Silenced!
Pride filled me – pride for women, pride for all of us in that hall, brave enough to take part in this day – at 6am, on a 6°C morning.
Silenced!
Pride filled me – pride for women, pride for all of us in that hall, brave enough to take part in this day – at 6am, on a 6°C morning.
I promised my friends that if someone approached me with judgmental and inappropriate comments I would give them a piece of my mind or, should I say, my foot. But, when this moment came I froze and quietly imploded.
Dying voices
With no-one to talk to I could only speak to myself. We all have our own reasons for taking part – mine, I realised, ran much deeper than I had thought.
I found the place within myself, that box of memories. Throughout the day I thought about it, held it in my hands, not wanting to go through it.
My own silence had confronted me. At midday the protesters gathered on the steps of the clock tower. Lying among all those silent men and women gave me the space and comfort to confront this box.
That dark, cobwebbed corner no longer weighs me down. It has been springcleaned and aired, light flows through it with ease.
This day made me deal with things I never wanted to. Our strength in solidarity found its way around campus and filled each of us.
I thought that if I dealt with what weighed me down I could never be the same happy person I always am. But, instead of feeling dirty and impure, I now feel like a blank page pure, clean and ready to be filled with the life I choose to fill it with.
Breaking the silence
“Stop the war on women’s bodies!” Exhausted protesters peeled the tape from their mouths, as one voice at a time, the chant grew louder and louder. But a solemn silence fell over us again as we watched rape survivors stand and make their way to the stage. We were inspired by their courage and moved by their strength. The respectful clapping of hands became deafening.
Take back the night
We ended the day by reclaiming the streets of Grahamstown. Given back their voices, protesters screamed, shouted and sang.
“No means no.” “This street is my street.” We paused at the Rat and Parrot – yelling our defiance at anyone who would dare to claim otherwise.
As we returned to campus a local resident, Kerry Jane Gutridge stopped us. Her words were the ones we had been waiting to hear from the Grahamstown community.
“You are the most beautiful people in South Africa right now – you make me so proud, go, continue in the name of all those voiceless statistics who are dead.”
