The past weeks, South African social media lit up with anguish, outrage, and solidarity. The timeline became a river of grief, flowing through a nation mourning yet another senseless tragedy.
The #Justice for Cwecwe campaign wasn’t just a digital moment, it was a collective cry for humanity. And it shouldn’t just stay a headline.
It was a sad week to be South
African. But also, in a strange way, a hopeful one. Because for a fleeting moment, we were united. Diverse in language, background, and politics but connected by conscience. We saw once again that when we come together to raise our voices, we become powerful.
And yet, amid all the posts and protest graphics, I found myself asking: what happens when the hashtags fade?
That’s when I realized – true advocacy doesn’t live on timelines. It lives in us. It lives in how we treat each other daily. In how we parent, how we lead, how we listen. Because advocacy is not just about grand gestures. It begins at home.
We are all activists in our own right, whether we carry placards or not. When we speak out against injustice in our families or workplaces, we advocate. When we model respect, teach empathy, or hold our loved ones accountable, we advocate.
Micro-level management is where you guide and correct. It is where you nurture and protect. This seemingly small space is where the foundation of any society is laid.
In a country like ours, there are deep scars and sharp inequalities. We can’t afford to wait for someone else to “do the right thing.”
I’ve learn that what is right isn’t always ethical, and what is ethical isn’t always right. The law can be cold.
Cultural norms can be complicit. And sometimes, your moral compass will lead you into uncomfortable terrain, especially when your voice disrupts the peace.
I was also deeply unsettled by the Omotoso acquittal on all 32 charges, an in-our-face blow. I couldn’t help but think of Pamela Mbini. She was a key witness and advocate for the case. She was shot and killed in her driveway in Gqeberha just last month. She must be turning in her grave. What a coincidence – right?
My heart broke for Cheryl Zondi, who stood firm in court and endured public humiliation after telling her story. The justice system failed – again.
How do we restore hope to the people in a system that continues to fail them? How do we ask victims to step ahead, when the very structures meant to protect them fall apart so often? How do we make sense of such repeated injustice, and still tell our communities to trust in due process?
I dream of a South Africa where justice isn’t reactive but built into the very fabric of how we live. A place where we raise fruitful human beings. These individuals are whole, thoughtful, and grounded. They believe in dignity and accountability for all. That dream sounds lofty. Yet, it starts with the choices we make every single day. These choices commence in our own homes and hearts.
Because real advocacy is not about convenience , it’s about conviction. We need to shift our thinking. Advocacy isn’t only for the bold or the brave. It’s for the ordinary person doing the unseen work. This includes parenting with intention. It also means calling out injustice at the dinner table and making space for stories that aren’t their own.
So, even when the protests quieten, when the placards are packed away and the timelines go still don’t stop speaking. Don’t stop listening. Don’t stop being the change. Because even in silence advocacy lives.
And it begins with you.
