Digital Solidarity and Activism Against Gender-Based Violence and Femicide in South Africa

Jody Metcalfe

Feb, 2025

MUSIC:

Each year between the end of November and the start of December marks 16 days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence globally. The government of South Africa has embraced this campaign with yearly advertisements and events, raising awareness about the horrifically high rates of gender-based violence in the country. Police Minister Bheki Cele, in the release of the 2023/2024 crime statistics, stated that “South Africa recorded 10,516 rapes, 1,514 cases of attempted murder, and 14,401 assaults against female victims in July, August, and September” and reported that in the same period, “881 women were murdered” . It is well known, however, that incidents of gender-based violence are repeatedly underreported.

Stories of both survivors and victims reflect the most gruesome dehumanisation. The shocking rate at which women are dying can only be labelled as femicide. However, femicide and intimate partner violence are not officially recognised as a particular “category of crime” [3][3] Boonzaier, F. (2023) ‘Spectacularising narratives on femicide in South Africa: A decolonial feminist analysis’, Current Sociology, 71(1), pp. 110–125. doi: 10.1177/00113921221097157.. In many instances, gender-based violence and femicide of adult women and children are committed by intimate partners and male relatives, including husbands and fathers. With the Covid-19 pandemic, women and children became most vulnerable [4][4] Dawson, M. and Mobayed Vega, S. (2023) ‘Femicide and feminicide: A growing global human rights movement’, in Dawson, M. and Mobayed Vega, S. (eds.) The Routledge International Handbook on Femicide and Feminicide. London: Routledge, pp. 3–14. doi: 10.4324/9781003202332-2., further susceptible to violence, forced to stay in homes with abusive partners, only exacerbated by strict lockdown measures and financial strain [5][5] Baloyi, M.E. (2021) ‘The Escalation of Gender-based Violence during Lockdown as a Practical Theological Concern in the South African Context’, Journal of International Women’s Studies, 22(5), Article 7. Available at: https://vc.bridgew.edu/jiws/vol22/iss5/7/ (Accessed: 2 February 2025)..

It is important to note that gender-based violence is not only limited to women. It includes gender minorities, specifically members of the LGBTQIA+ community, who experience violence both from within and outside of the community [6][6] Brodie, N., Mathews, S., and Abrahams, N. (2023) ‘Femicide in South Africa’, in Dawson, M. and Mobayed Vega, S. (eds.) The Routledge International Handbook on Femicide and Feminicide. London: Routledge, pp. 236–245. doi: 10.4324/9781003202332-26.. Non-profit organisations like the Triangle Project work towards increased access to justice and reducing violence committed against LGBTQIA+ people through education, empowerment, economic justice, and affirming health care.

Photo_ K. Kendall_ CC BY 2.0

This paper seeks to understand how digital solidarity plays a crucial role in the movement against GBVF through contextualising GBVF in South Africa. It provides examples of how GBVF activism has happened online and highlights two organisations using the digital space for their activism. Lastly, this paper connects digital solidarity to global digital solidarity trends, showing how online activism can propel movements forward while exposing the risks of online harm in the digital realm.

Contextualising Gender-Based Violence and Femicide in South Africa

Femicide and intimate partner violence are not officially recognised as a particular “category of crime” in South Africa.

Legacies of colonial and apartheid entrenchment of white heteropatriachal violence underpin the current climate of GBVF in South Africa. In her book, Female Fear Factory, Pumla Gqola [7][7] Gqola, P.D. (2022) Female Fear Factory: Unravelling Patriarchy’s Cultures of Violence. Abuja: Cassava Republic Press. outlines her main arguments made in her previous book, Rape: A South African Nightmare [8][8] Gqola, P.D. (2016) Rape: A South African Nightmare. Johannesburg: MF Books Joburg., which were:

“Concerned with how deeply embedded rape culture was in these systems, I specifically used certain examples that trace the roots of the current South African legal system to a slavocratic past, and later, the colonial order that enabled the routine rape of enslaved and other Blackwomen as a matter of course—while at the same time refusing to officially recognise such rape as rape. Slowly, as the rape of Blackwomen became institutionalised, normalised and mythologised, these women were constructed as ‘unrapeable.’ To be unrapeable does not mean ‘to be impossible to rape.’ It means the opposite. The unrapeable is that category of humans constructed and marked as free to be raped without consequence. Blackwomen are constructed as unrapeable through the marking of their bodies as available for rape as enslaved women, and partly through the refusal of the court system to ever convict a man for the rape of a slave woman throughout the era of slavery” [9][9] Gqola, 2022: p. 10.

Both books detail sexual violence as a detrimental legacy of colonialism and apartheid, including the building stereotypes of vilification of Black [10][10] The use of a capitalised “Black” rather than “black” is a deliberate choice by the author. In the South African context, and under the groundworks of the Black Consciousness movement (see I write what I like, Steve Biko 1978), Black refers to all non-white people, this includes those racially classified as coloured and Indian, to better reflect the historical struggle of racialised people in South Africa. men and hypersexualisation of Black women. The legacies of the swartgevaar (Black peril), where Black men were constructed to be a threat to white women [11][11] Boonzaier, F. (2022). “Spectacularising narratives on femicide in South Africa: A decolonial feminist analysis”. Current Sociology. doi:10.1177/00113921221097157.. These racist narratives fed into beliefs that Black men wanted to commit acts of sexual violence on white women, who were viewed as the guardians of white “purity” and the white “race” [12][12] Ratele, K. (2008). Masculinity and male mortality in South Africa. African Safety Promotion, 6(2), 19-41.. This was juxtaposed to the widespread sexual violence committed against Black women by white men without contempt or illegality, which extended into the apartheid era [13][13] See Metcalfe, Jody. Representations of Mixed-Race Identity in Post-Apartheid South African Literature. Diss. 2024 for representations of interracial relationships in South African literature..

The widespread sexual violence against Black women, committed without contempt or illegality by white men, extended from colonial times into the apartheid era.

The apartheid regime often weaponised sexual violence on Black women, especially liberation fighters and activists . Sexual violence in liberation camps is also widely reported. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) set up special hearings on sexual violence, where women spoke of sexual and biological harm done to them while held without trial, in detention, by the apartheid police, as well as everyday harm, harassment and violations . The legacies of colonialism and apartheid were not only detrimental to Blackwomen in these ways but also through their treatment as second-class citizens despite, in many cases, bearing the financial burden for the family. Legacies of inability to effectively deal with sexual violence at all levels of society and the interlinked experiences of women through racialised economic injustice, have sustained cultures of silence around GBVF, which continue to be upheld through patriarchal institutional violence . The lack of justice built into how sexual violence was heard at the TRC emulates the lack of justice that victims and survivors continue to experience in post-apartheid society.

GBVF Activism

In post-apartheid South Africa, several laws and campaigns have been established to combat gender-based violence and femicide. However, the brunt of everyday organising and raising awareness about GBVF is done through NGOs, community-based and grassroots activism, which include many of those who have been affected and/or are survivors of GBVF. University spaces, community centres, public streets, and schools have all been sites where activism against GBVF has taken place. In 2016, at the University Currently Known As Rhodes [17][17] University Currently Known As Rhodes (UCKAR) is an acronym used by observers, participants and supporters of the student protests on South African campuses in 2015-2016. The use of UCKAR highlights the contemporary controversy over the fact that this institution still bears the name of the racist, arch-imperialist Cecil Rhodes. It must be noted that contestation over that name goes back tho the institutions founding in 1904. (UCKAR/Rhodes University) in Makhanda—formerly known as Grahamstown—, a list was published on social media, including the names of current and former students who were known to have committed sexual violence against women on campus (despite this not being specifically stated on the list) [18][18] Dyantyi, Y. (2022) ‘Remaining Relentless; Reclaiming My Voice Against Violence’, African Feminism, 8 February. Available at: https://africanfeminism.com/remaining-relentless-reclaiming-my-voice-against-violence/ (Accessed: 15 February 2025).. This list became known as #RUReferenceList. Using this hashtag across social media, not only was the list of 11 men distributed, but it was a catalyst for weeks of protests, not only at the UCKARbut across multiple universities, both in solidarity and in recognition of the shared experience of GBVF on campuses and in society more broadly [19][19] Idem.. As a result of these protests, three students, identified as the leaders of the movement, were “academically excluded for life”, meaning they could never complete their degrees. This decision included a lengthy disciplinary process where those named on the list—perpetrators of sexual violence—acted as witnesses.

The protests across universities were also extended into the digital realm. A hashtag campaign called #endrapeculture was launched along with others such as #nakedprotest and #endpatriarchy [20][20] Orth, Z., Andipatin, M., and van Wyk, B. (2020) ‘“These Women are Making a Statement Against Rape and yet the only Thing Y’All can Focus on is ‘Eww They’re Naked’”: Exploring Rape Culture on Facebook in South Africa’, Gender Issues, 38(3), pp. 243-259. doi: 10.1007/s12147-020-09268-x.. Orth et al.’s 2020 [21][21] Idem. study of public perceptions of the movement found two key themes that reflect responses to GBVF activism in South Africa, namely, a culture of victim blaming and trivialising rape culture through demeaning the protestors. On this point, Orth et al. argue that at the crux of understanding the discourse surrounding rape culture is an acceptance that “that sensible people in their lives are, in fact, capable of committing such a senseless act of violence”. The denial of both the act of rape and the culture that perpetuates it leads to the assumption that neither the act nor the culture exists [22][22] Orth et al 2020, p.253.. Despite the pervasiveness of GBVF, many remain in denial that they might know someone who is a perpetrator, thus choosing to vilify activists instead. While social media can play a significant role in propelling a movement forward, it can also be a space of further violence to those involved. Ultimately it can further expose narratives that sustain rape culture and continue to vilify activists, as was the case in the #RUReferenceList.

Despite the pervasiveness of GBVF, many remain in denial that they might know someone who is a perpetrator.

These examples are emblematic of the normalisation of GBVF, where perpetrators are protected at the cost of those who they have harmed. High-profile cases of GBVF rarely end in effective justice either. In the wake of the #MeToo movement, several high-profile men were accused of sexual violence. One example is Danny Jordaan, head of the South African Football Association (SAFA), who was accused by an ex-member of parliament of raping her in the 1990s. Jennifer Ferguson stated her reasons for speaking out were: “I am not speaking out to get revenge on Danny Jordaan or a million South African men like him. I am doing this so we can help each other be courageous, speak out and begin to heal as we find we are not alone” . After speaking out, Jennifer was then publicly vilified and defamed by members of Jordaan’s team and legal counsel. Unfortunately, this experience is not rare for survivors who speak out.

As evidenced by the examples provided, hashtag activism is used to spread awareness about GBVF and call perpetrators to account. In the face of the lack of justice, survivors receive, their frustrations with the system and sustained humiliation by officials, social media has become a space for solidarity, resistance and non-traditional forms of awareness.

Digital Solidarity

The digital space is also used by NGOs to provide information to survivors or those who are currently in abusive situations. Non-profit organisations, like Women for Change SA (WFC), specifically focus on advocating for the rights of women and children across South Africa. Established in 2016, they provide resources, medical and legal assistance, and information about gender-based violence and femicide. In addition, they provide an online glossary of terminology related to gender-based violence, making available information and resources not only for the general public but specific to those affected. While violent patriarchal roots remain deeply entrenched within South African society, non-profit organisations are constantly hard at work to uproot these societal beliefs. Grassroots activism, community networks, and solidarity amongst organisations working on these topics across all levels of society remain rooted in South African society, and this activism is highly prevalent online and offline.

WFC has an online presence across TikTok, Instagram and X. In 2023, they reached over 10 million people visiting their profiles across platforms per month [24][24] Harrisberg, K. (2023) ‘Abused South African women log on for online lifeline’, Context, 9 November. Available at: https://www.context.news/digital-rights/abused-south-african-women-log-on-for-online-lifeline (Accessed: 10 February 2025).. Founder Sabrina Walters stated that she received between 50-150 messages per day online from women seeking support and information [25][25] Idem.. On their Instagram page—@womenforchangesa—, WFC posts about helplines that can be called, responses to frequently asked questions, testimonials and stories of gender-based violence experiences, terminology related to gender-based violence and the latest statistics. In addition, they consistently share the names and faces of women and children who have been murdered, are missing or have experienced violence and are seeking justice, along with a comment about who the person is, what happened to them and a statement of support.

In the face of the lack of justice, social media has become a space for solidarity, resistance, and non-traditional forms of awareness.

The importance of this type of information cannot be understated. Platforms like Women for Change can reach survivors and those living in unsafe environments in their homes. As we continue to consume social media content, the work of WFC provides both a tool for information and a network of support. As of 23 February 2025, WFC’s Instagram page had 156K followers. In the highlights section of their page, they have organised information according to themes like “GBV Toolkit” and “Glossary” and highlighted specific high-profile cases that have happened. In their pinned post from 13 November 2024, WFC shared Annual crime statistics for 2023/24, outlining the grim statistics of GBV and Femicide, with the accompanying post stating, “This is not even a pandemic anymore; it is a war against the women and children in this country, with our latest femicide rates rising by 33.8% compared to last year” . The comments on the post reflect the rage of many who blame the government for their lack of action. Survivors also use the comment section to share their stories, and many stand in solidarity with each other, echoing feelings of being abandoned in the fight for our right to live. As mentioned, the WFC Instagram page also forms an online obituary, highlighting the stories of women and children who have been murdered and sexually assaulted, along with their in-memoriam pictures. The comment sections of these posts mourn the loss of each life, showing solidarity amongst those experiencing GBVF.

Similarly, Keep the Energy is a non-profit organisation that uses its Instagram profile to showcase the many names and faces of women, children and members of the LGBTIQIA+ community who have been killed or affected by gender-based violence and femicide. Founder, Michael van Niekerk, started the page in response to the rape and murder of Uyinene Mrwetyana in 2019, a fellow student at the University of Cape Town, where they felt that the University and government response was poor to the horrific violence committed by the perpetrator. #KeepTheEnergy provides a critical role in ensuring that the names and stories of those affected by GBVF remain in the public eye and give dignity to the families and victims.

In their most recent post, Keep the Energy shared the story of Imam Muhsin Hendricks, who was murdered in a hate crime in Gqeberha while on his way to officiate a wedding. Imam Hendricks is widely known as one of the world’s first openly gay imams. Coming out as gay in 1996, he founded an organisation called The Inner Circle, which provided support for queer Muslims .

This rehumanising effort forces us to remember that real people are behind the shocking statistics.

With 96,6K followers—as of 23 February 2025—Keep The Energy uses its platform to highlight names of those murdered, in some cases by nameless perpetrators. This rehumanising effort forces us to remember that there are real people behind the shocking statistics we are confronted with. Like WFC, comments on these posts mourn the loss of the person pictured in the post and commiserate what seems to be viewed as an unavoidable fate of women in South Africa.

As governmental support falls short offline, more and more women and LGBTQIA+ people are using the digital sphere to access organisations that can support them. The two platforms shared in this paper are by no means the only ones. Several pages are dedicated to the eradication of GBVF, whether through providing toolkits, access to information or spreading awareness through hashtags. Those who need support can find it online. Non-profit organisations have always historically filled the gaps of governmental failings, but the digital space is providing new opportunities to reach people who are in vulnerable situations. Many who find themselves in abusive situations might only have access to their phones, proving how the digital space and access to these organisations can become a lifeline.

Towards Global Digital Solidarity

As we see the increased stripping away of women and the LGBTQIA+ community’s rights around the globe, the need for global digital solidarity becomes even more pertinent. The enormous scale of gender-based violence, femicide and war crimes committed against women and children in the multiple genocides currently happening across the globe reflect the dire situation of those most vulnerable in society. From reports of horrific acts of sexual violence in Sudan and Congo to the relentless targeting of young children and women in Gaza and sexual violence as torture for Palestinian men, this violence is constantly underreported by mainstream media. This has led to a rise in international solidarity campaigns and alternative news sources, as well as an increase in calls for aid by those affected by genocide and colonial violence. Across social media, acts of digital solidarity continue to take place.

Many who find themselves in abusive situations might only have access to their phones, proving how the digital space can become a lifeline.

On TikTok, creators have used their platforms to generate support and raise awareness for their plight. This ranges from using certain sounds on TikTok videos to raise funds for families under siege in Gaza and across Palestine, to raise funds for organisations doing work in Congo, or for LGBTQIA+ people to find suitable housing after being forced out of their family homes. Not only are sounds used to boost particular profiles, but TikTok users have also become savvy in how they interact with posts to prevent shadow banning. This is done explicitly through commenting, interacting and liking comments on TikTok posts for the algorithm to continue to boost the post to a wider range of people, rather than solely relying on views to do so. These strategies use algorithms and force platforms to provide monetary contributions to creators whose videos go viral. This simple form of instrumentalising content consumption for solidarity and support shows how the digital space is being optimised through digital and algorithmic literacy.

Hashtag activism, such as the #BringBackOurGirls movement across First Nations people in the US and Canada, has gained international traction with other Indigenous communities, highlighting the plight of domestic violence and GBVF as legacies of colonial violence in Indigenous communities. These sentiments are echoed in how Sámi content creators use their platforms to advocate for the protection of Sámi women and LGBTQIA+ people from intimate partner violence, echoing the legacies of colonial violence that continue to reproduce violence in formerly colonised contexts across the globe [28][28] Topidi, K., & Metcalfe, J. (2025). “Digital self-representation of minority Wom*n: An intersectional analysis of Sámi content creators”. In A. Budabin Cosima, J. Metcalfe & S. Pandey (Eds.), Minority women and intersectionality: Agency, power, and participation. Routledge Advances in Minority Studies, Routledge, (Forthcoming).. Hashtags can promote visibility for topics that are often ignored by the mainstream media [29][29] Jackson, S. J., Bailey, M., & Foucalt Welles, B. (2020). #HashtagActivism: Networks of race and gender justice. The MIT Press. Available at: https://doi.org/10.7551/mitpress/10858.001.0001; and Topidi, K. and Metcalfe, J. (2024) ‘Digital (Mis)-Representations: Understanding Ethno-Cultural Minority Identity Formation Online’, Digital Society, 3(45). Available at: https://doi.org/10.1007/s44206-024-00133-y.

Additionally, the digital space has also seen an increase in online harm, hate speech and the spread of propaganda. The rise of podcasts of men projecting patriarchal and violent rhetoric towards women, actively dehumanising women and advocating men’s rights to control women’s bodies continues to show a backward turn in the advancements of equality. The ways of digital spaces can exacerbate violent speech, where platforms rarely respond proactively, choosing to blame singular “bad apples” rather than structural inequalities [30][30] Hoffmann, A. L. (2021) ‘Terms of inclusion: Data, discourse, violence’, New Media & Society, 23(12), pp. 3539–3556. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1177/1461444820958725. However, women, LGBTIQIA+ people, and allies continuously fight back both offline and online. Social media is an activist space and is used to actively mobilise against gender-based violence and femicide through community, resources, information and solidarity. It will continue to be used to do so—a Luta Continua.

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