There are few acts braver than a woman speaking her truth in a world built to silence her. And yet, even in this so-called democracy, that bravery is still met with hostility, threats, and violence — especially when the truth spoken shakes powerful institutions.
Andiswa Mengo, a former employee in the Eastern Cape judiciary, is living this painful reality. For speaking out about the sexual abuse she alleges was committed by Eastern Cape Judge President Selby Mbenenge, she now finds herself the target of death threats and public harassment.
Instead of being protected, she is being punished.
Andiswa's story is not new to those of us working in the gender-based violence (GBV) and human rights space. It is heartbreakingly familiar. But what makes her story so harrowing is that she dared to speak out from within the very structure that is meant to uphold the law — the judiciary.
She trusted the system would hear her. That it would respond with fairness and care. But instead, she has been met with the full force of institutional backlash, which in South Africa, has become a disturbing norm whenever women challenge power.
When Andiswa first came forward, she was already carrying the trauma of the abuse. But what followed — the threats, the character attacks, the isolation — became an even deeper, more cruel violation. Her voice, instead of being honoured, was questioned.
Her story, instead of being believed, was dragged through the mud. She has been treated not as a victim seeking justice, but as a problem to be silenced. This is what we call secondary victimization, and it is one of the most insidious forms of violence against women.
It is the violence that happens after the violence — the retaliation for daring to survive, for refusing to be quiet.
Andiswa is now receiving death threats for telling the truth. Think about that. In democratic South Africa, a woman is being threatened with death not for committing a crime, but for demanding justice. This is the face of the backlash we speak of so often in feminist spaces.
This is what it looks like when women challenge patriarchal power — particularly when that power is protected by robes, titles, and institutional loyalty.
We see this backlash not only in courtrooms but in churches, in workplaces, in political parties, in traditional councils — anywhere where male power is prioritised over women’s safety.
Andiswa's story exposes something terrifying: that the fight against GBV is not just about changing laws or punishing perpetrators — it is about dismantling a system that punishes women for refusing to carry their trauma in silence.
When we say that GBV is political, this is what we mean. Because it is not just about what one man did. It is about how an entire system rises to protect that man, and how it moves swiftly to destroy the woman who dares to hold him accountable.
We must be honest. This country is not safe for women who speak out. We have watched survivors buried in gossip and shame. We have watched rape survivors forced to prove their pain, to justify their tears, to explain their trauma in language that will not offend the powerful.
And now we are watching Andiswa being hunted — not for harming anyone, but for surviving.
It should never be that speaking the truth puts your life in danger. It should never be that telling your story means choosing between justice and safety. It should never be that our courts, our legal institutions, and our media still hesitate to protect a woman when the man accused holds power.
Andiswa is not just a survivor. She is a whistleblower. A woman whose courage has laid bare the rot within our institutions. And she must not stand alone. We cannot allow this moment to pass in silence. We must raise our voices louder than the threats.
We must surround her with support, advocacy, and protection. Because if the system fails her now, it sends a chilling message to every other woman considering whether to speak.
The backlash against women’s rights in this country is real. It is violent. It is strategic. And it is escalating. But so is our resistance. We will not stop fighting.
We will not stop naming the abuse. And we will not stop defending women like Andiswa, who are paying a high price for this fragile democracy to mean something for those of us who are Black, poor, and female.
To Andiswa Mbengo: your story matters. Your courage is unforgettable. And your voice has already broken through the silence they tried to bury you in.
May your name live not as a cautionary tale, but as a rallying cry.
Because this is not just your fight. It is ours.
Camagu.
