Women in South Africa, despite all the diversity, are tired of living in constant fear. They no longer want their names to become a topic of discussion after they have been raped, beaten, or murdered. They are tired of brief bursts of public outrage, vigils, candle lighting, marches against Gender-Based Violence Against Women and Girls (GBVF), wearing black on Fridays, holding symbolic funerals, temporary cessation of economic activity, and creating purple profiles on social media.
Furthermore, women are extremely irritated by promises that are invariably followed by predictable silence and inaction until another name, another face, or another hashtag appears. These people are not just statistics; they were women such as Elizabeth 'Thunto' Moselakgomo (2026), Delana Kader (2023), Tshegofatso Pule (2020), Uiyene Mrvetyana (2019), Zolile Humalo (2018), Karabo Mokoena (2017), Susan Road (2016), Jade Panayotou (2015), Riva Stingkamp (2013), and Anene Buysen (2013).
These examples represent only a small fraction of women who have experienced GBVF; they are the faces of those whose stories remain untold, whose bodies are unrecognized, and whose tragic fates do not make headlines in social or mainstream media. Meanwhile, the latest SAPS crime statistics (April–June 2026) indicate that 569 women were killed, corresponding to an average of more than six victims daily, and that 1052 women reported attempted murder during the same period.
Every quarter, the Minister of Police publishes reports that highlight the cruelty women face in a country that seems to be at war with them. Recently, the first National Study on Gender-Based Violence in South Africa (GBV) was published, providing baseline national estimates of Violence Against Women (VAW) alongside domestic violence perpetrated by men. The findings of this study were intended to serve as a call to action and an opportunity to adjust and accelerate the response to GBVF.
South Africa has some of the world's leading researchers in all forms of violence and femicide. Nevertheless, despite all this evidence, VAW remains the most pressing social problem facing South Africa in the post-apartheid era. Researchers have studied the factors contributing to GBV for decades, identifying gender inequality, harmful gender norms, masculinity constructs, early exposure to violence in childhood, alcohol use, economic stress, relationship dynamics, as well as the social and institutional environment that facilitates and may impede violence.
This work has allowed the focus of prevention to shift from simply engaging men and boys and raising awareness to changing gender relations, social norms, and, importantly, the systems that support inequality and violence, as well as what can prevent violence. The evidence base should indicate where and how to intervene to stop violence perpetrated by men. This evidence base must also translate into actionable interventions whose effectiveness can be measured by a reduction in the number of men committing violence and women experiencing violence in South Africa.
Our National Strategic Plan on Gender-Based Violence and Femicide recognizes this. Among its six pillars is the prevention and restoration of social cohesion, with an emphasis on evidence-based prevention, changing behavior and social norms, and shifting toxic masculinity. Although documented effective methods for preventing VAW exist, they remain small in scale and localized to specific population groups.
To date, not all implemented 'interventions' targeting men are evidence-based. Most are assessed merely by the number of men present, dialogues conducted, or promises signed, and so on. However, the number of participants only indicates whether we reached them. The number of dialogues held shows that an event took place. Neither, on its own, says whether men's behavior has changed.
As we fight the latest wave of femicides and tend to continue doing what we always have done, we must be careful not to confuse activity with real impact. Despite all the investment and allocation of funds for GBVF since the launch of the GBVF NSP, we must ask difficult but important questions. Failure to do so will lead to our own failure.
A quick review of current national work with men and boys often points to achieved figures or trained individuals, men's marches against GBV, signed pledges, dialogues held, Men's and Boys' Parliaments convened, positive masculinity and behavior change workshops, school programs, marches, and awareness campaigns, as well as the recent use of drama and poetry as educational tools to address GBVF issues. Some of these efforts are important for creating critically necessary initial spaces for conversations that many men and boys have never had, and can be gateways to challenging unquestioned gender and masculine norms. However, they cannot stop GBVF and reduce violence if implemented outside a well-funded, sustainable, scientifically sound, and effective prevention agenda.
If we are serious about making our response to GBVF evidence-based, we must ask about outcomes. Has the registered number of VAW cases decreased? Has the level of knowledge increased, and has this led to measurable changes in behavior? Have attitudes and gender norms changed? Have these changes been sustained? Has the amount of destructive behavior decreased? Have reports of physical and/or sexual violence decreased? Are men committing less violence?
Five years into the implementation of the GBVF NSP, its review points to the same problems: significant preventive activity, but a lack of implementation of a Comprehensive National Prevention Strategy and too many efforts remaining short-term. It is important to note that this is not a story of nothing happening. The review notes progress in broader national response and calls for the next five years to include the evaluation of key prevention programs and interventions aimed, among others, at men and boys.
However, there is no doubt about whose behavior we have modified and controlled for decades. We have turned GBVF prevention into a women's issue. Women already participate in informal behavior change programs every day. It is intensive. It starts with us girls. It happens everywhere. And it never truly ends. Women are advised: 'Don't sit like that, sit like a girl. Don't walk alone. Don't wear mini-skirts. Don't run too early. Don't run too late. Check the trunk and back seat before getting in. Share your location. Sit in the front of the Uber. Watch your drink. Don't wear headphones. Make your Strava private. Text me when you get home. Don't walk alone. Don't be out after dark.' And these are just the obvious things.
Underneath all this lies a hypervigilance that many women internalize from childhood. The threat of violence shapes women's lifestyles even on days when nothing is happening. There is love in these warnings, but there is also something deeply wrong with how necessary they have become.
Of course, practical safety tips have their place. We can personally attest to their value. Give us all the tools that can help us get home safely. But we must clearly understand what these tools do. They help us manage the risk of someone else's violence. This can save lives, but managing the risk of violence is not the same as preventing and stopping its commission.
And too often, when all our careful calculations fail, attention turns back to women. After decades of asking women to anticipate violence, avoid violence, cope with violence, and protect themselves from it, it is time to focus our national efforts on preventing and stopping male violence. Why are we normalizing freedom for everyone except women? When will we confront the real problem? Why are we making the environment comfortable for offenders while restricting the freedom of women and young girls? Stop telling women to go into 'lockdown' while offenders should be isolated. Stop asking women to prevent men's violence!
