When violence looks fashionable


Date: December 5, 2010
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I was born on 28 February 1963 at White City Jabavu. I am a third child from a family of eight members, including my parents. While growing up in Soweto I experienced or came across many different kinds of abuse. While I was still in school, I was physically assaulted by my parents, neighbours and teachers during my childhood. All adults were permitted to punish any child they saw doing wrong. They believed it takes a village to raise a child.

Back then my father was selling dagga. It was hard, because I had to sell with him as well after school hours. That did not give me a chance to play like other kids. I loved soccer so much, but I could not play, because I had to help my father sell the dagga. Until one day, I told him that I don’t want to sell this dagga anymore; I want to play with the other kids of my age. He did not want to hear that. So I went away and stayed with my grandmother at Meadowlands.

My father tried to come and get me from my granny, but my granny refused and told him to leave me alone and promised she would take care of me. While I was living with my granny, I started to work at a golf course as a caddie. I wanted to make money for myself, as it was hard for my grandmother to do all the things I wanted.

At the age of 16, I started to smoke. I would sometimes go and steal dagga from my father’s house. I got out of control. I began to steal from my grandmother too, just to get the money to buy dagga. Sometimes I would buy it from my father who would sell it to me without any questions because he knew I sometimes used to sell on his behalf.

Before I left my father’s house I witnessed physical abuse where my father beat my mother in front of me and my siblings. It looked fashionable. I got used to this because even our neighbours and uncles would beat their wives in front of us. This made me aggressive, I had anger and it completely changed me to become violent. I believed that this was a normal way of life. I started to beat anyone and everyone who gave me problems.

As an adult I continued with this wrong attitude and behaviour towards woman and children, as I believed that it was a way of showing that you are a man. It is true that violent behaviour is sometimes the result of abuse and we learn it from our immediate surroundings or environments. I felt I needed to be abusive in order to protect myself from others. I believed that using force would help me get whatever I wanted in life but I was wrong. I started to rob people; this anger was building up and got worse. I would also swear at the girls and call them names.

Denying other people their basic rights through abuse is wrong as each one of us don’t like to be harmed. It is wrong and unacceptable. If perpetrators of abuse put themselves in the shoes of the victims and connected mentally and emotionally with the victims they would realise that their actions are wrong and yearn to reverse the situation.

I strongly believe for every wrongdoing there are consequences. It is important that we must first start by realising that we have a problem and look for how we can find help or ways of solving the problem.

Change comes from within and it is amazing that through sharing our experiences as ex-perpetrators this will help to change others. As individual members of Mo-Afrika Ithlokomele we realised even those bad things we have learned can also be unlearned. It is a journey that has enabled us to work with other organisations like Sonke Gender Justice in the fight against this evil known as women abuse.

This “I” Story is part of a special series on the 16 Days of Activism for the Gender Links Opinion and Commentary Service that offers fresh views on everyday news. For more information on the 16 Days Campaign go to www.genderlinks.org.za

 

 


0 thoughts on “When violence looks fashionable”

Nicky says:

4) The nature of priavcy in this period is still evolving. People write letters to their loved one and don’t want anyone else to read them, but the chances of a relative finding them and reading them anyway is high. That’s why so many people burned their love letters after awhile, it was the only way to ensure absolute priavcy. It is the same with diaries. One of the women kept a diary and was really embarrassed when her older brother picked it up and read it, but there was nothing she could do to stop him. He was older than her, and also male, so she could protest only slightly.

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