Every 12 Minutes

Amina Mehmood
20 hours ago
11 min read

Updated: 15 hours ago

In the ten minutes it may take you to read this article, another life will be in danger.

Editors: F. Pasapera & K. Bannah

To Be Noted

This piece was produced by a student-led team. We are HS and pre-university students who have a keen interest in global affairs. While we are not professional analysts, our work is grounded in careful research, critical questioning, and collective insight. We don’t claim to have all the answers, but we aim to ask necessary questions and invite our peers across different backgrounds into deeper thinking. We welcome constructive feedback via email!

Editor’s Note:

Welcome to the third article in our mini-series, ‘Women’s Rights of Yesterday and Today’. This series, coined by Amina, explores the global rights of women, from how they dress to how control over their bodies is often placed in the hands of others, and the ongoing struggle for safety and freedom.

translation/ tafsir/ traducciones /ترجمة /תרגומים/ការបកប្រែ /তরজমা /अनुवाद..

(Soon)

Gender-based violence and femicide are not abstract concepts confined to statistics or the pages of human rights reports; they are lived realities that claim lives daily across the globe. While this article focuses on South Africa, where the scale of the crisis is among the worst globally, its roots and patterns are similar across borders. Different countries may record different numbers, but the underlying causes: inequality, institutional failure, and a culture of impunity are nearly identical. This is not only a South African tragedy; it is a global epidemic sustained by silence.

Photo via The News Agency, modified by Rights and Minds.

Before a crisis can be confronted, it must be clearly named. In South Africa, the dilemma is gender-based violence (GBV) and femicide (GBV-F), both rooted in firm inequalities. GBV refers to acts that cause physical, sexual, or emotional injury and stems from the power imbalance between men and women, as it makes some individuals feel untouchable and others disposable. While anyone can be a victim, women, girls, and LGBTQIA+ communities are disproportionately affected. Within the spectrum of GBV, femicide represents its most extreme and irreversible form: the intentional killing of women, which is sustained by cultural norms. In South Africa, the scale is disturbing. In the 2023/24 reporting period alone, women were raped every 12 minutes. This mockery of women’s rights is precisely why such violence thrives in a society that fails to act decisively against perpetrators.

The intimacy between the victim and perpetrator makes it even more concerning. Research by the South African Medical Research Council (SAMRC) revealed that 60% of women killed in the country were murdered by someone they knew: a relative, neighbour, or intimate partner. These were not strangers lurking in shadows, but people the victims trusted. Recognising GBV-F as interconnected, systemic problems is not just about definition. It is the first and foremost step toward rallying both society and the legal system to end them.

Tracing the Past to Confront the Present

South Africa’s high rate of GBV-F is not a phenomenon of today. It is a reality deeply rooted in the country’s history. The legacy of colonialism and apartheid established a society built on inequality, where hierarchy and patriarchy were simultaneously integrated into social norms and into the very structures that society is built on, making them part of the "pillars" that support and maintain the system e.g., legal, cultural, economic, and political. These structures granted men authority over almost every aspect of women’s lives, creating patterns of power and control that have endured into the present.

Such imbalance of power laid the foundation for GBV, creating conditions in which it thrives in countless ways: some loud and brutal, others silent and insidious. These forms of violence are not separate; rather, they intersect, reinforce one another, and collectively create an environment in which fear and trauma become woven into women’s daily lives. Thus, it is imperative for everyone to recognize these different forms of violence because, no matter how normalized they may appear in certain communities, each is unlawful and a violation of basic human dignity. While many forces sustain GBV, we will focus on two: external pressure and economic vulnerability.

One of the distinct external pressures is shame culture. Within that system, a person’s worth is tied to their community’s perception of their behavior. Honor becomes self-worth derived from public approval. Violating community expectations brings shame not only on the individual but also on their entire family. Shame here is not merely about what was done to a person, but rather who they believe they are, or are not. It is the fear of exposure, of having something buried dragged into the light. This fear is followed closely when survivors who speak out are met with disbelief or blame, increasing the pressure to remain silent. Particularly, the ‘fear’ phenomenon is evident in cases of sexual violence, (a brutal form of GBV). It includes sexual assault, rape, and statutory rape, which refers to sexual activity with someone below the legal age of consent (even if it appears to be consensual), as well as more coercive forms e.g., corrective rape, an abhorrent attempt to “change” someone’s sexual orientation or gender identity. Survivors are thus forced to carry the weight of violence alone, protecting family or community reputation at the expense of their own well-being.

Furthermore, economic abuse exacerbates the cycle, particularly for those lacking financial literacy. This method undermines a person’s ability to sustain themselves independently by tying their survival to the perpetrator’s control. It can include seizing a partner’s income, restricting access to education or employment, or forcing disadvantageous financial decisions. Even from these mere examples alone, it is evident that survivors are let down on multiple fronts: by a system that neglects to protect them, by the very communities that should support them, by the damage done to their mental well-being, and, by the last resort of escape - financial independence. So, while history explains how GBV-F became so deeply embedded in South African society, today’s institutional failures reveal why it continues as a vicious cycle.

A Mother, a Body, and the Failure of Guardians

From the past to the present, South Africa has sought to make progress in combating GBV-F. Yet the very institutions tasked with protecting survivors have often become major obstacles to justice. Cases are routinely delayed for months due to: court backlogs, police errors, and mishandled evidence being deemed inadmissible. As a result, prosecutions collapse for lack of evidence, survivors lose hope, and perpetrators grow confident that they will not face consequences.

The extent of these failures became evident in 2020, when the government pledged to reduce the backlog of GBV-related forensic cases from 16,000 to 5,000. Instead, the DNA backlog rose to 140,000 cases. While many factors contribute, the primary reason is that law enforcement officers are often undertrained and lack both the sensitivity and specialized skills needed to support survivors.

Such neglect has in fact come into play. In one case, a mother named Clacy reported her daughter Gloria missing after receiving a panicked call from her. The officer on duty dismissed her fears, saying, “If your daughter is with her husband there is no problem; he will bring her in the morning.” Three days later, Clacy was called to identify her daughter’s body, which had been murdered by the very husband the officer assumed was a source of safety. Frankly, Gloria’s story is not an anomaly. Each year, thousands of women fall victim to GBV-F, often at the hands of those they trust most. Despite the scale of the emergency, the government continues to announce new strategies and multimillion-rand plans to combat the violence. Yet, time and again, these initiatives fail to translate into proactive protection. Clacy’s loss, therefore exemplifies a national, and indeed global, phenomenon of violence against women made worse by institutional inaction, as the following data elucidates.

In 2021, during the first year of the National Strategic Plan on GBV, the South African Police Service was committed to training 919 officers in proactive GBV interventions and 565 in reactive responses. Yet in reality, only 272 officers, representing 29.6 percent of the target, were trained in proactive measures, and just 104 officers, representing 18.4 percent of the target, were trained in reactive measures. Amnesty International summed up the situation with the blunt label: “#BrokenPromises.”

Neglect is precisely why survivors continue to suffer in silence. It is not that they do not ponder to seek out justice, but because they have learned, often through bitter experience, that the system meant to protect them is broken and has become a graveyard of unsolved cases. This is more evident within the policy and protection conflict detailed below.

Between Privacy and Protection

Privacy is a fundamental right. In South Africa, as in any democracy, ensuring that right requires legal and institutional safeguards. Section 14 of the Constitution and the Protection of Personal Information Act (POPIA) oversee how personal information is collected, processed, and stored in South Africa. Yet, many argue that privacy is not absolute, particularly in regards to the National Register for Sex Offenders (NRSO), which some believe should be made public in parts, to enhance public safety.

Legal and privacy experts often dismiss calls for public access as extreme, noting that the NRSO contains sensitive details and that publishing such information could infringe offenders’ constitutional rights. Activists, survivors, and concerned citizens, however, argue that the right to safety, dignity, and freedom from violence must outweigh the privacy of those convicted. They point out that offenders’ identities are already partially visible through court records, media reports, and criminal records. The irony, they argue, is that the public can access fragmented information but not a centralized system designed precisely to prevent harm.

Is such a comparison possible?

In South Africa, the law suggests that it is. Privacy can be restricted when it conflicts with other rights or public safety. Sections 32 and 36 of the Constitution provide a legal basis: Section 32 guarantees the right to access information necessary to protect one’s own rights, while Section 36, the “Limitation Clause”, permits the restriction of rights if such limitations are “reasonable and justifiable in a democratic society.” The debate, then, is not about whether privacy matters, but whether it should sometimes yield to public safety. Given the ongoing crisis of GBV-F in South Africa, it has been widely described as the nation’s “second pandemic”.

Although South Africa faces exceptionally high rates of gender-based violence, the problem is not unique to it, women worldwide continue to experience similar harms. It is therefore essential to examine approaches from other countries that have aimed to maintain their plights. By reviewing these models, we can identify how different nations balance privacy with protection and consider which lessons may be adapted to South Africa’s unique context, rather than blindly copying them point by point.

Rehabilitation, Privacy, and Public Safety Abroad

To begin, consider examples from the Global North: In Japan, there is no public registry. The justice system emphasizes rehabilitation and reintegration over public shaming. While the United Kingdom uses a middle-ground approach. Offender details are not public, but the Disclosure and Barring Service (DBS) allows controlled access for schools, employers, and childcare organizations. Lastly, the United States sits at the opposite end. Its approach is particularly interesting from a research perspective, as most studies on the effectiveness of sex offender registries originate there (see, e.g., 1, 2, 3). Under Megan’s Law, the U.S. provides relevant information to the public, and any misuse, e.g., committing a crime or harassing others is subject to legal action. However, many studies still conclude that making the registry public can subject offenders (many of whom already have some of the lowest recidivism rates among criminals) to indirect harassment, social exclusion, and unemployment. Ironically, all of those hinder rehabilitation and even increase the likelihood of reoffending.

Critics may label the approach above as a “Western-centric comparison,” but a country facing South Africa’s death toll cannot afford to ignore lessons from elsewhere, even if the systems are ‘too’ foreign. Thus, we also examined practices from a nearby country. Kenya provides perhaps the most relevant example for South Africa. In 2023, it launched Africa’s first digital sex offender registry, accessible to judicial officers and, upon request, to the public through an e-filing system. Because it is digitized, integrated into the justice system, and accessible (albeit through request), Kenya's registry sets a strong example of balancing transparency, functionality, and legal oversight. The central issue is not whether the registry is public or private, but whether South Africa can build a system that works reliably, grounded in the Constitution and capable of earning public trust.

As it stands, South Africa’s NRSO, is deeply flawed. Although it exists, it is bureaucratic, slow, and inconsistently used. Employers and schools sometimes bypass it altogether, allowing offenders to re-enter environments where they pose risks. In one tragic case, a seven-year-old girl, Cwecwe, was allegedly raped in her school in October 2024, an incident that highlights the human cost of systemic neglect. Inconsistencies in names, delayed entries, and outdated processes further erode trust. Data from the Justice and Constitutional Development Minister shows over 32,000 names on the NRSO, with more than 10,000 cases still pending entry. But, critics such as Build One South Africa (BOSA) argue that even those figures underestimate the scale of the dilemma, citing police statistics of 10,688 rapes in the first three months of 2025 alone.

Considering these circumstances, it is imperative that schools, hospitals, and employers must be able to access the register quickly and consistently, backed by assessments and penalties for non-compliance. At the same time, broader measures are essential: improving police effectiveness, funding nonprofit organizations that support survivors, and investing in both prevention and rehabilitation. Because without sustained resources, even the most carefully designed registry risks becoming symbolic.

What ought to be taken from this is: Privacy matters. Rehabilitation matters. But protection and dignity for victims matter too. South Africa must move beyond theoretical debates and build a system that balances those values while functioning in practice. Anything less is an abdication of constitutional duty and abandons citizens, especially women and children to ongoing cycles of violence.

Message from Rights and Minds

As part of our article, we asked our writer and a team member from Women for Change SA, both based in South Africa, for their perspectives on how people should approach solving the GBV-F crisis.

What our writer had to say:

“BREAK THE SILENCE! GBV-F thrives in silence. Whether you’re a survivor, a witness, or simply someone who cares…speak up. Report abuse. Call out harmful behaviour, even in private spaces. Silence protects the perpetrator, not the victim.”

What Women for Change SA had to say:

In South Africa, there is often a focus on appearing effective to the outside world rather than addressing citizens’ real needs, a failure that contributes to poverty, which in turn drives higher rates of GBV and crime. The problem spans multiple areas. Within the justice system, survivors are retraumatized at nearly every stage, leading many to avoid reporting altogether. Financial abuse is under-recognized, and conversations about it are rare; even judges and attorneys often lack awareness, so it is rarely factored into court proceedings.

Proposed solutions include:

1) Public access to the National Register for Sex Offenders (NRSO), which would empower women to protect themselves, given that they are forced to assume responsibility for their own safety. Without such access, they remain vulnerable, as in the tragic case of Olorato Mongale, who was killed after going on a date without knowing her partner’s criminal history.

2) GBV should be treated as a national disaster: just as systems were mobilized quickly during the pandemic, urgent structures must be put in place to respond to the GBV-F crisis.

3) Affordable mental health support is critical, as access to therapy and psychological care is too expensive for most South Africans, leaving survivors to suffer without help.

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