She was born in 2000—an agenda, an aspiration, a promise. She was named Resolution 1325, and with her came a new way of thinking: that peace and security are stronger when women are included, when protection is prioritised, and when conflict prevention takes gender into account.

In her early years, she was celebrated. Speeches were made, toolkits were developed, and pilots were launched. She learned to speak the language of inclusion and became fluent in ‘frameworks’ before she ever learned to lead. She was adopted globally, quoted often, yet implemented unevenly.

At the same time, a new cohort was growing up under her shadow. Girls born into warzones. Young women taking part in peacebuilding. Local activists, female police officers and community leaders. They were told the system was changing, and that they would be protected, included and heard.

Twenty-five years later, both she and they are asking: what became of that promise?

In the early years of her childhood, she was full of promise. She arrived at a time when the world was exhausted by war but cautiously optimistic about peace. The ink was barely dry on the Dayton Agreement, ending the Bosnian War, and on the Rome Statute, establishing the International Criminal Court. The global war on terror had not yet begun. The Taliban had not yet fallen.

She was celebrated by diplomats and development professionals alike. Within a few years of her birth, countries rushed to draft national action plans. Peacekeeping missions were instructed to protect women and girls from conflict-related sexual violence. Conferences bloomed across continents. She was a keynote speaker before she could even walk.

She believed she was making a difference. When Liberia’s women helped bring warlords to the negotiating table and elect Africa’s first female head of state, she stood a little taller. When Colombia’s peace accord included more than a hundred gender provisions, she believed the system might just be learning.

But even then, there were signs. The same missions that hosted her often failed to protect the women she was meant to serve. Security forces nodded at her, then ignored her. In some countries, she was welcomed into the Ministry for Women, but not into Defence or Foreign Affairs. Her presence was politely acknowledged but rarely funded. She had to grow up fast, and she learned that being seen was not the same as being heard.

By the time she turned fifteen, the world had changed again. Civil society space was shrinking. The Taliban were regaining ground. Peacekeepers were implicated in abuse. In Syria, war dragged on with little regard for women’s voices. In South Sudan and Myanmar, strategic sexual violence continued with impunity.

She kept showing up, but the rooms felt more performative. She sat on panels, wrote reports and developed training modules. But when real decisions were made—when budgets were approved, operations were planned, and missions were deployed—she was often nowhere in sight. When female peacebuilders in Afghanistan were left behind in the 2021 evacuation, she wept. Not just for them, but for the failure of the promise.

She was told it was complex. That geopolitics had shifted. That priorities were evolving. But she had heard those excuses before. Complexity, she’d learned, was often just another way to justify inertia.

Now, at 25, she has lost some of her innocence but none of her clarity. She doesn’t want to be empowered; she wants power. She doesn’t want another conference; she wants command appointments, strategic influence and operational funding. She’s done asking nicely.

She knows that her Women, Peace and Security (WPS) agenda is not just about inclusion for its own sake; it’s about better outcomes. She can show you the evidence that gender-inclusive processes are more likely to result in lasting peace, that protection frameworks reduce the risk of conflict escalation, and that preventing violence against women is a matter of national and international security.

She’s not asking to be heard because it’s fair. She’s asking because it works.

The WPS generation has come of age. It includes women who are leading human rights organisations in Sudan, commanding units in the Ukrainian armed forces and rebuilding communities from Bougainville to Bakhmut. But many of them are doing this work despite the system, not because of it.

Twenty-five years ago, the world made a promise: to include women in peace and security, not as an afterthought but as a strategic imperative. Today, that promise remains uneven, underfunded and too often symbolic.

Anniversaries are for reflection, but also renewal. On Resolution 1325’s 25th birthday, the real question is not whether WPS is still relevant, but whether we have the political will to make it real.

Those raised on her promise are no longer content to be the subject of a resolution. They were told the system was changing—that they would be protected, included and heard. Now, they are the ones asking the questions. And the next generation is listening closely to how we answer.