We met Devi Khadka on the morning of July 1, 2025, in Kathmandu, at a time of renewed political tension surrounding Nepal’s transitional justice process. In mid-May, the government announced a second round of appointments to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and the Commission of Investigation on Enforced Disappeared Persons—decisions that were swiftly and strongly rejected by victims and survivors. The appointments were widely criticized as politically manipulated and carried out without meaningful consultation, undermining the principle of a victim-centered approach that lies at the heart of legitimate transitional justice.

In response to sustained pressure from the victims’ movement, the government has begun reopening consultations with survivors in an attempt to regain trust and revive the long-stalled process. (For more, see: Conflict victims slam UN support for ‘flawed’ transitional justice bodies)

Amid this shifting political landscape, Devi Khadka has remained one of Nepal’s most powerful and persistent voices for justice. A former Maoist commander and parliamentarian, she is now best known for her unwavering advocacy on behalf of survivors of conflict-related sexual violence. Her leadership has been central to the movement’s transformation—from scattered stories of suffering into a nationwide demand for recognition, reparation, and accountability.

After her release, Devi faced intense social stigma and rejection. Nevertheless, she continued fighting on the front lines and steadily rose through the Maoist ranks, eventually becoming a commander and later assuming her brother’s political role after his death. In 2008, she was elected to Nepal’s Constituent Assembly. Reflecting on her time in parliament in a later interview, Devi expressed regret that she had not spoken out more forcefully about sexual violence—silenced, she said, by political pressure and the lingering weight of personal trauma (For more, see: Global Press Journal – Meet the Nepali Woman Leading Calls for Justice for Wartime Sexual Assaults).

Today, Devi is a leading voice in Nepal’s fight for justice for survivors of conflict-era sexual violence. She leads two organizations working to document cases, push for state recognition, and secure medical and legal support. Her work challenges the deep-rooted stigma surrounding sexual violence in Nepal and highlights the failure of the country’s transitional justice mechanisms to address survivors’ needs.

Her story is featured in the 2024 documentary Devi by Subina Shrestha and Nepal’s Undefeated Survivors of Wartime Sexual Violence (Witness). Despite the obstacles, Devi remains committed to seeking justice—if not for her own generation, then for the next.

As a researcher in law, I was struck not only by the depth of Devi’s legal knowledge—especially of the TRC Act—but by her clarity of reasoning and her unwavering commitment. Our conversation revealed both the personal pain she has endured and the intellectual clarity with which she now critiques Nepal’s transitional justice process.

The Movement Was Born in Silence

In our interview, Devi told me that deciding to share her story through the documentary was not a sudden act of courage—it was a response to a movement. “The government didn’t recognize women affected by sexual violence. When someone contacted me, I felt it was the right moment. The documentary became part of a larger struggle. It was a timing thing.”

That movement—built by and for survivors of conflict-related sexual violence—has passed through three phases over the last seven years. In the first, women found one another and began to heal. They spent two years releasing emotion, confronting trauma, and insisting on acknowledgment. In the second phase, they turned toward evidence and strategy—gathering data, documenting crimes, demanding recognition. And now, in its third phase, the movement has become a mature, organized, and persistent force—one that the government can no longer ignore.

“They Acknowledged Us Only Because They Were Forced”

When I asked whether the government’s attitude toward survivors had changed, Devi answered with unsettling clarity: “The government was forced to acknowledge us because of the movement. But they still haven’t internalized it.” The word she used most often throughout our conversation was forcefully. “They acknowledged the issue publicly, but there is no real action—no real intention to go further.”

This lack of genuine commitment is visible in the very legal framework designed to deliver justice. The newly amended TRC Ac, passed in August last year, mentions sexual violence and offers categories for it, copied from Nepal’s Criminal Code. But survivors say the law falls short. It offers no clear, survivor-centered definitions. “There are words, but no meanings,” Devi told me.

I asked a question about privacy, inspired by the documentary and my earlier interviews. Some survivors of sexual violence had previously shared that, at the very least, victim groups tend to respect their privacy. In the documentary, while Devi strongly urged the government to take action for survivors, the government’s response was to ask her to hold a press conference. That moment made me question whether the privacy of survivors is truly respected by the state. Given the deep social stigma that still surrounds sexual violence in Nepal, privacy becomes not only sensitive but urgent.

Although Article 28 of Nepal’s Constitution and the 2018 Privacy Act formally guarantee the right to privacy, these protections remain largely theoretical. “Only a small group of political actors in urban areas respect the idea of privacy,” Devi told me. “Most people don’t understand it. And even the implementation directives don’t explain what it really means.”

Fighting to Be Counted

While the exact number remains unknown, it is widely believed that thousands of women experienced sexual violence during the conflict—far exceeding the 314 cases registered by the previous commission. These cases were never investigated, nor did the survivors receive any form of reparative support. Through Devi’s efforts to mobilize members nationwide, her organization has now documented 794 cases, with the process still ongoing.

Devi expresses deep disappointment with the commission’s work, citing a lack of trust and credibility in the state-led institution. She said, most women were never given the opportunity to come forward. They were effectively excluded from the process—just as they had been from the interim relief program.

That exclusion led to one of the movement’s most significant victories: a push for special compensation for survivors of conflict-related sexual violence, many of whom had previously received nothing. The Amended TRC Act now explicitly prioritizes these survivors and commits to delivering reparations. Yet, it remains unclear how—or when—these promises will be meaningfully implemented. Proposals for financial compensation have been discussed, but survivors continue to wait for concrete action.

One key message from the movement is that there can be no “one-size-fits-all” approach to reparation. “We are collecting information region by region,” Devi explained. “Each woman’s needs are different. We want to prioritize based on actual need.”

While the new TRC Act does recognize reparation as a right and outlines five types of reparation, it does not include a general umbrella clause or reparation formula. As Devi’s current work highlights, reparations must be needs-based: some survivors may urgently require school support, others medical care, livelihood assistance, or psychosocial services. The challenge ahead lies in translating the legal recognition of rights into concrete, personalized, and dignified support.

Healing From the Inside

In remote villages across Nepal, stigma and exclusion remain deeply entrenched. “In those communities,” Devi said quietly, “if a woman says she was raped, they treat her like a prostitute.”

That is why the survivors’ movement has placed such strong emphasis on psychosocial healing, peer support, and empowerment. One of its most powerful aspects is that the survivors themselves have become the healers. They began training as counselors, legal advisors, and trauma support workers. “We trained our own people,” Devi said proudly. “After six months, survivors became counselors for other survivors.”

Devi is one of them.

Survivors as Leaders of Justice

The international community has played a role—applying pressure on the government to acknowledge survivors of sexual violence. But as Devi reminds us, the real power has come from the ground. From the women who stood up, organized, spoke out, and refused to let the past be erased.

“They didn’t see us. We made them see.”
This, Devi conveyed, is the core message of the survivors’ movement.

In Nepal’s long and painful transitional justice process, survivors of sexual violence are not passive victims waiting for compassion. They are builders of truth, architects of justice, and fierce defenders of memory. And in their struggle, they are reshaping the very meaning of accountability.

Devi Khadka: Photo from the Guardian