Wouldn’t you agree that there is something profoundly disquieting about hearing a head of State describe his people, in a declarative and decidedly fiery tone, as violent?
Yet, in the rarefied atmosphere of a recent retreat for Botswana’s Cabinet ministers, in an unfiltered speech that was markedly long on grandiloquence and emotion, and notably short on complaisance and flattery, President Duma Boko, a human rights obsessive with a penchant for incisive views, delivered a polemic that has ignited fervent debate. Far from unplugging and unwinding, the Cabinet was in for a gruelling journey of introspection, probably much more than they had bargained for. Wielding his diction with deliberate care, every enunciated word a fine brushstroke on a razor-sharp portrait of the nation’s proclivity for violence, Boko, the man who does not shy away from defying conventional norms, flung a gauntlet at the feet of societal complacency, bluntly cutting to the essence of the subject, demanding that Botswana look beyond the blinkered lens of gender-based violence (GBV). Batswana, Boko asserted with obdurate candour, are a violent people. His unvarnished declaration was not incendiary rhetorical provocation but a clear motivation for confronting the hydra-headed nature of violence that courses through the veins of society. And indeed, we cannot afford to ignore the multiplicitous nature of violence inherent in our society. Surely, the president does not want us to lose sight of the forest for the trees. While you may ‘violently’ disagree with the President, the truth is, Boko’s exhortation to broaden the discourse on violence is not without intellectual heft. With the blunt force of a sledgehammer, in a speech that oscillated between raw frankness and stern reproach, he unequivocally declared to his audience that he is not in a “popularity contest.”
His critique ventured into contentious terrain, and it warrants serious reflection. He decried the nation’s predilection for dissecting violence selectively, focusing myopically on GBV. Violence, in its myriad manifestations, is indeed an indelible feature of Botswana’s social landscape. Beyond the harrowing scourge of the turbo-charged GBV, our nation is freighted with a whole raft of physical abuses and indignities; the normalised savage altercations between men often fuelled by over-indulging in bottom-shelf liquor, or, in the case of men struggling with deep-seated feelings of inadequacy and low self-esteem, wounded pride. The classlessness sjambok, that fearsome instrument of corporal punishment that is widely faulted for its propensity to prioritise societal retribution over rehabilitation, is wielded with impunity, leaving permanent physical and emotional scars. In pre-tertiary schools, the enthusiastic use of the cane remains a grim pedagogical relic that blurs the line between discipline, exemplified in excessive pain, and outright abuse. And what can one say about murder and capital punishment that has not been said before? All these manifestations of violence are undeniable, and they warrant rigorous scrutiny. Could it be that we are actively or passively normalising violence in society? Boko’s holistic approach to violence was, a society cannot hope to heal when it triages violence selectively, allowing some deep mortal wounds to fester unchecked. However, to conflate the pervasive cycles of brutality with the epidemic of GBV is to risk obfuscating the urgency of a crisis that disproportionately devastates women and girls, eroding the very foundations of societal equity. Boko’s critique must be balanced against the imperative to address GBV as a uniquely urgent crisis. In Botswana, the rampant GBV is an epidemic that demands focused intervention. While it is incontrovertible that violence manifests in multifarious forms, not all are equally pernicious, nor do they all prey upon the most vulnerable with such systemic ruthlessness. The President’s plea to expand the lens on violence, however, well-intentioned, resonates with a familiar refrain heard in other corners of the globe. In the United States, for instance, the slogan All Lives Matter (ALM) emerged as a retort to the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement. On its face, the ALM sentiment appears inclusive, even magnanimous.
Yet, beneath its veneer of universality lies a pernicious subtext. By refusing to acknowledge the specific ways in which black bodies are routinely policed, brutalised, dehumanised, and butchered with impunity, the ALM mantra insensitively trivialises a struggle rooted in four centuries of continuous systemic oppression and scoffs at BLM’s spotlight on systemic racial violence. Stating that we should not isolate GBV from the entire enchilada of the massive national cauldron bubbling to the brim with violence, while tickling to the ear, is akin to the ALM refrain, in that it obscures the magnitude of the problem and delays action where it is most urgently needed. Deliberate focus on GBV underscores the staggering burden borne by women and girls in society. To suggest that GBV is just another onion layer in the broader multilayered curse of violence, and to indiscriminately assign the same value to each layer of violence, is to callously overlook the unique ways in which GBV entrenches gender inequality and perpetuates cycles of abuse. And the inclination to attribute equal gravity to all forms of violence, while noble in theory, is intrinsically flawed, particularly in our society where the most vulnerable remain under siege. GBV is not merely a subset of violence; the weight of numbing empirical evidence suggests that it is a virulent strain of brutality that thrives in the shadows of impunity. During the COVID-19 lockdowns, as the world retreated behind closed doors, women and girls found themselves ensnared in a harrowing paradox, their homes, ostensibly safe sanctuaries, transformed into cells of terror. Reports of domestic violence surged globally as economic precarity and confinement exacerbated tensions. In Botswana, from Ramokgwebana to Ramatlabama, a pervasive surge of GBV swept through the nation like an impassioned Mexican wave, permeating every corner and sparing no community. Countless victims remained voiceless; their suffering shrouded behind the walls of their homes. Across the globe, GBV remains endemic. In India, the 2012 sickening gang rape and murder of 22-year old Jyoti Singh triggered national outrage and legislative reform, yet to this day, violence against women persists with unignorable momentum. And in South Africa, femicide rates are inordinately high. The brutal murder of Uyinene Mrwetyana in 2019, a 19-year-old University of Cape Town first-year student, who was raped and bludgeoned to death in a post office, sparked nationwide outrage and brought into sharper focus the depths of the crisis. The perpetrator, Luyanda Botha, was condemned to a lifetime of incarceration. Ironically, it is the hardworking, taxpaying citizens of South Africa, including the countless women still reeling from the emotional scars of GBV, who will shoulder the financial burden of his upkeep. For as long as he breathes, they will fund his prison stay with their sweat and taxes, a perpetual reminder of a system that forces the public to carry the burdensome weight of a criminal's existence. How sad! In Nigeria, the abduction of the 276 Chibok girls by Boko Haram amplified the correlation between GBV and domestic turmoil, revealing the ways in which women’s bodies become battlegrounds in broader struggles for power.
These examples are not anomalies but symptoms of a global malaise that demands targeted and untiring intervention. The so-called passion killings, reflected in the unjustified explosion of execration directed to the fairer gender, are a common occurrence in Botswana, where scrofulous men inflamed with unrestrained jealousy and obsessive inward-looking lust for ego-boosting and self-validating violence deliberately kill their partners. Reports from the 2024 festive season through the first week of January 2025 paint a harrowing picture of sacrilegious conduct; nearly 100 women fell victim to rape, while 10 lost their lives to murder during this distressing period. Clearly, to compartmentalise GBV is not to diminish other forms of violence but to recognise its distinct etiology and ramifications. It is a purposeful social strategy rooted in absolute necessity. When a property is ablaze, well-seasoned fire fighters prioritise the fiercest flames that threaten human life as well as those in high risk areas with potential to spread. Not all the fires are priority number one. Similarly, addressing GBV as a singular crisis allows for targeted solutions that can later inform broader anti-violence efforts. Far from being a distraction, focusing on GBV serves as a practical way for gradually tearing down the wider and entrenched culture of violence. GBV is not a random act of aggression; it is a weapon of subjugation, wielded to assert irrational self-serving dominance. It is the husband who ruthlessly beats his wife into submission. The uncle who sadistically molests his niece with impunity. And the boyfriend who calculatedly stalks and premeditatedly murders his partner in a fit of possessive rage.
These acts are not isolated aberrations but part of a broader pattern of gender-based oppression that transcends borders and cultures. As Nelson Mandela once declared, “Freedom cannot be achieved unless women have been emancipated from all forms of oppression.” It is important to acknowledge that some women perpetrate GBV against their male partners, although the prevalence of such cases appears to be relatively low and less vicious. Notwithstanding that, we must resist the simplistic but foolhardy temptation of deconstructing violence and ranking it on a graduated scale, from trivial to extreme, for such an approach is not only naively reductive but also profoundly misguided, as it trivialises the complexity and depth of this national malady. President Boko is correct to call for a more expansive conversation about violence. But let us not mistake breadth for depth, nor conflate inclusivity with equivalence. To address violence in all its forms is a noble endeavour, but it must not come at the expense of prioritising the most egregious and systemic manifestations. Just as a physician triages patients based on the acuity of their conditions, so too must we triage societal ills. GBV, with its devastating impact on women and girls, warrants urgent and uncompromising focus. Moreover, tackling GBV can catalyse societal change. When a community confronts the deep-seated power dynamics that fuel violence against women, it begins to raze to the ground the systems of violence embedded in its society. As the saying goes, “You can’t boil the ocean,” but surely you can start with the pot. To his credit, President Boko has held up to our nation’s soul the magnifying mirror that reveals the rawness of who we truly are, and one thing is clear, violence, in all its forms, is an affront to our nation’s aspirations. The battle against GBV is not merely a subplot in this story of a violent nation, it is the prologue, the climax, the denouement and the epilogue. To downplay its significance by subsuming it under a broader narrative would be a betrayal of the tens of thousands who endure its horrors. Yes, some forms of violence cut deeper, leaving scars that fester across generations. GBV is one such form, and to treat this trunk branch as merely a twig on the giant tree of violence is to do a grave disservice to those who suffer its consequences. Hidden beneath the surface are two pressing questions; should we not be considering to adopt a dual approach with a view to effectively contending with the scourge of violence, and shouldn’t we be intensifying efforts to combat GBV through focus-driven legislation, community education, and survivor support while broadening its scope to address other forms of violence.
This duality is not contradictory but complementary, enabling our society to ‘walk and chew gum’ at the same time. Repairing a fractured society begins with addressing its deepest fissures. The fight against GBV is not just about protecting women and girls; it is about reclaiming humanity’s collective dignity. Botswana must dare to envision a future free from violence. But that vision begins with a clear focus on those most imperilled because when the vulnerable are safe, the entire nation is stronger and safer. While, as the president intimated, we should be eager to broaden the conversation around violence, we should be even more enthusiastic in our intentional efforts at sharpening our focus. For in the fight against GBV, there can be no half-measures, no equivocation, no retreat. The victims are way too numerous, and the moral imperative way too weighty to do otherwise. As the echoes of President Boko’s words fade, let them serve not as a distraction but as a catalyst for deeper, more incisive dialogue. For in the end, it is not the violence we choose to ignore that defines us, but the violence we choose to confront. And confront it we must, with steely resolve and tireless courage. Lest we forget, every time another woman is brutalised, it sends a sustained ripple of fear through our daughters, sisters, nieces, and cousins, each one shackled by the chilling, soul-crushing question; ‘Am I next?’ It's time we slammed the door on GBV and wiped the slate clean of all forms of violence. To every red-blooded man who engages in GBV, wake up, and wake up now, for no abundance of testosterone could ever justify your abominable actions.