The Quietest Casualties of War: Breaking the Silence Around Conflict-Related Sexual Violence in Nigeria
Communications
18 June 2026
By Dr. Ogbonna Amarachi Onyeyirichi
Not because people do not know it is happening, but because speaking about it comes at a cost. Conflict-related sexual violence thrives in that silence. Survivors carry the trauma, communities turn a blind eye, institutions fall short, and perpetrators walk away unpunished. Nowhere is this cycle more visible than in North-East Nigeria, where years of insurgency have made sexual violence one of the conflict’s most hidden and enduring legacies. As the world marks the International Day for the Elimination of Sexual Violence in Conflict, we should ask not only why these crimes continue, but why survivors are so often left to confront them alone. I often think that one of the greatest tragedies of conflict-related sexual violence is not only the violence itself, but the silence that surrounds it. Survivors carry unimaginable physical and psychological scars, while communities, institutions, and even justice systems too often look away. The result is a cycle where survivors remain isolated, perpetrators act with impunity, and the crime itself becomes hidden in plain sight.
Conflict-related sexual violence is, sadly, as old as warfare itself. Throughout history, women’s bodies have been treated as spoils of war, as collateral damage, or as tools through which armed groups humiliate, terrorise, and dominate entire communities. Women and girls have been subjected to rape, sexual slavery, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, and other forms of sexual and gender-based violence. Men and boys have also experienced these crimes, although their stories often remain untold because of the profound stigma and shame associated with disclosure. In reality, conflict-related sexual violence includes a broad range of abuses—rape, sexual slavery, forced prostitution, forced abortion, enforced sterilisation, forced marriage, and other comparable acts committed against women, men, and children that are directly or indirectly linked to armed conflict.
In Nigeria, the insurgency that has ravaged the North-East for more than a decade has created conditions where these violations flourish. The conflict has displaced millions of people, destroyed livelihoods, fractured communities, and exposed women and children to extraordinary risks. According to humanitarian estimates, by 2019 approximately two million people had been internally displaced across Borno, Adamawa, and Yobe States, with women and children making up around 80 per cent of the displaced population. Within this environment of insecurity and displacement, sexual violence has become not merely a by-product of war but a deliberate strategy used to intimidate, punish, and exert control.
The United Nations has documented patterns of rape, abduction, forced marriage, and sexual slavery committed by armed groups, particularly Boko Haram, against civilian populations. Existing gender inequalities in northern Nigeria have been ruthlessly exploited, with abducted women and girls reportedly offered to fighters as rewards and subjected to gang rape, forced marriage, and sexual servitude. Refusal of sexual demands has, in some cases, resulted in severe punishment, torture, and even execution. The trauma inflicted on survivors does not simply disappear once captivity ends. Some victims struggle with profound emotional and psychological consequences that complicate reintegration into their families and communities, while stigma and fear often prevent them from speaking publicly about their experiences or participating in legal proceedings against their abusers.
What is particularly striking is that the available data almost certainly underestimates the true scale of the problem. The same conditions that enable sexual violence—fear, insecurity, social exclusion, and weak institutions—also suppress reporting. Many survivors never come forward because they know that disclosure may bring shame, rejection, or even further harm. Research conducted by Ojengbede and colleagues in conflict-affected communities across North-East Nigeria offers a sobering picture. Their study found that roughly one in three women surveyed (33.2 per cent) had experienced sexual violence, while one in five (20.5 per cent) had experienced physical violence. Beyond these forms of abuse, 28.4 per cent had experienced socioeconomic violence, 30.5 per cent reported emotional violence, and almost half had been subjected to harmful traditional practices. Even after displacement, women remained vulnerable. About 7.6 per cent reported experiencing sexual violence since being displaced, with perpetrators including Boko Haram insurgents, unknown assailants, members of the police and armed forces, intimate partners, and even relatives. The findings are a reminder that conflict-related sexual violence cannot be understood simply as isolated criminal acts. It exists within a wider ecosystem of violence, inequality, and displacement that leaves women and girls vulnerable long after they have fled active conflict zones. The study also revealed another troubling reality: only about one-third of survivors of sexual violence sought care, and fewer than half of those who experienced physical violence accessed support services. In other words, for many survivors, the violence itself is only the beginning; the journey towards healing and justice is often blocked at every turn.
Part of the challenge lies in the multiple barriers survivors face when trying to seek help. Research carried out in Borno State by the Population Council and Médecins du Monde paints a vivid picture of how these obstacles operate simultaneously at personal, family, community, and institutional levels. Many survivors simply do not know that specialised medical care exists or understand the importance of accessing treatment within the critical 72- to 120-hour window after an assault. Others are paralysed by fear—fear of being blamed, fear of being ostracised, or fear that speaking out will bring dishonour to their families. Families themselves often reinforce this silence. Faced with poverty, displacement, and social pressures, many choose to conceal incidents of rape rather than risk community stigma. Survivors may be actively discouraged from reporting or seeking medical attention because disclosure is perceived as a greater threat than the violence itself. In some communities, rape continues to be viewed as a stain on the victim rather than a crime committed by the perpetrator. Community attitudes deepen the problem. Victim-blaming, discrimination, and social exclusion create an environment where survivors feel they have little to gain and much to lose by coming forward. Poor access to justice reinforces this perception. When perpetrators are rarely investigated or prosecuted, violence becomes normalised, and survivors lose faith in the institutions that are meant to protect them.
Even where survivors decide to seek help, institutional barriers remain daunting. Long waiting times at health facilities, inadequate referral systems, lack of privacy, language barriers, and concerns about confidentiality all reduce access to essential services. Some survivors have reported avoiding clinics altogether because they fear being recognised and labelled by others in their communities. Facility assessments have shown that many health facilities and police stations in camps and host communities simply lack the resources and infrastructure required to manage sexual and gender-based violence cases effectively or support the prosecution of offenders.
The justice gap is perhaps one of the most pressing aspects of this crisis. Legal scholars have argued that Nigeria’s response to conflict-related sexual violence continues to be undermined by outdated laws, weak institutional capacity, and the absence of specialised legal frameworks for prosecuting these crimes. For decades, wartime sexual violence has thrived within what many describe as a “culture of silence,” where victims are reluctant to speak, and society often behaves as though the crime does not exist. This silence serves the interests of perpetrators, allowing them to operate with little fear of accountability. The challenge becomes even more complex in the context of insurgency. Reports have documented instances where Boko Haram fighters took abducted women and girls as so-called “bush wives,” subjecting them to prolonged captivity and abuse. In some cases, survivors who eventually regained their freedom struggled with trauma bonds and emotional attachment to their captors, making it extraordinarily difficult for them to testify in court or participate in prosecutions. These are not signs of consent or acceptance; they are recognised psychological responses to prolonged coercion and abuse. Yet they create additional hurdles for justice systems that are often ill-equipped to understand the realities of conflict-related sexual violence.
And still, despite these immense challenges, there are reasons for hope. Across Nigeria, organisations are developing innovative, survivor-centred approaches that demonstrate what meaningful support can look like. Libraries Without Borders, in partnership with We Are NOT Weapons of War (WWoW), has introduced the BackUp digital platform to support survivors of conflict-related sexual violence in several conflict-affected states. The platform helps connect survivors with medical, psychosocial, legal, and protection services while also strengthening the secure documentation of incidents that can support future accountability efforts.
At the same time, the deployment of offline digital libraries and community-based information hubs is helping to close another critical gap: access to information. Many survivors do not know where to turn, what services are available, or even that they have rights that deserve protection. Providing communities with culturally appropriate information in local languages is a simple but powerful intervention. People cannot access services they do not know exist, and they cannot demand justice for rights they have never been told they possess.
Ultimately, ending conflict-related sexual violence requires much more than annual statements of solidarity. It requires investment in survivor-centred healthcare, stronger referral pathways, trauma-informed psychosocial support, and legal systems that are capable of holding perpetrators accountable. It requires community engagement that challenges the social norms and stigma that keep survivors silent. It requires strengthening data collection and documentation so that the true scale of the problem can no longer be ignored. And perhaps most importantly, it requires listening to survivors themselves and allowing their experiences to shape policy and practice.
As we mark the International Day for the Elimination of Sexual Violence in Conflict, it is worth remembering that sexual violence is not an inevitable consequence of war. It is a deliberate act, enabled by inequality, impunity, and institutional failure. The women and girls in displacement camps across North-East Nigeria, the men and boys whose experiences remain hidden by stigma, and the countless survivors whose stories have never been documented deserve more than symbolic recognition once a year. They deserve justice. They deserve care. And they deserve communities and institutions willing to stand with them rather than turn away.
If this day is to mean anything at all, it must remind us that breaking the silence is only the first step. The real challenge and the real responsibility is ensuring that silence is replaced with action.
