Sibongumusa Ncube
By Sibongumusa Ncube
There is a narrative that is woven in the public web when it comes to reporting Gender Based Violence (GBV) in both traditional and social media. The prevailing rhetoric espoused when we hear the horrific tales of violence waged against women and their bodies is that human beings do not have the capacity for such barbaric and brutish behavior.
Survivors are often told that the man that hit them was not a man because real men never raise their hand at a woman, or their voice, or whatever other masculinity metric society has settled on that day. Whether this comes from seasoned media practitioners or social media ghost accounts, the intention is often well-meaning.
We mean to denounce the evil act and the evil-doer all in one stroke. Yes, we say to ourselves as we read the headlines and the click bait, this was inhumane and so no human hands can be faulted for this. An animal, yes. A monster, perhaps. But never a person, made of flesh and blood just like us. These human bodies cannot house such violent tendencies. It is in this way that the media perpetuates harmful stereotypes, not just about survivors but also about abusers.
In order to find solutions to this problem, the question that must be asked is why we struggle to reconcile the nature of the violent act with the violent nature of the actor. One plausible answer is that we are not frightened of the monster out there as much as we are of the monster within. Society has communally come to the realization that the real boogeyman is not under the bed as we previously feared but in the mirror. And he is not so jealous or possessive as to only inhabit our bodies. He could be in the loving father who raised us, the gentle brother who cared for us, the quiet neighbor who could never even dream of hurting anyone. This is because, contrary to popular belief, there is no skin color or tax bracket or social class prerequisite for the titular role of “Abuser”. Neither are there any supernatural forces to blame for deviant human behaviour. If there is indeed some otherworldly entity responsible for all this, it is clearly not picky about the bodies it chooses to inhabit and can make a monster out of any one of us if we let it.
When we call a thing by its name, it loses its power. The entry of words like “rape”, “abuser”, “rapist” and “sexual offender” into the public lexicon does not desensitize audiences to the atrocious subject matter as most would assume. Instead, when appropriate vocabulary becomes more mainstream it closes the door through which victim blaming slides in unannounced. It is lost on so many how dehumanizing abusers sends an impression that the victims should have noticed the danger of crossing paths with such individuals. “How foolish of Little Red Riding Hood to not have seen the wolf in her Grandma’s bed.” When misleading or provocative headlines lead to comments such as, “He doesn’t look like the type to do this”, this becomes the field where seeds of doubt are planted like weeds that choke the testimonies of survivors.
Based on how GBV stories are reported in the formal and informal press, we find ourselves extending more empathy to perpetrators, pardoning them for their crimes because they had no choice but to raise their hand or to put it where it did not belong, where it was uninvited. If they were never human in the first place, how then can we fault them for their inhumane behavior?
Inflammatory language, whether directed at survivors or abusers, accomplishes nothing except to fuel dated stereotypes that perpetuate harmful attitudes. Calling a spade a spade and not a giant fork demystifies GBV and when that shroud of mystery is removed, conversations around the topic immediately become more constructive. Reframing stories and headlines leads to the reframing of narratives and new narratives must be written if we are to effectively tackle GBV in our lifetime.