16 Days of Activism against gender violence

In a classroom outside of Johannesburg, a teacher pressures a young student to have sex with him, telling her that she’ll fail the class if she does not.

 Not far away, in a living room late at night, a victim of domestic violence, afraid she’ll get beaten again, acquiesces to the drunken insistence of her husband and endures intercourse.

In a one-room house in Kwazulu Natal, a young man listens in confusion and anguish to the news that his sister has been raped. No one knows whether the rapist was HIV positive or not.

 

Original author: Dean Peacock, Men as partners: South African men respond to violence against women and HIV/AIDS.

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Happy hour, in his absence

With Jesus it has always been easy to deal with. His death was possibly drilling over two thousand years ago and as that of my father’s whose departure robbed me of a proper man’s touch before I could even learn to comprehend life and why was I so small while everything and everyone else was so gigantic.

In the case of Madlamini, I had no choice but to man up for my mother. I had to be the man she has always urged me to be. She was mourning her mother and my shoulders had to be broader to act as sanctuary for her fragile bone structure.

For something that happened almost five years ago, in my mother view the memory is still fresh and hurtful each day a silhouettes emulating her mother’s existence.

I assumed it gets easier, but apparently it never does.

One Saturday, in October, conceded all prospects of absolute fun, alcohol and gossip. The start, of course, was exciting and I found myself dubbing the day orgasmic.

All it took was the sight of a long lost acquaintance from the past for the day to swiftly press my emotions to the point of misery theme.

I had never been close to the woman who stood in front of me, but for one moment we had to be tight. Neither one of us planned it nor did we expect it, but shit split itself in half and we found each other embracing… Sobbing.

For someone who is well aware of how much appearance is valued in the presence of womanly men and broad-shouldered women, the masses at Neighbourgoods Market carried no value

“Oh, my goodness… Seeing you just brought back memories of him,” that was her mistake. I held her and I squeezed her so tight in an effort to hold back my tears.

“Please, say no more,” I whispered. That was my mistake.

Unfortunately, I was faced with a situation; a moment that brought the realisation that I have been pretending to have never been affected much by his death. For months, I would speak about him and the good times we used to have without a tinge of emotion. I was lying to myself. I hadn’t mourned his passing.

Lift your head up and stand tall… I think I took the phrase to heart and too far. I found myself comfortable in what I vowed I will never be. The bubbly me was visible despite suppressed emotions enthused by missing links in my life.

I hadn’t let go of him. Now, here I am. What must happen?

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The last days

You would swear there was never a start to begin with. The beauty of a gloomy winter’s day vanishes, and a summer’s day becomes a total contrast to what your skin once felt. This is nothing more than the ending.

 

Once upon a time, you believed and trusted in a cybernetic conception your mind centered on grounds societies believe to be concrete. The grounds are firm. The hands that lay the bricks are in question. Whose hands could they be? They are not mine. You claim they are not yours too. No one wants to take the blame.

 

Almost always, the dead take the blame. We will find ourselves wanting to blame the dead and absent figures for the same responsibilities our hearts dared us to carry Unlike a crossroad; flanked by options from all remits, further routes begin and come to an end where your toenails cease to grow.

 

Where you are standing is all there is. At this point, reality is harsh and the view from the back cooks pain that is too much to bear. Your shoulders have not become broader as a man by virtue of growing testosterone; your shoulders have carried this same experienced before.

 

Woman, your breasts have not just protruded as a reaction to affluent penises; your heart has been beaten hard, once again. It is swollen. For unknown reasons, our foreheads are like those of our fathers, except something as petty as affection makes ours spurt sweat; unlike theirs.

 

Each day we live, we crawl towards achieving our heart longings; you could find us talking even when no one is paying attention. We believe people hear us. The same people we hold up high. Yet they are betrayed by their actions towards us, and we still intend to follow.

 

Many have come and gone, leaving scars of betrayal and ungratefulness. A few have stayed in the form of the packages we have become; independent and hold an objective aimed at the same satiation. With them, we lose every bit of fear, stretch the hand and reach for their intentions.

 

Today, we have broad shoulders and big breasts that can narrate our pains, but I believe we are still not listening. No matter how many times the dawn seizes the moment; accentuating ills ahead, one yearns to be important in someone’s life and one preys after individuals who can satiate this thirst.

 

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Fragmented emotion

Unphotographable occurrences, significant utterances and attitude.

Offensive sighs, shifting of blame, middle fingers in action.

I am confused; what was meant to be is in pieces.

Just yesterday, sweetheart was an address.

Today, derogative titles are mine, yet I still hold close love.

Once upon a time, my heart knew only your bounds.

Of late, your hand clenches a scalpel.

The lips that once embraced mine speak ill of love.

Your eyes, at arm’s length, hoot undesirable fruits.

Incurable indifferences surface amid company.

Emotions have grown heavy; this has become us.

Your dream sees my end as I gather your soul from the bin.

Today, I see an animal; it approaches and it wails.

Just yesterday, you clogged lapdogs growling my way.

Of late, I dance on my own while you emulate a tired Gucci watch.

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Daunting simple escapades

Less than a week ago, a woman held pride in being a mother to a petite, and incontestably, pretty young girl. Today, that woman draws a black veil over her naturally-haired cranium as she mourns a life that has escaped; not so much prematurely, but gutlessly.

Surely, the universe is better at bestowing indelicate ideas with imbalanced solutions. As a result, fledgling men and inexperienced women have come to disregard the affirmative capabilities that lie in their strengths.

Today, our minds teach our hands nothing, but to tie, properly, a rope around the neck.

Our view on life has changed; from that which maintained an upright perspective on all things but failure, to promptly appreciating the quick effect gorging pills have.

All of a sudden, the anguish instigated by a horny individual is enough to push someone’s Mexican-weaved sister over the edge. And, an unexpected slap, from the man whose sperm created the image one has become, holds the potential to lead a young boy to strive to kill himself.

We live in very challenging times.

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My voice against violence on women and children

While I may pride myself as an individual who is recognised for his exceptional work in relation to the communications and PR industry, I am keen on being acknowledged as a man who is ardent on issues concerning moral conduct in social spheres, at work and at home.

For that reason, my beliefs are sharply grim towards the ill-treatment of fellow colleagues, friends and strangers through discrimination or undue preference, in relation to their religion, gender, race, creed, sexual orientation or HIV status.

Consequently, as a way of observing the commencement of the annual 16 days of activism for no violence against women and children initiative, I would like to draw attention to the fact that violence against women and children is extensive and deeply ingrained in our society and the violence, to a large extent, is physical and perpetrated by men known to women as partners and friends, but even more so fathers. n

With that in mind, I would like to ask all the men in my cliques, at work and at home to speak and pledge against any sort of abuse of women in their surroundings. Of course, my wish is that this pledge is practised beyond the 25^th November 2012 to 10^th December 2012.

I, Ulwazi Dladla Mgwadleka, a son, a brother, a friend, a lover, a colleague and a neighbour, vow to escape inflicting verbal vindictiveness, or any sort of abuse to my female counterparts.

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*This article is also published on www.justcurious.co.za

Why don't you be the writer?

In between acknowledging the existence of homosexuals in societies and the subjects fully embracing their sexuality, a few heterosexuals misidentified their preliminary grasp of life on earth as an indication that they possess power and the independence to control the actions of those who materialised later.

Several gay people exiled themselves to cabinets with the intention to avoid promising discernment of any sort. Times evolved and countries held a fresh perspective on things, and then we had gay friendly households, welcoming cities and accommodative legislations. This inspired one straight mind to assume the sits of Gods.

For many gay men and butch women the journey has been decadent while some paid with their lives; a price silently ticketed by sexist presidents, uncouth neighbours as well as families driven by fear of being excluded by communities.

Because I am free, as a homosexual individual, in the presence of a sagacious conventional woman, she miscalculated my company and acquaintance for acquiescence to articulate to me who to lust over and who not to consider.

Knowledgeable mama felt she had to warn me as the reciprocals might endanger me. One could have sworn she walked the journey with me; from denying myself of the true me, lying to family and hiding from masses. One would swear she knows what is best for me. For a gay man.

You clasped silence and they utter a word. They feel your ears are famished and your life is losing weight, hence the feeding schemes they throw your way. They believe they are observant enough as you change your position and they amend your movements.

In between sleeping with other men for sexual pleasure and the straight souls knowing, the latter subjects became the artists who felt endowed to script lines for untrained gay people.

Perhaps, Madonna is no longer God. They are. Actually, heterosexuals are God.

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Preys of poor systems

Literally, minutes after my two female colleagues and I had a conversation concerning sexual and physical abuse of women by their spouses, and the consequences that follow when the victims retaliate with worse slants, I saw the Brutalised article via The Times.

While my heart bleeds for the victim, and as I drag the course that our justices are yet to embark on this matter, I am repulsed by the way our current justice system works.

Where are we to disappear to when our own homes ululate harm over secured walls and protection bulldogs?

Who is supposed to shield our mothers and sisters when the same men who once proclaimed their undying love for them hold no boundaries in pounding them while their off-springs are watching?

Are we really meant to surrender all our wills and muscles to react to the authorities whose inkling of punishing the guilty is to issue a mere paper aimed to keep the perpetrator away?

Is this how we hope South Africa will develop further? When our own females are not treated with love, respect and care, how then do we expect other countries to invest in our women empowering initiatives?

Seeing that the head of this state is, evidently, doting of women, I would honestly love to hear him share a word on this one issue.  

Otherwise, he will have to choose his next wife from a list of women who have been abused by their formers and have been failed by the same systems he runs.

I am of the idea that fighting fire with fire has no place in life, yet I believe shooting to kill should apply in incidents such as this one.

To think we claim to be proud of the women we share this realm with…

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Sorry ma man

This time, he bumped into me at one of my other colleague’s office. He pitched a comic line my way, as usual, and I reimbursed the gesture with what I believe is wit at best. The triangle cracked. The business was folded. We stepped out.

Heading towards my workstation, I applaud him on his fresh endeavour. He laughs at the mothering tone, with a smile portraying approval and appreciation.

I have only been in for less than an hour, but you could not tell. My desk is untidy; had it not been for his death, Osama bin Laden would have appeared from this mess.

We see The Star newspaper. Immediately, he heads for The Workplace. Flip! Flip! He asked what I did last night. Tap! Tap! He is in the know. Flip! He cracks a joke regarding his body shape. Tap! Witty, I cracked.

He cracked another. My mouth widens.

Wait! He affronted her to me, in the presence of another woman. To himself he is funnier. The subject is a friend of mine. I take offence. Mothering scolds in the know. To him I am being funny, his mouth widened.

Had I continued to sit on that desk, I would have lost all respect. Had I left my desk he would not have understood his blunder. I grabbed my newspaper as a whip. He saw the blaze in my eyes. I disappeared.

Emerging back from near, I saw his firm behind flouncing the opposite way. He must have heard my silent reprimand. I sat at mine.

Sorry ma man, he sent me an email. I forgave him, yet my vocals had to be active, just for control and in case he decides to hit on her weight again.

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Mzantsi - Not so juicy!

All women deserve to be treated with immense care and respect. This is a notion shared by many countries around the world.

Some states went as far as advocating for the 50/50 concept, to promote women beyond households en route for higher-ranking settings in boardrooms and in politics. Consequently, the likes of Shirley Lue Arnold, Khanyi Dhlomo, Wendy Luhabe, Pam Golding and Helen Zille are amongst the many women who are widening the female footprint in areas that were once perceived as male zones.

South Africa has progressed from being a tyrannical (gender and race bias) state to a country that recognises and advocates for many aspects of human rights and women empowerment initiatives. As a result, misuse of these rights is frowned upon.

Contrary to the latter, women are still the most susceptible to crime, abuse and discrimination in South Africa. In recent cases, women are lured to the country and subsequently forced to work as prostitutes. Lesbians are subjected to corrective rape by men who claim to be “curing" them of their sexual orientation.

This is the country that once had a woman for a deputy president. Businesses operative within South African parameters are compelled to acknowledge and practise gender equity. In fact, for the local government to do any business with private companies such companies must show where they stand in regards to representing women of any race in their businesses.

However, human trafficking is still rife in South Africa. Women are subjected to sexual exploitation and forced labour. Yes, many of them are foreigner. But, the fact is, all this takes place IN South Africa.

The United States government recently released Trafficking in Persons Report which states that South Africa is a transit and destination country for women and children subjected to forced labour and sex trafficking.

Why then do we still have such problems when we can only be dealing with issues regarding unemployment rate of women and more empowerment initiatives for them?

Last year, Jeff Radebe, Minister of Justice and Constitutional Development, said the government was planning to fast-track a new law against human trafficking before the start of the soccer World Cup. It is a year later now, the Western Cape still has women who bring other women into the country under false pretences and force them to be prostitutes. What happened to the Prevention and Combating in Trafficking in Persons Bill Sir Radebe was planning to “fast-track”?

Educated minds know better than to pay attention to what the government says and promises. That is why the issue of human trafficking in South Africa is only fought by small private organisations. Chances are, had several women and children’s rights groups not warned about this exploitation last year, the government would not have uttered a word.

South Africa comprises political parties that tend to promise to build Jerusalem for the homeless, feed those whose tummies are echoing emptiness and free education for all. Not even one of them says a thing about the human trafficking issue South Africa is facing.

Is the human trafficking issue not a mention during their speeches in parliament? They are waiting to host another big event during which they will try and impress tourists and outside investors?

Clearly, the government dreads the process of establishing rigid restrictions for human trafficking; hence the safe and easy route to take would be to assist the existing anti-human trafficking organisations by providing them with necessary resources to combat this crisis.

Oh, my dear political parties lie at least. Say something is about to be done just like your vague promises about fixing potholes and combating corruption amongst yourselves. Hold those pointless conferences annually. That way, at least young minds can learn about human trafficking JUST from hearing about it. Possibly, that could make school teachers’ jobs a bit easier and perhaps the ever accelerating HIV/Aids rate could decrease even if it is with one percent.

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Judgement days

The manner in which we judge each other in South Africa is atrocious. We have shifted from being groups of people who defend each other from any negative and uncalled-for remarks made by people of opposing parties and groups straight to turning against each other.

In the process, we forsake all the evidence there is to help look at and resolve cases that seems to be shady in our eyes.  Consequently, so many souls have no hope, faith or trust in anyone outside their family circles. But, what if one comes from a family that lacks the element of support for its off-springs?

Clearly, if our lovers, friends and neighbours have forsaken us in this situation, we need not put our hopes up for rescue.

My rant is inspired by what I just witnessed a couple of seconds ago.  A lady by the name of Pelokazi Zao is a trending topic (#TT) on Twitter because of a “her” Facebook account that has a profile photo of her spreading her legs and showing-off her genitals.

The one thing that caught my eyes as soon as I witnessed this is that, this account does not have any information apart from this photo, no friends and it does not have any posts; a concept that introduced a suspicion in my mind. Alas, no one on Twitter seemed to have noticed this. Instead, Tweepets (my term for people who tweet) threw curses and fits towards this lady. And I am thinking, what if this Pelokazi is not aware of this account? What if someone set her up as a revenge for whatever reasons? What if this is a photo she took with her boyfriend/husband – as we all know, people do nasty things when in love - who might have created this, after a very bad split?

Am I the only one who thought of all these things? What are women thinking?

I have read and heard of so many stories where a young girl committed suicide after her sex video was circulated in some town or school. What if this results in the same scenario? Are we to blame the coward in her or we will be courageous enough to admit that we played a role in her death?

Judging comes natural in each one of us, despite being in denial about it most of the times. But, there is a certain limit to everything.  We have proven to be not so satisfied with being obsessed with our bodies, hence we have grown to be more selfish than one can possibly imagine.

Now, this is a story to be made fun of. Even if the worst happens to her, we will laugh and utter negative remarks about her. However, when the lightning strikes on our sides; hitting us, our friends, lovers and those we like, we then look at those who laugh at us, those who judge us without any benefit of the doubt as the bad people, forgetting that we were the first products to be bad.

I advise you to continue and laugh if you want. I also advise you to look at the laughingstock before you let your heavy lips part in slow motion; mull over the possibilities, and after all that you have considered, do note that it is highly possible that you could be the next one on exactly the same position as the person you are laughing at.

With you being the victim in this regard, I wonder if you would be posting #TTs on Twitter spreading the word to people and making fun of the situation.

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