Strike a Woman, You Strike a Rock

On Thursday, 9 August 1956 an incredible event happened, 20 000 women of all races marched on the Union Buildings to protest the introduction of the despicable pass laws for women.  The Pass Laws Act in South Africa was a brutal and humiliating piece of legislation as it required Black South Africans over the age of 16 to carry a “dompass” at all times, detailing personal information and employment history.  This piece of legislation was used to control the movements of Black South Africans.

After the presentation of the petition, the women observed 30 minutes of silence before singing Nkosi Sikelel iAfrika and then they sang Wathint’abafazi, wathint’imbokodo – Strike a woman and you strike a rock.

Twenty thousand women marching on the Union Buildings represented the violence and oppression of women in this country.

I do believe the time has come for us to do something about the tragic and heart-breaking state of affairs in our beloved country today.

Violence and oppression has not left us, in fact it has escalated and become more vicious. 

I am talking about  gender based violence, in fact I am talking about Femicide!

 “The killing of women and girls because of their gender, is the most extreme and brutal manifestation of violence.  It is driven by discrimination against women and girls, unequal power relations, gender stereotypes or harmful social norms which can escalate to a deadly outcome”   Tackling Femicide in South Africa through Laws, Policies and Better Policing.

A culture of silence coupled with the under-reporting of gender-based violence allows for escalation.  Government Agencies more often than not let us down and the perpetual cycle and trauma of abuse witnessed by children often repeat violent behaviour.

Femicide transcends racial identities and financial groupings – it is across the board and is vicious and insidious.

This interesting comment on Threads caught my attention.  “South Africa does not have a white genocide problem; instead it has a femicide problem.”

 Food for thought don’t you think?  Far too many women are being hurt, maimed and murdered.

More importantly I feel compelled to share excerpts from a poem written by Harrison King.

Maybe, just maybe, it will enrage us enough to do and say something.

“I am a girl in South Africa, and I’m afraid…..
Olorato Mongale did everything right.
She told her friends where she was going
She planned her safety
She promised to send her location
She was on her very first date
With a man in a white VW Polo

She never sent that location

Two hours later, her friends used a “find me” app
They found her phone
Her bag
But not her.

Later in Lombardy, a community watched that
same Polo drop a parcel
Suspicious
Wrapped
Heavy.

Inside was her body, Olorato was gone.

Unalived.  Murdered. Tossed away like she meant  nothing.
	
And yet she was everything.
A Wits student.  A dreamer.
Someone’s daughter.
She was careful.  She was smart.
She was hopeful.
And now she is gone.
	
But Olorato isn’t the first,
And that’s the part that chokes us.
Because her name joins a long bloodied list.

Uyinene Mrwetyana went into the post office
She never came out

Karabo Mokoena loved a man,
He burnt her to ash

Tshegofasto Pule was eight months pregnant 
He hung her from a tree

Reeva Steenkamp locked herself in a bathroom
She was shot through the door

Sibongile Zensile went to work
She never made it home.

Leighandre Jegels
Namhla Mtwa
Boitumelo Rabale
Naledi Phangindawo
Nosicelo Mtebeni
	
Jayde Panayiotou
Joshlin Smith
Vanessa van Rensburg    *(the last three names added by me)
	
How many more, South Africa?
How many candles must we light?
How many vigils? How many broken mothers?
How many girls must whisper goodbyes as they close the door
Not knowing it’s their last?

We are a nation of blood-stained 
Sheets and silenced screams.
We are taught how not to be raped
Before we are taught to love ourselves.
We are told to shrink, to whisper, to pray
But we are not the problem
They are.

The men who love like fists.
The boys who believe consent is negotiable
The uncles who smile too long.
The pastors who preach then prey,
The cops who laugh and lose dockets
The courts that delay.
The politicians who tweet condolences and 
do nothing.

This is not a poem.  This is a scream.

I understand that this is not an easy read, none of this is easy.  In fact it’s painful.  I don’t know about you, but right now I am angry.

In fact I am close to tears kind of angry.

However, we can do and we must do something about this.

Here are some of my suggestions, and if you have any to add to the list then please feel free to share.  Let’s do something,  please…..

Hear me out and yes, this is going to sound really crazy, and no I haven’t gone bonkers.

I think we need to be disruptive.  Every time there is a council meeting we should embark on a silent protest in the square.  Some of us should sit in the public gallery and shortly after the meeting starts we should stand up, haul out our hand held banners and disrupt the proceedings.

I know! I know it sounds daring, bold and scary and just way over the top.  Surely we will get our point across?  Stop killing us.

In the run up to the Local Government Elections 2026, we need to attend every political party’slaunches and engage with each and every party Candidate by asking real questions pertaining to our safety, like non-existent street lights, pot holes and badly maintained streets and public areas, dockets that get lost. 

We need to be a necessary nuisance, we need to be heard and more importantly we need to feel safe in our homes, streets and place of employment.

You see when women support women incredible things will happen.