruitments, Cameroonian parents sometimes received money
from Boko Haram recruiters to send their children to jihad. In addition to these
paid recruitments, donating children for jihad was one modality of allegiance for
families or villages. In case of refusal, the said village was burned, and the averters
were murdered (Cohen, 2015, p. 83).
Some women were recruited while wandering, following raids on their villages.
Zeinab, for example, had fled following a Boko Haram attack. After several days
of wandering, she was picked up by a Boko Haram imam living in a village called
Iza.17 This imam housed and fed her for three months. After receiving ideological
training, she was turned into a human bomb and was deployed for a suicide attack
in Cameroon in July 2015. The Cameroonian army arrested her with her partner,
Maryam, in Makalingay.
While most of the women within Boko Haram were there involuntarily and
by force, there were a few who joined ranks of their own volition. Unlike Zeinab,
Maryam, for instance, joined Boko Haram voluntarily. As with some women inter-
viewed, her enlistment was a deliberate and rational choice. Maryam, 18, decided
to join Boko Haram in Kelani, in the Sambissa forest, to conduct Quranic studies
after the death of her husband.18 The Quranic teacher who trained Maryam was the
same one who trained Zeinab in Iza.
Voluntary commitment is usually associated with virtues such as courage,
resolve, endurance, fidelity and a sense of sacrifice. Unlike the mercenary who
fights not to starve to death and sells himself to the highest bidder, the volunteer
asserts his free will, his desire to dominate his destiny rather than suffer it. He also
affirms attachment to the nation and his contempt for death (Mazural, 2018). Thus,
in the Lake Chad Basin, few women have chosen voluntary enlistment as a gift of
their person for the triumph of the cause defended by Boko Haram. Their action is
a gift of self for others: “To sacrifice oneself before the object of one’s self-denial
and to ‘consecrate’ one’s life to it, at one’s expense, an attitude that forces admira-
tion and sacralizes it” (Nicolas, 1996, p. 116).
The description of the selection processes of Boko Haram suicide bombers
highlights the voluntary dimension of the act of self-giving for some women. In
Sambisa, for example, after the daily sermons, Boko Haram’s chief imam used to
ask the audience if there were volunteers to “go to heaven doing God’s work”.19 The
volunteers had to be healthy and look good. Successful candidates were separated
from the group and received additional training that emphasized the virtues of jihad
and martyrdom. They also received rudimentary training in French and English
to interact with the police or army forces at checkpoints. Moreover, this ability to
adapt to the local context conditioned their selection for attacks in Cameroon.
Beyond voluntary enlistment, many of the women interviewed, whether logisti-
cians or human bombs, joined the insurgents through the bonds of marriage. For
example, Fadi, a Boko Haram logistician, was given in marriage by her grand-
mother to a Boko Haram fighter in Goshe in 2015. Another woman I interviewed
in Kolofata in July 2016 said:
I met my husband in Blamadéri ten years ago. We had three children, and
while I was pregnant with the fourth two years ago, he fled and went to
Kumshe to join another woman. A year later, he came and forcibly took me
to Kumshe with the children. He came alone on a motorcycle and with a
weapon.
Family is one of the main reasons that led to the enlistment of many women in Boko
Haram. This is the case in the following example: A family, where the wife was
responsible for conditioning the suicide bombers, her husband had been assigned
to the chore of firewood and her sons had been killed in combat. In addition, the
family’s two daughters had married Boko Haram fighters.
Some women arrested by the Cameroonian army had a long history in the sect.
Yata, for example, joined the insurgents eight years ago at the beginning of the
movement. After her husband’s death, she remained in Boko Haram and moved to
Djimini, providing Boko Haram’s logistics to feed her children. She had become
one of the many women who worked to supply and collect the proceeds of Boko
Haram’s looting. In September 2014, for example, three women, one of whom was
pregnant, were attacked by the local population in Fotokol, who accused them of
supplying the Boko Haram cell in Gambaru with food.20
The reasons for their involvement in suicide bombing
Some governments and scholars explain women’s involvement in terrorist organi-

zations not by structural problems but by individual reasons (Sjoberg, Cooke and
Neal, 2011). Women are perceived as victims whom Islamic terrorists exploit for
strategic and tactical purposes (Editorial Note, 2017). Recently, some academic
research has questioned that conclusion, arguing that women’s motivations are
not entirely different from those of their male relatives (Sjoberg, Cooke and Neal,
2011). Women’s involvement in a terrorist group is part of the agency, the way
they navigate their social environment by adopting various tactics and potentially
thriving in that environment (Wood, 2019). Gentry and Sjoberg (2016) have
shown that women terrorists act “inside a matrix of constraints, social expecta-
tions, and political pressures which are a part of the constitution of their decision-
making process, rather than just an influence on it”. Not all women’s experiences
relating to Boko Haram are victimizing and traumatizing; some see the insurgency
as a means of advancing their agenda. As noted by Matfess (2017), portraying
women as only passive victims of Boko Haram rob them of their agency. Some of
them joined Boko Haram, Matfess maintains, because of the systemic structural
violence of the Nigerian state against women and as a means of gaining some
“benefits”.
Logistical and operational considerations generally explain the mobilization of
women for Boko Haram’s activities in a context marked by restrictions on the
mobility of people and goods, the state of emergency, the mobilization of the
Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF) as well as the massive arrest of men during cor-
don-and-search operations (Zenn and Pearson, 2014). Other works, such as those
of Bloom and Matfess (2016), Warner and Matfess (2017) and Markovic (2018),
are focused on the aspect of “victimization” in the involvement of women and girls
in Boko Haram suicide attacks mainly in Nigeria. Markovic, for example, sees the
attacks as a way for women to escape rape or forced marriage (Markovic, 2018).
There is some truth to each of these explanations. However, monocausal expla-
nations do not consider or articulate the strategic, tactical, social and sometimes
individual aspects of mobilizing women for Boko Haram attacks. At the individ-
ual level, women’s involvement covers extremely diverse realities, ranging from
self-sacrifice and reaffirming the faith, to the logic of spousal homicide. On this
last aspect, there are few cases where a man sends his wife to blow herself up
in a suicide attack. In the same vein, beyond the few cases of voluntary recruit-
ment, women who are usually presented as “martyrs” by the jihadists are victims
of forced recruitment, indoctrination, use of narcotics and esoteric practices, and
bowing down to authority. On a social level, female involvement in Boko Haram’s
suicide bombing covers some constraints linked to life under the yoke of a sect and
the double brutalization of the concerned societies, social conditions and the social
glorification of martyrdom. On the strategic level, finally, the practice of female
suicide bombing can be seen, in certain aspects, as valuing women in a context of
joint contribution to the struggle (Sumo Tayo, 2021) and a modality of contest-
ing the state matrix of the warfare and the rejection of the “western way of war”
(Hanson, 2009).
Some of the women interviewed made it clear that it was their own acceptance
that made it possible to carry out attacks. This acceptance was tied to the idea of
self-sacrifice for the triumph of the cause defended or of offering one’s life as a
testimony to one’s faith. The conviction of some of the interviewed women that
they were carrying out the will of God was clear during the interviews. One of
them claims to have accepted the mission to defend and spread Islam: “I accepted
this mission to allow Islam to grow”.21 For another, it is a question of “killing
disbelievers who refuse Allah”.22 Beyond the conviction of doing the divine will,
most women interviewed hoped for postmortem benefits. One of them said bluntly:
“When you shed blood for religion, it is a good thing, and you go straight to
heaven”. These people are therefore more likely to commit these acts because they
believe in the benefits attached to their actions. In some ways, the contribution of
these women is a gift of self for others.23 It is a solid but banal political relationship
in which a member of a community sacrifices his life for the survival of his group.
The martyrdom of women, in this context, is part of what Guy Nicolas (1996)
considers a “founding political gesture”, which is part of “ultimate nation-building

mobilizations”.
A historical analysis of Boko Haram’s female suicide bombers in Cameroon
shows that the first generation, between 2014 and 2015, was ideologically well
trained. They were very determined and did not need to be supervised by a sniper
to act. The female human bomb was equipped with a switch she had to operate her-
self. She was the one to determine the choice of target and the timing of the explo-
sion. In the end, only the determined and highly motivated women exploded their
charges. However, since 2016, women have been almost systematically supervised
by snipers responsible for shooting them if they do not act themselves. Quite regu-
larly, however, these women manage to surrender to the Cameroonian military.
The willingness to please their mentor emerges from many of the interviews
carried out with these women. Based on Zeinab’s account, for example, one can
see in her decision to take action as a sign of devotion and gratitude to her Quranic
teacher: “I did not refuse to accomplish this mission because it is the work of God
that we are going to do and I could not disobey Mallam Ibrahim because he teaches
me the Quran, lodges me and feeds me”.24 Thus, in addition to being presented as
an act of devotion, the mobilization of some women for the Boko Haram suicide
attacks in Cameroon may derive from a logic of obedience to the authority of the
mentor, the Quranic teacher or simply a benefactor whose order and words legiti-
mize women’s actions.
For some women, their precarious marital status contributes to their martyr-
dom. One case reported by the Cameroonian press in 2016 illustrates this situation.
Kaka Gaza, a Cameroonian native of Kerawa, was married to a Boko Haram emir
in Goshe. She was responsible for preparing and transporting suicide bombers in
Cameroonian territory, including Mozogo, Ashigashia and Kolofata. Her husband
was the head of the leading suicide preparation center, which had a hundred “stu-
dents”. Kaka Gaza’s fate changed the day her husband fell in love with a suicide
candidate and married her. She then lost her status as a favorite; worse yet, her
husband enjoined sending her to blow herself up in Cameroon. She was sent with
another woman. Dropped off at night in the targeted location, she initially pre-
tended to be sick and surrendered to the local self-defense group members. Her
accomplice fled but was later caught after she threw away the charge she was carry-
ing.25 Thus, the mobilization of some women for the suicide attacks of Boko Haram
hides the logic of spousal homicide.
Conclusion
This chapter focused on female fighters in Boko Haram, the forms and modalities
of their participation in warfare, their motivations and the recruitment process. The
results show two concurrent processes: Women’s direct participation in combat
and the sexual division of military work, with specific forms of gender juxtaposi-
tion. By taking part, under extreme conditions, in significant attacks against army
posts in Cameroon, Boko Haram’s female fighters have performed hypermale
combat roles, thus showing skills usually perceived as masculine. They are also
involved in intelligence and support activities, tasks connoted as feminine, requir-

ing supposed feminine skills. This chapter also highlighted the weaponization of
female bodies by Boko Haram.
The chapter has shown that even in highly conservative groups that have rig-
idly gendered representations and social practices, strategic, social and individual
considerations influence women’s participation in warfare. Therefore, it is less the
sex than the context favoring the gendered division of war labor. Giving a voice
to the concerned women can make it possible to emancipate oneself from victim-
izing or glorifying discourses on their mobilization for violent action. Boko Haram
included women into their folds to weaponize their femininity. But there are also
a few cases where women choose to self-sacrifice for the survival of their commu-
nities or for the triumph of the cause they defend. Some of them are victims, but
others are perpetrators of violence. Policy makers should therefore consider this
dimension to deal with women’s participation in warfare.
Notes
1 Boko Haram is a jihadist group of Nigerian origin that is also present in other coun-
tries of the Lake Chad Basin, including Cameroon, Niger and Chad. The official name
of this Islamist group is Jama’atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda’Awati Wal-Jihad (JAS), which
means “Sunni group for preaching and jihad”. However, state actors and the media have
given it the name “Boko Haram”, which is usually translated as “Western education is a
sin”. Since 2016, this jihadist movement has been divided into two groups: The historic
channel, which has kept the name JAS, and the Islamic State’s West Africa Province
(ISWAP). Today, the Boko Haram label is a conceptual shortcut that hosts extremely
diverse realities. But for practical reasons and unless otherwise indicated, I will use the
name Boko Haram to refer to the jihadist movement in the Lake Chad Basin and the
dynamics that derive from it.
2 This work does not claim to be exhaustive and avoids generalizations, and it deals with
the cases of a few women interviewed.
3 During the European antiquity, women were at the center of wars as causes, stakes and
victims (Fabre-Serris and Keith, 2015).
4 There is a global phenomenon of excluding women from warfare, and even when
they were included, as in the case of the ancient Greek Amazons, it was with a price:
Removing a breast, which could be read as metaphorically removing a part of their femi-
ninity (Boulogne, 2008; Poirson, 2016). In Africa, the Amazons of the king of Abomey
in present-day Benin constituted an elite army of several thousand women who had
opposed the French conquest of their territory between 1892 and 1894 (Porte, 2015).
5 Feminization is understood here as a process of integration of women and gradual
reduction of male strongholds within the armies. At the institutional level, it is reflected,
among other things, in the promotion of professional equality between men and women
and the integration of women into combat functions (Boutron and Weber, 2022).
6 Agence camerounaise de presse (ACAP), Yaoundé, n° du 10 Novembre 1969, p. 12.
7 The chapters by Charlotte Mei Yee Chin (Chapter 11) and Britt Ziolkowski (Chapter 9)
in this volume demonstrate further aspects of this issue with regard to jihadist groups in
the Philippines and Palestine, respectively.
8 Within Islam, the Sunni movement is divided into several Muslim law schools that rec-
ognize each other as truthful. The most rigorous of these is the Hanbali school, which is
based on a literal reading of the Qur’an. Wahhabism is part of the Hanbali school. This
view constitutes a new modality of the successive radicalization of the Hanbali school.
Wahhabism thus bears the original authorship of the Salafist doctrine, which advocates
a rigorous vision of Islam and the return of the original Islam, redacted from the bidaa,
innovations that, from their point of view, pervert the religion (Migaux, 2008). This
religious view has spread throughout the world, supported by petrodollars. It promotes,
among other things, a criminal law based on corporal punishment and rigorism in social
relations. Salafist movements are generally very conservative on the issue of the status
of women.
9 In classical Islamic literature, there are records of women who fought during early
Islamic battles. It is the case with Umm Ummarah, for example, who fought at the battle
of Uhud and at least five other battles (De Leede, 2018).
10 “Victimcy” refers to a form of self-representation by which women reveal a tactical
agency to survive under disempowering circumstances. It consists of self-staging one-
self as a war victim.
11 Interviews with officers of the Rapid Intervention Battalion, Maroua and Kolofata, June
2015.
12 Ministry of Defense, Report on the attack on a Cameroonian army convoy.
13 Interview with Gosheda Paul, former Boko Haram bombmaker, Kolofata, August
2021.
14 Interview with Abbakura, former Boko Haram area commander (Munzir), Kolofata,
August 2021.
15 The reasons for their surrender are multiple and complex. They could be the subject of
another paper, which would have little to do with the problem of this chapter. It is more
of a paradigm shift: Women from warriors to peacemakers.
16 These figures come from a personal database of incidents involving Boko Haram since
2013. It is regularly updated with data from security sources and the local press.
17 Interviews with soldiers who requested anonymity, Maroua, July 2017. This informa-
tion was confirmed by the person concerned during the hearings at the Yaoundé military
court.
18 Interviews with soldiers who conducted her interrogation, Maroua, July 2018.
19 Interviews with former Boko Haram captives, Maroua, March 2015. This information
was confirmed by security sources and two former Boko Haram suicide bombers inter-
viewed in prison in Maroua in March and June 2017.
20 Cameroonian army unclassified report, October 15, 2014.
21 Interviews with a former suicide bomber, Maroua prison, July and August 2018.
22 Interviews with a former suicide bomber, Maroua prison, July and August 2018.
23 This idea of murder for the survival of her group of belonging is also present in the Book
of Judith, in which this woman beheads Holofernes, a general of the Babylonian king
Nebuchadnezzar and saves Israel from an invasion. She poses what she describes as “an
action whose memory will reach the sons of our race, from generation to generation”
(Book of Judith, 8:32). The idea here is of saving her people by using her charms. Even
within Islam, martyrdom is an act of devotion and sacrifice. It refers to the idea of testi-
mony: Shaheed is someone who testifies his faith by the gift of his life (de Courcelles,
2010).
24 This statement was made by the person concerned during the hearings at the Yaoundé
military court.
25 Le Jour, February 3, 2016.
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11 Demythifying the caliphate
Asymmetrical dependencies of radicalized
women in jihadist groups in the Philippines
Charlotte Mei Yee Chin
Introduction
Although Daesh has continuously lost territory in the Middle East, the group gained
immense global relevance and has massively increased its influence in Southeast
Asia, particularly in Mindanao, the southern part of the Philippines. Southeast Asia
is of great interest to the group due to its geopolitical position and the quarter of the
world’s Muslim population living in the region. However, despite a growing num-
ber of women in Southeast Asia taking on crucial roles in jihadist groups as well
as in armed conflict, there has been little systematic research on the role of female
fighters in Southeast Asia to date. Therefore, this chapter analyzes dependencies of
radicalized women in jihadist groups in the Philippines and focuses on the social
context from which women “depart” to join these groups by addressing the highly
topical question: Which asymmetrical dependencies and agency do women experi-
ence and exert in joining jihadist groups in the Philippines?1
Violent extremism in the Philippines is tightly linked to the country’s colonial
history, which in turn informs the historical continuities of political Islam. While
most of the Filipinos and Filipinas were converted to Christianity during this time,
the Bangsamoro population, who lived mainly in Mindanao and were Muslim, did
not convert; they resisted the Spanish and American colonial powers and were there-
fore affected by diverse forms of discrimination and marginalization, which persist
to this day. This social, political and economic marginalization has not only resulted
in violent conflicts, but it has also simultaneously served as breeding ground for rad-
icalization of Daesh as well as other jihadist actors. The first section of the chapter
gives a brief overview of the historical background of the country and subsequently
describes the contemporary political situation focusing on peace processes between
the Philippine nation-state and the two separatist groups, namely, the Moro National
Liberation Front (MNLF)2 and Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF).3
Today, various jihadist groups, partial successors of the MILF, are of particular
importance thwarting peace efforts in Mindanao and rejecting the peace treaties
between the Philippine government and MNLF/MILF. The danger these groups
pose to the region is also illustrated by statistics, such as from the Institute for
Economics and Peace (IEP), which ranked the Philippines among the top ten
countries in the world for incidence of terrorist violence in 2020 (IEP, 2020, p. 8;
Lao and Santiago Oreta, 2009, pp. 28–30; Liljas 2016). An increasing number of
DOI: 10.4324/9781003326359-14
terrorist attacks in the previous years can be traced back to (trans)national coopera-
tion with Daesh, the influence of female jihadis and migration flows of Daesh com-
batants to the Philippines. The chapter, hence, embeds local jihadist groups in the
national context and shows how Daesh manifested itself in the region. A particular
focus is placed on Daesh’s inclusion of women into their fold.
Through an analysis of the siege of Marawi in 2017, it can be seen how Daesh
has gained a strong foothold in the region, particularly through female fighters tak-
ing on various functions in these groups. The chapter describes Daesh’s growing
influence in Mindanao and thereby examines the situation on the ground after the
recapturing of the city by the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP). Although
the siege of Marawi would have been impossible without the massive influence of
women, female jihadis are often seen as passive victims with no agency of their own
and are thus often excluded from official discourses and narratives, which results
in failure to see women as a security risk (Sandoval 2021). The chapter therefore
elaborates on the roles and functions of women in Daesh as well as narratives based
on gendered ideologies that have been employed to recruit women not only on
social media platforms but also in the actual world on an unprecedented scale.
While radicalization processes, motivations and reasons for women joining jihad-
ist groups are manifold and must be analyzed individually, common push and pull fac-
tors are pointed out in the chapter. Subsequently, the focus is directed to the women in
Mindanao and their incentives to join radical Islamist groups in the region. Especially
the intersectional marginalization of Muslim women in the predominantly Christian
Philippines on an individual and collective level has enforced marginalization and
vulnerability, which have been instrumentalized by Daesh in return. Drawing on
already existing patriarchal gender norms and promising women security from vio-
lence, the group has successfully generated broad female support in the Philippines,
which also massively facilitated the group’s access to the region. In this respect, the
chapter illustrates that the group’s ideology is enduring and (re)radicalization is pos-
sible as long as the corresponding push and pull factors are not efficiently eliminated,
and that the background of female jihadists must, therefore, be analyzed accordingly.
Despite all this, there has been little systematic research examining the role,
motivations and participation of women in Daesh and its splinter groups in
Southeast Asia. Especially in countries where little information on (former) female
Daesh supporters is currently available, such as the Philippines, it is crucial to
minimize this research gap. The chapter follows up and systematically elaborates
on the motivations and participation of women in Daesh and its splinter groups
while embedding radicalization processes in the historical, political and religious
context of Islam in the Philippines. In doing so, it contributes to the development
of strategies for evaluating Daesh and reaches a wide academic audience that can
build on the expanded body of knowledge.
The Bangsamoro Conflict in the (post)colonial Philippines

The Philippines is marked by its multiplicity of conflicts in the South, particularly
by the Bangsamoro-led conflict, which is one of the longest-running secessionist
Demythifying the caliphate 213
armed conflicts in the world and the most violent in the country since its inde-
pendence in 1946 (Husin, 2009, p. 149). The origins of the conflict can be traced
to the 16th century where the native Bangsamoro population resisted first the
Spanish colonizers and later the American colonial power; the conflict is further
exacerbated by the fact that the Bangsamoro people maintained their religious
beliefs, namely Islam, contrary to most Filipinos who converted to Catholicism
during this time (Liljas 2016; Vivod, n.d., p. 1). Resisting multiple colonial forces
for nearly 400 years, the Bangsamoro population has faced marginalization at
various levels; violent displacements, legalized land grabbing and laws further-
ing the discrimination of the Bangsamoro people resulted in the strong distrust
between the Christian and the Bangsamoro/Lumad4 communities lasting to this
day (Lao and Santiago Oreta, 2009, pp. 28–29; Ramakrishna, 2020, pp. 8–11;
Vivod, n.d., p. 4).
Moreover, after the country’s independence, discriminatory legislations once
imposed by the US administration were seamlessly adopted and implemented by
the postcolonial Philippine nation-state (Lao and Santiago Oreta, 2009, p. 29).
According to the Catholic Peacebuilding Network, the Muslims and indigenous
people of Mindanao were dispossessed, displaced and disempowered by the
mid-20th century (2006). The marginalization of the Bangsamoro people today
is further solidified by foreign multinational industries expanding their control of
Mindanao’s economy sectors. Focusing on the production for global export rather
than on local needs, the Bangsamoro’s practices of subsistence production were
interrupted, massively expanding the income gap with the Christian settlers and
pushing the Bangsamoro community to the “economic periphery” (Ramakrishna,
2020, p. 12).
Struggling with the Christian-dominated state and economic as well as political
discrimination for centuries eventually culminated with the Bangsamoro people
demanding self-governance resulting in various militarized groups fighting over
identity, land and cultural as well as economic factors. In the course of this, the
MNLF was established in the 1960s (Lao and Santiago Oreta, 2009, p. 29; Brown,
Toros and Parashar 2020, p. 34; Gloria, 2018; Melang, 2009, p. 143; Ramakrishna,
2020, p. 7).
The long-lasting conflict resulted in the establishment of the Autonomous
Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) in 1989 and a formal acceptance of the
1996 Final Peace Accord between the government and the MNLF. However,
since the rebellion was mainly led by ethnonationalist secular leaders, a group of
MNLF members fighting for an independent Islamic state arguing that Mindanao
should not be governed in a way that is contrary to Islam, rejected the agreement
and established the MILF in 1984 (Brown, Toros and Parashar, 2020, pp. 34–36;
Acharya and Singh, 2009). There have been numerous attacks in Mindanao fol-
lowing the foundation of the MILF, for which the group has taken responsibility.
Trying to address the internal armed conflict in Mindanao, the Philippine govern-
ment initiated peace efforts with the MILF. The negotiations resulted in the signing
of the Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro5 (2014) and the passing of
the Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL)6 in 2018. While the ARRM7 was replaced by
the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM), the MNLF

and MILF have become central actors in the implementation of the peace agree-
ment (Banlaoi, 2020b, p. 105; CISAC 2019; Ramakrishna, 2020, pp. 37–44).
Daesh in the Philippines

Despite peace agreements between the Philippine government and MNLF/MILF,
various splinter groups of the MILF have rejected the existing peace treaties and
have demanded the establishment of a Southeast Asian wilayah8 instead (Brown,
Toros and Parashar, 2020, p. 35; Duriesmith, 2020, p. 20). This clearly high-
lights that although various political, economic and military strategies have been
employed to solve conflicts in the Bangsamoro region, the structural roots, spe-
cifically the contemporary marginalization of the Moro population, seem to go
unaddressed. Since the region is additionally characterized by weak governance
structures and a lack of state services, the country has been subject to various ter-
rorist attacks throughout history (Lao and Santiago Oreta, p. 30; Gavilan, 2017;
Ramakrishna, 2020, p. 12).
Jihadist actors in Mindanao
The siege of Marawi in 2017 revealed the extent of the increasing jihadist and
violent extremist activities in the region in the previous decades (CISAC 2019;
Ramakrishna, 2020, p. 12; Reed and Piercey 2018). As Raghavan (2009, p. 21)
states:
In fact, it has been asserted that the threat posed by Asian groups is likely
to grow significantly in the coming decade. In territorial Asia, as well as
within its migrant and diaspora population, there are segments that sympa-
thize with and support violence. In terms of scale, size and influence, they
will be comparable to the Middle East threat groups in the degree of violence
they perpetrate.
Leading jihadist organizations in the Philippines, such as the Abu Sayyaf Group
(ASG), the Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF) and the Maute group,
as well as other Daesh-inspired actors, who have split from the MILF in the past,
pose a security risk to the Philippines today. These groups range from large, organ-
ized and territorially bound organizations, such as the ASG, to small family-based
groups of fighters, such as the Maute group formerly led by the matriarch Farhana
Maute9 (Brown, Toros and Parashar, 2020, p. 35; Duriesmith, 2020, p. 20).
In 2015, representatives of those groups swore a “unified” pledge of allegiance
to Daesh and declared the southern Philippines a wilayah for Daesh, Daulah
Islamiyah Wilayatul Mashriq10 (Banlaoi, 2020b, p. 108; Boyd, Henkin and Martin,
2020). The allegiance, coupled with massive migration flows of Daesh combatants
to the Philippines and Daesh claiming credit for sieges of several towns as well
as attacks carried out in Mindanao, highlight the group’s massive influence in the
region (Cook and Vale, 2018, p. 38; Duriesmith, 2020, p. 20; Rumiyah, 2017a;
Rumiyah, 2017b). Linking the groups’ local cultural and structural grievances
to its global jihadist narrative, Daesh has successfully unified ethnically diverse
groups in Western and Central Mindanao (Gunaratna, 2017, p. 3). By tying local
issues – such as displacement, land dispossession, economic and political depriva-
tion, and military abuse – to a worldwide struggle against “disbelief”, Daesh sup-
posedly generated “solutions” at the collective level and successfully portrayed the
Philippine government as the “oppressor of the Bangsamoro people” (Duriesmith,
2020, p. 22; Gunaratna, 2016). This significantly accelerated the group’s access
to the region while at the same time solidifying the impression that jihadist actors
only demand redress for the wrongs committed, which has, in return, legitimized
the violence exercised as well as the presence of the groups in the region to broad
parts of the population today (Banlaoi, 2020b, p. 108; Duriesmith, 2020, pp. 20–22;
Melang, 2009, p. 143).
The fight for Marawi

The capture of Marawi city by Daesh-affiliated groups in May 2017 represented a
massive setback for the country. Attempting to establish an “East Asia Wilayah”
in the region, Marawi was the first city outside the MENA (Middle East and North
Africa) region to fall to Daesh (Ramakrishna, 2020, p. 46). However, political sci-
entists, including Rommel C. Banlaoi (2020a), have argued that the occupation
was also enabled by the Philippine government, which had neglected the presence
of the group as well as the massive influence of women in the region despite clear
warning signs over years.
Groups such as al-Qaeda and Jemaah Islamiyah (JI) had already built capabili-
ties for jihadist actors in the 1990s, and the Philippines faced increasing terrorist
violence in the past decades as well as rising recruitment efforts of Daesh-inspired
terrorist groups at a national scale (Banlaoi, 2020a, p. 1; Gunaratna, 2016; Santos,
2019a). Since 2014, it has become more pronounced that jihadist actors had
recruited huge numbers of Filipinas and Filipinos through social media, madra-
sas, high schools and local universities. Besides recruiting a great number of
fighters nationally, Daesh also disseminated propaganda material referring to the
Philippines as a “new land of jihad” asking fighters to make hijra11 to Marawi,
enabling massive migration flows from Daesh affiliates from all over the world to
Mindanao (Allard, 2017; Banlaoi, 2020b, p. 118; Ingram, 2019; Ruiz, 2017).
The aftermath of the siege of Marawi
The siege – involving local and international Daesh combatants, male and female,
as well as the AFP – resulted in a death toll of more than 1000 individuals and the
displacement of 350,000 people. Although the city was officially declared “liber-
ated” in October 2017, the martial law imposed for the entire island of Mindanao
by President Rodrigo Duterte was only lifted at the end of 2020 (Aspinwall,
2020; ‘Duterte declares’, 2017; ICG, 2018). While several factors contributed
to the weakening of the jihadist groups in the region, such as the killing of
Isnilon Hapilon,12 the leadership of the Maute group and several hundred other
insurgents, Daesh Philippines has not yet been fully dissolved. Consequently,
remnants of the group continue to pose a significant security risk to the region,
also in the post-Marawi period (Brown, Toros and Parashar, 2020, p. 38; Clamor,
2018, p. 1; Reed and Piercey 2018). Still staging terrorist activities and recruiting
combatants for Daesh, radical Islamist groups – such as the ASG, BIFF and the
Maute group – can undermine the implementation of the Bangsamoro Organic
Law, which then may result in the inability to establish long-lasting peace in
Mindanao (Banlaoi, 2020a, p. 3). Additionally, unresolved underlying griev-
ances of displaced people (such as deaths of relatives; massive displacement; and
prolonged challenges of reconstruction, recovery and rehabilitation) or violent
state responses can further promote radicalization and serve as breeding grounds
for violent extremist groups (Brown, Toros and Parashar, 2020, p. 38; Clamor,
2018, pp. 2–8). This underscores that recapturing Marawi does neither hinder the
radicalization of local populations nor prevent the emergence of future jihadist
actors.
Women’s roles and function in Daesh

Women have taken on significant roles, such as fighters, recruiters and logisti-
cians in Daesh itself as well as in local Daesh-affiliated groups in the Philippines.
Prevailing stereotypes of female jihadis, such as being apolitical and passive actors
lacking any agency, have excluded them from governmental and media discourses
and have made female jihadis the “perfect candidates to become suicide bombers”
in radical Islamist groups (Santos, 2019a). This is based on the assumption, often
prevalent in Western-oriented countries, that Islam is a woman-oppressing reli-
gion and that women with a Muslim background cannot have or pursue their own
political interests (Ahmed-Ghosh, 2008, p. 114; Moghadam, 2002, pp. 1135–1136;
Tønnessen, 2014, p. 2).
This, however, has given advantages to jihadist groups, such as al-Qaeda, which
already tactically engaged females suicide bombers in the 2000s. The role of women
in covert operations or on the front lines of violent conflicts has since gained enor-
mous relevance, especially with the establishment of Daesh (Pearson, 2016, p. 17).
Although women were initially mainly located in private and domestic spheres
and excluded from combat, their roles changed over time. Female jihadis have
thereby challenged jihadi gender norms and have taken on more active and pub-
lic roles in the group (Margolin and Winter, 2017, p. 25; Nuraniyah, 2018, p. 2).
Especially with the dissolution of the caliphate in Iraq and Syria and the weakening
of various jihadist groups, in Daesh entities in Southeast Asia as well, Daesh started
mobilizing women and used them in armed struggle as fighters and suicide bombers.
The transnational growing influence of female jihadis
Daesh differs significantly from other jihadist groups, such as al-Qaeda, since,
unlike these groups, it attempts to establish a functioning transnational caliphate
at a global scale. Drawing women and especially families to the caliphate – for
instance by representing it as a place where pious women/families could belong –

was of great importance to the so-called Islamic State to create a physical and social
infrastructure. The hijra of thousands of women to Daesh heightened the visibility
of women in public perception (Pearson and Winterbotham, 2017, pp. 60–62).
While women were in fact prohibited from getting involved in acts of violence
in the beginning, their role changed with Daesh’s territorial losses in Syria and Iraq
(Dwyer and Rhoads, 2018, p. 12). In 2016, Daesh called on women to “engage
in defensive” and to “take up arms in combative jihad”; by late 2017, the group
had already made “jihad against the enemies” obligatory for females in its local
newsletter An-Nab (Caravaggio and Davis, 2020, p. 3; Cook and Vale, 2018, p. 54;
Margolin and Winter, 2017, pp. 24–27). Other internal Daesh documents – such
as the online magazines Rumiyah and Dabiq – have glorified female combatants.
These ideological apparatuses disseminated stories of women such as Sally Jones
(alias Ummu Hussain al-Britani) and Umm Khalid al-Finlandiyya who provided
inspiration and justification for female combatants, and they created support from
like-minded individuals at the same time (Nuraniyah, 2018, p. 4; Santos, 2020).
In addition to instrumentalizing female jihadis to recruit a greater number of
women, schools – such as the Al-Zawra school – were established, which “prepare
sisters for the battlefields for jihad” and particularly addressed women “interested
in explosive belt and suicide bombing more than a white dress or a castle or cloth-
ing or furniture” (‘Cooking and killing’, 2018). While women received education
and combat training – for instance, as snipers and suicide bombers – they were also
trained in domestic work, first aid, Islam and Sharia law, social media, and computer
programs for editing and designing propaganda materials (Kulze and Shiloach,
2014). The diversity of women’s roles in the caliphate consequently resulted in the
proliferation of different occupations for women, such as recruiters, logisticians,
propagandists, fundraisers and moral officers. Women were also responsible for
strengthening transnational relations, for instance, through (re)marriages and being
actively engaged in armed combat. In this respect, women were not only indispen-
sable to Daesh’s state-building processes, but they also contributed massively to
Daesh’s expansion efforts at an international level (Barrett, 2017, p. 22; Caravaggio
and Davis, 2020, p. 5; Cook and Vale, 2018, p. 5; Duriesmith, 2020, p. 17).
The exclusion from governmental and media discourses as well as a genuine
underestimation of women as a security risk contributed to female jihadists assum-
ing supporting roles even after the dissolution of the caliphate in the Middle East.
For instance, by recruiting other females and transferring learned skills to them
and/or to their children, the ideology and legacy of Daesh is continuously car-
ried forward. Therefore, an increasing presence and influence of women in jihadist
organizations is to be expected in future as well (Cook and Vale, 2018, pp. 27–55;
Europol Public Information, 2020, p. 5; Harders, 2011, p. 144).
Fostering women’s radicalization in virtual spaces
Daesh has recruited women to an unprecedented extent and has specifically tar-
geted women online. The usage of modern communications technology and social
media platforms enabled women to overcome traditional barriers to join the group.
This includes overcoming a lack of information, the official process of joining
jihadist networks and the publicized roles of women. While women, for example,
did not have to leave their domestic sphere to gain access to the group, they could
escape gender segregations of real-world Islamist engagement. Also, the lengthy
radicalization processes in the real world have been shortened by possible self-rad-
icalization on the internet (Caravaggio and Davis, 2020, p. 3; Pearson, 2016, p. 17).
Hence, the internet served as an important entry point and new space for female
voices reaching new audiences at a global scale. Since female recruiters usually
come from the same backgrounds as those they are targeting, they also understand
the arguments that are most likely to appeal to them. This resulted in a radicaliza-
tion of women and in the mobilization of females with no prior jihadi background
and no knowledge about Islam (Nuraniyah, 2018, p. 4).
Daesh narratives and recruiting material in the virtual space clearly assign gen-
der-based roles and responsibilities that are portrayed as divine and unchangeable.
For instance, while women were presented as weak, passive and helpless before
the dissolution of the caliphate, men were portrayed as strong and powerful protec-
tors. The humiliation, abuse and rape of Muslim women by Western “crusaders”
and national armed forces is an especially reiterated element in Daesh’s discourses
and metanarratives. While the image of the “aggressive male” produces the idea
of a threatened passive “femininity”, it also conveys the impression that women’s
virtue, religion and modesty need to be protected. Hence, faithful women impris-
oned by “infidel governments” should be liberated (Harders, 2011, p. 141; Ingram,
2019). Men not participating in jihad are therefore depicted as unmanly and irre-
ligious, which goes to show that feminization and gender performance are used
to (1) push men to join jihadist groups and to take up arms, and (2) shame male
deserters or inactive men (back) into armed jihad. Hence, gendered recruitment
discourses – such as associating manhood with violence to strengthen male insecu-
rities – have been instrumentalized and utilized by Daesh (Harders, 2011, p. 141;
Ingram, 2019; Margolin and Winter, 2017, p. 25; The Carter Center, 2017, p. 2).
Moreover, Muslims and Muslimas living in “Westernized” countries and not
performing hijra are portrayed as infidels. Since they are strangers in these lands,
migrating from dar al-harb to dar al-Islam to find refuge and support is regarded
as the only way to practice Islam freely (Cliff and Naciri, 2020, p. VI; Europol
Public Information, 2020, pp. 5–9). Additionally, Daesh’s female-targeted messag-
ing has produced archetypes deployed as examples of how women should/should
not behave as well as of how other women need to be understood. While roles such
as supporters, mothers, sisters, wives and fighters were assigned to Daesh’s in-
group, the archetypes of corruptor and victim were associated with the out-group.
Set in direct contrast to the corruptor, the supporter is the most common positive
archetype. While the corruptor, being selfish, promiscuous and deceiving, repre-
sents women not fulfilling Daesh’s expectations of a “true” Muslim woman, the
supporter performs hijra to Daesh-controlled territories to live under Daesh’s rule
(Abdalla, 2018, pp. 31–35; Ingram, 2019). Creating hopes and “new perspectives”,
the caliphate is depicted as a multinational community held together by Salafist
Islam. Committing violence to reach dar al-Islam is therefore justified (Cliff and
Naciri, 2020, p. VI).
Likening the hijra to Prophet Muhammad’s migration from Mecca to Medina
during a time of prosecution has also revived the image of the early mujahidah, i.e.,
female combatants engaging in jihad. Women who physically fought alongside the
prophet in those days are now used as symbols and role models for female jihadis.
From 2015 onward, women began discussing online whether they were allowed to
perform terror operations, thereby alluding to Daesh statements (Europol Public
Information, 2020, p. 4; Margolin and Winter, 2017, pp. 24–26; Nuraniyah, 2018,
p. 16). Coupling the example of the mujahidah with advantages, such as free access
to education or positions – which have not been accessible for females in their
respective communities – has conveyed a sense of female empowerment. At the
same time, Daesh has portrayed itself as protector of women against defiling ene-
mies and thereby successfully capitalized on feelings of marginalization, generat-
ing broad female support in the region of Southeast Asia (Caravaggio and Davis,
2020, pp. 6–7; True, 2020, p. 78).
Female radicalization in the Philippines

Southeast Asian societies are known for being less rigorously stratified with regard
to gender relations, family arrangements and descent compared to countries of the
Middle East. However, in the last decades – due to rising Islamization paired with
the increase of conservative values – women’s agency has successively been lim-
ited in the sociopolitical and public spheres (Großmann, 2013; Schröter, 2013).
Although the Philippines was ranked 17th out of 156 in the Global Gender Gap
Report of 2021 and therefore represents a ray of hope considering the status of
women in the region, the situation in Mindanao, and particularly in BARMM,13
deviates massively from the rest of the country (World Economic Forum, 2021,
p. 18).
Women of minority groups, such as Muslim women in the predominantly
Christian Philippines, are especially affected by violent conflicts in the region.
The intersectional oppression – in this case gender, religious belief and social dis-
crimination – has led to marginalization, economic distress, human rights abuses
and violence. Resulting feelings of political powerlessness, social uncertainty,
and physical and mental health problems have entrenched marginalization and
vulnerability in return (True, 2020). Daesh has drawn on these discriminatory
patriarchal gender norms and promised women security from violence. In this
regard, the group has manipulated and built upon existing gender stereotypes con-
structing new gendered narratives to further their own cause (Cliff and Naciri,
2020, p. VI).
Incentives for females to join jihadist groups
Despite the general academic consensus that the individual motivation, context
and length of radicalization vary, one can talk about four main phases: cognitive
opening, religious seeking, frame alignment and socialization. However, as radical-

ization processes differ for each individual and cannot be predicted by one variable
alone, it is necessary to analyze these processes context-specifically (Nuraniyah,
2018, pp. 2–6).
Although some gender-based factors of radicalization overlap, there are addi-
tional factors that may be particularly contributory to women’s radicalization.
While Bloom (2015) describes these motives as “five Rs” (revenge, redemption,
relationship, respect and rape), Cook and Vale (2018) analyze the main constit-
uents in promoting radicalization of women by focusing on an intersection of
various push factors reaching from grievances to foreign policy to feelings of dis-
crimination and not belonging to a society. Here, they highlight that radicalization
processes can be reinforced by pull factors, such as individual motivation, disap-
pointment with moderate or rival extremist groups, and seeking independence and/
or adventures, as well as showing support for family members who are members
of Daesh and/or other extremist groups (Bloom, 2015, p. 51; Cook and Vale, 2018,
p. 26). Moreover, Wiktorowicz (2005) underlines the importance of a variety of
psychological and community-based motivation, such as peer pressure. He elabo-
rates that seekers usually join extremist groups through members of their social
networks who are already in it. This makes it clear that radicalization needs to be
analyzed and addressed accordingly at the corresponding regional, national and
city levels (Wiktorowicz, 2005, p. 245). Drawing attention to the fact that social,
political and economic marginalization of women as well as sexual and gender-
based violence (SGBV) serve as incentives to join extremist groups, True’s and
Pauls’s works complement the aforementioned findings (Pauls, 2020, pp. 9–15;
True, 2020, p. 78). Consequently, radicalization of women happens over time and
is an outcome of a combination of factors, including but not limited to political
motivation, religious seeking, experience of discrimination, personal crisis, and
socioeconomic and political grievances. However, revenge and other personal
motives are particularly strong in conflict areas where whole societies suffer from
violent oppression.
The close link between the high number of terrorist attacks and an increasing
number of cases of gender-based violence in Mindanao confirms these assumptions
(Ingram, 2019; True, 2020, p. 91). Daesh has successfully presented itself as an
alternative to the status quo, attracting especially women who are unable to change
their circumstances by articulating protest or by solely exiting it. Promising these
women protection and group support, offering them positions (in the military and
police, for instance) and remunerating them, and thus supposedly conveying feel-
ings of acceptance and reinforcing a sense of self-empowerment at the same time,
radical Islamist actors instrumentalized women’s vulnerability and marginalization
in the region to their advantage (Ingram, 2019; True, 2020, p. 78).
Intersectional marginalization of Mindanao’s women
Individual forms of social bondage of marginalized women in the Philippines reflect

the intersection of multiple forms of discrimination linked to the individual as well as
to a collective level. While the personal level comprises factors such as gender, reli-
gion, ethnicity, socioeconomic status and education, marginalization at the collective
level is closely linked to the history, culture and religion of the Bangsamoro popula-
tion (Banlaoi, 2020b; Dwyer and Rhoads, 2018, p. 6; Melang, 2009; Santos, 2019a).
Since local jihadist groups base their struggle on the (post)colonial nation-
state’s centuries-long structural marginalization of the Bangsamoro popula-
tion – resulting in land dispossession, political and economic marginalization,
discrimination, and suppression of cultural heritage – they successfully gener-
ated great influence in Mindanao (Banlaoi, 2020b, p. 108; Melang, 2009, p. 143).
Daesh in particular has taken advantage of the sense of victimization and/or loss
of identity combining the discrimination of the Bangsamoro population with
its global narrative of sufferings of Muslims in war zones and a global oppres-
sion of the umma by “Western” states. As such, political recruitment messages
have often used depictions portraying the aftermath of Western attacks affecting
Muslim civilians, say, in Iraq, Palestine and the Philippines (Peason, 2016, pp.
10–15). Portraying diverse contemporary conflicts as part of a broader historical
attack against Islam, a necessity to defend the honor of the umma and the pro-
motion of the community are illustrated provoking politicizing and emotional
responses. Promising a return to Islam’s perceived glorious past by establishing
a global caliphate, Daesh has presented itself as credible alternative to the status
quo calling for women and families to participate in the “state-building” process
(Banlaoi, 2020b, p. 108; Europol Public Information, 2020, pp. 7–8; Melang,
2009, p. 143).
This idea of being part of the state-building process informs women who have
been involved in Daesh activities. Besides facing marginalization at a collective
level, women are additionally affected by other forms of structural violence – such
as massive gender inequalities as well as SGBV – at an individual level (Brecht-
Drouart, 2013; Rasul-Bernardo, 2013; Schröter, 2013). Since women are further-
more denied access to power and resources, changing the situation is made more
difficult, if not impossible. Consequently, many female fighters are motivated by the
opportunity to join a cause and contribute to the building of a wilayah in Mindanao
in which they are assigned crucial roles inaccessible in their initial communities.
This sense of empowerment was additionally strengthened by images of female
fighters/suicide bombers and Daesh online magazines. While women were prom-
ised an ideal way of life under Daesh reign in which they were safe from gendered
harm and had access to better livelihoods, serving the group was not only portrayed
as a religious duty but also an honor (Harders, 2011, p. 136; Ingram, 2019). For
instance, in an issue of Dabiq (2016, p. 38), Umm Khalid al-Finlandiyya expresses
her views as follows:
It is such a blessing from Allah to be able to live under the caliphate. … Of

course, when you come to the caliphate, after sacrificing everything for the
sake of Allah, you’ll continue to be tested. You’re going to see hardships and
trials, but every day you’re thankful to Allah for allowing you to perform
hijra and to live under the Sharia. Life in the Islamic State is such a blessing.
You face difficulties and hardship, you’re not used to the food or the change
of life, you may not know the local language, you hear bombing and the
children may get scared, but none of that takes away from the gratitude you
have towards Allah for allowing you to be here. … Here you’re living a pure
life and your children are being raised with plenty of good influence around
them.
Such examples illustrate how life under the caliphate is or can be. Additionally,
recruiters, like Umm Khalid al-Finlandiyya, have used political stagnation, mar-
ginalization and vulnerability to mobilize additional individuals as well as entire
families to join Daesh. Dissatisfaction with the local conditions of poor govern-
ance, and the social stagnation in Mindanao coupled with assumed possibilities
of self-betterment, achieving freedom from discrimination/injustice and individ-
ual fulfillment have also served as fruitful breeding ground for the recruitment of
women in the Philippines (Barrett, 2017, pp. 6–7).
Female combatants in the Philippines

Female jihadists of various extremist groups taking on crucial roles in the Philippines
is not a recent development. Women, such as Farhana Maute, were instrumental in
recruiting, financing and planning terrorist attacks, for instance, before the siege of
Marawi. Other women established kinship ties, entered tactical as well as transna-
tional (re)marriages and were directly involved as female fighters at the forefront
of violent conflicts (Caravaggio and Davis, 2020, p. 3; Ingram, 2019).
Once taking on roles in the domestic sphere by marrying jihadists and establish-
ing families in the sense of Daesh, working as couriers, and sheltering fugitives,
the influence of women in jihadist groups in the Philippines has increased in recent
years. Their involvement as fighters at the front lines is advantageous because it is
completely opposite to their traditional roles and to what is traditionally expected
of them: “You really wouldn’t suspect women because their roles were tradi-
tional – wives, caregivers. When you think of a terrorist, you think of a man”, a
senior military officer stated (Santos, 2020).14 Being overlooked in counterterror-
ism efforts, female fighters were capable of bypassing security checks and evading
military surveillance, which enabled them to plan and carry out terrorist attacks.
As shown earlier, this was also the case during the siege of Marawi whose infil-
tration through fighters of Daesh would not have been possible without the massive
influence of jihadi women. However, even after the fight for Marawi, women have
continued to assume influential roles, for instance, by planning and carrying out
other terrorist attacks, especially in Mindanao (Allard, 2017; Banlaoi, 2020b, p.
118; Ingram, 2019; Ruiz, 2017).
This is supported by further research, which shows that particularly the Abu
Sayyaf’s Sawadjaan faction has actively pursued suicide bombing as a tactic in
the Philippines since 2019. While most of the attacks were planned and carried
out by foreigners in 2019, female suicide bombers were especially used from
2020 onward, many of them being widows of killed ASG members (Yaoren, 2021,
pp. 4–5). One example to highlight this is the Jolo “twin bombing attack” in 2020,
which killed at least 14 people, wounded 75 others, and is considered to be the
deadliest militant attack in the region. The attack generated great attention, because
both bombers were widows of former ASG and pro-Islamic State fighters (‘Army
says’, 2020; ‘Suicide bombers’, 2020).
Moreover, female suicide bombing in the Philippines and the trend of family
radicalization go hand in hand in the region. On January 27, 2019, Mindanao expe-
rienced its first suicide bombing attack, namely the Jolo Cathedral Bombing during
a Sunday mass service, killing 27 and injuring more than 100 civilians. The attack
was carried out by the Indonesian couple Rullie Rian Zeke and Ulfah Handayani,
both members of the Abu Sayyaf (Sulu) fraction. Saleh was the first woman to
take part in a suicide bombing in the Philippines (Sandoval 2021; Santos, 2019b;
Yaoren, 2021, pp. 4–5; Zenn 2020). Two years later, their daughter Rezky Fantasya
Rullie (alias Nini Isarani and Cici) was arrested for preparing a suicide bombing
mission. During her interrogation, she claimed that her parents had convinced her
to join the Islamic State group and that she was forced into marriage to the sui-
cide bomber Andi Baso (‘Philippine commander’, 2021; Santos, 2019b). These
cases portray the security risk radicalized women and families pose, and how mani-
fold radicalization processes can be, and they lay bare the significance of women
and families in furthering the activities of Daesh in their desire for state-building
(Sandoval 2021; Zenn 2020).
Underestimating women’s influence in jihadist groups

Despite female jihadi taking on influential roles in Daesh’s entities at a global
scale, both virtually and in reality, official discourses have downplayed women’s
level of involvement over the years (Nuraniyah, 2018, p. 3). For instance, inter-
national media narratives classifying female jihadis in the category “women and
children” or referring to them as “ISIS Wives” or “Jihadi brides” falling for prey-
ing recruiters, created the impression that women’s actions in jihadist groups
could hardly be politically motivated. Instead, the radicalization of women has
often been portrayed as an interplay of romance and religion (jihad-nikkah, or
“marriage for jihad purposes”), achieving social status through an association with
male mujahidins. Female jihadis were genuinely portrayed as passive and helpless
spectators of a power struggle between men (Caravaggio and Davis, 2020, pp.
1–4; El-Bushra, Myrttinen and Naujoks, 2014; Margolin and Winter, 2017, p. 25;
Pearson and Winterbotham, 2017, p. 62; Santos, 2019a; The Carter Center, 2017,
p. 1). However, “It is a mistake to think that a woman’s participation in jihad is
dependent on her relationship with a man”, Jones, the director of IPAC, said. “The
decision to engage in a terrorist act was already there without reference to a man”
(Santos, 2019a).
The depiction of women as passive, peaceful and apolitical entities, and their
exclusion from official discourses and narratives, disregarded women joining
Daesh to actively support the group and its principles. Consequently, women were
often classified as lower security risks compared to men, which, in return, has
strengthened Daesh-affiliated groups (El-Bushra, Myrttinen and Naujoks, 2014;

Europol Public Information, 2020, p. 5; Pearson, 2016, p. 12). While women were
already utilized to thwart security checks, and enter peace zones and urban areas by
al-Qaeda, Daesh in particular began using women in violent roles whenever neces-
sary, for instance, for propaganda purposes and a lack of male recruits. Highlighting
the “demasculinization” of men in last will and testament videos, several female
jihadis claimed how they had to carry out the martyrdom operations (amaliyat
istishhadiyya) themselves shaming men into action and motivating further women
to participate in violent jihad (Bloom, 2015, p. 48).
Female jihadis executing collective violence in Daesh’s totalitarian systems –
sharing similar motives, interests and potential in contributing and maintaining
violent conflicts as their male counterparts – have therefore also strengthened
militarized masculinities (Cook and Vale, 2018, p. 26; Harders, 2011, p.144).
Also, Bermingham, Conway, McInerney, O’Hare and Smeaton (2009) found that
jihadist women demonstrated higher sympathy to political violence in declaring
their willingness to carry out attacks. This indicates that political motivations in
joining Daesh are common to both men and women, however, the motives and
functions of women joining the group are only marginally explored compared to
men (Bermingham et al., 2009, pp. 231–236; Pearson, 2016, p. 17; Pearson and
Winterbotham, 2017, pp. 61–62).
Conclusion
In modern history, no terrorist organization has had greater international influence
and cross-border appeal and has taken greater advantage of female jihadis than
Daesh. With over 4300 attacks in 29 countries, the group has become a significant
global security threat (Cook and Vale, 2018, p. 5).
The strong presence of Daesh in the Philippines and examples such as the siege
of Marawi illustrate that the group’s ideology endures, and that radicalization of
women is possible as long as the corresponding push and pull factors are not effi-
ciently eliminated. The Philippine government has long underestimated the threat
of violent extremism from jihadist groups and the influence of female fighters in
Mindanao, but it must now acknowledge the security risk these actors pose, and it
needs to raise public awareness of threats of terrorism in the country.
As this chapter has demonstrated, women have taken on crucial roles in the
armed conflict, and they continue to pose a significant security risk to the region.
According to the Carter Center (2017, p. 2), “Women are offered an alternate
vision of freedom and empowerment and a perceived chance to become part of a
community where they can practice their faith unapologetically and feel a sense of
belonging and sisterhood”. While this highlights the importance of an analysis of
the roles, motivations and participation of female jihadis in Southeast Asia, it also
becomes clear that the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN)15 as well
as its member states must address the intergenerational recruitment as well as the
transmission of Daesh ideologies, both nationally and globally.
This chapter also aimed to fill the gap in research on the agency of women in
Daesh and its splinter groups in Southeast Asia, and has therefore elaborated the
roles and function of women in combat, the establishment of transnational ties,
and the support of state-building processes. This makes clear that radicalization
factors must be addressed context-specifically and individually. Besides analyzing
and addressing radicalization constituents, community-based approaches must be
developed and grievances of the local population must be addressed, especially
in the aftermath of Marawi. As the chapter indicates, this can, for example be
achieved, in the joint reconstruction of the city with the local population and by
effectively countering Daesh narratives.
Analyzing radicalization processes, narratives and incentives of women to join
Daesh and its affiliated groups, the chapter has highlighted that all genders can
equally be driven by grievance, belief in ideologies, power and money. Women,
therefore, can have as much interest in escalating and maintaining violent con-
flicts as men. While motives of radicalization can be overlapping, it must also be
acknowledged that certain motives and radicalization factors are gender specific.
These include gender inequalities; SGBV; and a limited access to public, social,
economic and political spheres for women in Mindanao.
To avoid a further radicalization of women, SGBV especially needs to be con-
sidered as a strong indicator for (re)radicalization and terrorist violence. Thus, per-
petrators of conflict-related sexual and SGBV must be prosecuted, and victims
must be provided with justice, reparation and rehabilitation.
Furthermore, individual violence needs to be understood as a product of gender-
specific social processes and interactions. Since power relations, narratives and
myths also influence the choices of men and women to engage with violent groups;
shape their action; and explain the functioning, identities, beliefs and causes of the
groups, the corresponding gender ideologies and narratives must be analyzed and
addressed at the specific regional and national level. The chapter further argues that
gender inequalities must be reduced, and women must be involved in all stages of
decision-making and solution processes. Particularly in the BARMM economic,
social and political perspectives, enhancing civil participation and strengthening
democratic local institutions at all levels must be offered.
Besides analyzing and addressing gender-specific connections between different
types of violence and levels of escalation, the chapter has also demonstrated that the
social and cultural background of female jihadists as well as their experiences of mul-
tidimensional asymmetrical dependencies must be considered to analyze the motives
of radicalized women. A holistic understanding of the initial conditions of radicaliza-
tion is essential to minimize female radicalization and to prevent other women from
joining jihadist groups in the future. Contrary to radicalization theories, which focus
mainly on ameliorating socioeconomic conditions of the individual, group narratives
facilitating radicalization processes must additionally be addressed, which can be
integrated in the development of effective strategies to evaluate and combat Daesh.
Finally, due to Mindanao’s geographic location, combating Daesh is not only of
greatest relevance for the Philippines but also for its neighboring countries Malaysia
and Indonesia, which can easily be affected by violent conflicts in the region. There
is currently only little information on (former) female Daesh-affiliated supporters

in the Philippines. Hence, it is crucial to alleviate this research gap and develop
effective and common strategies to examine Daesh and its gender narratives, not
only in the Philippines but in the entire region of Southeast Asia.
Notes
1 “Everything has its time / a time for joy / a time of silence / a time of pain and sorrow /
a time of grateful memories.” I want to express my deepest gratitude and appreciation to
the people who have supported, shaped and accompanied me in the most diverse ways!
In eternal love and gratitude I remember: Johannes Langhorst, Hermine Langhorst and
Müslim Kaymaz. –Charlotte Mei Yee Chin
2 The Moro National Liberation Front was founded as political organization in 1972 and
led the Moro separatist movement until the 1996 Final Peace Agreement between the
MNLF and the Philippine government (CISAC, 2019).
3 The Moro Islamic Liberation Front was established in 1977 and is the largest militant
movement in the Philippines (CISAC, 2019).
4 The Lumad are a group of indigenous people living in the south of Mindanao.
5 The Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro grants greater autonomy to
Mindanao and established the self-governing Bangsamoro region.
6 The Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL) provides for the establishment of the Bangsamoro
Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM).
7 ARRM stands for Autonomous Region of the Philippines and consists of the five pre-
dominantly Muslim provinces, namely, Lanano del Sur, Tawi-Tawi, Maguindanao,
Basilan and Sulu (Southeast Asian Region Countries Law, 2022).
8 Wilayah means “province” and is referred to as wilayat in the plural (Beevor and Berger,
2020).
9 Farhane Maute leads the Maute group, which was tried for illegal possession of firearms,
rebellion, kidnapping and serious illegal detention with murder, and for being involved
in the Davao night market bombing in 2016. Coming from the well-respected Romato
clan in central Mindanao, she had good political connections, social capital and the
economic resources to establish various business ventures. This enabled her to provide
logistical support and financial resources to the actions of her sons, leaders of the Maute
group, who took on central roles during the siege of Marawi (Fonbuena, 2017; Inton, Wu
and Scarr, 2017; Santos, 2019).
10 Daulah Islamiyah Wilayatul Mashriq, Islamic State Province East Asia.
11 Sacred migration from dar al-harb (where Muslims cannot freely practice their religion)
to dar al-Islam (areas under Islamic rule).
12 Former head of Daesh Daulah Islamiyah Wilayatul Mashriq.
13 BARMM is the acronym for Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao.
14 “Hindi mo talaga pagkakamalan ang babae kasi traditional ang mga gawa – asawa, tiga-
aalaga. Ang tingin talaga sa terrorista, lalaki.”
15 The Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) is an intergovernmental organi-
zation that was founded by Indonesia, Malaysia, Philippines, Singapore and Thailand
in 1967 in Bangkok. Today it unites ten member states: Brunei, Cambodia, Indonesia,
Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand and Vietnam. ASEAN
promotes collaboration and cooperation as well as economic growth and stability in the
region of Southeast Asia (CFR.org, 2022).
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Index
Page numbers in italics mark photos.
abductions, of women 62–63 Bajmaraj, Lira 165n1

abortions, forced 70–71, 74n14 Baker, Catherine 15n6, 80
Abu Sayyaf Group (ASG) 216 Bandera, Stepan 12
agency 13–14, 141, 205 Banderites 12, 105, 110–14, 121, 122n2,
Aisha, Darin Abu 174, 176–79, 187 122n5; and the Soviet Union 109
al-Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades 14, 174–76, Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters
178–79, 187, 188n6, 189n19 (BIFF) 216
al-Finlandiyya, Umm Khalid 223–24 Banlaoi, Rommel C. 217
al-Quds Brigades 174–75, 179–80, 188n7, battlespace 131–33, 136–42
see also Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ) Bay Amcaya göre 46
alcoholic drinks 162, 165 Bekir, Latife 42
Alekozei, Soraya 155 Belli, Gioconda 71–72
Alexievich, Svetlana A. 197 Bermingham, Adam 226
Algerian War 173 Bettelheim, Bruno 106–09, 111, 113,
Altinay, Ayşe Gül 40, 49, 52, 53n14 115, 119
Amina 203 Bibighar massacre (1857) 23, 25
Anatolian women 11 Bienert, Andrea 156
anti-Nazi resistance 106 Birkenau 113, 115, 119, see also
ar-Rantisi, Abd al-Aziz 182 concentration camps
Arendt, Hannah 106 black market, in Cameroon 200
armed conflicts: and social change 68–69; blood donations, in concentration
women’s participation in 61, 66, 73, camps 117
see also specific conflicts or types of Bloom, Mia 205, 222
conflict; wars bodies: militarization of 80, 89–90; and
armed forces, women’s exclusion from 11 war 137
art, as resistance 119–20 Boko Haram 13–14, 193, 196, 207n1;
Ashigashia attack 199 gendered division of 193, 200; ISWAP
Association of Southeast Asian Nations 196, 201; JAS 196, 201; recruitment
(ASEAN) 228n15 practices 202–03; suicide bombings
Atatürk, Mustafa Kemal 39, 42, 51, 53n2 195–96, 201, 203–06; using women as
Au Co 83 shields 199
Audouin-Rouzeau, Stéphane 197 Boko Haram female fighters 200, 206–07;
Auschwitz 105–06, 113–14, 116–17, 119– and combatants 6; forced 202–03,
20, see also concentration camps 205–06; modes of expression 4; voluntary
aviation 47 203, 205, see also suicide bombings
Boko Haram study 196–99
Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP) 35 Bolívar, Simón 62–63
Bai, Jhalkari 35 Bolivia, and Cuban guerillas 66–67
234 Index
Book of Judith 208n23 121–22, see also Konzentrationslager;

borders, differing conditions on 135 specific camps
Bordo, Susan 12 Confucianism 83–85
Bose, Subhas Chandra 11, 21, 31–34, 36 conscription: in Germany 13, 149,
Bosnia 4 165n3–4; in Israel 133; in Turkey 39–40;
Breslin, Rachel A. 151 in Vietnam 92
British Armed Forces 2, 150–51, 158 Conway, Maura 226
British Indian Army 32 Cook, Joana 222
Brown, Melissa T. 132 COVID-19 96; study impacts of 8, 14
Brownson, Connie 140 Crenshaw, Kimberlé 1–2, 157
Bundeswehr. see German armed forces Croissant, Aurel 93
Bunke, Hayde (Haydée) Tamara 66–67, 73 Cuba, and guerilla fighters 65–68
Butler, Judith 60 Cultural Support Teams 6, 15n3
Cumhuriyet 44
Çakmak, Marshal Fevzi 51
Cameroon, gender stereotypes in 194 Daesh 216–17, 226–28; documents of 219;
Cameroonian army 195 suicide bombings 219, 224–25; women’s
camp followers 61, 63, 70 roles in 218–20, 224, see also Islamic
care work, Lenin on 94 State; Philippines
Carter Center 226 Dalhousie, Lord 23
Castro, Fidel 65 Dana 134–35
censorship 93–94 Daniel, Samantha 151
Chauhan, Subhadra Kumari 21, 30–31, 36 Daoudou, Sadou 195
Cher, Gustav Sabac el 165n7 Daphna-Tekoah, Shir 4
children, as suicide bombers 201–03 de Santander, Francisco 62
Chin, Charlotte Mei Yee 13–14, 213–28 Dehmel, Dirk 156
Chinkin, Christine 131–32 “dependency theory” 67–68
Chirac, Jacques 184 Derin Tarih (Deep history) 39
Ciesielska, Maria 117 Dersim Harekati 48–51
civil defense 6 Deutscher Soldat eV 152–53
class struggles, vs. gender 66 Devi, Sheili 26
Coddington, Kate 4–5 Die Truppe wird bunter (Kümmel) 151
Cohn, Carol 15n2 differentiated solidarity 140
Cold War 65 Dirim, İnci 159–60
Cologne New Year’s Eve (2015–2016) Dittmer, Cordula 163
157–58 diversity 155–58, 164
Colombia 68, 70; Movimiento 19 de Abril “Diversity and Inclusion in the
(M-19) 68–69 Bundeswehr” study 155–58
combat positions: blurring with non combat diversity management 158–59, 164
positions 6–7; and technology 141; Dosdall, Henrik 156
women’s exclusion from 6, 193–94, Drummond, Lisa Barbara Welch 93
207n4 Dunin-Wasowicz, Krzysztof 109
combatants: definitions of 6–7; legal Duong Thị Vịn 90–91
safeguards of 6, 198; and war rooms Durakbasa, Ayse 40
133, 138 Durga Dal 26
communication, women’s roles in 60–61 Duterte, Rodrigo Hapilon, Isnilon
concentration camps 12, 121; art in
119–20; and gender roles 112–14, 121; East India Company 23, 25
goals of 107, 115; medical experiments Edith 140
in 113–14, 117–19, 121; and motherhood Eisner, Rivka Syd 82
113–14, 116–19; and pregnancy 116; El-Tayeb, Fatima 155
psychological impacts of 107, 115; Ella 137
resistance in 107–10, 114–18, 121–22; embodiment, need for more discussion of
survival in 106–07, 109, 112–13, 117, 3–4
Index 235
Enloe, Cynthia 3, 79, 82, 141 Gandhi, Mahatma 31

equality law 156 Gashi, Egzona 13, 148–66
Eritrean liberation war 194 Gaza, Kaka 206
Eritrean People’s Liberation Front gender: and Daesh recruitment 220;
(EPLF) 194 defining 174; and earnings 5–6; fighting
Ethnicity, Integration and the Military for equality 68, 70, 72; and militarism
150–51 40–41; and nationalism studies 40–41;
European Court of Justice 149 and the new warfare 130–33, 141–42;
Euskadi Ta Askatasuna (ETA) 195 and stereotypes 5–6, 61, 67, 73, 95, 138,
173–74, 187–88, 195–96, 221; vs. class
Fadi 204 struggles 66
Fatah 178–79, 188n6 gender equality: and guerilla fighters 68,
Female Engagement Teams 6 70, 72–73; in Vietnam 80, 83–85
female fighters 129; additional dangers gender roles 61; and Boko Haram 193, 200;
to 2; in Africa 194–95, 207n4; forced in Cameroon 194, 200; and concentration
73n2; Guevara on 66; healthcare camps 112–14, 121; and Daesh 221; and
needs of 2, 15n1; high-tech warfare double standards 70; in Germany 149;
increasing 129; idealization of 11; lack in the IDF 133–34; masculinization/
of acknowledgement of 140–41, 143, feminization of 69, 193; problems of 60,
193; and motherhood 70; motivations 74n16; and the Red Army (USSR) 111;
of 5, 60, 64–65, 68, 97, 132, 199, 205, reversed 140–43; and technology 132,
207, 222–23; as protectors 140–43; 139–40; transgressing 62, 64–65, 72, 79,
“scientific” arguments for/against 46; 179, 185, 193; in the UPA 108; and wars
in Vietnam 78–79, see also specific 132, 140–43; and women fighters 65, 67,
organizations or individuals 72, 94–95, 140–41
female guerrilla fighters: Cuban 65–68; gender segregation 175, 185, 220
and gender equality 68, 70, 72–73; gender trouble 60–61, 73
idealization of 60; in the M-19 69; and Geneva Conventions 6, 115, 123n10, 198
motherhood 70–71, 73; and torture 70; Gentry, Caron 204
Vietnamese 81–82, 91 German armed forces 13, 148, 165n2;
female jihadists: perceptions of 225–26, and citizenship 155; and conscription
see also Boko Haram; Palestinian suicide 13, 149, 165n3–4; and diversity/
bombers; Philippines intersectionality 155–58, 164; on
femininity 174, 184, 186 interviews 152; and language skills
feminism: international feminist movement 159–60, 164; Muslims in 161–63, 165;
43; tied to nationalism 41; in Turkey 41, narratives of 152, 158; and persons
43, 47, 53n7; in Vietnam 84–85 with migration backgrounds 154–56;
feminist research: dismissive attitudes of and religion 160–63; studies of 151–53;
150; in Germany 150; qualities of 2–3 women in 149, 164; and women of
feminist research ethics 2–3 colour 9, 13, 149, 163–64
feminist security studies (FSS) 3; German, Judith 106, 110, 115
Eurocentrism of 7–10 Germany: citizenship laws in 13, 148–49,
feminists: different perspectives of 9, 154, 165n6; Cologne New Year’s
see also feminism Eve (2015-2016) 157–58; feminist
field studies 4 scholarship in 150; gender roles in 149;
food 161–62, 165, 166n15 and migrants 153–55, 165n8; Nazi
Forbes, Geraldine 32 122–23n7; and religion 160–63
Fotokol attack (2015) 202 Ghaliya, Huda 180
France 184 Glinska, Anna 109
Frankl, Viktor 106, 109, 119 Global South, exclusion from studies 7–8
Freire, Paulo 68 Gökçen, Sabiha 48–52, 54n18
Frente Sandinista de Liberación Nacional Gottschang Turner, Karen 82
(FSLN, Sandinistas) 68–70 Grabe, Vera 68–71, 74n14
Fuhrmann, Eva 4, 11, 78–98 Grossman, Dave 106, 109
236 Index
Guevara, Ernesto “Che” 65–68 Indian women 31–35

GULAG 106, 112–13 Indochinese war 81–82, 85–92, 96–97
Gurol, Julia 153 insurgent forces 12; becoming national
forces 2, 5, see also specific groups
Hakkarainen, Minna 84 internal conflicts (Latin America) 62;
halfmen 183–85 Nicaragua 71–72, 74n15; Peru (1830’s)
Halkin Sesi 44 63–64, see also Colombia; wars of
Hamas 14, 175, 182, 187, 189n8, 196 independence (Latin America)
Hammouti-Reinke, Nariman 148, 150, intersectionality 1–2, 13, 60, 148, 151,
152–53, 157–59, 163 155–58, 164
Handayani, Ulfah 225 interviews 4–5; German armed forces 148,
Harel, Ayelet 4, 12–13, 128–44 151–52; IDF study 134
Harel-Shalev, Ayelet 4 Iraq, United States in 6
Helm, Sarah 106 Irish Public Army 173
Hendrich, Béatrice 1–15, 39–54 Islamic history 207–08n8; female fighters
heroines 52 in 173, 208n9, 221
Herzog, Richard 9–10, 21–36 Islamic State (IS) 14, 219; overview
Hezbollah 173 213–14; women joining 9, 173, 179,
hijab 184, 189n20 see also Daesh
Hinduism, and myths 25–26 Islamist terror groups 195, see also specific
historiography: male dominance of 4; and groups; suicide bombings
women’s voices 4–5 Israel 135, 142, 150; compulsory military
Hlatky, Stéfanie von 6 service in 133; and war rooms 128, 133,
Hnatkivska-Lebed, Daria 108, 111, see also war rooms
118–19 Israeli female soldiers 7, 12–13; as
Hnatkivska-Lebed, Zoya 118–19 protectors 12–13; training for 136
Hnatkivska, Oleksandra 114 Issa, Saïbou 195
Ho Chi Minh 85, 88 ius sanguinis (Germany) 149, 154
Hoàng Thị T. 90 Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades 174–76,
Holofernes 208n23 182, 186–87, 189n8
Howes, Craig 109–10
Hryhortsiv, Maria 114 Jamieson, Neil 86
Hürkuş, Eribe 48 Jana 137
Hutchings, Kimberly 132 The Jeanne D’Arc of India (White)
Hylton, Kimberly 151 27–28
“Jhansi ki Raani” (The Queen of Jhansi,
Ibrahim, Mallam 206 Chauhan) 21, 30–31
Ich diene Deutschland (Hammouti-Reinke) Jhansi ki Rani (The Queen of Jhansi,
148 Varma) 28–30
Idris, Wafa 181 Jhansi Sansthanchya Maharani
illness, female fighters’ experiences with 91 Lakshmibaisaheb Yanche Charitra (A
Ilyasoglu, Aynur 40 biography of Queen Lakshmibai of
India 4, 10–11, 24; 1857 massacre in Jhansi, Parasnis) 30
Kanpur 23, 25; Azad Hind government jihadist groups: and women in combat
33; Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP) 35; 193–94, see also Boko Haram
Dalits 35; Gwalior 25, 30; Jhansi 21, 23, Juden und Militär in Deutschland (Berger
24, 26; legend of the Rani 21, 25–28, and Römer-Hillebrecht) 151
29, 30–35; and myths 25–26; nationalist
movements in 28–34; Rashtra Sevika Kaldor, Mary 131
Samiti (RSS) 35; “Viranganas” 35, Kandiyoti, Deniz 198
see also Lakshmibai Kelley, Liam 84
Indian National Army 31–32; Rani of Kis, Oksana 106, 112–13
Jhansi Regiment 9–11, 21, 32–34 Klemm, Eugenia 107, 114
Index 237
Koch, Tobias 156 masculinity 143, 174, 182, 184, 186; and
Kogon, Eugen 105 the armed forces 157; and the new
Konzentrationslager 105, see also warfare 131–32, 139–42
concentration camps Masters, Cristina 131–32
Kos, Maria 108, 111 Masud, Mirfat 174, 179–82, 187
Kowal, Anna 117 Matfess, Hilary 199, 204–05
Krebs, Ronald 150 matriarchal societies 83–84
Kreil, Tanja 149 Mats Utas, 197
Krulišová, Katerina 8 Maute, Farhane 228n9
Kruse, Volker 79 Maute group 216–18, 228n9
Kryłowa, Anna 111 Mecheril, Paul 159–60
Ksenia 120 mediators 160
Kuwait, United States in 6 “Memoirs of a woman who saved the
country” 86–87
Lady Triệu 83, 97 menstruation, and female fighters 46–47,
Lake Chad Basin 193, 195–96, 203, 207n1 54n16
Lakshmibai 10, 21, 27, 29; biography Mernissi, Fatima 198
22–23, 25; British views of 25, 27–28; Mexican Revolution 61, 64–65, 74n10
mythologisation of 21, 25–28, 29, 30–35; Michal 130, 135, 141
as role model 22, 35–36; writings by Midnight’s Children (Rushdie) 35
22–23, 25; written records about 21, “migrant soldiers” 150–51; in the German
see also India armed forces study 153
last wills, and Palestinian suicide bombers Migration und Militär (Fedtke, Hellmann
174–77, 180–81, 183–85 and Hörmann) 151
Latin America 67–68; guerilla groups in 69 militarism 40–41, 47; of Vietnam 79–80
Latin American conflicts: and class military history, male dominance of 4
differences 61–63; Peru (1830’s) 63–64 Miriam 135, 139–40
Lausanne Peace Treaty (1923) 39 Mirushe 152, 155, 159–60, 162
Lebanon 173 Moran 136–37
Lebed, Mykola 118, 123n15 Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) 213,
Lebra-Chapman, Joyce 26 215–16, 228n3
Leszczynska, Stanislawa 116 Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF)
LGBTQ+ soldiers 1 213, 215–16, 228n2
Lilly 128 Mostovych, Olena 108
Lior 141 motherhood: and concentration camps
logistics, women’s roles in 60–61 115–17; and suicide bombers 185–88;
looting 200 Vietnamese 82; vs. fighting 70–71, 73,
Luong, Hy Van 95 74n14
Lviv prison 114,118–19, 123n8 Muhiddin, Nezihe 43, 53n8
Mundar 26
McClintock, Anne 78 Muslim women: as soldiers 161–63, 165;
machismo 61 Western conceptions of 13, 162, 198,
McInerney, Lisa 226 218, 225–26, see also women
MacKenzie, Megan H. 140
Makalingay (Cameroon) 201, 203 narrative analysis 134
Manjikian, Mary 140 national heroes, and the wars of
Manus, Rosa 53n10 independence (Latin America) 62
Marawi siege (2017) 214, 216, 224, 227 nationalism 179
Markovic, Vesna 205 nations 30, 78, 97
Martin, T.A. 23 NATO, women in the military 40
martyr’s mothers 186 Nguyễn Phú Trọng 94
Marunchak, Mychajlo 106, 120 Nguyễn Thị Ðịnh 91
Maryam 201, 203 Nguyen, Thi Hue 4, 8, 11, 78–98
238 Index
Nguyễn Thị Kim Lai 88–89 in 213–14; violent extremism in 213;

Nicolas, Guy 205–06 women’s marginalization in 222–24
niqab 184 Pieracki, Bronislaw 118
Non-State Armed Groups (NSAGs) 12; Polish underground 112
and female fighters 7, see also specific Polszczikova, Anna 116–17
groups Polszikov, Aleksander 116
postcolonial studies 9–10
O’Hare, Neil 226 Potthast, Barbara 11, 60–74
Omar, Karima 97 prisoners of war (POWs) 6; importance
Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists of being 115; studies and sources about
(OUN(B)). see Banderites 106, see also Banderites; concentration
Ortega, Daniel 74n15 camps; Red Army (USSR) POWs;
O’Sullivan, Míla 8 Ukrainian POWs
Ottoman Empire: education in 44; stories of public vs. private spheres 4
women in 40, see also Turkey
Qassam Brigades. see Izz ad-Din al
Palancares, Jesusa 64, 73 Qassam Brigades
Palestine, patriarchal nature of 173, 185 The Queen’s Desire (Nisbet) 27
Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ) 14,
174–75, 180, 188–89n7, see also al-Quds racism 151
Brigades Raffin, Anne 79, 92
Palestinian resistance. see Aisha, Darin Rag, Pankaj 27
Abu; Masud, Mirfat; Riyashi, Reem Raghavan, Vasantha 216
Palestinian suicide bombers 14, 173, 185; The Rane: A Legend of the Indian Mutiny
documentary sources 175–77, 180–86; (Gilean) 27
recruiting women as 175 Rani, Nanhi 26
Palestinian suicide bombers, and religion Rao, Damodar 23, 26
177–78, 180 Rashtra Sevika Samiti (RSS) 35
Palestinian suicide bombers: women’s Ravensbrück 105, 113–15, 118–19,
motivations 174, 180–81, 187, see also concentration camps
see also Aisha, Darin Abu; Masud, Red Army Faction 195
Mirfat; Riyashi, Reem Red Army Faction (Germany) 173
paramilitary activities 6 Red Army (USSR) 12; and combatants 6;
peacekeeping missions 95–96 female roles in 48, 107–08, 110; Şeviki
Pearson, Elizabeth 199 on 46
“Pedagogy of Liberation” 68 Red Army (USSR) POWs 105, 107, 110,
people of color 154–55 113–114, 121–22; at Auschwitz 114; and
Peru, 1830’s civil war 63–64 Ukrainian POWs 109, 112; women as
Petrenko, Olena 108 107–08
Phạm Lê Thị Trung 86 religion: and the German armed forces
Phạm Thị H. 89 160–63; and nationalism 178–79; and
Phan Bội Châu 97 suicide bombers 177–78, 180–81, 183,
Philippines 221, 226; Autonomous Region 185–86, 205
in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) 215–16, resistance 174; stereotypes of 106
228n7; Bangsamoro Autonomous “Rich and intellectual women in the
Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM) movement for women’s liberation” 87
216, 221, 228n6; Bangsamoro Conflict Rivas, Nelly 69
214–16; Bangsamoro Organic Law Riyashi, Reem 174, 182–88
(BOL, 2018) 215, 218; Comprehensive Riza, Seyit 50–51, 54n25
Agreement on the Bangsamoro (2014) Robinson, William Andrew 88
215, 228n5; Jolo bombing 225; Marawi role models: Lakshmibai as 22, 35–36;
siege (2017) 214, 216–18; suicide need for 35–36
bombings in 219, 224–25; terrorism Roni 138–39
Index 239
Ronit 141 status, and female fighters 5

Rose, Sir Hugh 25 suicide bombings 173; Boko Haram
Rote Armee Fraktion (RAF) 67 195–96, 201–06; by children 201–03;
Routledge Handbook of Gender and Daesh 219, 224–25
Security (Gentry, Shepherd and suicide bombings, and religion 177–78,
Sjoberg) 3 180–81, 183, 185–86, 205
Rullie, Rezky Fantasya 225 suicide bombings: women recruited for
175, 196, 201–05, see also Aisha, Darin
Sâdi, Saime 50 Abu; Masud, Mirfat; Riyashi, Reem
Sáenz, Manuela 62–63, 74n6 Sumo, Aimé Raoul 4, 13–14, 193–208
safe houses 5–6, 108 Sundar 26
Sahgal, Lakshmi 22, 32–33, 36 Süzen, Hülya 152, 159, 161–62
Sahib, Nana 22, 25, 31 Sylvester, Christine 137
Saleh 225 Syrian Socialist National Party 173
Sánchez de Thompson, Mariquita 62
Sandinista Revolution 72 Taarnala, Elisa 15n2
Sasson-Levy, Orna 13 Tamara 137–40
Savchyn, Maria 120 Tania “la Guerrillera” 66–67, 73
Schadenko, Kateryna 117 Tchellou 202
Schmidt, Fiona 156–58 technology: and combat positions 141;
Schubart, Rikke 52 impacts on gender roles 132, 139–40;
Scott, Joan 60 and warfare 128–29, 131, 138–39
Second Intifada 14, 173, 188n2 Teerawichitchainan, Bussarawan 81
Second World War. see World War II terrorism 195; defining 2; in the Phillipines
security sensitivity 4 213–14; researching 197; and violence
security studies 4; Eurocentrism of 7–9 against women 222; women’s
Seeta (Taylor) 27–28 involvement increasing 196, 199, 224;
self-reflection 3 women’s motivations for 204–05, 222,
Sen, Chandi Charan 28 see also Boko Haram; Daesh; Islamist
Şevki, Mehmet 46–47, 54n15 terror groups; Palestinian suicide
sexual abuse: Cologne New Year’s Eve bombers; specific individuals; suicide
(2015-2016) 157–58; and the Latin bombings;
American conflicts 62–64, 70; as war Thayer, Carlyle A. 92
strategy 70 “Theology of Liberation” 68
sexual harassment 151 Third World Women’s Alliance
sexuality 70 (TWWA) 10
Shani 138 Thoan, Phan 88
Sharon 134 Thoan, Phanm 89
Shiri 130, 136 Thomas, Mandy 93
Sjoberg, Laura 2, 5, 138, 204 Tiffany 136
Smeaton, Alan F. 226 “To be a soldier, one needs bravery”
Socialism 83 (Devriş) 47
Soest camp 115 tokenism 5–6, 164–65
soldaderas 65, 74n8 Tomforde, Maren 163
soldiers, in Vietnam 79 Tope, Tatya 22, 29, 31
Son Posta 44 Torres, Camillo 68
South Africa 151 torture, of female guerilla fighters 70
Southeast Asia 213, 221, 227–28 Tran, Nhung Tuyet 78, 83–84
Soviet Union 123n10 Transcarpathia 114
“Speech of Women for National trauma, studies of 110
Salvation” 87 trauma theory 106
spies 5–6 Trautwein, Ray 158
spousal homicide 206 Tristan, Flora 63–65
240 Index
Trung Sisters 83, 85, 87, 97 in 79; and the United States 81, 88; views
Turkey: conscription in 39–40; and the of women in 78, 82–84, 87, 94–95; wars
Dersim Harekati 48–51; education in of independence 80–81, 85–92
44–46, 52; feminism in 41, 43, 47, 53n7; Vietnam Studies 82
“High Kemalism” 42–43; Law 3225 Vietnam War 81–83, 85–92, 96–97
(1937) 45; militarism in 40–41, 43; Vietnamese military 11–12, 78
Republic Day 48; Republican People’s Vietnamese People’s Army 12, 81–82,
Party (RPP) 41–43; stories of women in 87–89, 91, 93
40; voting rights in 39, 42, 52; women Vietnamese Women’s Union 12, 81, 85,
in the military 40–42, 44–46, 51–53; and 88–89, 93–94, 96–97
World War II 11, 52 Vietnamese Youth Shock Brigades 5,
Turkish Bird organization 11, 45, 47–49 81–82, 88, 91
Turkish military, women’s participation in Vietnam’s Women in Transition (Barry) 82
40–42, 44–46 violence 227; feminist conceptualizations
Turkish War of Liberation (1919–1922) 5, of 198; and gender stereotypes 61, 194;
11, 46 by women 64, 197, 199
Turkish Women’s Union 42–43, 53n8 violence against women: and terrorism
222–24, 227; and wars 60, 64, 70
Ukarma, Lidia 108, 111, 113–14 “Viranganas” 35
Ukraine, Russian invasion of 14 Viswanath, Gita 33
Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA) 108 Vityk, Olena 113
Ukrainian POWs 121–22; Lviv group Vityk-Vojtovycz, Olena 114, 119
113–14; resistance by 108–10, see also Voitovych, Olena 108
concentration camps volunteers, women as 5
unfit equipment 2 Volya, Narodnaya 173
United States: diversity in 158; in Iraq 6; in Vũ, Thị Thúy Hiền 82–83
Kuwait 6; and the Phillipines 215; and
Vietnam 81, 88; women of color in 151; Wachsmann, Nicholas 105–06
women of color veterans in 150 “war proper” 142
unmanned vehicles 138, 141 war rooms 128–30, 137, 142; and
Üstel, Füsun 44 combatants 133; dilemmas in 138–39;
Israeli 7, 12, 135–36; roles in 133–34,
Vale, Gina 222 138; women in 6, 133, 135–36, 138,
Vasquez, Jose N. 139 142–43, see also battlespace; Israel
Vásquez, María Eugenia 69–71 Ware, Vron 150–51
vehicle plates 150 warfare 201
Verel, Oktay 49 Warner, J. 205
“victimcy” 197, 208n10 wars 7; and gender 128, 132, 140–42; high-
victims: blurred distinctions of 73n2, tech 128, 131; sensing 137; studying 135;
202–03; women portrayed as 60, 128, and violence against women 60, 64; visual
137–38, 204–05, 214 representations of 136, see also technology
Vietnam 80–81, 95–97; censorship in 93– wars of independence 9; Vietnam 80–81,
94; Communist Party 12, 79, 81, 85, 88, 85–92, 96–97
93–94; compulsory military service 92; wars of independence (Latin America)
demobilization 92; Directive No. 67/QP 62, see also internal conflicts (Latin
88; female fighters in 78–79, 88–89, 91, America)
95–96; female guerrilla fighters in 81–82, weapons: denied to women 2; as symbols
91; femininity in 93–95; feminism in 181–82, 185–86
84–85; fighting for independence in 12, Weather Underground 67
80–81; Indochinese war 81–82, 85–92, Werner, Jayne 82
96–97; militarization of 79–80, 89–90; Wetterich, Cita 153
and peacekeeping missions 95–96; stories Wiktorowicz, Quintan 222
of women in 78, 82–83; terms for fighters Wirsing, Wilhelm 113
Index 241
women: of the Dersim region 51; and Yassin, Ahmad 187, 196
male violence 1, 223–24; motivations Yata 200, 204
for fighting 5, 60, 64–65, 68, 97, Yu, Insun 84
132, 199, 205, 207, 222–23; and Yugoslavia 15n6
peacekeeping missions 95–96; portrayed Yuval-Davis, Nira 3
as victims 60, 128, 137–38, 204–05,
214; and public vs. private spheres Zapatistas 69
4; radicalization of 219–23, 226–27; Zarytska, Kateryna 108
Vietnamese views of 78, 82–84, 87, Zeinab 203, 206
94–95, see also gender roles; Muslim Zeke, Rullie Rian 225
women Zena 201
Women and War (Cohn) 3 Zenn, Jacob 199
women’s voices 4 Zentrale Ansprechstelle für den Umgang
World Congress of the International Alliance mit Vielfalt 152
of Women (IAW, 1935) 39, 43, 52 Zhinocha nedolia 120
World War II: Rani of Jhansi Regiment Ziolkowski, Britt 7, 13–14, 173–89
(India) 21, 32; and Turkey 11, 52; and
Vietnam 80–81, see also concentration
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Female Fighters in Armed Conflict Listening To Their Own Béatrice

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Female Fighters in Armed Conflict

Béatrice Hendrich is a professor of Turkey studies at the University of Cologne,

Series Editors: Laura Sjoberg, University of Florida, and Caron E. Gentry,

For more information about this series, please visit: https://www​.routledge​.com​/

Edited by Béatrice Hendrich

List of contributors vii

1 Female fighters in armed conflict: Introduction1

2 A woman in power in 19th-century South Asia: An inspiring life

3 Fighting for peace, fighting for the country?: The inclusion of

4 Soldaderas and Guerrilleras: Camp followers and female

5 Discourses about women, bodies and military combat in

6 Transfer, transformation and use of combat experience inside

7 Women soldiers in frontline war rooms: Protecting the nation

8 Women of color in the armed forces of Germany: Invisibly exposed? 146

9 Gendered resistance: Self-portrayals of female suicide bombers

10 Jihad with a woman’s face: Boko Haram female fighters in

11 Demythifying the caliphate: Asymmetrical dependencies of

Ayelet Harel is a professor of political science at Ben-Gurion University’s

Béatrice Hendrich is a professor of Turkey studies at the University of Cologne,

Richard Herzog is a postdoctoral research fellow at the History Department of

Barbara Potthast is a professor of Latin American history at the University of

Beyond the androcentric narrative: What this book is about

apply Kimberlé Crenshaw’s concept of intersectionality (1989) to the analysis of

historical documents or only in an intermediate form. Nevertheless, self-reflection,

Listening to their voices

Soldiers, combatants, fighters: Why “war” is still a more complex

excellence … and polarization of gender differences, which encourages behavior

Beyond the Eurocentric narrative

Decentering Europe is a requirement in FSS as much as it is inescapable to avoid

The structure of the book

Sasson-Levy, Orna (2002) ‘Constructing identities at the margins: Masculinities and

The historical perspective

The Rani’s biography

The birth of a legend

According to Lebra-Chapman (1986, p. 119), legends take on a history of their

women in Bundelkhand is related to the fact that, in addition to traditionally “mas-

These characterizations as an icon of anti-colonial resistance show, on the one

Uses in Indian nationalism I: In Indian literature

Uses in Indian nationalism II: The Rani of Jhansi Brigade

Through Mahatma Gandhi’s use of deep-rooted symbols, Indian women were

The ever-changing Rani: An outlook

Feminism, nationalism and militarism in Turkey

Suffrage and military service

I’m a child of a military family. Whenever a military company marches

The matter of peace and the World Congress

participation of women in international events such as the Miss Universe Contest in

Preparation for military service classes

The modern female soldier

The Turkish Bird

On Republic Day (Cumhuriyet Bayramı) of 1936, October 29, in the presence of

The text appeared in several other newspapers, complemented by an additional

Sabiha Gökçen and the Dersim Harekatı

This newspaper campaign culminated in an article where the subjection of one of

communication. Especially among rebel groups and in early modern armies, no

Damas patriotas: The elite auxiliaries

Rabonas and Soldaderas: Auxiliary women of the lower classes

Abnegada soldadera / de tu bien querido Juan / tú le cubres la trinchera / con

The Guerrilleras of the 20th century

The second period of active, continent-wide participation of women in armed

attempted to export the revolution by sending a guerrilla group to Bolivia in order

The fight for equality among the guerrillas

economists, sought to explain “underdevelopment” and social injustice in Latin

course of their participation in armed struggle, as I will explain in the following

For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge.com/

List of contributors vii

1 Female fighters in armed conflict: Introduction1

8 Women of color in the armed forces of Germany: Invisibly exposed? 146