[This talk contains graphic language and descriptions of sexual violence Viewer discretion is advised]
[Majadiliano yana lugha na maelezo ya ukatili wa kijinsia Mtazamaji anatahadharishwa]
Tom Stranger: In 1996, when I was 18 years old, I had the golden opportunity to go on an international exchange program. Ironically I'm an Australian who prefers proper icy cold weather, so I was both excited and tearful when I got on a plane to Iceland, after just having farewelled my parents and brothers goodbye. I was welcomed into the home of a beautiful Icelandic family who took me hiking, and helped me get a grasp of the melodic Icelandic language. I struggled a bit with the initial period of homesickness. I snowboarded after school, and I slept a lot. Two hours of chemistry class in a language that you don't yet fully understand can be a pretty good sedative.
Tom Stranger: Mwaka 1996, nilipokuwa nina miaka 18, Nilipata fursa ya kusoma nchi ngeni, La kushangaza mimi ni mzaliwa wa Australia anayependa baridi ya haswa, hivyo nilikuwa na furaha na njonzi nilipopanda ndege kwenda Iceland, baada ya kuwaaga wazazi wangu na ndugu. Nilikaribishwa katika familia nzuri ya wana Iceland ambao walinichukua katika matembezi, na kunisaidia kuielewa lugha ya tuni ya wana Iceland. Mwanzo nilipambana na hisia za kutamani kurudi nyumbani Baada ya shule, nilicheza mchezo wa kuteleza juu ya barafu na kulala sana. Masaa mawili ya Kemia katika lugha ambayo bado hujaielewa, inaweza kukuweka kulala vizuri.
(Laughter)
(Vicheko)
My teacher recommended I try out for the school play, just to get me a bit more socially active. It turns out I didn't end up being part of the play, but through it I met Thordis. We shared a lovely teenage romance, and we'd meet at lunchtimes to just hold hands and walk around old downtown Reykjavík. I met her welcoming family, and she met my friends. We'd been in a budding relationship for a bit over a month when our school's Christmas Ball was held.
Mwalimu wangu ilipendekeza nishiriki katika igizo shuleni, ilinijumuike na wengine shuleni. Hata kama sikuwa sehemu ya igizo, hapo nilikutana na Thordis. Tulifurahia simulizi letu la penzi la ujanani, tulikula wote mchana, ili tu kushika mikono na kutembea jiji la Reykjavík. Nilikutana na familia yake, naye alikutana na marafiki zangu. Tulikuwa katika urafiki karibia zaidi ya mwezi wakati shule iliandaa sherehe ya Krismasi
Thordis Elva: I was 16 and in love for the first time. Going together to the Christmas dance was a public confirmation of our relationship, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. No longer a child, but a young woman. High on my newfound maturity, I felt it was only natural to try drinking rum for the first time that night, too. That was a bad idea. I became very ill, drifting in and out of consciousness in between spasms of convulsive vomiting. The security guards wanted to call me an ambulance, but Tom acted as my knight in shining armor, and told them he'd take me home.
Thordis Elva: Nilikuwa miaka 16 na nimekutana penzi langu la kwanza. Kwenda pamoja kwa sherehe ya Krismasi Ilikuwa uthibitisho wa uhusiano wetu, na nilijisikia kama msichana mwenye bahati sana duniani. Sio tena mtoto, lakini mwanamke. mkakamavu katika upevu wangu mpya, Niliamini kuwa kujaribu kunywa kilo kwa mara ya kwanza, ulikuwa uamuzi mbaya. Niliumwa sana, kupoteza fahamu na kutojielewa katika misukosuko ya kutapika. Walinzi walitaka kuniitia gari la wagonjwa, lakini Tom aliatokea kuwa mkombezi wangu, na kuwaambia atanipeleka nyumbani.
It was like a fairy tale, his strong arms around me, laying me in the safety of my bed. But the gratitude that I felt towards him soon turned to horror as he proceeded to take off my clothes and get on top of me. My head had cleared up, but my body was still too weak to fight back, and the pain was blinding. I thought I'd be severed in two. In order to stay sane, I silently counted the seconds on my alarm clock. And ever since that night, I've known that there are 7,200 seconds in two hours.
Ilikuwa kama simulizi za vichimbakazi, mikono yake yenye nguvu ikinishikilia, kuniweka katika usalama wa kitanda changu. Lakini shukrani yang kwake iligeuka haraka kuwa woga aliponivua nguo na kupanda juu yangu. nilikuwa nimepata fahamu, lakini mwili wangu ulikuwa bado dhaifu mno kupambana, na maumivu yalikuwa makali. Nilidhani nimegawanywa mara mbili. Ili kubaki timamu, nilihesabu sekunde kwenye saa yangu. Na tangu usiku huo, Nimejua kwamba kuna sekunde 7200 katika masaa mawili.
Despite limping for days and crying for weeks, this incident didn't fit my ideas about rape like I'd seen on TV. Tom wasn't an armed lunatic; he was my boyfriend. And it didn't happen in a seedy alleyway, it happened in my own bed. By the time I could identify what had happened to me as rape, he had completed his exchange program and left for Australia. So I told myself it was pointless to address what had happened. And besides, it had to have been my fault, somehow.
Pamoja na kuchechmea na kulia kwa mawiki, tukio hili halikuwakilisha mawazo yangu kuhusu ubakaji kama nilivyoona kwenye TV. Tom hakuwa mwendawazimu mwenye silaha; alikuwa mpenzi wangu. Na haikutokea katika mahali pa ajabu, ilitokea katika kitanda changu mwenyewe. nilipotambua kwamba nimebakwa, alikuwa amemaliza masomo yake na kurudi kwao Australia. Hivyo nilijiambia kuwa hakuna maana kufuatilia kilichotokea. Na zaidi, ilibidi iwe kosa langu.
I was raised in a world where girls are taught that they get raped for a reason. Their skirt was too short, their smile was too wide, their breath smelled of alcohol. And I was guilty of all of those things, so the shame had to be mine. It took me years to realize that only one thing could have stopped me from being raped that night, and it wasn't my skirt, it wasn't my smile, it wasn't my childish trust. The only thing that could've stopped me from being raped that night is the man who raped me -- had he stopped himself.
Nilikulia katika dunia ambapo wasichana hufundishwa kwamba wakibakwa ni kwa sababu. sketi zao ni fupi mno, tabasamu zao kubwa mno, pumzi yao inanuka kileo. Nilikuwa na hatia ya mambo hayo yote, hivyo aibu ilibidi iwe yangu. Ilinichukua miaka kutambua kwamba jambo moja tu ilngeweza kuzuia mimi kubakwa, haikuwa sketi yangu, haikuwa tabasamu langu, haikuwa imani yangu ya kitoto. Kitu pekee ambacho kingeweza kuzuia kubakwa ni aliyenibaka -- kama angejizuia.
TS: I have vague memories of the next day: the after effects of drinking, a certain hollowness that I tried to stifle. Nothing more. But I didn't show up at Thordis's door. It is important to now state that I didn't see my deed for what it was. The word "rape" didn't echo around my mind as it should've, and I wasn't crucifying myself with memories of the night before. It wasn't so much a conscious refusal, it was more like any acknowledgment of reality was forbidden. My definition of my actions completely refuted any recognition of the immense trauma I caused Thordis. To be honest, I repudiated the entire act in the days afterwards and when I was committing it. I disavowed the truth by convincing myself it was sex and not rape. And this is a lie I've felt spine-bending guilt for.
TS: Sina kumbukumbu nzuri ya siku ya pili athari ya kileo, utupu niliojaribu kukandamiza. Hakuna cha ziada. Lakini sikuenda kwa Thordis. Sasa, ni muhimu kusema kwamba sikuona tendo langu kwa ubaya wake.. Neno "ubakaji" halikuwepo katika mawazo yangu kama ilivyotakiwa, sikujisulibisha kwa kumbukumbu ya usiku uliopita. Hata haikuwa mimi kukataa kwa fahamu, ila zaidi kuwa kukiri ukweli wowote ni haramu. Tafsiri yangu ya matendo yangu yalikanusha kutambua madhara nilyomfanyia Thordis. Kusema ukweli, Nilikemea kitendo chote siku za baadaye na wakati nilikuwa natenda. Niliukataa ukweli kwa kuJIshawishi ilikuwa ngono sio ubakaji. Na huu ni uongo umekuwa ukiniwinda.
I broke up with Thordis a couple of days later, and then saw her a number of times during the remainder of my year in Iceland, feeling a sharp stab of heavyheartedness each time. Deep down, I knew I'd done something immeasurably wrong. But without planning it, I sunk the memories deep, and then I tied a rock to them.
Niliachana na Thordis siku kadhaa baadaye, nilimuona mara kadhaa katika muda wangu uliobaki Iceland, nilijisikia vibaya na roho nzito kila wakati. Ndani, nilijua nimekosa vibaya mno. Lakini bila kukusudia, nilikandamiza kumbukumbu yote ilikusahau kabisa.
What followed is a nine-year period that can best be titled as "Denial and Running." When I got a chance to identify the real torment that I caused, I didn't stand still long enough to do so. Whether it be via distraction, substance use, thrill-seeking or the scrupulous policing of my inner speak, I refused to be static and silent.
Kilichofuata ni miaka tisa ya "Kuukana na kuukimbia ukweli." Nilipopata nafasi ya kutambua uhalisi wa unyama niliotenda, sikuweza kustahamili. Nilihekaheka, iwe kwa matumizi ya madawa, kutafuta hatari au kukandamika hisia zangu, Nilikataa kukaa tuli na kimya.
And with this noise, I also drew heavily upon other parts of my life to construct a picture of who I was. I was a surfer, a social science student, a friend to good people, a loved brother and son, an outdoor recreation guide, and eventually, a youth worker. I gripped tight to the simple notion that I wasn't a bad person. I didn't think I had this in my bones. I thought I was made up of something else. In my nurtured upbringing, my loving extended family and role models, people close to me were warm and genuine in their respect shown towards women. It took me a long time to stare down this dark corner of myself, and to ask it questions.
Na sauti hiyo, nilitafakari katika sehemu nyingine za maisha yangu ili kujenga picha ya mimi ni nani. Nilikuwa surfer, mwanafunzi wa sayansi za jami, rafiki kwa watu wema, kaka mpendwa na mwana, kiongozi wa burudani za nje , na hatimaye, mfanyakazi wa mambo ya vijana. Nilshikilia imani kuwa sikuwa mtu mbaya. Sikudhani nilikuwa na ukatili katika mifupa yangu. Nilidhani nilikuwa tofauti. Katika malezi yangu, upendo wa familia na jamaa, watu wa karibu walikuwa wakarimu na wakweli katika heshima yao kwa wanawake. Ilinichukua muda mrefu kuangalia kona ya kiza changu, na kujiuliza maswali hayo.
TE: Nine years after the Christmas dance, I was 25 years old, and headed straight for a nervous breakdown. My self-worth was buried under a soul-crushing load of silence that isolated me from everyone that I cared about, and I was consumed with misplaced hatred and anger that I took out on myself.
TE: Miaka tisa tangu ile sherehe ya Krismasi, Nilikuwa nina miaka 25, ninaelekea kuchanganyikiwa. thamani yangu ilizikwa na usiri ulionitenga kutoka kwa kila mtu niliyemjali, na chuki na hasira niliyoelekeza kwangu mwenyewe.
One day, I stormed out of the door in tears after a fight with a loved one, and I wandered into a café, where I asked the waitress for a pen. I always had a notebook with me, claiming that it was to jot down ideas in moments of inspiration, but the truth was that I needed to be constantly fidgeting, because in moments of stillness, I found myself counting seconds again. But that day, I watched in wonder as the words streamed out of my pen, forming the most pivotal letter I've ever written, addressed to Tom. Along with an account of the violence that he subjected me to, the words, "I want to find forgiveness" stared back at me, surprising nobody more than myself. But deep down I realized that this was my way out of my suffering, because regardless of whether or not he deserved my forgiveness, I deserved peace. My era of shame was over.
Siku moja, nilitoka nje kwa hasira na machozi baada ya kugombana na mpendwa, na kuingia katika café, ambapo niliomba kalamu. Daima nilikuwa daftari pamoja nami, nikidai ilikuwa ni kwa ajili ya kuandika mawazo mapya, lakini ukweli ni kwamba nilihitaji daima kuriaria, kwa sababu katika wakati wa utulivu, nilijikuta nikihesabu sekunde tena. Lakini siku hiyo, nilistaajabu jinsi maneno yalitoka kwenye kalamu yangu, kuandika barua muhimu maishani kwa Tom. Pamoja na nakala ya ukatili alionitendea, maneno, "Nataka kutafuta msamaha" yalinishangaa, kunishangaza mimi hasa. Lakini ndani, niligundua hio Ilikuwa ni njia ya kujikomboa mateso yangu, kwa sababu, bila kujali kama alistahili msamaha wangu au la, mimi nilistahili amani. Kipindi changu cha aibu kimefika kikomo.
Before sending the letter, I prepared myself for all kinds of negative responses, or what I found likeliest: no response whatsoever. The only outcome that I didn't prepare myself for was the one that I then got -- a typed confession from Tom, full of disarming regret. As it turns out, he, too, had been imprisoned by silence. And this marked the start of an eight-year-long correspondence that God knows was never easy, but always honest. I relieved myself of the burdens that I'd wrongfully shouldered, and he, in turn, wholeheartedly owned up to what he'd done. Our written exchanges became a platform to dissect the consequences of that night, and they were everything from gut-wrenching to healing beyond words.
Kabla ya kutuma barua, nilijitayarisha kwa kila aina ya majibu hasi, kuliko vote: sikutarajia kupata jibu lolote. Tokeo ambalo sikujiandaa tu ndilo nililopata- barua ya kukiri kutoka Tom, iliyojaa majuto. Yeye pia alikuwa amefungwa katika ukimya. Na huo ndio mwanzo wa mawasiliano ya yetu yaliyodumu miaka nane Mungu anajua haikuwa rahisi kamwe, lakini daima ukweli. Nilitua dhulma yote niliyobeba, na yeye, kwa moyo wote alikiri alichofanya. Mabadilishano yetu yakawa jukwaa la kuchambua matokeo ya usiku ule, na ilikuwa kila kitu, kutoka maneno yaliyoumiza hadi uponyaji kupita maelezo.
And yet, it didn't bring about closure for me. Perhaps because the email format didn't feel personal enough, perhaps because it's easy to be brave when you're hiding behind a computer screen on the other side of the planet. But we'd begun a dialogue that I felt was necessary to explore to its fullest. So, after eight years of writing, and nearly 16 years after that dire night, I mustered the courage to propose a wild idea: that we'd meet up in person and face our past once and for all.
Na bado, haikuwa kunipa amani. Labda kwa sababu barua pepe haikua binafsi ya kutosha, labda kwa sababu ni rahisi kuwa jasiri wakati unajificha nyuma ya kompyuta upande wa pili wa dunia Lakini tulianza mjadala niliyohisi ni lazima kuchunguza kikamilifu. Hivyo, baada ya miaka nane ya kuandikiana, na karibia miaka 16 tangia usiku ule, nilikwamua ujasiri kupendekeza: kwamba tukutane uso kwa uso kuongelea historia yetu na kumalizana kabisa.
TS: Iceland and Australia are geographically like this. In the middle of the two is South Africa. We decided upon the city of Cape Town, and there we met for one week. The city itself proved to be a stunningly powerful environment to focus on reconciliation and forgiveness. Nowhere else has healing and rapprochement been tested like it has in South Africa. As a nation, South Africa sought to sit within the truth of its past, and to listen to the details of its history. Knowing this only magnified the effect that Cape Town had on us.
TS: Kijiografia, Iceland na Australia zipo hivi. Katikati, ni Afrika Kusini. Tuliamua kukutana mji wa Cape Town, kwa wiki moja. mji wenyewe ulikuwa ni uthibitisho fika kwa mazingira ya kufikia maridhiano na msamaha. Hakuna mahali pengine ambapo uponyaji wa mahusiano yamejaribiwa kama nchini Afrika Kusini. Kama taifa, Afrika Kusini walitaka kuishi katika ukweli wa historia, na kuwasikiliza maelezo ya historia yake. Kujua hii tu, athari ya Cape Town iliongezeka kwetu .
Over the course of this week, we literally spoke our life stories to each other, from start to finish. And this was about analyzing our own history. We followed a strict policy of being honest, and this also came with a certain exposure, an open-chested vulnerability. There were gutting confessions, and moments where we just absolutely couldn't fathom the other person's experience. The seismic effects of sexual violence were spoken aloud and felt, face to face. At other times, though, we found a soaring clarity, and even some totally unexpected but liberating laughter. When it came down to it, we did out best to listen to each other intently. And our individual realities were aired with an unfiltered purity that couldn't do any less than lighten the soul.
Katika kipindi cha wiki hio, tulisimuliana hadithi ya maisha yetu kwa kila mmoja, kuanzia manzo hai mwisho. Na kuchambua historia yetu wenyewe. Tulifuata sera kali ya kuwa wakweli, hii ilimaanisha kujiweka wazi, uwazi kuhusu kasoro na mapungufu yetu. Kulikuwa na kukiri, na wakati ambapo sote hatukuweza kudhania kabisa maaumivu ya mwingine. Madhara ya ukatili wa kijinsia yalisemwa kwa sauti na hisia, uso kwa uso. Wakati mwingine, tuligundua ubayana uliyongezeka, na hata vicheko visivyotarajiwa lakini vilitukomboa . Ki ukweli, tulijitahidi kusikilizana kwa makini. Na hali halisi yetu binafsi ziliwasilihwa kwa uhalisia wake kwamba hatukuweza kufanya lolote kuliko kurahisha uzito wa nafsi.
TE: Wanting to take revenge is a very human emotion -- instinctual, even. And all I wanted to do for years was to hurt Tom back as deeply as he had hurt me. But had I not found a way out of the hatred and anger, I'm not sure I'd be standing here today. That isn't to say that I didn't have my doubts along the way. When the plane bounced on that landing strip in Cape Town, I remember thinking, "Why did I not just get myself a therapist and a bottle of vodka like a normal person would do?"
TE: Kutaka kulipiza kisasi ni hisia ya kawaida kama binadamu -- ya kiasili, hata. Nilichotaka kufanya kwa miaka yote ni kumdhuru Tom kama alivyoniumiza. Lakini sikupata njia ya kutoa chuki na hasira yangu, sina hakika kama ningekuwa nasimama hapa leo. Hivyo siyo kusema kwamba sikuwa na mashaka yangu njiani. Ndege ilipotua Cape Town, Nakumbuka kufikiri, "Kwa nini sikujipatia mtaalamu na chupa ya vodka kama mtu wa kawaida? "
(Laughter)
(Vicheko)
At times, our search for understanding in Cape Town felt like an impossible quest, and all I wanted to do was to give up and go home to my loving husband, Vidir, and our son. But despite our difficulties, this journey did result in a victorious feeling that light had triumphed over darkness, that something constructive could be built out of the ruins.
Wakati mwingine, utafiti wetu wa uelewa Cape Town ulionekana kama jitihada isiyowezekana, na nilitaka kukata tu tamaa na kurudi nyumbani kwa mume wangu mpenzi, Vidir, na mtoto wetu. Lakini licha ya matatizo yetu, safari hii ilileta hisia ya ushindi kwamba mwanga umeshinda giza, kwamba kitu chema kinaweza kujengwa kutoka kwa magofu.
I read somewhere that you should try and be the person that you needed when you were younger. And back when I was a teenager, I would have needed to know that the shame wasn't mine, that there's hope after rape, that you can even find happiness, like I share with my husband today. Which is why I started writing feverishly upon my return from Cape Town, resulting in a book co-authored by Tom, that we hope can be of use to people from both ends of the perpetrator-survivor scale. If nothing else, it's a story that we would've needed to hear when we were younger.
Nilisoma mahali fulani kwamba unapaswa kujaribu na kuwa mtu uliyehitaji ulipokuwa mtoto. Na nilipokuwa kijana, Ningependa kujua kwamba aibu haikuwa yangu, kwamba kuna matumaini baada ya kubakwa, kwamba unaweza hata kupata furaha, kama niliyonayo na mume wangu leo. Ndiyo maana niliaanza kuandika niliporudi kutoka Cape Town, kitabu na mwandishi mwenzangu Tom, kwamba tuna imani kinaweza kuwa msaada kwa pande zote mbili, aliyetendwa na kutenda. Vinginevyo, ni hadithi tulipaswa kusikia tulipokuwa vijana.
Given the nature of our story, I know the words that inevitably accompany it -- victim, rapist -- and labels are a way to organize concepts, but they can also be dehumanizing in their connotations. Once someone's been deemed a victim, it's that much easier to file them away as someone damaged, dishonored, less than. And likewise, once someone has been branded a rapist, it's that much easier to call him a monster -- inhuman. But how will we understand what it is in human societies that produces violence if we refuse to recognize the humanity of those who commit it? And how --
Kutokana na hali ya hadithi yetu, Najua maneno ambayo huambatana nayo - muathirika, mbakaji -- na majina yanayotumika kuapanga dhana, lakini wanaweza pia huvua utu katika vidokezo yanavyomaanisha. Mtu anapoonyeshwa kama muathirika, ni rahisi sana kumpuuza kama bidhaa mbovu, fedheha, isiyo na thamani. Na vivyo hivyo, mara moja mtu anapoitwa mbakaji, ni rahisi zaidi kumuita zimwi - mnyama. Lakini ni jinsi gani tutaelewa nini katika jamii kinazalisha ukatili kama sisi kunataa kutambua utu katika wale wanaoufanya? Na jinsi -
(Applause)
(Makofi)
And how can we empower survivors if we're making them feel less than? How can we discuss solutions to one of the biggest threats to the lives of women and children around the world, if the very words we use are part of the problem?
Na tunawezaje kuwawezesha waliopitia taabu kama hatuwathamini? Jinsi gani tunaweza kujadili ufumbuzi kwa moja ya vitisho kubwa katika maisha ya wanawake na watoto duniani kote, kama majina tunayotumia ni sehemu ya tatizo?
TS: From what I've now learnt, my actions that night in 1996 were a self-centered taking. I felt deserving of Thordis's body. I've had primarily positive social influences and examples of equitable behavior around me. But on that occasion, I chose to draw upon the negative ones. The ones that see women as having less intrinsic worth, and of men having some unspoken and symbolic claim to their bodies. These influences I speak of are external to me, though. And it was only me in that room making choices, nobody else.
TS: Nilichojifunza, matendo yangu usiku ule mwaka 1996 yalikuwa ya kibinafsi. Nilijisikia kustahili mwili wa Thordis. Nilikuwa na misingi mizuri katika malezi na kijamii na mifano ya tabia usawa. Lakini katika tukio hilo, Nilichagua kufuata mifano mibaya. Ambayo wanawake walikuwa na thamani ya chini , na wanaume wana hati juu ya miili yao. Misukumo hii ilitokea nje kwangu. Ilikuwa mimi pekee katika chumba nifanya maamuzi, hakuna mtu mwingine.
When you own something and really square up to your culpability, I do think a surprising thing can happen. It's what I call a paradox of ownership. I thought I'd buckle under the weight of responsibility. I thought my certificate of humanity would be burnt. Instead, I was offered to really own what I did, and found that it didn't possess the entirety of who I am. Put simply, something you've done doesn't have to constitute the sum of who you are. The noise in my head abated. The indulgent self-pity was starved of oxygen, and it was replaced with the clean air of acceptance -- an acceptance that I did hurt this wonderful person standing next to me; an acceptance that I am part of a large and shockingly everyday grouping of men who have been sexually violent toward their partners.
Unapokiri kosa na kweli kuchukua hatia kwa matendo yako, ninaamini mambo ya kushangaza yanaweza kutokea. Hiko nachoita kitendawili cha umiliki. Nilidhani ningeelemewa na uzito wa wajibu. Nilidhani cheti changu cha ubinadamu kingechomwa moto. Badala yake, nilipewa umiliki wa makosa yangu, na kutambua kwamba haikumiliki ukamilifu wa mimi ni nani. Kurahisisha, kitendo ulichofanya haliwezi kuwa Jumla ya nafsi na utu wako. Sauti katika kichwa changu zilikoma. Anasa ya kujihurumia iliyokuwa imekosa oksijeni, na kubadilishwa na hewa safi ya kukubalika - kukubalika kwamba nilimdhuru binadamu huyu wa ajabu anayesimama karibu na mimi; kukubalika kwamba mimi ni sehemu ya kundi kubwa la kutisha la wanaume ambao wamekuwa wakatili kwa wapenzi wao.
Don't underestimate the power of words. Saying to Thordis that I raped her changed my accord with myself, as well as with her. But most importantly, the blame transferred from Thordis to me. Far too often, the responsibility is attributed to female survivors of sexual violence, and not to the males who enact it. Far too often, the denial and running leaves all parties at a great distance from the truth. There's definitely a public conversation happening now, and like a lot of people, we're heartened that there's less retreating from this difficult but important discussion. I feel a real responsibility to add our voices to it.
Usidharau nguvu ya maneno. Kutubu kwa Thordis kwamba nilimbaka ilibadili hiari yangu na mimi mwenyewe, na pia na yeye. Lakini muhimu zaidi, lawama ilhamishwa kutoka kwa Thordis kwangu. Mara nyingi mno, wajibu ni ulitokana kwa waathirika wa kike wa ukatili wa kijinsia, na si kwa wanaume ambao kutunga yake. Mara nyingi mno, kuukana ukweli huwaacha wahusika mbali na ukweli. Kuna mazungumzo katika umma sasa, na kama watu wengi, tuna imanishwa na hamasa ndogo kwa majadiliano haya magumu lakini muhimu. Ninasikia wajibu kuongeza sauti zetu.
TE: What we did is not a formula that we're prescribing for others. Nobody has the right to tell anyone else how to handle their deepest pain or their greatest error. Breaking your silence is never easy, and depending on where you are in the world, it can even be deadly to speak out about rape. I realize that even the most traumatic event of my life is still a testament to my privilege, because I can talk about it without getting ostracized, or even killed. But with that privilege of having a voice comes the responsibility of using it. That's the least I owe my fellow survivors who can't.
TE: Tulichofanya sio formula tunayopendekeza kwa wengine. Hakuna mtu ana haki ya kuwaambia mtu mwingine namna ya kushughulikia maumivu yao au kosa lao mkuu. Kuvunja ukimya yako si rahisi kamwe, na kutegemea ni wapi katika dunia ulipo, inaweza hata kuwa ni kifo kuzungumzia kuhusu ubakaji. Nimetambua hata tukio baya la maisha yangu, bado ni ushahidi wa upendeleo kwangu, kwa sababu naweza kuzugumzia bila hofu ya unyanyapaa au hata kuuawa. Lakini pamoja na upendeleo wa kuwa na sauti huja wajibu wa kuitumia. Hiyo ni angalau mimi deni langu kwa wenzangu wasiyoweza.
The story we've just relayed is unique, and yet it is so common with sexual violence being a global pandemic. But it doesn't have to be that way. One of the things that I found useful on my own healing journey is educating myself about sexual violence. And as a result, I've been reading, writing and speaking about this issue for over a decade now, going to conferences around the world. And in my experience, the attendees of such events are almost exclusively women. But it's about time that we stop treating sexual violence as a women's issue.
hadithi tuliyowasilisha ni ya kipekee, na bado ni ukatili wa kijinsia ni janga la kimataifa. Lakini haifai kuwa njia hivyo. Moja ya mambo nimeona muhimu katika safari yangu ya uponyaji ni kujielimisha kuhusu ukatili wa kijinsia. Na matokeo yake, Nimekuwa nikisoma, kuandika na kuzungumzia suala hili kwa zaidi ya muongo mmoja sasa, kwenda katika makongamano duniani kote. Katika uzoefu wangu, wanaohudhuria mijadala hayo ni karibia wanawake pekee. Lakini ni wakati tuache kuona unyanyasaji wa kijinsia kama ya tatizo la wanawake tu.
(Applause)
(Makofi)
A majority of sexual violence against women and men is perpetrated by men. And yet their voices are sorely underrepresented in this discussion. But all of us are needed here. Just imagine all the suffering we could alleviate if we dared to face this issue together.
Ukatili wa kijinsia dhidi ya wanawake na wanaume unaofanywa na wanaume. Na bado sauti zao haziwakilishwi ipasavyo katika mjadala huu. Lakini sisi sote tunahitajika hapa. Fikiria mateso tunaweza kupunguza kama sisi alijitokeza uso suala hili kwa pamoja.
Thank you.
Asanteni.
(Applause)
(Makofi)