Why naming gender-based violence a national disaster is just the beginning

South Africa has finally named gender-based violence for what it is: a national disaster. The wording is strong, deliberate and overdue. Yet there is a growing sense that the declaration, while symbolically important, risks becoming just another line in a political speech. The country has heard promises before.

What it needs now is not more rhetoric but enforcement, protection, and accountability that reach far beyond podiums and press briefings.

For years, gender-based violence has existed as an unspoken crisis woven into the fabric of daily life. It is the fear women carry when walking to a taxi rank. It is the silence that settles in a household after yet another neighbour is assaulted. It is the endless stream of cases that fill police dockets but seldom result in convictions. Women and girls live with the constant knowledge that their bodies and lives exist in a danger zone.

Naming GBV a national disaster acknowledges this reality, but naming alone does not save a single life. The problem is not that South Africa lacks awareness. Few countries have marched more, protested harder or spoken louder about violence against women. From university campuses to rural villages, ordinary people have been demanding change. The despair sets in because the demands seldom translate into action. Declaring GBV a disaster may create urgency on paper, but it means little without structures that can carry the weight of that urgency in practice. The first gap is enforcement. South Africa has progressive laws, but a law is only as powerful as its implementation. Police stations remain inconsistent in how they handle complaints. Some officers are under-resourced, some are poorly trained, and some simply do not take victims seriously. Survivors walk into stations carrying trauma, and far too often they leave carrying additional humiliation.

Many end up withdrawing cases not because the violence has stopped, but because the system makes pursuing justice feel impossible. A national disaster should demand specialised policing units, mandatory training, and non-negotiable consequences for officers who mishandle cases. Anything less is an empty declaration. Then there is the crisis of shelters. In many parts of the country, shelters are scarce, underfunded and overcrowded. Women who gather the courage to leave abusive homes often find there is nowhere safe to go. Some shelters must turn survivors away due to a lack of beds. Others rely on unstable funding that forces them to operate on the brink of closure.

A genuine disaster response would involve increasing the number of safe spaces, securing sustained financial support and ensuring every region has accessible, fully staffed centres. Without safe exits, survivors remain trapped. No number of speeches can substitute the simple, life-saving reality of a door that leads to safety. Accountability is the third, and perhaps most painful, missing piece. Perpetrators navigate a system that is slow, inconsistent and often indifferent. Cases drag on for years. Evidence disappears. Witnesses give up. Convictions remain low enough to embolden repeat offenders. When accountability is an exception rather than the norm, violence becomes easier to commit and harder to escape. A national disaster should trigger fast-track courts, dedicated prosecutors and properly resourced forensic services. Justice delayed is not only justice denied — it is justice that may cost lives.

The repeated calls for societal change, while important, are often used as a convenient shield by leaders who avoid responsibility. Yes, society must transform. Yes, harmful cultural norms must be challenged. But societal transformation cannot happen in a vacuum. People change because systems change. Communities feel safer when institutions protect them consistently. Public messaging has its place, but it cannot replace the structural work that keeps women alive.What makes the current approach especially frustrating is that South Africans have seen what decisive action looks like in other national disasters. When floods strike, emergency funds are released. When disease outbreaks occur, rapid response teams are deployed. When load shedding escalates, task teams are formed overnight.

Gender-based violence should trigger the same level of urgency, coordination and funding. Anything less signals, however unintentionally, that women’s lives do not merit the same national mobilisation. Declaring GBV a national disaster is not a mistake — it is a necessary step. But it must be the beginning, not the end. South Africans will not be reassured by powerful language. They will be reassured by working panic buttons in police stations. By shelters with open doors. By courtrooms that move swiftly. By leaders who treat the crisis with sustained urgency rather than occasional outrage. Women in South Africa do not need another declaration. They need a state that protects them. They need enforcement that works, shelters that exist, and accountability that is not optional. Until that happens, calling gender-based violence a national disaster is little more than an admission without action. The country knows the problem. Now it must finally show the will to fix it.