WOSSO: April was not Freedom Month

April in South Africa is marked as Freedom Month — a time when we are expected to reflect on the long road to liberation and celebrate how far we’ve come since 1994. But as this month draws to a close, it feels dishonest to celebrate.

Instead, it feels more fitting to grieve, to rage, and to confront a painful question that keeps resurfacing: Are we really free?

This year, Freedom Month began not with jubilation, but with heartbreak and outrage. On the 1st of April 2025, South Africans across the country marched under the banner of Justice for Cwecwe, a seven-year-old girl who was raped at school.

Her mother had been speaking out about the case since last year, knocking on the doors of the South African Police Service, pleading for action.

For over a year, her cries were ignored. The authorities only began to act in 2025, after relentless public pressure. The fact that a child was violated in a space that should have been safe, and that her mother was ignored for so long, is not just tragic — it is a damning indictment of a justice system that continues to fail the most vulnerable among us.

While we were still trying to process the horror of Cwecwe’s story, the nation was hit by yet another blow. Timothy Omotoso, the controversial televangelist accused of sexually abusing young women under the guise of spiritual leadership, was released from prison along with his co-accused.

After years of painful court appearances, delays, and survivor testimonies that shook us to our core, the justice system has, once again, failed women. It sent a chilling message — that even in the face of overwhelming public interest and survivor bravery, predators can still walk free in this country.

What then do we tell the young women who risked everything to testify? What do we tell a generation of girls watching this unfold?

And then, as if we needed another reminder of the deep rot in our system, the story of Ms Andy Kawa came back into the spotlight. She was abducted and raped for over 15 hours on a beach in Port Elizabeth. She followed the process, reported the crime, and waited — not just for months, but for years.

It took more than a decade before she received any form of justice, and even that came not through criminal prosecution, but through a civil suit where the court found the South African Police Service negligent. Imagine the emotional and psychological cost of fighting for over 14 years just to be acknowledged. Imagine the strength it takes to keep going when the very institutions meant to protect you repeatedly let you down.

These three stories — Cwecwe, Omotoso, and Mama Andy Kawa — all unfolded or re-emerged during what is meant to be a month of national pride and remembrance. But for many of us, April was not a time of reflection on past freedom.

It was a sharp reminder of how unfree so many women and children remain. What kind of freedom allows a seven-year-old to be raped and ignored? What kind of democracy celebrates liberation while predators walk and survivors suffer in silence?

Today, as we close this painful chapter of Freedom Month, The Great People of South Africa, in partnership with Global Affairs Canada, GenderLinks and the Renewed Women’s Voice and Leadership South Africa initiative, is hosting a panel discussion on the criminal justice system and what freedom really means in a country where women and children continue to face such brutal violence.

This conversation is not just necessary — it is urgent. Because we cannot continue to talk about freedom without addressing the absence of safety, the crisis of accountability, and the trauma of a justice system that still operates with such staggering levels of indifference.

This blog is not written from a place of bitterness, but from a place of truth. We are not free. Not when our children are unsafe in schools. Not when women wait over a decade for justice. Not when alleged abusers are set free while survivors are retraumatised again and again. And so, we refuse to be silent.

We refuse to pretend. We refuse to accept that this is the best our democracy can offer.

We owe it to Cwecwe. We owe it to Mama Andy Kawa. We owe it to every woman whose story never made the headlines. Freedom Month must become more than symbolic — it must become a call to action.

Until then, we will keep speaking, keep fighting, and keep demanding the freedom we were promised.

(Written by Zintle Khobeni De Lange, a WOSSO Fellow)