‘Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still remembered to use stones.’
Shirley Jackson, The Lottery, 1948
At university I attended a course on feminist philosophy which focused on gender-based violence (GBV) generally, and in an African context specifically.
The course material provided an in-depth view of the causal factors of rape and other violent acts directed at women. It was harrowing, especially reading first-hand accounts from victims and perpetrators. I recall one statement by a man who was asked why he had raped a woman; he answered that she had looked him in the eye. She had challenged his authority, his power. Rape, for this man, was not so much a sexual act as it was a demonstration of his dominance over her. He wanted to put her in her place. The casualness with which the man described his actions was sickening to me and my classmates.
That was the day I first became frustrated with the modern discourse on matters of social justice. How vague and ineffectual it can be, and how reluctant it is to offend –even though some offence might just be a by-product of positive change in the world.
You see, I learned all about cultural norms of male dominance, and about the patriarchy. I was told that these were systemic issues, that they were subtle and all-pervasive. To help the women of South Africa, we were going to have to sniff out and change the cultural norms of male dominance and female subservience. One norm in particular – that of ‘woman’ as an object to be possessed – lay at the heart of it all; the quintessential toxic trait of masculine identity.
Having learned all this, I thought I’d try my hand at picking some low-hanging fruit, only to find out that not only was it out of my reach but that it was just for looking at, not touching, as if it was some kind of quirk or oddity.
I asked the lecturer about the African cultural practice of lobola.
Was it not at least partly to blame for the flippant way the rapist had justified his actions and his sense of entitlement? A lively discussion ensued. We spoke about how demeaning the practice is to women, how it is a clear example of a practice that reinforces a cultural norm of male dominance.
A reason for the abuse
There is no shortage of academic literature to back this up. Interviews with victims as well as perpetrators specifically cite lobola as a reason for the abuse.
One woman, in a 2016 study by Unisa researcher from the College of Human Sciences, Dr Nokuthula Mazibuko, says that:
After all the hurt, anger and the beatings … the next minute he wanted sex. It was painful that he would want it, at that moment what else could I do … I had to do it, with bruises on my face I had to pretend as if I am enjoying it. I am his wife, he paid ilobolo for me, so he is my husband … things I must do for the sake of our marriage.
In the same study, Dr Mazibuko found that:
There was a common view among other married research participants that, as married women, they do not have power or control over their own bodies. Their bodies belong to their husbands, since their husbands have paid ilobolo for them. If they were to show signs of refusing to have sexual intercourse with their husbands, their husbands would have the power to just have “sex” with them – regardless of their disapproval.
This particular study had only 27 research participants, but the findings, as well as the general tone of the study, are replicated in numerous papers on the subject of lobola and gender-based violence. The studies are not limited to the cultural practice as it manifests in South Africa but across most of sub-Saharan Africa.
In addition, there are secondary effects of lobolathat are covered extensively, and that are harmful to women. For example, many husbands are unable to afford the bride price. This leads to children being born out of wedlock, with the father oftentimes not regarding the child as his responsibility. We also hear from women who say they are trapped in abusive relationships because in most cases their families do not agree to pay back the bride price, thereby taking divorce off the table.
I had a follow-up question, though, and this is where things got interesting. I suggested, given what we had just discussed, that perhaps lobola should be re-imagined or even outright banned. An atmosphere of discomfort pervaded the room. Classmates shifted awkwardly. I had uttered the social justice version of the word ‘Voldemort’.
Trying to criticise a bad idea
Was I suggesting that only black men rape? No, of course not. It’s demonstrably true that men from all cultures and times have abused and raped women. Was I saying that lobolawas solely responsible for all instances of GBV? No, but it certainly plays a role. Was I suggesting that all marriages based on lobola were abusive? Certainly not. Was I seriously trying to colonise African culture – again? No, just trying to criticise a bad idea. But, bad or not, I learned that the idea was not mine to criticise. And, besides, the reason that that man raped that woman was because of the patriarchy, not because of a cultural tradition wherein a man pays a bride price for a woman and, by extension, her labour and reproductive function, effectively rendering her a commodity and reinforcing a culture-wide idea of masculine dominance and feminine servitude.
It was too complicated for me to understand, so we went back to discussing how gender norms are to blame for the frightening statistics of GBV in South Africa.
This brings me to today.
To tackle the scourge of GBV towards women in South Africa, the government published its ‘National Strategic Plan on Gender-based Violence and Femicide’ in 2020. It is a 132-page document outlining the scope of the problem and the measures to be taken to combat it. While the intention of the document is good, I found it to be repetitive and frustratingly circular, rendering it generally unhelpful.
The experience of reading it was eerily similar to that day I mentioned lobola in class. I was again struck by the use of vague social justice language exported from academia, and the way it circles actual problems without touching them, using broad, catch-all terms like patriarchy, cultural norms, and toxic masculinity.
I don’t want to argue about the validity of those terms. I think there’s truth to be found there. You’d have to dig deep into evolutionary and cultural history to understand where the meme of male dominance comes from and how it spread so successfully through almost every single culture on earth. The crux of the issue for me is in how the meme has been challenged and how norms of equality have been established – how we have recognised that the meme is a bug to be fixed and not a fixed feature of human culture.
Forefront of the fight
There’s little doubt that Western liberal democracies have been at the forefront of the fight for women’s rights. Equality under the law was the first bug to be fixed. Next came norms about gender roles and bodily autonomy. These proved more of a challenge and the tinkering is ongoing. By and large, though, that project has been very successful, especially given how deeply entrenched many of those norms were – in some cases, entrenched enough to be codified in religious texts.
But there is a reason that women are no longer stoned to death on their fathers’ doorsteps for not being virgins on their wedding night. There is a reason that spousal rape is illegal despite the major religions viewing it as a wife’s duty to sleep with her husband. The broad reason is that in liberal democracies, following the European Enlightenment, it has been a bedrock imperative that bad ideas are to be challenged. Call it the marketplace of ideas. Granted, progress can sometimes be slow, some would say too slow. But incremental change is change nonetheless. When bad ideas abound, liberalism is the tool that allows better ideas to take their place.
We seem to have lost sight of this. Or rather, to have become cowards and hypocrites. The government’s evaluation of GBV and its plan to combat it is an example of this cowardice for the sake of cultural sensitivity. It calls attention to violence against women. It points out the shocking statistics of inter-personal violence and femicide. It is very clear that the root of the problem is to be found in cultural norms that promote violence against women. It condemns:
‘Ideas of masculinity that are centred on male control of women, male sexual entitlement, inequitable gender attitudes, risk-taking and antisocial behaviour,’
And:
‘Ideas about femininity that promote women’s subordination to men, encourage them to be complicit with violence and the subjugation of women and expectations on women to acquiesce to male partners’ sexual desire and needs.’
It says that these ideas are …
sustained in communities where there is a greater cultural value and emphasis on gender hierarchy, where there is a greater acceptability of the use of violence in interpersonal relations, where men’s dominance over and control of women is seen as legitimate, and where the notion that GBV is a private matter between the couple in the relationship is prevalent.
The document goes on to say that cultural practices are to blame for these sorts of ideas. What cultural practices? Well, the document tells us, there were a couple of very bad practices but they have been made illegal now. They are:
Ukuthwala – which is a form of abduction under the guise of patriarchal tradition and culture that involves kidnapping a girl or a young woman by a man and his friends or peers with the intention of compelling the girl or young woman’s family to agree to marriage. It has been marked by violence and rape.
And the burning of witches, which, as the document informs us with a straight face, is now considered a form of violence against women.
Ideas that lead to GBV
So, we’re just left with the main cultural practice propping up ideas that lead to GBV, and we need to put every effort into getting rid of it. But to get rid of it we need to identify it. What is it, then? Well, it’s the cultural practice of possessing cultural norms that promote violence against woman. So basically, patriarchy, toxic masculinity, etc. Feeling dizzy yet?
If you thought for a second that lobola might have fitted the profile to at least garner a mention, you would have been right. However, you probably underestimated the power of ideas about cultural sensitivity. Despite the practice having been scrutinized in academic studies and lamented by women across southern Africa; despite available testimony from men saying that they feel they have a right to beat and rape their wives because they paid for them, the mainstream media and the government seem unwilling to criticise it. As I said, it’s not something to be picked on – it’s something to be looked at, and on occasion, celebrated as a deeply rooted African tradition.
In fact, if you’d like to work out how much your loved one would cost, simply download a lobola calculator app. As this article in The South African tells us,
You can calculate how much lobola your loved one is worth by filling in her age, height, weight, waist size, level of attractiveness (from “not at all” to “really hot”) and highest qualification. You also need to state whether she is employed, has been previously married or has children.
Tech geek Robert Matsaneng claimed he developed the app so that his engaged friends were not ripped off. He stresses that the app is purely for entertainment value.
To be fair, the government plan does propose interventions. Some of these will work to a certain extent, but if pervasive norms are primarily to blame, I don’t think the interventions will be as helpful as the document hopes. For example, one intervention targets police response to reports of violence because, as the document says, too often the police do not take reports of rape seriously because ‘(indeed), it may be suggested that police officers view domestic violence as a private family matter, rather than a crime’. Maybe, just maybe, that has something to do with ideas of female servitude due, in part, to lobola. After all, why would you want to get involved in matters to do with somebody else’s private property?
Another intervention mentioned in the document is the economic empowerment of women. An example is that companies should prioritise the hiring of women on an equitable basis. Yes, this may make a difference. However, if underlying cultural norms of male dominance reinforced by cultural practices such as lobola are allowed to persist unchallenged, I fear that in many instances the economic empowerment of women in certain communities might end up hurting them. Because, as the government document says, men who feel their dominance is threatened are more likely to lash out violently.
Many women won’t be heard
In addition, the document constantly assures us that it is taking a victim-centred approach to combating GBV. It’s going to listen to women’s concerns and respond accordingly. This doesn’t seem to be the case. I can’t help thinking that many women won’t be heard for the simple reason that they are possessions in the eyes of a large number of South African men.
How successful are we going to be in protecting South African women if we can’t even mention lobola in a conversation about gender-based violence? Can we at least put it on the table? Or is this just Western hegemony rearing its ugly head? It is a discussion worth having. But in the meantime, why don’t we put political correctness on the backburner and try our best to make sure that another black woman doesn’t get sold to a man who sees her value as tied up in her labour and her capacity to reproduce?
In 1948, Shirley Jackson’s short story, The Lottery, was published in the New York Times (incidentally, it was banned by the South African government). It’s a terrifying story about a fictional community that take part in a lottery once a year. The townsfolk gather in a festive atmosphere and names are drawn from a black box. The reader is kept in the dark about the purpose of the lottery until the very end when it is revealed that Tessie Hutchinson’s name was marked, at which point the townsfolk, in dogged accordance with their age-old tradition, stone her to death.
The story is a commentary on mob mentality, but more salient is the theme of the harm caused by accepting tradition for tradition’s sake.
I hope that, in time, we take seriously the idea that lobola is such a tradition. The battle of ideas can be uncomfortable and it takes time to gain victories. But if we can’t even speak about it openly and honestly, how many South African women will share Tessie Hutchinson’s fate just because it has always been so?
Shirley Jackson’s story ends with the line: ‘“It isn’t fair, it isn’t right,” Mrs Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.’
I hope that thousands of South African women find happier endings.
[Image: EricEnfermero, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23358376]
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