I’m scared.

What I saw in Villa Liza on the morning of September 17 left me shaken. A woman was found dead, reportedly after being discovered by a man who was out jogging.

Against the backdrop of the senseless killings of women in Ekurhuleni, it was another grim reminder of how vulnerable women have become – even in the places where they should feel safest.

I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m battling a mixture of emotions that is difficult to put into words.

Elizabeth Tsontso Moselakgomo was abducted and killed while jogging.

I have a friend on the West Rand who is an avid runner. I’m scared for her.

I’m sure some of the victims were abducted or killed while simply making their way home from work. My 58-year-old mother walks to and from work every day.

I’m scared for her.

The mother of my two boys leaves home for work in the dark and returns in the dark. She waits for a taxi alone before work and, thankfully, her father waits for her at the same place when she returns.

I’m scared for her, too.

And I’m scared for every woman who now thinks twice before going for a simple run in her own neighbourhood. For every woman who leaves home before sunrise for work, wondering whether someone is watching her.

We are failing our women.

Had it not been for Tsontso’s disappearance, the swift action by her family and the running community, and the pressure that followed, would we be seeing the level of attention and resources now being deployed?

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Tsontso was the fourth victim.

Suddenly, the premier, police minister, police commissioners and senior provincial police officials are visible and talking tough.

But why did it have to take Tsontso’s death for this intervention to happen?

Last year, GBV and femicide were declared a national disaster. What has changed since then?

How many more bodies must be found before this scourge is treated with the urgency it deserves?

How many more families must endure the unbearable pain of losing a daughter, mother, sister or friend before action becomes prevention rather than reaction?

And perhaps the hardest question is one we, as men, need to ask ourselves. We are letting women down.

Some may say men hate women. I’m not convinced it is that simple. Perhaps what we are witnessing is something even more disturbing: a society where too many men have come to loathe themselves, and that self-hatred is being inflicted on those who are most vulnerable.

Whatever the cause, there can be no excuse.

To the running community and the hundreds of women who fight GBV and femicide every day – not only when another body is found – your voices matter.

But men must do more than listen.

We must look inward. We must challenge one another. We must reject the voices that blame women for the violence inflicted upon them.

And we must ask ourselves what kind of society are we building if our mothers, sisters, daughters, partners and friends are afraid to simply walk, run or go to work?

The answer should frighten every man. It should also compel us to change.

We express our sincere condolences to all the affected families and may their loved ones’ memories be honoured with lasting change and justice.

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