In the 1930s in rural Georgia, US, a young woman by the name of Celie wrote letters to God after finding herself trapped in a cycle of abuse, uneducated, with no sense of agency, and feeling like she could not catch a break. The letters became a conduit through which she could make sense of her life as she felt no one was coming to save her.
The violence in her life was neither concealed nor ordinary. She would spend her days milling around in fear and frustration.
First, she was constantly beaten and raped by her stepfather, with whom she bore two children, only for him to pass her off to a man called Mister Albert to marry her. The cycle continued as Mister not only raped, abused and tortured her regularly, but also enslaved her. In the process, she lost her sister, Nettie, and later gained a saviour and lover in Shug Avery, an empowered jazz and blues singer … And so the story goes.
The sight of the colour purple reminds us of the words of another character, Sofia, who said: “All my life I had to fight.”
Author Alice Walker published this heartrending epistolary novel, The Colour Purple, in 1982. It is 2025 in South Africa, and this sounds too familiar.
For weeks now, activism spaces and social media have been flooded with the colour purple: a symbolic outcry but also a call to action on Gender Based Violence and Femicide (GBVF), as world leaders gather for the G20 summit.
The GBVF organisation Women for Change has mobilised the public to stand up against the scourge during the summit this week, by either posting purple profile pictures, refraining from economic activities, lying down for 15 minutes on Friday at midday and wearing black.
Most importantly, they demand that GBVF be declared a national disaster. “Because until South Africa stops burying a woman every 2.5 hours, the G20 cannot speak of growth and progress.”
Every month we are called to project outrage and emotional tremor for cases that shock us to the core, each further shifting the goal post on which spaces are safe. At this point, there are probably only a few plot twists we have not heard of.
What was the reason for Ayanda Ngwenyama, the mother of seven-year old Thandolwethu Mahlangu, to get a chilling message from her child’s killers referring to her as an animal?
The world leaders are welcome to enjoy our newly refurbished roads with sealed potholes, eat fresh food produced on the back of women in the farms and rural areas, talk about global challenges and come together to foster economic cooperation — but let the crisis of GBVF in this beautiful destination be the conversation on the table too.
“We are finished with your dog [Thandolwethu], but we want our R30,000. We would have dropped it off at your doorstep. The other one [her younger brother] is next.”
What sick world are we living in?
What came out of the death of Olorato Mongale? When will justice finally be served for Hillary Gardee? What did Nosicelo Mtebeni do to deserve getting her body dismembered? What have we done to deserve such an unsafe and insecure life?
Whose body will finally save us? What will it take to silence the screams? When will we get to the finishing line?
The world leaders are welcome to enjoy our newly refurbished roads with sealed potholes, eat fresh food produced on the back of women in the farms and rural areas, talk about global challenges and come together to foster economic cooperation — but let the crisis of GBVF in this beautiful destination be the conversation on the table too.
It would be the most iconic moment of vainglorious buffoonery if the issue/movement is not given the resource, attention and support it needs, because whose future would they be preparing for anyway if the intended beneficiaries are under constant siege? Men included, they too are often victims of abuse, though not at the same rate as the vulnerable groups.
Activism is tiring and costly, but “Azilime ziyetsheni bafazi”, in other words, let us tackle this head-on and shape a real way through. Most of you do it while running on empty, sometimes not even being able to reach the right ears, but do not be dismayed, don’t let them ignore you. May activism fatigue and burnout not derail you from fighting for your right to safety and dignity.
Celie wrote to God because no one else would look her way, after all, fatigue silence was the only place she could place her pain. In South Africa today, we refuse to inherit that silence. We refuse to fold ourselves into private suffering while the world carries on undisturbed.
The colour purple is no longer just a literary symbol of survival; it has become a national alarm bell, a refusal to let horror settle as normal and a collective insistence that this country must choose life over apathy.
If world leaders can admire our roads, our hospitality and our economic potential, they can confront the truth that women, children and vulnerable communities are paying for this “progress” with their bodies. We will not let them sidestep that reality. We will not let them celebrate growth on soil soaked with grief.
Yes, the fight is exhausting. Yes, it costs more than it should. But Azilime ziyetsheni is not a slogan; it is a declaration that we will not retreat, no matter how treacherous the terrain.
We are done paying penance for existing. We are done waiting for someone else to write the ending. This time, the letters are not whispered into the void; they are directed squarely at those with the power to shift the ground beneath us. And we will not stop until this country becomes a place where safety is not a miracle, dignity is not a negotiation, and survival is not a daily battle.
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