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01 December 2020 | Story Bonolo Mahlatsi | Photo Supplied
Bonolo Mahlatsi is a master’s student in Sociology at the University of the Free State.

South Africa finds itself dealing with a pandemic within a pandemic. On 11 November, President Cyril Ramaphosa declared five days of mourning for victims of COVID-19 and gender-based violence, from 25 to 29 November 2020. Many see it as a bold move and as a win for efforts to address gender-based violence, but it is rather disappointing. Ironically, the mourning period falls within the 16 days of activism against GBV. 

Almost daily we mourn the lives of women lost at the hands of men. However, now that we are living in unfamiliar territory, we also mourn the lives lost due to COVID-19. Both are pandemics with different characteristics facing the country. The major difference is that COVID-19 is new and in some ways beyond our control. GBV, on the other hand, did not just emerge overnight. It is the symptom of patriarchy that is intentionally designed and reinforced by systems and people to preserve the dominance of men at the expense of women and gender non-conforming people. 

The President’s announcement makes GBV a shadow pandemic compared to COVID-19, even though GBV has claimed more lives, created more disruption, and lasted much longer. 

South African culture allows GBV and often encourages it

We need to unmask the fact that GBV exists as a pandemic because South African culture allows it and often encourages it. A recent case in the Free State shows this. A police captain at the Mafube police station was recently arrested for revictimising a rape survivor while he was conducting his ‘investigation’. He further manipulated the perpetrator’s girlfriend into having sex with him by promising to release her boyfriend on bail. This officer was still allowed to work in the Family Violence, Child Protection and Sexual Offences (FCS) Unit, despite having a trail of rape accusations against him. It further shows the indifference of the police and systems that should be enforcing law and order, not violating it. Mourning GBV alongside COVID-19 sends a message to the captain in Mafube police station and many other perpetrators that GBV will always be secondary and not important enough to have special impactful efforts directed at it.

Can’t treat them the same 

We can’t treat the two pandemics in the same way – one noticeable difference is how we have treated them in terms of reporting and response time. The COVID-19 response was fast, awareness was created quickly and effectively, government accountability has improved. More active and robust digital and media strategies are also being used to keep the public informed and to fight the spread of COVID-19. All these are strategies that should have been adopted long ago in the fight against GBV, particularly the sensitisation and awareness strategies. 

My concern is that, after the GBV mourning period, it will be back to business as usual. Women will still be violated and live in fear. Furthermore, the mourning period takes five days away from the activism period, which I find to be a way of shifting the focus away from GBV. We have also seen from previous years that the situation on the ground still remains unchanged after the activism period. For instance, statistics revealed by the South African Police Service (SAPS) showed that a woman is murdered every three hours in South Africa; an alarming rate, which is higher than the global average.

COVID-19 presented an opportunity

Fortunately, or unfortunately, COVID-19 has presented us with an opportunity to reconfigure and redesign our society to be safe for everyone. It is time that we address the lack of sensitivity towards GBV, especially because there is no society free of it. Interventions are needed to ensure that women do not return to the ‘normal’ of being violated. The underlying causes of GBV need to be addressed through response efforts supported by policy development. Most importantly, men’s attitudes towards women and girls need to transform, which will assist in stopping the perpetuating violence against women. If GBV was treated as the pandemic it is, women would not have to live in fear. If efforts could be put together to fight COVID-19, the same should apply to GBV. 

 

Opinion article by Bonolo Mahlatsi, master’s student in Sociology, University of the Free State.

News Archive

Media: Sunday Times
2006-05-20

Sunday Times, 4 June 2006

True leadership may mean admitting disunity
 

In this edited extract from the inaugural King Moshoeshoe Memorial Lecture at the University of the Free State, Professor Njabulo S Ndebele explores the leadership challenges facing South Africa

RECENT events have created a sense that we are undergoing a serious crisis of leadership in our new democracy. An increasing number of highly intelligent, sensitive and committed South Africans, across class, racial and cultural spectrums, confess to feeling uncertain and vulnerable as never before since 1994.

When indomitable optimists confess to having a sense of things unhinging, the misery of anxiety spreads. We have the sense that events are spiralling out of control and that no one among the leadership of the country seems to have a definitive handle on things.

There can be nothing more debilitating than a generalised and undefined sense of anxiety in the body politic. It breeds conspiracies and fear.

There is an impression that a very complex society has developed, in the last few years, a rather simple, centralised governance mechanism in the hope that delivery can be better and more quickly driven. The complexity of governance then gets located within a single structure of authority rather than in the devolved structures envisaged in the Constitution, which should interact with one another continuously, and in response to their specific settings, to achieve defined goals. Collapse in a single structure of authority, because there is no robust backup, can be catastrophic.

The autonomy of devolved structures presents itself as an impediment only when visionary cohesion collapses. Where such cohesion is strong, the impediment is only illusory, particularly when it encourages healthy competition, for example, among the provinces, or where a province develops a character that is not necessarily autonomous politically but rather distinctive and a special source of regional pride. Such competition brings vibrancy to the country. It does not necessarily challenge the centre.

Devolved autonomy is vital in the interests of sustainable governance. The failure of various structures to actualise their constitutionally defined roles should not be attributed to the failure of the prescribed governance mechanism. It is too early to say that what we have has not worked. The only viable corrective will be in our ability to be robust in identifying the problems and dealing with them concertedly.

We have never had social cohesion in South Africa — certainly not since the Natives’ Land Act of 1913. What we definitely have had over the decades is a mobilising vision. Could it be that the mobilising vision, mistaken for social cohesion, is cracking under the weight of the reality and extent of social reconstruction, and that the legitimate framework for debating these problems is collapsing? If that is so, are we witnessing a cumulative failure of leadership?

I am making a descriptive rather than an evaluative inquiry. I do not believe that there is any single entity to be blamed. It is simply that we may be a country in search of another line of approach. What will it be?

I would like to suggest two avenues of approach — an inclusive model and a counter-intuitive model of leadership.

In an inclusive approach, leadership is exercised not only by those who have been put in some position of power to steer an organisation or institution. Leadership is what all of us do when we express, sincerely, our deepest feelings and thoughts; when we do our work, whatever it is, with passion and integrity.

Counter-intuitive leadership lies in the ability of leaders to read a problematic situation, assess probable outcomes and then recognise that those outcomes will only compound the problem. Genuine leadership, in this sense, requires going against probability in seeking unexpected outcomes. That’s what happened when we avoided a civil war and ended up with an “unexpected” democracy.

Right now, we may very well hear desperate calls for unity, when the counter-intuitive imperative would be to acknowledge disunity. A declaration of unity where it manifestly does not appear to exist will fail to reassure.

Many within the “broad alliance” might have the view that the mobilising vision of old may have transformed into a strategy of executive steering with a disposition towards an expectation of compliance. No matter how compelling the reasons for that tendency, it may be seen as part of a cumulative process in which popular notions of democratic governance are apparently undermined and devalued; and where public uncertainty in the midst of seeming crisis induces fear which could freeze public thinking at a time when more voices ought to be heard.

Could it be that part of the problem is that we are unable to deal with the notion of opposition? We are horrified that any of us could be seen to have become “the opposition”. The word has been demonised. In reality, it is time we began to anticipate the arrival of a moment when there is no longer a single, overwhelmingly dominant political force as is currently the case. Such is the course of history. The measure of the maturity of the current political environment will be in how it can create conditions that anticipate that moment rather than seek to prevent it. We see here once more the essential creativity of the counter-intuitive imperative.

This is the formidable challenge of a popular post-apartheid political movement. Can it conceptually anticipate a future when it is no longer overwhelmingly in control, in the form in which it is currently, and resist, counter-intuitively, the temptation to prevent such an eventuality? Successfully resisting such an option would enable its current vision and its ultimate legacy to our country to manifest in different articulations, which then contend for social influence. In this way, the vision never really dies; it simply evolves into higher, more complex forms of itself. Consider the metaphor of flying ants replicating the ant community by establishing new ones.

We may certainly experience the meaning of comradeship differently, where we will now have “comrades on the other side”.

Any political movement that imagines itself as a perpetual entity should look at the compelling evidence of history. Few movements have survived those defining moments when they should have been more elastic, and that because they were not, did not live to see the next day.

I believe we may have reached a moment not fundamentally different from the sobering, yet uplifting and vision-making, nation-building realities that led to Kempton Park in the early ’90s. The difference between then and now is that the black majority is not facing white compatriots across the negotiating table. Rather, it is facing itself: perhaps really for the first time since 1994. Could we apply to ourselves the same degree of inventiveness and rigorous negotiation we displayed leading up to the adoption or our Constitution?

This is not a time for repeating old platitudes. It is the time, once more, for vision.

In the total scheme of things, the outcome could be as disastrous as it could be formative and uplifting, setting in place the conditions for a true renaissance that could be sustained for generations to come.

Ndebele is Vice-Chancellor of the University of Cape Town and author of the novel The Cry of Winnie Mandela

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