We celebrate Women's Day today! The very thought of celebrating our women brings to mind feelings of admiration, thanks, as well as a deep seated respect for all they are and all they are able to do.
Some women have been immortalized through time for the achievements and contribution to society, and they are forever remembered in the annals of our history as a result.
We all originate from a woman, as they have given life to us, carried us safely in their wombs and nourished us with their breasts, and yet so much violence is perpetrated towards women. The virulent lack of respect for our women is continuously put on display in various disrespectful ways in the form of what we refer to as Gender-Based Violence. It has become a scourge, that knows no bounds! We are shown daily instances of this and the media is awash with reports of violence directed at women.
We need to ask ourselves where we went wrong? What shifted in us that has made this phenomenon so normal? Where has our humanity and respect towards women gone? When did imposing ourselves as men on the opposite sex become acceptable? I grew up in a community where alcohol abuse was prevalent, and gender-based violence went hand-in-hand with that. I had seen women in our community who miraculously had bruised faces and bodies on a Saturday morning, and as a child I would often be perplexed by this, having seen the person the day before without any such bruises. We learnt as children not to interrogate such situations, and to just "mind our business" as we were told. I guess that is where the culture of looking the other way was inculcated in us. As I grew older, I started piecing the picture together slowly, and getting more of an understanding of what at the time was happening behind closed doors in our community. I remember my first real understanding of gender-based violence thanks to a friend of mine whom had come to confide in me in my first year of high school.
She was a smart young lady from Zimbabwe, who had always competed with me on all academic fronts. We grew close and would often share insights into our cultures as we came from different worlds literally, and I enjoyed the competition and banter she provided on the academic front.
I will never forget the day she dropped the bomb on me! It was a Wednesday afternoon as we made our way to our respective taxi stops to get home, when she asked me if she could tell me something personal. I was taken aback as our conversations had never taken such a serious tone, but I obliged her, and what she told me that afternoon left an indelible mark on me.
She became rather stern in her demeanor and at the same time she was nervous and scared, which confused me, as I did not know what was happening. We sat down on a park bench as I could see she was visibly upset, as I tried to understand what was going on. I had never seen her like this! She was always confident, cocky and she always had a dignified presence about her. She became quiet, and started swallowing heavily, and then like a bolt out of the blue she told me that she did not want to live anymore. I was stunned! I sat there silently for a moment, which seemed like an eternity before I could speak.I asked her why she felt that way, and she responded by saying that her life was hard and not worth living. I told her that we all had struggles in life, and that was no reason to feel like there was no reason to live. She then told me that she had been sent to live with her uncle and his family, and that was was mistreated daily. I must admit that I immediately asked her if her uncle was beating on her, and she responded by saying yes, as well as other things. She proceeded to tell me that she was being regularly raped and beaten, but pleaded with me not to tell anyone. I became enraged and said to her we need to report it to the police, and we need to tell the headmaster at school. She told me that I had to promise not to say a word to anyone, and that she just needed to tell someone as she could no longer carry her burden on her own. I begrudgingly agreed to keep the knowledge to myself, given that she had taken me into her confidence, but it did not sit well with me that she had to endure such pain and suffering knowing that she would have to go home to that day in and day out. I had now had my first encounter with a victim of gender-based-violence who had let me in on what her experience had been. I felt as though my eyes had been opened to the horrors of the world we lived in, and a deep sense of the injustice of me not being able to report it and help my friend had settled on me. My friend was very soon removed from the school, and I was moved to a new province the very next year. I would then go on to meet many women in the next few years who had similar stories and experiences, and it was almost as if for some or the other reason these women were drawn to me, and felt that they could relate their traumatic experiences to me. The one common thread that ran through all of these experiences and divulging of the harrowing details to me was that I would promise not to tell a soul.
It has been a heavy burden to carry, and my sense of justice has never been satisfied, as some of the perpetrators were known to me. My insides would turn when I saw these disgusting predatory men, and all I wanted to do was bash their faces in and inflict as much harm on them as they had inflicted on their victims, and finally hand them over to the police. All of that sadly never came to fruition, as I would be reminded of the promise I made to these women, and then rage would eat me up from the inside. Life happened, I got married and had kids, and upon having two daughters, my need to protect them had almost built up a mania inside of me, as I had seen how the phenomenon of gender-based violence had moved from behind closed doors to the public spaces.
I had stepped in on many instances where men would be found publicly beating women and in attempts to break those instances up, the women would insist that it was ok, and that they just had to sort out their own matters privately. As a result, most people ignore such situations, and walk or even look the other way. We have as a society become so desensitized to the plight of our women who suffer under various forms of abuse, that we often quip that they may in some form or manner deserve what is happening to them. It's easy to take that line of thought when it's a stranger, but we all need to be aware of the fact that we have mothers, aunts, sisters and daughters.
The apathy is almost justifiable until it happens to someone near and dear to us, then all of a sudden we want to scream for justice and every remedy the law will allow us. Violence in any form is unacceptable, especially violence and abuse to women and children. We should go back to our rudimentary understanding of having respect for all our fellow human beings, and protecting the most vulnerable in our societies. We need to return to our humanity, and start treating people especially women and children with a greater level of respect and care. I personally find that my hands have been tied in respect of getting justice for the many who have confided in me over the years, as they have sworn me to secrecy in terms of repeating what they have told me as well as exposing their tormentors. It's a bitter pill for me to swallow, and a heavy burden to carry, but I have to be respectful of their wishes. The problem in all of this is that they have had to carry all of the shame around what has happened to them, and they have been so deeply and severely intimidated by these vile creatures who have hurt and abused them.
We have no idea of the extent of the mental abuse which has been meted out either, and this is what drives the shame these women feel, as well as their need to not confront their abusers. We have to normalize the reporting of these instances as well as provide the correct levels of support for the victims, as we drive the narrative of shame as a society which allows the vile creatures to continue their deeds and expand the number of victims caught in their net. Truth be told, we all know a woman who has been violated and abused, but for some reason we don't seem to know any rapists or abusers. Strange how we as a society can just turn and look the other way. As I said before, we all have mothers, aunts, sisters and daughters and we owe it to all women to put an end to this scourge in our society. We need to call out these cowards who prey on women and children. We see them among us, we silently condemn them, but we are implicit by our silence, as we allow them to move on to the next unsuspecting victim. The very cowards parade themselves in our societies as respectable trustworthy individuals, and we dare not say a word against them. It's almost like we have a picture in our heads that all rapists are drug-ridden dirty criminals who roam the streets, and yet many of these rapists sit in boardrooms, offices, carry one or the other position in society. The sad reality is that these animals get kicks out of imposing themselves on women and children who are unable to defend and to an even lesser extent, speak for themselves. We cannot celebrate Women's Day in good conscience, knowing that we let these predators walk freely among us preying on our women and children with impunity. We come from women, so let us do what is in our power to protect them and truly celebrate them! We have a saying here in South Africa that says: "You strike a woman, you strike a rock!", which is symbolic of the strength and courage our women displayed in fighting oppression. We have the ability to change the narrative! Let's not allow Gender-Based Violence to be the legacy we leave behind. We have the power to start a new narrative, one which let's all people know that abuse and violence of any kind is not acceptable, and will not be accepted!
Let's start the narrative and remove these dregs from our society!
#blaauwchronicles #donttalkaboutitbeaboutit #arkanelifestyle #reflection #introspection #valued #communication #dmoney #dolcevita #itsalllove #loveyours #legacy #authenticity #persistence #womensday
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