CAMAGWINI MAVOVANA: SA needs to stand on the right side of history in protecting GBV victims

In the ongoing struggle against gender-based violence (GBV) in South Africa, a disturbing spectacle unfolded this past weekend at the South African Music Awards (SAMAs), sparking intense debate and forcing us to confront our collective hypocrisy.

The controversy centres around the performance of Arthur Mafokate, a Kwaito artist with a troubled past, involving accusations of abuse from his former partner, singer Cici. This event shone a harsh spotlight on the way South Africa chooses to engage with GBV allegations and whether the country is truly committed to protecting its most vulnerable citizens, especially women.

In 2018, Cici, whose real name is Busisiwe Thwala, accused Mafokate of physically assaulting her, dragging her along a street in his car while she clung to the door handle, resulting in serious injuries that required pelvic replacement surgery. The trauma left Cici with both physical and emotional scars, and the nation watched as their complicated relationship played out in the courts and the media. However, despite the severity of her claims, Mafokate was acquitted in 2019 due to lack of evidence. The court found that Cici had contributed to the incident by holding onto the car’s door handle instead of letting go, which was deemed to have caused her injuries.

Yet, no matter the legal outcome, the emotional and psychological impact on Cici, and on other survivors of GBV, is undeniable. For many women in South Africa, Cici’s experience is emblematic of survivors' broader struggle when seeking justice in a system that is often biased and dismissive of their pain. While the courts may have cleared Mafokate, Cici's emotional scars are impossible to erase.

Fast forward to the 2024 SAMAs, where Mafokate was enthusiastically welcomed to perform alongside fellow artist, Chomee. Cici expressed her heartbreak on social media, posting broken heart emojis, a gesture that resonated deeply with many who witnessed the public dismissal of her suffering. While the performance was nostalgic for some, it was a painful reminder for others of the violence Cici endured.

The debate that followed Mafokate’s appearance at the SAMAs sparked questions about South Africa’s double standards when it comes to holding perpetrators of GBV accountable. In particular, people pointed out the irony in South African public reaction when it comes to comparing the treatment of Arthur Mafokate with the backlash against international stars like Chris Brown.

Brown, a musician with a well-documented history of abuse against women, including the infamous 2009 assault on Rihanna, has faced widespread condemnation, boycotts, and calls for him to be cancelled. Yet, in Mafokate’s case, despite the severe allegations, the audience warmly received him, with many dancing and celebrating during his performance.

The hypocrisy is staggering. Why do we cheer on a man like Mafokate, whose history is clouded with accusations of violence? What message does this send to the women and girls who experience GBV daily in this country? Are their stories any less valid because their abusers have not been found guilty in court? Are we willing to let social status and nostalgia determine how we treat victims and perpetrators?

This troubling pattern is not just about celebrities or the entertainment industry. It is indicative of a much larger issue within South African society: the normalisation of violence against women, the minimisation of their suffering, and the failure to protect those who are most vulnerable. If South Africa truly wants to be on the right side of history, we must ask ourselves hard questions about the messages we are sending to both survivors of abuse and to those who perpetrate it.

The court may have acquitted Mafokate in Cici's case, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t harmed. It doesn’t mean she wasn’t subjected to violence, and it doesn’t mean that other women in similar situations should be forced to endure the same public scepticism or victim-blaming. The #MeToo movement and other global movements have shown us that justice for victims doesn’t always come in the form of a court ruling, and it certainly doesn’t come from a performance on a stage. True justice for survivors of GBV comes when society no longer tolerates or celebrates those who perpetrate violence and when we collectively prioritise the voices of victims over those of their abusers.

This means creating a culture of accountability where GBV is not just a political issue but a social imperative. It means supporting survivors like Cici, not only when they are on the stand in court but also when they are sharing their trauma in public spaces. It means saying unequivocally that no amount of musical nostalgia or fame should overshadow the importance of protecting women from violence. And it means showing the world that South Africa, as a nation, stands on the right side of history, where the voices of victims are always heard, and perpetrators are never celebrated.

The SAMAs may have decided to invite Mafokate to perform, but as a nation, we must ask: is this the message we want to send? As we fight against GBV and femicide in South Africa, we must always remember that true progress means standing firmly on the side of justice, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it challenges the status quo. And that means, first and foremost, that we must always protect and believe survivors.

If South Africa is serious about eliminating GBV, the time has come to start practising what we preach, both in our laws and culture. The fight for justice is never over, and the road to healing for survivors like Cici is long. It is up to us all to ensure that they are not walking it alone.