By Nompumelelo Ndawonde
The names Reeva Steenkamp, Karabo Mokoena, and Uyinene Mrwetyana are ones we are all familiar with as South Africans, albeit due to very unfortunate circumstances.
All three women have two things in common: they lost their lives at the hands of men, and they had their trials widely televised live on South Africa’s screens.
Today, South Africans are bearing witness to the ongoing murder trial of Tshegofatso Pule, a 20-year-old woman who, along with her unborn child, was found dead, hanging from a tree in Roodepoort on June 4, 2020. Her death, like many others, left South Africans outraged.
Alongside this outrage, however, is an air of sensationalism in the consumption and reporting of said news. News channels are in constant competition with one another in the quest to break the story first, present the most shocking headline and release the most gruesome facts.
The details of the violence and the manner of death, as well as the face of the perpetrator and the victim, have been placed at the forefront of news reporting, while the genuine acknowledgement of the tragic loss of a promising life has been downplayed.
Considering the case of Tshegofatso Pule, the key details that we know and remember are how she died, where she was found, and who has been charged with her murder. We remember the accused’s mask-wearing face, his daily court outfit (a tailored suit), his relationship with Pule.
Similarly, a convicted murderer, Sandile Mantsoe, who was responsible for the death of his girlfriend, Karabo Mokoena, was reportedly a churchgoing and God-fearing man who had done well for himself in the world of forex trading. Not much can be said about Pule or the life she lived before her untimely death and being branded as nothing more than a victim.
The sad truth is that there seems to be less interest in the details of her accomplishments or the goals she had for herself, as these details do not attract sales or garner much interest. This has created a level of desensitisation, de-humanisation and a total lack of empathy.
Unless the present murder or assault is more gruesome than the former, it is simply not considered newsworthy. It is not worth the outrage, for it is not the death itself that is newsworthy but the nature of the death.
Beyond the occasionally insensitive narrative in the reporting, a greater issue is the problematic language used, which perpetuates harmful gender norms and stereotypes, and heterosexual dominance, and upholds damaging patriarchal attitudes, all of which lie at the root of GBV.
On January 28, President Cyril Ramaphosa signed into law the Criminal Law (Sexual Offences and Related Matters) Amendment Act, the Criminal and Related Matters Amendment Act, and the Domestic Violence Amendment Act.
These laws will hopefully go a long way in curtailing GBV. However, beyond this, there needs to be a shift in the narration, publicisation, and consumption of gender-based violence.
There needs to be a collective change in the way we characterise GBV as it does extend beyond women, and further, beyond rape and murder. By doing so, we normalise and encourage the reporting of “less” sensational cases, such as emotional abuse, coercion, harassment and manipulation, which are often the key indicators leading to physical forms of GBV.
These less sensationalised stories also deserve to be told, not just as news to be consumed and salivated over, but in the spirit of true awareness and solidarity.
Not much can be said about the media, as bad news will always dominate the headlines. Nonetheless, we can strike a balance, not only in the style but in the nature of reporting. All gender-based violence is harmful and affects everyone in different forms.
Most importantly, survivors deserve dignity in the recounting of their experiences. Until we accord them the right to do so, we will continue to look on as these heinous crimes are used as theatrical media entertainment.
* Ndawonde is a researcher at the University of Johannesburg’s Institute for Pan-African Thought and Conversation (IPATC).