It always pains me that despite the fact that countless people, including activists, have spoken against gender-based violence, the scourge continues unabated. It is as pervasive as ever.
The maiming of women, their permanent psychological scarring and, worse still, the termination of their lives through murder continues with no end in sight.
Women suffer all of this at the hands of men. Men who – in a substantial number of cases – are supposedly in loving relationships with the women.
What needs to happen to remove this savage streak from the guilty men? What must be done for these men to stop this barbarism? What must be said for these men to see women as human beings deserving of living their lives in dignity? Will a time ever come when these men will stop objectifying women?
If, as a man, you saw a woman as a human being just like you and not as an object, I do not think you would do to her the dastardly things that you do.
Women are our grandmothers, our mothers, our aunts, our sisters, our nieces, our daughters, our wives and our girlfriends.
It boggles the mind that people who are so close to us are sometimes suddenly seen as trash or animals that must be attacked with all sorts of weapons. It defeats logic that children will turn against a mother who carried him for nine months or a grandmother who raised him and did not kill him when he was young and weak.
The fact that innumerable killings of women as a result of GBV are widely reported does not help. The killing spree continues.
Here are few examples of which some – if not most – of we are all aware: the killings of Precious Ramabulana, Tshegofatso Pule, Ntokozo Xaba, Karabo Mokoena, Zolile Khumalo, Nompumelelo Tshaka, Siam Lee, Jesse Hess, Meghan Cremer, Uyathandwa Stuurman, Lindelwa Peni, and Uyinene Mrwetyana.
I should not be misunderstood. This figure does not even begin to tell us what is happening out there on the ground. I am merely giving a few examples of some of the killings that received wide publicity.
No man and woman with a heart and conscience should separate themselves from the pain all the slain women suffered.
No one should – as is so often unjustifiably done – point fingers at them or blame them.
There is simply no room for such nonsense as “she shouldn’t have been out that late” or “she shouldn’t have been in that area” or “she shouldn’t have been drinking” or “she shouldn’t have been wearing that outfit”. Do we ever say such things about men? Of course, we don’t.
The stories of these women are relatable. Take the story of Uyinene, for example. She went to pick up a parcel from the SA Post Office on a Saturday afternoon and never came out alive. And the more we thought about it, the more shocking it became. The same can be said about the stories of the other women.
Let us look at Tshegofatso Pule’s story. She was at an advanced stage of pregnancy – about to give birth. The boyfriend whose child she was carrying arranged to meet her. She met her death instead, which was arranged by the boyfriend. These stories bring to the fore the stark reality that women in SA are not safe anywhere. Not at home; not at work; not in restaurants; not at schools; not at universities; and we now know, not even inside a post office in broad daylight; not anywhere!!!
The few examples I have given represent the tip of the iceberg. They are part of the few whose deaths caught the public eye. The killings say nothing about those women who are not killed or have not been killed yet and some – if not most – of whom do not report incidents of GBV.
That must tell us that the true and full figures are horrifyingly high. Indeed, it is reported that, compared to other countries, SA has extremely high levels of GBV.
What can each one of us do to contribute meaningfully to the fight against GBV? I once listened to the late Eusebius Mckaiser, a Radio 702 presenter. He took to task a listener who had called in on what the listener – as an individual – was doing about the scourge of violence against women and children.
Through the engagement with Mckaiser, it became plain that the listener was not doing anything. That evoked within me a sense of shame and guilt. I could not claim to be doing anything myself. Since then, I have attempted to speak against GBV and share my thoughts on it. I can only hope that this does contribute to the fight.
It is not enough that you and I may not ourselves be subjecting women and children to horrendous acts of violence: acts which violate women’s dignity, their bodily integrity, their psychological wellbeing; indeed, acts which cause them to lose their self-esteem; their very sense of being, and, indeed, even their lives.
Not being perpetrators cannot be enough when young Precious Ramabulana’s life was snuffed out by 52 stab wounds; there being a suspicion of rape, to boot.
Minding one’s own business cannot be enough when young Zolile Khumalo, a student at Mangosuthu University of Technology, lost her life in her campus residence as a result of being shot and killed allegedly by an former boyfriend in cold blood and at close range.
It cannot be enough to be content with ourselves being innocent when Uyinene was brutally assaulted, raped and killed by an innocent looking post office official.
It is not enough to keep our silence when countless other women, who remain faceless because their stories and continuing anguish (in the case of survivors) never receive public attention, suffer the same brutality and violation at the hands of men.
We each have an obligation to do something. Those who commit acts of violence against women and children look like you and me. They do not have it emblazoned across their foreheads that they are of this character.
They are rarely ever strangers to the women on whom they unleash this dastardly conduct. They are someone’s husband, partner, boyfriend, father, brother, uncle, cousin or acquaintance. They live among us. We interact with them on a daily basis like the general human beings they appear to be. This calls to mind what Jaclyn Friedman says in the context of rape but which is relevant to violence against women in general, which is this:
“What we really despise is the idea of rapists: a terrifying monster lurking in the bushes, waiting to pounce on an innocent girl as she walks by … But actual rapists, men who are usually known to [and often loved by] their victims. Men who are sometimes our sports heroes, political leaders, buddies, boyfriends and fathers. Evidence suggests we don’t despise them nearly as much as we should.”
In similar vein, justice Sisi Khampepe of the Constitutional Court (now retired) said the following in a judgment: “The notion that rape is committed by sexually deviant monsters with no self-control is misplaced. Law databases are replete with cases that contradict this notion. Often, those who rape [and I would add, those who physically violate women in a variety of ways] are fathers, brothers, uncles, husbands, lovers, mentors, bosses and colleagues. We commune with them. We share stories and coffee with them. We jog with them. We work with them. They are ordinary people, who lead normal lives.”
Some of us interact with these men well aware of what they do to their innocent women and children. And we do nothing because we do not want to be involved. We interact with them well aware of what they do to their innocent women partners.
Well aware because in the dead of night every day we hear the bone chilling screams of our neighbour’s wife or partner, and most mornings we see her with what is colloquially known as a blue eye, which she unsuccessfully tries to hide with sunglasses and make‑up. We do nothing because we do not want to be involved. We do not want to get entangled in business that is not our own.
We must be involved; we must interfere. At the very least, we must interfere by reporting. And this is practical. The cries of Ramabulana impel us to interfere and be involved. The last breath of helpless, fear-stricken Zolile staring at the muzzle of a gun propels us to. The courageous, but hopeless, fight for dear life by Uyinene exhorts us to. The thought of an excited Tshegofatso expecting to meet her boyfriend only to meet her death, forces each one of us to act.
The silent cries of the many who remain faceless and invisible to us but who we know are there enjoin us to do something. That may be the only thing some of us will ever be able to do to extricate a woman or child from a life of unending brutality.
Indeed, in some instances it may be the only thing some of us will ever be able to do to save the life of that suffering woman or child. If that be so, why not do it? There is no excuse.
If all you content yourself with is that it is none of your business or that you do not want to interfere, you are complicit in the violation or, indeed, killing of the innocent woman or child.
And those who can do more than report, by all means they must do so. I do not claim to have bright ideas on what can and should be done. But let us each do whatever is within our power to contribute towards curbing this scourge.
And may it not only be campaigns during Women’s month that gnaw at our consciences. May it be a life-long aversion to and rejection of this abhorrent conduct that does.
Focussing on what men can do, I will look at something which, to the undiscerning eye may look quite benign. Some men may never have lifted a hand against a woman. But that doesn’t mean there does not reside within them that streak that just may be the trigger for them to do exactly that. Take this simple example: if, when you see a woman make a mistake while she is driving, your instinctive reaction is “wenza ntoni kodwa lo mfazi (what the hell is this woman doing)”, that should send you alarm bells. That should tell you that you have a problem. It means before you don’t see a woman as a human being just like you, you see her as a lesser species worthy of disdain.
You may think I am exaggerating. In similar situations, do you ever say “yenza ntoni kodwa le ndoda (what the hell is this man doing)”? I will be most surprised if you say you do. The angry reaction to a man’s error is “wenza ntoni kodwa lo mntu (what the hell is this person doing)”.
A stark difference: the woman is a “woman” and the man is a “person”. To my mind, this is symptomatic of misogyny or inarticulate prejudice against women. And you never know if, in future, it will not be a trigger for the physical violation of women.
For a start, do not be content with the fact that you have never hit a woman or physically violated her in any other manner. It will be good to start with acknowledging that this is a problem. You must next work on it; you must aim to, and eventually, eradicate it from your make-up.
We, judicial officers, are not free from blame. We do not always treat cases of GBV the way we should. Part of the problem is that – being part of the same society that breeds GBV – we are not immune to the ills of patriarchy, sexism and misogyny that are among the factors that are at the centre of GBV. The approach of some us to cases of GBV will be tainted by that reality.
Historically a number of South African judgments on laws that were not only facially neutral in terms of gender, but were in fact gender neutral, were decided in a manner that discriminated against women. If, as I say, the laws themselves were gender neutral, these decisions could only have been informed by the outlook on life of the judges concerned. That outlook was one that saw women as undeserving of the benefits afforded by the laws in issue.
Pitifully, despite the proscription of unfair discrimination against women, the experiences that inform the decision-making process of judges cannot disappear overnight. The experiences of judges; their outlook on life are deeply ingrained.
Therefore, it would be naive to think that – just because we now have a Constitution that has a justiciable Bill of Rights – our decision-making will no longer be influenced by those experiences.
Our experiences and the attitudes they engender do not disappear the minute laws with a patriarchal, sexist and misogynistic flavour are wiped off the legal plane. They will continue to be infused into the thought processes of some – if not most – of us.
A male judge may be completely oblivious to a factor that is crucial to the resolution of a dispute before him and which would have been quite obvious to a female judge. And, as male judges numerically dominate the judiciary, the male perspective will dominate legal thought and jurisprudence.
To the undiscerning eye, that perspective will especially have a veneer of neutrality when the reality is that it represents only a partial, skewed view of reality.
As male judicial officers, it is only when we are alive to the reality that our individual outlook on life, in which are ingrained patriarchy, sexism and misogyny, does influence our decision-making that we will be better placed to commence a process of self-correction.
It is only then that we will embark on a path that will eventually rid us of this negative influence. Of course, that is not enough; the endpoint we should all strive for is to dismantle the patriarchal values underlying our judgments.
We can reach that endpoint if – in our judgment writing – we consciously embrace the truism that women are equal to men.
Let us each do whatever is within our power to contribute towards curbing the scourge of GBV. Men, let’s respect woman. If we do then all this ill-treatment they suffer in our hands will be a thing of the past.
Justice Mbuyiseli Madlanga is a retired judge of the Constitutional Court. This is an edited version of a speech presented at John Wesley Society, Methodist Church of Southern Africa in Mthatha to mark the beginnning of Women’s Month. Madlanga chairs the Judicial Commission of Inquiry into Criminality, Political Interference and Corruption in the Criminal Justice System
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