Reporting GBV can be tantamount to reporting crime to criminals

In an early chapter of my memoir, Unfathered, I write about being a child, calling the police in desperation, hoping they'd defuse a violent situation at home. They arrived — but instead of doing their job, they laughed and socialised with the man they were meant to detain, then left without checking whether the people who'd called them were okay. We were left with the perpetrator, in more danger than before they showed up. In the final two chapters I recount a more recent story — about a former partner who kidnapped me and threatened to end my life, then his own. This time, the police did arrest him. But minutes after we arrived at the station, the officers — men and women — advised us to 'kiss and make up' and to distance ourselves from the friends and family who were improperly influencing me to involve the authorities in our 'private disputes'. Sadly, in South Africa, our police service's most shocking failures aren't only the ones surfacing at the Madlanga commission. The ineptitude is in every facet of what they do. In August, President Cyril Ramaphosa appointed South Africa's first statutory National Council on GBVF, with 'law enforcement strengthening' listed among its priorities. But we have a National Strategic Plan, provincial and municipal frameworks, everything everywhere else and now the council. What we don't have is the will to execute and the appetite to follow through. When it comes to GBV, the focus must be on every step after a survivor walks through a charge-office door. If the president is serious about denting our GBVF statistics, his attention needs to travel down to station level because that is where women lose the fight. What happened to me happens to countless women every day. A close friend experienced the same dismissiveness after being attacked and strangled by her then-partner. These aren't a few bad apples. It's an aggressively entrenched culture and the data backs it up. A parliamentary report covering October 2023 to March 2024 found 59 cases of police non-compliance with the Domestic Violence Act, including failing to open cases properly and serve protection orders — a woman's first line of defence. In that period, 191 SAPS members were flagged as domestic violence perpetrators. Of the firearms seized from the officers, 118 were their official service weapons — the guns the state issued to protect us. Nearly 3% of stations don't have a victim-friendly room. Even cases that survive the station rarely survive what follows: at least 37% of domestic violence cases are withdrawn in court by the National Prosecuting Authority. Of the 53 285 sexual offence reports in 2023/24, only 3 813 resulted in a conviction. Behind every statistic is a woman who did the right thing, and a system that refused to meet her halfway. A firearm never seized. A protection order never served. An abusive officer let off with a written warning. Believing a survivor is only the first step. Making sure the system protects her, instead of handing her back to the man she risked her life to report, is the part we keep skipping. It's the part the new National Council should also be judged on, not how many meetings it holds. We don't need new legislation. What we need is enforcement. Station-level compliance must be monitored. Officers who discourage survivors by playing de facto family elders — or who commit abuse — need to face dismissal, not a warning. We need trauma-informed training that makes 'kiss and make up' a fireable offence. We need to fund FCS units properly, so one detective isn't left covering five stations alone. We need to collectively decide that awareness was never the finish line. Because an emergency exit that's been painted on the wall isn't an exit — women and children are trapped inside, looking for the door. • Gudlhuza is a former journalist and columnist and the author of Unfathered: Surviving Paternal Brutality to a Life Reclaimed and Unshamed. In an early chapter of my memoir, Unfathered , I write about being a child, calling the police in desperation, hoping they'd defuse a violent situation at home. The y arrived — but instead of doing their job, they laughed and socialised with the man they were meant to detain, then left without checking whether the people who'd called them were okay. We were left with the perpetrator, in more danger than before they showed up. In the final two chapters I recount a more recent story — about a former partner who kidnapped me and threatened to end my life, then his own. This time, the police did arrest him. But minutes after we arrived at the station, the officers — men and women — advised us to 'kiss and make up' and to distance ourselves from the friends and family who were improperly influencing me to involve the authorities in our 'private disputes'. Sadly , in South Africa, our police service's most shocking failures aren't only the ones surfacing at the Madlanga commission. The ineptitude is in every facet of what they do. In August, President Cyril Ramaphosa appointed South Africa's first statutory National Council on GBVF, with 'law enforcement strengthening' listed among its priorities. But we have a National Strategic Plan, provincial and municipal frameworks, everything everywhere else and now the council. What we don't have is the will to execute and the appetite to follow through. When it comes to GBV, the focus must be on every step after a survivor walks through a charge-office door. If the president is serious about denting our GBVF statistics, his attention needs to travel down to station level because that is where women lose the fight. What happened to me happens to countless women every day. A close friend experienced the same dismissiveness after being attacked and strangled by her then-partner. The se aren't a few bad apples. It's an aggressively entrenched culture and the data backs it up. A parliamentary report covering October 2023 to March 2024 found 59 cases of police non-compliance with the Domestic Violence Act, including failing to open cases properly and serve protection orders — a woman's first line of defence. In that period, 191 SAPS members were flagged as domestic violence perpetrators. Of the firearms seized from the officers, 118 were their official service weapons — the guns the state issued to protect us. Nearly 3% of stations don't have a victim-friendly room. Even cases that survive the station rarely survive what follows: at least 37% of domestic violence cases are withdrawn in court by the National Prosecuting Authority . Of the 53 285 sexual offence reports in 2023/24, only 3 813 resulted in a conviction. Behind every statistic is a woman who did the right thing, and a system that refused to meet her halfway. A firearm never seized. A protection order never served. An abusive officer let off with a written warning. Believing a survivor is only the first step. Making sure the system protects her, instead of handing her back to the man she risked her life to report, is the part we keep skipping. It's the part the new National Council should also be judged on, not how many meetings it holds. We don't need new legislation. What we need is enforcement. Station-level compliance must be monitored. Officers who discourage survivors by playing de facto family elders — or who commit abuse — need to face dismissal, not a warning. We need trauma-informed training that makes 'kiss and make up' a fireable offence. We need to fund FCS units properly, so one detective isn't left covering five stations alone. We need to collectively decide that awareness was never the finish line. Because an emergency exit that's been painted on the wall isn't an exit — women and children are trapped inside, looking for the door. • Gudlhuza is a former journalist and columnist and the author of Unfathered : Surviving Paternal Brutality to a Life Reclaimed and Unshamed .