by Bev Clark
I must have been about 9 years old. My father has some business to do in downtown Johannesburg, so he put me in an afternoon movie. I found a seat on my own somewhere. After a while a man sat next to me and put his hand on my thigh. Even so young I had the presence and courage to move away, knowing I had to. Survival kicked in.
A few years later living in Salisbury in Rhodesia I recall my mother and I walking over the road to the shopping centre. We lived on the second floor of a nearby block of flats. My mother was recently divorced and struggling financially. The owner of the supermarket allowed her to buy groceries on credit and settle at the end of the month. This month she didn't have enough money so she needed to plead her case. I remember standing next to her in the owner's little cubicle whilst she explained her situation. During the conversation he gesticulated to me to come and sit in his lap. I did so. A bit later he leaned down toward my face and I felt his tongue in my mouth. I've always thought my mother saw this happen, but I never asked her. I think she got some breathing space and her credit rolled over to the following month.
Bev Clark manages Kubatana.net, Zimbabwe's civic and human rights website
Between 9 and 43 years of age I've been assaulted and experienced a perforated ear drum in a road side mugging. I've been car jacked at gun point at my front gate.
On holiday this September I had an argument with my partner over the issue of safety. We were walking on a beautiful stretch of beach on the South African coast. I recall feeling wonderful until the proximity of people started to fade and the remoteness of our setting sank in. And whether its been the result of my personal experience of gender violence and sexual assault, I just felt too afraid to carry on walking believing that something bad was bound to happen. And I got so angry because I couldn't quieten the fear, because I, women or girls should not have to live in fear and have our movements so unjustly curtailed. Our experience is so individual. How do you explain your feeling of vulnerablity to a partner who has been fortunate enough not to be a victim of predatory men?
Just recently I read the Body Language column in South Africa's Mail and Guardian newspaper - it was written by a man who wrote:
"Look, all men, without exception, are shallow, priapic skunks. A man would shag a ham sandwich if no one was looking. It's all men care about. It's the only thing. There's literally nothing else going on in our minds. Remove those thoughts and our skulls would cave in. And any man who says otherwise is lying -- lying in the hope that his wheedling little lies will lull you into a false sense of security, and he can have his way with you. Up against a bin. He doesn't care. He's a man. At the end of the day he's just a half-sentient poking machine. A mindless sperm dispenser. That's the software he runs on.That's what makes his eyes blink and his limbs move. He's a penis and a larynx and that's about all he is".
In the same newspaper, an article entitled "Men who speak with their fists" Dr Ian Lewis, a psychiatrist at Groote Schuur Hospital in Cape Town, suggested:
"One of the reasons men abuse women is because they are physically stronger and can get away with it."
Both of these extracts are instructive. Gender violence is so prevalent in our societies and communities because all men know that such crimes often go unpunished, but most importantly largely underreported. This stalls their intervention, as peers and as concerned citizens, to mobilise, confront and help stem the unacceptably high levels of gender violence women are experiencing. They are silently as well as actively complicit. The other salient point is that gender violence continues to soar because men can and do get away with the abuse of women far too easily. Integral in this is that men let each other get away with it.
Until men stand up and be counted in confronting gender violence, we will be fighting an already lost battle.
