Today, civil society – led by Women for Change – will gather at the Union Buildings to demand that President Cyril Ramaphosa declare gender-based violence (GBV) and femicide a national disaster.
This is not just another demonstration. It is a culmination of years of tireless work.
It is enough to say: enough is enough. Women and vulnerable groups are tired. The situation is scary. And the efforts of civil society have not been met with the urgency needed to confront GBV and femicide as the national disaster that it is.
Many years now have been characterised by demonstrations across the country – often in reaction to brutal cases of rape and murder that shake the nation’s conscience, but these moments have been met with opportunistic political response that is short-lived.
From Uyinene Mrwetyana to Karabo Mokoena, from Tseko Makutu to countless unnamed children, the roll-call of the violated and murdered continues to grow. Every death is followed by outrage. Every outrage is followed by dialogue. And every dialogue is followed by silence. After years of dialogue, it has become evident that discourse has become a tool of delay.
Over the years, civil society has engaged the government at every level – from high-level strategic policy consultations to grassroots interventions. It has proposed frameworks, submitted recommendations and published reports. It has worked to build a shared understanding of GBV not just as a personal tragedy, but as a structural and social phenomenon deeply rooted in patriarchy, poverty and power.
And yet, SA is still stuck in the talking phase, while violence rages in our homes and communities.
These are not crimes of strangers attacking from the back – they happen in our homes, by those we love or trust. The 2020 Covid-19 lockdown further revealed the gravity of the situation wherein calls to GBV helplines surged, while survivors were left trapped in isolation with their abusers.
We are not safe. Not in the streets. Not in our homes. Not in our relationships. Not in schools. Not in our workplaces. Not in SA.
This is what theorists like Pierre Bourdieu described as symbolic violence – the way systems and institutions can inflict harm not just through force but through inaction, erasure and bureaucracy. Discourse becomes a shield for the state, while communities are left exposed. When we are asked to explain our pain in policy terms, we are not being heard – we are being managed.
And if the government treats GBV as a matter of discussion, rather than immediate intervention, it is complicit.
We know that SA is capable of responding swiftly to crisis. The government acted decisively when Covid-19 was declared a national disaster – with emergency funding, legislation and public communication mobilised in a matter of days. GBV deserves no less urgency. Civil society should not be burdened with the responsibility of solutions when what we need is protection.
Now is the time for demanding political will. The government must acknowledge this crisis for what it is – a war on the bodies and lives of women and children – and act accordingly.
Even if civil society does not have all the answers to justify the dramatic call for the declaration of a national disaster, silence on the matter is not an option, because we know there is only betrayal in silence. In a country where the state’s silence has become policy, protest action and demonstration will become the order of the day.
- Mahlangu is a researcher at the City of Tshwane. She writes in her personal capacity
OPINION | GBV deserves same urgency govt gave to Covid-19
Image: Thapelo Morebudi
Today, civil society – led by Women for Change – will gather at the Union Buildings to demand that President Cyril Ramaphosa declare gender-based violence (GBV) and femicide a national disaster.
This is not just another demonstration. It is a culmination of years of tireless work.
It is enough to say: enough is enough. Women and vulnerable groups are tired. The situation is scary. And the efforts of civil society have not been met with the urgency needed to confront GBV and femicide as the national disaster that it is.
Many years now have been characterised by demonstrations across the country – often in reaction to brutal cases of rape and murder that shake the nation’s conscience, but these moments have been met with opportunistic political response that is short-lived.
From Uyinene Mrwetyana to Karabo Mokoena, from Tseko Makutu to countless unnamed children, the roll-call of the violated and murdered continues to grow. Every death is followed by outrage. Every outrage is followed by dialogue. And every dialogue is followed by silence. After years of dialogue, it has become evident that discourse has become a tool of delay.
Over the years, civil society has engaged the government at every level – from high-level strategic policy consultations to grassroots interventions. It has proposed frameworks, submitted recommendations and published reports. It has worked to build a shared understanding of GBV not just as a personal tragedy, but as a structural and social phenomenon deeply rooted in patriarchy, poverty and power.
And yet, SA is still stuck in the talking phase, while violence rages in our homes and communities.
These are not crimes of strangers attacking from the back – they happen in our homes, by those we love or trust. The 2020 Covid-19 lockdown further revealed the gravity of the situation wherein calls to GBV helplines surged, while survivors were left trapped in isolation with their abusers.
We are not safe. Not in the streets. Not in our homes. Not in our relationships. Not in schools. Not in our workplaces. Not in SA.
This is what theorists like Pierre Bourdieu described as symbolic violence – the way systems and institutions can inflict harm not just through force but through inaction, erasure and bureaucracy. Discourse becomes a shield for the state, while communities are left exposed. When we are asked to explain our pain in policy terms, we are not being heard – we are being managed.
And if the government treats GBV as a matter of discussion, rather than immediate intervention, it is complicit.
We know that SA is capable of responding swiftly to crisis. The government acted decisively when Covid-19 was declared a national disaster – with emergency funding, legislation and public communication mobilised in a matter of days. GBV deserves no less urgency. Civil society should not be burdened with the responsibility of solutions when what we need is protection.
Now is the time for demanding political will. The government must acknowledge this crisis for what it is – a war on the bodies and lives of women and children – and act accordingly.
Even if civil society does not have all the answers to justify the dramatic call for the declaration of a national disaster, silence on the matter is not an option, because we know there is only betrayal in silence. In a country where the state’s silence has become policy, protest action and demonstration will become the order of the day.
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