In the chilling months of February and March 2022, as the world watched the initial, violent surge of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the domestic spaces that once signified safety were transformed into sites of profound trauma. Among those who lived through the harrowing occupation of those early weeks was Daria Zymenko. Today, her name and her image have become synonymous not just with the suffering endured by thousands of Ukrainian women, but with a burgeoning movement to break the suffocational silence surrounding conflict-related sexual violence (CRSV). Through a powerful creative partnership with photographer Oleksandra Zborovska, Zymenko is navigating the long journey from the shadows of victimhood toward the light of advocacy, using the visual arts to demand a justice that has, thus far, remained largely elusive.
The collaboration between Zymenko and Zborovska began in earnest in 2024, two years after the initial trauma took place. The project was conceived as a way to give Zymenko a "voice" without requiring her to constantly repeat the grueling details of her experience to a skeptical public. Instead, the narrative is told through the atmosphere of the places she survived. One of the most striking images in their collection is a portrait of Daria taken in the very house where she and her family were trapped during the first two months of the invasion. The photograph, captured in 2024, does not show a broken woman; rather, it depicts a person standing in the wreckage of her past, reclaiming the physical space that the conflict attempted to steal from her.
Zborovska’s work with Zymenko is part of a broader effort to humanize a crisis that is often reduced to cold, and frequently inaccurate, statistics. In the discourse of modern warfare, sexual violence is often categorized as a "byproduct" of conflict, yet for those on the ground in Ukraine, it has been recognized as a deliberate tactic—a weapon of war designed to humiliate, destabilize, and destroy the social fabric of communities. However, documenting the scale of this weaponization remains one of the greatest challenges for international human rights observers and local authorities alike.
As the creative duo has pointed out through their various exhibitions and public engagements, there is still no reliable data on how many people in Ukraine have been affected by conflict-related sexual violence. This lack of data is not due to a lack of occurrence, but rather a complex web of social, legal, and psychological barriers. In the immediate aftermath of the 2022 invasion, the priority for many survivors was basic survival—finding food, warmth, and a way to escape active combat zones. Reporting a sexual assault was often impossible when police stations were destroyed and the rule of law had been replaced by the whims of occupying forces.
Even as territories were liberated, the stigma associated with sexual violence remained a powerful deterrent. In many traditional communities, the shame unfairly cast upon survivors can lead to social ostracization, causing many women to bury their experiences deep within. Furthermore, the legal process for prosecuting CRSV is notoriously rigorous, often requiring forensic evidence that is impossible to obtain months or years after the fact. This "data gap" creates a vicious cycle: without high numbers of reported cases, it is difficult to secure the necessary funding and international pressure to create robust support systems, and without those systems, survivors feel less safe coming forward.
The work of Zymenko and Zborovska seeks to bridge this gap by shifting the focus from "counting" to "witnessing." By creating a visual record of survival, they are providing a platform for the thousands of women who are not yet ready to step into a courtroom but who refuse to be forgotten. Their projects serve as a reminder that every data point represents a human life, a family, and a home. The house where Zymenko lived in early 2022 is not just a building; it is a witness to a history that the world is still struggling to fully acknowledge.
This struggle for recognition is happening against the backdrop of a larger global movement for gender equality and justice. The Sustainable Development Agenda, which aims to foster peace and justice while reducing inequalities, provides a framework for how the international community should respond to the crisis in Ukraine. Organizations like UN Women have long emphasized that there can be no sustainable peace without justice for survivors of gender-based violence. The images produced by Zborovska are more than just art; they are a call to action for the global community to uphold the promises made under these international frameworks.
As the conflict in Ukraine continues into 2025, the psychological toll on the population is becoming increasingly apparent. For survivors of CRSV, the trauma is often compounded by "secondary victimization"—the process by which the media or the legal system inadvertently causes more harm through intrusive questioning or insensitive reporting. Zymenko’s decision to take control of her own image is a radical act of self-preservation. By choosing how she is seen and where she is photographed, she is asserting her agency in a world that tried to strip it away.
Oleksandra Zborovska’s role in this process is that of a facilitator. She describes her work with Daria as a "creative project to show her voice," acknowledging that the camera can be a tool for liberation. The photographs are carefully composed to reflect the internal strength required to return to the site of one’s greatest fear. In the 2024 portraits, the lighting and framing suggest a sense of emergence. The shadows of the 2022 occupation are still present, but they no longer define the borders of Daria’s existence.
The broader implications of this work are significant for the future of Ukraine’s reconstruction. True recovery for the nation involves more than just rebuilding bridges and power grids; it requires the healing of its people. Integrating mental health support and specialized care for survivors of sexual violence into the national recovery plan is essential. Experts argue that if the silence surrounding CRSV is allowed to persist, it will leave a permanent scar on the national psyche, hindering the country’s ability to move forward as a cohesive and democratic society.
Furthermore, the case of Ukraine is setting a precedent for how the international legal system handles sexual violence in real-time. With the help of digital evidence and the testimonies of brave individuals like Zymenko, investigators are attempting to build cases that could eventually reach the International Criminal Court. While the "reliable data" may still be missing, the qualitative evidence—the stories, the photos, and the lived experiences—is becoming undeniable.
In the end, the story of Daria Zymenko and Oleksandra Zborovska is a testament to the power of the human spirit to find beauty and purpose in the wake of devastation. Their collaboration reminds us that while war can destroy homes and violate bodies, it cannot fully extinguish the desire for truth. As they continue their work into 2025, they stand as a beacon for others who are still hiding in the shadows, offering a silent but certain promise: you are seen, you are heard, and your story matters. The journey toward justice is long, but through the lens of resilience, the path is becoming clearer every day. By turning the site of her trauma into a site of artistic expression, Zymenko is not just surviving; she is leading a quiet revolution of the heart, ensuring that the history of Ukraine’s women is written in their own words and captured in their own light.
