Despite South Africa's state institutions and media spaces often claiming commitment to accessibility, fairness, and transformation, the experience of Black women working in these supposedly inclusive environments reveals a sharp contradiction. Performing job duties can turn into an endurance test marked by casual disregard, microaggressions, and systemic disrespect.
The author shares a personal experience during a live radio broadcast that served as a painful reminder of how quickly a Black woman's professional presence can be perceived as destructive or threatening. The author was present for the filming of a live video broadcast for Rosco Palma, a local advisor who is a person of color. After the station producer offered him a seat, the author quietly worked for forty minutes without causing any disruption.
However, during a break, a senior station employee approached the author with unwarranted aggression, ordering him to leave immediately. When the author calmly explained that the producer had permitted him to sit there and that he was actively recording, his explanation was ignored. The employee pointed at the door and threatened to remove the author.
This was followed by a statement that strikes at the heart of institutional misogyny: 'Control yourself.' These three words, spoken directly to Rosco, stripped the author of autonomy, professional status, and humanity, reducing her to a disobedient object requiring male supervision.
When a statement turns into aggression
This statement carried colonial and patriarchal undertones, revealing a deeply ingrained assumption that Black women should be controlled, managed, or expelled once they refuse to submit to arbitrary authority.
When the author refused to silently accept this hostility and asked the employee to state his name and explain his authority at the station, the narrative immediately shifted. The next day, the author received an email calling him 'aggressive' and 'racist' and demanding an apology.
The attempt to establish the identity and authority of the person who threatened to remove the author was framed as 'racism,' while the reaction to the humiliation was labeled 'aggression.' The significance of this confrontation lies not only in the behavior of one official but in the familiar sequence that followed: disrespect was normalized, resistance was reclassified as aggression, and institutional language was used to deflect from the person in power.
This is a classic application of the 'angry black woman' stereotype. It is a long-known tactic of gaslighting and tone policing designed to protect the aggressor and punish the victim. The moment a Black woman speaks out against disrespectful treatment, her tone is meticulously analyzed, her character is dismantled, and she is expected to apologize for the discomfort her self-respect causes others.
Critics may dismiss such cases as just another instance of someone 'playing cards' or harboring a personal grudge. South Africans are indeed tired of discussing race, power, and identity, but this fatigue should not become a shield for bad behavior or a means of suppressing legitimate calls for accountability.
When a senior media employee uses their authority to humiliate a working professional in a public place, labeling this behavior is not an attempt to claim victim status. It is a demand that public and community institutions uphold basic standards of dignity, professional ethics, and governance.
How tone policing protects institutional power
This dynamic must be pointed out wherever it manifests. Public radio stations and public forums should be places of dignity and democratic dialogue, not arenas for demonstrating power and dehumanizing language.
Demanding basic respect is neither aggressive nor racist. It is the absolute minimum standard of professional interaction, and Black women will no longer apologize for refusing anything less.
Tshwete is the media manager for the GOOD party.
