Living in fear: the daily reality for Black women in SA

IN SOUTH AFRICA, sexual violence is so widespread that it forms the background noise of our lives. It is not a distant threat. It is in our homes, in our churches, in our schools. It comes from the hands of men we know, love, and trust. It is part of the daily choreography of being a Black woman, calculating routes, glancing over shoulders, making sure the skirt is not too short, declining invitations, leaving gatherings early. This regulation of our bodies is not new. It is not accidental. It is a continuation of a long history of control.

- ZETHU ALBANIE

Pumla Dineo Gqola calls it the “female fear factory”, a system that keeps women in a constant state of alertness, limiting their freedom while excusing the violence of men. In colonial South Africa, the dompas told Black people where they could and could not go. Today, fear is the pass we carry. It polices our movements just as effectively as that hated document once did. The threat of rape becomes a tool of social order.

But for Black women, there is an additional cruelty: the enduring myth of the “unrapeable”. This is not a legal term, but a social truth. It is the idea that Black women’s bodies are always available, always consenting, always strong enough to withstand harm, always less deserving of protection. It is rooted in colonialism, which cast Black women as hypersexual, as property, as bodies that could be violated without consequence. It is reinforced every time a Black woman reports rape and is met with suspicion, ridicule, or disbelief. It is why, in courtrooms, our sexual histories are dissected and our characters put on trial. It is why, in media coverage, our pain is often sensationalised, doubted, or erased.