by Pheladi Sethusa | Feb 21, 2014 | News
“I don’t mind women in general wearing crop tops or short shorts, but I don’t want my girlfriend wearing those things because they make me feel uncomfortable,” said a male friend.
He considers himself sympathetic to feminism. This conversation occurred after I had accepted the label, feminist. If it had happened two or three years ago I might have “understood” where he was coming from, now I don’t. It took me quite a while to come to terms with feminism, to understand it and identify with it. To me feminism simply means the freedom to choose who I want to be.
[pullquote]”I don’t mind women in general wearing crop tops or short shorts, but I don’t want my girlfriend wearing those things because they make me feel uncomfortable.”[/pullquote]
I’m out
In the past I’ve labeled myself as a “laissez-faire feminist” and described myself as such in social conversations. What I meant was that I do recognize that patriarchy is real and is at work 24/7 to undermine people of my gender. What I was saying along with this at the time is that I prescribed to the gender roles dictated to us by society, and that I was comfortable with this status quo.
The attitude has fallen away to be replaced by a more precise concept “black feminism”. I am out. Loud and proud. I have successfully rid myself of the fear of discrimination for being vocal about feminism.
A lot of people have a stereotypical image of an unshaven, angry, man-hater when they think of the word “feminist”. I was scared to associate with the feminist struggle because of this negative stereotype.I now realize one can shave, like to cook, love men and still be a feminist.
The problem with patriarchy
People are uncomfortable with accepting certain truths, especially if they somehow benefit from whatever it is you are speaking out against.
Men, whether they like it or not benefit from the patriarchal shield that makes their lives a little sweeter. God forbid he cook and clean, domestic chores are for girls. He should sit on the couch, have beers and snacks delivered as he shouts at the TV in front of him. This kind of behavioural conditioning in the media and in our homes provides a breeding ground for the next generation to play into the same kind of zombie like fixation with gender roles. [pullquote align=”right”]”Patriarchy is the reason we have a rape culture here and elsewhere.”[/pullquote]
The problem with patriarchy is that it makes men believe they are rightfully entitled to certain things where women are involved, women’s fashion choices among them. It makes women believe that they have to do certain things, look a certain way, say certain things to win them the “real women” label. Being desirable trumping other pursuits, overshadowing other attributes of their womanhood.
Patriarchy is the reason we have a rape culture here and elsewhere, it allows for the pathological thinking that says a woman can be owned, domineered and conquered at will. That a woman’s body can be seized, forcefully if all else fails.
What feminism says
Feminism stands up and shouts “NO!”. It says women are more than their boobs and their bums, more than the scrubbing their hands can endure, are more than the nappies they can change. It says women are capable of more than they are given credit for. It says that women deserve to be treated justly, that they have a place outside of the kitchen. It says gender roles are bullshit, archaic and oppressive.
[pullquote]”I don’t have to be an emotionless “bitch” to be respected, that independence is not about being alone, that my sex life is no one’s business but mine.”[/pullquote]
Feminism has taught me to ignore the cues given to me by society about what kind of woman I should be, because they say so. I should be the kind of woman I choose to be, because I say so. I don’t have to cook and clean to be “wifey material”, a man who thinks like that has no business looking for a wife because clearly all he needs is domestic assistance, which is fairly easy to find in a want ad.
Feminism has also taught me that I don’t have to be an emotionless “bitch” to be respected, that independence is not about being alone, that my sex life is no one’s business but mine. It’s taught me that justice and equality aren’t the same, that sometimes justice does mean giving someone an opportunity based on their gender or race – because equality tends to ignore the existing imbalances between two people when handing out the so called same opportunity or advantage.
by Liesl Frankson | Aug 16, 2013 | News
Liesl Frankson
IT’S THE time of the year when the reality of all the bad, unhealthy decisions we’ve made through winter start to weigh heavily on our shoulders…not to mention our waistlines and buttocks.
As the weather changes and we shed layers of clothing, we are struck by a sudden urge to shed a few extra kilos in the process. With one month to go before spring, the Wits Vuvuzela newsroom, like the rest of South Africa, has been hit by a workout wave.
Fitness challenge
I’ll be the first to admit I’ve also taken up the fitness challenge. Thanks to one of our journalists, there’s now a scale at the front of the newsroom and I think everyone is looking for a quiet moment to weigh themselves so they can assess the damage when no one’s looking.
Even though we’re calling it the fitness challenge, most of us seem to be obsessed with losing weight. Most people automatically assume skinny people are fit, but that is definitely a factoid. I’ve met people who weigh far more than me, but are able to do physical activities I’ve only dreamed about in my wildest fitness fantasies.
I look at these people and admire them because they’ve got it right. They are healthy and fit. That should be the ultimate goal. It shouldn’t be eating once a day so you can look like a reed in your shorts after you’ve been pigging out all winter. Because no one can tell what you look like under all that clothing.
Hollywood has okayed the big booty
Even though things have changed and Hollywood has okayed the big booty, we’re still trapped in a place where we think the hollow-cheeked look is sexy and – stranger still – we continue to resort to extreme means to achieve it. Extreme diets dominate our lives even though we know how bad they are for us. The solution is simple: exercise!
Instead of taking the lift to get your doughnut, how about using the stairs? If you aren’t willing to exercise, then face facts and start eating more healthily. So stop complaining and take action. If you don’t like what you see, change it. You can eat anything you want in moderation, so watch those portions. Get active every little bit counts.
If good old-fashioned exercise and healthy living isn’t your thing there are plenty of other fun ways to get the job done. Dancing is one way. Turn on your favourite song and shake it up for a good hour, you could burn anything between 300 and 700 calories without even noticing.
If you forget about being skinny for a second and chase after a healthier, fitter you
If you forget about being skinny for a second and chase after a healthier, fitter you, I’m almost certain your new dream body won’t be too far behind. And remember your dream body doesn’t have to be the slim and slender physique of Keira Knightley or Nicole Kidman if its not in your genes and, if it is, lucky you. We’re all different and we need to embrace and work with what we have been given.
Whatever you choose to do, start now and do it all year round. Then you can be the one laughing at those of us in a tailspin over how we’re going to look in our shorts when summer arrives, asking us to show her what we’re working with.
by Pheladi Sethusa | Apr 5, 2013 | News
Photo: Prelene Singh
*self-gratifying sigh*
Here I am. Fifteen years later. This is THE DAY it’s all been about.
The day I get a piece of very expensive paper that says: this girl is smart. This girl knows stuff and she deserves a shot at making that paper. This girl is finally a cog in the machine.
Okay, that is not where I was going with this but what the heck I’ll just roll with it. While I am super excited about this so called milestone, it is the beginning of the end isn’t it?
I have been in professional day-care for fifteen years and guess what? I just signed myself up for more. Because a degree isn’t enough anymore – I could very well work in sales for the rest of my life. Bleak prospect.
So I’m bumping myself up a bit, to get that deluxe you-deserve-a-job-ticket. I have decided to do this through the one thing I am good at, writing. Well two things I’m good at – writing and probing. But I fear that after I have completed my Honours in Journalism degree. It might not be enough, then what do I do?
Many qualified graduates in South Africa are left either jobless or stuck in less than desirable jobs once they have graduated. (This information comes courtesy of a Stats module I did.) I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
This piece is about the day that commemorates how far I have come. Somehow all the naps in lectures, Mike Ross-like skim reading and verbosity in essays have paid off.
Okay, let me stop being self-deprecating (holla to English Literature for that one). I actually did work my way through my undergraduate degree. Probably not as consistently as I would have liked, but I’m here.
I am very thankful for having indulgent parents who let me sign up for things that took my interest. They could have easily forced me to do something more “stable” that would make me a shit load of money. But they didn’t and I will always be thankful for that.
They let me have debates about Biko, the evils of capitalism and the origins of man. They let my young self, already keenly literary, truly bask in a plethora of works I would otherwise have never engaged with.
What I studied is directly proportional to the person I have become.
*drops mike and walks off stage*
by Zandi Shabalala | Feb 18, 2013 | News
CLEARLY my well-motivated prayers to have Valentine’s Day disappear off the calendar have gone unanswered.
Don’t get me wrong, the idea of a whole day devoted to romantic love is tolerable. But hear me out on the obstacles I have in my ability to enjoy the day as much as some of you do.
Firstly, pink and red in all the retail stores is unbearable. I walked into Pick ‘n Pay the other day and they had decked out an entire table full of fake roses, pink champagne and red and white cards. The table cloth was white with red hearts on it.
It’s really hard to miss that table but I make a concerted effort to divert my eyes to the furthest point I could find. I can only imagine how awkward it would be for someone who failed to purchase a fake flower to walk past that table of death with their significant other.
So that’s one of my issues with Valentine’s Day, the shops that look like they’ve been decorated by gleeful four-year- olds. (Pink and red don’t even go well together.)
Another thing that all my coupled up friends do is make out and then look at me over their shoulders asking: “So what are you doing for Valentine’s Day?”
OK, so it doesn’t happen exactly like that. But that question is definitely asked with an assumption that I’m going to be sitting at home alone with a cat, a cold pizza and the soundtrack to Bridget Jones’ Diary.
Being single doesn’t mean I will die alone, only to be found weeks later half-eaten by an Alsatian. What it does mean is that my contribution to boring conversations regarding Valentine’s Day will be a heavy roll of my eyes.
As a person who always looks for the silver lining, I managed to find one awesome thing about V-day: the wine was almost half its usual price.
I wouldn’t describe myself as the Valentine’s Day Grinch. But if I had the opportunity to make it disappear, I would.
by Zandi Shabalala | Sep 21, 2012 | News
I am Zulu. There, I said it.
I’m not quite sure why it’s such a socially awkward thing to talk about, being Zulu. But every so often, in a social situation, after I confess to being Zulu the almost expected comments that follow are: “Zulus are so violent” or “Zulus are so rude”. On one occasion somebody said to me: “So, if you’re Zulu, where is your spear and shield?” That last one had my neck in a spasm for several seconds after jerking my head back sharply in utter bewilderment.
Yes, I’ve heard all the clichés about how uneducated and loud Zulu people are. How uncompromising and stubborn we are. Yes, I’ve also been asked why Zulu men feel the need to flood Jo’burg’s taxi ranks. Oh, how Jo’burg loathes obnoxious *Zulu taxi drivers.
I grew up in Pietermaritzburg, KwaZulu-Natal and didn’t really have any exposure to other ethnic groups until I moved to Jo’burg for my first year at Wits. I couldn’t really understand much Tswana/Sotho other than the little I had learned from the soapie Generations.
For the first time in my life I couldn’t just speak Zulu without someone saying how “Zulu” my accent was or, as they would say, “that deep Zulu”. At first I would say: “Well that’s a really stupid thing to say, seeing as how KZN is where the language originated from.” Since I was the original, how could I possibly have an “accent”. Preposterous.
In defending my position I would become agitated and defensive, slurring my words between swigs of alcohol (because this is when most of the conversations would occur). I’m Zulu and I speak the correct Zulu, Jozi Zulu is diluted. Jozi people have hacked our beloved language into something unrecognisable, I would say.
Ahh there she is. The stubborn and uncompromising Zulu in me finally reared its head.
Even my close friends giggle and mimic me when I talk in Zulu. “‘Hawema!’ ” they say, mimicking me. “You’re going all native on us now.”
There are more famous Zulu natives who are better known than I am. They also provoke reactions from people. Recently the Zulu King Goodwill Zwelithini made international news after he requested R12-million from the provincial legislature to build his sixth wife a palace.
President Jacob Zuma, possibly the most famous Zulu of all at the moment, is nothing short of controversial. His statements on gays, women and minorities feed the chatterers with regular fodder.
I’m not going to make sweeping statements about how Zulu people want to be represented but I will say I have a distaste for stereotypes, as I’m sure most people have. “English people are snooty”, “Christians are judgemental” and “redheads have no souls” are just a few stupid stereotypes that come to mind.
AmaZulu means “people of heaven”. Consider that the next time you expect to see me barefoot with a shield and spear singing the Shaka Zulu soundtrack and thank your lucky stars I’m no avenging angel.
by Staff Reporter | Aug 31, 2012 | News
During a spring cleaning fit last week, I discovered an old photograph of myself and two of my oldest friends. We were six and sported Minnie Mouse and Donald Duck outfits – with hairstyles that would make a hairdresser cry.
That photograph got me thinking about all the crazy things I went through with my friends. As kids, we made up games and gave them names like Sally Broke Her Leg and Guess Guess. In our teens, we fell off staircase railings and drank coke through four straws. A few years on, we sat on the roofs of Wits buildings talking about life, love and everything. Looking back now, it seems a lifetime ago, but memories like that never fade.
Over time, though, those daily activities became smses, which turned into occasional emails, and they turned, eventually, into silence.
My mom always said you can choose your friends, but you alone choose how long they stay in your life. Having let a dear friend of mine fade from my life completely recently, I now understand what she meant.
He was one of the friends who will forever be stuck in my memory. One of our biggest jokes was about his writing a book about his life at Wits. He wanted to dedicate it to our old history professor, who called all the girls in the class “Sir”.
He got me addicted to sport, however I supported Arsenal and he Manchester United. The benches outside the William Cullen library was where you could find us. If those benches could tell their stories they would fill the pages of two novels.
A silly misunderstanding between us led to a four year friendship ending. He thought I was the kind of person who took friendship for granted; that I would attract fake friends who would tell me I looked great even though I had a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe.
It’s sad because I did appreciate him. He was a one of those rare friends who provided a shoulder to cry on even when he needed one himself. The bond true friends share is something that develops over time but can be lost in the blink of an eye.
Life is difficult, but friends make it seem conquerable. So cherish every hug, every joke and every afternoon spent sitting on a bench. As my mom would say, a man with two genuine friends is richer than a man with R10-million in the bank.
Published in Wits Vuvuzela 22nd Edition, August 31
by Jan Bornman | Aug 3, 2012 | News
As a journalism student it was hard to ignore a recent attack on the study of journalism in South Africa. I read an opinion piece by David Bullard (@LunchOut2) (a man loved by few, and hated by many – and I generally enjoy his writing) where he argued that studying journalism is a complete waste of time and “daddy’s money”.
And in a sense I agree, because the three years I spent at another Johannesburg university just reading about news values and magazine readership and circulation did not make or teach me how to be a writer.
After reading his article, I tweeted him directly and insisted that I will continue with my “bogus degree,” despite his words of wisdom. He responded by giving me some more “great” advice – “find a girlfriend with a doting rich father”. Hardly great advice because I want to carve out my own future, and not live off some rich snob’s money.
Looking back at my undergraduate degree, I can pinpoint the exact moment when alarm bells went off – it was when a third-year lecturer told us to “imagine you are a reporter sent to cover the Oscars. Imagine you interview this or that celebrity. Now write that article using other articles as your ‘sources’.” So in essence she was teaching me to plagiarise? Is that okay? No!
It is courses such as these that produce the type of journalists that give our media such a bad name. We are constantly bombarded with examples of how lacklustre the media is. But, is it is the South African media collectively, or just a small minority that were poorly taught?
I agree with Mr Bullard, there is a need for on-the-job training, and cadet schools like in the “olden days”, where journalists were taught by the organisation.
The one thing I need to point out is, I think I made a great decision turning down an internship and deciding to further my studies at Wits. Hopefully when I enter the job market next year, my potential employer will favour me over another journalism graduate, as I would have had the experience of pitching stories for a weekly newspaper, pursuing and writing those stories, designing and producing a newspaper for both print and online, blogging, covering a violent protest, taking photographs, and learning video editing, interviewing and sub-editing skills. Skills and experiences that no three year journalism degree graduate would have learned anywhere else, even in their first year on the job.
I think that universities should drop three year journalism degrees, and only offer an intense one-year post-graduate course such as that offered here at Wits. That, or an intense training and mentoring program at a media organisation, is the only place where you will truly learn how to be a journalist.
Experience is the only way you will learn – whether experiencing the perks of the job, or the drawbacks such as the “fifty-year-old embittered journalist” Mr Bullard refers to.
by Jan Bornman | Jul 20, 2012 | News
People may think I’m unpatriotic, but I don’t believe in campaigns like the 67 minutes for Mandela, Save the rhino, Shout! against crime and, the one I personally loathed the most, Kony2012.
They make people think that, by liking a facebook page, watching a YouTube video or doing something good once a year, they will make an impact in society.
Saving the rhino would be relevant if the animal were actually going extinct. According to the World Wildlife Fund, the rhino population in South Africa is not threatened. The annual growth of the rhino population is 7%, and only 2% are killed through illegal hunting. So what’s the fuss?
I agree with a recent statement by Cosatu spokesperson Dumisani Dakile after more people died in our mines: “We know if it was the rhinos killed there was going to be lot of noise… ” This just shows how wrongly slanted our attention and activism is.
Then there was the Stop Kony/Kony2012 social media campaign earlier this year. Jason Russell filmed an emotional documentary about his Ugandan friend in order to unite the world behind a movement to arrest Joseph Kony for crimes against humanity.
What many people didn’t know was that Invisible Children, the organisation behind the Kony2012 video – which solicited donations by selling bracelets and other goodie-bags – was in my opinion a scam. Yes, a scam.
The organisation pays Russell roughly R700 000 a year. And only 30-35% of the money collected is used to build schools or for other “charitable acts”. Where does the other 65-70% of money go? Their financial statements seem to suggest that up to 25% of their money is used for travelling and film-making. Nobody seems bothered to ask about that.
I can continue ranting, but what is the point? These campaigns are backed by big-name celebrities and companies, so the public will stupidly fall in line.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for helping society, building unity and improving our country, but why are people so slow to start mass social movements against the non-delivery of textbooks in Limpopo, the huge unemployment rate and the shockingly high number of people who can’t read or write.
That is where improvement should start.
by simmi | Apr 24, 2012 | News
There are few moments in life when men can act like girls and cry.
One of these (as everyone knows) is the moment a sporting team wins a major event, with the nation fully behind it. I have concluded that there is at least one other moment when it is okay for a man to cry: when Grey’s Anatomy is on.
Grey’s Anatomy gives men the opportunity to let out their inner menstrual cycle once a week. The scriptwriters, God bless their souls, have developed a wonderful formula. They have managed to create a moment in every episode when you involuntarily start crying.
An emotional script combined with an emotive musical score has created a new, but yet unproven, psychological syndrome. It demands that every person watching Grey’s Anatomy simply let’s go of all ego and manliness…and cries. (Wow, this is going to be weird when I discover I’m the only person who suffers from this).
Crying is not the big problem. Being caught crying is. I suggest you don’t try to hide it. You will make it awkward for the person next to you. Embrace it. Feel the cry. Be one with the cry.
But if you can’t carry that off, lock yourself in the room. Make sure you don’t make a sound, even when your favourite character dies. Otherwise your mother will tell your father and he’ll ask: “Are you being bullied at school, boy?” Only for your mother to remind him that you’re 24 and graduated from university three years ago.
Don’t end your day with Grey’s Anatomy. Watch a comedy, play Sudoku or check your Facebook before saying goodnight to your parents. This is very important, particularly if your walls are as thin as mine. I speak from experience: no-one wants to fall asleep knowing they’re straight, but hearing their sexuality discussed in worried tones from the room next door.
PS: You can cry watching the movies, The Notebook and Remember Me. However, there is no way you can cry for mundane programmes like Gossip Girl.
by Tshepo Tshabalala | Feb 15, 2012 | Featured 1
Home is where the heart is, especially when you are too lazy to cook and your studies take up a chunk of your time.
Commuting to campus using taxis during my undergraduate years put a strain on my marks.
Moving closer to campus was the only solution because the construction of the Gautrain was still ongoing at the time
I had a “traumatic” experience living in student accommodation for the first time during my honours year.
My idea of communal living took a turn for the worse when cleaners went on strike or failed to clean the communal areas for that day or the loud music after midnight woke me up while I was sleeping.
For me, the Gautrain was life—changing.
I now commute daily on the Gautrain which makes travelling between Pretoria and Johannesburg much quicker and more convenient than taking a taxi. Since the route between the capital city and Rosebank was opened, I yearned to return to living in the comfort of my own home.
So, I have chosen to live at home this year and commute on the Gautrain which costs me about R50 a trip, 35 minutes on travelling and the convenience compared to taking a taxi.
But yet another illegal work stoppage by Gautrain bus drivers threatens this happy arrangement.
Each strike cripples the Gautrain service resulting in interruptions and inconvenience. Gautrain management has fired another group of 300 drivers.
According to media reports, bus drivers say their complaints of 11-hour shifts and a lack of transport to and from work had been ignored by their employers.
The bus drivers claim they work long hours without a toilet or lunch break.
Since the bus drivers went on strike, I am forced to wake up much earlier just to arrive on campus on time for my lectures. I live in an area where there are hardly any taxis.
I walk for about 45 minutes to the station, am on the train for 20 minutes and then have to pray for a direct taxi to Braamfontein from Rosebank on Jan Smuts Avenue.
A part of me does sympathise with these drivers who are probably breadwinners in their own homes. These men could also be heads of families.
But, did the drivers fail to read the fine print before inking their signatures on their contracts? Were they not told of their working hours, and the rules and regulations of the company before accepting the offer?
Or was there so much excitement at the prospect of working on the Gautrain that they failed to listen to the possible irregularities from management?
I don’t know, call it whatever you want, I might have lost touch with understanding the “working-class” lifestyle or my ramblings may just be symptoms of middle-class problems.
I could also just be bitter because of the disruption to my daily routine of using the Gautrain and the buses.
However, these bus drivers might possibly need to be treated fairly by management. I am still thinking about this while standing in the snaking queue at Noord taxi rank en route home.
by Staff Reporter | Sep 2, 2011 | News
THE most common theme that stuck with me through all the dazzling and rather well-attended events in celebration of women during Women’s month has been that women should stop pulling each other down and begin to nurture a culture of support.
Yes! We all do it subconsciously…hate on that girl who got a higher mark than you on a test, the one who’s looking a li’l extra phly today wearing that top you loved when paging through this month’s Cosmo, oh! And let’s not forget how we envy that girl who looks like she’s finally found a good man and they are building a healthy relationship together.
Just last week, a young lady tried to commit suicide on campus. Did any of us ladies ask ourselves why she thought it better to jump off a bridge rather than seek solace from another woman?
The truth is, you, or maybe a friend or a family member of yours has probably faced the challenges she felt she couldn’t live beyond.
If we were more welcoming as women then maybe, just maybe, the need for a month in celebration of women would diminish as we celebrate each other every other day.
Some of the talks given by prominent women, who were honoured guests at these events, were uninspiring. I felt something real was lacking. I think that’s the element that keeps us from understanding each other and reaching out to one another as women. The point here is not about the whole world loving you, but it’s definitely about us pulling one another up as women.
I look forward to the day when women can meet at a luncheon and none of those who attended have to breathe a sigh of relief as they walk out because the eyes of judgement and sizing-up are finally off them. The day when we can celebrate each other, advise each other, pray for one another and take joy in knowing that we can approach other women for help.
So, as the month of August came to an end this week, I feel more self-empowered in the acknowledgement of how I have pulled other women down in the past and the steps I will now take in ensuring that I look to help, rather than judge, and compliment, rather than scornfully envy, my fellow sisters.
by Brendan Roane | Aug 11, 2011 | News
We have all seen the adverts. The mysterious, yet familiar, voice asking, “Are you tired of wasting your time and money on old products that don’t work?” while the actors portray some devastating moment in black and white: like finding some eggshell in your home-made muffin or pushing dirt around with your old mop. Then, in a flash of fulfilment, the new product zooms across the screen to save you from your wretched, miserable life. For only R199.95!
If you haven’t guessed which kind of adverts these are, you obviously are not the kind of student who watches much daytime TV. Verimark, the culprit of most of these ads, is a monster of local advertising, and was recently found to be the fourth largest buyer of TV airtime in South Africa in an independent market research study, the AC Nielsen survey.
However, some of the ads do fall away over time, despite their initial bombardment on our screens. Whatever happened to the knives that could cut through anything? There must be thousands of people out there with intact Coke cans, inferior knives and a severe look of disappointment on their faces.
Due to the increasing popularity of these products, I also worry that our science labs across the country might say, “Sorry, we’ve got no time to discover that new vaccine for malaria, we’re busy exploring the mystical properties of snail shell on acne”.
Despite the seemingly ridiculous nature of such advertisements, they appear to have an effect. The company posted a gross profit of over R200-million for the financial year ending in February and is growing rapidly.
What is in these simple items that draw so many of us toward them; is it the product itself, the way the advertisement is crafted or the promise of a better and easier life? All three factors probably come together in a blaze of psychological branding and the creation of a previously unknown need. All I know is: R199.95 is a small price to pay for some rocking abs that only takes five minutes a day to sculpt.
