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Frontiers in Political Science 1frontiersin.org
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ISSN 1664-8714
ISBN 978-2-83251-785-7
DOI 10.3389/978-2-83251-785-7
March 2023
Frontiers in Political Science 2frontiersin.org
Children born of war: Challenges
and opportunities at the
intersection of war tension
and post-war justice and
reconstruction
Topic editors
Sabine Lee — University of Birmingham, United Kingdom
Susan Bartels — Queen’s University, Canada
Heide Glaesmer — University Hospital Leipzig, Germany
Citation
Lee, S., Bartels, S., Glaesmer, H., eds. (2023). Children born of war: Challenges and
opportunities at the intersection of war tension and post-war justice and
reconstruction. Lausanne: Frontiers Media SA. doi: 10.3389/978-2-83251-785-7
March 2023
Frontiers in Political Science 3frontiersin.org
04 Editorial: Children born of war: Challenges and opportunities
at the intersection of war tension and post-war justice and
reconstruction
Sabine Lee, Heide Glaesmer and Susan A. Bartels
07 “Every Child Is Special…”: Perspectives on the Integration of
Children Born of War and Their War-Affected Peers at a Local
School in Northern Uganda
Boniface Ojok
21 Children Born of Rebel Captivity: Politics and Practices of
Integration in Uganda
Allen Kiconco
36 “They Now Know That They Are Children of War”: Forcibly
Abducted Mothers and Fathers Balancing Disclosure and
Silencing to Their Children Born of War in Northern Uganda
Leen De Nutte, Lucia De Haene and Ilse Derluyn
51 “I Grew Up Longing to Be What I Wasn’t”: Mixed-Methods
Analysis of Amerasians’ Experiences in the United States and
Vietnam
Sabine Lee, Robert McKelvey and Susan A. Bartels
66 Loneliness and lack of belonging as paramount theme in
identity descriptions of Children Born of War
Saskia Mitreuter, Heide Glaesmer, Philipp Kuwert and Marie Kaiser
78 Resilience among Children Born of War in northern Uganda
Eunice Otuko Apio
93 Born between war and peace: Situating
peacekeeper-fathered children in research on children born
of war
Kirstin Wagner, Heather Tasker, Luissa Vahedi, Susan A. Bartels and
Sabine Lee
114 How a study on lived experiences impacted German
occupation children – A mixed-method long-term approach
Marie Kaiser and Heide Glaesmer
133 “Collateral damage” of occupation? Social and political
responses to nonmarital children of Allied soldiers and
Austrian women after the Second World War
Lukas Schretter and Barbara Stelzl-Marx
Table of
contents
TYPE Editorial
PUBLISHED 14 February 2023
DOI 10.3389/fpos.2023.1122280
OPEN ACCESS
EDITED AND REVIEWED BY
Thania Isabelle Paenholz,
Inclusive Peace, Switzerland
*CORRESPONDENCE
Sabine Lee
s.lee@bham.ac.uk
SPECIALTY SECTION
This article was submitted to
Peace and Democracy,
a section of the journal
Frontiers in Political Science
RECEIVED 12 December 2022
ACCEPTED 27 January 2023
PUBLISHED 14 February 2023
CITATION
Lee S, Glaesmer H and Bartels SA (2023)
Editorial: Children born of war: Challenges and
opportunities at the intersection of war tension
and post-war justice and reconstruction.
Front. Polit. Sci. 5:1122280.
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2023.1122280
COPYRIGHT
©2023 Lee, Glaesmer and Bartels. This is an
open-access article distributed under the terms
of the Creative Commons Attribution License
(CC BY). The use, distribution or reproduction
in other forums is permitted, provided the
original author(s) and the copyright owner(s)
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this journal is cited, in accordance with
accepted academic practice. No use,
distribution or reproduction is permitted which
does not comply with these terms.
Editorial: Children born of war:
Challenges and opportunities at
the intersection of war tension and
post-war justice and
reconstruction
Sabine Lee1*, Heide Glaesmer2and Susan A. Bartels3
1Department of History, School of History and Cultures, University of Birmingham, Birmingham,
United Kingdom, 2Abteilung fur Medizinische Psychologie und Medizinische Soziologie, Leipzig University,
Leipzig, Lower Saxony, Germany, 3Department of Emergency Medicine, Queen’s University, Kingston, ON,
Canada
KEYWORDS
children born of war, peacekeeper-fathered children, transitional justice, stigma, identity,
conflict-related sexual violence
Editorial on the Research Topic
Children born of war: Challenges and opportunities at the intersection of war
tension and post-war justice and reconstruction
Introduction
Children born of War (CBOW) are children fathered by foreign and often enemy soldiers
and born to local mothers during and in the immediate aftermath of armed conflict. CBOW
have long been overlooked as a distinct war-affected group with specific lived experiences and
therefore also distinct support needs; both the scholarly community and humanitarian and
political actors tasked with supporting war-affected populations tended to focus on the mothers
of CBOW, many of whom were survivors of conflict-related sexual violence (Carpenter, 2010).
Yet, CBOW themselves, often conceived in exploitative, abusive, and sometimes violent relations
(Carpenter, 2007), face significant challenges in childhood, youth and often into adulthood as a
consequence of multiple intersecting adversities, including discrimination and stigmatization
as well as adverse economic and social circumstances (Mochmann and Larsen, 2008;Glaesmer
et al., 2012;Lee and Glaesmer, 2021).
After initial conceptual and empirical studies in the early 2000s (e.g. Carpenter, 2000,2007,
2010;Grieg, 2001;Ericsson and Simonsen, 2005), in recent years a wealth of case studies relating
to CBOW and their mothers in different geopolitical and historical contexts have led to much
richer empirical data and a better understanding of the experiences of CBOW. Our Research
Topic is a reflection of some of those recent research developments; it is also a reflection—in this
relatively young research field—of the strength of research among early-stage researchers, many
of whom are single or lead authors in the papers published here. Furthermore, the Research
Topic reflects where, geographically and historically, some of the foci of international scholarship
have been: Sub-Saharan Africa and the Second World War in Europe.
The strength of CBOW research is evident in several of the Special Issue’s papers, some
of which specifically explore the relationship between CBOW and their mothers and fathers.
For instance, within the context of exploring children born in captivity linked to the Lord’s
Frontiers in Political Science 01 frontiersin.org
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Lee et al. 10.3389/fpos.2023.1122280
Resistance Army (LRA) in Uganda, Kiconco draws on extensive
fieldwork in the Kitgum area of Acholi in Northern Uganda,
to interrogate (re)integration politics and practices of receptor
communities while also identifying patterns of exclusion and
alienation as well as significant levels of stigmatization of children
born in LRA captivity. Evidence clearly links these ongoing
stigmatization experiences to persistent discriminatory patriarchal
socio-cultural practices.
Apio, while taking these experiences of stigma and discrimination
as the starting point of her research, argues that descriptions and
perceptions of suffering and disadvantage are a one-sided and limit
our understanding of the life course experiences of children born
in captivity. She instead argues for a stronger focus on CBOW’s
attempts at overcoming adversity. Her mixed-methods study used the
Child and Youth Resilience Measure as a self-reported determination
of socio-ecological resilience among 35 CBOW youth in Northern
Uganda and combined it with semi-structured interviews of a cross
section of respondents. Apio analysis evidences a more nuanced
picture of the way CBOW youth have dealt with experiences
of stigma, rejection, ill health, poverty, and lack of economic
opportunities, strongly indicating that a better understanding of the
variance in resilience could hold the key to more effectively tailored
support of CBOW in fragile post-conflict settings.
De Nutte et al. explore a topic that has long been recognized by
humanitarian actors as central to the experiences of CBOW but has
not found significant academic attention: disclosure about the CBOW
provenance. Based on a series of interviews with six mothers and four
fathers of children born in captivity, they explore both the parents’
agency in their choices to reveal to their children, their kinship group,
and their local communities the circumstances of the children’s
conception in captivity, while also highlighting the relational and
cultural contexts that might constrain this agency. Interrogating these
choices in view of the age of the child at the point of considering
disclosure, the emotional impact of disclosure, identity belonging and
possible future stigmatization, the paper confirms the complexity of
trauma communication in this case of socially negotiated choice.
Ojok paper moves beyond the context of family, kinship group,
and local community when he discusses the way children born in
captivity are integrated through local primary schools in Northern
Uganda. Using classroom observation to understand school policies
about the integration of war-affected children more broadly and
drawing on writing tasks to understand the way in which CBOW
experience the implementation of these policies, Ojok argues that
schools play a core role in the integration of CBOW into post-
conflict societies given that in schools CBOW are both confronted
with traumatic memories of the past but also experience healing if
an intrinsic support structure is built to facilitate their learning and
simultaneous recovery. On the basis of his case study, however, it
is also evident that the school amplifies experiences—both positive
and negative. Children who have experienced disadvantage—among
others CBOW—respond particularly positively to a caring and
nurturing environment; but conversely, they are particularly sensitive
to school experiences of exclusion and stigma.
Wagner et al. in their comparative paper explore a different
group of CBOW, namely peacekeeper-fathered children (PKFC)
in two different peacekeeping contexts: Haiti and the Democratic
Republic of Congo (DRC). Using a large mixed-methods study
in which interactions between local women and girls and male
peacekeepers in both countries were explored through the Research
Topic of more than 5,000 self-interpreted micronarratives, they
approached a question that CBOW researchers had raised but
not yet answered satisfactorily, namely how do PKFC fit into
the CBOW research paradigm, given the differences between
armed conflict, post-war occupation, and peace support operations.
Their findings demonstrate that the impact of being born as
a PKFC in many respects closely resembles the experiences of
CBOW in other contexts; they encounter exclusion, discrimination,
and stigmatization, economic, as well as educational and social
disadvantage. Therefore, Wagner et al. conclude that the inclusion of
PKFC in the research and programming framework that addresses
support needs of CBOW is justified and that troop-contributing
countries of peace support missions ought to be included in legal and
other frameworks that develop support structures for CBOW.
Moving from contemporary and recent conflict settings to
historical conflicts, four papers deal with CBOW of the Second World
War, the post-war occupations, and the Vietnam War. Children—
understood not as persons of a particular age or developmental stage,
but as offspring of a particular set of parents—in these contexts are of
a more advanced chronological age and therefore research can take a
more longitudinal approach.
Lee et al. interrogate the life courses of Vietnamese Amerasians
by comparing the experiences of those Amerasians who stayed in
Vietnam vs. those who emigrated to the US as part of several
resettlement initiatives of the U.S. government. Analyzing over 370
micronarratives of Amerasians in both countries, they compare
participants’ self-coded perceptions to identify statistically different
experiences and then use thematic analysis to complement those
quantitative findings. Respondents in Vietnam declared a stronger
desire to look for biological roots and confirmed that these roots
impacted on their identity; in contrast Amerasians in the U.S.
linked their provenance more strongly to physical and mental
health challenges. Poverty was a core theme in almost all narratives,
but the research also found that participants’ interactions with
their environment was strongly impacted by ethnicity with African
American parentage amplifying stigmatization.
The remaining papers in this Research Focus explore a range of
themes relating to the post-war occupations of Germany and Austria,
and the children fathered by occupation soldiers. In a longitudinal
study on Austrian so-called “occupation children”, Schretter and
Stelzl-Marx use archival and published sources as well as oral
history interviews to scrutinize the changes in the way political
actors and those involved in developing and implementing social
policies have changed their attitudes and prioritizations of policies
vis-à-vis this war-affected population over the last 75 years. They
identify three phases, with CBOW initially being perceived as a
(social and economic) burden for Austrian post-war society; later
CBOW were hardly noticed as they were assumed to have integrated
into mainstream Austrian society, only to be rediscovered, from the
1990s onwards, as the CBOW themselves became more vocal about
their distinct experiences of discrimination, stigmatization and their
decade-long search for their provenance in order to understand better
their own roots and identity. Schretter and Stelzl-Marx argue that
challenges and opportunities in the integration of these children
have been tied to changes in social values and morals as well as
to collective processes of coming to terms with the war and post-
war period.
Frontiers in Political Science 02 frontiersin.org
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Lee et al. 10.3389/fpos.2023.1122280
In their research on experiences of children of the post-war
occupation, Mitreuter et al. take identity and belonging as a starting
point, issues that have featured prominently in the narratives of
CBOW in all historical and geopolitical contexts. In their content
analysis of 122 open-ended questions among German CBOW they
identify several dominant themes. Most significant among the
narrative descriptors were loneliness and lack of belonging, followed
by lack of emotional bonds and a sense of belonging. In addition,
CBOW spoke frequently about what is often referred to in CBOW
literature as a ‘wall of silence’ or ‘conspiracy of silence’ – the
challenge of disclosure and the impact that non-disclosure has on
the CBOW. In contrast, the research also identified instances of
positive familiar relationships that led to a sense of belonging often
in situations where caregivers had been open and transparent about
the CBOW’s provenance.
Picking up the theme of the long-term impact of being a CBOW,
the final paper of our Research Topic engages with a theme of
relevance to participatory researchers generally and to those working
with CBOW in particular – namely the impact of research on those
who support our knowledge creation through their participation in
academic research. Kaiser and Glaesmer followed up their original
study of German children born of the post-WWII occupation
with a survey that investigated the impact of study participation
on the research subjects. Utilizing a mixed-methods paper-pencil
survey of 65 participants including the standardized Reactions to
Research Participation Questionnaire (RRPQ) as well as questions
on expectations toward participation, Kaiser and Glaesmer found
that although participation itself was sometimes associated with
negative emotions, participants’ overall experience was positive; this
was because initial expectations of study participation were met with
new ways of dealing with the challenges of being a CBOW.
Taken together, the articles give a sense of the breadth and
depth of research on CBOW, especially as it is driven by the next
generation of CBOW researchers who have formed determined, well-
trained, and multi-disciplinary group of academics building on the
earlier disciplinary and interdisciplinary work. The papers illustrate
the complexity of CBOW experiences as well as the significance
of research to underpin tailored responses to foster post-traumatic
growth and assist healing among CBOW.
Author contributions
All authors listed have made a substantial, direct, and intellectual
contribution to the work and approved it for publication.
Conflict of interest
The authors declare that the research was conducted in the
absence of any commercial or financial relationships that could be
construed as a potential conflict of interest.
Publisher’s note
All claims expressed in this article are solely those of the
authors and do not necessarily represent those of their affiliated
organizations, or those of the publisher, the editors and the reviewers.
Any product that may be evaluated in this article, or claim that may
be made by its manufacturer, is not guaranteed or endorsed by the
publisher.
References
Carpenter, R. C. (2000). Surfacing children: Limitations of the genocidal
rape discourse. Human Rights Quart. 22, 428–477 doi: 10.1353/hrq.2000.
0020
Carpenter, R. C. (2007). Born of War. Protection Children of
Sexual Violence Survivors in Conflict Zones. Bloomfield: Kumarian
Press.
Carpenter, R. C. (2010). Forgetting Children Born of War: Setting the Human Right
sAgenda in Bosnia and Beyond. New York: Columbia University Press. doi: 10.7312/carp1
5130
Ericsson, K., and Simonsen, E. (2005). Children of World War II: The Hidden Enemy
Legacy. Oxford and New York: Berg.
Glaesmer, H., Kaiser, M., Freyberger, H. J., Brähler, E., and Kuwert, P. (2012).
Die Kinder des zweiten Weltkrieges in Deutschland: Ein Rahmenmodelll für die
psychosoziale Forschung. Trauma Gewalt. 4, 318–328.
Grieg, K. (2001). The War Children of the World. Bergen: War and Children
Identity Project.
Lee, S., and Glaesmer, H. (2021). “Children Born of War: a critical appraisal of the
terminology,” in Children Born of War: Past, Present and Future, eds. S. Lee, H. Glaesmer,
and B. Stelzl-Marx (Abingdon: Routledge) 12–34. doi: 10.4324/9780429199851
Mochmann, I. C., and Larsen, S. U. (2008). Children born of war: The life course of
children fathered by German soldiers in Norway and Denmark during WWII - Some
empirical results. Histor. Soc. Res. 33, 347–363. doi: 10.12759/hsr.33.2008.1.347-363
Frontiers in Political Science 03 frontiersin.org
6
ORIGINAL RESEARCH
published: 06 May 2022
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2022.816736
Frontiers in Political Science | www.frontiersin.org 1May 2022 | Volume 4 | Article 816736
Edited by:
Susan Bartels,
Queen’s University, Canada
Reviewed by:
Catherine Baillie Abidi,
Dalhousie University, Canada
Michelle Lokot,
University of London, United Kingdom
Elke Kleinau,
University of Cologne, Germany
*Correspondence:
Boniface Ojok
ojok.boniface@gmail.com
Specialty section:
This article was submitted to
Peace and Democracy,
a section of the journal
Frontiers in Political Science
Received: 17 November 2021
Accepted: 08 April 2022
Published: 06 May 2022
Citation:
Ojok B (2022) “Every Child Is
Special…”: Perspectives on the
Integration of Children Born of War
and Their War-Affected Peers at a
Local School in Northern Uganda.
Front. Polit. Sci. 4:816736.
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2022.816736
“Every Child Is Special…”:
Perspectives on the Integration of
Children Born of War and Their
War-Affected Peers at a Local School
in Northern Uganda
Boniface Ojok*
College of Arts and Law, Department of History and Cultures, University of Birmingham, Birmingham, United Kingdom
This article examines the circumstances of 16 Children Born of War (CBOW) who
participated in a classroom activity designed to understand their experiences of
integration at a local school in post war northern Uganda. The children are part of a
generation of returnees who were conceived as a result of sexual violence and forced
marriages between the commanders of the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and young
girls abducted from their communities. The research at the Alur Primary School (APS)
articulates the children’s views, and how this one school managed to integrate CBOW
and war-affected children, treating each as special, to advance their learning and their
education. Specifically, each of the 181 war-affected children involved in the class activity
was given a chance to recall key moments of their time at APS. Their write-ups were
analyzed into themes illustrating what happened when CBOW were integrated into the
school, and how the school responded to their educational needs. The activity did not
isolate CBOW from their non-CBOW peers, hence giving every child the opportunity
to freely express their views regardless of their background. This article contributes to
our understanding of how schools, as one of the most influential institutions that shape
the development of children, can foreground the voices of CBOW as beneficiaries of
education and actors in their own right.
Keywords: education, reintegration, children, war-affected, born of war, integration
INTRODUCTION
Visitors to Alur Primary School (APS)1are met with a big signpost bearing the school’s symbol
and flag colors. Along this sign is the familiar black, yellow, and red colors of the Ugandan
flag—found in all national government grant-aided schools to remind the public of the importance
of schooling to the future of the nation. Like all government-aided schools in Uganda, APS operates
1The name used for this school is a pseudonym, to protect its anonymity. In order to further this, some additional information
such as date of establishment and precise location of the school has been left out on the basis that it would appear obvious for
local residents in northern Uganda to know which school the researcher is referring to.
7
Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
a free universal—based education curriculum that runs at all
levels from Primary One (P.1.) to Primary Seven (P.7.)2. Nearly
all the 800 children hosted at the school were “war-affected.”
They include Children Born of War (CBOW) and other groups of
children who were born and grew up in northern Uganda during
times of conflict and displacement3.
The terminology CBOW has been used in reference to
“persons of any age conceived as a result of violent, coercive,
or exploitative sexual relations in conflict zones” (Carpenter,
2007. p. 3). CBOW in this northern Uganda study were
part of a generation conceived as a result of sexual violence
and forced marriages between the commanders of the Lord’s
Resistance Army (LRA) and young girls abducted from their
communities4. 16 CBOW were identified from a total population
of 181 children of the upper-classes of P.6 and P.75. Of the 16
CBOW, the majority were among some 138 beneficiaries of NGO
scholarships offered to war affected children6. In 2015 the school
offered 25 placements to CBOW under a child sponsorship
scheme known as Sponsoring Children Uganda (SCU)—allowing
the children to enroll at the different primary grade levels. The
scheme has been run in collaboration with mothers of CBOW
who resided in the peri-urban settlements of the study location7
and have formed an association known as Watye Ki Gen8. This
group of young girls (hereinafter referred to as mothers, or
young mothers) constitute a part of the larger number of 30,000–
60,000 school age children and youth abducted in northern
Uganda during the war between LRA and the Ugandan army.
In this war, young female captives were forced into marriage
and motherhood where they served as “wives” and sex slaves
to senior commanders in addition to being domestic servants,
porters and fighters in the LRA (Baines, 2014, p. 406). Under
these circumstances, the young mothers conceived and gave birth
to children—the subject of interest in this study.
Today, over a decade from the end of the war, studies have
shown that the children usually fail to integrate into their
maternal clans due to communal obstacles that their mothers face
in attempting to negotiate their positions in their communities
2The school is a standard primary setting for pupils from P.1. to P.7., of which
P.6. and P.7. constitutes the upper primary. After P.7., the children sit a Primary
Leaving Examination (PLE) to join secondary schools or vocational training before
being enrolled into the university or other tertiary institutions as a final step.
3Some of the children were designated by NGOs as “vulnerable children”. These
include orphans, those living with HIV/AIDS, street children and children in need
of urgent support.
4The definition falls within category 3 of the four broad sub-categories of CBOW
advanced in academic research, i.e. 1) children of enemy soldiers, 2) children of
soldiers from occupation forces, 3) children of child soldiers and 4) children of
peacekeeping forces (Mochmann and Lee, 2010, p. 271).
5The 16 CBOW were identified through their write ups and reflections at a
composition activity organized by the research as discussed in the methodology
section below.
6School Registry 2016/17 accessed from office of Director of Studies (DoS), Alur
PS, August 6, 2018, northern Uganda.
7The name of the urban center located in northern Uganda (location of research)
has been concealed to avoid easy identification of the school, and the children
associated with it.
8An association of mothers of CBOW who have been formed as a non-
governmental organization to advocate and draw attention to the circumstances
of their children.
(see for example Apio, 2016; Baines, 2017; Porter, 2017; Stewart,
2017; Atim et al., 2018, p. 68). Some of the mothers reported
that upon return, their families had been killed or displaced—
the result of which was life in poverty, and inability to fend
for their children. In as much as some of their relatives wanted
their “children” (young mothers) to return to them, their having
had children born from the “bush” impacted negatively on the
way CBOW have been received as children of the enemies (also
see Apio, 2016; Mukasa, 2017; Stewart, 2017). Research has also
revealed how the mothers’ lives are clouded with shame and
agony of being associated with the LRA (Liebling and Baker,
2010; Mukasa, 2017; Liebling, 2018). In most of these cases, the
mothers were welcomed, while their “rebel” children rejected,
hence perpetuating a cycle of stigmatization and victimization
during the post war period (Mukasa, 2017).
The unraveling challenges that the returnees are faced with
has forced some of them to migrate and start new lives in the
anonymity of kwo town—Luo language meaning life in urban
locations. In Ojok’s (2021) study, the mothers viewed kwo town
in terms of opportunities these present to their life outside of the
social scrutiny they experienced in the camp9. A key notion of the
current study was that mothers, through their peer associations
and networks10, have negotiated their statuses with NGOs and
other charity associations for support—which is a demonstration
that their migration in the urban settlements became a form of
social agency employed as an alternative to life in their maternal
homes. According to Caramés et al. (2006) relocation to new
environments (especially town centers) is often fundamental in
ensuring that returnees mitigate their experience of stigma and
assimilate as “normal” people. In the case of the mothers, many
of them were able to benefit from different forms of educational
support for CBOW, making it possible to raise the children in the
peri-urban settings of the study location where their LRA identity
is unknown (Ojok, 2021). Such social negotiation sometimes
manifests in different forms: Erin Baines and Rosenoff-Gauvin
have for instance observed that the mothers have embraced their
motherhood responsibilities as an act of social repair (Baines and
Rosenoff-Gauvin, 2014). By doing so, they have begun to forge
a way to raise their children as opposed to being held back by
the stigma they encounter in society. It also follows that in the
performativity of their motherhood duties, the returnees desire
that their children be educated to become lutino makwiri (also
see Oloya, 2012), a Luo language phrase meaning “responsible
children”—who are able support their parents to overcome the
9Borrowing from elsewhere Adam Branch in his study on the urban town of Gulu
in the post war northern Uganda introduced the everyday usage of the phrase kwo
town – often ambivalently expressed to denote both challenges and opportunities
that came with the growth and expansion of Gulu town following the conflict
(Branch, 2013).
10At the time of the study a group of 100 mothers had formed three different
associations under the Women Advocacy Network (WAN) – a network of the
young mothers and survivors of sexual violence who have been supported by
a local NGO to carry out advocacy and lobby for their needs and that of their
children. For more on WAN see website http://www.justiceandreconciliation.org/
initiatives/womens-advocacynetwork/. Of these, Rwot Lakica group comprised 30
mothers while Kica Pa Rwot Women’s Group had 35 mothers. A third group
known as Can Rwede Peke had 48 young mothers. However, some mothers do not
join these groups due to fear of stigmatization (Ojok, 2021).
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Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
adversities faced in their communities (Ojok, 2021). In this
way, the education of returnees (mothers and their children)
can become a source of “emancipation” and “hope” (Mukasa,
2017, p. 363). Upon this understanding, this study examines the
experiences of CBOW and their encounter with schooling at
APS—contributing to our understanding of how schools, as one
of the most influential institutions, can shape the development
of children.
Specifically, the article discusses how this one school has
managed to integrate CBOW and war-affected children, treating
each as special, to advance their learning and their education.
Significantly, the teachers at APS have argued that “Every Child
is Special” mooting this approach as suitable to addressing the
educational needs of all children, including CBOW enrolled at
the school. The research revealed that there exists no consistent
approach to what special education means, which does not
speak to any national or international discourses around the
support of children with Special Education Needs (SEN): the
statement “Every Child is Special” meant different things to
different teachers when it comes to CBOW. On the one hand,
the statement points to the fact that all children at the school
are taken as individuals with specific needs regardless of their
background. On the other hand, this same reasoning also implies
that some of the children require special attention and support
because they returned from the LRA camps where they faced
particular challenges and received an unusual socialization (Ojok,
2021). On this basis, the school’s philosophy advances the view
that the educational provisions at the school have been focused
on the individualities of the child—the fact that every child has
unique academic and non-academic needs, and that sometimes
there are children who are “special” due to their circumstances,
and have to be treated that way. This research is an attempt
to unpack these processes as they relate to the experiences of
the CBOW.
The discussion in the next section lays out the study
methodology. This is followed by a section that discusses
the findings arising from children’s experiences—foregrounding
their voices as beneficiaries of education and actors in their
own right. Throughout this article, pseudonyms are used for the
school, the study location (district), mothers, the teachers and the
children to avoid negative consequences (stigma, exclusion) for
the children who participated in the study.
RESEARCH METHODOLOGY
This research was part of a doctoral field study at University of
Birmingham which was organized in the summer of 2017 and
2018 to examine the educational circumstances of CBOW in
northern Uganda. This study used a mixed methods approach
to understand the situation of CBOW: The main research
activity required CBOW to write down their reflections during
English composition writing sessions organized to generate
insights about their experience at APS. Additional methods of
Focus Group Discussions (FGD) and face to face interviews
were carried out with teachers and mothers—the children’s
immediate proxies—in order to understand the school practices
and attitudes toward education of CBOW. In addition, the
researcher undertook participant observation of the school in
order to learn first-hand the experience that the children go
through while at APS, as well as understand how they were
treated by the school teachers and management. The use of
mix methods in understanding the children’s experiences offered
complementary insights and understandings that would not have
been possible had the researcher relied on a single method of
gathering information (also see Darbyshrire et al., 2005).
The pilot phase of the field trip to northern Uganda was
carried out in the summer of 2017 when the researcher spent 3
months undertaking participant observation of the school and
12 face to face interviews with the mothers. The activities were
done to gain a background understanding on the situation of
CBOW, and generate the different perspectives toward their
schooling. Eight FGDs were also organized to that effect with
the mothers. A second field trip was organized in the summer
of 2018 lasting over three months that enabled the researcher to
undertake an additional phase of participant observation. This
was carried out along with FGDs and face to face interviews with
the teachers and school management. In total, 14 class teachers
of the upper-class levels of P.6. and P.7. participated in the
face to face interviews. The same teachers also participated in 2
separate Focus Group Discussions (FGD) for the male and female
teachers. All the FGDs and face to face interviews were carried
out by the researcher who was assisted by two female research
assistants. Consents were obtained both verbally and in writing
in the Luo language spoken by the participants. The interviews
were audio recorded, and transcription of data was carried out by
the researcher. The FGD and face to face interviews with teachers
were carried out within the school premises, while the ones with
mothers were carried out at different places preferred by the
participants. Confidentiality and comfort of the participants was
prioritized in the choice of location for the FGD and face-to
face interviews.
Detailed field work started in the summer of 2017—during
which the researcher negotiated his entry with the school
head teacher at a meeting organized to introduce the study11.
Following this, the head teacher introduced the researcher to the
teachers at a second meeting organized for the same purpose.
The researcher was also introduced by the head teacher to all
the school pupils and the general school community at a routine
Monday morning school parade. He was introduced as someone
interested in learning about the experiences of education for
war affected children. They were informed that the researcher’s
presence would not interfere with normal school routine—a
point that the researcher articulated and clarified when asked
to address the school assembly, and during different occasions.
He also emphasized his independence, clarifying that he had no
relationship with the NGOs that provided scholarships to the
11A consent letter to allow school participation in the research was obtained from
the head teacher. The researcher also obtained both verbal and written consent
from the mothers of CBOW for their children to participate during an earlier set
of meetings, interviews and FGDs organized by the researcher prior to including
the school. The mothers had organized themselves under their associations Watye
Ki Gen and WAN.
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Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
children, which minimized possibilities of perceived coercion of
the children into providing responses. In essence, in order for the
children to be involved in the research, it was important that the
researcher adopted a role that defines and allows the children
to recognize his relationship with them (also see Birbeck and
Drummond, 2005).
During the participant observation, the researcher spent time
understanding the school practices and policies relating to the
integration of CBOW into everyday schooling which generated
a rich set of field notes used to support analysis. He blended
with the children during class hours and play time. Observations
were also done around some of the key school activities that the
researcher attended, which included: school assemblies, academic
activities in the classes (teachings and interactions between
teachers and their pupils), and extra-curricular activities (games,
sports, drama, music and dance). Because of this, the researcher
was able to probe the events, and the role of the pupils as “actors
within it”—always asking the “how” and the “why” questions
(Yin, 1994) to allow for a deeper reflection of what was being
observed. This information helped in ensuring that the researcher
developed an all-around understanding of the school system and
its practices.
In the summer of 2018, the researcher introduced a creative
and flexible activity for children of the upper classes of P.6. and
P.7. in an effort to directly involve children and foreground their
voices within the research. The researcher had been invited by a
male English teacher of P.6. and P.7. to attend his introductory
lessons on English Composition, during which he was also
asked to speak to the pupils, as had been the case with all
class observations conducted during this period. During this
process, the researcher and teacher discussed possibilities of a
collaborative activity that involved the children writing down
their reflections to contribute their own perspectives toward the
study. In doing so, the researcher introduced a more active role
for children, as opposed to obtaining information from their
proxies. This mitigated against underestimating the children’s
abilities to “draw” or “write” [Backett-Milburn and McKie, 1999
cited in Darbyshrire et al. (2005), p. 423] as a form of expressing
their opinions in the research.
The proposed questions for the composition for the two
classes required the children to recall their experiences when they
first joined the school. These questions were shared with the
research supervisors, and developed into open ended questions
deemed comprehensible to the pupils (Waterman et al., 2001),
and pertinent to the children’s own experiences (Scott, 2000).
To enhance free expression and confidentiality, the pupils were
not required to write their names, although all of them insisted
on having their names on the scripts; these have since been
coded. The children were also assured that the researcher was the
only person who would be reading their compositions, making
clear that no teachers would be grading them. This process was
useful as it freed the children to candidly express their views of
the school, resting in the knowledge that their teachers would
not read their texts, hence minimizing the risk that children
would interpret their involvement in the activity as “school work”
(Kellett and Ding, 2004). Although the researcher told the pupils
to feel free to write in the Luo language, the children opted
for English, and were generally mature at expressing themselves
about their lives at the school.
Of the 181 children who participated in the composition
activity, 97 pupils were from P.7., 39 of whom were girls, and
one student in P.7.was visually impaired. The total number of
pupils who participated in P.6. were 84, 47 of whom were girls.
Two boys were considered to have special needs because of
their visual impairments, with one other student being physically
impaired and supported by a wheel chair. Of the total number
of class participants, 16 were CBOW. All the 16 (10 boys and
6 girls) identified themselves as CBOW in the write-ups. Apart
from general information from the NGOs that the school is
hosting CBOW at the different class levels, no attempt was made
at identifying the children during the class activity, or more
generally during observation at the school. However, 3 children
outside of the 16 were identified by the teachers as CBOW,
however they were not singled out for any activity. The study with
CBOW was underpinned by the understanding that when the
children are singled out, this would lead to their stigmatization.
Previous research studies with CBOW in northern Uganda
had revealed that children prefer to conceal their LRA identity
so that they are able to integrate seamlessly in educational
and other communal settings (Denov and Lakor, 2017; Stewart,
2017). These views were confirmed with CBOW mothers during
preliminary interviews conducted in February and March 2017.
Although the children were not singled out on the basis of
their ages, the older CBOW comfortably discussed their ages
in the essays—which points to the experiences they had in
comparison to their peers, as explained below. According to
the age range of pupils documented in the P.6 and P.7 class
rosters accessed from the Director of Studies (DoS), the group
encompassed children between the ages of 12 and 17. In most
schools in Uganda, the expected age range for P.6 and P.7 pupils
is 11–12-year-old, although in practice, children’s grade-levels
are not always dependent on their chronological age due to
some children’s education having been delayed by war. This
is especially true of CBOW, as many of them missed out on
educational opportunities in their early childhood.
More than half the children were able to fill the three sheets of
paper provided to them – a demonstration that they were willing
to share information about their experiences at the school. At
least 40 of the 181 pupils in P.6 and P.7 who participated in this
activity were given extra time to keep their answer sheets as they
preferred to carry their work home in order to embark on more
reflections on their lives. For those who were able to complete
their work in time, their answer sheets were collected and the
children were thanked for their participation. After reading the
children’s work, the researcher spent some time with four of the
P.6 and P.7 teachers reflecting on the process of the assignment
without revealing details of what had been written by individual
pupils. This additional session with four of the P.6 and P.7
teachers was helpful for contextualizing the way the teachers
relate with CBOW.
The pupils were happy to participate in the essay writing and
some of them had important messages written to the researcher
at the end of their answer sheets. For example, Anefah, a girl of
P.7. wrote, “sir may God bless you for bringing this project to our
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Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
school to make us talk freely about our life in school”12. Similarly,
another young boy, Openke, of P.7. wrote, “we like this exercise
because it is fun. I enjoyed writing about myself ”13. Such remarks
underline the importance of asking questions that children
already know and which are not harmful, as was the case with
the specific questions that were designed to allow the children
to talk about daily events, routines or feelings (Mauthner, 1997).
Other pupils drew pictures of flowers at the end of their work
as a thank you for participating in the activity—actions which
teachers interpreted as the children’s enthusiasm and joy in
writing about themselves. In some of the remarks, the children
wrote about how they enjoyed the process of participation: “I
liked throwing the ball. It was fun because I like football. Football
makes me happy”14, said Ochenda a boy of P.6. White Stream.
This shows that the ice-breakers can be significant in making
children feel at ease15.
Throughout the research process, a local organization working
with war affected children and their mothers—the Justice and
Reconciliation Project (JRP) was on site to provide specialized
support to the participants who were assumed susceptible to
distress resulting from their participation in the research16. An
ethics approval was granted by the University of Birmingham
Ethics Review Board, after a lengthy review of the study
methodologies and several adaptations of the study protocol.
This was followed by similar approvals of the Uganda national
ethics board in Kampala, and Lacor Ethics Review Board.
These permits allowed participant observation at the local
primary school in northern Uganda including the researcher’s
participation in classroom activities, conditional on permission
from the school management, and respective consent from
the school teachers who would collaborate in the research.
Safety and security of information regarding the research was
ensured by using the UoB Bear-Datashare system of research data
management, where interviews, observations and primary source
documents have been stored as per ethical review protocol. All
written scripts/data have been coded and made available in the
open access repository at UoB. In addition, pseudonyms have
been used throughout the study in order to protect the CBOW
and their mothers from any form of victimization resulting from
the exposure they are likely get as a result of the information they
provided in this thesis. On similar grounds, a pseudonym for the
school (Alur PS) has been used—including its teachers—to avoid
any forms of stigma that may arise from the public toward those
associated with the school. On the same note, references to the
12P.7. White (Folder 1), Script no. 1, August 15, 2018, University of Birmingham
Archives, Birmingham, UK.
13P.7. Red (Folder 2), Script no.1, August 15, 2018, University of Birmingham
Archives, Birmingham, UK.
14P.6. White, (Folder 3), Script no.1, August 9, 2018, University of Birmingham
Archives, Birmingham, UK.
15A more detailed analysis of this study methodology, its rationale and broader
application to research with minors has been articulated in a recent co-authored
book chapter titled “Children Born of War: Past, Present and Future” (Akullo and
Ojok, 2021), and the doctoral thesis by the researcher (Ojok, 2021).
16During the research none of the participants obtained any form of support
resulting from their participation in the overall research. Information for support
was availed to the participants during the information sharing sessions at the start
of the interviews, FGDs and class activity.
specific district and town where the study took place has been
avoided by simply using northern Uganda.
Data from face to face interviews and FGDs were audio
taped, transcribed and all translations were carried out by the
researcher. The transcripts were then checked for accuracy by
the research assistant who also accompanied the researcher at
all times during the fieldwork. The researcher then undertook
the analysis, allowing the participants’ voices to take precedent
in articulating their experiences. To a large extent, most of
the participants’ views, and children’s write-ups were quoted
verbatim as a way of foregrounding the evidence gathered from
the field. The analysis of the children’s class activity was grounded
on empirical knowledge gained from the school without relying
on an overarching theory to inform the fieldwork—which is
consistent with aspects of approaches adopted in ethnographic
studies (see for Guba and Lincoln, 1989). As the research
program evolved, the researcher was able to record and generate
important patterns which were developed into the two main
themes that informed the class activities, i.e., “a day I will
never forget,” which explored the children’s feelings or narratives
of their time at school, and “a typical day at school,” which
examined the way CBOW and their peers experienced the school
policies and practices. Beyond superficial explanation, the use of
questions such as “how” and “why” enabled the researcher to
gain a more in-depth understanding of the experiences of the
participants which in turn was helpful in generating themes that
informed the analysis (Yin, 1994; Stake, 2003).
Although comprehensive data analysis was done after the
field activities, a preliminary analysis was carried out after each
phase of the data collection. The process involved “sifting,
sorting, and reflecting” (Cohen et al., 2011, p. 539) with constant
comparisons across data sets in order to be able to identify
patterns, consistencies and differences in data collected from
interviews and observations (Thomas, 2013). The reflective
process and cross data comparison were enhanced by making
references to field diaries and reflective journals that were kept
by the researcher. This enabled him to undertake analysis while
integrating his personal experiences and articulation of the
interface he had with the participants—as well as knowledge
generated through participant observation of the field. The
researcher’s observation of the everyday school setting allowed
him to enhance his analysis with emerging issues (Gluckman,
1961)—through an extended case study approach. In this way
he was able to “close in on real life situations” (Flyvbjerg, 2006,
p. 235)—many of which were given as examples to inform the
different sections of this article. The analytical framework that
informed the process also relied on additional literature and
publications related to emerging research on CBOW and war
affected children in Africa.
Lastly, the study had some limitations that ought to be
considered when the results are being interpreted. Information
was gathered from a single school that captured the experiences
of only 16 CBOW. The sample size does now allow for
generalization of findings (Yin, 1984, p. 21; Yin, 1993; Tellis,
1997; Thomas, 2011). It was not possible within the study
parameters to obtain a larger sample of CBOW considering
they were a hidden population within this setting. Additionally,
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Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
the researcher only considered CBOW from the upper classes
of P.6. and P.7. which presumably left out a bigger sample of
CBOW within the school itself. The case therefore provides
practical rather than universal knowledge (Flyvbjerg, 2006) of
the education experiences of only 16 CBOW at this one school.
Further to this, the case study was taken from a school in the
urban center of the study location. The case of APS therefore
does not include the perspectives of CBOW who study in the
rural areas, and whose experiences would have offered a unique
and balanced view of the circumstances of CBOW in post
war northern Uganda. Another issue has been that in spite
of efforts to triangulate data obtained through other methods,
e.g., observation of school interactions and interviews with
mothers/teachers, it was difficult to rule out social desirability
bias. At this particular school, it is possible that some participants
did not want to provide information that would make them
appear “bad” (Paulhus, 1984, p. 22) or to be perceived as speaking
negatively about the school or their teachers. Similarly, social
desirability bias may have existed for teachers who would not
want to go against the school philosophy of treating every child
as special because such views would appear unacceptable or
insensitive toward CBOW.
The discussions that follow examines some of the children’s
written narratives, illustrating what happened when CBOW were
integrated into the school, and how the school responded to
their educational needs. Based on the children’s perspectives, and
the teachers’ opinions, effort is made to evaluate the philosophy
‘Every Child is Special’ as a way of understanding how the
children have been treated at APS. These discussions fall within
two main themes of the study, i.e., “a day I will never forget,”
which explores the children’s feelings or narratives of their time
at school, and “a typical day at school,” which looks at the way
CBOW and their peers have experienced the school policies and
practices. While discussing the first theme, ‘a day I will never
forget’, the researcher analyzed the children’s narratives on a time
they spent at school. This was different from their reflections on
the way they are being treated in terms of educational provision
which will be discussed later where the children reflect on their
typical day at school.
“MY FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL”:
CHILDREN’S FEELINGS ABOUT
TRANSITION TO EARLY SCHOOL LIFE
Analysis from the class composition activity revealed that
CBOW felt insecure when they initially joined the school
because of imagined or actual experiences encountered while
with their peers and teachers. Other than their concerns
about being shamed as a result of their association with the
LRA, the feelings of CBOW were found to be consistent
with the more general experiences encountered by other war
affected children. A recurrent theme in the children’s frustration
with life at APS stemmed from the poor socio-economic
circumstances their families lived in, which did not matter
whether one was from the LRA (CBOW) or not. These are
discussed below.
When CBOW joined APS, there was an initial sense of
withdrawal in participation in the school life. Opimma, a 15-year
old CBOW of P.6. described that he remained isolated because he
felt different: his peers dressed better than him because the family
could not afford decent clothing for him to join the school17.
Similarly, Okoju (P.6) a CBOW, described his circumstance in
the following ways:
I came here from Anaka very far away. My mother came with
me from Sudan (the LRA) and life was not easy in school when I
joined. My mother is poor and cannot buy everything I need here
[in school]. Sometimes my friends laugh at me. This made me
start staying on my own those days [when I just joined school]18.
The above two comments from CBOW about their sense
of feeling “out of place” and loneliness during the early days
of school shows that their feelings were not based on real
prejudice they experienced, but on the state of mind they found
themselves in as a result of being different from others. We shall
however discover later below from Okoju that he was provided a
supportive environment by his teachers to enable him cope with
the situation he faced in the new school setting. The comments
did not necessarily suggest that CBOW had a particular way
they viewed the school that was different from the rest of their
non-CBOW peers. From the write-ups, 16 non-CBOW expressed
similar challenges related to poverty. These circumstances are
indicative of the struggles experienced by many children in the
post-war society—and the more general impact of war on the
children’s families.
In addition to the children’s family situation, the write-
ups indicated that some CBOW felt out of place because they
were relatively older than their peers—which revealed implicit
differences in the experiences of older CBOW from the rest19.
However, the age gap did not affect their motivation to continue
schooling, neither did it reveal that the school treated them
differently from the rest. Rujok, a CBOW of P.6. wrote the
following statements about his experiences:
When I was about to join school, my mother struggled to get
money. She was not able to get enough until when I was 9 years
old. I started school late. I had to skip some of the classes in the
lower primary school. I am now 17 years old. God knows why
he did that to me. Even though I am very big I will still finish it
(complete school). . . 20.
17CBOW 1 (Opimma), P.6. White, (Folder 3), Script no.3, August 9, 2018,
University of Birmingham Archives, Birmingham, UK.
18CBOW 2 (Okoju), P.6. Red (Folder 4), Script no.1, August 9, 2018, University of
Birmingham Archives, Birmingham, UK.
19According to the age range of pupils documented in the P.6 and P.7 class rosters,
the group encompassed children between the ages of 12 and 17. In most schools in
Uganda, the expected age range for P.6 and P.7 pupils is 11-12-year-old, although
in practice, children’s grade-levels are not always dependent on their chronological
age due to some children’s education having been delayed by war. This is especially
true of children born in captivity, as many of them missed out on educational
opportunities in their early childhood.
20CBOW 3 (Rujok), P.6. White, (Folder 3), Script no.4, August 9, 2018, University
of Birmingham Archives, Birmingham, UK.
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Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
Although the statement shows that the CBOW felt different
from his peers, he did not view his circumstances negatively;
instead the age difference has propelled him to become an
ambitious child. Similarly, at 15 years old, Akali who is a CBOW,
joined APS while she was older than most of her peers in P.5.
Akali remarked, “I felt bad when I found out that other children
were younger than me. . . ”21. Her narrative revealed that a teacher
had encouraged her to remain in school urging that if she worked
hard she would perform well in class and be able to join secondary
school. This showed that Akali did not have any negative feeling
about the way the teacher treated her.
According to the Ugandan average age of enrolment in P.1.,
by the age of 14, the two CBOW - Akali and Rujok should have
already been in secondary school—a fact the teachers attributed
to the school practice of providing special considerations to
war affected children22. Of the 16 CBOW in P.6. and P.7. who
participated in the essay, at least 8 were between the ages of 14–
17. According to information from the school DoS, who also
oversees the school admission process, all CBOW admitted to
APS had started their education from P.1. in other schools, at
the ages of 8–12 and therefore were 4–5 years older than many
of their peers who had not been born in the LRA at the time they
began their formal education23.
In a discussion with teacher Omara Denish, an attempt
was made to explain why older CBOW may feel out of place
compared to their non-CBOW counterparts of similar ages.
Omara Denish said:
The reason they may want to talk about their experiences as older
pupils in this school is because their case is different from say a
child who stayed home because his parents could not afford the
additional charges at school, or whose parents died in the war, and
others. However, this does not mean we have been treating them
differently. Like others, we treat the older children who returned
from the bush the same way we treat all other children, but I really
see there is a difference between these ones [born in the bush] and
those who found themselves in difficult situations24.
Considering the school philosophy on inclusion, this teacher’s
statement is a surprising revelation—seemingly contrary to
the understanding that all children have to be treated equally
regardless of circumstances. On this particular issue, it is clear
that CBOW feel negatively impacted by their age compared to
their younger counterparts, which also impacts negatively on the
way they interpret other people’s feelings toward them.
Of those who did not write about their experiences of studying
in the same class as their younger peers, the school records held
21CBOW 4 (Akali), P.6. White, (Folder 3), Script no.5, August 9, 2018, University
of Birmingham Archives, Birmingham, UK.
22Personal Interview with Director of Studies (DoS), APS, May 6, 2019, northern
Uganda; Personal Interview with Mr. Opiyo Chris, Maths Teacher for P.6. and P.7.,
APS, August 4, 2018, northern Uganda.
23No systematic age records of P.6. and P.7. exists in a register. The researcher was
able to trace the ages of the CBOW by looking at their data during the time of
enrolment record. Some of the children mentioned their ages in the compositions
they wrote.
24Personal Interview with Mr. Omara Denish, SST teacher APS, May 7, 2019,
northern Uganda.
by the school DoS show that at least 13 children in P.6. and
P.7. were of comparable age to their older CBOW counterparts,
i.e., between 14 and 1725. The DoS, however, revealed that to
a large extent some of the children were older due to several
reasons such as ill-health, being asked to repeat grades due to
poor performances and the pressure to provide domestic labor.
Such trends are not unique to APS. Observation of schools at
the study location still shows that there is a high incidence of
children missing school—a demonstration of how widespread
the problem has been in the post conflict region. It also shows
that in spite of the existence of universal education, school age
children still abscond or remain out of school due to factors that
are sometimes beyond their control.
From the above evidence, CBOW often felt prejudiced on
the basis of their backgrounds and feeling of indifference from
their peers—in spite of school emphasis that every child is
special. In reality, the research also shows that the children’s
feelings stem from perceived realities derived from the children’s
viewpoints as opposed to being derived from objectively different
treatment by their peers, or the school community. Having
discussed the children’s feelings of life upon joining APS, the next
section will examine what the children felt about the relationship
with teachers.
CHILDREN’S FEELINGS ABOUT THEIR
RELATIONSHIP WITH TEACHERS
To a large extent the narratives showed that CBOW became
accustomed to life in their school—allowing them to establish
viable relationships. On the whole, the CBOW’s narratives
showed that they were afforded the environment they required
to excel socially and academically, which was different from their
early experiences. Regardless of these sources of support, the
children’s narratives showed that some of the teachers’ negative
attitudes toward CBOW influenced affected their self esteem-
which was a feeling that both CBOW and their non-CBOW
peers reported. These aspects contradicted the school practice of
treating every child as special as we can see below.
In terms of the positive relationships, CBOW reported that
their teachers were able to help them overcome academic and
social challenges that held them back from enjoying their time
at school. In the case of Okoju (discussed above), the child was
able to overcome the social intimidation in the relationship he
had with his peers. He wrote, “so when I came here I was scared
I would not be able to understand the way of the school (system)
but I was happy. .. ”. He added, “here if you come in the middle of
the term, teachers can give you work and you do it alone. There
is one teacher who used to give me work to do even after class
has ended. She wanted me to catch up with my friends in class.
That is what I liked”26. The comment shows that the individual
attention paid to the child has been important in helping the
25School Registry 2016/17 accessed from office of Director of Studies (DoS), APS,
August 6, 2018, northern Uganda.
26CBOW 2 (Okoju), P.6. Red (Folder 4), Script no.1, August 9, 2018, University of
Birmingham Archives, Birmingham, UK.
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Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
CBOW overcome his weaknesses. Similar efforts were extended
to Opimma who is also a CBOW. She said:
Why do I like this school? It is because one of my teachers maybe
knew that I was from the bush, he is always calling me to staffroom
and finding out how I am doing in school. He used to call me
many times so I began to think that he knew [I came from the
bush]. But he made me begin to like teachers and go to them when
I have something to talk about27.
The statements from the two CBOW, Okoju and Opimma,
show how the pupils value the individual efforts teachers make
toward their progress in school; which is also a demonstration
of the efforts their teachers put toward inclusion of individual
children ensuring that every child is supported on the basis of
their background. These forms of support reveal that CBOW are
likely to develop positive attitudes and become better pupils when
they feel welcomed by the teachers in the school.
Some CBOW however provided negative feedback in the way
they related with their teachers. The case of Odupi, a CBOW who
recollected his experience from two years back, shows how some
teachers can be abusive and less caring toward children. He wrote:
. . . whenever I see this teacher I do not concentrate because he
does not like me. One day he said to me, “Odupi I don’t know
where this head of yours came from. It must be from your parents.
They are wasting a lot of money on a useless boy, bringing you to
school as good as APS. You will never be of use to them even if we
waste our time teaching you. . . ”. I don’t like this teacher28.
The child’s negative feeling is influenced by the way his teacher
made a mockery of his academic ability. Although it was difficult,
within the confines of this study, to conclude that CBOW are
singled out for mockery, such attitudes from the teachers directed
against any child is likely to discourage the child’s efforts to
succeed at school, and contradicts the way teachers are supposed
to handle every child with compassion—a likely betrayal of the
school philosophy of treating every child as special. As observed
by Stewart, such experiences show that schools can become
“simultaneously a place of hope and a place of exclusion.” Hope
in the sense that CBOW viewed schools as avenues where they
could build positive relationships with their peers, and a route out
of the “harmful aspects of their identities.” At the same time, they
also viewed schools as places where they experienced everyday
exclusions and stigma from their peers and teachers (Stewart,
2017, p. 137). In the case of APS, children wrote about the way
teachers were abusive and less caring.
Odose’s statement illustrates the emotional and psychological
distress that CBOW can encounter when they become victims
of mockery:
Some teachers can decide to use abusive words which are so
bad to mention in public. Like some of them can abuse the
child, “You are rubbish, you are useless...” It can hurt the child
27CBOW 5 (Opimma), P.6. White Stream, August 8, 2018, APS, northern Uganda.
28CBOW 6 (Odupi), P.6. Red (Folder 4), Script no. 4, August 9, 2018, University
of Birmingham Archives, Birmingham, UK.
emotionally. Like when the teacher comes to teach, the child will
not understand because they hate the teacher. When the teacher
enters class, they remember the words which the teacher said to
them. Even sometimes when the teacher comes to teach, they
deliberately choose not to concentrate29.
The direct insults thrown at pupils can have negative
consequences on their feelings of inclusion. The act of withdrawal
and lack of attention shown by the CBOW in the above quote
is a testament to how far these feelings can impact individuals.
For most of the part, this can reinforce feelings of victimization
toward the targeted children at school.
Similar comments were also made to pupils who were not
born in the bush to LRA fathers. At least six pupils commented
on the fact that their teachers are sometimes rude toward them
whenever they do not perform to expectation. Atigi (P.6) for
instance expressed upset with the way she encountered insults
from her teacher upon giving a wrong answer during a class
activity, which was the same way Anenocon (P.7.) felt when she
failed to respond to a class activity. This shows a more general
indication of the complacency that some of the teachers have
when it comes to observing their professional teaching ethics.
This result is likely to breed mistrust and suspicion from children,
regardless of their background.
Sometimes the attitudes of teachers toward children stood
out when it came to providing feedback on the children. Ms.
Adong Irene a teacher of Social Studies (SST) in P.6. for instance
commented on how teachers address the behavior of children at
school in the following ways:
We try to treat these children equally, but one thing for sure is
that the children who come from the bush their behaviors usually
stand out from others; they are very cruel to other children. We
had many of them in the past. One almost fought a teacher but
he had to reform. At APS we know how to deal with these ones
(swaying the cane in demonstration) . .. sometimes they even fear
us. What is a teacher here for then? You find them staying alone,
which is dangerous30.
The teacher’s comment shows how the behavior of one or a
few children can make teachers feel differently about the CBOW.
These are sometimes genuine challenges that teachers face in
teaching children who have been socialized in a setting that
encouraged and necessitated behavior that in a school context
is challenging (and may be perceived as threatening by the
teachers). Bush and Saltarelli have argued that such teachers
(usually from the majority group) in post-conflict situations may
display negative dispositions against the non-normative groups,
then employ certain sentiments to justify their in/actions (Bush
and Saltarelli, 2000, p.15). However, in this study, evidence from
two FGDs and individual interviews with teachers confirmed
that the returnees sometimes indeed displayed different behavior
from their peers, far from just looking at their behaviors as
29CBOW 7 (Odose), P.6. White (Folder 3), Script no.6, August 9, 2018, University
of Birmingham Archives, Birmingham, UK.
30Ms. Adong Irene during FGD female teachers, APS, August 16, 2018,
northern Uganda.
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Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
stereotypical to having been born from the bush. During FGD
with mothers of CBOW, they too have conceded that CBOW
tend to display negative behavior due to their early socialization
in the bush where behavioral norms were different31. Therefore,
Ms. Adong Irene’s less tolerant attitude in the above statement
suggests a reasonable basis to assume that CBOW’s behavior
indeed differed at APS and was not acceptable or in line with
school policies. However, even so, it may not be appropriate to
identify a child as CBOW or articulate in front of them that this
behavior was linked to their past experiences in the bush as this
might result into their feeling of not being valued at the school,
or by society more generally.
From the above evidence we can see that although the school
teachers have attempted to treat all children as special, in practice
CBOW have felt that certain practices and attitudes undermines
their experiences of war. The teachers’ attitudes reinforced
feelings of prejudice among a group that already feels different.
Having explored the children’s feelings about their social life
at school, the next section examines the reflections by CBOW
on how they are being treated in practice—and these have been
derived from the children’s write-ups regarding their “typical
day.” The discussions are divided into two short themes: the
first looks at the children’s school routine which is centered on
their academic experiences, and the second theme specifically
examines their experiences in classrooms which is centered on
streaming policy and other classroom practices and activities.
THE CHILDREN’S PERSPECTIVE ON
SCHOOL ROUTINE (THE ACADEMIC
EXPERIENCE IN SCHOOL)
More generally, the children’s reflections demonstrate that they
are determined to succeed—which is what their teachers and
parents demand of them. Their determination to succeed did
not however make the children hold back on their views:
the philosophy “every child is special” was to some extent
undermined by the extreme focus on academic routine of the
school above everything else. On that basis, children were
unable to adequately explore other aspects of their life that
would guarantee them opportunities to socialize, derive therapy
and healing and develop life skills. The positive academic
environment and emphasis was also seen, however, as an avenue
where CBOW can harness their abilities to work hard and
meet the performance benchmarks set by their school—which
promoted a positive feeling among the group. These views are
discussed below.
At the time of this research, P.7. pupils were due to sit their
mock preparatory examinations, in time for the national Primary
Leaving Examinations (PLE) that was due in November. The
pupils of P.6 and P.7 wrote about the intensity of class activities
and the attention that teachers pay to their performance. Obeno
of P.7. said, “In P.7 we do not waste time outside the class. All the
time there is teaching, reading, tests and revisions. There is no
31FGD with mothers of CBOW, May 3 2017, northern Uganda.
time for playing even when you want to relax. . .”32. The pupils
provided different opinions on the school’s focus on academic
life: Rujok of P.6 (discussed earlier above) for instance wrote that,
“the teachers here are serious. They say we have to perform well.
I like to stay in class so I can read and pass well. This is why I
like this school. In my former school the teachers sometimes did
not teach us. . . ”33. In this comment, Rujok’s taste for his school
is centered around the teachers’ commitment which is different
from those at his former school. Similarly, another child, Ouma,
remarked on how the school focus on academic life is in line
with his dream to become a responsible person in future. He
said, “. . .for me I think this is the school that if one wants to
perform well they have to follow what their teachers tell them.
I want to become someone in future, say like a doctor even if
it is difficult and my parents do not have money”34. Despite his
parents’ circumstances, the child dreams for a better future.
Other children discussed their experience of becoming
accustomed to school life. One CBOW mentioned, “when I first
came here it was very difficult. The children here like to be in
class from morning to evening. I would always fall sick, but my
class teacher warned me if I want to perform well I should go
to class like others. I wanted to leave school but now I like the
school”35. This experience shows the efforts teachers put in with
some children to ensure they conform to the school standards.
The children’s views indicate that some pupils are sensitive
to how education can affect their social standing by opening
up employment opportunities (although better qualifications in
Uganda, and elsewhere does not necessarily guarantee these
opportunities). This is in contrary to the social stigma associated
with living in poverty which children appear to associate with
having not gone to school or for having failed to work hard
in school.
All pupils at APS were expected to strictly follow school
routines, failure of which usually led to punishments in the
form of caning, school suspension or dismissal. At least
half of the pupils of P.6. and P.7. reported being punished
for acts of disobedience related to the non-compliance to
the school schedule and academic expectations required of
them. Comments from some of the children showed initial
apprehension with the school punishments, but then later they
came to accept that it played a role in their academic performance
or improved discipline. However, some mothers of CBOW were
hesitant about the caning of children. Ababu, a CBOW of P.6.
reported that she was caned wrongfully for wasting time in
the school dormitory while other children attended classes36.
She was feeling unwell but her plea was not welcomed by the
teacher in charge. When she reported the issue to her mother, she
32P.7. Red (Folder 2), Script no.5, August 15, 2018, University of Birmingham
Archives, Birmingham, UK.
33P.6. White, (Folder 3), Script no.4, August 9, 2018, University of Birmingham
Archives, Birmingham, UK.
34P.7. White (Folder 1), Script no. 6., August 15, 2018, University of Birmingham
Archives.
35CBOW 8 P.6. Red (Folder 4), Script no.5, August 9, 2018, University of
Birmingham Archives, Birmingham, UK.
36CBOW 9 (Ababu), P.6. White (Folder 3), Script no.10, August 9, 2018, University
of Birmingham Archives, Birmingham, UK.
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Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
contemplated moving her away from the school on grounds that
that such forms of punishment were a reminder of the violence
they faced during LRA captivity37. This shows that physical forms
of punishment may not bode well with those who returned
from the LRA—some of whom still held bitter memories of the
past38. This shows that the position on punishment is far from
resolved: Some parents, including the mother of CBOW above,
may not like that their children are punished physically because
of previous experience with the LRA, while others have embraced
it. The teachers on the other hand do not want to do away with
a practice that they have relied on as a disciplinary approach
for so long39, and which some pupils continued to refer to as a
practice that led to their better academic performances. This has
implications on the school approach to violence, and the way this
has affected the different stakeholders at the school.
Despite the children’s narratives on physical punishment,
teachers have insisted that the school’s priority lies in the
academic success of its pupils. Mr. Kifefu Albert, the class teacher
for P.6. and P.7 has said, “our goal is to make these children
become tomorrow’s future. We want the children of APS to
shine their light among others [children from Uganda]... even
those born in captivity, they need to be considered here [at
APS]”40. Here the teacher assesses the role of teachers in
ensuring their children excel like their peers in other regions
less affected by the war. This is an interesting consideration in
light of APS’s approach to education (“every child is special”)—a
demonstration that the teachers perceive APS as being “a war-
affected school” teaching war-affected children. More generally,
it has to be considered that the teacher’s view is informed by
the fact that the majority of schools in the north remain below
par in terms of academic standards compared to schools in
the South—a fact largely attributable to the impact of war and
underdevelopment in the region.
In relation to the school academic focus explained above, some
pupils have remarked about having to deal with competing and
contradictory expectations. Petero, a pupil of P.7. commented on
how his participation in football activities were met with mixed
reactions from his teachers and parents—making him decide to
drop out of sports41. Ababu, a CBOW in P.6. has mentioned that
she used to spend most of her time at the Music, Dance and
Drama (MDD) activities because it makes her forget about bad
things. She wrote:
MDD makes me to forget my problems. I come from a poor family
and never met my father, life at home is not easy because my
mother is always in town looking for money for food for us. When
we came from the bush we had no one to help us. I was always
37This was also confirmed during a separate personal Interview with Josephine
Adong, mother of CBOW (Ababu), October 1, 2018, northern Uganda.
38Also confirmed during reflections in FGD with mothers of CBOW, May 3 2017,
northern Uganda.
39FGD male teachers, APS, August 16, 2018, northern Uganda; FGD female
teachers, APS, August 16, 2018, northern Uganda.
40Mr. Kifefu Albert, FGD male teachers, APS, August 16, 2018, northern Uganda.
41P.7. White (Folder 1), Script no. 2, August 15, 2018, University of Birmingham
Archives, Birmingham, UK.
thinking about my life in future so MDD has helped me forget
about what happened to us. . . 42
The child’s case shows how therapeutic some of the activities
at the school can be for CBOW43. It is therefore of no coincidence
that NGOs and child rehabilitation agencies in post conflict
northern Uganda have placed a high value on these activities
for the role they play in supporting children to come to terms
with their traumatic past—Gulu Support the Children Center
(GUSCO) and World Vision Children’s Rehabilitation Center
being cases in point. During the field visits to the peri-urban
outskirts of the study location where the returnees settled,
mothers used music, dance and drama as a way to galvanize
their associations around a common identity. The activities were
also used by organizations like Watye Ki Gen as options for
psychosocial support for CBOW during school breaks. While at
the site visits, the researcher noted that CBOW were encouraged
to interact with the other members of the community—who
usually joined them in the cultural dances. The spectacle of
entertainment that ensued during these communions were found
to contribute to the positive collective empowerment of returnees
and their communities44. On this basis, the activities have to
be viewed as a kind of celebration of shared Acholi identity
between the children and community, which in this case of
APS children temporarily displaced, provided an alternative
to the school’s policy and insistence on academic priorities.
Similarly, the connection with the community members shows
that the dances are a way that CBOW can display their resilience
outside of the school context—which can also help them manage
depression or other harmful feelings (also see Liebling and Baker,
2010).
The above statements from the children point to the fact that
in practice the competing priorities and contradictory messages
the children receive tend to affect the way they make choices
on the academic and non-academic options available at the
school. The conclusion is that in this school, the tension between
academic and extra-curricular activities is not resolved for the
pupils of P6 and P.7 leading to frustrations among some CBOW
who might have other non-academic priorities. This implies
the school’s approach of putting the individual at the center
is undermined by the focus on academic merit (performance
and “under”- performance) espoused by the school. This tends
to ignore the stakeholders’ expectations (including pupils’) as
it engenders a league-tables oriented mentality amongst the
teachers and their pupils. Because of this, the ability of other
children who would have preferred non-academic options is
42CBOW 10 (Ababu), P.6. White (Folder 3), Script no.10, August 9, 2018,
University of Birmingham Archives, Birmingham, UK.
43The MDD teacher mentioned to the researcher that “the traditional songs and
dances brings out the passion in a child making them forget what happened to
them. They are able to mingle with other pupils and feel they are part of one
APS community, whether they are orphans, from the bush or children from poor
homes. All are one. .. ”, he remarks. He was however not aware of the existence of a
CBOW among the people who were being trained to participate in the interschool
MDD competition.
44Field Note, July 2017; also based on Personal Interview with Nancy, a secretary
and member of Rwot Lakica peer group of mothers, December 17, 2018.
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Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
hindered. This is counterproductive as it sends the message
to CBOW that failure in exams defines their destiny and as
a result influences the value teachers place on them based on
performances vis-à-vis their peers—which ends up stigmatizing
the children and promoting school disaffection (also see Nicholai
and Triplehorn, 2003; Dryden-Peterson, 2011). Although this
may seem to directly contradict the school’s approach to special
education, the different views show the dilemma posed when
there is no agreement on what good education means for
children. In principle, if parents want a good education for their
children, and children need to pass national exams—failure of
which results into them not being afforded further educational
opportunities and thus perpetuation of poverty cycles, then the
school has little option but to focus on academic merit.
This final section discusses the children’s reflections on the
school policy regarding streaming and other classroom practices.
CHILDREN’S EXPERIENCES OF
STREAMING AND OTHER CLASSROOM
PRACTICES
The children’s reflections on classroom practices were mainly
centered on the school’s streaming arrangements. At APS, the
streaming of children of the upper classes of P.6 and P.7 has been
practiced on the assumption that this would maximize students’
potential through providing them an ability-appropriate learning
environment. The streaming practices reinforces the school’s
policy of integration (every child is special) because it considers
the uniqueness of the child, where segregating them on the basis
of their intellectual abilities ensures that they attend classes that
match their ability, promotes positive competition resulting from
their drive to be promoted to the higher streams.
Specifically, all CBOW begun their education at APS from
the lower stream—a fact that the DoS explained was necessary
to assess their levels before being assigned. 90% of the study
sample still remained in the lower stream at the time of this study.
In most cases, their belonging to the lower streams reinforced
the feeling of being viewed as academically weak or deemed
slower than others. Specifically, the children have complained
about the bias teachers hold toward them when grouped in
different class streams. Anyum, who is a CBOW of P.7. noted:
“I am in P.7. and my mother is not happy that I am in Red
Stream because when you look on one side you have a dull
person, you look another side there is also a dull person. You
cannot be able to discuss with someone because you see that
they are also weak like you. This is the bad thing I see about
APS”45. In this quote, Anyum assesses her situation in P.7. Red in
terms of the gloomy picture she has painted about the academic
ability of her peers. In the case of Anyum, streaming can be
counterproductive because the homogeneity of student ability
undermines the opportunity for the valuable learning and social
dynamic of inter-pupil learning—brighter students reinforcing
their own understanding of concepts by helping other children
grasp those same concepts.
45CBOW 11 (Anyum), P.7. Red (Folder 2), Script no.8, August 15, 2018, University
of Birmingham Archives, Birmingham, UK.
Some of the observed relationships in the classrooms
(especially among the girls) naturally extended into the
playground: the children of P.6. and P.7. usually preferred to play
with those in their streams—with whom they shared classes or
were allocated by the teachers to sit together. The implication
is that the streaming significantly reduces the scope to learn
with, and therefore to communicate and socialize with, the
broader class cohort. Therefore, the argument that “Every Child
is Special” has been complicated by a streaming policy that leaves
certain groups of children, especially CBOW with a feeling of
marginalization on the basis of their weak academic standing
compared to their peers. This practice runs contrary to inclusive
education and the concepts of academic and social inclusion
within the education system. When accompanied by negative
attitudes from the teachers such a policy runs a risk of widening
the gap in relationship between children in the different streams,
hence impacting negatively on affected groups such as CBOW.
However, this is not to undermine the fact that some children still
had positive experiences from the streaming process. Comments
from a significant 10 of the pupils still shows that in spite of
streaming practices, they sometimes do gain positively from their
interactions with peers, regardless of the streams they occupy.
In addition to the streaming policies, some classroom
practices were notable in the children’s comments. More
generally during the four classes attended by the researcher,
teachers have attempted to arrange the way pupils sit in an
attempt to effectively address some of their learning needs.
Notably in both classes of P.6. and P.7., the boys and girls
occupied clearly distinguishable locations—the younger boys and
girls of 11–13-year olds sat in the front and middle section of
the rows in the classes, while the older and bigger boys and
girls between the ages of 14–16 sat behind the class. Sometimes
students were assigned seats at the back of the class based
on their physical appearances, i.e., those who appeared bigger
and taller, even if a few were relatively younger compared to
their size. In lesson 4 of P.7., the class teacher informed the
researcher that the 8 older girls who were seated together at
the back of the classroom were friends from P.4. and had since
been very hardworking in their classes. This arrangement for
the 8 older girls suggests that sometimes friend groups and
seating arrangements to accommodate friend groups increases
enthusiasm and school performance. However, the case was
different when it came to friendship groups among the older
CBOW. With some teachers, there was evidence of deliberate
efforts to discourage such associations among CBOW. One
female teacher Ms. Adoch Flavia mentioned:
The children [who returned from the bush] were not
concentrating...always talking and not paying attention to
teachers. They wanted to sit very far so that teachers do not
disturb them. When those children come together they are
usually impossible...the bad things that happened in the bush
keep coming. We had to separate them. One was actually forced
to repeat P.6. because his performances were not good. He is in
White Stream46.
46Ms. Adoch Flavia, during FGD with female teachers, APS, August 16, 2018,
northern Uganda.
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Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
The comment shows that unlike the non-CBOW peers, the
teachers sometimes viewed the relationships among CBOWs
with suspicion. As discussed above, teachers and mothers of
CBOW noted that sometimes the children may indeed display
different behavior, and it appears the teacher’s approach to the
CBOW was based on his previous experience working with the
group. The above example relates to what the teacher perceived as
bad behavior—and the response in addressing the children based
on their individualities as seating them together may indeed
have adverse effects on the learning environment—which is a
pointer toward a positive approach the teachers have adopted
to improve the group dynamics in the class. According to the
researcher’s observation of the different classes from P.1. to P.7.
it was common to have different seating policies in order to
manage the classroom; one teacher mentioned her preference
to have the older boys sit away from each other because of the
possibility of having bad influence on other children because
they were adolescents. This points to the fact that it is not a
foregone conclusion that seating CBOW separately is based on
prejudice or stereotypes: sometimes the seating arrangements
reflect the way teachers’ wish to ensure that all pupils learn
without disturbances from their class cohorts, as it is also in
keeping with the school’s approach of treating children as special,
i.e., based on their individualities.
Finally, in terms of teaching practice, the children wrote
how they sometimes loved the way their teacher praised them
whenever they responded to the questions asked in class. For
instance, during one of the class observations in P.7., when
a girl was able to answer a question posed to her by the
teacher, the teacher congratulated her saying, “Stella I can see
that you are finally going to pass well and join Sacred Heart
School. Can we clap for Stella please? (followed by all pupils
clapping in three uniform rhythms).” Such praise from the
teacher is aimed at motivating the girl to achieve her academic
goal of joining secondary school. This is similar to the way
the children admitted in their essays that they enjoyed the way
their teachers praised them: Obinah wrote, “whenever I do
something good in class like when I raise my hands and give
the right answer, I enjoy when the teacher asks the children to
clap for me”. The method adopted by the teacher contributes to
a positive and hardworking atmosphere for the pupils. It also
shows that in this school some of the teachers put some efforts
and enthusiasm in the learning of their children, which has a
positive impact on the way they feel when are being supported a
the school.
CONCLUSION
CBOW experience socially stigmatizing labels that affect their
everyday lives (Apio, 2007; Carpenter, 2010; Seto, 2013, 2015;
Denov and Lakor, 2018), which to a large extent minimizes
the potential for successful integration into their communities.
From the education point of view, Dryden-Peterson (2011)
has argued that there often is a danger of physical integration
without social integration. This implies that more generally for
children to be accepted, local attitudes have to change (Apio,
2007; Erjavec and Volcic, 2010; Denov and Lakor, 2017) to
enhance schooling opportunities for CBOW. Drawing on the
experience of education of CBOW at APS, this article singled
out the school as an important place in the children’s lives.
It noted that the school can become a place where children
can recall their memories of the past, and yet also recover
from bad memories of the war. The case further shows that
the potentially harmful experiences that children undergo has
been encumbered by barriers that are sometimes entrenched
in social and professional attitudes as well as values and
misunderstandings about differences (also see Ainscow and
Miles, 2009)—impacting on the way CBOW or their peers who
had not been in the bush felt they were treated or accepted
into the school setting. CBOW who arrived at APS when
they were overaged lacked prior exposure to formal education
which limited their abilities to learn (also see Sommers, 2009),
hence positioning them as “a problem” to their teachers in the
academic-oriented curriculum of the school. In line with this
limitation, the more general emphasis on academic performance
along league standards potentially limited the children’s abilities
at the school—which undermined the school philosophy of
treating every child as special because such as approach betrayed
the focus on individual limitations and competences in the non-
academic areas. On the whole, there was no significant differences
at APS between the experiences of CBOW and other war-affected
children who had not been born in the LRA. Moreover, CBOW
did not link much of their school experiences to the LRA in
spite of contrary interpretations of their behavior by school
teachers. In practice, however, whenever there was reluctance by
school teachers to acknowledge differences, children encountered
and felt a sense of instability (also see Weinstein et al., 2007)
and which often led to self-stigmatization of CBOW. For
example, CBOW expressed apprehensiveness in the way they
related to their teachers in the initial stages of their time at
school, but also made specific attributions to the way teachers
sometimes became a source of frustration to their lives. These
arose whenever the children’s LRA backgrounds were uncovered
owing to the observed behavior and stereotypes held about
the returnees.
Stigmatization and exclusion can also become prominent
when children feel different, feel treated differently from the
rest—or simply put “out of place” (see Stewart, 2017). Evidence
from the streaming policy revealed that the children in the
lower streams or those with talents outside the core academic
subjects often felt less able to adapt to the formalities of
the school. In terms of teaching pedagogy, it was found
that treating CBOW categorically as “problem children” rather
than acknowledging specific attributes/individualities also made
the children to feel fundamentally different from others.
However, the study also shows that CBOW respond very
positively when they felt cared for: at APS, the teachers have
adapted pedagogical approaches to support the children in the
lower-class streams. They have also provided avenues where
children can progress through positive aspects of teaching,
such as delivering messages of encouragement to the pupils.
In essence, such measures show that the school’s approach
to education, i.e., “Every Child is Special” has worked to
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18
Ojok Integrating Children Born of War
the extent that in spite of challenges, it has triggered a
learning environment quite adaptable to children in the post-
conflict setting.
DATA AVAILABILITY STATEMENT
The original contributions presented in the study are included
in the article/supplementary materials, further inquiries can be
directed to the corresponding author.
ETHICS STATEMENT
The studies involving human participants were reviewed and
approved by University of Birmingham Ethical Approval
Committee. Written informed consent to participate in this
study was provided by the participants’ legal guardian/next
of kin.
AUTHOR CONTRIBUTIONS
BO was responsible for field research and analysis of this article.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This research could not have been possible without the Children
Born of War Ph.D. research funding from Marie Sklodowska-
Curie Innovative Training Networks grant number 642571 –
CHIBOW at the University of Birmingham, UK. The study
was carried out under the direct supervision of Prof. Sabine
Lee the Head of Department of History and Dr. Benedetta
Rossi of the Department of Anthropology and African Studies.
Part of the methodological processes entailed in the study has
been published into a book chapter Researching children born
of war in Uganda: methodological reflections on the inclusion
of minors in CBOW research as part of the book collection
Children Born of War: Past, Present and Future – courtesy of
the CHIBOW Global Network. Specifically, I wish to extend my
sincere thanks to Dr. Benedetta Rossi and Dr. Erin Baines for
constructive comments and suggestions made toward this article.
Most importantly, the research benefitted from the unreserved
willingness and enthusiasm of the children at APS, their teachers
and mothers whose voices and aspirations for education inspired
this writing.
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ORIGINAL RESEARCH
published: 09 May 2022
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2022.823995
Frontiers in Political Science | www.frontiersin.org 1May 2022 | Volume 4 | Article 823995
Edited by:
Susan Bartels,
Queen’s University, Canada
Reviewed by:
Angela Veale,
University College Cork, Ireland
Lucy Williams,
University of Kent, United Kingdom
*Correspondence:
Allen Kiconco
kiconcoaa@gmail.com
Specialty section:
This article was submitted to
Peace and Democracy,
a section of the journal
Frontiers in Political Science
Received: 28 November 2021
Accepted: 31 March 2022
Published: 09 May 2022
Citation:
Kiconco A (2022) Children Born of
Rebel Captivity: Politics and Practices
of Integration in Uganda.
Front. Polit. Sci. 4:823995.
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2022.823995
Children Born of Rebel Captivity:
Politics and Practices of Integration
in Uganda
Allen Kiconco*
Department of Political Studies, University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg, South Africa
Many studies have documented and analyzed the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) forced
conjugal association patterns and practices (“forced marriage”). However, the focus
has been on the experiences of abducted girls forced to serve as conjugal partners
to commanders (“forced wives”). The experiences of children born as a result of these
relationships are under-investigated. Receptor communities in northern Uganda are
assumed to be places of hope, comfort, and protection for these children. However,
they can also be hostile, leaving the children in precarious and vulnerable situations. This
article draws from ethnographic fieldwork in the Acholi region and interviews with formerly
abducted mothers focusing on their children’s integration processes and experiences.
It argues that return is not integration, as it often coincides with further exclusion and
alienation. In Uganda’s patriarchal and patrilineal social systems, children with no paternal
lineage are viewed as of lower status. Stigmatization facing children born of the LRA
captivity condemns them to this status, consequently excluding them from mainstream
society. Findings show that stigma remains central to the life experiences of these children
several years after the end of the conflict in 2006. Their persistent stigmatization is linked
to broader discriminatory socio-cultural and patriarchal ideas and practices.
Keywords: conflict and gender, abduction, forced marriage, children, integration, Uganda
INTRODUCTION
Girls have been widely recruited in recent African wars, including Libera, Sierra Leone, Sudan,
Uganda, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and Nigeria. In most of these wars, as in northern
Uganda, armed groups and militias target and abduct girls to join their campaign of violence against
their governments. In rebel custody, their abductors subject them to sexual violence, sexual slavery,
forced marriage, and forced pregnancy to fill their military units (McKay and Mazurana, 2004;
Carlson and Mazurana, 2008; Coulter, 2009; Baines, 2017). Abducted girls and their experiences
have attracted substantial research and policy analysis from researchers, practitioners, and the
international community, bringing these experiences to the forefront of international debate.
However, this analysis and intervention tend to ignore or overlook their children’s experiences born
during these girls’ time with rebels (Watson, 2007; Carpenter, 2010a; Veale et al., 2013; Denov, 2015;
Theidon, 2015; Seto, 2016; Lee, 2017; Baines and Oliveira, 2020).
The characteristic of the harm the children suffer “renders their status as a victim group elusive”
(Di Eugenio and Baines, 2021: 327). Since no harm is perpetrated directly against them, the children
are seen as secondary victims of wartime abduction, captivity, and sexual violence. Nevertheless,
experience shows that they endure ongoing harms in post-conflict societies (Goodhart, 2007;
Carpenter, 2010b; Apio, 2016; Seto, 2016; Lee, 2017; Eramian and Denov, 2018). The harms they
21
Kiconco Politics and Practices of Integration in Uganda
“endure are structural and cultural, forms of violence in which a
single perpetrator or specific transgression is difficult to discern”
(Di Eugenio and Baines, 2021: 329).
While their suffering is entangled with their parents’
predicament, the focus continues to be on their parents. On
the one hand, their fathers are perceived as perpetrators and
criminals who should be prosecuted, including those abducted
as children and turned into “forced fathers” (Baines, 2009; Aijazi
and Baines, 2017; Denov et al., 2019). Viewed as potential
aggressors of post-conflict peace, they are given priority in
designing and implementing Disarmament, Demobilization and
Reintegration (DDR) interventions (IDDRS, 2006). On the other,
the presence of children is seen as worsening mothers’ situation
during and after conflict (see Carlson and Mazurana, 2008;
Veale et al., 2013; Atim et al., 2018). The children continue
to fall through the cracks of policy frameworks (Carpenter,
2010a). Critical policy documents on child soldiering recognize
“child/girl mothers” as a particularly vulnerable group, needing
explicit attention and consistent follow-up within post-conflict
societies (see, e.g., Paris Principles, 2007; UNICEF, 2009). The
reproductive rights agenda informs such perspectives, whose
advocates see children as a side effect of their mothers’ suffering
(Carpenter, 2010a). Available research is directed at mothers
and their role in caring and providing for their children (see
Mukangendo, 2007; Veale et al., 2013; Shanahan and Veale,
2016; Atim et al., 2018; Denov et al., 2018). Yet, children might
have some needs that are more complex and in tension with
mothers’ needs. Society’s understanding of these children and
their wellbeing often conflicts and causes tension with their
human rights, needs, and interests (Lee, 2017: 171–172).
Children born of wartime sexual violence are yet to be
recognized and appreciated in their own right. Their unique and
complex needs remain unacknowledged and comprehensively
undiagnosed (Carpenter, 2010a,b; Apio, 2016; Hamel, 2016;
Seto, 2016; Lee, 2017). Notably, there is a lack of research
about how their integration unfolds and how they navigate
problems and tensions resulting from their existence in receptor
communities. Di Eugenio and Baines (2021) propose a survivor-
centered approach to study these children, drawing on their
lived experiences and realities. They emphasize that the
approach recognizes and foregrounds their agency as sites of
reproducing societal norms, ultimately contributing to post-
conflict reconciliation and reconstruction processes.
One of the legacies of the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA)
insurgency in northern Uganda is the birth of thousands of
children by girls, abducted and subjected to forced marriage
and early pregnancy by commanders (Carlson and Mazurana,
2008; Apio, 2016; Baines, 2017; Kiconco, 2021a). Born in the
LRA camps in northern Uganda, South Sudan, the Democratic
Republic of Congo, and recently the Central Africa Republic,
many children find their way to receptor communities in the
north of Uganda. They join these communities to seek survival,
comfort, and protection.
Studies have explored these children’s integration processes
in northern Uganda. They are not explicitly included in
DDR and post-conflict recovery programmes. The government
provided women returnees with a basic reintegration package
and no additional support for women returning with children
(Ladisch, 2015; Neenan, 2017). The debate for a national
reparations programme addressing these children and their
needs, including land ownership and access to specialized
rehabilitation, continues.
Children rely on several strategies to support their integration,
including participating in welcoming ceremonies and ritual
cleansing, cultural naming, adapting to changing family
structures and managing disclosure (Shanahan and Veale, 2016).
Some decide to trace their fathers or families to legitimize their
identity, consequently holding paternal kin relations responsible
for their belonging and welfare (Stewart, 2015; Atim et al.,
2018; Baines and Oliveira, 2020; Tinashe et al., 2020). Indeed,
when fathers or paternal families assume responsibility for their
identity and future wellbeing, the experience significantly secures
the children’s best interests (Oliveira and Baines, 2020). The
children also construct their identities based on the past LRA
memories, reconstruct identities, navigate stigma, and envision
future selves (Stewart, 2017; Denov and Piolanti, 2020). They
view education as a tool to support their integration, seen as a
meaningful way to boost their prospects (Stewart, 2017; Ojok,
2021).
However, the integration contexts in northern Uganda remain
highly charged, constrained, and potentially insecure for these
children. Yet they have to integrate into these contexts, needing
multiple support systems to ensure protection and survival
(Denov and Lakor, 2017). In the LRA, they often lived with
both parents, affording them a sense of social identity, status,
belonging, and love. In the receptor communities, their status
and situation are complicated. Experience shows that initial
integration experience often involves families welcoming their
daughters and children. However, when the return excitement
wanes, the situation becomes problematic (Veale et al., 2013;
Opiyo, 2015; Apio, 2016; Shanahan and Veale, 2016). In
wider communities, violence, and rejection in many situations
dominate experiences of this return in northern Uganda (ibid).
From a long-term perspective, their integration is characterized
by stigma, abuse and exclusion, and issues of identity and
belonging (Denov and Lakor, 2017; Stewart, 2017, 2020; Baines
and Oliveira, 2020).
The consensus in the literature is that stigmatization is the
dominant challenge facing these children and their integration
in northern Uganda. They receive stigmatization from sections
of society, making their lives unbearable and excluding them
from mainstream society (Shanahan and Veale, 2016; Baines
and Oliveira, 2020; Stewart, 2020). They are “perceived as proxy
members of the LRA, symbols of misfortune, and stereotyped
as violent, unproductive, unequal members of society” (Neenan,
2017: 34). They are segregated in the host families and have
a lower status compared to their mates with never-abducted
parents (Opiyo, 2015). Their stigmatization is compounded by
everyday broader patriarchal discriminatory socio-cultural ideas,
norms, and practices (Apio, 2016; Atim et al., 2018).
Patriarchy and patrilineality significantly contribute to their
contested identities, as paternity ties determine access to social
identity, belonging and status, and resources, particularly land.
Clan members are often reluctant to accept children considered
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Kiconco Politics and Practices of Integration in Uganda
not of the clan, including born out of wedlock or with unknown
fathers, as with most LRA men (Opiyo, 2015; Apio, 2016;
Atim et al., 2018). Because they have no paternity ties, the
LRA parented children are displaced from Acholi personhood
(Schulz, 2018). Their suffering is broadly a consequence of
their illegitimate status at birth, which results in their ongoing
stigmatization (Apio, 2016; Neenan, 2017; Atim et al., 2018).
These intersecting oppressions create a sense of not belonging
and integration failure among these children in northern Uganda
(Stewart, 2020).
Integration does not take place in a vacuum but in a
social-cultural framework. Many studies have highlighted the
problem of stigmatization among these children in northern
Uganda. However, fewer investigations attempt to problematize
and contextualize this challenge. In her research in the Lango
region, Eunice Apio explores these children’s integration through
normative frameworks of gender, motherhood and kinship. Apio
discusses rucurucu, a cultural and social disorder and tension
that followed the war and the LRA returnees, including forced
marriage children. She observes that “This rucurucu gave rise
to tensions over the reintegration of formerly abducted women
and their children” (Apio, 2016: 6). Her study identifies links
between the children’s experiences and the cultural practices
and politics controlling their mothers’ sexual and reproductive
lives. Much the same applied among the Acholi, where social
harmony became difficult to maintain during and after the
war (Porter, 2017). In Acholi society, social harmony “denotes
a state of normal relations among the living and the dead,
linked to an idea of cosmological equilibrium and a social
balance of power and moral order” (Porter, 2017: 15). This
experience suggests that “social harmony is the highest goal of the
Acholi community” (Ofumbi, 2012: 116). Transgression of social
harmony is heavily punishable with mob violence, organized
revenge, collective killing or summary execution (Porter, 2017).
The LRA captivity children are at the center of this social
disharmony in Acholi, often expressed in everyday stigmatization
and exclusion. Indeed, Stewart (2020: 113) observed that the
children are stigmatized because they are seen as embodying the
“insecurity and immorality of the war” in the Acholi region.
Studies often overlook such social disorders and their
influence on the integration of the LRA captivity children in
northern Uganda communities. Yet, applying them yields a more
nuanced understanding of family and community treatment of
these children and their mothers (see, e.g., Apio, 2016; Atim et al.,
2018). This article situates itself within the emerging subfield
of wartime sexual violence and integration that documents,
theorizes, and contextualizes integration in northern Uganda.
The article explores the messiness of integration in using
the analytical lens of stigma. According to Goffman (1963: 12),
stigma is an “attribute that is deeply discrediting.” Its presence of
this attribute is invoked to reduce/devalue the person possessing
it “from a whole and usual person to a tainted, discounted one”
(p. 3). According to Pescosolido and Martin (2015: 91), stigma ‘is
the mark, the condition, or status that is subject to devaluation.”
From this understanding, the stigmatized person possesses (or is
believed to possess) “some attribute or characteristic that conveys
a social identity that is devalued in a particular social context”
(Crocker et al., 1998: 505). According to Goffman (1963), society
views such persons as possessing “an undesirable difference,” and
they are stigmatized based on what society considers “different”
or “deviant,” applied through codes, rules, and sanctions.
This classic view of stigma draws from the lived experiences of
people who have physical deformities, suffer from mental illness
or are perceived to practice deviant behavior, including criminal
behavior. Notably, these definitions and characterizations of
stigma share the assumption that the stigmatized person is born
with this “deeply discrediting attribute.” This implies that both
the mark and their consequent experiences are relatively static,
as the attribute that defines them as different perpetually marks
them as devalued in the eyes of society.
However, some studies argue that stigmatized persons are
not different from “normal” people but engage in the same
life processes as “normal” people (Crocker et al., 1998; Dijker
and Koomen, 2007; MacDonald and Kerali, 2020). Link and
Phelan (2001: 366) argue that “stigma or mark is seen as
something in the person rather than a designation or tag that
others affix to the person.” However, Cumming and Cumming
(1965: 449–50) assert that “whether it is a visible mark or an
invisible stain, stigma acquires its meaning through the emotion
it generates within the person bearing it and the feeling and
behavior toward him of those affirming it. These two aspects
of stigma are indivisible, as they each act as a cause or effect
of the other.” Nevertheless, experience shows “stigma might be
best considered to be the negative perceptions and behaviors
of so called-normal people to all individuals who are different
from themselves” (English, 1971: 5). To the non-stigmatized
person, the discrediting attribute reduces the stigmatized person’s
character/persona to that which is deemed “stained,” “polluted,”
“devalued,” “spoiled,” “flawed,” and “inferior” (Crocker et al.,
1998). Such stigma is widely recognized as a problem for children
of LRA captivity in northern Uganda. While this stigma is
continually changing and resisted, social, cultural, and patriarchal
processes underpin and inform its persistence. The findings
discussed below corroborate Goffman’s recommendation that the
conceptualization of stigma needs “a language of relationships,
not attributes” (Goffman, 1963: 3).
The article examines the socio-cultural situation facing
children born within the LRA. It focuses on processes of
socialization, establishing social relations and kinship ties to
ensure survival and safety in post-conflict northern Uganda.
It draws from ethnographic fieldwork and interview with 40
formerly abducted mothers in the Acholi region, focusing on
their children’s integration. Therefore, the findings presented and
discussed in this article are based on mothers’ perspectives of
their children’s situation. The findings show that the children’s
background as conceived or born with the LRA rebel group
has led to no easy integration arising from problems associated
with their stigmatized identity, both as children and former
members of the LRA. Three key sources of stigmatization
emerge in the data: born in the bush, association with the
rebellion and illegitimacy at birth. The article reveals the
messiness of integration in northern Uganda by unpacking
these sources. The central argument here is that return is not
integration, as it often coincides with further exclusion and
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Kiconco Politics and Practices of Integration in Uganda
alienation. In Uganda’s patriarchal and patrilineal social systems,
children with no paternal lineage are viewed as of lower status.
Stigmatization facing the LRA children condemns them to this
status, consequently excluding them from mainstream society.
Stigma is thus a valuable concept to understand their everyday
experiences and the challenges they face in their attempt to
integrate into receptor communities.
To appreciate the context within which this discussion is
situated, it is perhaps important at this point to chart the events
and the situation leading to the abduction of these children’s
mothers (and sometimes fathers) from their communities into
the LRA rebellion.
BACKGROUND AND CONTEXT: THE
LORD’S RESISTANCE ARMY INSURGENCY
The Acholi area is one of the seven sub-regions of Uganda.1For
two decades (1986–2006), the area was the scene of the conflict
between the Government of Uganda and the LRA.2While the
conflict escalated to affect other parts of Northern and North-
Eastern Uganda, most victims have been the Acholi people. The
LRA emerged in late 1987 in response to the seizure of power by
the southern-based rebellion, National Resistance Army (NRA),
renamed in 1995, Uganda People’s Defense Force (UPDF). The
LRA leader, Joseph Kony, was a soldier and self-proclaimed
spiritual leader from Odek community of the Acholi region, who
went to wage war on the Ugandan Government forces (Dolan,
2009; Branch, 2011). Starting as a relatively unknown figure,
Kony gained notoriety for his kidnapping and forcibly recruiting
child combatants into his army (Pham et al., 2007; Annan et al.,
2008; Blattman and Annan, 2010).
It is estimated that the group abducted 54,000–75,000
people, including 25,000–38,000 children (Pham et al., 2007).
Approximately 30% of the group were girls (McKay and
Mazurana, 2004). These abductions frequently resulted in years
of captivity, with victims being forced to become agents of terror
and violence against their own families and communities. Girl
abductees were socialized and forced to serve as sexual partners
to commanders. Boys were also socialized to take on abducted
girls as wives later. Many children were born out of these “forced
marriages” (Carlson and Mazurana, 2008; Apio, 2016; Baines,
2017; Kiconco, 2021a).
The Government of Uganda resolved to prevent the LRA
from forcibly recruiting children into their guerrilla army by
establishing Internally Displaced People’s (IDPs) Camps. By 2001
about 1.7 million civilians were forced to relocate to these camps
(Dolan, 2009). The IDPs catered for two cohorts: the majority
who government forces had moved from communities, and
1For a detailed political history and origin of Acholi people and culture, see
Atkinson (1994).
2The historical background and root causes of the conflict, and how it evolved
over the years, have been well-documented (e.g., Behrend, 1999; Finnström, 2008;
Dolan, 2009; Branch, 2011). This section restricts itself to an introductory snapshot
that focuses on two key areas in this long-term evolution: abductions and mass
displacement (which both provide an excuse for, as well as an indictment of
conflict).
those who had escaped, been released by LRA commanders, or
captured by the Ugandan army.
In another attempt to restore peace, on 16 December 2003,
the Ugandan government referred the situation in the north to
the International Criminal Court (ICC). On 8 July 2005, the ICC
prosecutor officially issued arrest warrants for Joseph Kony and
his top four allies/commanders for war crimes and crimes against
humanity (Allen, 2005). On 6 December 2016, Trial Chamber IX
of the ICC commenced its trial against Dominic Ongwen, one of
the five LRA commanders indicted. Ongwen was accused of 70
counts of war crimes and crimes against humanity. Presently, the
other three are dead, and only Kony remains at large.3
On 6 May 2021, the court sentenced Ongwen to 25 years
of imprisonment.4The trial was the first in which the ICC
convicted a rebel commander for forced pregnancy as a war
crime and a crime against humanity. It was also the first time
that the ICC convicted forced marriage (charged under the
category of “other inhumane acts”), constituting a crime against
humanity. Being the first person to be charged for crimes “of
which he is also a victim” (Baines, 2009: 163–164), Ongwen also
represents 10,000 LRA ex-combatants holding such conflicting
statuses in northern Uganda.5The ICC, human rights, and child
protection organizations have been applauded for strengthening
the criminalization of child recruitment and involvement in
armed conflicts. However, in situations where all parties involved
in forced conjugal associations happen to be minors turned
into combatants, the conventional explanations and ensuing
responses may be deficient. Moreover, the neglect of children
born as a result of forced conjugal associations between child
combatants and girls forced to marry them complicates the task.
When all peace efforts failed in northern Uganda, the LRA
relocated itself to the vast bushy region between Uganda, South
Sudan, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and the Central Africa
Republic. Thus, a period of relative peace followed in northern
Uganda, resulting in movements from IDP camps back to people’s
communities. The re-integration of ex-combatants, abductees,
and children born of rebel captivity is ongoing.
Early research suggested that by the end of the war in
2006, most ex-combatants, formerly abducted persons and their
children returned to their home communities and became
productive members of society (e.g., Annan et al., 2008).
However, a longer-term perspective shows the situation to be very
different, with significant problems around their re-integration
as a result of ostracism and exclusion (Apio, 2016; Shanahan and
Veale, 2016; Denov and Lakor, 2018; Baines and Oliveira, 2020;
Stewart, 2020; Kiconco, 2021a).
I now move the discussion to analyze the extent of the problem
in relation to the integration of children born in the LRA in
communities of the Acholi region. I am interested in how this
manifests within the receptor home/community cultural setting,
where in most cases, the children have joined their maternal
3Case available: Case Information Sheet—The Prosecutor v. Dominic
Ongwen (ICC-cpi.int).
4Sentencing available at: CR2021_04230.PDF (ICC-cpi.int).
5See also the trial of Thomas Kwoyelo in the International Crime Division (ICD)
of the Ugandan High Court (Macdonald and Porter, 2016).
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Kiconco Politics and Practices of Integration in Uganda
families to live alongside their mothers. But first, a note on the
research methodology and validity of the data is in order.
RESEARCH METHODOLOGY
In 2012–2013, I carried out 6 months of ethnography in
northern Uganda, undertaken for my doctoral research, which
focused on LRA abductions, forced marriage, reintegration
and post-conflict reconstruction issues. The study examined
the formerly abducted women’s lived conflict and post-conflict
experiences (Kiconco, 2021a). The research received ethical
approval from my university and Uganda National Council for
Science and Technology.
I was born and raised in the rural Ankole region, western
Uganda. As an adolescent, I relocated to the capital, Kampala,
in the central region. With this ethnic background and internal
migration, I speak many Bantu languages spoken in Uganda’s
central and west, different from the Luo language spoken in the
Acholi region. As a Munyankole (person from Ankole) woman
working in northern Uganda for the first time, my project’s
success depended on recruiting an interpreter and transcriber
to help with the research. Thus, the research team consisted
of five people: two interpreters (man and woman), two male
transcribers, and me, the researcher. However, I managed the
fieldwork, data collection and analysis.
The research adopted in-depth interviews and observation as
the methods of collecting data. The research team interviewed 40
formerly abducted women in the Acholi region’s Gulu, Kitgum,
Lamwo, and Pader districts. These women were accessed through
rehabilitation centers and referrals via already interviewed
women. They had had 68 children fathered by LRA men,
including some who died in the LRA camps or once subsequently
back home. During fieldwork, 58 children were still alive, 28 girls
and 30 boys. Because I was not ethically equipped to interview
the children, the study limited itself to observing them while
working with their mothers. Therefore, the data on the children
presented and discussed below was generated through interviews
with their mothers.
The children’s age at joining receptor communities ranged
between 0 and 8 years, averaging 1.8 years. The majority, 75%
(n=51), were born and started their development within the
LRA units and camps, while 25% (n=17) were born upon their
mothers’ return home. Most children joined host communities
in their early childhood years of 1–4 years. During fieldwork, the
children’s age ranged between 6 months and 17 years, averaging
9.5 years, with the majority 28.47% (n=19) in the range 6–
9 years.
These age brackets all fell within that of the childhood
development cohort, the most important phase for the overall
development of a human being. Experts in child development
show that environmental influences are crucial in the brain and
biological development in this stage of life. A child’s experiences
determine their health, education, and economic prospects
overall. Any exposure to risk factors over a period will have its
outcome later on in the person’s behavior. Therefore, my data is
a result of a scan of both immediate and long-term integration
processes and experiences and how they influenced the children’s
survival, safety, and relationships.
During fieldwork, the children were in diverse custodianships.
As the table below shows, the majority, 34 children, lived with
their mothers in different situations. Then 13 children lived with
maternal grandparents, while nine with relatives. Two lived with
LRA/biological fathers.
No. mothers and
their children as
single parents
No mothers and
their children in new
relationships (new
partner or husband)
No. mothers and
their children with
LRA husbands
No. mothers and
their children living
with maternal clan
(grandparents or
extended family)
8 (13 children) 11 (15 children) 2 (6 children) 4 (7 children)
The goal of my research was hinged on tracking and exploring
their integration through their mothers’ perspectives. Mothers
were asked to reflect on questions concerning the welfare and
integration of their children. The interview guide included
open-ended questions to guide the conversation. Some of these
questions included:
•Can you please tell me what it was like for your
children when you first returned home? How did your
family/neighbors/friends welcome you and your children?
How did this treatment make you feel about your children?
•How has the experience changed over time? Do you think
the way your family and community treat your children has
changed with time?
•Where are your children staying now, and how is
their situation?
•Is the fact that the LRA man fathers your children affecting
your relationship with your children? How do you view the
effects on the children’s integration?
•How do your new husband and in-laws treat your children?
•How do your family and community members treat your
children now?
•Are there some people in your family and community who
think better and worse of your children? Who thinks worse
of them? Why do you think that is? Who thinks better? Why
do you think that is?
•Do you feel you are supported with the upbringing of these
children? Who supports you? Who do you think should be
supporting them?
•What prospects do you have for your children?
The research generated a considerable amount of data from
responses and accounts. It relied on a qualitative thematic
content analysis approach to analyze the data. It applied Nvivo10
to organize, manage and analyze the data. First, the analysis
process included familiarizing with the data by repeatedly
reading interview scripts, comparing with field notes and making
notes on potential themes, patterns, and categories. Secondly, all
the transcribed interviews were transported from Microsoft word
to the Nvivo10 for organizing, managing and bringing order to
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Kiconco Politics and Practices of Integration in Uganda
the data. The move facilitated the inductive thematic/focused
coding and analysis (Creswell, 2013). The theme of stigmatization
emerged as a significant integration problem. The final analysis
focused on finding the meaning behind this response to help
understand the situation of the LRA captivity children. I draw
on mothers’ perspectives to provide evidence for the argument,
using quotations to illustrate the broader set of life stories.
Most interviewees gave expressed permission to use their correct
details in data dissemination. But to protect their identities, I have
anonymised all names and places.
INTEGRATION: ESTABLISHING SOCIAL
RELATIONS, KINSHIP TIES AND
ACCEPTANCE
When the children in this study exited the LRA rebellion with
their mothers, reintegration agencies connected them with their
maternal kin and communities. Indeed, when I visited the Acholi
region in 2012/2013, I found most of them residing in rural
areas, living in maternal familial units based on extended families.
Consultations show that according to Acholi customary law and
practice, children born out of wedlock belong to the mother
and her clan. Therefore, integration for these children (born out
of wedlock) thus meant joining maternal families and broader
clan communities. With family serving as the entry point into
society, socialization and the establishment of social relations and
kinship ties, I cannot emphasize enough how crucial maternal
families were to the children when they first entered society.
Families created the initial integration space, providing socio-
cultural, psychological, and economic support. The children then
depended on the established familial relations to connect with
clans and community networks. A woman who returned with
two children stated:
When I returned home, my family was supportive of my children
and me. They were telling us things we could or could not
do. They encouraged us to live freely with other people in the
community. This [family support] helped us cope and relate with
other people in the community.6
From the safety of the family unit, the children were supported in
participating in neighborly activities, going to church, attending
school, working with government and non-governmental
organizations, and engaging with the broader society.
However, accounts show that initial integration often meant
being part of diminished or dysfunctional immediate familial
relations, forcing some children to rely on extended relatives
or well-wishers to support their post-LRA lives. Mothers who
returned to dead parents reflected that they and their children
relied on relatives to sustain their lives in the initial days of
returning home. Many interviewees described their responses
through such social relation framings.
Several years after joining receptor communities, I found that
the realities had not changed for most children in the sample.
6Interview 28: 26 years old, abducted at the age of 13 for 6 years, Omiya Anyima,
Kitgum district, 8 November 2012.
Many still lived with their maternal kin, a move that allowed
their mothers to pursue other reintegration strategies, including
marriages and livelihoods (Kiconco and Nthakomwa, 2018;
Kiconco, 2021b). They rarely saw their mothers, particularly
those married in areas far from biological communities. Another
category in the sample lived with their mothers, in new marriages,
as single parents in their birth families, or alone in cheap
town rentals.
However, this should not suggest that all family and extended
relative unions were receptive to these children in northern
Uganda. Indeed, family stigmatization in Acholi often forced
children and their mothers to consider other options. Two
mothers in the sample reflected on the events:
When I was abducted, my mother was alive. She died during my
captivity. When I came back home, I found my stepmother at
home. We started living with her. We stayed with her for two
weeks, but it was not a good experience. She used to talk ill of my
child and me. She hated my child so much that she could say, ‘I
do not want to keep a bush child in my home’. She even told my
father, ‘if you want me to stay in your home, you have to remove
this child from our home’. The abuse became too much, and we
left.7
If my child destroyed something at home, people reacted to him
differently from other children with non-abducted parents. They
always said many negative statements and words to him. People
said statements like ‘your father is a rebel, and you have his
mentality.8
These examples were characteristic of many children who lived
with their mothers in community trading centers and town
settings. These mothers reported that their initial efforts to live
with families in rural areas were unsuccessful, forcing them to
relocate to new environments where they lived alone, taking care
of themselves, children and other dependants. Thus, “recovery
by urbanizing” became a reintegration strategy for these mothers
and their children (Kiconco, 2021a; Kiconco and Nthakomwa,
2021).
Acholi interviews suggest three related issues foundational
to the integration of the children born in LRA and social
relations ruptured by the conflict in northern Uganda. First,
familial/kinship ties are the most critical social ties these
children have to establish for survival, security and protection.
Joining communities becomes a play of social reciprocity with
exchanges of support based on personalized familial/kinship,
ultimately turning this social interaction into an integration asset;
integration becomes a relational process in communities where
systems of exchange and reciprocity exist. Second, lacking strong
familial/kinship ties amounts to being “alone” or “a nobody”
without anyone to draw on for support. Third, failure to establish
social relations and maintain warm relationships is equivalent to
failed integration.
7Interview 21: 24 years old, abducted at the age of 12 for 6 years, Omiya Anyima,
Kitgum district, 4 November 2012.
8Interview 38: 26 years old, abducted at the age of 14 for 7 years, Lukung, Lamwo
district, 5 February 2013.
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Kiconco Politics and Practices of Integration in Uganda
Acholi families understood that children connecting with
families, clans and broader community networks were crucial
for acceptance, a determinant of meaningful integration. In
many cases, families accepted and embraced the children,
ultimately supporting their integration. However, I found that
community members continued to prioritize stigmatization
in their interaction with the children, which reinforced their
ongoing victimhood and marginality as children and as
community members. Three Acholi mothers expressed the
dilemma facing their children in this way:
When we initially returned home, it was challenging to live with
people. Every time I moved around the community with my
child, people started saying, ‘look at this rebel child. The rebels
have finished [killed] people; this child should have been killed.’
This mentality/perspective has not changed in the community.9
People like uttering words to the boy, especially when he
becomes offensive. For instance, 1 day, his chicken disappeared
and someone killed it. He revenged by beating his uncle’s
pig and almost destroying it. People in our community were
alarmed, saying, ‘the boy is very violent. He has taken the father’s
character.’10
The biggest challenge is the stigmatization directed toward us
[with three children]. They [children] keep telling me how sad
and stressed they feel. To cheer them up, I tell them how hurt I
also feel and that if there was a way of returning to the bush, we
would have, just to be free. The same things [stigmatization] are
being said to them at schools as well. I have visited their schools to
discuss with their teachers to protect them against stigmatization
from their mates, but the problem persists. They are still being
branded as rebels.11
These examples were characteristic of reports from many
formerly abducted women in this research. As we might call
them, the never abducted populations in the Acholi region view
the children with suspicion and place them on the periphery
of community life. Community stigmatization dominates their
integration experiences, including off-putting thoughts, feelings,
inappropriate language and actions intended to constitute
defamation or slander. Mothers’ accounts show that unusually
close attention is paid to the children’s actions, responses, and
behavior, with aggressive/assertive/challenging outlook/attitude
being highlighted and labeled as “violent”/“offensive” and
contrary to local understanding of children and childhood. These
actions and behaviors are considered alien and inferior to Acholi
norms and standards.
Yet, accounts propose that integration is interactive and
relational, emphasizing social relations with family, kinship,
and other community members, with acceptance and trust as
the primary indicators to regulate its success. However, the
9Interview 27: 25 years old, abducted at the age of 12 for 4 years, Omiya Anyima,
Kitgum district, 23 November 2012.
10Interview 31: 31 years old, abducted at the age of 11 for 6 years, Kitgum town,
Kitgum district, 19 November 2012.
11Interview 40: 26 years old, abducted at the age of 13 for 6 years, Lukung, Lamwo
district, 10 February 2013.
prospect of achieving “true” community acceptance had not
materialized for most children encountered in this study. Several
years after joining receptor communities, they lived under close
observation by family and community members. Difficulties
associated with a lack of acceptance at the family/kinship or
community level undermined integration. It was my experience
that many children in the sample were accepted in the immediate
family but still faced stigmatization in the broader community,
which led to a general sense of failure and exclusion.
According to mothers’ perspectives, meaningful integration
involves transitioning from rebel identity to civilian children.
The process is transformative and aims to connect them to
structural and cognitive elements of society, which facilitates the
establishment of positive familial/kinship ties and community
networks. This long-term and dynamic process involves complex
negotiations and exchanges between host communities and the
children. Inclusion is the ultimate goal of integration. Thus,
integration involves repairing relationships characterized
by positive emotions, culminating in social acceptance
and inclusion.
CULTURE, PATRIARCHY AND
STIGMATIZATION
Three sources of this stigmatization emerge in the data. Firstly,
being conceived and born in the bush. The formerly abducted
mothers in the study used two geographical spaces, home and
bush, to contrast their children’s past and present experiences.
During fieldwork, I also observed a difference between the
understanding of the bush and home spaces in the context of
Acholi. Lum refers to grass that builds to a bush. Acholi people
use the concept of Lum to refer to the “bush”—denoting an
unsafe, fearful, and mysterious place not to be visited without
good reason. The bush is where wild animals, criminals, and
polluting spirits reside. On the other hand, a home/community
is a sanctioned space where people live in harmony under the
guidance of ancestral jogi. Some studies have also utilized moral
geography to explore this bush vs. the home binary in Acholi
society (Oloya, 2013; Dubal, 2018; Porter, 2019; MacDonald and
Kerali, 2020).
At the beginning of the LRA rebellion, the tension between
bush and home spaces became louder. The rebellion did not take
place in a social and spiritual vacuum. It was largely an Acholi
rebellion led by a majority of Acholi fighters. The leadership was,
therefore, no strangers to Acholi culture. However, Baines (2017)
argues that in the late 1990s, Joseph Kony created a “new Acholi
nation,” which he considered morally superior to the old Acholi.
According to her research participants, Kony termed the new
state Acholi A and the old state Acholi B. Besides abductions
of adolescents and teenagers, Kony relied on an institutionalized
forced marriage to populate the new state (Apio, 2016; Baines,
2017). The new Acholi state project complemented the spiritual
initiative project introduced at the group’s formation in the late
1980s (see Behrend, 1999; Van Acker, 2004; Titeca, 2010). The
LRA/new Acholi practiced their version of social harmony, just
like home, upheld by a spiritual body via Kony (see Behrend,
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Kiconco Politics and Practices of Integration in Uganda
1999; Van Acker, 2004). While their settlements in south Sudan
and social life mirrored old Acholi, the rebellion developed their
own moral codes that every member lived by Titeca (2010),
Baines (2017), and Porter (2019). Interviews show that upon
arrival in the LRA settlements, newly abducted persons were
subjected to rituals to cleanse them of any potential polluting
spirits and witchcraft from the old and inferior Acholi state.
LRA/new Acholi social harmony transgressors were punished,
sometimes by death (Titeca, 2010; Baines, 2017; Porter, 2019).
Similarly, at home, people coined the term olumolum—
derived from Lum—to refer to people that had entered the bush
to wage a rebellion against the Government. Over the years, the
olumolum came to mean “people who live in the bush”—as in the
case of the LRA rebels—suggesting they were polluted, mentally
unsound, criminals, with a “bush mentality.” Thus, returning
from the rebellion and the bush, home communities perceived
children parented by the LRA members and born in the bush as
now possessing a lower moral status in a society where people,
nature, and the spiritual world determine moral standing. The
never-abducted persons saw them as potential polluters of the
social body. Therefore, I found the bush an essential concept
linked together with the LRA and the polluting spirits.
Having olumolum (“people of the bush”—LRA combatants
and abductees) as their natal parents and being conceived in
the bush is one of the main sources of stigma for LRA children
in Acholi region. Being born in the bush “qualifies” them as
olumolum. Indeed, I found that these children were described and
referred to in conversations as olumolum, denoting they were also
“people of the bush.” Two mothers stated:
My child faces severe stigmatization from the community. When
referring to him, people use negative descriptions ranging from
‘born in the bush’ to ‘rebel’. These descriptions affect our children
and us.12
I have not heard any forms of segregation toward my children
in my family. However, some people in the outside community
use a stigmatizing language. When referring to the children, they
always use phrases like, ‘children she returned with from the
bush’. As their mother, I do not feel at ease when I hear such
statements.13
Interviews suggest that these children in the Acholi area have
two parallel worlds—the bush world and the “normal” world.
Although they may have complete access to the normal world
and live close to never abducted people, they are nevertheless
conceptualized as inhabiting the unknown, polluted and feared
bush world. And because of this background, they are singled
out and labeled as different, strange, or even dangerous. They
are “othered” and deemed as of lower status when others
know their history. Many find themselves isolated from society
and discredited by the unaccepting host communities. Mothers
interviewed for this study reported that locals viewed their
12Interview 9: 31 years old, abducted at the age of 11 for 8 years, Amida, Kitgum
district, 13 November 2012.
13Interview 29: 26 years old, abducted at the age of 13 for 7 years, Omiya Anyima,
Kitgum district, 13 November 2012.
children through the prism of their birth in the bush. Their
character is understood as “bush-like.” They are teased, scorned,
and stigmatized about this background.
Secondly, association with the rebellion. Beyond being born in
the bush, interviews show that these children’s association with
the LRA rebellion is also a source of their stigmatization. Locals
in Acholi communities call them “Kony,” “Kony’s children” or
“rebels,” claiming that they are “wild” and potentially future
“criminals.” Locals blame them for the hated practices of their
fathers, assuming that they are “useless” like Kony and his
militiamen, who are perceived as useless fathers that inflicted
uncountable pain on their society and with no remorse. The
boys are viewed as having inherited their fathers’ wild and
criminal behavior and are thus more commonly stereotyped as
“criminals,” “uncivilized” and “untamed,” placing them outside
the social harmony. As one mother put it, “I do not have any
bad feelings toward my child because I am the mother. But other
people stigmatize him a lot, saying his father is a rebel and that
he will have no future use to the community.”14 Another shared
this sad story: “I abandoned my marriage after only 8 months
because I could not stand bad statements and treatment directed
at my children and me. People used to say that if my boys grow
up, with the bush mentality inherited from their father, they
will break the man’s [step father] home.”15 This interviewee’s
marital community perceived her children as a source of danger
and fear. Locals feared them because rebel men fathered the
children, with some believing the children inherited their fathers’
characters and were prone to being violent in the stepfather’s
home and community.
Similarly, compared to their peers not born in the LRA, these
children are viewed as more stubborn and uncontrollable, with
girls understood to have inherited their mothers’ perceived “weak
points.” Step-fathers, in particular, were reported to use insulting
words like “stupid,” “senseless,” “bush mentality/behavior,” or
“unsound mind” in relation to them and their mothers. This
language highlights the difference and distance between these
children and the local population, reinforcing their exclusion
from mainstream society. It underlines local awareness of their
social origins. It shows how the children are seen as inferior or
of lower status, posing a danger to the local social order and its
accompanying harmony.
Thirdly, illegitimacy at birth. Backgrounds of being born in
the bush and association with the rebellion are key sources
of stigmatization in northern Uganda. However, I found that
children born in the LRA face persistent stigmatization mainly
due to the “illegitimacy” of their birth circumstances. Being born
out of wedlock sees them negatively perceived and devalued,
while having an unknown father makes this even worse.
Interviews show that patriarchy and patrilineality
fundamentally influence these children’s contested identities
and citizenship in northern Uganda. Indeed, Acholi society is
14Interview 9: 31 years old, abducted at the age of 11 for 8 years, Amida, Kitgum
district, 13 November 2012. Interview, Mother 9, Amida, Kitgum district, October
2012.
15Interview 30: 26 years old, abducted at the age of 13 for 6 years, Kitgum town,
Kitgum district. Omiya Anyima, Kitgum district, 8 November 2012.
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Kiconco Politics and Practices of Integration in Uganda
organized along patriarchal, patrilineal, and interdependent clan
lines. Paternal lineage membership determines access to social
identity, belonging and status, ultimately deciding access to
resources, particularly land. Families resist raising children that
are not of their lineage/clan.
Nyom (marriage) plays a crucial role in unifying lineages/clans
and ensuring social integration in Acholi culture (Finnström,
2008; Baines and Rosenoff-Gauvin, 2014; Kiconco, 2021a).
Customary marriages are completed with the payment of
bridewealth, which cements the contract between the girl and
boy’s families/clans. When the groom’s clan pays its tongo keny
(bridewealth), the move establishes reproductive and productive
rights in the woman’s family. The married woman joins and
becomes part of her husband’s family/clan, while the children
born of the union become part of their father’s clan and lineage.
Where the levied tongo keny has not been paid in full, the
relationship is not recognized, any resultant children are viewed
as illicit, and ultimately they belong to their mother’s clan and
lineage. This is such a socially undesirable outcome that a
process exists, called “luk pa latin,” whereby the paternal family
pays a customary fine for the care taken to raise the child
in order to affiliate it to its father’s lineage. Although deeply
affected by war, displacement, and the accompanying crises of
social reproduction, these customs remain crucial to Acholi
social order and, therefore, individual psychological wellbeing
(Kiconco, 2021a).
When an LRA father pays tongo keny to the woman’s
family/clan, he can secure a sanctioned marriage. Similarly, he
claims custodianship if he pays compensation to the mother’s
clan for the child. I will give an example to elaborate on
this process and experience. Lamunu (pseudonym) was one
of the two women in the sample that lived with their LRA
husbands and children. Abducted at 14 for 10 years, Lamunu
escaped the rebellion without informing her rebel husband and
returned home with their three children. Some months later,
the government forces captured and rescued the man. Upon
homecoming, he traced Lamunu and the children to engage her
clan in tongo keny (bridewealth) and luk (fines for the children).
The move would officially seek Lamunu’s hand in marriage and
realign their children’s lineage. Lamunu reported, “Our home
communities are close to each other, so it was not difficult for
him to trace us.”16
Working with his clan elders, the husband negotiated and
paid lim akumu for Lamunu and luk that Lamunu’s clan levied
on the man’s clan for children that arose from the LRA forced
marriage (locally considered illicit sex). Lamunu reported using
the money he received as part of the DDR resettlement package to
clear these fines and cultural expectations: “He received 250,000
Ugandan Shillings from Uganda Amnesty Commission to start
life back home. He spent some of it to meet lim akumu and
luk obligations.”17 I met Lamunu’s family in 2013, 8 years after
16Interview 15: 31 years old, abducted at the age of 13 for 7 years, Amida, Kitgum
district, 13 November 2012.
17Interview 58: 36 years old, abducted at the age of 12 for 10 years, Gulu town, 6
February 2013.
returning home. They now had a fourth child, born out of
legitimate marriage, and did not pay luk.
The facts highlighted in this story reveal that Lamunu and
her husband saw marriage and kinship as reintegration strategies.
They understood that an Acholi girl giving birth without being
legally married runs contrary to Acholi custom and is perceived
as a threat to the institution of marriage. Locals would view their
children as products of practices that violated customary norms
of sex, gender, kinship, marriage and patriarchy. Their presence
in home communities would consequentially be interpreted
as disrupting and threatening Acholi social order and social
harmony. Therefore, they knowledgeably evoked and engaged
with the social processes of tongo keny and luk to kick-start
their reintegration into society. Lamunu and her husband saw
engaging with these customs as a solid strategy to make their
relationship acceptable in society, ultimately supporting their
children’s integration.
Indeed, the experience brought their clans into a social
relationship in which they transferred their children’s lineage
affiliation from maternal to paternal family/clan. It was only after
this process that the man could claim their children. They both
understood that if they started living together without initiating
and experiencing marriage and kinship customs to make their
union official and pay child compensation, the move would
further transgress social harmony (increase tensions) between the
two clans. Thus, the action neutralized existing tensions induced
by their bush experience, forced marriage and children born out
of this relationship.
Interviews suggest that the never-abducted men who marry
formerly abducted women and wish to take on custodianship of
their LRA children can also evoke the luk custom. Indeed, “Akello
(pseudonym) stays with me here [marital home]. Initially, she
was with my relatives. But when I shared about her with my
husband, he agreed to pay luk to my relative who was taking
care of her and brought her home here. She is with us, and he
decided to take care of her and support her education.” Similarly,
“I pray that my husband will continue to accept and support my
children. Because this is the only place they know and call home.
Even in future, it will be their only home. All my plans depend on
what we agree on with my husband. If he remains peaceful and
agrees to my hopes of fathering them [paying luk], I will be very
relieved.”18
During fieldwork, this stringent cultural process of child
affiliation was prevalent in Acholi society. Another woman
revealed that she escaped with two children, leaving their father
in the LRA. His family wanted to take the children from the
maternal clan illegally (without paying luk). However, her family
involved the police in blocking the move: “I came back from the
bush with two children. But the [LRA] man’s family tried stealing
one child, but we were quick to report this to police, and they
stopped them.”19
18Interview 36: 27 years old, abducted at the age of 12 for 7 years, Lukung, Lamwo
district, 7 January 2013.
19Interview 24: 32 years old, abducted at the age of 12 for 6 years, Omiya nyima,
Kitgum district, 17 November 2012.
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In this research, fewer children with established paternal ties
stood in contrast with the experiences of most children with
no paternal links and relations. These children in the sample
struggled to cope with unknown paternal identities. Mothers
expressed concerns as asked whether they worried about their
children growing up not knowing their birth fathers. Three
women reflected on the events:
He used to come and stay with us [marital home] some time
ago. He came here to ask for educational materials, books, pens
and school uniforms. But when my husband began abusing and
calling him ‘rebel child’ and persisted after I had asked him to
cease, the boy decided on his own to stop coming here.20
I worry about the future of my son. Commonly, boys will grow
up and look for their paternal homes, even when you deny them
information about their homes. Even for Okello, I hope that
if people continue to stigmatize and tell him about his roots,
perhaps he might get interested in tracing his paternal home.21
People stigmatize and talk about it [fatherhood] to him. That
makes me angry and anxious. I constantly worry that this issue
will be a big concern when he grows older. If he were a girl, at
least it would have been better. I had wanted to tell him that his
father died, but he is still too young to understand. For now, he
calls my elder brother his father.22
These examples suggest that when children grow older and
develop a sense of self and a need for social acceptance
and belonging, they might become sensitive to stigmatization
and emotional abuse from the community. They will reinvent
themselves as they enter teenage years and adulthood, asking
questions about their paternal roots and origins and seeking true
meaningful identity.
While it appears as though the most pervasive stigmatization
is similar for boys and girls, some perspectives suggest a
gendered element in the experience and realities. Indeed, “If he
were a girl, at least it would have been better.”23 The Acholi
experience proposes that gender plays a role in how integration
evolves in northern Uganda, particularly in the long term. Some
mothers felt that male children faced a severe predicament
because they could not survive outside maternal clans. They
were bound to be rejected, marginalized and stigmatized for the
rest of their lives. On the other hand, mothers felt marriage
offered a solid path to leave the maternal clan and enter a
new clan (husband’s clan), where they could access land and
other resources (Kiconco, 2021b). They would eventually escape
rejection and stigmatization from maternal clan members.
Consultations show that for Acholi children, knowing and
belonging to their paternal family/clan is critical in their social
belonging, protection, and provision. By contrast, children with
20Interview 25: 28 years old, abducted at the age of 12 for 10 years, Omiya nyima,
Kitgum district, 20 November 2012.
21Interview 3: 28 years old, abducted at the age of 10 for eight 10 years, Amida,
Kitgum district, 6 November 2012.
22Interview 25: 28 years old, abducted at the age of 12 for 10 years, Omiya nyima,
Kitgum district, 20 November 2012.
23Interview 25: 28 years old, abducted at the age of 12 for 10 years, Omiya nyima,
Kitgum district, 20 November 2012.
no paternal lineage are viewed as lower status and treated
accordingly. Unfortunately, this necessarily applies to most
children fathered by the LRA men, whose fathers never paid
tongo keny and are largely absent from their children’s lives. These
children typically exist as social others who are illegitimate within
the Acholi order of things and social harmony. So much so that
some mothers reported being criticized for exiting the LRA with
their children. In the words of one, “my relatives bluntly told me
that I should have left the child with the LRA since the father was
not around [still with rebels] to take care of the child, so coming
home with the child was useless. That, moreover, this would only
bring more problems for my return home. This hurt me a lot.”24
Similarly, “I am constantly told that I should not bother raising a
child of no father.”25
“As a mother, you cannot stay with a child who does
not know their father or paternal home. The child needs to
know their father’s home.”26 As Lamunus’s case shows, it is
socially possible for the LRA father or his family/clan to claim
custodianship of a child through luk negotiations. However, this
has rarely been pursued by families, clans, and child protection
institutions, largely because doing so may be challenging and
require comprehensive coordination among families, clans, and
the wider community. Recent experience shows mothers most
often initiate child tracing after children request to learn their
paternal identity. Some children themselves initiate other cases. A
smaller number of cases are initiated by LRA returned fathers or
by the paternal clan (see, e.g., Baines and Oliveira, 2020; Tinashe
et al., 2020). As such, in the present sample, only 11 children knew
their paternal families at the time of fieldwork.27 This suggests
that most children in the sample attempted to integrate into their
maternal clan systems, unable to rely on their paternal kinship
networks for support.
Acholi experience shows that knowing and connecting with
paternal kin expands integration space for these children in
northern Uganda. At the very least, this would address their
inability to access the most crucial resource, land. In the Acholi
region, the land is customarily owned, with male children
expected to inherit it from their fathers to establish their own
families and farming livelihoods. Having no relationship with
their biological fathers, these children lack inheritance rights and
claims to land. This leaves them vulnerable and at the mercy of
their maternal kin and stepfathers, which is necessarily uncertain
24Interview 12: 23 years old, abducted at the age of 12 for 6 years, Kitgum town,
Kitgum District, 5 November 2012.
25Interview 9: 31 years old, abducted at the age of 11 for 8 years, Amida, Kitgum
district, 13 November 2012.
26Interview 39: 35 years old, abducted at the age of 11 for 7 years, Gulu town, 9
February 2012.
27Six lived with their mothers and fathers after the two mothers had exited the LRA
and been joined by the LRA fathers, who paid the customary bridewealth for the
mothers and the luk for each of the children. Two other children had joined their
fathers. One belonged to a mother who returned with two children by the same
LRA father, but the father took only one after paying luk. The mother was in a
new relationship. The second child lived with the maternal grandparents because
the father was yet to pay the second luk. Two final stayed with their mothers, but
their fathers often visited. One mother exited the LRA with three children by two
combatants: his paternal family (grandparents) had taken one, and the other two
lived with maternal grandparents, with no knowledge of their paternal family.
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Kiconco Politics and Practices of Integration in Uganda
given the stigma they face due to their socially unorthodox.
Consider these two experiences:
I plan to have a place for my children and me to call home. Even
if we are living at my aunt’s home, in the future, as human beings,
people will get tired of my children and expect them to find their
places. I have to plan for them before they become adults by
finding a piece of land and constructing a house. If I find a Good
Samaritan to rent their land, we can grow some food.28
My marital home is experiencing land issues involving the
children I returned with from the bush. What will happen if they
continue to reject and deny them access to land? I do not have
any power to avoid that. I am only waiting to see what the future
has in store for them. I do not have anyone to help me look after
them. Where will I put them? Will they find help when the LRA
has been fully demolished?29
Reuniting with their paternal families does not mean these
children are guaranteed the safety of belonging and land
accessibility. Indeed, they will still have to maneuver amidst the
land wrangles engulfing most of the Acholi region (Joireman,
2018). But paternal lineage networks will at least offer them the
basis of the safety net that most vulnerable children in Uganda
rely on to survive.
INTERVENTION, DE-CENTRING
CHILDREN AND EXACERBATION OF
INTEGRATION COMPLEXITIES
How to ensure reintegration for girls abducted and forced into
marriages? How to integrate the children born of their unions,
with or without their fathers? These are the questions faced
by many organizations working in northern Uganda during
and after the war. Unfortunately, my data show that there are
several problems plaguing what they do. This section shows that
rehabilitation and reintegration agencies failed to mitigate the
Acholi above socio-cultural issues. At times, the biases within
their approaches even made things worse.
The first issue with the mainstream approach to protection
and reintegration concerns the conception of childhood
predominant within intervening agencies. Consultations show
that neither childhood nor adulthood is reducible to biological
age in the Acholi region. Adolescence is considered the phase
between the ages of 10 and 18. Orobo (“youth”/“young-persons”)
are people between the ages of 15 and 30. But particularly
in rural areas, a girl becomes a woman upon experiencing
menstrual cycles, developing breasts, or being sexually active.
Therefore, girls between 12 and 16 are typically seen as ready
for marriage and bearing children. A girl becomes a woman
as soon as she marries or gets pregnant, even if this occurs at
age 12 or 13. Therefore, though still young in biological age, a
pregnant girl will begin self-identifying as Dako matidi (“young
28Interview 32: 31 years old, abducted at the age of 11 for 8 years, Kitgum town, 14
November 2012.
29Interview 13: 31 years old, abducted at the age of 11 for 9 years, Amida, Kitgum
district, 13 November 2012.
mother/woman/wife”). Thus, marriage and motherhood—not
age—are the pathways to womanhood and adulthood in this
context (p’Bitek, 1986; Dolan, 2005: 282; Finnström, 2008: 235).
By contrast, for rehabilitation agencies, children and
childhood are biological phenomena, and each implies an
inability to consent to sexual activity or resulting pregnancy.
As such, agencies constructed all females returning from LRA
captivity as “child mothers.” Reports show that “the majority of
those classified as ‘child mothers’ at reception centers [were] over
the age of 18” (Allen and Schomerus, 2006: 24), so they were
adults in both the Western and Acholi sense of that term. Yet
agencies aimed at reproducing “children” in line with Western
standards—innocent, helpless, vulnerable, dependent, in need
of rescue, etc.—no doubt in part because this is what played
with donor sympathies. However, agencies treated these young
women as children: “they [staff] cared for us but treated us as
children even when some of us already had children.”30 This
limited the cultural appropriateness of agency interventions and
ultimately alienated many.
Furthermore, the focus on “mothers-as-children” meant
that their children were de-centered in the design and
implementation of programmes, limiting the quality of their
support. Yet, children’s suffering has implications for mothers’
reintegration. The interviews suggest that mothers cannot fully
reintegrate if their children do not experience meaningful
integration. Indeed, “the stigmatization of our children greatly
affects us because we did not choose to be abducted and give birth
to them with the rebels. It was not our wish, and the negative
treatment from the community give us [mothers] much pain.”31
Therefore, in the initial days, more needed to be done
to change attitudes in northern Uganda that viewed these
children as “other,” resultantly keeping them at the periphery
of mainstream society. As I examined the integration process
in the Acholi region, I asked whether child protection agencies
that sought to help and support mothers did more harm than
good in terms of their children. I recognize that mothers
experienced more vulnerabilities and needs when they initially
left the LRA. However, infantilizing and turning them into
a focus of concern complicated their home status, position
and situation. Notably, the move invisibilised their children.
So, in developing this argument in this section, I am not
unjustly criticizing child protection agencies nor trivializing the
challenges they faced trying to return these mothers to their
home communities. Rather, the objective is to demonstrate that
infantilizing mothers/women were counterproductive to their
children’s integration.
Experiences of stigmatization reveal that international
institutions overlooked or ignored the purported social disorder
associated with being born in the bush/rebellion and its
influence on integration. Critical aspects of social disharmony
related to these children’s status and background were not
acknowledged and appropriately addressed. Failure to consider
30Interview 18: 21 years old, abducted at the age of 13 for 8 years, Amida, Kitgum
district, 13 October 2012.
31Interview 9: 31 years old, abducted at the age of 11 for 8 years, Amida, Kitgum
district, 13 November 2012.
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Kiconco Politics and Practices of Integration in Uganda
such concerns also meant overlooking broader cultural norms,
gender ideologies and patriarchal tendencies, signifying that
international institutions approached children’s experiences as
taking place in a vacuum. Yet, the integration processes evolved
in social and cultural frameworks affected and changed by the
protracted war. Accordingly, institutions needed to pay close
attention to local culture, patriarchy and gender constructions
and their shaping of daily lives to make sense of how integration
would evolve and affect the children.
Beyond such primary difficulties, the exceptionalism inherent
to the targeted focus on returning “child mothers” contributed
to their children’s stigmatization. This happened for a number of
reasons. First, the preference for the initial phase of integration
taking place in centers run by foreign agencies as opposed
to within community settings gave the impression to many
communities that they were seen as unable to offer appropriate
support to these children. This bred resentment among many
locals, worsened by how reintegration agencies advocated for
mothers and children, voicing their concerns to criticize the
public for not protecting them. The Western approach to
childhood and womanhood highlighted alienated people through
its implicit disregard for local understandings. At the same time,
the sole focus on child mothers and their children vexed people
by ignoring the parallels between their difficulties and those of
the wider region. In Allen and Schomerus’ words, “so many
adolescent girls in northern Uganda [were] living vulnerable
and impoverished lives, and [were] likely to end up becoming
pregnant at a very early age” (2006: 24). Provision of support and
opportunities in a manner that did not address the needs of these
other vulnerable populations, therefore, made returnee mothers
and children stand out in a way that entrenched resentment
against them, thus exclusion from mainstream society.32
Agencies pursued the “child mother” policy for legal reasons
and moral reasons of responsibility and accountability. But
in their attempt to restore “lost childhoods,” they prioritized
returning women who were now mothers to the communities
they left before they became mothers. The move de-centered
their children, consequentially keeping them invisible and
condemning them to a lower status. This flew in the face
of the local customs outlined above and overlooked the
reality that their mothers’ families and communities would
not automatically accept some children. Consequently, both
children and their returning mothers faced stigma, preventing
meaningful (re)integration.
The unintended experience of de-centring children seemed
to have influenced many mothers against tracing fathers
or paternal families upon homecoming. I found that the
identity of their children’s father was not an issue for some
mothers in the sample, a perspective they seemed to have
adopted from organizations. Protection agencies sometimes
discouraged continuing relationships with LRA combatants or
tracing paternal families in the early days of return. Consider
this experience:
32There were some efforts to incorporate both formerly abducted mothers and
other war-affected young mothers in the same communities in research and
rehabilitation projects (see for example SWAY, 2006; McKay et al., 2010).
I did not attempt to do anything like that [tracing for paternal
family] because we were advised by [rehabilitation agency] that
there was no need to do that since we suffered in the bush carrying
and delivering them [children]. They were our consolations and
blessings that God had given us and that we should never let their
fathers’ relatives know. Even about the mere fact that the children
were related to them and had come back home with us.33
Following the Acholi naming custom, male LRA combatants
named their children after themselves or their families/clans.
Male children were named after their fathers’ brothers or uncles
and some girls after their paternal grandmothers. It is possible
that this was viewed as a way of eventually identifying the
child in the future. Indeed, had the father’s family members
wanted to trace the child, these names would have been crucial.
As such, agencies advised mothers to rename their children.
Some agencies even went as far as to interfere with details
that could have helped fathers or their lineages identify and
trace their children. In some cases, agencies came up with new
names themselves:
While in captivity, he was named Binaisa Samuel Arwai [a
pseudonym] after his father, Arwai. But when we were at [agency],
the name Arwai was deleted from his name. The management
advised me that the name Arwai would make people stigmatize
him in the village. So I decided to stop calling him Arwai.34
Since they acted as the critical broker reintroducing returnees
to civil society and preparing them for community-based
reintegration, agencies held a hierarchal position in northern
Uganda. Besides offering support, there was an opportunity
to advocate for these children’s social visibility and customary
rights pertaining to paternal descent and in line with local
custom. Instead, they sponsored interventions that contributed
to the predicament around identity and social belonging facing
these children.
Although paternal family/clan reunions may help with
reconciliation and redress, northern Uganda has not focused
on this. The focus and target of reintegration agencies and
programmes remain to return and keep LRA combatants in
their home communities. In addition, the emphasis on mothers
continues to drive the reintegration intervention. This is done
with the perception that “empowering” mothers will improve
the wellbeing of their children. But, this approach leaves many
gaps. Many mothers stipulate the desire re-marry with non-
LRA men, leaving their children with maternal grandparents
or/and relatives (Kiconco, 2021a). Some mothers do not have
immediate relations alive or willing to take on their children.
With these children unable to join their mothers in new
marriages/relationships, they are left at the mercy of extended
relatives or stranded with well-wishers.
The article should not suggest that all formerly abducted
women desire to reunite with their LRA husbands or their
families and clans. In fact, some women in the sample resented
33Interview 25: 28 years old, abducted at the age of 12 for 10 years, Omiya nyima,
Kitgum district, 20 November 2012.
34Interview 16: 26 years old, abducted at the age of 11 for 8 years, Omiya nyima,
Kitgum district, 15 November 2012.
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Kiconco Politics and Practices of Integration in Uganda
the LRA men/husbands because their union was an experience
of rape, forced marriage and forced pregnancy, which they saw
as having ended with their return home. Many were in new
relationships with never-abducted men. The forced marriage
trauma continued to inform these women’s perspectives on their
children born in the LRA and their integration back home.
Many saw raising the children by themselves or with the help of
maternal clans as a superior strategy compared to tracing for their
fathers or paternal kin.
Similarly, I do not wish to suggest that it is compulsory
for children fathered by the LRA fathers to know their
paternal families to integrate into northern Uganda communities.
However, we assume this is likely from what has been
explained above about the Acholi social order. Furthermore,
from a fundamental material standpoint, mothers facing severe
impoverishment need the support they could receive from
biological fathers and paternal relatives to integrate their children
meaningfully. Thus, “If Dominic [Ongwen] would come back, he
and I could join hands and raise our two children,” stated one of
Ongwen’s former forced wives who appeals for his forgiveness.
Indeed, confronting though it may be to some, she pleaded for
reconciliation and not the prosecution of such LRA fathers.35
CONCLUSION
In this article, I interpret integration in northern Uganda as
fundamentally a social process that features dynamic interactions
between the children born in the LRA captivity and host
communities. The ultimate goal is to establish and maintain
social and kinship relationships to support life post-LRA. It
is not something that children can do on their own, as
integration involves the negotiation of social identities and the
configuration of social status and positions. The key issue that
shapes integration is whether these children can establish and
maintain decent relationships with kin and host communities,
resulting in social inclusion. I arrived at this interpretation by
attending to children and their lived experiences and realities
of integration told via interviews with their formerly abducted
mothers. It was my experience that mothers understand their
children’s integration challenges, particularly their lack of a
paternal identity, which influence their access to resources,
particularly the land with clan affiliation.
A key objective of my study was to examine the significant
sources of stigmatization among the children born in the LRA
as they attempt to integrate into northern Uganda communities.
35An interview with Mail & Guardian. Retrieved from: https://mg.co.za/article/
2015-02- 16-uganda- the-thin-line-between-victim-and-perpetrator.
Their backgrounds of being born in the bush, association with the
LRA and illegitimacy at birth emerged as the key sources of their
stigmatization. Everyday stigmatization mediates integration
experiences among the LRA captivity children in the Acholi
region. Stigmatization is a challenge that consistently undercuts
their aspirations for recovery and integration. Stigmatization
takes different forms and serves multiple functions. The
exclusion and alienation of the children by the never-abducted
population constitute perhaps the single most difficult hindrance
to meaningful integration. Stigmatization arising from culture
and patriarchy adversely affect opportunities for developing and
nurturing meaningful social relationships. Social participation is
severely compromised, reducing hope and prospects significantly
among these children. The factors leading to their stigmatization
are unique, as they challenge the common belief that integration
is a critical, necessary and durable post-conflict solution.
Social orders can have paradoxical effects, providing an
environment that protects sections of a community while
isolating others. In their daily experiences, the LRA children in
this research contended with negative stereotypes and prejudices
that extended to their attempts to form essential and useful
networks with the never-abducted population that could benefit
them. From their experience, it would seem that significant and
productive integration for this category of children in northern
Uganda is a challenging prospect. Their experience proposes
that the cultural environment is not always entirely conducive
to successful integration for children born in rebel groups.
Stigmatization heavily rooted in the collective culture can steadily
push them further away and into the margins of society.
DATA AVAILABILITY STATEMENT
The data are not publicly available due to privacy or ethical
restrictions. Requests to access the datasets should be directed to
the corresponding author.
ETHICS STATEMENT
The studies involving human participants were reviewed
and approved by University of Birmingham. The
patients/participants provided their written informed consent to
participate in this study.
AUTHOR CONTRIBUTIONS
The author confirms being the sole contributor of this work and
has approved it for publication.
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ORIGINAL RESEARCH
published: 01 June 2022
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2022.850969
Frontiers in Political Science | www.frontiersin.org 1June 2022 | Volume 4 | Article 850969
Edited by:
Sabine Lee,
University of Birmingham,
United Kingdom
Reviewed by:
Elisa Van Ee,
Radboud University, Netherlands
Erin Baines,
University of British Columbia, Canada
*Correspondence:
Leen De Nutte
leen.denutte@ugent.be
Specialty section:
This article was submitted to
Peace and Democracy,
a section of the journal
Frontiers in Political Science
Received: 08 January 2022
Accepted: 03 May 2022
Published: 01 June 2022
Citation:
De Nutte L, De Haene L and Derluyn I
(2022) “They Now Know That They
Are Children of War”: Forcibly
Abducted Mothers and Fathers
Balancing Disclosure and Silencing to
Their Children Born of War in Northern
Uganda. Front. Polit. Sci. 4:850969.
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2022.850969
“They Now Know That They Are
Children of War”: Forcibly Abducted
Mothers and Fathers Balancing
Disclosure and Silencing to Their
Children Born of War in Northern
Uganda
Leen De Nutte 1
*, Lucia De Haene 2and Ilse Derluyn 1
1Department of Social Work and Social Pedagogy & Centre for Children in Vulnerable Situations (CCVS), Ghent University,
Gent, Belgium, 2Parenting and Special Education & Centre for Children in Vulnerable Situations (CCVS), KU Leuven, Leuven,
Belgium
In recent years, scholars have emphasized the need for a relational understanding of the
impact of collective violence pointing to the myriad interconnections between individual
and communal experiences and consequences. These interconnections are particularly
strong in the (re)integration of formerly abducted children and youth, and their children
born of war, since various social, relational and cultural processes play a key role in their
wellbeing and healing. One example is the way in which trauma communication is shaped
by culture and context, and intersects at the level of the individual and the collective. In
this paper, we will explore how forcibly abducted mothers and fathers in post-conflict
Northern Uganda perceive the trauma communication about the context in which their
children born in forced captivity were conceived. Case study research was used to
understand the dynamic trajectories of this trauma communication, placing parents’
experiences within broader life histories, and the social and relational context. Repeated
interviews were performed with six mothers and four fathers who became parents
in forced captivity with the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA). Central in the participants’
stories is their agency in the careful, individual choice “to be silent” or “not to be silent”
toward their children, family and community members. However, these choices are
shaped—and often restricted—by the relational and cultural context. A dynamic interplay
of several factors, such as the age of the child, the emotional impact of disclosure,
a lack of resources and support in the upbringing of children, identity and belonging,
and perceived or potential future stigmatization are explored in this paper. Trauma
communication can be seen as a socially negotiated choice, interacting in a complex
dialectic relationship between silencing, disclosing, forgetting and remembering. As such,
the study revealed important insights into post-conflict healing and reintegration in the
day-to-day lives of formerly abducted children and youth, and their children born of war,
on an individual and collective level.
Keywords: children born of war, trauma communication, post-trauma healing, armed conflict, Uganda
36
De Nutte et al. Balancing Disclosure and Silencing
INTRODUCTION
Various scholars have emphasized the need for a relational
understanding of the impact of collective violence, pointing to
the myriad interconnections between individual and communal
experiences and consequences (Derluyn et al., 2013; Kevers, 2017;
De Haene et al., 2018; De Haene and Rousseau, 2020). This
understanding is supported by a range of research pointing to the
importance of social relationships and networks, and the larger
social fabric during and after collective violence (Vindevogel
et al., 2014; De Nutte et al., 2017). Consequently, research and
practice need to broaden their focus beyond the individual
toward addressing the impact of collective violence onto the
social and communal level (Barber, 2013a,b; Derluyn et al.,
2015; Vindevogel, 2017). Healing must be located in its social
context, acknowledging the far-reaching and long-term impact
of collective violence, and emphasizing the need to study post-
conflict contexts and focus on reconciliation processes (Derluyn
et al., 2013; Shanahan and Veale, 2015).
Interconnections between individual and communal worlds
seem to be particularly strong in the rehabilitation and
reintegration of formerly abducted children and youth, and their
children born of war, since various social processes play a key role
in their wellbeing and healing (Song et al., 2014; Stewart, 2017;
Kiconco and Nthakomwa, 2018; Allen et al., 2020; Macdonald
and Kerali, 2020). One example is the way in which trauma
communication is shaped by culture1and context (Fivush, 2010;
Eastmond and Mannergren Selimovic, 2012), and intersects at
the level of the individual and the collective (Elsass, 2001;
Eastmond, 2007; Kevers, 2017; De Haene et al., 2018, 2020).
Trauma communication has been highlighted as a central
dynamic and mediating factor in children’s and families’
adjustment and wellbeing following collective violence (Kevers,
2017; De Haene and Rousseau, 2020). Based on Dalgaard et al.
(2016, p. 71), we define trauma communication as “the way
in which parents talk to their children [, their families and
community members] about their traumatic experiences from
the past” and, more specifically, about the context of forced
abduction and captivity in which their child(ren) is/are born.
In this paper, we will explore how forcibly abducted mothers
and fathers in post-conflict Northern Uganda perceive the
trauma communication about the context in which their children
born in forced captivity were conceived.
In this introduction, we shall first elaborate on trauma
communication in the aftermath of collective violence. Then
we will explore the context of collective violence that resulted
out of the armed conflict between the Lord’s Resistance Army
(LRA) and the Government of Uganda. Third, we will focus
on the context of forced marriage and parenthood within the
LRA, before reflecting on the interconnections between gender
and collective violence. We shall conclude with an outline of the
specific research questions and gaps in the current literature that
1Throughout this paper, culture is conceptualized as “socially-constructed and
socially-shared ways-of-being-and-doing” (Theron and Liebenberg, 2015, p. 32).
In this way, we subscribe to a dynamic perspective on culture, forever in flux and
change.
will guide the exploration of the topic at hand. The introduction
shall be followed by an exploration of the methods of this study.
Trauma Communication in the Aftermath of
Collective Violence
In studies and (clinical) practice on trauma communication,
several scholars have complicated the interconnections between
disclosure, silencing, forgetting and remembering (Fivush, 2010;
Eastmond and Mannergren Selimovic, 2012; Kevers, 2017;
Dalgaard et al., 2019).
Verbalization and disclosure, and their presumed healing
effects, have known a long history (Shaw, 2007). In various
strands of clinical trauma care, recounting traumatic experiences
is perceived to be a central mechanism of recovery for survivors,
as verbalization and revisiting of traumatic memories are linked
to improved emotional healing (Measham and Rousseau, 2010;
De Haene et al., 2012). Here, trauma narration is used to enable a
coherent and meaningful integration of the traumatic memories
in order to heal (Almqvist and Broberg, 1997; Kevers et al., 2016;
De Haene et al., 2018, 2020). In addition, strongly framed within
narrative research among Holocaust survivors, verbalization
connected to remembering became imperative “so that it will not
happen again” (Shaw, 2007, p. 193), effectuating a “conspiracy
of silence” as its main risk (McKinney, 2007; Dalgaard et al.,
2016, 2019). Silencing or forgetting of traumatic experiences are,
by consequence, seen as less adaptive for the individual and the
broader context (De Haene et al., 2012; Dalgaard et al., 2016;
Kevers, 2017).
However, throughout research and practice, the protective
effects of silencing and forgetting were explored on the level
of the individual, family and wider community. Eastmond and
Mannergren Selimovic (2012, p. 505) conceptualized silence as
“being more than the absence of speech; rather, it is a form
of social communication that is as rich and multifaceted as
speech and narration.” Simultaneously, scholars have pointed out
that open disclosure of parental trauma can lead to increased
mental health problems in children, especially when they also
experience high levels of war-related stress (Dalgaard et al., 2016,
2019). Within the broader context and culture in which the
reintegration of formerly abducted persons and their children
unfolds, various examples have highlighted the potential healing
and restorative nature of silencing and forgetting (Song and De
Jong, 2013; Alipanga, 2015; Justice Reconciliation Project, 2015;
Apio, 2016; Mukasa, 2017; Stewart, 2017). It is important to note,
however, Fivush (2010)’s distinction between “being silent” as a
deliberate choice and “being silenced” as imposed.
Within the caregiver-child relationship, the concept of
“modulated disclosure” following collective violence has been
connected to children’s positive adaptation, mental health and
development (Rousseau and Measham, 2007; Measham and
Rousseau, 2010; Dalgaard and Montgomery, 2015). The manner,
timing and content of trauma communication have been brought
to the fore, that is, to carefully consider what aspects of the
traumatic events should be disclosed, how and when. In this
regard, the child’s developmental status, his/her level of exposure
to traumatic events, the family situation and the cultural meaning
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De Nutte et al. Balancing Disclosure and Silencing
of trauma communication have been emphasized (Rousseau and
Drapeau, 1998; Dalgaard and Montgomery, 2015; Dalgaard et al.,
2019). Caregivers assume the “role of gatekeepers of the past for
the sake of their children’s wellbeing” (Rousseau and Measham,
2007, p. 282), balancing between sharing enough information to
make sense of children’s experiences and protecting them from
getting overwhelmed.
Importantly, trauma communication is shaped by culture
and context (Fivush, 2010; Dalgaard and Montgomery, 2015;
Kevers, 2017). In the same vein, notwithstanding the influence of
Western perspectives (Pain et al., 2020), scholars have indicated
the context-specificity of the meaning of trauma, what is
considered traumatic, and how people heal and cope with trauma
(Rousseau and Drapeau, 1998; Diab et al., 2015; Kevers et al.,
2016).
Moving beyond a dichotomous understanding, we will
illustrate how disclosure and silencing in the aftermath of
collective violence are interacting in a complex dialectic
relationship (Fivush, 2010; Measham and Rousseau, 2010; De
Haene et al., 2012, 2018, 2020; Kevers et al., 2016). Scholars
have related this dynamic to the back-and-forth alternation
between forgetting, remembering, distancing and appropriation
of traumatic experiences and memories (Rousseau et al., 2001;
Kevers, 2017).
Context of Collective Violence and Forced
Parenthood in Northern Uganda
Over 20 armed groups have tried to gain power since Yoweri
K. Museveni’s army overthrew the Ugandan government in
1986 (Dolan and Hovil, 2006; Dolan, 2011). The collective
violence resulting out of the armed conflict between the
Ugandan Government, led by President Museveni, and the
Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), led by Joseph Kony, has by
far received the greatest attention. The LRA organized major
massacres, killing and maiming many, and abducted thousands
of children and youth to serve as child soldiers in a variety of roles
(Annan et al., 2008). About 90 percent of the Northern Ugandan
population was forced into internally displacement camps by the
Ugandan government where they experienced a lack of adequate
security and protection, food, water, sanitation, livelihood
and educational opportunities, medical care, and overcrowding
(Finnström, 2008; Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre,
2011; Blackmore, 2020). Many people still experience the
economic, physical, psychological, and social consequences of the
collective violence up to this day (Mazurana et al., 2019; Amanela
et al., 2020).
Within the context of forced abduction, the Lord’s Resistance
Army (LRA) set up a highly organized and controlled system of
forced marriages and parenthood (Carlson and Mazurana, 2008;
Watye Ki Gen et al., 2013; Baines, 2017; Atim et al., 2018b). In
this paper, we define forced marriages as the “forced imposition
of the status of marriage” (Carlson and Mazurana, 2008, p.
15), that is, without consent of the persons involved and their
families. Simultaneously drawing on and transgressing Acholi
conjugal practices (Porter, 2015; Apio, 2016; Aijazi and Baines,
2017; Baines, 2017; Madhani and Baines, 2020), forced marriage
became one of the LRA’s defining and critical features (Watye Ki
Gen et al., 2013; Apio, 2016). Annan et al. (2009) estimated that
about one out of four abducted females became forced wives in
LRA captivity.
Orchestrated by the top leadership of the LRA (Carlson and
Mazurana, 2008; Aijazi et al., 2019; Denov and Drumbl, 2020),
the practice of forced marriage served several purposes: (1) it
was part and parcel of the LRA’s “political project of nation-
building” (Baines, 2014, p. 407), “a way of reproducing—literally
giving birth to—the nation” of “morally pure” Acholi (ibid, p.
406); (2) forced marriages were meant to create dependencies
between abducted children/youth and the LRA, and amongst
abducted children/youth themselves (Kramer, 2012; Aijazi and
Baines, 2017); and (3) it was implemented as a system of
renumeration and privilege, a “surrogate payment system in the
absence of distributable material goods” (Kramer, 2012, p. 28).
Notwithstanding noted exceptions (Aijazi et al., 2019), sexual
relations were only permitted within the construct of forced
marriage (Annan et al., 2009; Baines, 2014). Considering the
purposeful implementation of forced marriage and parenthood,
children were perceived as a status symbol within the LRA
(Denov and Lakor, 2017).
It has been estimated that between 2,000 and 3,000 children
were born in forced captivity (Annan et al., 2008; Stewart, 2017).
While Apio (2007) noted that a majority of mothers “emphasized
that life was even worse when one became a mother” and
“parenting in the confines of the LRA enclaves was a most
difficult experience” (p. 100), research has also pointed to the
protective and meaning-making aspect of becoming a parent
in forced captivity. In fieldwork with mothers and fathers who
became parents in forced captivity, it was revealed that “men
draw meaning, rootedness, identity and ontological stability from
their children” (Aijazi and Baines, 2017, p. 16) and mothers
“say that the love of their child is what kept them going during
the harsh times with the LRA” (Watye Ki Gen et al., 2013, p.
20). Research among children born in captivity also found that,
notwithstanding the violence they endured, they felt valued and
accepted within the LRA, expressing a feeling of belonging and
being cared for (Justice Reconciliation Project, 2015; Denov and
Lakor, 2017; Denov and Piolanti, 2020).
Recently, scholars have started to explore the impact and
continuation of post-captivity forced marriages for women
and men, and the lives of children born of war (Aijazi
and Baines, 2017; Denov and Lakor, 2017, 2018; Stewart,
2017; Oliveira and Baines, 2020; Suarez and Baines, 2021).
Many accounts have related challenges in reintegration to
rejection, discrimination and/or stigmatization connected to
forced marriage and parenthood (Denov and Lakor, 2017;
Stewart, 2017). In particular, women’s gender-specific roles as
forced wives and mothers have hampered their own and their
children’s return and (re)integration (Baines, 2011), resulting
into difficulties in post-conflict lives, marriages and parenthood
(Apio, 2016; Atim et al., 2018b; Kiconco and Nthakomwa, 2018;
Oliveira and Baines, 2020).
Interconnections Between Gender and
Collective Violence
Given that this paper combines data out of interviews performed
with both mothers and fathers who became parents in
forced abduction, it is key to highlight the differential impact
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De Nutte et al. Balancing Disclosure and Silencing
of collective violence, military conscription and post-conflict
settings onto gender (Saferworld., 2014; Reinke, 2016; UN
General Assembly Security Council, 2021).
Within the context of Northern Uganda, scholars have
emphasized the role gender plays in abduction, initiation and
roles within the LRA (McKay and Mazurana, 2004; Carlson and
Mazurana, 2008; Baines, 2011), and reintegration experiences
connected to poverty, family and community acceptance,
marriage and parenting (Apio, 2016; Atim et al., 2018b; Kiconco
and Nthakomwa, 2018).
Notwithstanding conflicting findings, many scholars have
stated that women and girls experience more difficulties
during reintegration into their communities (Veale and Stavrou,
2007; Kohrt et al., 2015). Various reasons contribute to
this finding, namely (1) the girls’ and women’s experiences
of rejection, discrimination and/or stigmatization given their
specific roles (e.g., forced women and mothers) within the
armed forces (Annan et al., 2008; Muldoon et al., 2014),
which are often complicated by the prevailing patriarchal
values (Kiconco, 2015; Kohrt et al., 2015; Porter, 2015),
(2) the mismatch between girls’ and women’s needs, and
the reintegration programmes, leading to only a few of
them to go through such official processes (McKay and
Mazurana, 2004; Muldoon et al., 2014), and (3) the specific
physical and psychological challenges experienced by girls and
women during and after abduction (McKay and Mazurana,
2004; Mukasa, 2017; UN General Assembly Security Council,
2021).
In addition, in many post-conflict societies women and girls
shoulder the burden of care though they have less access to, for
example, economic resources such as property and land (Reinke,
2016; Whyte and Acio, 2017; Atim et al., 2018a; Khasalamwa-
Mwandha, 2018).
To conclude, this paper will elaborate on how forcibly
abducted mothers and fathers in post-conflict Northern Uganda
perceive the trauma communication about the context in which
their children born in forced captivity were conceived. The
following research questions will support the exploration of the
topic at hand:
1. Which coping strategies do parents use in communicating to
their children about the context in which they were born?
2. How do parents conceptualize the choice regarding trauma
communication toward their children?
3. Which cultural and contextual factors influence the parents’
trajectories on trauma communication toward their children?
As such, our study addresses the need for more research on the
underlying factors and processes of trauma communication
within families and among non-Western war-affected
populations (Dalgaard and Montgomery, 2015; Kevers, 2017;
Dalgaard et al., 2019).
METHODS
This paper draws upon a study on the meaning of upbringing
in the context of (past) collective violence, in particular
in the context of the armed conflict between the Lord’s
Resistance Army (LRA) and the Ugandan government.
Throughout the interviews with one of the participating
groups, namely the forcibly abducted youth who became
parents in captivity, trauma communication came to
the fore as a key consideration in the upbringing of
their children.
Gaining Access
A careful process was conducted in order to gain access to
the research context and participants. First, permission to carry
out the research from the ethical review boards of Ghent
University and the Republic of Uganda were obtained, as
well as consent from several government offices in Kitgum
District. This was followed by informative meetings about
the study in every Sub-County (i.e., Mucwini, Lagoro, and
Omiya-Anyima) in which officials, representatives, potential
participants and all interested others were invited. During
these meetings, a participant mobilizer was appointed who
“brokered” the initial relationship between the research team
and potential participants. Importantly, given the need to protect
the privacy of the target group (see further), six participants
were selected using snowball sampling (Robinson, 2014; Kiconco,
2019).
Participants and Data Collection
Repeated interviews were performed with six mothers and four
fathers who became parents in forced captivity with the LRA,
aged between 26 and 38 years old at the first interview. The
participants were abducted when they were between 11 and 16
years old, and spent between 5 and 12 years in forced captivity.
They became first-time parents when they were between 15 and
20 years old, with the majority having had two children while
in captivity. None of the participants had children together. All
their children were currently either living with their biological
parent (i.e., individual participant and his/her new partner
and children), their extended family (e.g., maternal or paternal
grandparent or great-grandparent) or former “partner” from
forced captivity.
A semi-structured interview guide was used that was piloted
during fieldwork performed in 2014. The guide included
divergent topics regarding the upbringing of children. The
participants were asked about their own upbringing, their
experiences as a caregiver during and after the context of forced
captivity, and how they perceived upbringing in future.
During the interviews, the first author was supported
by research assistants who provided interpretation between
Luo/Acholi and English. The interviews were audio-taped and
transcribed in English by an independent transcriber who was
not present during the interviews.
Given the often complex and rich experiences during and after
forced captivity, we decided to follow-up our participants during
a period of about 2 years (July 2014 to July 2016) for two mothers,
as we were able to meet them during the pilot, and 1 year (March
2015 to July 2016) for the other mothers and fathers. Overall, we
did at least four recorded interviews with each of the participants.
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The second and third interview provided a chance to ask
the participants for clarification and elaboration on the previous
interviews, and to answer any questions they might have on
the research (cf. informed consent as an iterative process
MacKenzie et al., 2007).
The fourth interview provided an opportunity for an
individual member check. Member checking, a “process in which
collected data is “played back” to the informant to check for
perceived accuracy and reactions” (Cho and Trent, 2006, p.
322), was applied as a potential strategy to address the power
imbalances between the research team and the participants.
Member checking has been described to have a 2-fold objective
(Goldblatt et al., 2011). First, from a methodological standpoint,
it serves to minimize misinterpretations of the narratives shared
by participants (ibid). Second, from an ethical stance, it can be
seen as a way to increase active participation of respondents
by giving them more control on the way their accounts are
represented (Koelsch, 2013). In addition, it also served as a
valuable opportunity to “wrap up” the various interviews, listen
to participants’ experiences on the research process itself and
thank them for journeying together. The member checks were
carefully prepared to include broad themes that were touched
upon by each individual participant, giving them the opportunity
to make additions, deletions or adjustments to the information
they had shared in previous interviews. The reactions to the
member check varied. Some participants perceived it as a chance
to clarify and add on to their stories. Others were hesitant to
engage with the information that they had shared earlier as it was
too sensitive, or they interpreted the member check as a way to
rectify “errors” in their stories.
Data Analysis
Case study research (Eisenhardt, 1989; Stake, 2006), supported
by NVivo 11 (QSR International Pty Ltd, 2015), was used to
understand the dynamic trajectories of disclosure, silencing,
forgetting and remembering while placing experiences within
broader life histories, social and relational context, and time
(Ames, 2007; Fassin et al., 2008; Kohrt et al., 2015). Case
study research was chosen because of its bottom-up approach
and, consequently, a close linkage with the empirical data
(Eisenhardt, 1989).
The findings resulting out of the within-case analysis were
accumulated and merged into cross-case clusters. These clusters
were polished and connected to the research questions, leading to
several assertions. The final assertions were revised against each
other and the data.
Ethical and Methodological Reflections
Research with participants who experienced traumatic events as
a result of collective violence is fraught with methodological and
ethical challenges (De Haene et al., 2010). Throughout the whole
research process, the team reflected upon various methodological
and ethical challenges associated with gaining access to the
research context, collaboration with research brokers, autonomy,
agency and vulnerability of participants, narration, power and
privilege, and completing the data collection (for a detailed
account, see De Nutte, under review).
Provision of Emotional Support to
Participants: Co-construction of Trauma
Communication in the Research
Relationship
Since we asked participants to recount potentially traumatic
experiences and mental health and psychosocial support services
are scarce within the area, we wanted to make sure that we were
able to provide the necessary emotional support during and after
the interviews and in between fieldwork periods. Four out of five
research assistants were recruited because they had expertise as
counselors to provide psychosocial support to the participants.
Throughout the course of data collection, multiple
psychosocial services were offered to five participants (i.e.,
four mothers and one father). It was clarified to the participants
that partaking in psychosocial services did not in any way
influence their participation in the research and that all what
was shared during these sessions was kept confidential between
the participant and the research assistant. Generally, the first
session of psychosocial support was offered to the participants
immediately after the interview as it could have touched
upon sensitive information and/or the participant seemed
uncomfortable or in distress. In two instances (i.e., one mother
and one father), the interview was stopped and immediate
support was given. If certain issues that required more time and
space were touched upon, another appointment was made at
a later time in consultation with the participant. The sessions
varied in length and included the participant’s spouse and/or
other family members in three instances. The latter was necessary
as some of our participants experienced urgent challenges in
their relationships with others, some of which will be laid out in
this paper.
It is important to note that the research process and team
could have had an influence onto the trajectories of trauma
communication of our participants.
The research assistants’ double role as both interpreter and
counselor sometimes shaped the course of the interviews. In one
instance, during transcription, it became apparent that one of
them put emphasis on the presumed healing effects of trauma
narration (see supra). In some instances where participants
chose not to expand on certain interview questions, the research
assistant encouraged them to verbalize their stories by telling
them “it would be good for you to talk about this’ and ‘it will
make you feel better.” This could have potentially put pressure
on participants to speak despite their wish to be silent in order
to protect themselves and others around them. This also speaks
to the tension between implementing certain data collection
methods, such as interviews and focus groups that entail a
verbalization of experiences and thoughts, and preferred modes
of trauma narration within the research relationship.
The influence of the research process onto parents’ trajectories
was also apparent in two other examples. After the second
interview, one of the mothers (C., 28 years old) started living
together again with her child she conceived in the LRA because
of the psychosocial support that was provided to her and her
new husband. One father (D., 33 years old) also shared during
the third interview that he recently disclosed how he became a
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parent in forced captivity to his son after he started to reflect
upon the issue as a result of the questions he was asked during
the interviews.
We assess that offering psychosocial support during, after
and in between the interviews supported participants to reflect
on several emotional and social concerns, and deepened the
relationship between the participant and the research team.
However, the sessions often couldn’t provide a sufficient
answer to the various other needs that most participants
experienced (e.g., lack of material/financial means, medical
issues, relationships with the broader community) and,
consequently, they proved to be complicating the phasing out of
the data collection and field work.
In what follows, we will first elaborate on the main assertions
on trauma communication among mothers and fathers about
the context in which their children born in forced captivity were
conceived. Afterwards, we shall discuss the findings of this paper
before concluding with key reflections on the research design
and process.
RESULTS
Throughout the within-case and cross-case analysis, it
became apparent that our participants’ trajectories on trauma
communication included both elements of disclosure, silencing,
or modes in between that came together in a dynamic interplay
that could change over time.
Central in the participants’ stories is their agency regarding
the careful, individual choice “to be silent” or “not to be silent”
(Fivush, 2010) toward their children:
‘I told him about where his father is, but I haven’t told him
where I gave birth to him from.’ (C., mother, 28 years old,
fourth interview)
‘I didn’t tell them because in the past when I told them they
were still young but now they are big . . . I’m not repeating it
because I don’t want them to know where they were born.’ (M.,
father, 30 years old, fourth interview)
However, notwithstanding the perceived importance of the
parents’ choice to disclose or silence, in all instances they were
shaped—and often restricted—by their social and relational
context. Our participants’ choices were repeatedly renegotiated
within their broader context and culture. In the next sections,
we shall highlight several key factors in the parents’ trauma
communication toward their children, including (1) the age
of the child, (2) the emotional impact of disclosure on the
child and parent, (3) a lack of resources and support in
the children’s upbringing, (4) identity and belonging, and (5)
perceived (potential) stigmatization of the child and parent.
Children’s Age
Parents asserted that their child had to be old enough to
understand the context in which they were born. If participants
felt their child was too young or “not knowledgeable,” they would
rather silence as young children “didn’t understand” (M., father,
30 years old, fourth interview) if they would receive information
about the context in which they were born:
‘For the boy, I haven’t told him everything how we started living,
how I got him, because he’s even still young and cannot be told
that thing.’ (C., mother, 28 years old, second interview)
On average, upon escape from the LRA, the children who
were born in forced captivity were 2 years and 2 months old2.
Consequently, many of these children didn’t remember their time
with the LRA:
‘There’s nothing that reminds that child of the things that
happened from the bush because I came with him when he still
didn’t know anything at all. So right now he’s studying where
there’s nothing that disturbs him like nightmares about things that
happened in the bush.’ (D., father, 33 years old, second interview)
‘They don’t ask. They have all forgotten. They don’t know
and that issue is not talked about.’ (M., father, 30 years old,
fourth interview)
Disclosure was most appropriate to older children (i.e., more
“knowledgeable,” “clever,” or “aware of their body”) as they would
be better able to understand what was being conveyed:
‘I want to tell her . . . When she becomes mature, I will tell her,
when she now knows herself, when she’s a bit big.’ (E., mother, 26
years old, third interview)
At the time of the interviews, the children who were deemed of
age were often the ones who were older when leaving captivity
and did have some memories from their time with the LRA:
‘It was the child that would ask that ‘mother where are we? Here
we are running’ .. . I could tell her ‘we are in the bush. Tomorrow
we shall go back home’ .. . She now stays but sometimes she
frightens at night crying when she’s dreaming.’ (E., mother, 26
years old, third interview)
Linking the appropriateness of disclosure to age sometimes
resulted in various trajectories of disclosure and silencing within
the same family when children conceived from forced captivity
had varying ages:
‘For the boy who I moved with and came back with when he was
already knowledgeable. He knows. But the one I produced from
here asked me that ‘where’s our father?” (G., mother, 26 years old,
first interview).
Emotional Impact of Disclosure
Parents who were afraid that disclosure would have a negative
emotional impact on their child would often follow a trajectory
of silencing:
2The youngest children were born at the reception and rehabilitation centers and
the oldest child was seven years old. The majority of the children were less than
two years old upon escape.
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‘I shouldn’t tell him because if I tell him I think he won’t feel well.’
(C., mother, 28 years old, third interview)
These accounts also were linked to the emotional struggle of the
parents themselves and the inability to express the meaningless
of experiences of forced captivity:
‘I cannot tell and exhaust all the conditions of the bush, there are
certain things that happened which were very, very painful but I
didn’t tell them. They cannot be told . . . I haven’t told him that
‘you were abducted or born in the rebel’s captivity’ because it is
still difficult.’ (C., mother, 28 years old, second interview)
Through silencing, parents tried to be protective of themselves
and their children, as not to get overwhelmed by emotions when
narrating about these traumatic experiences. Connected to this,
forgetting was perceived as a coping—even survival—strategy to
manage past experiences and move on with one’s life:
‘Right now I am back, I am no longer thinking about those things
that this is what I did in the past. I am forgetting them and I am
living freely.’ (E., mother, 26 years old, third interview)
Lack of Resources and Support
A lack of resources and support in the upbringing of children,
such as food, clothes, school fees and land, led to various
trajectories of silencing and disclosure. Some of our participants
opted for current silencing as the lack of support was manageable
at a time when children were still young and required less
resources. However, connecting the idea of appropriateness of
disclosure toward children of a certain age (see supra), the
increasing demand of resources when children grow older and
the unavailability of certain support figures in future, made all of
our participants to emphasize the need for future disclosure:
‘When I had just come back, there were some little support that
I would get but nowadays there’s a difficulty . .. The difference
is that the child has now become big. The means of taking
care of him, it is also bad if you don’t take a child to school.
That is the only difficulty I’m facing.’ (C., mother, 28 years old,
third interview)
‘It is important because if they don’t know and in the future
my grandmother isn’t there and the issue of land may become
trouble and so there won’t be a place where they are supposed
to stay. So they are supposed to know.’ (E., mother, 28 years old,
third interview)
Some participants connected the lack of resources as an obstacle
to forget what happened to them in forced captivity:
‘For us to forget, we should be supported with the problems that
press us, like clothes, beddings and other things that we can use to
raise children, like money. Because if we are still in problems like
this . . . it makes us to still recall the things that happened in the
past. (M., father, 30 years old, second interview)
As a way of accessing resources in the upbringing of their
children, some mothers indicated that they have or would want
to reconnect with their “partner” with whom they had stayed in
forced captivity:
‘I asked him that ‘you, do you have any interest on the child? The
child knows that this time is for study. If you know that this child
we got during the war and it wasn’t my will, the child should be
well. You are also present and even in the past my father went
and shared with your parents. Why don’t you get time, you come
and see how the child is growing?’ Then he said for him, he didn’t
refuse the child.’ (C., mother, 28 years old, second interview)
Participant: ‘Definitely I will have to go there.’
Interviewer: ‘Then do you think there’s any way you should be
helped so that you know the home of those people? Or you feel it
is of no importance for now?’
Participant: ‘For now, it is not yet bad, but maybe in the
future, when the children have grown, when there’s trouble
now, that’s when it will be necessary.’ (E., mother, 28 years old,
second interview)
For the participating fathers who were living with their child(ren)
born in captivity, this connection between the lack of resources
in the upbringing of children and the wish to connect with
the mother or the maternal clan of their child born in forced
captivity wasn’t found, probably because the father’s side is
deemed responsible for the child’s upbringing in Acholi.
Importantly, reconnecting with their forced “husband” or
“wife” was framed within customary Acholi practices on marriage
and childbirth. Certain payments, such as luk, to amend
transgressions and align the lineage of the child with the paternal
clan have to be paid to the mother’s family (Porter, 2015, 2019;
Madhani and Baines, 2020):
‘My mother is saying that if the child is to go, they don’t give the
child randomly. If he wants the child, then the people from his
home should know first. Because it is better if they come with
a letter and they share and finish every issue and you don’t just
steal a child. If you want to get the child, everyone should know.
So, I, the mother of the child wants the father to take the child
because that is a boy. Since I am now somewhere else his growing
up becomes difficult without a father.’ (C., mother, 28 years old,
second interview)
However, our participants noted several challenges in
reconnecting with their child’s maternal or paternal clan.
First, not all parents received (correct) information about the
whereabouts of their forced partner’s family or the family had
relocated after staying in the internally displaced people’s camps
for several years, resulting into an inability to reconnect:
‘I didn’t take her to her mother’s home, because I don’t know
where it is.’ (O., father, 30 years old, third interview)
‘He used to say [village] but his village or whatever wasn’t
there. I don’t know. Because that one is good, if I knew the people
from their home, they would have known me also. Since he’s
no longer there and if there was some knowledge, since I feel I
cannot raise these children and if there’s any means at their home,
I could tell my children to go there.’ (G., mother, 26 years old,
second interview)
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Second, not all fathers were able to pay the necessary customary
fines as they lacked resources. When first approaching the
maternal clan in a wish to support his “wife” and child from
forced captivity, one father stated:
‘The people from our home said they wanted to see that woman.
So when we went there, I went with my uncle, he was still alive,
and we saw her from their home there. After we had seen her, their
people didn’t allow her to come with us. They said that this issue
was of the bush and not of home. If we wanted the child and the
mother, we should first pay, but money wasn’t there.’ (M., father,
30 years old, second interview)
At the same time, and again most prominent among the mothers
in this study, was the feeling that they didn’t want to reconnect
with the biological father of their child(ren). In addition, the
mothers’ choice to reconnect or not to reconnect was often
influenced by her family:
‘My husband that was given to me was saying that when that child
becomes mature, he should take him to their home in [village].
So we were arguing with him, because I didn’t want the child
to be taken there, but he was saying that the child should be
taken to their home or I should also go and stay at their home
in [village], but I also didn’t want. And so there was no good
relationship because of the issue of child.’ (J., mother, 30 years old,
second interview)
Interviewer: ‘Did you know where the father of the first
child is?’
Participant: ‘Yes.’
Interviewer: ‘Is he alive?’
Participant: ‘Yes, he’s in [village].’
Interviewer: ‘He’s come back?’
Participant: ‘It was said that he’s back but I didn’t confirm it.’
Interviewer: ‘What does your grandfather say about that issue?’
Participant: ‘They don’t say anything. They say the child won’t
go anywhere. She will stay at home here with them.’ (E., mother,
26 years old, second interview)
However, we hypothesize that because of a pressing need for
resources when children born in forced captivity grow older (e.g.,
school fees and land), combined with a lack of such support
in their upbringing, some mothers and/or their families might
feel more inclined than others to reconnect with their forced
“husband” and his family.
Identity and Belonging
Connected to the tendency to reconnect with the child’s biological
mother or father, is the importance of identity and belonging.
“Knowing one’s home” (Justice Reconciliation Project, 2015, p.
15), that is, the paternal village and clan, is a key component
of identity and belonging in Acholi. This assertion was mostly
highlighted by the fathers who believed it was important for a
child to know his/her “real” identity:
‘I was telling him so that he can also know who he really is. It
doesn’t mean that if I tell him, I’m just segregating him from
the other children. But I saw that it can be important for him
to have the knowledge on who he is.’ (D., father, 33 years old,
third interview)
Perceived (Potential) Stigmatization of
Child and Parent
Rejection, discrimination and/or stigmatization of the child
and/or the parent by family and community members
(both current perceived stigmatization as the fear of future
stigmatization of the child) led to various trajectories
on silencing and disclosure. On the one hand, perceived
stigmatization led to disclosure as parents wanted to provide an
explanatory framework for the child to understand why they
were treated differently:
‘At one point when they were staying in the village, the children
of our neighbors in that area were insulting the child . . . ‘You go
to your father. Your father is there burning fire in the bush. Your
father is in the bush’. So the child came and told me those things.’
(C., mother, 28 years old, second interview)
One of the mothers accompanied disclosing about the context
in which her child was born with an advice on how to cope
with insults:
‘The reason why I now tell him is because of the insults from
people where people insult him when he goes to play or at the
brook. . . like these people talk and then he comes and asks me.
He says ‘mother what was happening in the past? People say that I
came back from the bush with you’ and so I tell him because right
now he’s becoming clever. I told him that ‘even if someone insults
you like that, do not worry, because if you look around in Acholi
here, in each of these houses that you see, at least one person was
also abducted from there by the rebels. You just keep quiet even
if someone insults you. Do not fight on them, do not insult them.
Just come home. Come and tell me so that if I can go and talk to
the parent, then I will go and talk or to the person who insulted
you’. So sometimes he tells me that he gets angry when he’s told
those things because that wasn’t our choice also. So I tell him not
to worry about those issues. I always tell him.’ (J., mother, 30 years
old, second interview)
On the other hand, some parents decided to silence as they
didn’t want to overburden their child emotionally (see supra) or
out of fear that separation, discrimination and/or stigmatization
might be initiated if the child, and their environment, were
to know:
‘I was thinking that it is not very important to tell them because
when I start telling them it may sometimes bring separation
among them, like for the other one whose mother is not here,
the one whose mother died. And so I saw that I shouldn’t tell
them, even for the other one, if you go there, that child knows
that the mother is the one I am with, he doesn’t know the mother
who died . . . If she tells the child that this one was from the bush,
it may sometimes bring confusion. That’s why I didn’t even tell
her anything, because I feel that for people to have one heart it is
difficult.’ (D., father, 33 years old, second interview)
‘The reason why I don’t want to tell her, it will make her fellows
insult her with it, that ‘for you, your father is not here. You were
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De Nutte et al. Balancing Disclosure and Silencing
born randomly from the bush you don’t know where your father
is’. So I feel I shouldn’t tell her. Let her stay the way she is.’ (G.,
mother, 28 years old, third interview)
However, these protective strategies were not always possible
to uphold as all mothers at some point during data collection
were separated from their child(ren) born in forced captivity
because they were not accepted by the mothers’ new partner
and/or his family. Consequently, many children were living
with their maternal grandparents or great-grandparents. The
following quote describes how G.’s current husband didn’t accept
her children born in forced captivity, forcing her to send them
to live with their grandmother who isn’t able to fully take care of
them because of her old age:
‘The reason why I said that is because there’s no proper
understanding in the house and also I have three children with
him [her new husband] there, and the way we are staying, there’s
no marriage between us yet. But it is better than the other one.
If there was a good relationship, the children which I came back
with, we would be taking care of them together with him. But
the children were separated from me . . . I took the children to
my mother and she’s also very weak, I go and visit them. When it
reaches time for work like this, my mother cannot now even dig.
She cannot do anything and so I should dig from here and then
I should also go and do for them something there definitely ...
Those children are the ones I suffered with so much, that they
shouldn’t now suffer. I should now stay together with them.’ (G.,
26 years old, first interview)
Furthermore, stigmatization of the child and/or the parent by
family and community members posed a threat to the parent’s
choice to decide on his or her own terms if, when and how
to disclose:
‘I was thinking I shouldn’t tell the child that he was born from
the bush, but because of gossips from people, it will be known
eventually . . . There are people who know me, but it is only me
who knows what I went through . . . If the child I produced gets
to know that he was produced from the bush, he can have many
thoughts and so I think that even though I will have to tell him,
he will now be big and he will have heard about it from out.
Because even though I now think not to tell him, he will definitely
hear about it from people telling him.’ (C., mother, 28 years old,
third interview)
All our participants’ stories that referred to rejection, separation,
discrimination and stigmatization were narrated against the
importance of unity, respect and living in harmony with others.
By emphasizing a clear need for parents and their children to be
part of the community, they inscribed themselves as a valuable
part of the social fabric:
‘The start to unity is staying with people in a certain area as
friends. And to add to that, for you to stay with people together
in harmony, it needs exhibition of a good life to people. So this is
how I am living with people in the village or area.’ (D., father, 33
years old, second interview)
‘The lesson that I have memorized very well is the issue of
respecting people and doing things you have been told without
disobeying the elders. That is what I sued until I came back from
the bush. Up to now I am still following it like that and it is that I
am telling my children. But my mother is the one who is topping
up with others.’ (G., mother, 28 years old, second interview)
In addition, forgetting was also perceived as a resource to enhance
reconciliation, increase acceptance and reintegration into the
community. One father stated that:
‘I just want to live with people together, so that I get an easy life,
so that there can be some change like it is there now. That is the
advice I want from people. Because it is people who give advice
and remove worries from the heart and makes one forget. Because
I am now an orphan. If I don’t do like that, if I don’t stay with
people, then I won’t forget. Yes, I stay with people all the time and
that makes people to give me good advice and makes me to forget.’
(M., father, 30 years old, second interview)
The potential healing effect of forgetting was also reflected in
the lessons that were passed on to our participants in the
reception and rehabilitation centers when they returned from
forced captivity:
‘We stayed very well in [the rehabilitation center], because we
were being made to forget all the things that had happened in the
past. Sometimes we would be made to play also so that you forget
about the things that passed .. . Until when my time for coming
back home reached, I was discharged from there and brought
home together with that child. They were cautioning us that when
we come back home, we shouldn’t worry about the things that
are passed because, when you think about it, it will remind you
about the many things that happened. And that there will be many
talks by people in the villages and so you are supposed to be a
person who is courageous and patient.’ (J., mother, 30 years old,
second interview)
It is important to note that not all children and parents
experienced rejection, discrimination or stigmatization, or that
these experiences were only apparent in some relationships with
family and community members:
‘Where I escaped and stayed, the people gave me a welcome, they
gave clothes, they gave me shoes and they gave me small things
like cooking oil and other small things. They welcomed me well.’
(M., father, 30 years old, second interview)
In several instances where our participants followed a trajectory
of silencing toward their children born in forced captivity, other
family members were appointed as their designated “biological”
mother or father. This coping strategy was meant to create a sense
of identity and belonging, and deflect (potential) stigmatization
of the child, and, by consequence, the parent and his or
her family:
‘They don’t ask. They call my brother that ‘their father’.’ (E.,
mother, 28 years old, second interview)
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De Nutte et al. Balancing Disclosure and Silencing
‘He calls her the way the children of that woman call her.’ (D.,
father, 33 years old, third interview)
However, for one mother this proved to be challenging as
the person she appointed as her children’s biological father
passed away:
‘I used to point at the uncle. They used to know their uncle as their
father, but now he’s dead and there’s no one now that I can start
pointing to that ‘your father is there’ and yet they knew this one.
For those children I can’t now tell them they have three fathers.
I start pointing that ‘this one is your father, that one is also your
father and the other one is also your father’. It is not possible.’ (G.,
mother, 26 years old, first interview)
DISCUSSION
This paper explored how mothers and fathers who became
parents in forced captivity with the Lord’s Resistance Army
(LRA) perceived the trauma communication about the context
in which their children born in forced captivity were conceived.
In all the parents’ stories, elements of disclosure, silencing or
modes in between were brought to the fore. A complex dialectic
relationship (Fivush, 2010; Measham and Rousseau, 2010; De
Haene et al., 2012; Kevers et al., 2016) was apparent as our
participants moved between the two, making evident a plurality
of experiences, coping strategies and meaning-making processes
that could change over time.
A dynamic interplay of several factors, such as the parent’s
own choice, the age of the child, the emotional impact of
disclosure, a lack of resources and support in the upbringing
of children, identity and belonging, and perceived or possible
future stigmatization were discussed in depth. This paper thus
underlines the conceptualization of trauma communication as
including socially negotiated choices and reciprocal processes
(Shaw, 2007; Fivush, 2010; Kevers et al., 2016).
Conceptualization of Parents’ Choice in
Trauma Communication
Considering narratives of war-affected populations as situational,
positional and relational (Sigona, 2014) implies the need to
recognize the agency of forcibly abducted mothers, fathers and
their children, and their acts as political agents (Baines, 2015,
2017; Stewart, 2017; Atim et al., 2018b; Denov and Cadieux
Van Vliet, 2020). Our participants felt very strongly that the
choice to disclose or silence the context in which their children
were born had to be left to them. They also created their own
narrative within their social and relational context, and the web
of existing dominant cultural narratives on reintegration, healing,
reconciliation and justice. Our study thus aligns with research
that has equally emphasized the focus on agency among various
groups of war-affected populations. Consequently, it is important
for researchers and practitioners to respect and protect the
privacy and identities of these parents and their children (Kohrt
et al., 2015; Opiyo, 2015; Shanahan and Veale, 2015; Stewart,
2017; Rodriguez Di Eugenio and Baines, 2021).
Although the agency of our participants is clearly framed
within the culture and broader context in which they live, it is
key that these parents do have the freedom to make this choice—
not “to be silenced” (Fivush, 2010), which would jeopardize
their agency.
Influence of Cultural and Contextual
Factors on Trauma Communication
In all accounts, parental choice and decision-making processes in
trauma communication were shaped—and often restricted—by
their social and relational context. Our participants’ choices were
repeatedly renegotiated within their broader context and culture.
First, the age of the child was deemed important. Parents
emphasized that their child had to be old enough to understand
the context in which they were born. Since many children
returned from forced captivity when they were quite young,
many parents preferred to silence. However, some parents
did disclose to children who had some memories of their
time with the LRA. These stories relate to the concept of
“modulated disclosure” (Rousseau and Drapeau, 1998; Rousseau
and Measham, 2007; Measham and Rousseau, 2010) since our
participants take into account the child’s developmental status
and exposure to traumatic memories when considering the
timing and manner of trauma communication.
Second, the perceived negative emotional impact of disclosure
on both parents and children led to trajectories of silencing
as a protective strategy. Based on an autoethnographic study,
Peter Rober noted that his “grandfather’s silence was protective
and meant to spare himself, as well as his loved ones, from
the pain and fear of his past” as a survivor of the Holocaust
(Rober and Rosenblatt, 2015, p. 8). This finding has come to the
fore in much research on trauma communication within families
and communities (Almqvist and Broberg, 1997; Eastmond, 2016;
Kevers, 2017), also among forcibly abducted mothers (Mukasa,
2017). In addition, forgetting was perceived as a coping—even
survival—strategy to manage past experiences and moving on
with one’s life (Rousseau and Measham, 2007; Alipanga, 2015;
Eastmond, 2016; Stewart, 2017). Trauma has also been linked
to the fragmentation of memory and the inability of expression
and narration (Eastmond, 2007; De Haene et al., 2012), as was
apparent in one mother’s inability to express the meaningless of
her experiences of forced captivity.
Third, lack of resources and support in the upbringing of
children born in forced captivity led to various trajectories of
silencing and disclosure. Research among children born of war
and their families in Northern Uganda and other contexts has
pointed to a higher exposure to poverty, material deprivation and
a general lack of support if compared to the general war-affected
population (Justice Reconciliation Project, 2015; Ladisch, 2015;
Opiyo, 2015; Denov and Lakor, 2017, 2018; Stewart, 2017;
Mochmann and Skjelsbæk, 2018). At a time when children
were still young and required less resources, various participants
opted for current silencing. However, the parents indicated a
need for future disclosure when the demand of resources and
support (e.g., school fees, land) would increase. Customary
“marriages are patrilocal, a woman marries into her husband’s
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De Nutte et al. Balancing Disclosure and Silencing
clan” (Madhani and Baines, 2020, p. 3) and, consequently, her
children belong to and are supported by the man’s wider family
and clan (Carlson and Mazurana, 2008; Porter, 2015; Apio, 2016;
Mutsonziwa et al., 2020). Consequently, as a way of accessing
more resources, some mothers indicated that they have or would
consider reconnecting with their “partner” with whom they
stayed in forced captivity. When exploring forced marriages
among forcibly abducted children and youth who returned from
forced captivity, scholars have pointed to the complex, conflicting
emotions that “partners” hold toward one another (Carlson and
Mazurana, 2008; Watye Ki Gen et al., 2013; Denov and Drumbl,
2020). Especially studies on forced marriages highlighted that
the vast majority (e.g., 98% in a study performed by Annan
et al., 2008) of the mothers did not wish to be reconnected
with the child’s biological father. However, more recent studies
have indicated that biological parents and clans do reconnect to
support children born of war (Mutsonziwa et al., 2020; Oliveira
and Baines, 2020; Baines and Oliveira, 2021) as they seek to
“transform relations of violence into relations of care” (Rodriguez
Di Eugenio and Baines, 2021, p. 341). We hypothesize that
these differences in research outcomes could be connected to the
increased need of resources and support when children born in
forced captivity grow older, combined with the importance of
belonging and identity for children born of war (see further).
Fourth, especially the fathers included in this study
highlighted the importance of identity and belonging of
their children born in forced captivity. Ethnographic research
has explored the importance of the paternal home in Acholi,
providing accountability, identity, embeddedness in wider
social spaces and, by consequence, various material and social
resources in the upbringing of children (Mergelsberg, 2012).
Consequently, children who did not know their biological fathers
don’t or have less access to crucial resources for belonging,
marriage, and land access and inheritance (Opiyo, 2015; Denov
and Lakor, 2017, 2018; Mutsonziwa et al., 2020; Baines and
Oliveira, 2021). However, in her research among children born
of war in Northern Uganda, Stewart (2017) found that “the
children challenge the boundaries of their positionalities to
negotiate a partial, or limited, belonging” (p. 17) as they “refuse
to accept their exclusion” (p. 179). The same also seems to be
the case for mothers (and fathers) who became parents in forced
captivity (Kiconco and Nthakomwa, 2018).
Fifth, rejection, discrimination and/or stigmatization of
the child and/or the parent by family and community
members led to various trajectories on silencing and disclosure.
Stigmatization has mostly been explored as a factor hampering
the (re)integration of forcibly married women and their children
(Baines, 2011; Apio, 2016; Atim et al., 2018b; Kiconco and
Nthakomwa, 2018). In our study, either the parents disclosed
as they wanted to provide an explanatory framework for the
child as to why they were treated differently, or they silenced
as they wanted to create a “protective capsule” [Apio, 2016 in
Apio, 2016, p. 222] for their children as not to overburden their
child emotionally (see supra) or out of fear that separation,
discrimination and/or stigmatization might be initiated if the
child, and their environment, were to know. Children born
out of wedlock, be it within the context of forced captivity or
another relationship, are often not or less supported and cared
for within new marriages and relationships (Annan et al., 2009;
Opiyo, 2015; Stewart, 2017; Atim et al., 2018b). Importantly, all
our participants’ stories that referred to rejection, separation,
discrimination and stigmatization were narrated against the
importance of unity, respect and living in harmony within
their families and communities. Supported by the lessons our
participants received in the reception and rehabilitation centers,
forgetting was brought to the fore as instrumental in reweaving
oneself into the social fabric and enhancing reconciliation
(Alipanga, 2015; Stewart, 2017). It’s important to note that ‘many
people, however, were unable to reach this Archimedean point of
forgetting through the direction of memory’ (Shaw, 2007, p. 196)
as, for example, some participants stated that they weren’t able to
forget what happened to them in forced captivity due to a lack of
resources and support in their current lives (see supra).
Strengths and Limitations of the Study
This paper provided some important insights resulting out of
various strengths connected to the research design, target groups
and transparency about the research process.
First, trauma communication appeared to be a significant
issue in the daily lives of mothers and fathers who were coerced
into partnerships and conceiving children within the LRA, and
provided an example of the long-term and complex impact
of forced marriages and parenthood in post-conflict Northern
Uganda (Kramer, 2012; The Prosecutor v. Dominic Ongwen,
2016; Denov and Drumbl, 2020).
Second, doing multiple interviews with our participants over
a period of time provided everyone involved to build trust and
discuss certain topics in-depth. Following up on our participants
also enabled us to have an idea of their living situations and
surroundings. We came to realize that this living situation could
indeed quickly change over time. For example, during data
collection, three mothers started a new relationship and moved
to their new partner’s village, three mothers became pregnant,
and one mother and two fathers welcomed a new child into
their families.
Third, an important contribution of this study was the
inclusion of the perspective of fathers, which has been lacking
in research on forced marriages within the LRA (Apio, 2016;
Aijazi et al., 2019; Denov and Cadieux Van Vliet, 2020; Denov
and Drumbl, 2020; Mutsonziwa et al., 2020; Oliveira and Baines,
2020), and, more generally, in research and practice regarding
the upbringing of children during and after collective violence
(Wieling et al., 2015; El-Khani et al., 2016; Murphy et al., 2017;
Mehus et al., 2018). When laying out the findings of our study, the
gender-specific experiences and difficulties in the trajectories of
trauma communication were highlighted. For example, especially
mothers connected a lack of resources with a tendency to
reconnect with the biological father of their child(ren) born in
forced captivity, and all of them narrated about their poor current
marriages and a consequential separation from their children
born in forced captivity at some point during data collection.
Fathers, on the other hand, placed much more emphasis on
the need of the child to know his or her “real” identity. These
findings indeed reflect the previously stated influence of gender
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De Nutte et al. Balancing Disclosure and Silencing
onto experiences during and after collective violence and forced
abduction (Baines, 2011; Apio, 2016; Mukasa, 2017; Kiconco and
Nthakomwa, 2018).
Fourth, by revealing the impact of our research process
and team onto the trajectories of our participants, we
wanted to highlight the ethical and methodological
consequences of a co-construction of disclosure, silencing,
forgetting and remembering in the research relationship.
Such considerations are key within research on trauma
communication (Kevers, 2017).
Since we prioritized to have multiple interviews over a period
of time, our research only included a small sample of 10
participants. In addition, six of them were recruited through
snowball sampling, which could have affected the representation
of the target group (Jacobson and Landau, 2003).
The positionality of the research team, including European
scholars and Ugandan research assistants who had a background
in providing emotional support, also continuously influenced the
research (see England, 1994; De Nutte, under review), including
the recruitment of participants, informed consent processes,
how participants and research brokers engaged with the
research, etc.
Lastly, this study did not include the perspectives of children
born in forced captivity themselves (Denov and Lakor, 2017,
2018; Stewart, 2017; Denov and Piolanti, 2020). The children’s
viewpoints could enhance the exploration and depth of the
presented research assertions. However, including children born
of war also needs to be approached with caution as to respect their
parents’ trajectories of trauma communication (see supra).
CONCLUSION
Post-conflict healing and reintegration of formerly abducted
children and youth, and their children born of war, can be
regarded as complex and ongoing processes, which play out at
the level of the individual, family and community (Betancourt,
2012; Derluyn et al., 2013, 2015) and take place in a “changed
and changing social landscape” (Veale and Stavrou, 2003, p.
42). It thus remains important to focus on the social fabric
of communities during and after collective violence (Barber,
2013b; Derluyn et al., 2013) and simultaneously consider
conflict and post-conflict factors (Miller and Rasmussen, 2010;
Betancourt, 2012) that could impact the daily lives of war-
affected populations.
This paper unraveled the various individual and collective
aspects of trauma communication (Elsass, 2001; Eastmond, 2007;
Kevers, 2017) in the context of reintegration and reconciliation
after forced abduction, marriage and parenthood in Northern
Uganda. Trauma communication appeared to include socially
negotiated choices and reciprocal processes, and our study
explored a dynamic interplay of several factors, such as the
age of the child, the emotional impact of disclosure, a lack of
resources in the upbringing of children, identity and belonging,
and perceived or possible future stigmatization. At the same
time, reflecting on the centrality of the parents’ own choice, our
paper highlighted the need to provide sufficient attention to the
individual trajectories on trauma communication and healing
(Measham and Rousseau, 2010; Kevers et al., 2016).
DATA AVAILABILITY STATEMENT
The authors are not able to make the raw data supporting the
conclusions of this article available given the inability to properly
anonymize the interviews. Requests to access the datasets should
be directed to leen.denutte@ugent.be.
ETHICS STATEMENT
The studies involving human participants were reviewed
and approved by (1) Ghent University and (2) Republic
of Uganda. The patients/participants provided their written
informed consent to participate in this study. Written informed
consent was obtained from the individual(s) for the publication
of any potentially identifiable images or data included in
this article.
AUTHOR CONTRIBUTIONS
LDN, LDH, and ID contributed to the study design. LDN
performed the field work, organized the database, performed
the data analysis, and wrote the first draft of the manuscript.
All authors contributed to the revision of the manuscript and
approved the submitted version.
FUNDING
This research was supported by the Special Research Fund of
Ghent University (grant number 01N011114).
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The authors would want to thank all participants who shared
their stories, and Amono Milly Grace, Acayo Beatrice Latigo,
Loum Janani, Ojede Milton, Opoka Christopher Arnold, and
Okidi Denish for their support during fieldwork, interpretation
and data transcription.
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50
ORIGINAL RESEARCH
published: 28 July 2022
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2022.865717
Frontiers in Political Science | www.frontiersin.org 1July 2022 | Volume 4 | Article 865717
Edited by:
Vinicius Rodrigues Vieira,
Fundação Armando Alvares
Penteado, Brazil
Reviewed by:
Bojan Vranic,
University of Belgrade, Serbia
Sabrina Thomas,
Wabash College, United States
*Correspondence:
Sabine Lee
s.lee@bham.ac.uk
Specialty section:
This article was submitted to
Peace and Democracy,
a section of the journal
Frontiers in Political Science
Received: 30 January 2022
Accepted: 22 June 2022
Published: 28 July 2022
Citation:
Lee S, McKelvey R and Bartels SA
(2022) “I Grew Up Longing to Be
What I Wasn’t”: Mixed-Methods
Analysis of Amerasians’ Experiences
in the United States and Vietnam.
Front. Polit. Sci. 4:865717.
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2022.865717
“I Grew Up Longing to Be What I
Wasn’t”: Mixed-Methods Analysis of
Amerasians’ Experiences in the
United States and Vietnam
Sabine Lee 1
*, Robert McKelvey 2and Susan A. Bartels 3
1Department of History, School of History and Cultures, University of Birmingham, Edgbaston, Birmingham, United Kingdom,
2Department of Psychiatry, Division of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, Oregon Health and Science University, Portland, OR,
United States, 3Departments of Emergency Medicine and Public Health Sciences, Queen’s University, Kingston, ON, Canada
The Vietnam War left a legacy of mostly mixed-race children fathered by American (or
other foreign) soldiers and born to Vietnamese mothers. These Vietnamese Amerasian
children often had difficulties integrating into their post-conflict societies due to
stigmatisation, and they were typically economically severely disadvantaged. This paper
compares experiences of Amerasians in Vietnam with those who emigrated to the
US as part of various departure programs since the end of the war in 1975. We
used SenseMaker®, a mixed-methods data collection tool, to collect 377 narratives
from 286 unique participants living in Vietnam and in the US exploring experiences of
Amerasians in both countries. These narratives were then self-interpreted by the study
participants using a questionnaire that generated a quantitative dataset. In this paper
we analyse the self-coded perceptions quantitatively to determine patterns, specifically
with view to investigating where experiences of Amerasians living in the US differ
statistically from those living in Vietnam. This is complemented with a qualitative analysis
of the accompanying narratives. Vietnamese respondents indicated more frequently that
experiences were affected by economic circumstances than their US counterparts, and
their identified negative experiences were significantly more strongly linked to poverty.
Furthermore, Vietnamese respondents relayed that their desire to explore their biological
roots was more prominent than US based participants, and they indicated more strongly
than US counterparts that their biological parentage impacted their identity. In contrast,
US respondents felt that their parentage impacted their physical and mental health in
addition to impacting their identity, and they more strongly linked negative experiences
in their narratives to their ethnicity.
Keywords: Amerasians, children born of war, Vietnam war, stigma, discrimination, mixed-methods, SenseMaker®
INTRODUCTION
When foreign troops withdrew from Afghanistan in August 2021 (Aljazeera, 2021; Brockell, 2021),
images of desperate civilians seeking safe passage out of Kabul in the final days and hours of
American/Western protection from a regime that was feared by many not least because of their
association with the United States (US)-led coalition in the country, the scenes at the airport were
reminiscent of the widely-publicized images of the fall of Saigon almost half a century earlier
51
Lee et al. Amerasians’ Experiences in Vietnam and America
(BBC, 2021; Guardian, 2021). When foreign troops withdrew
from Vietnam in April 1975 after years of engagement and
conflict, the soldiers not only left behind a war-torn country; they
left behind people with whom they had formed personal and
sometimes intimate relationships, a large number of which had
resulted in children being born (McKelvey, 1999).
Locally referred to as Bui Doi, Dust of Life1(Taylor, 1988;
US General Accounting Office, 1994, 1–3), the American GI-
children, born to Vietnamese women, are among the many
groups of children born of war (CBOW), children fathered by
foreign soldiers and born to local mothers (Lee et al., 2021, 14–
16).
That CBOW have often been exposed to significant
childhood and life-long adversities, have frequently experienced
discrimination and stigmatisation, and display above average
mental and physical ill health, has been well established in recent
research (Carpenter, 2007; Glaesmer, 2012; Seto, 2013; Lee,
2017). It is reasonable to assume that hardships experienced by
CBOW are particularly pronounced where the end of a given
conflict does not present the end of the animosity between the
former enemies. The Vietnam War, or the American War as
it is often referred to in Vietnam (Rosen, 2015) had been an
ideological as much as a military or political conflict. The US
Government expected those ideological and political divisions
to persist for years to come and therefore association with the
ideological foe, the US, was expected to be disadvantageous,
if not outright dangerous for those directly linked to the US,
among others those visibly linked to American GIs – first
and foremost GI children born to local Vietnamese women.
Based on this risk assessment, towards the end of the war
the US evacuated Vietnamese-Amerasians, as part of the
so-called Operation Babylift, a government-backed initiative
in which several thousand young children were brought to
America, Canada and Europe (The United States Agency for
International Development, 1975). This was followed by further
waves of migration from Vietnam to the US, as part of the
Orderly Departure Programme of 1979 (Kumin, 2008) and
the Amerasian Immigration Act (Amerasian Immigration Act,
1982).
By far the most significant migration in terms of numbers, was
the so-called Amerasian Homecoming Act of 22 December 1987,
which allowed Amerasians (defined as children of American
citizens born between January 1, 1962, and January 1, 1976) and
their relatives to apply for immigration to the US. Approximately
25,000 Amerasians and between 60,000 to 70,000 of their relatives
had immigrated to the U.S. under the Amerasian Homecoming
Act by 2009 (Lee, 2015; lii), and it is estimated that the number of
Vietnamese Amerasians who have remained in Vietnam is in the
region of 400–500 only (Lind, 2016).
Understanding the life courses of Vietnamese Amerasians
will enhance our understanding of the challenges of mixed-
race children born of war being raised in post-conflict settings
where the end of a war does not bring the end of hostilities
1Bui Doi is a generic term used in Vietnamese for those living at the margins of
society; it is not limited to Amerasian children of the Vietnam War. See McKelvey
(1999) p. 5.
between the former enemies. Some publications, often of
biographical or autobiographical nature, have thrown light on
the living conditions of Vietnamese Amerasians (DeBonis, 1994;
Bass, 1996; Hayslip, 2003; Yarborough, 2006; Sachs, 2010); and
in the 1990s research relating to psychosocial outcomes and
mental health pathologies of Vietnamese Amerasians (Felsman,
1989; McKelvey et al., 1992; McKelvey and Webb, 1993,
1995, 1996; Bernak and Chung, 1997) raised awareness of
the health challenges faced by those residing in the US. But
no comprehensive data has been collected about experiences
of Amerasians in Vietnam, about their mental and physical
health outcomes or socio-economic circumstances. Most of our
knowledge about such experiences in Vietnam is based on
records of Amerasians who migrated to the U.S. (Valverde, 1992;
Long, 1997; Yarborough, 2006; Lamb, 2009). Notwithstanding
the possible selection bias of Vietnamese Amerasians who
migrated to the US, according to a 1994 post-migration survey,
more than 70% of Amerasians interviewed reported experiences
of discrimination in Vietnam, including difficulty in accessing
schooling, negative attitudes by teachers, grade discrimination
and persistent offensive teasing by peers (US General Accounting
Office, 1994, 71). Similarly, post-migration reporting focussed
on the discrimination in Vietnam and the contrasting greater
opportunities for Amerasians in the U.S. (Taylor, 1988; Valverde,
1992; Gaines, 1995a,b; Sachs, 2010). Yet, autobiographical writing
and further research suggest that integration into the father’s
home country for those who migrated later in life was also
challenging. Among the difficulties encountered were the lack of
acceptance of Amerasians among the Vietnamese communities
in the US, as well as experiences of racism encountered in
the United States more generally, the disappointments of not
being able to locate biological fathers and their families as well
as significant economic hardships after resettling in a foreign
country, exacerbated by educational and linguistic disadvantages
(DeBonis, 1994; Bass, 1996; Yarborough, 2006, chapters 7-9,
Ranard and Gilzow, 1989, 1-3).
The aim of this paper is to provide a comparative analysis
of the experiences of Vietnamese Amerasians in both the US
and Vietnam. To achieve this we used SenseMaker R
, a mixed-
methods quantitative-qualitative data collection tool, to collect
narratives about experiences of being a Vietnamese American in
both the US and Vietnam; the collected storeys were then self-
interpreted by study participants to “make sense” of the shared
experiences (Brown, 2006; Kellas and Trees, 2006). This paper
identifies statistically significant differences in the quantitative
data collected in Vietnam and the US and analyses them drawing
on the accompanying qualitative data.
METHODS
Sensemaker
Sensemaker is a mixed-methods data collection software and
research tool developed by Cognitive Edge (2017). Its narrative-
based approach involves the collection, in response to their
choice of open-ended prompting questions, of short narratives
related to a particular phenomenon (here the experiences of
Vietnamese Amerasians). These narratives generate qualitative
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Lee et al. Amerasians’ Experiences in Vietnam and America
data in the form storeys collected as audio or text files. Following
this recording, participants are asked to self-interpret their
narratives by responding to a series of pre-defined questions
relating to the shared experiences, which are quantitatively
coded. Based on complexity theory (Turner and Barker, 2019),
SenseMaker uses pattern recognition to understand people’s
experiences in complex, ambiguous and dynamic situations by
identifying common themes. As participants interpret their own
narratives using a series of pre-defined questions, the researchers’
interpretation bias is reduced. Collectively, the participants’
self-interpreted narratives present a nuanced picture of the
investigated phenomenon (Girl Hub, 2014).
Research Partners
Our cross-sectional, mixed qualitative-quantitative two-country
study was conducted in 2017 (Lee and Bartels, 2019). Data
collection in Vietnam occurred in April and May in collaboration
with the Department of Anthropology at the University of Social
Sciences & Humanities at the Vietnam National University in
Ho Chi Minh City. Further, the research was facilitated by the
Vietnam chapter of Amerasians Without Borders, a U.S.-based
non-profit organisation of Vietnamese Amerasians who support
Amerasians, among others through facilitation of DNA tests to
support immigration into the US Data collection in the U.S.
occurred from February to July of the same year in collaboration
with the US chapter of Amerasians Without Borders.
Participant Recruitment
Individuals from the age of 11 were eligible to participate. To
capture a wide range of perspectives about the life experiences
of Amerasians, we targeted a variety of participant subgroups for
recruitment. These subgroups included Amerasians themselves,
mothers and spouses of Amerasians, biological fathers and
stepfathers of Amerasians, adoptive parents of Amerasians,
children of Amerasians, other relatives of Amerasians, and
community members in locations where Amerasians lived at the
time of interview.
Interview sites in both countries were chosen purposively
based on existing data about where Amerasians were thought
to be living. In Vietnam, the selected locations were Ho Chi
Minh City, Dak Lak, Quy Nhon, and Da Nang. In each of
these four study locations, Amerasians Without Borders organised
group meetings. Members and their relatives were invited to a
designated location to meet with the interview team. The study
was introduced to potential participants, and after consenting
to participation, Amerasians and their families were asked to
privately share a storey about the experiences of Amerasians
in Vietnam and to then interpret the storey by completing the
SenseMaker survey. The shared experiences could be a first-
person storey or a storey about an Amerasian family member.
In the U.S., face-to-face interviews were conducted in San
Jose California, Portland Oregon, Santa Ana California and
Chicago Illinois. Interviews were pre-arranged through contacts
within the Amerasians Without Borders social network, and
interviewers travelled to each of the four study locations to meet
participants. Interviews in Chicago were arranged to coincide
with the Amerasians Without Borders annual meeting in July
2017. In addition to face-to-face interviews, a link to the
browser-survey offered in the U.S. was posted on Facebook and
Twitter by Amerasians Without Borders, and it was emailed to
their members.
Furthermore, in the U.S., data collection was supported
by Operation Reunite2, an organisation which aims to raise
awareness of the Vietnam War and to provide support to
Vietnamese war babies who had been internationally adopted in
the U.S. (and other countries like the U.K., France and Australia)
among others through Operation Babylift. Information about
the study was shared through the organisation’s social media
platforms and those platforms were used to distribute the
browser link to Amerasian children who had immigrated to
the U.S.
Survey Instrument
The SenseMaker survey was drafted by the authors iteratively in
collaboration with an experienced narrative capture consultant
and was reviewed by Vietnamese and Amerasian partners. After
selecting one of two open-ended prompting questions and
sharing a storey about the life experiences of an Amerasian in
Vietnam or in the US, participants were asked to interpret the
Amerasian’s experience by plotting their perspectives between
three variables (triads) or by using sliders (dyads). Subsequently,
multiple-choice questions were used to collect demographic data
and to help contextualise the shared storey (e.g., emotional tone
of the storey, how often do the events in storey happen, who was
the storey about, etc.).
The survey was drafted in English, translated to Vietnamese,
and then back translated by an independent translator in order to
resolve any discrepancies. The Vietnamese and English versions
of the survey were uploaded to the Cognitive Edge secure server
for use in Vietnam and the US, respectively. Both surveys were
reviewed for errors and corrections were made prior to initiation
of data collection.
In both countries, data was collected using the SenseMaker
app on iPad Mini 4’s; in the US, in addition a browser version of
the survey was made available. This browser survey, which was
identical to that on the SenseMaker app, was circulated through
various social networking platforms of Amerasians Without
Borders and Operation Reunite.
Data Collection Process
In Vietnam, the data collection team comprised eight
interviewers from the Department of Anthropology at the
University of Social Sciences & Humanities at the Vietnam
National University in Ho Chi Minh City. Members of the
team were two faculty members and six graduate students.
Immediately prior to data collection, all interviewers participated
in a two-day training workshop on narrative capture research
ethics, use of an iPad, how to approach participants and obtain
informed consent, specific survey questions with multiple role-
playing sessions, data management, adverse events, and program
2For details about Operation Reunite see http://www.adoptedvietnamese.org/
avi-community/other-vn- adoptee-orphan-groups/operation-reunite/. Accessed
August 9, 2017.
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Lee et al. Amerasians’ Experiences in Vietnam and America
referrals. In Vietnam, all data was collected on the SenseMaker
app using iPad Mini 4’s. Collected data was stored on the iPad
until it was possible to connect to the Internet, at which time
it was uploaded to Cognitive Edge’s secure server. During the
upload process, data was automatically deleted from the tablet.
In the U.S., two interviewers identified through Amerasians
Without Borders collected data. Both self-identified as Amerasian.
Prior to data collection they received individual training on the
above topics. During data collection at the Amerasians Without
Borders annual meeting in Chicago, they were supported by three
additional fully trained interviewers, including a faculty member,
a student, and a volunteer (female and male respectively). The
browser survey used in the U.S. was posted on Facebook and
Twitter by Amerasians Without Borders. Participants completed
the survey independently and uploaded the data directly to the
Cognitive Edge secure server.
At each of the interview locations, potential participants
were identified through the social networks of Amerasians
Without Borders. Interviewers introduced the study using a
script, and when an individual expressed interest in participating,
the interviewer and participant chose a private location for
completion of the survey. Participants were asked to tell a storey
about the experiences of an Amerasian based on their choice of
one of two storey prompts. Shared storeys were audio-recorded
on tablets and participants then responded to a series of pre-
defined questions. If the participant was uncomfortable having
their voice recorded, the interviewer listened to the participant’s
storey and subsequently recorded the storey in their own voice on
behalf of and in the presence of the participant. On completion of
the survey, participants were asked if they would like to share a
second storey. Several participants shared more than one storey;
therefore the number of shared storeys exceeds the number of
unique participants. Data collection in Vietnam was overseen by
a graduate student who reviewed uploaded data on a weekly basis
and performed quality assurance cheques.
Ethical Considerations
All interviews were conducted confidentially, and no identifying
information was recorded; therefore the data were anonymous
from the start. Participants were asked specifically not to use
actual names or any other identifying information when relating
their storeys. In cases where such identifying information was
recorded, the name or other identifying information was not
transcribed. In the face-to-face interviews, informed consent was
explained to the participant prior to the interview in either
Vietnamese (in Vietnam) or English (in the U.S.); consent was
indicated by tapping a consent box on the handheld tablet.
In the browser version, the same information was provided
prior to entering the survey. Participants read the explanations
of informed consent in English and clicked the consent box
to indicate their willingness to participate. Only upon giving
consent could a participant commence the survey. No monetary
or other compensation was offered but expenses incurred to
travel to the interview were reimbursed and refreshments or
a light meal were provided. The University of Birmingham’s
Ethical Review Board approved this study protocol (Ethical
Approval ERN_15-1430).
Analysis
SenseMaker data were exported to Tableau (V.2020.4) where
collective plots (with all participants’ responses on the same
figure) were analysed visually to identify data patterns such
as clusters of responses in one extreme or another, outliers,
and so on (Cognitive Edge, 2017). Triad and dyad data were
disaggregated based on whether the data had been provided by
a participant in Vietnam or the US.
Where, based on visual inspection, the pattern of responses
appeared to differ between both groups, triad and dyad
questions were selected for statistical analysis. For the dyad
data, graphically generated as histograms and presented below
as violin plots, SPSS (IBM SPSS Statistics V.26.0.0.0) was used
to analyse the collective areas under the bars for each subgroup
with the Kruskal-Wallis H test and χ2 tests to determine if the
bar areas were statistically different between groups (Webster and
Carroll, 2014; Webster, 2015). Dyad distributions of responses
are presented as violin plots to illustrate the different response
patterns, with an asterisk indicating the overall mean for
each sub-group.
For the triad data, R Scripts (R V.3.4.0) was used to
generate geometric means for both the Vietnamese and US
subgroups. R Scripts was also used to generate 95% confidence
intervals, which are presented as confidence ellipses around the
geometric means (DeLong, 2016a,b). Two geometric means were
deemed statistically different if their 95% confidence ellipses did
not overlap.
After patterns of perspectives were identified in the
quantitative data, accompanying narratives were reviewed
to facilitate interpretation of the statistical findings. A series of
representative quotes were then chosen for inclusion to illustrate
the main quantitative results.
Participants’ responses on the storey interpretation (i.e.,
triads dyads) generate quantitative data in the form of plots,
where clusters reveal widely held perspectives on particular
issues. If a sufficiently large volume of self-interpreted storeys is
captured, SenseMaker helps to ascertain patterns across various
subgroups offering insights into mainstream, alternative and
diverse perspectives on a topic of interest. These quantitative
data are contextualised and interpreted in conjunction with
the accompanying narratives, thereby offering a rich mixed
methods analysis. The results presented here are focused on the
implementation of the research in both Vietnam and the U.S.
among three different cohorts of Amerasians3. Quantitative and
qualitative data will be presented separately.
RESULTS
A total 319 self-interpreted storeys were collected from 231
unique participants in Vietnam and 58 storeys were collected
from 55 unique participants in the U.S.
3For the purposes of this paper, “Amerasian” refers specifically to Vietnamese
Amerasians born to Vietnamese mothers and GI-fathers during the Vietnam War.
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Lee et al. Amerasians’ Experiences in Vietnam and America
TABLE 1 | Study population and narrative characteristics disaggregated by location.
Total (% of n=377) Vietnam (% of n=319) U.S. (% of n=58)
Sex
Female 210 55.70 171 53.61 39 67.24
Male 160 42.44 141 44.20 19 32.76
Prefer not to say 7 1.86 7 2.19 0 0
Total 377 100 319 100 58 100
Marital status
Single/never married 37 9.81 31 9.72 6 10.34
Married/Living with partner 275 72.94 243 76.18 32 55.17
Divorced/Separated/Widowed 60 15.91 42 13.17 18 31.03
Prefer not to say 5 1.33 3 0.94 2 3.45
Total 377 100 319 100 58 100
Level of formal education
None 76 20.16 67 21.00 9 15.52
Primary school 133 35.28 127 39.82 6 10.35
Secondary school 92 24.40 81 25.39 11 18.96
Post-secondary 73 19.37 44 13.80 29 50.00
Other/Prefer not to say 3 0.80 0 0 3 5.17
Total 377 100 319 100 58 100
Who narrative was about
Me 250 66.31 204 63.95 46 79.31
Family member 66 17.51 59 18.50 7 12.07
My parent 24 6.37 23 7.21 1 1.72
Someone else I know 22 5.84 18 5.64 4 6.90
My child 14 3.71 14 4.39 0 0
Prefer not to say 1 0.27 1 0.31 0 0
Total 377 100 319 100 58 100
How often situation occurred
Very rarely 40 10.61 34 10.66 6 10.34
Occasionally 66 17.51 59 18.50 7 12.07
Regularly 163 43.24 142 44.51 21 36.21
Very frequently 74 19.63 53 16.61 21 36.21
Not sure 34 9.02 31 9.72 3 5.17
Total 377 100 319 100 58 100
Emotional tone of narrative
Very negative 46 12.20 36 11.29 10 17.24
Negative 80 21.22 68 21.32 12 20.69
Neutral 117 31.03 102 31.97 15 25.86
Positive 76 20.16 72 22.57 4 6.90
Strongly positive 47 12.47 34 10.66 13 22.41
Not sure 11 2.92 7 2.19 4 6.90
Total 377 100 319 100 58 100
Active in Amerasian support groups
Never 41 10.88 26 8.15 15 25.86
Rarely 106 28.12 95 29.78 11 18.97
Sometimes 101 26.79 93 29.15 8 13.79
Frequently 117 31.03 97 30.41 20 34.48
Prefer not to say 12 3.18 8 2.51 4 6.90
Total 377 100 319 100 58 100
Sample sizes are for the number of interpreted narratives (rather than unique participants).
Participants were also asked about their annual household income. In Vietnam, 73.36% of participants (n =234) responded that their household income was 5 million Vietnamese dong
or less per year (approximately $220 USD using today’s currency conversion). In the U.S., 51.72% of participants (n =30) preferred not to answer the income question while another
13.79% indicated an annual household income of greater than $100,000 USD (n =8). A quarter of U.S.-based participants responded that their annual household income was between
$50,000 and $100,000 USD (n =15) and 8.61% noted a household income of $50,000 or less (n =5).
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Demographics
A total of 319 participants were recruited in Vietnam from
231 unique participants and 58 in the U.S. from 55 unique
participants. Overall, a majority of participants identified as
female (55.70%), were married or living with a partner (72.94%)
and shared a narrative about themselves (66.31%). Over half of
all participants either had no formal education or had completed
only primary school (55.44%). There was a roughly equal split of
positive (32.63%) and negative (33.42%) narratives, and almost a
third of participants were frequently active in Amerasian support
groups (31.03%). Further demographic details are provided in
Table 1 disaggregated by participants’ location.
When asked what was responsible for negative experiences
in the shared narratives, participants in both Vietnam and
U.S. indicated that poverty was a strong contributing factor
in comparison to ill health and stigma. As shown in
Figure 1, this was particularly true for Vietnam participants
with their responses being statistically different from those of
U.S. participants.
Ethnicity
Self-interpreted narratives from Amerasians in Vietnam and the
United States indicated the importance of both their ethnicity,
understood as a sense of personal belonging, and their racial
provenance, visible in their distinct physical appearances that,
due to socially-constructed processes, led to those individuals
being considered as a separate group in a given context.
The first presented triad asked participants to consider
whether the experiences shared in the storey were affected
by (i) domestic arrangements, (ii) ethnicity, or (iii) economic
circumstances. As visualised in Figure 2, the geometric mean for
all respondents was predominantly in the direction of ethnicity,
approximately equidistant from economic circumstances and
domestic arrangements. When disaggregated by location of data
collection, respondents from the US indicated that Amerasian
experiences were more strongly about ethnicity than those
narrated and interpreted by Vietnam-based participants.
While Amerasians in both countries were visibly different to
the majority population, with regard to their racial background,
Amerasians living in the US more often associated their
negative experiences directly with their appearance as a mixed-
race person, even if this association in many cases related to
experiences of their childhood and youth in Vietnam.
With this getting line position, I knew that my friends differentiated
between me and them because I am an Amerasian. My skin colour
was different from theirs. Then when in class, no matter how good I
was doing, I didn’t get fair treatment from the teachers as well as by
other classmates, especially those whose parents were communists.
NarrID1003; female, in the US, married, completed
secondary school.
Likewise, it was this appearance and the association with
ethnicity and “mixed blood” that Amerasians residing in
the US remembered vividly even when those experiences of
stigmatisation and discrimination happened in their youth in
Vietnam. One Amerasian surveyed in the US recalled being
falsely accused of stealing as a child in Vietnam, when she picked
up a piece of fabric that she believed had been thrown away by
a neighbour.
I thought it was thrown away. But when the neighbour saw this,
she accused me of stealing her fabric, “you the little stealer.” She
shouted at me “Didn’t you mom teach you? She who bore you but
didn’t know how to teach you. She who bore you the Amerasian
with mixed up blood didn’t know how to teach you, huh? You who
have different types of blood.”
NarrID1012; female, in the US, single, completed
post-secondary education.
In both narratives above, the narrators associated ethnicity not
merely with their own sense of belonging (or lack thereof) to a
particular culture or tradition, but they felt strongly about the
impact of their physical appearances or their “mixed up blood”
in the construction of their “not belonging”.
Ethnicity, however, was felt to be a burden even when
it was not associated with discrimination and stigma. Being
visibly different singled Amerasians out and participants reported
feeling isolated as a result. One participant, who had been
transracially adopted at the end of the war, described how this
inner conflict was only resolved when visiting her native Vietnam
two decades after being adopted in the US.
I grew up longing to be what I wasn’t and had no connexion to
anyone like me (Asian mixed race Vietnamese short). I internalised
self-hatred and struggled to feel good about myself. When I finally
returned to Viet Nam in 1996 I felt I had finally come home. I felt at
ease and as though I had found my people. I finally felt good enough
and whole.
NarrID 1500; female, in the US, married, completed post-
secondary education.
Exploring Biological Roots
A dyad question asked to what degree the events in the shared
narrative influenced the participant to want to explore his/her
biological roots. The results are illustrated in Figure 3 and show
that Vietnam participants were more likely to indicate a strong
desire to explore their biological roots.
Many Amerasians knew very little about their biological
fathers and multiple participants described how families had
destroyed letters, photos and other potentially identifying items
to avoid persecution in post-war Vietnam for having been
associated with the American enemy. Loss of such letters
and photos often proved detrimental when Amerasians were
applying for immigration to the US as evidence of parentage no
longer existed.
My mom told me that after he had gone back to his fatherland in
1970 he still sent us a stipend. Unfortunately, afraid of troubles,
she burned all stuffs even letters related to my dad after the
war. .. during the interview, they asked for our supportive evidence
of which we had nothing. All burned. Since then, I was really
disappointed because I am an Amerasian for real but they didn’t
accept it. . . But the thing is I just want to search for my roots.
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FIGURE 1 | Triad asking about links to negative experiences shared in participants’ narratives. The overall geometric mean is provided on the left with individual
geometric means for Vietnam and the U.S. provided on the right. Responses were statistically different between the two countries as demonstrated by the
non-overlapping 95% confidence ellipses, with participants in Vietnam indicating that negative experiences were more closely linked with poverty.
FIGURE 2 | Triad asking about what affected the experiences in the shared narrative. The overall geometric mean is provided on the left with individual geometric
means for Vietnam and the U.S. provided on the right. Responses were statistically different between the two countries as demonstrated by the non-overlapping 95%
confidence ellipses, with participants in the US indicating that negative experiences were more closely linked with ethnicity.
NarrID54; female in B˜
en Tre, married and without
formal education.
Not knowing their fathers had a profound psychological impact
on many Amerasians, with many participants describing life
dissatisfaction, sadness, frustration, and abandonment. The
following man attributed his sadness to not knowing his
biological family.
. . . people say that having a family satisfies us, and there would be
no unhappiness, no difficulties in life. In my case, the fact about
family and the fact that I have no father, there is a connexion
between them. In the society, when a person has a family, he is
happier. I don’t have a family, so I’m not happy.
NarrID16; male in Ninh Thuâ
.n, married with some primary
school education.
Some participants also described a sense of abandonment by
their fathers and in other cases, felt unloved because of being
abandoned, which resulted in a strong desire to be reunited
with their fathers. For example, a male participant in Dak
Lak explained, “For Amerasians, the most aspiration is to go
to their fatherland. They seem lost in this living environment.
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FIGURE 3 | Dyad asking how events in the shared narrative influenced desire to explore one’s biological roots. Dyad asking how the events in the storey influenced
the participants’ desire to explore their biological roots. Asterisks indicate the overall mean for each sub-group and highlight that Vietnam participants indicated a
stronger desire to explore their biological roots (p<0.001).
They often suffer abandonment, discrimination and lack of
love.” (NarrID219)
In addition to wanting to know their biological origins, some
participants believed that finding their fathers would provide
opportunities to live a better life in the U.S., as this female
participant reported, “I do not have a father, so I have to work
hard a whole day without any supports. I wish I could meet my
father in the United States so that he can take care of me and give
me a better life.” (NarrID163)
The desire for a better life was also extended by Amerasians
to their children with some explicitly stating that they wanted
to reunite with their biological fathers to make life easier for
their children. One male participant shared, “I heartily wish
I could go to America to reunite with my father so that my
children’s lives would be better. For me, I do not have any wish
for myself.” (NarrID77)
Yet other participants were clear that their desire to be
reunited with their fathers was focused on emotions and on
feeling loved, as the following participant explained.
I hope that because we Amerasians are all grown up now, we are not
young anymore, so we just want to find our fathers so that we have
some love. It’s fine that they don’t even have to take us with them.
We don’t need it anyway. We’ve already been through hardship.
What we need is to find our relatives.
NarrID317, male in Ho Chi Minh City, married with some
primary school education.
This participant acknowledged the challenges he has faced as an
Amerasian in Vietnam but was not looking for a higher quality
of life or for an easier life. For him, it was about emotional needs.
Other participants were also explicit in stating that their desire to
know their father was not motivated by wanting financial support
or a better life but instead was about knowing ones’ roots and
origins. The following participant shared her perspective that all
Amerasians have the same desire to trace their biological roots.
. .. I have been dying to meet my father. I never wish that my father
would change my life or make me better-off when I meet him. I am
not afraid of working, and thus I do not necessarily want to go to
some other places [go to the US]. This is my aspiration. No matter
how miserable Amerasian people like me were, we wish we could
find out our biological fathers. We all have the same thoughts; we
want to trace our origins.
NarrID65; male in Bình Duong, married and had completed
primary school.
Identity
Participants asked about the degree to which biological parentage
had impacted economic wellbeing, identity, and physical or
mental health. As illustrated in Figure 4, the focus was
predominantly on identity especially in Vietnam.
Some participants expressed a sense of not knowing who
they are because of not knowing their biological parents. The
following participant was fortunate to have had a loving adoptive
family but as an adult, he was left with questions about
his identity.
I do not know who I am. My mother left me to a nanny. In the
liberation year of Vietnam, the nanny was afraid of having an
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FIGURE 4 | Triad asking about the impacts of biological parentage. The overall geometric mean is provided on the left with individual geometric means for Vietnam
and the U.S. provided on the right. Responses were statistically different between the two countries as demonstrated by the non-overlapping 95% confidence
ellipses, with participants in Vietnam indicating more strongly that biological parentage impacted their identity.
Amerasian child in her family, so she gave me to a man whom I
called uncle [X].. . Although I am an adopted child, I was loved by
my family members very much. They loved me as their own children
because they raised me since I was a baby. I had no difficulties living
with my adopted family. My life was easy.. . My nanny gave me to
uncle [X] and he raised me ever since. I don’t know who I am.
NarrID299; male in Dong Nai, single and completed
primary education.
Not knowing one’s biological parents had practical implications
for some Amerasians when it came to inheritance and land rights.
The following female participant could not inherit property
because she was “just an adopted daughter.”
She was the youngest child in her adopted family but she did not
get any inheritance such as house, agricultural land and the like
because she was just an adopted daughter.
NarrID314; female in Bình Thuâ
.n, married with some secondary
school education.
The importance in Vietnamese society of knowing one’s roots and
identity was clear. One female participant recalled that whenever
she tried to attend school her neighbours and classmates would
say, “Don’t allow her to go to school. She is an Amerasian. We
don’t know her roots.” (NarrID165) Another participant shared
his experience that without a father, he was looked down upon
in Vietnamese society and was presumed to have not been
raised properly.
I wish I could find my biological parents. If someone does not have
parents, they will be looked down by surrounding people. Although
no one wants a life like me, I still accept it because there is no choice
for me. They often say that I do not have a father, it means that I
was not brought up very well. They also call me “Amerasian”. The
reason of quitting school up was that I was called Amerasian or
a fatherless child by my classmates, and thus I was so upset and
decided to give up my schooling.
NarrID249; married male in Da Nang, married and without any
formal education.
For Amerasians who did not know their mothers or their fathers,
the sense of missing identity was often compounded.
I wish I can find and meet my father or mother. I have been living
with my adopted mother since I was one month old. So, I do not
know where my mother is to find her. I heard that my father was a
soldier. He was stationed in Long Binh, Dong Nai province. I wish I
could find my father in the future.
NarrID284; male in Da Nang, married and without
formal education.
For Amerasians who did not know either parent, it was
usually exceedingly difficult to provide the documentation
necessarily to apply for immigration to the U.S. The
following participant describes his experience with the
application process.
They asked me to give evidence about my mother with a picture.
I answered that I did not have all these things. How could I have
such a thing. I just don’t have any photos of my blood parents. I
just know that I am a Kinh orphan.. . They just needed my mother’s
photos, my father’s photos and these are exactly what I don’t have.
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NarrID136; male in Dak Lak, married and without
formal education.
Stigma Due to Being Mixed Race
Participants in both Vietnam and the U.S. spoke about
stigmatising attitudes and behaviours experienced due to
being Amerasian. One triad question asked participants about
influences on interactions with the environment and most
participants responded strongly towards being of mixed race,
as shown in Figure 5. This trend towards mixed race was
particularly strong in Vietnam.
Some Amerasians reported that discrimination based on
being mixed race started within the family and from the
time of birth. One participant in Da Nang explained the
reaction to her own birth, “After I was born, my grandma
wanted to give me away because I was an Amerasian,
but mom rejected; as the result, she was expelled out of
her house.” (NarrID260). Another participant explained
the circumstances into which Amerasians were born in
Long Thanh.
And as you’ve already known, here in Long Thanh, if people gave
birth to Amerasians they would throw them into trash. Yeah, I knew
one case when someone gave birth to an Amerasian, they threw it
away in a trash bin and a woman picked the child then raised it.
That’s how it normally goes.
NarrID210; female in D`
ông Nai, single and completed primary
school education.
Amerasians experienced emotional abuse because of being mixed
race and having an American father. One male participant
reported that people called him “mixed race person” rather than
use his real name, “I am an Amerasian. Nobody knows what my
name is. People call me ‘Lai’ (literally, mixed race person) instead
of my name.” (NarrID214) Another participant experienced
physical abuse because of being mixed race.
In the past, I only had my mother, and lived with my stepfather.
However, they did not love me and called me Amerasian. They even
beat me ruthlessly.
NarrID256; female in Quàng Nam, widowed and without
formal education.
Stigma and discrimination based on having American paternal
ancestry significantly impeded the ability of most Amerasians to
attend school. A female participant described her experience of
being forced out of school.
Other kids kept calling me “the American imperialist” and
prevented me from studying. They hit me every time I came to
school.. . You see, the dream of my whole life was to have a chance
to go to school, but see what I got? Discrimination prevented me
from pursuing my dream.
NarrID113; female in Dak Lak, widowed and without
formal education.
A discrimination hierarchy was evident with more extreme
stigmatising attitudes and behaviours directed towardss
Amerasians who had Black fathers. The following participant
shares her mother’s experience as an Amerasian with a
Black father.
Everyone in my neighbourhood has known mom for a long time.
They knew she was a Negro. Some played with her, others despised.
It would be better if she were a white skin half-blooded; the
Vietnamese always have that kind of discrimination against the
dark ones. There were many people who despised and hated my
mom in the village. They sometimes expelled her. Even my family
and my relatives hated her. They said she had black skin, she was a
hybrid, why didn’t she go to America.
NarrID164; male in Dak Lak, some post-secondary
school education.
Ongoing stigma and discrimination resulting from being mixed
race naturally impacted the mental health and wellbeing of many
Amerasians and some participants reported feeling suicidal and
having had suicide attempts.
In general, my life is so hard, so difficult. Others treated me like
nothing. They called me that Amerasian, this Amerasian and so on.
I was miserable. I felt miserable with my life. I wanted to commit
suicide sometimes. I tried committing suicide once by taking pills,
but one Korean found and took me to the hospital. Otherwise, I
would have died many times.
NarrID119; female in Gia Lai, married with no formal education.
Narratives about stigma occasionally ended with participants
aspiring to be reunited with their fathers as a way of removing
themselves from the stigmatising environment. The following
participant seemed to indicate that he saw two potential routes
to end the suffering experienced due to being mixed race: suicide
or being reunited with his father.
. . .he has also been discriminated against by other people, thinking
he is a foreigner or the like.. . Sometimes he feels depressed. When
he returns home after work he cries and wants to commit suicide
sometimes. I gave him a lot of advice, but he said that if his search
for his father results in failure, he would rather overdose himself to
death than live in Vietnam.
NarrID129; female in D`
ông Nai, married with some secondary
school education.
Many Amerasians were married, and an earlier analysis suggested
that having happy marriages and families of their own was often
a source of strength and satisfaction for Amerasians in Vietnam
(Ho et al., 2019). However, the current analysis illustrates how
discrimination around being Amerasian mixed race sometimes
made it more difficult to find a partner. One male participant
reported, “I have an Amerasian wife. When we got married,
I heard many bad comments from my neighbours regarding
her. They told me I shouldn’t marry her, a Negro Amerasian.”
(NarrID148) In the following narrative, another participant
describes her mother’s reaction when she got engaged to an
Amerasian man.
My mother called and said “I banned you from dating him! If you
do, then get out of my house.” “He is an Amerasian, living with him
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FIGURE 5 | Triad asking what most influenced interactions with the environment. The overall geometric mean is provided on the left with individual geometric means
for Vietnam and the U.S. provided on the right. Responses were statistically different between the two countries as demonstrated by the non-overlapping 95%
confidence ellipses, with participants in Vietnam indicating more strongly that interactions with the environment were influenced by being mixed race.
and nobody will give you any respect! You want to live with him?
Go with him then. Don’t even think about coming home!”
NarrID130; female in D`
ông Nai, married with some secondary
school education.
Several Amerasians noted that while stigma and discrimination
were severe in their early lives, after the 1987 Amerasian
Homecoming Act allowed Amerasian children and their relatives
to apply to immigrate to the U.S., there was generally more
acceptance of Amerasians. A male participant in Quy Nhon
reflected on this change in his life, “when there was a departure
program for Amerasians, that was when I started to fit in
the life with the Vietnamese” (NarrID143). Another participant
similarly described how he became valued in society after the
Homecoming Act.
It was very difficult to live in a country where people discriminated
against us. I felt like I was a prisoner. People used discriminating
words when talking to me.. . After the Amerasian program, I
realised that my life had changed a lot. People in my society turned
to value me. .. No one dishonoured me because I was an Amerasian.
My life has become comfortable.
NarrID142; male in Quy Nhon, divorced and completed
secondary school education.
Children of Amerasians were also seemingly affected by
discrimination based on being mixed race and having American
ancestry. One male participant reported the following situation
for an Amerasian he knew, “Now he has three children, all having
formal education but none of them are able to get a job in
government organisations due to his origin. So yeah, his origin
does affect his descendants.” (NarrID147) Another participant
explained what happened when her son was applying for military
school in Vietnam.
I asked the uncle if my son had any chance to enter that military
school. He said no because they would cheque and conclude that
his background is not good. I asked him how come. He said it was
because of my son’s father. My son’s father was an Amerasian, so his
background was bad.
NarrID232; female in Khánh Hòa, married and completed
secondary school.
Subjective vs. Objective
A dyad question asked participants to comment on whether the
shared experience was about subjective feelings or about
objective facts. As Figure 6 demonstrates, participants
surveyed in the US more frequently interpreted their
storeys as being about subjective feelings than those surveyed
in Vietnam.
A common sentiment expressed by Amerasians in the US was
the feeling to be unwanted.
. .. at that time I felt unwanted, I felt bad about myself, because the
way I looked made my brother not wanting to have me around. .. .
Things have changed a lot now, my brother’s not the same person
like he was, but that piece of it, how he made me feel, about myself
I don’t think I could forget.
NarrID 1050; female, in the US, single, never married, completed
post-secondary education.
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Lee et al. Amerasians’ Experiences in Vietnam and America
FIGURE 6 | Dyad asking whether the storey was about subjective feelings or objective facts. The storey talks about. Participants surveyed in the US more frequently
signified the storeys as being about subjective feelings than those surveyed in Vietnam. Asterisks indicate the overall mean for each sub-group and highlight that
Vietnam participants indicated a stronger desire to explore their biological roots (p<0.001).
Another theme prominent particularly among Amerasians who
had been transracially adopted at a young age and had never
known their roots, culture, language or birth country, was the
subjective feeling of not belonging and of feeling like an outsider.
I was transracially adopted into a white tall blue-eyed family in a
predominantly white community in California. I grew up longing
to be what I wasn’t and had no connexion to anyone like me (Asian
mixed race Vietnamese short).
NarrID 1500; female, in the US, married, completed post-
secondary education.
I wasn’t liked much. I didn’t like me either. . . . I was ashamed of
who I was when really deep inside I had no clue who I truly was.
And still to this day not knowing what exactly happened or who are
my parents do I have siblings etc etc......eats me up in side. It’s a deep
void that will probably never be filled. (57)
NarrID 1507; female, in the US, divorced/separated, some
secondary school.
DISCUSSION
The study’s primary goal was to characterise differences in the
perceptions of Amerasians in Vietnam and the United States
about those issues that had most affected their lives. Significant
differences were found in the following areas: poverty, ethnicity,
the desire to explore one’s biological roots, one’s sense of identity,
and the stigma associated with being of mixed race. These
differences are all linked, directly or indirectly, to having foreign,
typically non-Asian fathers, who abandoned them and their
mothers in a country where their fathers were perceived as
the enemy (McKelvey, 1999). Consistent with the literature
(Valverde, 1992, 147; McKelvey, 1999, 47-51; Yarborough, 2006,
46) participants of African-American parentage faced very
significant additional challenges and hardships. Amerasians were
not only mixed-race, which was stigmatised in Vietnam, but were
also left without a knowledge of their fathers’ backgrounds, or
ethnicity, which is central to a sense of identity and belonging. In
Vietnam, the father is the key to an individual’s future, bestowing
not only a name, but also a sense of connexion to the present
and the past and, often, opportunities for a more productive
and prosperous life. In reviewing the narratives, the concepts
of ethnicity, biological roots, identity, and mixed race are
frequently intermingled and difficult to tease apart. Key to them
all, however, was the participants’ sense of being different and
not belonging.
Poverty was a dominant theme for Amerasians in both
Vietnam and the US. Among respondents in the US the poverty
theme, however, was present less frequently as the overriding
concern of the narratives than among Amerasians in Vietnam,
and it appears from their narratives that their concerns about
poverty were linked chiefly to their experiences while still in
Vietnam. This can be explained by the fact that, as evidenced
in the demographic data, significantly more respondents in the
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Lee et al. Amerasians’ Experiences in Vietnam and America
US completed secondary and post-secondary education, which
would have enhanced their chances of securing higher paying
jobs and thus their chances to escape from the trap of poverty
that many of their counterparts who remained in Vietnam found
themselves in still at the time of the interviews.
Ethnicity outweighed domestic arrangements and economic
circumstances as a factor featuring prominently in the
participants’ narratives. Based on the narratives, ethnicity
was associated with being of mixed-race and so the results
of both will be considered here. Interestingly, Amerasians in
the US reported ethnicity as significantly more important to
their narratives than those in Vietnam. The opposite is true
for valuation of being of mixed-race, where Amerasians in
Vietnam reported significantly more difficulties. This finding,
while counter-intuitive on the surface, can be explained for
both subgroups of Vietnamese Amerasians, those adopted in
the United States at the end of the War in the mid 1970s and
those who immigrated to America following the Amerasian
Homecoming Act. Narratives of adoptees who had grown up in
America often without childhood contact to their birth country
and little or no exposure to its language, culture and traditions,
indicated the importance of ethnicity and of “reuniting” with
their country of origin; this is consistent with recent research
on coping strategies of Vietnamese adoptees and their strategies
of family migrations (Varzally, 2017). For Amerasians who
migrated to the United States in adolescence, the relative
prominence of considerations of ethnicity may be explained
by what Thomas (2021, 217), calls racialisation of Amerasians
into American and Asian categories once they arrived in the
United States.
The narratives of Amerasians both in Vietnam and in the
United States reflect how powerful “looking different” to the
majority population was in affecting Amerasians’ lives. This is
supported by prior reports of Amerasians’ experiences (Felsman,
1989; Valverde, 1992; McKelvey, 1999). The desire to explore
one’s biological roots was an important feature identified in the
narratives of both groups of Amerasians, but significantly greater
for those still in Vietnam. This desire is understandable for people
who do not know their fathers and, in many cases, also do
not know their mothers. The destruction of photos, letters, and
other documents after the end of the war out of fear that they
might lead to punitive actions by the victors, left many with no
concrete connexion to their past (McKelvey, 1999; Yarborough,
2006, 198). A sense of family is of central importance to people in
Vietnam, who practise ancestor veneration and frequently have
altars as centrepieces in their homes with photos of the deceased
prominently displayed. There was a hope among those still in
Vietnam, that if one were able to travel to the land of one’s father,
one might identify and connect with the father and his family. In
some cases, it was hoped that this connexion might also lead to
material wellbeing.
Akin to the desire to know one’s biological roots was the
importance of identity. In the narrative about the impact of
biological parentage, identity outweighed economic wellbeing
and physical or mental health. At the core of identity is having
a sense of who one is. This is derived from family and connexion
to a specific cultural tradition. It is also shaped by the reactions
of others to oneself. There is no “Amerasian” family tradition in
Vietnam, where most are members of the majority Kinh people,
and being Amerasian and looking different than everyone else,
branded one as being an outsider of diminished value. The
importance of identity was weighted more heavily by participants
in Vietnam than those in the United States, where one might
justifiably argue that it was the home of one’s father and that he
had served in the nation’s military.
One’s interactions with the environment were strongly
weighted towards being mixed race, especially in Vietnam,
outpacing the mother’s employment or the father’s association
with the enemy. This was especially true for those with darker
skin, which is stigmatized in Vietnam (470-473). Our data
supports the phenomenon reported in the literature, namely that
stigmatisation of Amerasians was amplified for those of African
American parentage.
The study’s major limitation is the marked
underrepresentation of Amerasians in the US. While the
study was well publicised, especially through the organisation
Amerasians Without Borders, there was a perception that
the study organisers included “Communists.” This was
related to the participation in the study by a university
in Ho Chi Minh City. Participation by Amerasians in
Vietnam was, on the other hand, very strong and likely
represented a large minority of the Amerasians still
living there.
The qualitative data points to significant and sustained
adversities experienced by Vietnamese Amerasians of
African-American parentage. While such discrimination
has been reported anecdotally, a systematic intersectional
analysis of Vietnamerican discrimination experiences both
in the United States and in Vietnam remains an important
research gap.
The study also has several notable strengths. To the best of our
knowledge, it is the only direct comparative analysis to examine
the experiences of Amerasians in Vietnam in relation to those
of Amerasians who immigrated to the US. Furthermore, the
use of SenseMaker, as a mixed-methods narrative capture tool,
offered several advantages, such as open-ended storey prompts,
which allowed participants to determine which experiences were
most important to share. SenseMaker also allowed participants
to interpret their own experiences and in doing so, reduced
interpretation bias.
DATA AVAILABILITY STATEMENT
The datasets presented in this study can be found in online
repositories. The names of the repository/repositories
and accession number(s) can be found below:
doi: 10.25500/eData.bham.00000242.
ETHICS STATEMENT
The studies involving human participants were reviewed
and approved by University of Birmingham Ethical
Review Board (ERN_15-1430). The patients/participants
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Lee et al. Amerasians’ Experiences in Vietnam and America
provided their written informed consent to participate in
this study.
AUTHOR CONTRIBUTIONS
All authors listed have made a substantial, direct and
intellectual contribution to the work and approved it
for publication.
FUNDING
This study was supported by Wellcome Trust under Grant
WT110028/Z/15/Z.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We are grateful to all participants who shared their personal
storeys in the course of this research. We are also indebted to
the Vietnam chapter of Amerasians Without Borders who was
instrumental in identifying and recruiting participants as well
as to the Faculty of Anthropology at the University of Social
Sciences and Humanities at the Vietnam National University
in Ho Chi Minh City who implemented the research and
conducted the interviews. The authors would specifically like to
acknowledge Dr. Truong Thi Thu Hang for her contributions to
the in-country implementation of the research project and her
contextual insights shared at an analysis workshop in Kingston,
Canada, in September 2017.
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Conflict of Interest: The authors declare that the research was conducted in the
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TYPE Original Research
PUBLISHED 13 September 2022
DOI 10.3389/fpos.2022.851298
OPEN ACCESS
EDITED BY
Vinicius Rodrigues Vieira,
Fundação Armando Alvares
Penteado, Brazil
REVIEWED BY
Martina Koegeler-Abdi,
Lund University, Sweden
Bogdan Voicu,
Romanian Academy, Romania
Renata Summa,
Pontifical Catholic University of Rio de
Janeiro, Brazil
*CORRESPONDENCE
Saskia Mitreuter
Saskia.Mitreuter@medizin.uni-leipzig.de
SPECIALTY SECTION
This article was submitted to
Peace and Democracy,
a section of the journal
Frontiers in Political Science
RECEIVED 09 January 2022
ACCEPTED 11 August 2022
PUBLISHED 13 September 2022
CITATION
Mitreuter S, Glaesmer H, Kuwert P and
Kaiser M (2022) Loneliness and lack of
belonging as paramount theme in
identity descriptions of Children Born
of War. Front. Polit. Sci. 4:851298.
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2022.851298
COPYRIGHT
©2022 Mitreuter, Glaesmer, Kuwert
and Kaiser. This is an open-access
article distributed under the terms of
the Creative Commons Attribution
License (CC BY). The use, distribution
or reproduction in other forums is
permitted, provided the original
author(s) and the copyright owner(s)
are credited and that the original
publication in this journal is cited, in
accordance with accepted academic
practice. No use, distribution or
reproduction is permitted which does
not comply with these terms.
Loneliness and lack of belonging
as paramount theme in identity
descriptions of Children Born of
War
Saskia Mitreuter1*,Heide Glaesmer1, Philipp Kuwert2,3 and
Marie Kaiser1
1Department of Medical Psychology and Medical Sociology, University of Leipzig, Leipzig, Germany,
2Department of Psychosomatic Medicine and Psychotherapy, HELIOS Hanseklinikum Stralsund,
Stralsund, Germany, 3Department of Psychiatry, University Medicine Greifswald, Greifswald,
Germany
Objective: Children Born of War (CBOW) are an international and timeless
phenomenon that exists in every country involved in war or armed conflict.
Nevertheless, little is known on a systematic level about those children, who
are typically fathered by a foreign or enemy soldier and born to a local
mother. In particular, the identity issues that CBOW often report have remained
largely uninvestigated. In the current qualitative study we began filling this
gap in the scientific literature by asking how CBOW construct their identity
in self-descriptions.
Method: We utilized thematic content analysis of N=122 German CBOWs’
answers to an open-ended questionnaire item asking how they see themselves
and their identity in the context of being a CBOW.
Results: We identified five key themes in CBOW’ identity accounts.
Loneliness and lack of belonging appeared as a paramount aspect of their
self-descriptions next to narratives about belonging and positive relationship.
On a less interpersonal basis, we found fighting and surviving and searching
for truth and completion overarching aspects of their identities. There were
also few accounts growing up unaected by the fact of being born a CBOW.
Although all themes portray dierent perspectives, they all (but the last
one) clearly indicate the impeded circumstances under which CBOW had to
grow up.
Conclusions: Integrating our findings with existing interdisciplinary literature
regarding identity, we discuss implications for future research and clinical and
political practice.
KEYWORDS
Children Born of War, hidden populations, vulnerable populations, conflict, identity,
thematic analysis
Introduction
In the presence and aftermath of armed conflict, there has always been contact
between armed troops and civilians from superficial to intimate; and from these contacts
children have been born. These children are so-called Children Born of War (CBOW)—
typically born to local mothers and foreign soldier fathers. Their existence is a worldwide
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and timeless, yet widely ignored reality—to the detriment of
those individuals and their communities.
German Occupation Children (GOC), of which we will
report in this article, are a subgroup of the worldwide population
of CBOW. An estimated number of 400.000 GOC were born
at the end of World War II (WWII) and the following ten
and more years to a German mother and were fathered by a
member of one of the four allied military forces (from Great
Britain, Soviet Union, France, and USA) that occupied Germany
in 1945 (Stelzl-Marx and Satjukow, 2015). The relationships of
their parents ranged from intimate love relationships to mutual
businesslike relationships to systematic rapes. GOC share some
experiences with all the other children, who were born and
raised during that difficult post-war period. Some developmental
conditions such as economic hardship, missing or emotionally
absent fathers and hard-working single mothers were oftentimes
similar irrespective of having a German father or a father
belonging to foreign military. After all, about 25% of children
had a father who did not return from the war (Radebold,
2008). Nevertheless, GOC have shown to represent a population
with specific experiences. They are at a significantly higher risk
to suffer from mental disorders such as Posttraumatic Stress
Disorder (PTSD), major depression or somatoform syndrome
and show a higher prevalence of traumatic events (e.g., sexual
abuse, neglect, and physical violence) and child maltreatment
(Kaiser et al., 2015b;Glaesmer et al., 2017). They are also more
likely—even decades later—to display insecure attachment in
their current relationships (Kaiser et al., 2016). Furthermore,
societal attitudes toward children who were born out of wedlock
and their mothers were generally negative and this stigma was
perpetuated by being a child born from a foreign soldier who
had left the country and was still considered the enemy in many
minds (Satjukow, 2011). A further and striking difference that
might be at the core of many other of the above-mentioned
problems was that their biological fathers were not only missing
in person or being emotionally absent, but that there were
no narratives about them, no stories or photos that portrayed
a father that a child could relate to, i.e., identify with or
distance itself from. No proof of existence. The vast majority of
mothers and other family members remained silent about the
biological father and asking questions about him was oftentimes
an unspoken taboo irrespective of the background of their
parents’ relationship (Mitreuter et al., 2019). This conspiracy
of silence has been reported as a widespread and omnipresent
phenomenon in the context of CBOW (Ericsson and Ellingsen,
2005;Øland, 2005;Schmitz-Köster, 2005;Mochmann and
Larsen, 2008;Stelzl-Marx, 2015;Koegeler-Abdi, 2021). The
uncertainty about their biological origin is a persisting topic
that challenges their wellbeing (Lee, 2017) and leaves many with
an impaired sense of belonging (Ericsson and Ellingsen, 2005;
Øland, 2005;Provost and Denov, 2020).
Identity issues are a widely reported problem amongst
CBOW (e.g., Glaesmer et al., 2012) and at the same time
remain a largely unresolved and diffuse topic. There has
been some recent quantitative and descriptive research (Stelzl-
Marx, 2015;Mitreuter et al., 2019) as well as reports from
testimonies (Øland, 2005;Schmitz-Köster, 2005) that showed
that almost all CBOW set out on an often impossible search
for their biological fathers after they had been told the truth
about their biological origin. Locating their fathers implied for
many to feel more complete and at peace with themselves
(Mitreuter et al., 2019). The results of this research can therefore
serve as an indicator of how important finding and knowing
their biological father is for an integrated identity and their
wellbeing. However, the topic of identity issues in CBOW is
still a scientifically new and complex phenomenon with no
standardized and valid assessment instruments and there is still
much to learn. It is for example unclear, how CBOW construct
their identities and which core themes make up their identity
descriptions. There has been a recent study by Schwartz (2020),
who analyzed the construction of identity from a couple of
narratives by German GOC, whose mothers were raped by
Soviet soldiers at the end of WWII. The author found that
the construction of a meaningful self and of an acceptable
image of the father was crucial to the participants. However, her
analysis was of a deductive nature and was guided by theories
of trauma and definitions of resilience by LaCapra (2001). We
were interested to see what themes we could extract following
an inductive analysis and focusing on a bigger sample that
included GOC from all types of parental relationships and all
paternal ethnicities.
The current study
To gain a deeper insight into what identity issues mean
for GOC, we utilized a qualitative and inductive approach
to assessing and understanding potential identity issues. We
therefore analyzed the answers to an open-ended questionnaire
item asking GOC about how they would describe their identity
in the context of being a CBOW. We were primarily interested
in the underlying main themes that we could extract from their
accounts to improve our understanding of the nature of their
identity issues.
Procedure and participants
We collected a sample of GOC (N=131) within the
project “Occupation children: Identity development, stigma
experience, and psychosocial consequences growing up as a
German Occupation Child.” Participants were recruited via
press releases, various national and international networks
(e.g., www.childrenbornofwar.org;www.bowin.eu), and online-
platforms for occupation children and children born of war in
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general (e.g., www.gitrace.org;www.coeurssansfrontiers.com).
Within these calls, we invited potential participants to contact
our research group to learn more about the project and to leave
their contact details. Inclusion criteria were being born after
1940 to a German mother, being fathered by a soldier of one of
the foreign occupation forces, and being able to understand and
read the German language. Questionnaires, a study information
sheet, and consent forms were subsequently sent to GOC via
postal mail. One hundred eighty-four questionnaires were sent
out and 164 were returned of which 9 had to be excluded because
they did not fit the definition of “occupation children.” The
participation rate was hence 88.6%, corrected for neutral drop-
outs. We excluded another nine outliers with respect to age.
Seventeen participants did not respond to the item subject to
analysis or gave answers that we could not decipher leaving
131 valid cases (and a response rate of 89.73%), which were
born between 1945 and 1966. Sixty-three percentage of the
sample were female with a mean age of 63.4 (SD =5.7)
years. Seventy-one GOC have a US American father, 33 have
a French (or French-Algerian/-Moroccan/-Corsican) father, 32
have a Soviet father, and 6 have a British father. Of those
131 GOC, 14 are not sure about their fathers’ origin and
another 4 do not know their father’s origin. More information
about the methodological approach, sample characteristics,
and background of the original study are provided in Kaiser
et al. (2015a). The study was reviewed and approved by the
ethics committee of the Medical Department of the University
of Leipzig.
Study design
CBOW are hidden populations, which are difficult to
access and whose specific experiences are not accounted for
by established instruments (Mochmann, 2013). For this reason,
we acted two-fold to assess the topic identity within our larger
questionnaire study: We adopted an existing questionnaire
developed by Mochmann and Larsen (2008), who investigated
children born of Wehrmacht soldiers in Norway and Denmark;
And we applied a participatory approach to develop and
amend questions and items that—amongst other topics—
address aspects of identity (e.g., search for father, questions
about origin, background of procreation, and feelings of shame,
pride, and belonging) of GOC. The questionnaire, i.e., data
corpus was mainly a tool intended to gain quantitative data, but
for the current study, our data set consists of the answers to
one open-ended question: “How do you see yourself when you
think of your identity? Which specificities do you think result
from being a German Occupation Child?” Participants were
provided with one DINA-4 page to write down their answers
and some extended this space onto the last empty pages of the
questionnaire or added sheets of paper themselves. The answers
ranged from 5 words to 1,714 words.
Data analysis
Taking a constructionist and inductive approach and aiming
at a rich description of the whole data set, i.e., all accounts
to our posed question, the analytical process was comprised
of five overlapping iterative phases in accordance with Braun
and Clarke (2006) outline for thematic analysis. We conducted
a reflexive thematic analysis according to Braun and Clarke
(2021). First, we familiarized ourselves with the data by reading
and re-reading the accounts. Second, we generated initial codes
from the text by summarizing and deconstructing it into
identifiable units of meaning. The same unit of text could be
included in more than one category or code. Although we
had some knowledge about identity theories prior and at the
time of the analysis (e.g., narrative identity theory McAdams
and McLean, 2013), we tried to approach the data with an
open mindset and in an inductive manner in an attempt to
generate codes and themes from the text that might not have
been represented by existing theories. Thus, in the next phase
we identified themes and overarching categories that would
organize a body of codes. We then went back and forth
between potential themes to scrutinize them for consistency
and representativeness of their codes and to collate them where
possible into a higher-order theme.
Interpretation and validity
The current study availed itself of an interpretative and
constructionist perspective. We perceived our findings as one
of many possible interpretations of the data (Lincoln et al.,
2011). Utilizing an interpretative phenomenological approach,
we were aiming at identifying what the participants themselves
were revealing in their accounts, in order to give voice to
their authentic testimony regarding their specific experiences.
Thus, throughout the analysis, we maintained a hermeneutics
of faith (Josselson, 2004) and accepted the participants’
accounts at face value. We evaluated our conceptualizations
and interpretations by using the following validity criteria: (a)
Sources of interpretation were exclusively actual pieces of data
and existing theories only served as a tool for explanation. (b)
Interpretations that were considered valid may not contradict
each other in any way. Finally, all accounts were compared to
gain a holistic understanding in line with the aim of our study
and our research question.
Results
The analysis led to the identification of five recurring
themes (see Figure 1) indicating how heterogeneous the detailed
experiences of growing up as a GOC are. However, the thickness
of some themes over others clearly demonstrates the overall
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FIGURE 1
Developed thematic map, showing five main themes, and associated subthemes.
hardship and in particular loneliness and isolation, from which
the majority of GOC had suffered when growing up in post WW
II Germany. In the following section, we shall elaborate on each
theme as it unfolds to further understand how these experiences
relate to each other. All quotes were translated from German by
the first author and confirmed as loyal to the original German
wording by the second author.
“No one who cared for me my whole
life”—loneliness and lack of belonging
From previous reports and testimonies in which many
CBOW describe their suffering from being discriminated against
or being the unloved and odd one out within their family
or wider social environment, we expected that we would see
related topics within our data. However, we were surprised by
the many ways and the frequency, in which topics referring
to deep (existential) loneliness were reported. The identified
theme of “Loneliness and Lack of Belonging” was by far the
thickest and most substantial of all. We saw this theme conveyed
through a multitude of subthemes, with the most dominant one
speaking of a lack of belonging or lack of emotional bonds and
attachment figures.
Lack of emotional bonds and sense of
belonging
Agathe and Christine described how their life-long sense of
not belonging within their families, but also in a wide social
context have influenced their self-esteem and wellbeing:
“I never felt like I belonged within my family. I never
belonged anywhere. I still have this feeling today, at work, with
friends—even if it is not true (anymore). I have suffered from a
strong loss of trust because everyone lied to me throughout my
whole childhood. [.. . ] I was in analytical therapy for many
years and could reappraise and incorporate a lot through
transference of relationship with my therapist. This has helped
me, but ‘the wound of the unloved one’ remains” (ID 47, father
member of the US American army).
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“Today, I see myself as a content woman. But I had to
work for it my whole life and went through very difficult times
[. . . ] because I was always on the edge, I never belonged. [. . . ].
[During childhood] my mother visited me every 2 months. I
adored her but she was emotionally unattainable for me and
stayed this way until her death in 2007. I had no self-esteem,
never voiced any needs. I lived merely passively. I was a good
student, but secondary school was out of question. When I
think back, my childhood appears gray, joyless, and filled with
fear” (ID 34, father member of the US American army).
Although it is not typical for GOC to have grown up without
their mothers according to our data, the sense of detachment and
alienation from the family is widely reported. A lack of parental
tenderness and love was doubtlessly also conditioned by post-
wartime and the shortage of time and existential threat that it
posed to many parents who had to work hard to survive and
supply for their children. But what GOC describe has a deep level
of existential loneliness to it:
“Today, I feel uprooted with respect to my identity, but
also free. The price of that freedom is the lack of a sense of
belonging in a profound way. I rarely tie myself to people
and if I do it is temporary. Because of the knowledge that my
biological father was a soldier in the US-army I have mixed
feelings about this country. It provides a repelling attraction”
(ID 144, father member of the US American army).
The feeling of being uprooted or in free fall, not being held
by anyone and not being able to relate to anyone was something
we often saw in the data and shows how isolated GOC felt
growing up. This uprooting also seems to be associated with the
attachment issues in later life that have been reported by Kaiser
et al. (2016). Feeling a “repelling attraction” toward the father, or
the home country of the father showcases the inner conflict and
disruption with themselves and their identity. It seems to reflect
their constant search for belonging but at the same time fear of
not being able to belong to the father after all and maybe in this
connection losing hope of ever being able to really belong.
Conspiracy of silence
Another highly pervasive subtheme emerging from the
identity descriptions is the topic of silence. The taboo
surrounding their origin and the truth about their conception is
something widely reported that at the same time is experienced
as extremely aversive and harmful for a healthy identity
development and the development of trustful relationships
within and later also outside the family:
“The whole kinship of mother has kept silent!! All my life
I haven’t had anyone I could relate to, no father, no siblings.
Mother still does not want anything to do with me, apparently
because I remind her of 1952. She cannot handle it, but also
does not want to talk about it. I would still like to search
my father but mother won’t tell me his name” (ID 30, father
member of the French army).
“The family put a heavy cloak of silence over my origin.
If relatives were upset with me, they were dropping allusions:
‘You are not who you think you are”’ (ID 40, father member
of the Soviet Army).
Hans and Richard were kept in the dark. Other GOC also
report of a dark spot, a dark hole that cannot be filled because
their origin was treated a taboo in their social environments. If
ones origin is unspeakable and taboo, these GOC might have felt
like a taboo themselves and something to be ashamed of. But
also keeping silent themselves was experienced as aversive and
isolating and turning toward more openly speaking about one’s
own past and biological origin seemed to be associated with relief
and healing:
“In the past: intense shame, fear of being discovered
and bullied subsequently, because people spoke disparagingly
about other illegitimate children. [. . . ] As a consequence: great
silence, hushing up—I forged my life story to avoid becoming
‘noted′which led to long periods of depression. Today I can
speak openly about who I am. I know who I am and I tell it to
everyone” (ID 8, father member of the Soviet Army).
Otherness and discrimination
GOC tend to suffer from multiple stigmata often leading
them to feel devalued, rejected and isolated. In post-war
Germany, for example, it was still heavily frowned upon to be
born out of wedlock, which was the case for almost all GOC born
after WWII, such as Peter describes:
“I have always felt like a 2nd class human, because I
was in addition [to being a child of a foreign soldier] born
out of wedlock. That also made me an outcast” (ID 12, father
member of the British army).
In addition, they were born as the children of foreign
soldiers, who still were considered the occupying enemies in
many people’s minds. Beyond all that, many had visible features
that made them look different from their peers, which oftentimes
subjected them to racist treatment like John reports:
“As a child, people often asked me to show my teeth or
asked whether they could touch on my hair. Total strangers
asked me that. In kindergarten, I was supposed to play burned
bread [.. . ]. Very often people told me they didn’t have a
problem with People of Colour. On my graduation ball no
girl wanted to dance with me although I was at least the most
handsome (just joking). No matter the occasion; searching for
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a job, going to a club, getting to know girls etc.—I always
had an oppressive feeling due to my skin colour. Sometimes
I even felt strange to myself” (ID 151, father member of the
US American army).
This kind of othering and racist treatment thwarted their
need for belonging and isolated them not only from others, but
also led to alienation from themselves.
Deficient satisfaction of needs by attachment
figures and state
Another subtheme contributing to GOC’ loneliness and lack
of belonging was what we called “Deficient satisfaction of needs
by attachment figures and state”:
“We [occupation children] never looked for connection or
contact amongst each other. We never really had the chance
to, which I greatly regret. There were no contact persons we
could talk to about our woes and sorrows. No one ever talked
to me personally; everything was decided over my head. We
were without rights and left with nothing. Outcasts” (ID 61,
father member of the US American army).
There were no advocates for their needs and rights and
no cohesion and solidarity amongst occupation children even
if in some cases they were known to each other or suspected
others to be just like them. In GOC life stories, we also found
a high prevalence of them being sexually abused as children
(Mitreuter, 2021). It seems as if the isolation and a consequential
vulnerability of GOC was recognized and exploited by the
perpetrators. The following quote about a mother who did not
take any action against the sexual abuse of her son is exemplary
for the lacking protection that many GOC experienced, be it by
primary caregivers or the state:
“Back where I lived as a child, there was a catholic
congregation. Four brethren and one Father administered one
courtyard. The Father had a habit of touching and “playing”
with some of our penises. My mother took no action against it,
because she worked in the monastery’s household and would
have lost her job. Another mother reported the case and the
Father was transferred as a result” (ID 44, father member of
the Soviet Army).
“Mother gave everything she
could”—belonging and positive
relationship
In contrast to the previous theme, there were some accounts
with a clear emphasis on belonging and positive relationship,
although the impedimental circumstances under which most
CBOW grew up often shone through nonetheless. Belonging and
relationship comprised subthemes such as “feeling loved and
satisfaction of needs as a child,” “acceptance and transparency,”
“identification with biological father and feeling united,” and
“gratitude, reconciliation, and reparation”.
Feeling loved and satisfaction of needs as a
child
One of the strongest indicators that we saw connected
to a feeling of belonging and positive relationship was the
feeling of being loved and that fundamental needs were satisfied
as a child. We found this to be a major theme in CBOW’s
identity descriptions:
“My grandmother mourned two sons, who did not return
from the Eastern front. Despite this, she loved me and she was
my closest ally until her death” (ID 18, father member of the
Soviet army).
“My mother did everything for my happy childhood. I’m
sure she suffered very much herself. There were people, who
tried to take advantage of this: The Soviet intelligence service
wanted to take me so that they did not have to pay any
more alimony. Interrogations, recruitment for espionage etc.
Therefore, my mother declared my father unknown“(ID 58,
father member of the Soviet army).
Gustav, the son of a Soviet soldier, reports being loved by his
grandmother until her death even though both of her sons had
died at the hands of Soviet soldiers. Many accounts suggest that
it often seemed to suffice for an overall positive account to have
had one person, who provided a reliably loving relationship for
them to feel wanted and loved. This person was mostly either
the mother or grandmother. These reports tell of protection like
above where a mother protected and therefore concealed the
origin of her child at the risk of being discovered and punished.
They tell of continuous loving relationship free from spite and
violence and support to develop their own abilities and talents
(within financial possibility).
Acceptance and transparency
Acceptance and transparency means that the truth about
their biological origin and their conception was known and
accepted at least by the mother and/or grandparents, but also
by the step-father if applicable and wider social environment
such as teachers and classmates. Transparency refers to GOC
growing up knowing all they could potentially know from their
mothers or other primary caregivers about their conception and
true biological origin and that there was no taboo to speak of
their biological fathers or to ask questions. These accounts were
rare, but the following is an example:
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“I’ve always known everything but before I turned 25 I
still didn’t really talk about my origin to anyone outside the
family, simply because I was never asked. I lived in an intact
and loving family. In 1981, I visited my father and his family
in Kiev together with my husband, my two sons, and my
half-brother [. . .]. We were lovingly welcomed and taken in
with much leniency and acceptance” (ID 14, father member
of the Soviet army).
Identification with biological father and feeling
united
Many GOC report of always having felt wrong within their
own family or different from all the other family members
and rejected by society. As displayed in the following quote, it
seemed to be of great importance to GOCs’ feeling of self-worth
and healthy identity to see their fathers in a positive light and to
feel connected to them or the culture of their home countries:
“Personally, I don’t see myself as an occupation child, but
the child of a LIBERATOR! [. . . ] I see myself as a survivalist;
freethinker, fighter and I like to confront prejudiced people.
I can be proud and I am proud of my origin and let
everyone know about it” (ID 63, father member of the US
American army).
Some report being relieved not to be all German, but for
example half-French or half-American. It seems like the need
to belong is so strong that many feel connected to someone like
their biological father or to the culture of a country even if they
do not know them at all and have not seen them or been there
even once in their lives.
Few CBOW have had the chance to locate or even meet their
biological fathers and if so, getting to know or meeting them
in person was not always experienced as positive (see Mitreuter
et al., 2019). However, given finding and meeting him or his
remaining family members was overall positively experienced, it
often had the chance to become a deeply positive turning point
in their lives:
“[. . . ] My youngest daughter found [my half-brother] on
Facebook. Ever since, we all frequently chat and mail each
other, we exchange photos back and forth. We all immediately
became Facebook friends. It is wonderful—and both families
have the same marvelous feeling that we are finally a family.
I cannot describe the warm-heartedness that comes across via
the Facebook pages. It is as if I had longed for it my whole
life. I received photographs of my father and the—for me
most important information—that he had wanted to return
back to my mother in Germany and get in touch with her.
However, he was stopped by the authorities for reasons that
we all know now—but, had it worked, I now wouldn’t have
this astounding brother in Israel” (ID 19, father member of
the US American army).
“Daddy will come to visit me! [. . . ] Praise the Lord
for showing me my father. We love each other very much
and have been very affectionate with each other. My joy is
immense. Here in France [where I moved to], many GI-Babies
search for their father in the US. I have found my own roots.
That heals all wounds. My self-esteem is restored (ID 62,
father member of the US American army).
Uniting with the biological father or members of his
family in case of his decease like it was the case for
these two GOC provided them not only with joy, but
a deep sense of—maybe even long-needed—belonging
and connection.
Gratitude, reconciliation, and reparation
We found that expressions of gratitude and
mentioning of reconciliation and reparation in CBOW’
identity descriptions were strongly linked to a feeling
of belonging and the reporting of positive and
meaningful relationship.
“I particularly admire my mother, how she mastered
life, how much she put everyone’s needs before her own,
had to live a very modest life (disability pensioner after
a head surgery) and how she paved my way into school
and vocation. She supported me and made the impossible
possible” (ID 80, father member of the French army).
This GOC experienced it as “the impossible” to have
grown up as a happy child and to receive the full love and
support from a resilient mother. A mother who herself had
to suffer much being despised by her own father and part
of the society surrounding her and being scorned for having
had intimate contact to a foreign soldier and to have his
child. Through this love and support this GOC found a way
into a life well-integrated into society. This is definitely a life
course that is rarely told amongst GOC. More common are
the reports of a difficult childhood and youth that took a
turn to the better due to recovery, healing, with reconciliation,
and reparation:
“On the whole, I can say that I had more positive
than negative experiences. And the most negative things,
I experienced during my youth, approximately [.. . ] until
my daughter was born! From that moment on, I had a
goal: To lead my children onto the right path from the
beginning—based on my personal experiences. And this
worked out wonderfully” (ID 33, father member of the US
American army).
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This GOC tells of experiencing difficulties during
childhood and youth with many people “still living in
the 3rd Reich mentally” (ID 33, father member of the US
American army) and discriminating against her for being
a person of color. Her self-description speaks of a sense of
identity and meaning through being a successful mother
by bringing up happy children. Becoming the creator
of a new and intact family appears to be an important
act of reparation and healing for those who managed to
do so.
“Against all negative prognoses”—fighters
and survivalists
In contrast to the first two themes, “Fighters and
Survivalists” comprises statements, which pronounce GOCs’
own inner achievement and agency and focus more on the self
rather than a relationship dimension. Common ground was the
hardship, which they had been exposed to in clear contrast to the
“Unaffected” reports following later.
“I am a fighter. I discovered abilities within me, which I
never thought I had and I’ve grown more confident” (ID 5,
father member of the US American army).
“I see myself as a survivor. Despite all tribulations,
violence, and danger I was exposed to, I did not end up in
a psychiatric hospital and never clashed with the law. I could
adjust to every new situation in my life and assert myself” (ID
4, father member of the Soviet army).
These accounts convey the sense of being a survivor vs.
the sense of being a victim or scapegoat, which is more
commonly found within the “Loneliness and Lack of Belonging”
theme. They convey defiance and pride in mastering the
difficult circumstances on their own and show some degree of
resilience. There was often a clear development from negative
to positive circumstances and outcomes, in particular based on
own accomplishment:
“I felt only 50% complete. [.. .] Since I managed to prove
my identity using DNA analysis and found the American part
of my genetics, I am 100% complete and like to tell it to
others. I finally started believing in myself and finally have
self-esteem. I only really started being alive in 2012” (ID 29,
father member of the US American army).
Like above, the fighting aspect was often accentuated by
expressions such as “others were proven wrong,” “having
proven it to others,” “I made it,” “I worked hard for my
happiness,” “I fought through,” “against all odds,” and “against
all negative prognoses”.
“Aching to see father only
once”—searching for truth and
completion
The theme of “Searching for Truth and Completion”
is somewhat related to the theme of “Loneliness und
Lack of Belonging,” but we also considered it original
and in part independent from it. Searching did not
necessarily evolve from feelings of loneliness and lack
of belonging, but often also from a seemingly deep and
existentially driven curiosity to know more about one’s
second biological half and thereby to trace and prolong
one’s own biography into the past via the line of the own
biological parents.
“I was searching for my identity for a long time,
sometimes desperately. As a child, I always felt incomplete—
something was missing. I couldn’t accept my step-father” (ID
16, father member of the French army).
“I am an addict. Was my father one, too? From the
maternal side, there are no connections to addiction. What
did my father do for a living? According to unconfirmed
reports, he was supposed to be working as a pharmacist. Was
he successful? How was he? Honorary offices? Success? Many
questions that are waiting for an answer to this day” (ID 121,
father member of the French army).
The need to find out more about their unknown other
biological half seems to be a universal need as almost all
GOC indicated a wish to find or at least learn more about
their fathers. It seems almost as if knowing the father did
not only offer identification, but almost a kind of verification
of the self. Finding their fathers seems to be linked to
achieving a sense of an integrated identity and a positive life
resolution for some GOC. And the opposite seems to hold
for those like Gerd, who cannot mirror themselves in their
fathers and hence do not receive that kind of confirmation
of themselves:
“I wish I had met my biological father or at least knew
who he was. Until this day, I can neither find peace within
myself nor the peace to deal with not knowing” (ID 37, father
member of the US American army).
However, there were also accounts, in which we found
searching and longing to rather revolve around a sense of
“Loneliness and Lack of Belonging” like in Gustav’s account:
“Relationships and friendships have always fallen apart
after some time. There is no continuation in my life. I feel
like I am always searching, restless.. . (I move approximately
every 5 years for example)” (ID 35, father member of the US
American army).
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“Growing up sheltered and
unsuspectingly”—unaected
Some accounts entailed several co-existing themes. The
“Unaffected” shared descriptions of “Belonging and Positive
Relationship,” but there was no “despite being a GOC” in their
words, because sometimes they were unknowing of the fact but
unsuspectingly at the same time. These participants were very
few, but they all reported their identity not having been affected
at all by being a GOC. Others grew up not knowing about being a
GOC and at the same time not feeling any different to the others
in their surroundings like Hans’ account suggests:
“Due to learning about the particularity [of being a
GOC] quite late, I grew up unselfconsciously—from my point
of view. [. . . ] Additionally, the conditions of the former
GDR [German Democratic Republic] accommodated me.
[. . . ] I met the requirements: good grades, good conduct,
stemming from humble homes” (ID 9, father member of the
Soviet army).
Other “Unaffected” GOC pronounced that difficulties in
their lives did not originate from being born a GOC, but merely
from the economic hardship of that time if they had experienced
any difficulties at all. Others described being popular and well-
adjusted from childhood on just like Theresa:
“As a child, my advantage was that I looked quite cute. I
was always treated nicely by everyone. I was invited to other
children’s birthday parties, even from families which were out
of our “reach” such as the daughter of the clockmaker foreman,
both daughters of the car workshop owner, a medical officer
of health.. . maybe (how I learned later) it was because my
mother had insinuated that she had been raped. Maybe the
town’s reaction was an act of pity” (ID 9, father member of the
Soviet army).
Even though Theresa suspects being treated differently, in
fact more favorably, due to potentially being born from the rape
of a Soviet soldier, she still seemed to have lived a sheltered life
as a child.
Discussion
In the context of every armed conflict, children are born,
who are fathered by the foreign or enemy soldiers and born to
local mothers. These children tend to grow up under hindering
circumstances both in society and within their families and
often report suffering from identity issues amongst others. To
better understand what their identity issues mean and how
they construct their identities, this study explored the open-
ended answers of (N=131) German Occupation Children to
a question about how they saw themselves and their identity in
the context of being an occupation child.
“Loneliness and Lack of Belonging” appeared to be a most
relevant theme when the occupation children thought about
their own identity. We found that a conspiracy of silence around
their biological origin and an often reported lack of emotional
bonds to primary caregivers as well as a feeling of not belonging
anywhere greatly contributed to this loneliness. Many GOC
reported being discriminated against and being made outsiders,
often when they visibly differed from the majority society,
which we saw connected to feelings of loneliness as well. These
two topics of “conspiracy of silence” and “discrimination and
stigmatization” have been widely found in other reports and
research on CBOW (Ericsson and Ellingsen, 2005;Øland, 2005;
Mochmann and Larsen, 2008;Stelzl-Marx, 2015;Provost and
Denov, 2020;Koegeler-Abdi, 2021). Last, they reported not only
a lack of positive and stable emotional bonds but also a deficient
satisfaction of their needs as children and adolescents by their
primary caregivers but also the state, which seemed to fail in its
responsibility to provide for and protect them as a vulnerable
minority as well as supporting them to locate their fathers.
As a counter pole, there were also reports that conveyed
a “Feeling of Belonging and Positive Relationship,” in which
GOC felt accepted or loved by at least one primary caregiver
(often a grandmother if not biological mother). Feeling accepted
seemed to go in hand with their family being honest and
transparent about their biological origin. How important it is
for children to be told the truth about their biological origin
has already been widely investigated and found in the context
of child adoption and so-called donor offspring studies (see
for example Freeman and Golombok, 2012;Golombok et al.,
2013;Freeman, 2015;Ilioi et al., 2017). There is one recent
study by Koegeler-Abdi (2021), who conducted a qualitative
analysis of testimonies and interviews with Danish CBOW and
attempted to theorize the functions of secrecy within families.
The author found that secrecy was not only a root cause for
identity crises amongst CBOW, but also a potential resource
for resilience. According to Koegeler-Abdi, secrets worked like
storage vessels with a protective function, which could keep a
secret until it was ready and safe to be let out and processed.
Some of the CBOW in her study showed understanding and
appreciation of their mothers’ secrecy. We found this very
interesting, especially as it is something we could not replicate
for our data set. There was no single instance, in which family
secrecy was reported to have felt fair or helpful. It would be
interesting to analyze in the future under which conditions
secrecy might feel protective and productive (for instance
within a stable family with loving relationships) and in which
it did not. The two rather oppositional themes of loneliness
on one and belonging on the other side did not necessarily
exclude one another within an individual account as there were
some reporting being lonely as a child, adolescent or young
adult but healing and finding reconciliation later in life when
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for example they built their own loving family, underwent
successful psychotherapy or united with their father. However,
these two themes do have in common that they are opposite
poles on a continuum that is of social nature. The following
two themes, as different as they are, are rather rooted in a
deeply personal domain:
“Fighters and Survivalists” comprises statements focusing
on personal achievement and growth despite the hardship
rather than focusing on the interpersonal domain. Reports
revolved around personal strength and mastery that helped
these individuals to gain control over their own lives “against
all odds.” This theme could potentially be associated to
the concept of resilience (Herrman et al., 2011), post-
traumatic growth (Linley and Joseph, 2004) or the concept
of agency (McAdams and McLean, 2013), a concept within
narrative identity theory that shows the degree to which
participants are able to assert control over their own lives
or influence others in their environment, which is often
shown through acts of self-mastery, empowerment, achievement
or status.
“Searching for Truth and Completion” represented the
seemingly fundamental need to know about ones biological
origins. Of particular interest seem to be similarities in
personality, appearance, and talents (Mitreuter et al., 2019). A
preliminary analysis of life story interviews (Mitreuter, 2021)
found how closely linked finding their fathers is to achieving a
sense of an integrated identity and a positive life resolution for
many GOC. Interestingly, it often seemed to be more relevant
to simply know about the father, who he was and where or
whether he still lived than being in actual contact with him
(Mitreuter et al., 2019). This finding is in line with our argument
that the theme “Searching for Truth and Completion” has a
deeply personal and existential meaning rather than a social
one. That it is more about the self than the connectedness.
This fact is also in accordance with studies of McAdams and
McLean (2013), who found that a gap in the continuity of the
biography is threatening an integrated identity and hence an
individual’s wellbeing.
As a fifth theme we identified accounts, in which identity
descriptions seemed unaffected by the fact that they were GOC
often because they were unaware of the fact but had no reason to
suspect any different either. These accounts were few and often,
but not always involved statements about belonging and positive
relationships, which is why we considered it a separate theme in
our analysis.
Strengths, limitations, and further
research
Our study does not only substantiate the current
state of the field and offer more weight due to its
systematic approach and sample size, but it also adds
new analytical insights as even more widely found
topics such as a conspiracy of silence or a pervasive
discrimination and stigmatization of CBOW and their
mothers had not yet been put into a broader context
of identity. This study contributed to a deeper insight
into the plurality of identity aspects specifically relevant
to CBOW and generated a first systematic overview
of these aspects, their interrelatedness, and potential
connection with psychological theories on trauma or
narrative identity.
Despite the benefits and importance of the current
study, it is also limited in several ways. First and foremost,
it is not a representative study in the target group as
CBOW qualify as hidden populations. We reached out
for participants publicly, who then reacted if they were
interested. The sample is hence self-selective and the
entire population is unknown, which makes it impossible
to conduct a representative study. Second, our data is
of cross-sectional nature and the participants answered
the item in retrospect, which makes our data subject to
potential bias of retrospective self-report. The data is only
a reflection of the current status when interviewed. We
acknowledge that identity and identity construction are
dynamic processes that would highly benefit from a life-course
perspective. Although we could gather some information
on within-individual development of identity over time,
these measurements still remained cross-sectional, which
clearly poses a limitation in understanding a time sensitive
and dynamic phenomenon such as identity. Third, even if
CBOW worldwide share many specific experiences, our data
might not be generalizable to other CBOW populations due
to specificities of each population such as culture, the type
of war or the degree of hostilities between the parties for
example. Other studies might yield other results, which is
why further studies in other CBOW populations are much
needed. Future research could focus more on systematic
analyses and possibly standardization of instruments to
allow for cross-cultural comparisons. Fourth, at the same
time, we feel that there is still need for open and qualitative
research in these populations, especially if a phenomenon
as complex and scientifically new as identity in CBOW is
being investigated. The given written material within the
quantitative questionnaires was in many cases short or
warranted more context as they were given. So in some
cases our analyses stayed descriptive whereas a life story
interview for example would have allowed for more in-depth
interpretation of a person’s account. We asked for identity
“in the context of being a child born of war.” This means
that some other aspects or areas of identity could have been
neglected and underreported. We hence suggest the analysis
of life story interviews for a more complete understanding of
CBOW identity.
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Implications for clinical and political
practice
Despite the limitations, our study can serve as a cornerstone
in improving our understanding of CBOW and their unique
biographies together with previous and future research. It
can inform political practice as such that it is vital for
children born of war to be able to access their biological
family members and to get support for example in forms of
networks who help bring them together with family members
but also other CBOW (like some already exist in Germany
or France) to foster a feeling of belonging and shared lived
experiences. A prerequisite for this is that the existence
of CBOW must enter the public discourses internationally
in a de-stigmatizing way. We plead for an international
children’s right to know about their biological origins and to
facilitate them locating their biological parents. Considering the
deleterious ramifications associated with loneliness (Hawkley
and Cacioppo, 2010), we advocate that clinicians be aware
of its existence in addition to and irrespective of mental
health symptoms.
Data availability statement
The raw data supporting the conclusions of this article
will be made available by the authors upon request, without
undue reservation.
Ethics statement
The studies involving human participants were reviewed
and approved by Ethics Committees of Leipzig University
(415-12-17122012). The patients/participants provided their
written informed consent to participate in this study.
Author contributions
SM designed the study, analyzed the data, and wrote the
manuscript. HG and MK collected the data and supervised
analyzing the data and writing the manuscript. PK assisted in
collecting the data. All authors contributed to the article and
approved the submitted version.
Funding
This project has received funding from the European
Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme
under the Marie Sklodowska-Curie Grant Agreement No 642571
(Network website: www.chibow.org) and from the State of
Saxony (Grant No. WE-V-G-07-2-0612). The University of
Greifswald [BMBF Grant No. (FONE-100)] supported the start
of the project with a starting grant for material.
Conflict of interest
The authors declare that the research was conducted in
the absence of any commercial or financial relationships
that could be construed as a potential conflict
of interest.
Publisher’s note
All claims expressed in this article are solely those
of the authors and do not necessarily represent those
of their affiliated organizations, or those of the publisher,
the editors and the reviewers. Any product that may be
evaluated in this article, or claim that may be made by
its manufacturer, is not guaranteed or endorsed by the
publisher.
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TYPE Original Research
PUBLISHED 14 September 2022
DOI 10.3389/fpos.2022.874548
OPEN ACCESS
EDITED BY
Heide Glaesmer,
University Hospital Leipzig, Germany
REVIEWED BY
Norman Mukasa,
Muteesa I Royal University, Uganda
Eunice Akullo,
Makerere University, Uganda
*CORRESPONDENCE
Eunice Otuko Apio
euniacpa@hotmail.com
SPECIALTY SECTION
This article was submitted to
Peace and Democracy,
a section of the journal
Frontiers in Political Science
RECEIVED 12 February 2022
ACCEPTED 16 August 2022
PUBLISHED 14 September 2022
CITATION
Apio EO (2022) Resilience among
Children Born of War in northern
Uganda. Front. Polit. Sci. 4:874548.
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2022.874548
COPYRIGHT
©2022 Apio. This is an open-access
article distributed under the terms of
the Creative Commons Attribution
License (CC BY). The use, distribution
or reproduction in other forums is
permitted, provided the original
author(s) and the copyright owner(s)
are credited and that the original
publication in this journal is cited, in
accordance with accepted academic
practice. No use, distribution or
reproduction is permitted which does
not comply with these terms.
Resilience among Children Born
of War in northern Uganda
Eunice Otuko Apio*
School of Law, University of Birmingham, Birmingham, United Kingdom
The literature on children born of conflict-related sexual violence, or Children
Born of War (CBOW) is dominated by accounts and perceptions of suering
and risks that they experience both during and after armed conflict. In
contrast, this article focusses on nuanced experiences of CBOW after suering
adversities. The study applies the culturally sensitive revised 17-item Children
and Youth Resilience Measure (CYRM-R) to 35 CBOW conveniently sampled
from a population of those born to former forced wives of the Lord’s Resistance
Army (LRA) and another population born between 1993 and 2006 as a result of
sexual violence perpetrated by cattle raiders in northern Uganda. Following
the analysis of the CYRM-R scores, eight participants representing dierent
quartiles, dierent scores on the relational/caretaker and personal resilience
sub scales were identified to take part in a subsequent semi-structured
interview process. The aim was to examine how CBOW in northern Uganda
demonstrate resilience, the factors that influence their resilience experiences,
and what it means for the broader concept of integration. Overall, CBOW are
not merely stuck in their problems; past and present. Rather, findings indicate
CBOW are confronting the realities of their birth statuses, and making the best
use of their resources and those within the wider environment to adapt and
overcome diculties.
KEYWORDS
resilience, Children Born of War, northern Uganda, integration, conflict-related
sexual violence
Introduction
Whereas, the field of youth and adolescents affected by armed conflict has started
registering theoretical and empirical studies on the concept of resilience (e.g., Cortes
and Buchanan, 2007;Betancourt and Khan, 2008;Baum et al., 2013;Zuilkowski et al.,
2016), there is very little resilience research relating to Children Born of War CBOW.
Rather, existing literature on the subject of CBOW (e.g., Carpenter, 2007,2010;Ladisch,
2015;Apio, 2016;Lee et al., 2021), primarily deals with trauma-centered research
focusing on negative impacts of violence, stigma and discrimination experienced
in post conflict zones. This approach limits attention on other dimensions of the
experiences of CBOW leaving out many aspects of their wellbeing. As Zuilkowski
et al. (2016) observed bad experiences associated with armed conflicts do not mean
the people are “doomed to suffer the consequences interminably” (p. 65). This article
contributes to a fuller appreciation of the complexity of post-conflict experiences
by exploring resilience in CBOW and the factors that might shape and influence
expressions of resilience, given their respective contexts in Lango, northern Uganda.
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The article applies the understanding of resilience as “the
qualities of both the individual and the individual’s environment
that potentiate positive development” (Ungar and Liebenberg,
2011, p. 127). To this end, resilience can be located “in
the interactions between individuals and their wider social
ecologies” (Clark, 2021, p. 1). Theron (2019), on her part presses
further, by arguing that resilience is co-facilitated by individuals
and the systems of which the individuals are a part (p. 327; see
also Theron et al., 2021). In other words, the wider material
and socio-cultural environment is just as important as the
individual in the production of resilience. Important to note is
that constant variations in the social-ecological environments,
including availability of resources and differences in power
relations between individuals and groups, reflect on the nature of
resilience, rendering it a “dynamic and fluid process” (Henshall
et al., 2020, p. 3,598), see also Bottrell (2009).
The complex, unstable and “fluid” nature of resilience the
literature speaks about is further reflected in the lack of a
“universally accepted methodology for operationalizing and
measuring resilience empirically” (Alessi et al., 2020, p. 570).
See also Christophe et al. (2020, p. 2), with different measures
developed over the years to measure different things. Some
of them are culturally sensitive, and demonstrate resilience by
measuring the levels of interaction between individuals and their
material and social cultural environments. One such scale of
measurement, is the measure applied in this study; the abridged
version of the Child and Youth Resilience Measure developed
by the Resilience Research Centre (2018)—referred to as the
Child and Youth Resilience Measure—Revised (CYRM-R). The
measure is comprehensively presented in the methods section.
Subsequent sections of this article review the existing
scholarship regarding CBOW and resilience, including the
relatively sparse body of literature, and provide an overview of
the case study and background of the conflicts linked to the
participants. This is followed by a summary of the methodology
the study used. The article then presents and discusses the results
and reflections from the CYRM-R dataset and the associated
qualitative interviews.
Resilience: Adversity and positive
outcomes
Scholars have associated stressful experiences such as
illnesses, loss of loved one, serious accidents, wars and
associated ills with negative outcomes (Mochmann and Larsen,
2008). Often cited is that these stressful experiences can
lead to behavioral, psychological and emotional outcomes
that are negative (e.g., Aldwin, 1994). Commonly cited are
negative outcomes like Post Traumatic Stress Disorders (PTSD),
depression, distress, all of which are well-addressed in the
literature (e.g., see Masten et al., 1999;Calhoun and Tedeschi,
2001;Bostock et al., 2009;Aburn et al., 2016). But there has also
emerged a great debate about positive outcomes in the aftermath
of adversity. These “positive outcomes” have been referred to
variously, including as: “Post traumatic growth, stress-related
growth, benefit-finding, perceived benefits, thriving, positive by-
products, positive psychological changes, flourishing, positive
adjustment, positive adaptation” (see: Tedeschi and Calhoun,
2004;Ramos et al., 2016). In this article, these “positive
outcomes” are referred to as resilience.
The last two decades have seen a major shift in the
understanding of resilience. Instead of earlier ideas that centered
resilience on individual psychological traits, which influenced
“an individual’s ability to ‘bounce back’ or return to a normal
state following adversity” (Hoegl and Hartmann, 2021, p. 456),
the definitions have now embraced social ecological approaches
that position resilience as a process or outcome co-facilitated
by individuals and the systems or social ecologies of which
the individuals are a part (Luthar et al., 2000;Ungar, 2011;
Wright and Masten, 2015;Theron, 2019, p. 327). In other
words, resilience is now understood as resulting from the
interrelation and interconnections between individuals and their
wider environments. This means that resources available in the
wider environment such as family and community support,
access to health resources and economic opportunities are
central for victims-survivors’ coping and adaptation.
A social-ecological environment can therefore be viewed
as a melting pot of resilience resources (rather than an empty
space), with individuals as part of the embedded material
and social-cultural factors that are constantly interacting. This
further suggests that resilience as a process or outcome depends
on more factors than those that lie within the individual.
Rather, both the intra-and inter-personal factors within the
wider social ecology are crucial in co-facilitating production
of, or hindering resilience. These include familial, communal
and societal factors (Roper, 2019). These factors have been
linked to variations in how individuals demonstrate resilience,
with some more resilient in a given situation than others
(Ungar and Liebenberg, 2011, p. 127). Often cited, particularly
with respect to children and youth, are temperament, gender,
physical health, age, developmental stage, sense of humor, self-
esteem, locus of control, family support, parental discipline,
spirituality, communal support, intelligence, coping techniques,
psychological state, sense of direction or mission, adaptive
distancing, androgynous sex roles and realistic appraisal of the
environment (Green et al., 1981;Werner and Smith, 1992;
McAdam-Crisp, 2006, p. 463). Moreover, studies already offer
that social support and family harmony are major factors that
shape self-esteem in adolescents (e.g., Han and Kim, 2006),
further underscoring the importance of the social-ecology in
the shaping of resilience (see also Ungar, 2011;Clark, 2021).
In other words, a social-ecological approach to resilience,
which this article applies, enables a holistic understanding of
the contributing factors of an outcome. It offers a theoretical
framework for understanding the dynamic interplay among
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individuals, groups, and their socio-physical environments
(Stokols, 1996, p. 283).
Resilience studies in the field of
armed conflict
The literature on resilience in people affected by war
and armed conflict have gained traction in the last decade
(e.g., McAdam-Crisp, 2006;Klasen et al., 2010;Ferrari and
Fernando, 2013;Zuilkowski et al., 2016;Dixon, 2018;Clark,
2021). However, the focus has largely been on former child
combatants, survivors of sexual violence, and survivors of
genocide with minimal focus on CBOW. More accurately, an
online search of resilience-related literature revealed a handful
of sources on CBOW, including Schwartz (2020)’s literary work
on children born during WW II in Europe; a recent study
of CBOW in Bosnia, Rwanda and northern Uganda in which
the authors argue for the use of survivor-centered approach
to, among others, broaden “the remit of the victim category
beyond primary harm, to consider structural and cultural
harm” (Alessia et al., 2021, p. 342). Another explores how
post conflict initiatives helped “children born in captivity” in
northern Uganda overcome extreme adversity and hardship by
“engaging with youth within multiple, interactive environments
rather than targeting solely the individual” (Dixon, 2018, p. v),
and yet another (Meaghan and Denov, 2021) focuses on the
experiences of children born of genocidal rape in Rwanda,
arguing for “greater recognition of the shared or relational
nature of resilience” (p. 1).
Whereas, these sources demonstrate growing interest in the
field, they do so from different understandings of the idea of
resilience, which in itself, is a contextually sensitive concept.
Thus, the idea of resilience as applied by Schwartz (2020)
on CBOW in Europe during WW II was different from that
studied by Meaghan and Denov (2021) in Rwanda, and Dixon
(2018) and Alessia et al. (2021), in northern Uganda. It has
been questioned whether the meaning of the term resilience as
applied by scholars and practitioners working on and within
post-conflict communities differs from the understanding of
the term by the local populations to which they are applied
(e.g. Allen et al., 2021;Bimeny et al., 2021). The current article
takes note of this, by focusing on CBOW living in Lango
society, and whose births were linked to different conflicts. It
further draws on studies that view children (including children
of survivors of conflict-related sexual violence) as “crucial
protective resources for those around them” (Clark, 2021, p.
4), to re-focus attention on CBOW as co-creators of resilience
within the social ecology. As the literature notes, until recently,
most of the information about these children was embedded
within narratives and discourses that explained the resilience of
their mothers (e.g., Smith, 2005;Veale et al., 2013). This may
be due to dominant approaches that consider protection and
understanding of children as being linked to the protection and
understanding of their mothers.
Of interest in the current article are questions about
how familial attachments and communal connections work
for the resilience of a group (CBOW) globally associated
with stigma, rejection, and discrimination. These questions
are further occasioned by findings in studies of non-CBOW
categories which emphasized the role of family, community
and other societal factors. For example, resilience scholars
offer that a youth’s coping ability may be enhanced by an
attachment to his/her guardian (e.g., McAdam-Crisp, 2006,
p. 466). Others like Garbarino (1995) argued that youth can
cope with the stress of social upheaval if they retain strong
positive attachments to their families, and if parents continue
to project a sense of stability, permanence, and competence
to their children (p. 44). Additionally, suggested that a strong
bond between caregiver and the child, social support from
teachers and peers, and a shared sense of values are important.
Moreover, Kirschenbaum (2017), studying children in the
Soviet Union during WWII, stressed the “importance of social
supports and cultural resources in collective efforts to manage
the trauma of war” (p. 538). Families, and the attachment
to guardians and support of teachers cited above are some
of the contextual (social-cultural) and individual factors that
influence whether youth will overcome barriers and “resume
positive life trajectories, or struggle to reintegrate into their
families and communities” (Zuilkowski et al., 2016). These
contextual and individual factors have been referred to in
various resilience studies as protective factors that enhance
resilience (e.g., Peltonen et al., 2014). Peltonen et al. actually
examined resilience levels and protective factors of Palestinian
students attending school during war and found that children
with high resilience levels had better friendships compared to
the traumatized group with low resilience levels. Applied to
CBOW: What bonds and relationships exist? Would such bonds
and relationships have similar impacts? In other words, this
article contributes to exploring how CBOW in northern Uganda
express resilience, the factors that influence their resilience
experiences, and what insights into resilience mean for the
broader concept of integration.
The case study: Conflicts and CBOW
in northern Uganda
The Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) conflict in northern
Uganda lasted from 1987 to 2008, and was the single most
violent conflict in Uganda’s post-independence history (e.g.,
Jeffery, 2011, p. 84–86; Refugee Law Project, 2014, p. 149–
153; Opio, 2015;Allen et al., 2020, p. 663–683). The conflict
was characterized by gross human rights violations and crimes
against humanity including; plundering property, abduction of
thousands of children and young adults, maiming of civilians
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and massacres (Refugee Law Project, 2014;Opio, 2015, p.
151–152). Whereas, Acholiland and its immediate border
communities were at the epicenter of the conflict, the war
gradually ate up large chunks of northern Uganda, to cover West
Nile, Lango, and Teso in eastern Uganda. “Two million people
in the Acholi sub region, 200,000 people in the Teso (eastern
Uganda) sub region, 41,000 people in West Nile and 33% of the
population in the Lango sub region were displaced due to the
conflict” (Refugee Law Project, 2014, p. 133).
At least 60,000 civilians were abducted between 1986 and
2008, including at least one in three adolescent boys and one
in six adolescent girls (Carlson and Mazurana, 2008, p. 4, 16).
Once abducted, the individual would undergo “a well-designed
process of brutalization” including forcing them under “threats
of death and torture to take part in beatings and killings of
children who collapse under the burden of the workload, who
disobey orders, or who attempt to escape” (Akhavan, 2005,
p. 406, see also p. 283). As part of indoctrination, abducted
people were specifically forced to commit atrocities often on
their own families and communities so they would find it hard
to leave the LRA (Pham et al., 2009, p. 9–23). As documented
in several accounts (e.g., Akello et al., 2006, p. 229; Stout, 2013,
p. 27), atrocities associated with the LRA made it hard for ex-
combatants to reintegrate in their pre-war communities once
they left the LRA.
At least 10,000 of the abducted girls and young women
became forced wives and had children out of their experiences
between 1998 and 2004 (Akello, 2013, p. 149–156).1Scholars
argue that the LRA used forced marriage for various purposes,
besides sexual services, with “wives” typically performing
domestic roles, cooking and washing for their LRA “husbands,”
and giving birth to and raising children (e.g., Carlson and
Mazurana, 2008, p. 45; Baines, 2014, p. 405). But sexual violence
perpetrated by the LRA also targeted civilians during raids in
northern Uganda (e.g., Ojiambo, 2005, p. 10; Pham et al., 2007,
p. 18; Arieff, 2010, p. 7).
Scholars argue that the marriage-like relationships that
Kony nurtured in his movement contradicted the local norms
and institutions regulating sex, marriage and motherhood in
peacetime northern Ugandan communities, many of which
became the return communities of the women and their children
(e.g., Apio, 2016, p. 174). Returning mothers and their children
faced a lot of stigma and found it more difficult to reintegrate
compared to other ex-combatants (e.g., Carlson and Mazurana,
2008, p. 5; Buss et al., 2014, p. 75; Apio, 2016, p. 178). In other
words, stigma has been central in determining the experience
and extent of reintegration of survivors and their children
(Buss et al., 2014, p. 75; Opio, 2015;Akullo, 2019). Mothers
with children were isolated from the rest of society because
of the biological association of the children with the LRA
(Esuruku, 2011, p. 30; Buss et al., 2014, p. 45). Most of these
1 See also: Ongwen Case. https://www.icc-cpi.int/uganda/ongwen.
women were “shunned by their families and labeled as ‘bush
women’ by their communities”, forcing them to abandon their
homes to live in the suburbs of Gulu where many earned
a living as prostitutes or alcohol brewers (Esuruku, 2011,
p. 30).
Beyond the LRA’s abductions and sexual violence, northern
Uganda has also been the scene of a less publicized non-
state conflict of cattle rustling since 1987 (e.g., Refugee Law
Project, 2014, p. 145; ICPALD, 2019).2Whereas studies have
focused on the millions of herds of cattle lost to raids, and
subsequent disarmament processes, accounts of gross human
rights violation on victim communities across the region have
rarely been documented. Sexual violence remains a casualty
in this regard. Recent studies however suggests that countless
children and women were raped, abducted, and sometimes
killed (e.g., Seymour et al., 2022). Whereas many were kept
for short periods of time during the course of the raids, some
were taken into Karamoja and assimilated into families against
their will, and later forced to “marry.” Although their case is
not well-known in the field of conflict-related sexual violence,
their experiences of stigma, and discrimination, among others,
have started appearing in studies (Akello et al., 2006;Mukasa,
2017). Available literature indicates that besides the long term
consequences of the sexual violence suffered (such as fistula,
bullet wounds, stigma and rejection) survivors also grappled
to raise children they had as a result of sexual violence. For
example, a recent study identified a 45-year-old woman who had
escaped from a forced marriage with her 5 out of 6 children
(the eldest had reportedly joined a group of raiders and was
absent at the time of her escape) back to her natal family in
Otuke district in east Lango in 2012. She had been abducted as
a child in 1987. A recent research impact intervention based on
a documentary (“The Wound is Where The Light Enters”)3also
included children linked to cattle raids in Lango.
Central to the understanding of the experiences of CBOW
(and particularly those linked to the LRA) is the local argument
by Lango elders that abduction and forced marriage contradicted
Lango’s jural rules of attaining motherhood and affiliation of a
woman’s offspring (Apio, 2016). Affiliation status determined
the residential options and access to cultural, social and
economic resources associated with either of the biological
2 Cattle raiding by rustlers from Karamoja led to the loss of millions of
herds of cattle, with the human costs including killings, abduction, rape
and forced marriages of children and women from Acholi, and Lango
into Karamoja. Abductees have often found their way back into their old
communities even after years of being held hostage, and many return
with pregnancies or children of their own.
3 Dheeraj Akolkar (Vardo films). “The Wound is Where The Light
Enters.” Available from: https://www.chibow.org/single-post/the-
wound-is- where-the- light-enters- wins-at- the-ahrc-research-in-
film-awards- 2021 (accessed on 28 March, 2022).
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parents. For example, at the time of the study, the largely
patriarchal Lango still affiliated offspring of a married woman to
her husband’s as long as the offspring was conceived within the
marriage (even if the pater was different). Offspring of women
conceived before or after a divorce would still affiliate to the
mother’s patriclan. Affiliation of male children opened doors for
these children to automatically benefit from patrilineal assets—
such as land and livestock, were the child male. In return,
his labor, achievements and losses would be associated with
the patriline to which he/she was affiliated. Where, she or he
accused of causing death to a person from another patriclan,
then the responsibility for meeting blood compensation would
fall on the membership of her/his patriclan. Such provisions
and liabilities raised the stakes for CBOW, considering the
extent of “damage” their fathers were associated with in the
social-cultural environment—e.g., abduction, forced marriage,
killings and displacement of entire communities, and for the
cattle raiders; violent cattle and other livestock raids, and forceful
affiliation of abductees as family members in Karamoja, forced
scarification and other bodily tribal markings on abductees,
forced marriage, and impregnation.
By applying a social-ecological approach to resilience
therefore, the study directly targeted the status of CBOW
affiliation, how they performed in terms of resilience and what
resources mediated their performances.
Methodology
The study applied a combination of quantitative and
qualitative measures in a two-phased fieldwork approach. In the
first phase, the author administered a questionnaire comprising
of demographic section and the culturally sensitive revised 17-
item Children and Youth Resilience Measure (CYRM-R) (Ungar
and Liebenberg, 2011;Liebenberg et al., 2012). The aim was to
obtain scores and measure resilience in CBOW. In the second
phase, the author drew on the results from the analysis of the
CYRM-R scores to identify eight participants to take part in
a subsequent semi-structured interview. The eight participants
represented different quartiles and had different scores on the
relational/caretaker and personal resilience sub scales. This
section provides a summary of description about the study
instruments, sampling of study participants, study procedure,
and how the analysis was conducted.
Study instruments
The mixed methods study, implemented in two phases,
involved the application of a questionnaire and an interview
guide; all specifically tailored to suit the context and the aim of
the study.
Phase 1: The questionnaire
The questionnaire had two sections. The first section
was made up of questions aimed at generating demographic
information. These included; age/year of birth, sex/gender,
marital status, having a child(ren), ethnicity, education level,
employment/profession, and who was the head of household.
The second section comprised of the CYRM-R scale. The
CYRM-R is a self-report measure of social-ecological resilience
suitable for use with individuals aged 10–23 (Ungar and
Liebenberg, 2011), but it can be applied to older adults
depending on a researcher’s assessment of the abilities of
respondents (Resilience Research Centre, 2018, p. 23). The
CYRM-R measure, made up of two subscales, typically consists
of 17 items and can be scored on a 3-point Likert scale. The
subscales are; personal resilience (10 items), which considers
intrapersonal and interpersonal items; and caregiver/relational
resilience (seven items), which relates to characteristics linked
to the important relationships shared with a primary caregiver, a
partner or family (Ungar and Liebenberg, 2011). These subscales
are however linked as they both rely on individual wider social
environment to influence their resilience. All of the 17 items
on the measure are positively worded, and the analysis relies
on simple summary of responses. This 3-point version is scored
using options of “No” (1), “Sometimes” (2), and “Yes” (3).
The CYRM-R measure enables individuals to easily
comprehend items and give scores based on their own
reflections. This was particularly appropriate because the study
sample was part of a population various studies have described as
one of the most neglected and marginalized in northern Uganda,
and globally (Carpenter, 2007;Apio, 2016;Lee et al., 2021).
In addition, respondents were drawn from locations deep in
rural northern Uganda (Otuke and Oyam districts) with low
levels of literacy (UBOS, 2014). For reliability, the questionnaire
was translated and back translated into Lango (Luo), the
local language widely spoken by the local population in the
study sites.
Phase II: Semi-structured interviews
The interview stage drew on the suggested questions for
“contextualizing measures” (see: CYRM and ARM User Manual
2.2, page 8; Resilience Research Centre, 2018), to generate an
interview guide for the study. The questions were:
- What do I need to know to grow up well here?
- How do you describe people who grow up well here despite
the many problems they face?
- What does it mean to you, your family and your
community when bad things happen?
- What kinds of things are most challenging for you growing
up here?
- What do you do when you face difficulties in your life?
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- What does being healthy mean to you and others in your
family and community?
- What do you and others you know do to keep healthy?
(Mentally, physically, emotionally, or spiritually)
The interviews were audio-recorded, and a consent form
was used with options for seeking consent of a guardian in
case of a minor, or if an adult participant asked a witness to
observe the informed consent process. The informed consent
forms were based on the Uganda National Council for Science
and Technology (UNCST) format, and translated (and back
translated) into Lango. The study was approved by the northern
Ugandan-based Lacor Hospital Research Ethics Committee
(LHIREC) (Ref. no: 0189/08/2021).
Sampling
The study conveniently sampled 35 CBOW, aged 15–28
years. This sample was identified through contacts with female
survivors of CRSV who were known to the community based
paralegals associated with the local NGO Facilitation for Peace
and Development (FAPAD) based in Lira. 20 of the CBOW
were drawn from Otuke district in east Lango, at the border
with east Acholi and Karamojong, and were all fathered by
cattle raiders. 15 other participants, all fathered by the LRA
were drawn from Oyam district, in North West Lango at the
border with west Acholi. The youngest (CBOW) participant
in this study was born in 2006 and the oldest in 1993 (15–
28 years old). The study thus involved respondents who were
technically not yet adults (15–18 years), raising ethical issues
regarding consent. For those whose ages ranged from 15 to 18
years old, the study designed an additional consent form for their
parents or guardians. Additional provisions on the respondents’
consent form (irrespective of the age range) included the right
to withdraw from the study at any time during the completion
of the questionnaire as well as during the interview phase. None
of the 35 respondents in the study lived or had contact with their
birth fathers or birth fathers’ relatives.
Administering the questionnaire
The questionnaire was administered with the help of two
local research assistants conversant with the language and
geographical context from September to October 2021. To
ensure that the varying levels of participants’ literacy was taken
into consideration, the research assistants read the questionnaire
out aloud to each participant in a quiet and secure location of
his/her choice. The research assistants each worked individually
with the respondents to ensure they understood each of the 17
items in the CYRM-R measure, but also to comply with the
minimal ethical standards for researching persons associated
with sexual violence—a sensitive subject, particularly in contexts
where studies associate conflict-related sexual violence with high
levels of stigma (e.g., Carpenter, 2007;Apio, 2016;Lee et al.,
2021). On average, each questionnaire took ∼20 min to complete
compared to the standard average of 5–10 min advised by the
Resilience Research Centre (2018). This was attributed to the
demographic questions/items added to the CYRM-R scale.
Semi-structured interview
The author conducted four interviews, and one of the
research assistants who had taken part in administering the
questionnaire conducted the remaining four interviews. All of
the interviews were conducted in Lango (a Luo dialect widely
spoken in the study location) and audio-recorded upon taking
consent of the participants. The interview recordings were then
transcribed, and translated into English for further analysis.
Analysis
Analysis of data happened in two phases. In the first
phase, the focus was on the demographic characteristics of the
respondents, and how each of them performed on the CYRM-
R scale. Total scores for each participant (N=35) for all 17
items were calculated, against the standard minimum score of
17 and maximum score of 51 (Ungar and Liebenberg, 2011).
Consequently the analysis considered comparing CBOW who
posted high scores to low scorers, by placing overall scores
into quartiles from lowest to highest in order to identify eight
participants from different quartiles to take part in a qualitative
investigation for potential reasons for these differences (see
Table 1 for a summary of demographic information for the
eight participants).
The second phase focused on the responses generated
during the semi-structured interviews. First, the audio responses
were transcribed and translated into English. The author then
manually coded the responses and analyzed emerging patterns
to support, by triangulation (Gretchen et al., 1985, p. 633;
Dawadi et al., 2021, p. 28), the findings related to the CYRM-
R scores above. All of the respondents were anonymized.
Pseudonyms have been used to refer to participants in the
presentation and discussion of study findings.
Results
The following are the findings of the analysis of the scores
posted by 35 respondents on the CYRM-R scale, and the semi-
structured interviews with eight participants (two female and
six male) whose scores represented different quartiles on the
CYRM- R scale.
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TABLE 1 Demographic characteristics of eight CBOW who took part in the qualitative study.
Participant Ethnicity Gender Age Marital status Household head Conflict-link(s)
Agwa Lango Male 21 Married Mother Cattle raid
Ojok Lango Male 23 Married Self Cattle raid
Olinga Lango Male 21 Single Maternal uncle Cattle raid
Odongo Lango Male 24 Married Mother Cattle raid
Omodo Lango Male 17 Single Stepfather LRA
Bony Lango Male 22 Single Mother LRA
Akello Lango Female 17 Single Stepfather LRA
Akao Lango Female 17 Single Maternal uncle LRA
TABLE 2 Demographic characteristics of CBOW who took part in the
study.
n
Gender
Females 10 (28.6%)
Males 25 (71.4%)
Marital status
Single 26 (74.3%)
Married 7 (20%)
Divorced/separated 2 (5.7%)
Head of household
Mother 19 (54.3%)
Stepfather 4 (11.4%)
Maternal grandparents 3 (8.6%)
Own household 3 (8.6%)
Maternal uncle 6 (17.1%)
Ethnicity
Lango 34 (97.1%)
Acholi 1 (2.9%)
Birth status
Linked to cattle raids 20 (57%)
Linked to LRA 15 (43%)
Demographics
The mean age of respondents was 19.69. Majority of them
were males (71.4%, n: 25) compared to females (29.6%, n: 10).
Of these, 57% (n: 20) had their births linked to cattle raids,
while 43% (n: 15) were linked to LRA sexual violence. 1 (2.9%)
respondent identified with the Acholi ethnicity, while 34 (97.1%)
respondents identified with Lango ethnicity (see Table 2 for a
summary of the demographic characteristics of CBOW who
took part in the study).
At the time of the study, majority of the respondents were
single (74.3%, n: 26), followed by those that were married (20%,
n: 7), and those that had separated or divorced (5.7%, n: 2).
Out of the 35 respondents in the study, 54.3% (n: 19) lived
in households headed by their mothers, while 17.1% lived in
their mothers’ brother’s households. The remaining respondents
either lived in households headed by a stepfather (11.4%, n:
4), maternal grandparents (8.6%, n: 3), or own household as
married men (8.6%, n: 3).
The overall total, means and standard deviations in
resilience scores were calculated. As regards resilience overall
scores, the lowest on the CYRM-R scale was 28, which was well
above the standard minimum overall score of 17, and the highest
was 48 compared to the standard maximum overall score of
51. The results showed a total overall average resilience score of
38.31 (SD =5.098). In addition, participants aged 19 and above
had higher resilience scores (M=21.38, SD =1.360) compared
to those aged 15–18 years old (M=17.19, SD =1.360). Those
whose birth were linked to cattle raids had higher resilience
scores (M=39.35, SD =5.194) compared to respondents whose
births were linked to the LRA (M=36.93, SD =4.788). As
regards sex, individual male participants indicated more positive
association with resilience enhancing factors on the CYRM-
R scale compared to female respondents. That is; on average
male respondents answered “sometimes” to the 17 items (which
are considered in this study as resilience enhancing factors
for CBOW) compared to female respondents who on average
provided the answer “no.”
CBOW’s understanding of resilience
Whereas, the study applied a standardized measure of
resilience (CYRM-R), it was important for it to put into
perspective what the participants meant by resilience—and to
further project that meaning onto their respective CYRM-R
scores. The study did this by asking participants to describe
people who grow up well in spite of suffering adversity. Some
of their responses included the following;
. . . people who grow up well here even when they face
problems are known by their good relationship with other
people, and the extent to which they support each other.
They are known as God-fearing people (interview with
Omodo, 21 January 2022).
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Olinga (20 January, 2022), on his part stated that:
. . . they are courageous and strong because they have
gone through many challenges but still managed to handle
life in a way that makes them continue surviving.”
Another, Ojok, explained that:
“they are people with strong blood, because they
survived the hardship while in the bush” (20 January, 2022).
By referring to good social relationship, and support
networks that individuals draw on, participants underscored
the importance of connections and community in their
understanding of resilience. However, they also drew attention
to the importance of personal attributes such as faith or belief,
bravery and strength, among others. Important to note is that
their responses were not necessarily worded in the same way
local population explained resilience, but were descriptive and
rooted in their individual everyday experiences of how the
local social-cultural environment interacted with each of them.
This is crucial because another study that targeted non-CBOW
survivors of conflict-related sexual violence (also linked to the
LRA and cattle raids) in the same locality (some of whom were
mothers of the CBOW who participated in the study for this
current article) reported heavy use of metaphors to refer to
resilience.4For example, the older non-CBOW generations used
“roc”—a term denoting the processes of ecdysis that refers to
the shedding of old skin in arthropods (e.g., Cheong et al., 2015;
Wang et al., 2019), and the fallowing of arable land (as explained
by Lango elders in that study) to sum up the dominant meaning
of what they understood as resilience. As a survivor in that
particular study (with non-CBOW) stated; “the life we are living
now that the war is no longer here is, I can say, a life that has ‘roc’
{renewed}. We have peace. We sleep in the house. We dig {the
land}. We do things that we can because there is now no war. We
rest, and that’s why I say life has ‘roc’ [renewed].”5
Although the current article did not explore the nuanced
meaning of resilience among CBOW any further, the descriptive
as opposed to metaphoric language used by the older
non-CBOW generations could be explained by the extent
of socialization of CBOW in the Lango social-cultural
environment. In other words, CBOW may not have been able to
readily comprehend nuanced languages of their new contextual
environments because either they had spent longer periods
growing up outside of Lango (e.g., in Karamoja or in the LRA),
or were still young at the time of the study, or both.
4 Fieldwork notes for the CSRS study in northern Uganda, September
2019 to August 2020.
5 Participant UG-EOA-44 (CSRS study), Kilak county, Pader district in
northern Uganda, 19 February 2019.
Co-creating resilience in dierent sub
contexts
The results showed that individual CYRM-R items
contributed differently to the overall scores, even where
respondents had same scores. For example, four respondents,
each with total scores of 36, which is also one of two modes,
did not always draw uniform scores from the same items. On
the contrary, there was a mix of contributions across all the 17
items that make the CYRM-R. The difference in how CBOW
score similar items suggests that access to and interactions with
resilience-supportive (or protective) factors in their respective
environments differ for every CBOW and that different factors
contribute differently in the co-creation of resilience. This
suggestion also mirrors the different experiences CBOW had,
depending on whether one’s birth was linked to the LRA or to
the cattle raiding conflicts.
As the results above showed, participants whose birth
were linked to cattle raiding-related sexual violence had higher
resilience scores compared to those whose births were linked to
LRA sexual violence. The skewedness of the results in favor of
participants in Otuke/linked to cattle rustling, majority of whom
are male (n=18), is also reflected in the results on sex above,
where male participants performed better compared to female
participants (majority of whom were linked to the LRA and
hailed from Oyam). Whereas the analysis could not determine
the reasons for this variation, participants in the cattle raiding
conflict were older in ages compared to those associated with
the LRA. And, as the results further showed, those aged 19 years
and older (15 of whom were linked to cattle raids and only 5 to
the LRA) showed higher resilience levels compared to those aged
15–18 years (11 of whom were linked to the LRA and only 4 to
the cattle raids). Moreover, there can be a possibility of resilience
factors at different levels of the social-cultural environment
behaving differently in Otuke compared to Oyam, even though
both districts are located in Lango; and how CBOW linked to
the LRA are perceived and “accepted” compared to those linked
to cattle raids. These differences are important in mediating
how resilience can be understood in different (sub) contexts
associated with CBOW, and for the design of integration policies
and programmes.
Variations were further emphasized by all eight interviewees.
For example, interviewees identified how family and community
differentially related with them as important factors in their
lives. Within the family, most CBOW identified mothers as
particularly significant, while others associated more with
grandparents. Some relied more on other members of their
mothers’ extended families, particularly mothers’ brothers, their
agnates and their children. Relationships with stepfathers were
also singled out as significant.
Often, as will be discussed in subsequent sections,
participants spoke about their birth fathers when referring
to stigma and denial of right to critical resilience resources
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like land—an important resource controlled by male elders
of respective patriclans in Lango. The absence of fathers who
could have guaranteed, by affiliation, their access to such
resources suggested that birth fathers were an important (but
missing) resource that could have enhanced the co-creation of
their resilience.
Often, the prevailing social-cultural environment shaped the
nature of bonds associated with CBOW. For example, when
asked how his life was growing up, 21-year old male participant
Olinga who had an overall score of 45 (second highest) on the
CYRM-R scale stated, among other things:
Life did not start well for me, because I was rejected
by my relatives when I returned from captivity. Many of
them were scared of me due to my being a male child. They
thought my existence would bring land wrangles among
the family members since there were already many boys
at home.
Interviewees also identified factors in both the immediate
and broader community they lived in as significant in their lives.
These included peers and friends, school community (students
and teachers), mother’s patrilineage and religious leaders. These
were sometimes labeled as supportive and sometimes as non-
supportive, demonstrating how resilience factors may work
differently at different times and for different CBOW. The
significance of these bonds and relationships was demonstrated
by how interviewees apportioned their experiences of access
and denial to familial and communal resources they perceived
as important in enhancing their livelihoods. For example, 17-
year-old female participant Akello who was one of the three
respondents with the second highest overall CYRM-R score of
45, explained the role her teachers played in her life;
While at school, my life was made difficult by some
students. They would backbite me and laugh at my being
born {a CBOW}. When I reported this to my teachers, they
encouraged me and asked me to ignore those bad words.
Often, the teachers gave them a punishment so they could
stop disturbing me in school.
Studies already showed that stigma directed at CBOW
often stem from their perceived birth status, and interacts
with already existing intersectional issues such as gender,
disabilities, local cultural jural rules and practices, and poverty
to continuously diminish opportunities for integration (e.g.,
Apio, 2016;Denov and Lakor, 2017;Neenan, 2017;Ruseishvili,
2021). The significance of familial and communal bonds and
relationships to resilience in CBOW is explored further in the
section on relational factors below.
Further analysis suggests that all eight participants
interviewed found personal agency, which they variously
stated came in form of skills, a positive mind, a peace of mind,
spirituality and being industrious, essential in helping CBOW
define, access and interact with these familial and communal
bonds and relationships in a mutually beneficial way. In this
way, CBOW and their wider environments are seen co-creating
or co-facilitating prospects of integration.6For example,
20-year-old Agwa, a male participant in Otuke, explained that
his mother gave birth to him and his younger brother during
her captivity in Karamoja. But upon escaping, she resettled
them in her parents’ homestead at Otuke. He further explained
that upon the death of his widowed grandmother, members
of his mother’s patriclan (mother’s brothers), expelled him, his
brother and his mother from the land. He added that it was his
industriousness that gave him a new home:
A good Samaritan who owned a farm in the community
came to our rescue and we are now living on his land.
We normally work for him for free, like farming, selling
his animals, and visiting his children in school so he can
continue providing shelter for us.
Another, 17-year-old male participant Omodo who lived
with his mother, stepfather and their two children in Oyam,
and had the second lowest overall score on the CYRM-R scale
at 29, explained that he started his own rice-growing farm on a
wetland and was looking forward to accumulating capital to start
a better life elsewhere. He added that the wetland was a resource
nobody owned, compared to his stepfather’s land, which he had
no chance accessing or ever owning.
Another, 23-year-old male participant Ojok explained that
he undertook a joint brick-making business with two friends for
a number of years and used the money to solve his family’s needs
and pay his school fees. He further stated he bought a piece of
land to move his mother and brother upon their grandparents’
death when his mother’s brothers sent them away from the
family land. Not only was Ojok able to put his industriousness
to good use, but he did it in concert with youth from his
local community. Together with them, Ojok transformed his
agency into a means of breaking down boundaries that separated
him as a CBOW, and other youth in his community. In other
words, his example demonstrated that CBOW were able to co-
construct important connections and relationships within their
own communities to enhance their wellbeing.
These examples show the important role CBOW’s agency
play in their own integration. The concept of resilience
enables CBOW to demonstrate their role in co-creating their
own integration in their wider environments. Further, the
examples suggest that individual CBOWs depend on their own
material and social-cultural environment to reinforce resilience.
Subsequent discussions of the analysis will therefore draw
6 Already resilience scholar Theron et al. (2021)who has studied
resilience in adolescents in southern Africa argue that Resilience is co-
facilitated by individuals and their wider material and social-cultural
environment, and that neither can do it alone.
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on personal and relational aspects of CBOW’s experiences to
elaborate on findings for their full effects.
Relational factors
In this study, and based on inputs from interviewees,
the concept of family included mother, mother’s natal family
members, stepfathers, and, in the case of an interviewee who
was married or had a partner, his or her own marital family.
The local extended family notion sometimes incorporated
members of a mother’s entire patriclan. For example, some male
interviewees singled members of their mothers’ patriclans as
being responsible for denying them right to land. However,
interviewees also often spoke about important connections
and relationships with the material and wider social-cultural
environment with which they interacted. But the significance
of mothers in CBOW lives in particular, often positioned
mothers as common denominators in how interviewees
viewed and positioned themselves within the prevailing social-
cultural environment. The analysis has therefore taken into
consideration these contextual issues in defining aspects of
relational resilience for CBOW in this study.
Further analysis suggests that respondents relate differently
with resilience “enhancing” or “protective” resources within
their respective social-ecological environment. An average
CBOW has stronger resilience-supportive bonds within the
familial environment compared to bonds with other entities in
the wider community. Generally, interviewees identified and
associated mothers, mother’s natal families, and mother’s marital
family as important reference points within their respective
families. These reference points are where bonds forged can
work to co-create resilience in CBOW. Weakened or ruptured
bonds can limit, interrupt, suspend or prevent interactions and
relationships that are enabling for resilience in CBOW.
The nature of relationship and how a CBOW interacted with
the household head, was important in determining the extent
of available resources CBOW had at their disposal. Important
was that the “available resources” for households headed by
mothers were extremely limited at the backdrop of a largely
patriarchal community that relied majorly on customary land
for its economic wellbeing, and this affected the extent of
resilience resources participants could drew from. For example,
participant Ojok who scored lowest at the overall CYRM-R scale
level, stated that his mother was thrown out by her brothers
when his grandparents died, interrupting the lives of Ojok and
his family. Ojok, his mother and his brother were only able to
resume their lives when they located another piece of land, which
was barely enough to meet their farming needs (interview with
Ojok, 14 November 2021).
Co-creating resilience in CBOW
Further analysis of the individual items on the CYRM-R
scale returned a mean score of 3.0 for the item “Getting an
education is important to me,” followed by a mean score of 2.77
for the item “I know how to behave/act in different situations. .. ”
These findings not only correlate with other studies that identify
access to education as an important priority for CBOW, as
expressed by mothers (e.g., Janine Clark, 2021, p. 1,080), but
add voice to interviewees’ responses which suggested getting an
education changed their lives. For example, interviewee Olinga
(with second highest score of 45) who was at a teachers’ training
institute stated that not only had people in his community
offered him a leadership role, but he was able to apply to become
a head teacher at a primary school (interview with Olinga, 20
January 2022). Importantly, interviewees associated vocational
skills and knowledge with more opportunities to improve on
their economic wellbeing. For example 21 year old Agwa stated;
I had a friend called [] who taught me how to weld and I
was earning small amount of money from it. . .with the little
[skill] I learnt in welding, I took my mother’s advice to move
to Lira and I took an additional course to advance my skills.
I now have a certificate in metal fabrication and I work in a
better place (interview with Agwa, 19 January 2022).
However, majority (six interviewees) stated they were either
still in primary school or had dropped out. Lack of school fees
was often cited.
The importance of Agwa’s experience was not only shown
in the skills he had gained and put to use, but how he acquired
it. By referring to a friend as the source of his training in
welding, Agwa demonstrated the importance of connections and
relationships with resources in his wider environment and how
they helped him to co-produce and utilize skills to enhance
his wellbeing.
On another note, lowest scores on the CYRM-R scale were
for the item “My friends stand by me when times are hard,”
followed by “I am treated fairly in my community.” Importantly,
these scores (as with overall CYRM-R scores cited above)
correlate with interviewees’ perception of how they related with
other people in their communities. A common denominator
most cited was stigma, an important resilience-diminishing
factor which differentially influenced the lives of interviewees.
Whereas all eight interviewees complained about stigma
linked to their birth, each of them identified and perceived
it differently. Some stated that they experienced stigma
differently from different individuals within their respective
families, while others associated it with different people in
their wider communities. Still, most interviewees experienced
stigma from within their families, neighborhoods and schools.
These differences in perceived stigma from within families,
neighborhoods and communities more broadly demonstrate
complex layers of factors that interact with each other to define
the wellbeing of a CBOW. Moreover, they also demonstrated
clarity on the bonds that CBOW perceived as important in
their integration.
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For example, 17-year-old Akello whose birth was linked to
the LRA cited stigma as defining her relationship with members
of her community. She stated;
My life has not been good in the community. Majority
of community members abuse me that I am the product
of Kony {LRA leader} and that because of that, I do not
deserve to stay in my village. Others say I am fatherless
and this makes me feel so sad (interview with Akello, 22
January 2022).
Another, 17-year-old male participant Omodo, whose birth
was also linked to the LRA sexual violence, and had a
total score of 29 (second lowest), complained about on-going
stigma, stating:
In the community, they treat me bad like I am not one
of them. Some of them tell me to my face that I do not belong
to that place and that I should look for my home. Sometimes,
I hear them whispering that my stepfather is not my real
father, and that I am a bastard. This makes me feel out of
place and I begin regretting why I was born (interview with
Omodo, 21 January 2022).
The narrative about stigma was not any different for
interviewees whose births were linked to cattle rustling. For
example, 21-year-old Agwa (whose younger brother was also
fathered by a cattle rustler) elaborated their experiences, which
can be associated with most CBOW. He stated:
In the village, we also face a lot of stigma from both
relatives and community members. For example, when my
brother and I are walking around the village, people point
at us while saying “those are children of the Karamojong,”
and this makes us feel out of place. But there is nothing we
can do.
For participant Ojok, stigma was felt all around. He stated,
“I and my brother are called ‘ogwangogwang’ [wild cats]
by our mother’s relatives and other people in the community
where we live. They keep saying we are a waste of resources
because it is just a matter of time before we steal all of the
cows and head back to Karamoja” (interview with Ojok, 20
January 2022).7
On her part, 17-year-old Female participant Akao, whose
birth was linked to the LRA sexual violence and had PR score of
19, emphasized that stigma was likely to remain in her life. She
stated, “...even if you grow up well, removing that name [stigma]
from the minds of people is very difficult” (interview with Akao
on 14 November 2021). With such a high score Akao, who found
being referred to as “Kony’s child” stigmatizing, on the one
7 The cattle rustling activities in northern Uganda is associated with
groups from the Karamoja region.
hand, demonstrated the complexity of associating resilience with
CBOW who continue living in their mothers’ natal families and
communities—particularly those that experienced the conflicts.
On the other hand, her example showed that whereas CBOW
continue to experience adversity, they are not stuck in it.
These testimonies further demonstrate just how complex,
and intricately linked to the wider social-cultural environment,
CBOW’s perceptions of their personal resources were, both as
children and as young adults in northern Uganda. Whereas,
perceived stigma indicated the extent of disconnections and
ruptures in bonds and relationships CBOW had with individuals
in their wider environments, at another level stigma clarified
who was available to support the co-facilitation of resilience in
CBOW. This was especially pronounced where such individuals
also had control over resources perceived by CBOW as
important in their lives, such as land, money for school fees
and emotional support. These individuals were important in
the unlocking of such resources. The health or strength of
bonds was felt in the extent to which those bonds were essential
in facilitating protection or access to protective resources for
CBOW. For example, interviewee Omodo stated that his most
debilitating experience was the refusal of his stepfather to meet
the cost of his education, which forced him to drop out of
school. Omodo further stated that he had come to terms with
the possibility that his stepfather would not allow him access to
his lands. As such Omodo stated he was investing in rice growing
on a swampy patch of land that belonged to no one in particular
with the aim of accumulating funds to start a new life elsewhere.
Bonds of kinship and community were therefore important
in either enhancing or diminishing resilience in CBOW. By
linking perceptions of stigma to the nature and health of bonds
of kinship and communal relationships, CBOW demonstrated
that factors associated with their personal resilience did not
always act independently. In other words the factors linked to
individual CBOW agency and those linked to relationships tend
to interact with each other to enhance or diminish resilience in
CBOW, suggesting they were best addressed concurrently for
the benefit of CBOW.
Legacies of harms on protective factors
Interviews suggested that bonds and relationships in the
wider environments were more often than not also struggling
with the effects of harms suffered during conflict, which tend
to impact on how they relate with CBOW. For example,
interviewees identified relatives who were themselves struggling
with stigma and rejection, alcohol abuse, poverty and therefore
inability to meet basic needs at home. For example, 24-year-old
Odongo whose birth was linked to cattle rustling stated that, “My
mother was always weak, and I keep thinking it was the effect of
the alcohol she abused. She simply took too much alcohol and
it was bad for us” (interview with Odongo, 20 January 2022).
This example shows how CBOW’s experiences of resilience-
influencing factors are linked to other people and in the broader
social ecology.
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Interviewees also demonstrated how harms they suffered
during armed conflict, not necessarily linked to their birth,
influence their experiences of resilience. These included
abduction, physical and mental health-related issues. For
example, 24-year old Odongo whose birth was linked to the
sexual violence associated with cattle rustling, complained about
a chronic health problem he sustained when he was abducted in
childhood by the LRA. He states:
Another problem that I am going through is severe
pain in my foot. There is something which keeps growing
inside my foot, and I do not understand what it is. It started
when I roamed the bush as a child abducted by the LRA.
At times when it grows big and protrudes, I can cut it with a
razorblade, and sometimes I limp or walk like a lame person.
I feel I need to get an operation so that I can walk well but I
do not have the money to go to the hospital (interview with
Odongo, 22 January, 2022).
Odongo’s complaint of a crippling chronic foot pain has
significant implications for the contribution of both his personal
resilience (as it affects his mobility and involvement in physical
activities at home and in the community), and relational
resilience as physical disability is often a source of stigma and
rejection in most rural communities in Lango (e.g., HRW,
2010). Moreover, Odongo also complained about stigma linked
to his birth, and a mother who abused alcohol. His, like for
many other CBOW, was therefore a constellation of resilience-
challenging factors linked to his war experiences, and layers of
other everyday social-cultural and contextual factors.
Still, within the same conflict, participants had different
experiences, often influenced by a number of other factors
such as gender, age, marital status of mother before and
after abduction, absence or presence of maternal grandparents,
etc. Important to note is that the two conflicts happened in
communities that have similar social-cultural contexts - with
varying degrees of patriarchal under/overtones. In some cases
the CBOW mothers were sexually abused by both LRA and cattle
raiders. Also, in one of the cases, a CBOW whose birth was
linked to sexual violence during cattle raids was abducted by the
LRA for a period of time. Whereas there are differences even
within same group, the study did not dig further. Rather the
study aimed at assessing whether CBOW demonstrate resilience
to begin a debate on what might explain the findings. This was
therefore a limited study.
Conclusion
The scores on the CYRM-R scale demonstrated
by the respondents showed that CBOW were not
merely stuck in their problems, past and present. The
scores demonstrated variation in resilience; with some
participants demonstrating high levels of resilience in
the face of significant adversities. The findings indicate
CBOW were confronting the realities of their birth
status, and making the best use of their resources and
those within their wider environments to adapt and
overcome difficulties.
Interviewees further showed the extent of resilience
enhancing resources available, what these resources were, where
they were located, and how harms suffered compromised
their roles in co-producing resilience in CBOW in northern
Uganda. Participants identified having supportive connections
with family—with mothers being the most accessible, and other
people in the community, acquiring skills to engage in economic
activities, supportive school environment, having a positive
mind, and spirituality as important resilience-enhancing factors
for CBOW.
This however did not mean that commonly known
experiences of CBOW such as stigma and rejection had
altogether disappeared. On the contrary, interviewees suggested
that they still suffered stigma, rejection, health problems,
poverty, and lack of economic opportunities, among others.
Limitations of the study
The empirical results reported herein should be considered
in the light of some conceptual, contextual and methodological
limitations. First, whereas other studies have demonstrated that
the CYRM-R has good psychometric properties, the current
study did not evaluate reliability and consistency extensively
due to limitations of time, and the study objectives. The study
however noted the assumptions inherent in some of the items.
Specifically, the statements “Friends stand by me when times
are hard,” and “I feel that I belong at my school” assume
that all of the targeted young people will have friends, and
will be in school respectively. The current study applied all
the 17 CYRM-R measures even when such statements did
not apply. To ensure a robust outcome, the author used a
mixed methods approach, which enabled a set of qualitative
interviews with some of the respondents to complement and
enrich the discussions of the findings regarding the CYRM-
R. Thus, triangulation of data from the CYRM-R scores and
the interviews supported and strengthened observations and
discussions. Future investigations on validity and consistency
of the measure for CBOW in different contexts and with larger
samples can contribute in enriching the field.
Second, the CYRM-R is a standardized culturally sensitive
measure. However, it does not have a Luo-version, for the
language group (Lango) that participated in the study. The
author translated the tool herself. In the absence of piloting
the translated version, and to ensure some level of accuracy,
the author had it back translated by an independent local Luo
(Lango) speaker.
Frontiers in Political Science 12 frontiersin.org
89
Apio 10.3389/fpos.2022.874548
Third, whereas the study had set out to involve an
equal number of male and female, female participants proved
more difficult to recruit than male. Local contacts attributed
this to stigma and early marriage. Families were prone to
concealing their female CBOW’s identity to increase future
marriage prospects. Accordingly, the sample showed a skewed
representation of the sexes, with males taking the larger share (n
=25) compared to females (n=10).
Because the generalizability of convenience samples is
unclear, the conclusions derived from the study sample
may be biased, i.e., sample estimates may not be reflective
of true effects among the larger CBOW population,
as the sample may not accurately reflect the CBOW
more generally.
Additional explorations to compare resilience in
CBOW and non-CBOW, and the relationship between
intergenerational harms and resilience (mothers of CBOW,
CBOW and the children of CBOW), and how gender
may influence resilience in CBOW in different contexts
are recommended.
Data availability statement
The original contributions presented in the
study are included in the article/supplementary
material, further inquiries can be directed to the
corresponding author.
Ethics statement
The studies involving human participants were reviewed
and approved by LHIREC—Lacor Hospital Research Ethics
Committee (Gulu, Uganda), accredited by the Uganda
National Council for Science and Technology (UNCST).
Written informed consent to participate in this study
was provided by the participants’ legal guardian/next
of kin.
Author contributions
The author confirms being the sole contributor of this work
and has approved it for publication.
Funding
The field research was self-funded with additional primary
data drawn from a (CSRS) study supported by the European
Research Council under grant number 724518.
Conflict of interest
The author declares that the research was conducted in the
absence of any commercial or financial relationships that could
be construed as a potential conflict of interest.
Publisher’s note
All claims expressed in this article are solely those of the
authors and do not necessarily represent those of their affiliated
organizations, or those of the publisher, the editors and the
reviewers. Any product that may be evaluated in this article, or
claim that may be made by its manufacturer, is not guaranteed
or endorsed by the publisher.
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Frontiers in Political Science 15 frontiersin.org
92
TYPE Original Research
PUBLISHED 14 October 2022
DOI 10.3389/fpos.2022.945617
OPEN ACCESS
EDITED BY
Anitta Kynsilehto,
University of Tampere, Finland
REVIEWED BY
Elina Penttinen,
University of Helsinki, Finland
Bogdan Voicu,
Romanian Academy, Romania
Tatiana Sanchez Parra,
Pontifical Javeriana
University, Colombia
*CORRESPONDENCE
Kirstin Wagner
k.w.wagner@bham.ac.uk
SPECIALTY SECTION
This article was submitted to
Peace and Democracy,
a section of the journal
Frontiers in Political Science
RECEIVED 16 May 2022
ACCEPTED 22 September 2022
PUBLISHED 14 October 2022
CITATION
Wagner K, Tasker H, Vahedi L,
Bartels SA and Lee S (2022) Born
between war and peace: Situating
peacekeeper-fathered children in
research on children born of war.
Front. Polit. Sci. 4:945617.
doi: 10.3389/fpos.2022.945617
COPYRIGHT
©2022 Wagner, Tasker, Vahedi, Bartels
and Lee. This is an open-access article
distributed under the terms of the
Creative Commons Attribution License
(CC BY). The use, distribution or
reproduction in other forums is
permitted, provided the original
author(s) and the copyright owner(s)
are credited and that the original
publication in this journal is cited, in
accordance with accepted academic
practice. No use, distribution or
reproduction is permitted which does
not comply with these terms.
Born between war and peace:
Situating peacekeeper-fathered
children in research on children
born of war
Kirstin Wagner1*, Heather Tasker2, Luissa Vahedi3,
Susan A. Bartels4and Sabine Lee1
1Department of History, University of Birmingham, Birmingham, United Kingdom, 2Department of
Socio-Legal Studies, York University, Toronto, ON, Canada, 3Brown School, Washington University in
St. Louis, St. Louis, MO, United States, 4Department of Emergency Medicine, Queen’s University,
Kingston, ON, Canada
In the last two decades, academic research has made significant progress
exploring the life courses of so-called “children born of war” (CBOW). Similarly,
the unintended consequences of peacekeeping operations, including the
experiences of victims of sexual exploitation and abuse, and children born
of these interactions, have received preliminary academic attention. This
paper compares peacekeeper-fathered children (PKFC) to other CBOW to
determine how these two groups relate to one another. We draw on research
conducted in two peacekeeping contexts where personnel have been accused
of fathering and abandoning children (Haiti and the Democratic Republic
of Congo) to empirically situate PKFC within the category of CBOW. We
introduce 5,388 micro-narratives from Haitian and Congolese community
members (Haiti n=2,541, DRC =2,858) and 113 qualitative interviews with
mothers/grandmothers of PKFC (Haiti n=18, DRC n=60) and PKFC (DRC
n=35) to investigate how PKFC fit in the CBOW paradigm. Our findings
demonstrate that many of the multi-level adversities faced by PKFC resemble
those of the broader reference group. Given their shared developmental needs
and experiences of exclusion, we conclude that PKFC constitute CBOW and
ought to be included in conceptualisations pertaining to them. Acknowledging
PKFC as CBOW oers new opportunities for policy development to (a)
enhance protection and support of all CBOW and (b) remind states of their
commitments to uphold the rights of all children.
KEYWORDS
children born of war, peacekeeper-fathered children, United Nations, peacekeeping,
sexual abuse, children’s rights, Haiti, Democratic Republic of the Congo
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Introduction
My father left my mother while she was pregnant, and
my mother gave birth to me when he had already left. I
don’t talk to him now. When I see other children with their
fathers, I feel bad. I feel hurt when I see MONUSCO agents
passing by because other children have their fathers, but I
don’t have mine [.. . ] People call me “daughter of a bitch.”
When they do, I feel hurt and shocked about it. I do feel like
I belong here, but people talk so much. They say that they
will chase me because I am a foreigner [. . . ] I would like to
tell him[father] to think about me wherever he is. He needs
to know that he left me in DR Congo. I am suffering. He
should know that I don’t have a family. If my mother dies,
who will raise me? (Mado1, 10–15 years old).
Since the 1990s, widespread reports implicating United
Nations (UN) peacekeepers in the sexual exploitation and abuse
(SEA) of local populations have raised concerns regarding
the work of the UN and the effectiveness of Peacekeeping
Operations (PKOs). Related to these allegations, journalists
brought the issue of paternity claims resulting from SEA to
public attention (Powell, 2001). Due to the socio-economic
and political insecurity in regions where missions operate,
peacekeeper-fathered children (PKFC)—like Mado—are often
conceived within unequal economic, power, and gender
relations that are further reflected in the children’s circumstances
growing up.
Mado’s father, a Uruguayan peacekeeper accused of
perpetrating SEA during his deployment in eastern Democratic
Republic of Congo (DRC), left the UN-mission in Beni before
Mado was born. Mado’s mother, a Congolese civilian who
started exchanging sexual services in return for daily goods
as a minor, has been deeply affected by the socio-economic
consequences of her pregnancy. To provide Mado with food,
clothes and provisional shelter, she continues to engage in
transactional sex with peacekeepers. Since she has yet to
receive any support from the father or his military, she
is unable to meet Mado’s more long-term needs including
her education.
The above snapshot highlights the complex relationships
PKFC have with their families and communities. Affiliated with
a force deployed to serve and protect civilians, Mado describes
the far-reaching implications of being conceived through SEA,
including the stigma associated with her identity. She relates
her experience with ostracization and exclusion both to her
mother’s status in society (she is called the “daughter of a
bitch”) and her father’s foreign background (she is chased
for being a “foreigner”). Set apart from local children by her
1 Mado, a pseudonym, participated in semi-structured interviews in the
DRC in 2018.
parentage, limited familial network and access to resources,
she draws comparisons to her peers, who have relationships
with their fathers, and live in better financial situations. Her
comments suggest that she attributes her adverse conditions
to her father’s absence and longs to be reunited with him in
order to improve her circumstances. In communicating her
adversities on multiple interacting levels (identity issues, lack
of care and protection, socio-economic discrimination), Mado’s
story draws parallels to the difficult position of children born of
war (CBOW) globally.
The emergence of CBOW as a field of academic interest has
led to a small but growing body of work that conceptualizes the
lives of individuals who are born as a result of sexual relations
between a soldier (member of a warring faction, paramilitary
group, rebel or any other person directly participating in
warfare) and a community member (Mochmann and Larsen,
2008;Mochmann and Lee, 2010;Lee and Glaesmer, 2021). The
theoretical framing of CBOW includes children fathered by
peacekeeping forces, therefore, it has often been assumed that
PKFC’s context of conception and related needs mirror those
of other CBOW groups. However, the life courses of PKFC
are vastly under-studied and little is known regarding how
their childhood and adolescence experiences compare to those
described in the CBOW literature (Carpenter, 2007;Mochmann
and Larsen, 2008;Mochmann and Lee, 2010). Despite recent
advances in understanding their unique connection to post-
conflict communities (Vahedi et al., 2020;Wagner et al., 2020,
2022a,b), to date, neither the UN, civil society organizations
nor academia have investigated how PKFC are situated amongst
those more traditionally recognized as CBOW (Lee and
Glaesmer, 2021).
As a comparatively recent phenomenon, there appears to be
a disconnect between the categorization of PKFC in different
streams of academic literature and policy engagement. While
CBOW scholars have considered PKFC part of the CBOW
paradigm, in the peacekeeping literature the terminology has
not been applied consistently. This discrepancy is illustrated in
UN policies which argue that PKFC’s needs are better reflected
in protocols for victims of peacekeeper-perpetrated SEA than
CBOW, referring to children like Mado as “children born of
SEA” (UN General Assembly, 2022). This framing is common in
writings on SEA, arguably denying PKFC their own identity and
limiting those born of consensual sexual relations their rights
to support. While employing a policy-oriented perspective that
focuses on procedural gaps in providing victims of SEA with
assistance is essential in shaping more appropriate responses
to PKFC wellbeing, considering them secondary victims of
exploitation/abuse may limit the focus on them as a category
of war-affected populations with distinct needs and rights
(Simi´
c and O’Brien, 2014;Blau, 2016). Hence, there is a gap
between the theoretical understanding of PKFC in the CBOW
literature on the one side, and the political understanding of
“children born of SEA” in peacekeeping on the other. This
article addresses this gap and advances the categorization of
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PKFC by introducing empirical evidence on their life courses
that informs broader conceptual questions regarding how PKFC
should be recognized and protected through international legal
mechanisms and regulations. Based on original research from
Haiti (2017) and the DRC (2018) we empirically situate PKFC in
the CBOW literature and describe how they fit into the current
nomenclatura and broader CBOW category.
Literature review
Peacekeeper-fathered children
Sexual relations between peacekeepers and beneficiaries of
assistance are prohibited by the UN’s zero tolerance policy
(UN Secretariat, 2003); however, such relations have repeatedly
resulted in children being conceived between members of UN
peacekeeping forces and local women and girls (Simi´
c and
O’Brien, 2014;Lee and Bartels, 2019). PKFC may be conceived
through comparatively consensual relationships, including
dating and long-term partnerships, through transactional
interactions, or through sexually abusive acts, including rape or
sexual abuse of a child2. Given that peacekeeping occurs in a
context of armed conflict and insecurity, scholars have queried
the degree to which individuals can give free and informed
consent to engage in sexual relations with peacekeepers, arguing
that most sexual interactions in these contexts are exploitative
(Burke, 2014;Mudgway, 2017). Others have argued that
positioning all sexual interactions between peacekeepers and
locals as exploitative denies women’s agency and oversimplifies
the complicated relations all humans navigate in making
decisions about sex (Simi´
c, 2013).
While the issue of sexual misconduct by peacekeepers has
attracted significant academic attention, the children born as
a result have not. Preliminary evidence suggests that local
populations in areas of UNPK deployment have coined terms
referring to children fathered by peacekeepers that draw on
the social, cultural, and political context of their conception
(e.g., “ECOMOG babies,” “little MINUSTAHS,” “blue helmet
babies”) (Olonisakin and Aning, 1999;Myers et al., 2004;Vahedi
et al., 2022). Journalists and researchers have sometimes adopted
the expression “peace-babies” to describe children fathered by
peacekeepers (e.g., Higate and Henry, 2004;Rudén and Utas,
2009;Simi´
c, 2013). Since this constitutes a euphemistic label that
runs the risk of obscuring the potentially violent circumstances
of their conception and later developmental needs, we introduce
the expression “peacekeeper-fathered children” to provide a
more neutral term that minimizes research and presentation
2 The Department of Peace Operations, in line with the rest of the UN
system and following the principle established by the UN Convention on
the Rights of the Child, considers a child to be any person under the age
of 18 regardless of the age of majority in their home state.
bias. The abbreviation “PKFC” is used to refer to all individuals
who are fathered by a member of a UNPK force (military, police
or civilian) and born to a local mother, irrespective of their age3
or the circumstances of their conception.
Due to the lack of reliable data and extreme magnitude
of underreporting of peacekeeper-perpetrated SEA (Grady,
2016), no scholar to date has attempted to estimate the global
population of PKFC. While there is limited systematic research
on PKFC, a review of the literature (academic and gray) shows
that their existence is not a rarity. From a report by the
Geneva Institute for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces,
an estimated 25,000 PKFC were conceived during the UN’s
transitional authority in Cambodia, and 6,600 PKFC born in
the aftermath of the UN observer mission in Liberia (Bastick
et al., 2007). The number of children fathered by peacekeepers
during the “ECOMOG Baby Boom” in West Africa has been
estimated to range from 25,000 (Cooper, 1998;Grieg, 2001)
to 250,000 (Muawuya Zakariah Adam Gombe, 2010; p. 1).
Reportedly, in Liberia, sexual relations between peacekeepers
and local civilians were so widespread that several NGOs and
orphanages were established to cope with the struggles of the
abandoned mothers and children (Gaylor, 2001;Rumble and
Mehta, 2007). Similar situations were reported from Kosovo
where radio advertisements raised awareness regarding the
negative consequences of having children with peacekeepers,
indicating that the matter was of a significant scale during the
Yugoslav wars (Grieg, 2001). In Sierra Leone, mothers of PKFC
with foreign fathers are said to have lined the route to the airport
when previous contingents left, begging peacekeepers for money
to raise their children (Rehn and Sirleaf, 2002). Journalistic and
academic research from Haiti and the DRC further demonstrates
the high numbers and high needs of PKFC in numerous contexts
(Sieff, 2016;McVeigh, 2017;Vahedi et al., 2020;Wagner et al.,
2022a).
In line with these mission-specific examples, researchers
have suggested that the number of PKFC conceived during
individual UN missions is likely between several hundreds to
thousands (Simi´
c and O’Brien, 2014;O’Neill, 2019). While the
DRC and Haiti missions are among the first that have received
sustained attention regarding the births of PKFC, children
fathered and deserted by peacekeepers likely exist in many, if
not all, countries that have hosted PKOs (Duffy, 2019). This brief
review of the literature suggests that (a) PKFC are a significant
population of global importance across different geopolitical
contexts, (b) PKFC are underreported and under researched;
as such, very little is known regarding their life courses. Since
both the numbers and realities of the children remain, to a large
3 PKFC represent people at varying periods of life, from infants, to
children, adolescents and adults depending on the years of operation the
PKO. Hence, the term ‘children’ does not refer to the naturalvulnerabilities
of childhood specified in international human rights frameworks but
instead describes PKFC as ospring of peacekeepers.
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extent, subject of speculation, scholars have voiced the urgency
of empirical research that situates PKFC in the literature on
war-affected children (Rumble and Mehta, 2007).
Children born of war
Children fathered by peacekeeping forces and born to local
mothers are considered part of a global group of children
called CBOW (Carpenter, 2007;Mochmann and Larsen, 2008;
Mochmann and Lee, 2010). The term CBOW refers to four
broad categories of children: (1) children of enemy soldiers, (2)
children of occupation forces, (3) children of child soldiers and
(4) children of peacekeeping forces (Lee and Glaesmer, 2021).
In the mid-1990s, academics and journalists started exploring
the life courses of children born of international armed conflict
(e.g., children born during the two World Wars, post-war
occupations, the Vietnam War and the Balkan War), creating
awareness of their situations in different contexts and temporal
periods (Bass, 1996;McKelvey, 1999;Grieg, 2001). Recent
developments in the field draw attention to the lived experiences
of children born of internal conflict, focusing predominantly
on children born of conflict-related sexual violence (CRSV)4
including children born to mothers forcibly abducted by the
Lord’s Resistance Army (Apio, 2016;Denov and Cadieux Van
Vliet, 2020;Baines and Oliveira, 2021), children born of forced
marriage and rape by Boko Haram fighters (Matfess, 2017),
and children born as a result of genocidal rape in Rwanda
(Banyanga et al., 2017;Denov and Lakor, 2018;Baines and
Oliveira, 2021).
Despite growing data around CBOW and the challenges they
face, who constitutes and does not constitute a CBOW is an
ongoing matter of debate. Furthermore, numerous recognized
populations of CBOW remain neglected from academic research
(Lee and Glaesmer, 2021). Exemplary of this omission are
PKFC, who, despite being considered one of the four main
subgroups of CBOW, have been almost entirely unexplored.
Thus, there is limited evidence that the social and economic
impact of PKFC’s heritage resembles that of children fathered
by occupation or enemy forces. It has sometimes been argued
that including PKFC in the definition of CBOW may be
unhelpful in driving policy agendas forward since their context
of conception differs in that (a) PKFC may be born of more
nuanced and less overtly violent sexual relations than other
groups of CBOW (such as those born of genocidal rape), and
(b) PKFC are fathered by individuals from a force employed
to serve and protect the local population and thus, there may
4 While CBOW are not limited to children conceived through sexual
violence, recent academic and policy attention has largely focused on
them. The United Kingdom (UK)’s 2021 ‘Call to Action’ to ensure the rights
and wellbeing of children born of CRSV is one such example.
not be the same level of enmity toward them in comparison
to occupation contexts (Lee, 2017;Lee and Glaesmer, 2021).
Hence, there is some uncertainty as to whether the experiences
of PKFC are covered by broader conceptualisations pertaining
to CBOW.
Present paper
PKFC are comparatively understudied and are often
excluded from international policy engagement on CBOW.
On the basis of fieldwork conducted in Haiti (2017) and
the DRC (2018), this article addresses substantial knowledge
gaps surrounding their life courses, and for the first time,
empirically situates them within the category of CBOW.
Since CBOW are defined by vulnerabilities which they do
not share with other war-affected populations (Deli´
c et al.,
2017), we understand PKFC to comprise CBOW if they
share these vulnerabilities. To describe the lived experiences
of CBOW along with how PKFC’s lived experiences may
conform to or deviate from, we have consulted previously
reported challenges for CBOW. More specifically, we have
synthesized the available multi-disciplinary literature published
over the past two decades using the socio-ecological model
that was introduced by Lee and Glaesmer (2021). This
integrated model was used as a heuristic tool to compare
and contrast the vulnerabilities of PKFC and CBOW at
the micro, meso, exo, and macro level, offering multi-level
insights into how PKFC are situated vis-a-vis CBOW and
thus should best be defined and categorized. We will use
this model to study the circumstances of PKFC and evidence
similarities and differences in their characteristics, addressing
broader conceptual questions regarding their place within global
regulatory systems and frameworks.
Methods
We draw on case studies from two post-colonial states
that have hosted peacekeeping operations, Haiti and the
DRC, to analyse to what extent the childhood/adolescence
social and economic adversity among PKFC mirrors that
experienced by CBOW in other contexts. Peacekeeping
personnel in Haiti and the DRC are amongst those most often
implicated in misconduct and thus these missions represent
key cases with regards to the consequences of SEA. Since
UN policy has often been developed in response to waves of
allegations, many of which originated from Haiti and the DRC,
these cases also represent landmarks for SEA programming.
The duration of both missions (Haiti [MINUSTAH] 2004–
2017; DRC [MONUC/MONUSCO] 1999–2022), the large size
of deployed troops, and the scope of accusations would
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suggest that there are a significant number of PKFC in
both countries5.
The research is grounded in field work conducted in
partnership with local community-based organizations in Haiti
(2017) and eastern DRC (2018) to increase the visibility of
SEA victims and their children (Appendix A). Employing a
comparative case study design with a predominantly qualitative
approach (Gerring, 2004;Thomas, 2021), data were collected
using SenseMaker R
(Cognitive Edge, no date accessed 2022),
a tablet-based software, and in-depth interviews. SenseMaker, a
mixed-methods, narrative-capture app, was used by Haitian and
Congolese participants to audio record short narratives about
interactions between peacekeepers and local women and girls.
These short narratives are referred to as micronarratives6since
they are often brief, only 2–3 minutes in length. SenseMaker
then asks participants to interpret the experience shared in
the micronarrative by responding to a series of pre-defined
interpretation questions. Ten UN bases in Haiti and six UN
bases in eastern DRC were chosen and local community
members were recruited from within an ∼30 km perimeter
of each base. Participants were approached in public spaces
such as markets, shops, bus stops, parks and so on. In both
Haiti and DRC, a team of local research assistants from
partner organizations facilitated the SenseMaker interviews after
completing a five-day training. In Haiti, all data were collected
in Haitian Kreyòl and in DRC data were collected in the
participants’ choice of Lingala or Swahili. Using this approach,
a convenience sample of 2,541 Haitian and 2,858 Congolese
community members shared and interpreted micronarratives
about interactions between peacekeepers and local women and
girls in areas of UNPK deployments. In collecting a large number
of narratives about peacekeeper-civilian relations (positive
and negative), the SenseMaker survey gathered perspectives
from host community members who witnessed or experienced
SEA-related pregnancies. Out of the completed community
surveys, one in ten participants in Haiti (n=265) and two
out of five participants in the DRC (n=1,182) referenced
PKFC in the micro-narratives they shared. Female community
members who disclosed raising a PKFC in the SenseMaker
survey were invited to take part in a qualitative follow-up
interview. This approach to sampling enabled the interviewing
of mothers/grandmothers of PKFC (Haiti n=18, DRC n=60)
who then functioned as gatekeepers to the interviewing of PKFC
(DRC n=357).
5 Between 2010 and 2022, the UN misconduct tracking system
recorded 38 Haitian victims and 121 Congolese victims who raised
paternity claims as a result of SEA (Conduct in UN Field Missions, no date).
These numbers are considered under representations because of the
barriers victims face in filing complaints, and have been criticised for being
subject to significant fluctuations due to changes in policies, reporting,
and taxonomies (Simi´
c, 2015;Grady, 2016;Wagner et al., 2022a).
6 A short story in relation to an open-ended prompt.
Shedding light on a previously unexplored phenomenon,
the study was explorative and descriptive in nature, designed
to provide a first account of the experiences of women raising
PKFC who were fathered and abandoned by peacekeepers. Since
victims of SEA and children are considered vulnerable groups,
interviewing them required circumventing a range of ethical and
methodological difficulties. To break down traditional power
hierarchies between researcher and participant and reduce the
risk of the research inducing negative psychosocial outcomes,
information was collected in a participant-oriented manner with
open-ended questions that put the participant in control of the
information shared (Reinharz and Davidman, 1992;Bell, 2001;
Mertus, 2004). In order to include PKFC in the research in an
ethical way, we employed age-appropriate interview methods
with participatory elements and visual research (see Wagner
et al., 2022c). More specifically, a family drawing exercise and
photo-elicitation task were used to facilitate a discussion about
PKFC’s background without explicitly mentioning their heritage
or exposing their context of conception. This enabled PKFC
to be in control of the information shared and minimized the
risk of disclosing previously unknown information. The risk
of the study introducing psychological distress, victimization
or stigma were further mitigated by collecting de-identified
data, interviewing participants in private and keeping the
nature and title of the interview open and general (study on
peacekeeper-civilian interactions). The authors further set up a
referral system for psychosocial and legal support via the local
partner organisations.
All qualitative interview guides were self-constructed with
topic questions and prompts addressing, inter alia, PKFC’s
place within their families, communities, cultures and political
structures. Assuming that many of the fundamental matters
around CBOW would serve as a starting point to studying the
life courses of PKFC, we consulted existing case studies and
theoretically guided assumptions on the life courses of CBOW to
identify potential areas of hardship for PKFC and situate them
within the broader context of CBOW research. Based on the
multi-level adversities faced by CBOW, we investigated whether
the experiences of PKFC, as explained by the children themselves
and/or their mothers/caregivers, resemble those of CBOW by
assessing their identity, relationships, needs and rights.
The interviews were analysed qualitatively, using a mixture
of thematic and phenomenological approaches8. Triangulating
7 See limitations section for a discussion of why PKFC were not
interviewed in Haiti.
8 The present paper includes findings from previously published
analyses that discuss specific aspects of PKFC’s experiences in Haiti or
the DRC. In order to compare PKFC’s experiences in both countries and
relate them to those of CBOW, this paper oers an overview of their
previously identified challenges. Where more information concerning
individual findings or their analysis is desired, the reader should refer to
the original papers cited throughout.
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TABLE 1 Challenges identified for peacekeeper-fathered children vs. other groups of CBOW.
CBOW literature PKFC research
Micro-Level CBOW’s lack of knowledge about their background negatively impacts
their sense of self and familial relationships.
PKFC, like other CBOW, struggle with the taboo of their ancestry and
query their identity due to their fathers’ absence and lack of patrilineal
family connections.
Meso-Level Many CBOW experience marginalised social identities and frequent
stigmatisation within their families and communities.
Likewise, stigma and discrimination present a common challenge for
PKFC that can result in social separation and outsider status relative to
families and communities.
Exo-Level CBOW’s experiences vary depending on the socio-cultural context,
history and normative framework they are embedded in.
The level of hardship PKFC experience differs based on which traits
they possess and how these traits are perceived locally.
Macro-Level CBOW have legal and political needs that are not adequately enacted
by policies.
Like all CBOW, PKFC have a right to recognition, support and full
citizenship that is not being realised.
findings with the wider cross-sectional SenseMaker study helped
check for inconsistencies and researcher biases during the
interpretation and write-up stages.
Results
Through this research, we have identified several aspects
of PKFC’s heritage that translate into concerns on the micro-
individual, meso-social, exo-cultural, and macro-policy level.
Table 1 presents an overview of our key findings with regards
to how PKFC are situated within the CBOW literature. Below,
we will discuss what is known about the experiences of CBOW
on each level before describing our results in relation to
the literature.
Micro-level: Individual and family
On the micro-level, we explore PKFC’s self-concept and
sense of familial identity, discussing potential areas of hardship
that were informed by the literature. Most CBOW grow up with
a conspiracy of silence around their fathers that fuels their need
to ascertain their roots throughout their lives (Mitreuter et al.,
2019;Provost and Denov, 2020;Vahedi et al., 2020). The secrecy
(family denial, lack of official discourse or information) around
their origin can raise the feeling that their very existence is
wrong or “taboo,” a notion that is a root cause for the identity
crisis that some CBOW experience (Koegeler-Abdi, 2021). The
psychological impact of negative discourses concerning their
existence can cause internalised stigma, shame, and anxiety
(Mochmann and Lee, 2010;Denov and Lakor, 2017,2018).
Children born of asymmetrical sexual relations like rape might
develop an insecure bond with their mothers, for whom
their conception is a painful memory (Van Ee and Kleber,
2012;Woolner et al., 2019). In some contexts, dysfunctional
relationships with their maternal clans and kinship groups
have been found to push CBOW into social isolation, as they
long for a sense of self and acceptance (Meckel et al., 2016).
A fragmented concept of family can contribute to adverse
developmental trajectories and has been found to put CBOW
at a higher risk of developing mental health issues, childhood
trauma and somatization (Hucklenbroich et al., 2014;Glaesmer
et al., 2017). Drawing on these insights, we have investigated
whether PKFC’s familial relationships are defined by similar
feelings of “otherness” and exclusion.
In line with the literature, our analysis reveals that
PKFC experience numerous challenges due to their fathers’
abandonment and lack of patrilineal family connections, leading
them to question fundamental aspects of their identity and
belonging. Mothers of PKFC and other primary caregivers (i.e.,
maternal grandmothers) were often responsible for disclosing
sensitive information about biological origins or navigating
PKFC’s queries about their identity (Vahedi et al., 2020).
Now I have this child, and he is always questioning
me about his father. He would like to know his dad. But
unfortunately, I cannot give. . . I cannot find. . . I only give
him a little explanation as much as he can understand based
on his age. And I hope, God willing, if I am still alive when
he gets older I will be able to give him more details. Since he
cannot understand much as of yet, I can’t explain everything,
I just told him that his dad was a soldier who came to work
around here (Mother, age unknown, Port Salut/Haiti).
PKFC’s lack of knowledge about their provenance makes
forming a coherent self-concept difficult. The majority of
participants reported that PKFC had little to no information
about their fathers and received no financial support from
them, which held negative implications for their self-esteem and
prospects of becoming valued members of society. Unsettled by
their incomplete biographies, PKFC engaged in wishful thinking
regarding their relationships with their unknown fathers: “I wish
I could see him. I wish I could live a good and happy life” (PKFC,
10–15, Bukavu/DRC). Derived from comparisons with peers
whose fathers contributed to their wellbeing and who lived in
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better financial situations, PKFC saw searching for their fathers
as imperative to securing their future (Wagner et al., 2022c). We
found that in the DRC, divergence between the learned “ideal
of family” and subjective life experience resulted in cognitive
tension which was resolved through a situational attribution
of neglect. PKFC attributed their fathers’ lack of involvement
in their lives to circumstances outside of their control (e.g.,
redeployment). This prevented negative self-attribution and
thus, functioned as a defence mechanism for their self-esteem. In
assuming that their fathers could not get in touch with them and
were hindered in their provision of support, PKFC were able to
maintain an identity as “good children” who are worthy of love
and attention (Wagner et al., 2022c). This narrative increased
the value of searching for fathers and made finding them a
major priority.
Due to the peacekeepers’ abandonment, mothers of PKFC
were often solely responsible for child caring responsibilities
and raised their children in settings of extreme socio-economic
deprivation. In communities where many lacked essential goods
for survival, financial hardship was both a key factor explaining
women and girls perceived “desire” to have sexual relations with
peacekeepers and a central consequence of peacekeeper fathers’
abandonment (Lee and Bartels, 2019;Vahedi et al., 2020).
About my past, here is what happened. I used to live in
a bad situation, in the sense that my parents couldn’t take
care of me, help me with my needs. That’s what led me to
have a relationship with a MINUSTAH. .. I ended up having
a baby with him. Once the baby was born, he left me, and
hasn’t taken care of us. I am the only one doing all I can to
take care of the child. I haven’t even graduated high school,
[because I got pregnant] when I was in “segonde” [equivalent
to 10th grade] (Mother, 25-30, Tabarre/Haiti).
Peacekeepers who negated their paternal obligations
increased the economic and social vulnerability of mothers,
leaving their children to grow up in unfavourable circumstances:
“The child is living in these circumstances.. . which may affect
her psychologically, giving her problems later in life. She would
like to live well, but I cannot afford to give her that life” (Mother,
age unknown, Port Salut/Haiti). Many PKFC hoped that their
fathers would return to alleviate their hardship: “I am worried a
lot, I am not stable enough to live such a life. Therefore, I often
wonder where my father is by saying “father, where are you?
Come take me” (PKFC, 10–15, Kisangani/DRC). Absent fathers
remained paramount in PKFC’s lives and were sometimes
depicted as “saviours” who would come to “rescue me [PKFC]
from poverty” or “free me [them] from suffering” (PKFC,
10–15, Bukavu/DRC). While the search for peacekeeper fathers
was predominantly motivated by PKFC’s need for support,
being reunited with their fathers was also anticipated to enable
improved integration into local communities, and exploration of
paternal roots and personal identity. The certainty many PKFC
voiced that their fathers were looking for them is illustrated in
this comment from an adolescent PKFC in Kisangani: “Who
sent you? Maybe you are the one he [father] sent in order to take
me. Are you my helper?” Despite an all-consuming desire to
locate peacekeepers, the possibilities of contact were minimal,
and no PKFC in Haiti or the DRC were actively in touch with
their fathers at the time of data collection.
Consequently, PKFC were often brought up by single
mothers or close relatives like maternal grandparents or
aunts and uncles. Their lack of support from paternal
families and clans compounded a sense of illegitimacy
and compromised PKFC’s chances of sustainable livelihoods.
Paternal abandonment also contributed to the feminization of
poverty given that their mothers, who reported experiencing
adverse socio-economic conditions, were PKFC’s primary
providers. Although increasingly reliant on their mothers and
maternal families, some PKFC received limited care from
maternal kin networks, causing them to compare themselves
to orphans (Wagner et al., 2022c). Related to their “orphan
identity” and lack of material possessions, PKFC expressed an
intimate need for care, security, and love: “My father died. My
mother is living somewhere else. I am like an orphan. . . I am
suffering here” (PKFC, 10–15, Bukavu/DRC). We found that
the circumstances surrounding PKFC’s conception complicated
maternal attachment and occasionally led to abandonment,
rejection, or neglect of the PKFC.
The first child was brought to me when he was one year
and two months old. I took care of him while facing many
difficulties. Later, the child’s mom came back with a second
kid she had made with a South-African. I wondered what
to do, to leave the kids or give them to somebody else but I
decided that I couldn’t throw them away. The case hurt my
heart, I felt like someone had to allow them to grow. [. . . ]
If their father comes back, I will give him the kids without
hesitating. I am so sick and tired from supporting them. My
daughter, the mother of these children, shows no interest
in them. She is wandering here and there after having been
spoiled by MONUSCO men. If she had been married legally,
maybe she would have been able to assist me. (Grandmother,
40–45, Bukavu/DRC).
Interestingly, Congolese stepfathers occasionally alienated
PKFC from the family unit and denied them access to available
household resources while Haitian stepfathers were found to be
more accepting of the PKFC.
When my child realised that he wasn’t treated fairly
or the same as the other children, he stepped forward and
wanted me to assure him whether the man with whom I was
living was actually his father. I decided to tell him the truth
and apologised for all the misfortune and for keeping a child
with such a trauma (Mother, 40–45, Bukavu/DRC).
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Some Haitian mothers explained that stepfathers viewed
their PKFC favourably due to their lighter skin phenotypes.
In situations wherein the PKFC is positively perceived by
the stepfather, the mother and PKFC may be part of a
blended family.
I found another man, we got together, and he told
me that he loves my child and that he looks like a white
man from a foreign country, that he really looks like an
actor. . . I have conceived two other children because he
thought that I would have such a beautiful child just like
the first child I conceived with the MINUSTAH (Mother, age
unknown, Tabarre/Haiti).
Meso-level: Community and
environmental
On the meso-level, we consider the social status of PKFC
to determine whether experiences of stigma and discrimination
present a common challenge in their upbringing. Stigma is
theorised as a process whereby human differences become
socially visible, stereotyped as negative, thereby resulting in the
separation of stigmatised persons as outsiders relative to the
community and justifying poor treatment that culminates in
status loss and discrimination (Link and Phelan, 2001). This
process of stigmatisation explains how and why CBOW and
PKFC face adversity throughout the life course. Documentation
of CBOW across contexts suggests that they often face
maltreatment, stigma and discrimination by their communities
(Stewart, 2015;Wagner et al., 2020). The marginalisation of
CBOW typically originates from preconceptions about their
fathers (based on their role as perpetrators or foreign soldiers)
or attitudes towards their mothers (based on them engaging
in extra-marital sexual relations and having a child out of
wedlock) (Apio, 2007;Mukamana and Brysiewicz, 2008). Where
their fathers are perceived as aggressors, CBOW might be
understood as a symbolic extension of their violent practices
as soldiers or perpetrators (Mukangendo, 2007;Liebling et al.,
2012;Mukasa, 2017). This can result in them experiencing an
inner tension regarding how to position themselves towards
their fathers on the one side and their mothers and communities
on the other (Weitsman, 2008;Hamel, 2016;Sanchez Parra,
2018). The significant impact of their outsider status is
exemplified in Denov and Lakor’s (2017) observation that
CBOW in Northern Uganda experienced their stigmatised
identities in the post-war period as more debilitating than life
in captivity during the war. In contexts where their mothers are
stigmatised, CBOW might experience a lack of support from
their clans and communities, resulting in economic difficulty
(Mukamana and Brysiewicz, 2008;Bland, 2019). Drawing on
the stigmatising experiences of other groups of CBOW, we look
at whether PKFC’s background produces equally marginalised
social identities.
In line with the literature, our analysis uncovered the often-
challenging relationships of PKFC with their communities,
showing that their differential treatment within families
continued outside the home. PKFC in Haiti and the
DRC experienced frequent stereotyping and ostracising by
peers, neighbours, and other community members (Wagner
et al., 2020;Vahedi et al., 2022). Reasons set out for the
perceived stigma and discrimination were multifactorial
and most individuals carried a combination of “labels”
that made salient the foreign origins of PKFC or their
connection to UN peacekeeping (Link and Phelan, 2001).
For example, Haitian-born PKFC were labelled as “child
of the MINUSTAH,” “little MINUSTAH,” or more simply
“MINUSTAH” (Vahedi et al., 2022). PKFC interviewed in
the DRC named fatherlessness, poverty, racial prejudice, as
well as their “illegitimate conception” as contributing factors
for their stigmatisation. PKFC reported being humiliated or
ridiculed on the grounds of not being Congolese, being “white”
or “foreign,” or otherwise singled out for their ethnic heritage.
A large majority reiterated being told to “go to their fathers”
or “follow their dads” in order to find relief from familial and
socio-economic hardship. Since the inability to uncover paternal
roots reduces clan privilege and PKFC’s chances of acceptance,
comments about fatherlessness were linked to the absence of
a male role model and head of household. In both Haiti and
the DRC, stigma was manifested in a range of experiences;
from teasing and bullying to overt discrimination, abuse, and
neglect. These findings support the representation of PKFC as
an “out-group” in their community. Severe social stigma exerted
influence over PKFC’s ability to form meaningful relationships
and forced some into isolation and loneliness. In Haiti, some
mothers noted that social exclusion may have impacted their
child’s development and learning abilities (Vahedi et al., 2022):
“He will never grow up normal at all because wherever
he goes he will have the label “here is the child of the
MINUSTHA who did not take care of him.” .. . That can
impact his learning ability and when the child becomes older
that can make it uncomfortable for him to stay in the area.”
(Mother, 20–25, Hince/Haiti).
In the DRC, PKFC were found to have internalised society’s
perceptions of them which interfered with healthy self-esteem
and identity construction. Internalised stigma, or self-stigma,
led some participants to perceive themselves as burdens on
their mothers and households to whom the stigma extended
(Wagner et al., 2020). In this way, persistent stigma provoked
low mood or symptoms of mental health disorders, as the
following example shows:
She [mother] never talks to me in a friendly way. She
says I have no value at all for I’m not like her other children.
When she says that, I feel like it’s better to take a knife, stab
myself and die once and for all (PKFC, 10–15, Bunia/DRC)
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Social challenges were found to be exacerbated by economic
deprivation, a condition that worsened when family support was
withdrawn. Thus, the loss of social status and financial insecurity
mutually reinforced one another:
My family’s reaction. . . since they didn’t approve of
my relationship with the MINUSTAH [officer]. They
abandoned me and kicked me out [of the house] to the
point where even the community where I live was against
me. . . they were after me. . . .because they were trying to start
a war with MINUSTAH. (Mother, 25–30, Taberre/Haiti)
Since in Haiti and the DRC social status is linked to the
availability of financial means, mothers were looked down upon
for not securing alimony payments from former partners. They
reiterated that there was a hierarchy amongst PKFC families
with mothers and PKFC who were receiving support at the top
and those who did not secure benefits at the bottom.
Many mock me and laugh at me. Some do because
unlike me they were lucky enough to get money, plots of
land or houses from their MONUSCO boyfriends. They
say I am miserable and cursed for not having been offered
such things by my South-African husband. (Mother, 25–
30, Bukavu/DRC)
Parallels in the stigma experiences of mothers and
children suggested a bidirectional transmission of stigma
between generations that negatively affected the mother-child
relationship and caused feelings of guilt and shame among
PKFC. This is reflected in insults directed towards PKFC like
“daughter/son of a bitch,” “bastard” or “illegitimate,” which
portray the children as the products of rape, sex-work, or
a parental relationship that otherwise conflicted with social
norms. The socio-economic burden of raising a child without
a male partner, and raising a PKFC in particular, rendered some
Congolese mothers unmarriable and lowered their social status
in the eyes of the community.
When people learn that you were once friends with a
guy from MONUSCO they start despising you and saying ill
of you. It is not easy to find another boy or man friend if you
have been deceived by one of them. So many people told me
to abort so I wouldn’t be called the mother of a MONUSCO
child. They said I would never find another one to love me if
I kept the pregnancy (Mother, 35–40, Kalemi/DRC).
Similarly, in Haiti, mothers and PKFC also experienced
reduced social status, exemplified by public humiliation
from community members due to the mothers’ perceived
promiscuity: “But you know [noisy] neighbours, they would say
that “this girl is promiscuous, she had a child with the white
men, she slept with the white men” (Mother, age unknown,
Tabarre/Haiti). Some women found themselves in a downward
spiral of further social rejection when extreme poverty led them
to (re)engage in sex-work to meet their child’s basic needs. While
children occasionally understood their stigma to reside in their
conception and their mother’s social circumstances, mothers
reported that the societal treatment of their children was
aggravating to their own social standing. In several cases, these
dynamics had a bearing on the mother-child relationship and
adversely affected the bond between PKFC and their mothers.
Exo-level: society and culture
On the exo-level, we explore the socio-cultural dynamics
in which PKFC’s experiences are embedded. The literature on
CBOW shows that cultural and religious beliefs can cause
children born of atypical sexual relations to be marginalised
if their resulting identity is non-conforming with dominant
views on class, race, and kinship. In many post-conflict
environments, the mere existence of CBOW contradicts the
normative framework of the communities they are born into
since having a child out of wedlock or fraternising with the
enemy is seen as illegitimate or traitorous (Mochmann and
Larsen, 2008;Satjukow, 2011;Kiconco, 2022). In patrilineal and
patriarchal societies where the father’s identity is the building
block of belonging and status, their unknown paternal origin
has been found to leave CBOW with an impaired sense of
place in society, making them feel like they do not belong to
the culture they grow up (Apio, 2016;Sanchez Parra, 2018). In
postcolonial states, the biracial background of CBOW may be
linked to oppression, especially if their fathers’ involvement in
the conflict is seen as part of a neo-colonial project (Razack,
2000;Higate and Henry, 2004;Henry, 2013). Drawing on
CBOW’s experiences of social exclusion, we establish whether
PKFC’s societal perception is dependent on how their identity
relates to the history of conflict and inequality in the areas where
they live. As part of this assessment, we look at whether critical
deviance in structural categories and identity-forming traits
between PKFC affects how they are situated in socio-cultural and
historical narratives.
Expanding on findings in the literature, our analysis revealed
differences in the societal perception of PKFC that seem to
arise from variance in their presumed affiliation with UN forces.
Occasionally, community members projected prejudice against
peacekeepers onto the children by portraying them as conceited,
privileged, or violent; personality traits that were linked to the
perceived role of peacekeepers in the local conflicts. While most
PKFC were severely marginalised, heavy stigmatisation did not
affect all; some PKFC were granted opportunities and respect
due to their heritage. We examined the relevant mechanisms
behind social status to explain what caused this societal
perception. In the DRC, participants’ varying references to race
suggested status differences for PKFC based on their fathers’
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ethnic origin and troop contributing country (Wagner et al.,
2022b). PKFC whose fathers were from central African countries
were less often confronted with stereotyping and prejudice
because their group membership as PKFC was less salient, and
they assimilated more easily into the local culture. Physical
features that evidently identified PKFC with their fathers’
lineage made them an easier target for racial stigmatisation and
conveyed more potential for societal rejection.
He is a child just like others, but the others still tease
him saying he’s a white South-African but walking around
like a poor local child. They call him a south-African son, a
boy with an unknown father (Mother, 35–40, Bukavu/DRC).
Our research shows that community members in host states
had a distinct understanding of “whiteness” that predicted
bi-racial youth—who were often defaulted to the “white”
category—to possess different behavioural characteristics than
black children. Those with foreign looks were expected to abide
by societal norms associated with their social group membership
that seemed to originate from the historical legacy of colonialism
and stereotypical assumptions of the white elite. Families and
communities placed social role expectations upon bi-racial
PKFC that resembled race-based social hierarchies.
She behaves like white people. Whenever I buy
something for her siblings, she wants to have it. I often meet
with other women who are in the same situation. Whenever
we meet, we cry together because we think about how hard
it is to raise that kind of children. White children and black
children are very different; the white one wants to sleep well,
eat well and live in a given comfort. That lifestyle is difficult
to provide. (Mother, age unknown, Bunia/DRC).
While most assumptions had negative connotations, it was
also voiced that having a “beautiful, mixed-race children”
could improve one’s circumstances (Community member, age
unknown, Saint Marc/Haiti), lead to financial benefits or even
“salvation,” as a mother in Bukavu described: “The child indeed
is white, so he might be my salvation one day. . . Many people
like him and give him 5 dollars or 10, especially when we walk
around the airport. People are happy to call him a white boy.” In
line with that, some PKFC were proud of their skin colour and
conceptualised their “whiteness” to be a marker of difference vis-
a-vis their community that they wanted to reinforce by seeking
out contact points with their father’s culture:
She knows that her dad is not Haitian, and she always
says [that] she herself is not Haitian or she’s “white”—you
know her language skills are not fully developed to say that
she is not Haitian, but she says she’s not Haiti. She says her
dad’s name is [x], here is where he lives. That means in her
mind, she always thinks she is not Haitian (Mother, 25–30,
Port Salut/Haiti).
Our findings highlighted that achieving “white” privilege
(being bi-racial, “white” presenting and relatively wealthy) led to
an elevated social status while failing to achieve “white” privilege
(being bi-racial, “white” presenting, and poor) led to stronger
social stigmatisation. In Haiti, community members perceived
mothers as “willful” agents who “desired” to conceive children
with MINUSTAH peacekeepers for the purpose of upward
social mobility (through alimony, remittances, opportunities for
emigration, employment prospects, or marriage, etc); an attitude
which may be reflective of Haiti’s legacy of French colonialism
and colourism following the Haitian revolution (Dupuy, 2014;
Hossein, 2015;Marius, 2022). However, in the case of single
motherhood due to the peacekeeper’s abandonment, upward
social mobility did not occur and thus both the mother and child
experienced social stigma:
“People in the neighbourhood, the neighbours, they
gossip.. . They sometimes talk, and say well, I went and
made a white man get me pregnant and so and so [as if
she did that on purpose .. . Some people talk and say, well,
you went and got pregnant by a MINUSTAH (soldier) and,
you are going to be eating shit with this child. . . I suffer a
lot of setbacks with the child. They sometimes humiliate me,
(and say) a lot of other things that I can’t repeat. I suffer
humiliation, deception (fighting back tears) from people.”
(Mother, age unknown, Port Salut/Haiti)].
If PKFC’s anticipated living standard contrasted with reality,
they became a target for societal rejection (see “white-poverty
stigma” in Wagner et al., 2022b). Hence, physical features
that clearly identified PKFC as “foreign” amplified status
differences with respect to participants’ socioeconomic status.
This shows that stigmatisation for PKFC does not occur
universally but is mediated by different factors that increase
participants’ vulnerability to exclusion, such as minority racial
identification and financial hardship. Based on our analysis, bi-
racial background accentuated PKFC’s socio-economic status
and created within-group differences among PKFC. Overall,
our findings on the exo-level demonstrate the role of context
in shaping PKFC’s social identities. In highlighting PKFC’s
status differences, we demonstrate that the societal perception
of children is dependent on geopolitical, cultural, and historical
influences. While some of their traits were more salient in
Haiti or the DRC, there were similarities in their societal
perception that seemed to originate from the countries shared
postcolonial history. For example, social constructions of
“whiteness” informed by white supremacy and colourism
can influence the social status and wellbeing of PKFC who
experience considerable economic disadvantage.
The prevalence of SEA and PKFC in both Haiti and the DRC
has diminished the perceived legitimacy of the peacekeeping
missions (Kovatch, 2016;Vahedi et al., 2021). Community
derived Sensemaker data from the DRC shows a general distrust
of MONUSCO peacekeepers, with wellknown instances of SEA
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and abandoned children provided as evidence that peacekeepers
are not serious about fulfilling their mandate, increasing rather
than decreasing insecurity:
“Monusco doesn’t care with conflicts, its concern is its
presence in the country where it’s easy to loot and plunder
minerals in most conflict areas[. . .] Some children that they
abandoned have no chance to know their birth fathers[.. . ]
Sexual abuse was recurrent at Monusco. Many local girls
became pregnant, had children after dating with Monusco
agents, simply because they met with them when they
needed water. So Monusco made the Democratic Republic
of Congo become a Republic of disorders and conflicts.”
(Male, 35–44, Kalemie/DRC).
CBOW have been accused of decreasing social cohesion and
putting communities at risk (Tasker et al., 2020). The same
charges were not directly shared by PKFC in this research, but
it is possible that association with an increasingly unpopular
peacekeeping mission may further reduce the social status of
PKFC beyond the stigma they already experience.
Analysis uncovered a further breakdown in trust between
mothers and the peacekeeping mission when reports were not
properly followed-up on or supports forthcoming:
“I reported this problem to his officials, and they
promised that they would relay this information to whom
it might concern. They listened to us, and seemed to
sympathize with us. . . All the ladies who had children
with their employees were requested to meet quite often
in order to collect our pleas. . . However, whene ver we
showed up for the meeting, it was always put off again
until we got discouraged and dropped it.” (Mother, 25–
30, Bukavu/DRC).
This decrease in institutional trust may reduce the likelihood
that women report future offenses and undermines the status
of the mission. In this way, we see the impact of PKFC and
the lack of support provisioning as extending the social impacts
of PKFC beyond individuals and families and into the larger
community, to the detriment of peacekeeping missions and the
United Nations more broadly.
Macro-level: Policy and rights
On the macro-level, we consider broader political structures,
and conceptual questions regarding how PKFC’s rights
are applied in international legal frameworks and support
programmes, determining their political needs and the
effectiveness of current policies to enforce their rights. The
literature on CBOW shows that environmental influences—
expressed through economic hierarchies, political structures,
and bilateral relations between the father’s and mother’s home
states—often marginalise CBOW and manifest themselves
in laws that intentionally or unintentionally cause material
and educational inequities for them, either through explicit
discrimination or through their omission. Prior research
demonstrates that CBOW across contexts experience social,
economic, and political exclusion and barriers to effective
participation (Daniel-Wrabetz, 2007;Mochmann and Lee, 2010;
Stewart, 2017). In addition to the insecurity that all children
in conflict face, CBOW might be exposed to additional rights
violations, such as their right to education, family, identity,
nationality, physical security, protection from stigma and even
survival (UN General Assembly, 1989;Carpenter, 2007;Deli´
c
et al., 2017). Related to the status of their economically insecure
mothers, CBOW might be deprived of food and other essential
goods such as clothing and adequate shelter (Carpenter, 2007;
Stewart, 2017). Their often-ambiguous legal status may prevent
them from accessing social services, personal data and national
identity documents (Akello, 2013;Gill, 2019). Local and
international actors may contest their citizenship or deny them
access to records about their parents, should such records even
exist (Carpenter, 2007). Challenges in birth registration due
to discriminatory citizenship laws have been documented in
numerous contexts including Uganda, Rwanda, Liberia, and the
DRC (Neenan, 2018;Denov and Kahn, 2019;Tasker et al., 2020).
These rights violations might become increasingly visible as
CBOW enter adolescence and struggle with their lack of access
to resources and opportunities. Drawing on these insights, we
investigate how PKFC’s marginalisation individually and in
their communities interact with political ideologies that cause
inequities for CBOW globally.
In line with the literature, we found that PKFC grapple
with political visibility, (inter)national legislation and rights
enforcement, and face barriers to accessing the care and
support they require and are legally entitled to. Of the mothers
interviewed, most described their PKFC’s limited access to food,
shelter, healthcare, or other essential goods, a theme that was
often referred to as “suffering”: “I don’t have the means; she
needs to go to school, she needs to eat. You need to buy
her clothes, and you don’t have the means to do that.. . . the
MINUSTAH [soldier] didn’t find me with children—he came
in, gave me a child, left me all alone with that child (Mother,
25–30, Port Salut/Haiti). The interviews demonstrated that UN
support programmes for victims of SEA did not reach burdened
families (Vahedi et al., 2022;Wagner et al., 2022a). In Haiti
and the DRC, most participants received no assistance from
the UN or peacekeeper fathers. Without that support, many
mothers found it impossible to adequately cater to the welfare
of PKFC. Community members expressed disappointment in
MINUSTAH/MONUSCO and the UN’s lack of accountability
with respect to the abandoned PKFC, mentioning “MINUSTAH
does not value these children” and that “it’s as if no one is there
to support these children” (Community member, male, 18–24
years old, St Marc, Haiti). As a result, the majority of PKFC
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were resource deprived, unable to pursue their education, and
in desperate need of safeguarding.
About me? Let me tell you that I never go to school. I
have no good clothes.. . When I think of the deep poverty,
I’m in, I feel much despair. I’m dressed poorly. I have no
body lotion, not even the local palm oil or soap to wash
my face. I have no food. My life is non-sense. Hard life
conditions. It’s too harsh, too bad actually. Nothing changes
for the good ever. My family goes through much pain to
find the amount of food we need daily. Sometimes, when we
get about 1,000 Congolese Francs [0.5 USD], we thank God
for it, but we never get full or satiated with the little food
we have. On many occasions, we go to bed without having
eaten anything. I have no shoes, not flip-flops either. You can
see that what I am wearing is completely torn apart (PKFC,
10–15, Bukavu/DRC).
Similar sentiments were shared in Haiti, wherein mothers
wondered what the future of their PKFC would hold in the
absence of support: “If we receive no help to raise them, they
could become hooligans hurting the community” (Mother, 20–
25, Tabarre/Haiti). Many participants who were aware of the
existence of PKFC spoke of their unmet material needs and the
implication poverty would have on their life courses.
It is not a good idea for the white man to have a child
and leave him behind.. . that not only puts the mother in
trouble, but the child is also in trouble. I can say that this
child is now hopeless.. . I live in Port-Salut and I can tell
you that I myself know at least six kids that are living under
these conditions. They were fathered by these people and
then they left, but the kids are here going through hardships.
(Male community member, 35–44, Port Salut/Haiti).
This illustrates that PKFC whose needs are presumed
to be closely connected to those of their mothers have
vulnerabilities of their own. Many experienced a violation of
their right to education, equal opportunity, self-actualisation,
non-discrimination, and a standard of living that properly
supports their development. PKFC whose fathers’ identities
are unknown were unlikely to be legally recognized within
their state. In the context of eastern DRC, this may restrict
their chances to social security, economic rights and civic
participation, cause problems with access to healthcare and
social services, and increase child protection risks (e.g., child
labour, child marriage, trafficking, exploitation, and conscription
into the armed forces) (The Fund for Global Human Rights,
2017). While there was a consensus that PKFC needed
support, SenseMaker narratives from the DRC revealed some
ambivalence in community members’ perceptions of mothers
of PKFC. While most community members expressed empathy
toward the mother and anger at the MONUSCO, some
participants demonstrated a belief that women who have sex
with foreign peacekeepers should be grateful for any support
they receive:
He pays the rent for her; he provides her with everything
she needs, worthy things, but later, she offended him,
attributed the pregnancy to him and charged him with
$5,000 USD. Do you think he left his country and his family
to DR Congo in order to help Congolese? He might have
in his country his wife and children. You should be grateful
to him for his modest financial support (Female community
member, 35–44, Goma/DRC).
Participants mentioned the difficulties in trying to secure
support legally given the fathers are not Haitian/Congolese
and had returned to their country of origin. While most
mothers expressed little engagement with UN policy on SEA
and systematic child support, those who did considered UN
pathways for assistance abstract measures with no positive
impact on the structural inequalities they were facing and
pointed out that obstacles in UN protocols (e.g., corruption,
gap in legal authority) prevented them from securing financial
support or other benefits for their children through official
channels (Wagner et al., 2022a).
Discussion
In this paper, we have consulted the existing body of
work on CBOW to compare and contrast the life courses
of PKFC. Drawing on the perspectives of PKFC, their
mothers/grandmothers and community members in PKO-host
communities in DRC and Haiti, we have tested the theoretical
assumption that PKFC’s challenges mirror those described in
the CBOW literature. To understand whether PKFC’s adversities
parallel those of children fathered by occupation, enemy forces
or child soldiers, we have applied a socio-ecological model
that—informed by prior research on those groups—assessed
the children’s positions within their families, communities,
societal and political structures. By presenting the first empirical
evaluation of PKFC’s assigned group membership as CBOW, we
have integrated two previously separate streams of literature (on
CBOW and UNPK/SEA).
To ascertain if PKFC share the challenges of CBOW on
the micro-level, our research explored whether PKFC’s identity
is impacted by a lack of knowledge about their fathers, fewer
attachment figures and meaningful relationships. Research with
CBOW in various contexts has shown that learning about
their conception plays an important role for the identity
formation and development of CBOW (Glaesmer et al., 2012;
Mitreuter et al., 2019). Our findings show that PKFC, like
other CBOW, are often faced with silence about their fathers
and struggle with the taboo of their ancestry. The missing
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knowledge about their heritage affects their sense of self and
leaves them with an impaired feeling of belonging and purpose.
Previous research has found that missing information about
their past can push CBOW to fill in the gaps in their biographies
by making up stories about their parents; a practice that
encourages the demonisation or idealisation of absent fathers
(Lee, 2017). Reproducing this, we found that PKFC from the
DRC assumed that their fathers wanted to care for them but
were hindered in fulfilling parental responsibilities; a form of
idealisation that was supported by peacekeepers being part of a
benevolent force employed to offer help and assistance. PKFC
who attribute their abandonment to circumstances outside
of their fathers’ control were more ready to forgive their
fathers for their absence. In consequence, they may have less
tension-filled relationships with them than children fathered
by enemy or occupation soldiers. Considering a circumstantial
attribution of neglect as a mechanism to preserve self-esteem
and hope might help explain children’s urge to find absent
fathers in other settings (Wagner et al., 2022c