This is no Hollywood movie or glamourised documentary series, this is a frightening and uncertain reality for South Africans.
Picture: iStock
Quo usque tandem abutere, patientia nostra? (When do you mean to cease abusing our patience?) declared the Roman politician Cicero. It is a famous cry that is now being echoed, more than 2 000 years later, on the other side of the world.
South Africans have watched this week in horror as the murders of a serial killer pile up, and officials scramble to reassure citizens that they are safe. Premier Panayaza Lesufi, speaking hours after a ninth body of a woman was discovered on Thursday, asked the nation for patience.
But patience for a plan on gender-based violence has worn thin as angry residents take to the streets to vent their frustration at living in communities where it is only a matter of time before death may come for one of their neighbours, friends, or family.
They are, to borrow another centuries-old Roman quote, tired of being fed Panem et circenses, or bread and circuses/games.
The price of violence
It has been nearly a year since gender-based violence was declared a national disaster, a proclamation that itself took decades to happen.
Resources were supposed to come flooding in, more specialised police recruited, and shelters supported, but the tears of sorrow, fear, and frustration tell you all that has been distributed is token gestures and broken promises.
R1.6 billion was initially allocated for the response. But even if utilised efficiently pales in comparison with the more than R42.4 billion per year that gender-based violence is, by one estimate, reported to cost the SA economy in lost productivity, healthcare burdens, and absenteeism.
The issue is clearly not just social but economic. A woman’s fight is not just hers alone, but the whole nation’s. If we lose this war, we lose more than just a part of ourselves.
And we are running out of time, while those in power appear to twiddle their thumbs.
The government’s National Council on Gender-Based Violence and Femicide (GBVF) Board was only formed a month ago and only met for the first time at the end of August.
The delays have been punishing for those who are not given private security on the taxpayer’s dime, who are not escorted wherever they go, or who do not have time to write the perfect speech.
It has been a horror for those who go to police stations and are turned away or told there are no rape kits or officers to help them.
It has been hell for those who walk through the streets at night, out of necessity, with every shadow threatening death. It is torture when you cannot even go jogging without the fear of never returning home.
As the National Shelter Movement of South Africa noted this week, security cannot come by telling women to make themselves smaller, more cautious, or less visible.
Not in a country where a gunman can open fire on a busy Johannesburg street and hardly anyone bats an eyelid, and where murder is a daily headline.
Most certainly not in a country where a serial killer now runs amok.
Why so serious about a serial killer
The Kempton Park serial killer’s murder spree has shocked and gripped the nation. The conversation at dinner tables is about a shadowy character waiting to pounce.
But what holds the allure and fright?
Could it be the scale of death? Women and children are killed on a daily basis, with more than 560 women killed and 1 052 surviving attempted murders between April and June alone.
Could it be that it is more frightening because it came at the hands of only one person? South Africa has many communities where abusers coordinate and continually assault often several victims at a time.
Could it be that it happened in urban and suburban areas where it “really shouldn’t”? Abuse doesn’t have an address or civility. Abuse and murder can happen next door as much as it could on a farm. Abductions can happen on a rural sand road or tarred city street.
Could it be because police appear to be on the back foot and can’t seem to catch up with the killer to stop future casualties? Police incompetence is a chronic issue.
Could it be because the killer has the power over life and death? What then of ministers and government officials, including those in social development, who indirectly wield that same power when they make decisions that directly impact livelihoods?
Perhaps it is because having a serial killer in our midst reminds us how far we have fallen. It brings the crisis of gender-based violence and murder to our doorstep. It shows the crisis is not imagined, exaggerated, or limited to semi-urban and rural areas.
It is real and dangerous, and no one can say they are truly safe.
It reminds us that we have run out of time.
So how long must we be patient?
Patient with the police.
Patient with another task team.
Patient with a board that takes nearly a year to form and weeks to co-ordinate and hold a meeting.
How long must we be patient with those in power?
