His Freedom is my Imprisonment
A short story by Lukhanye Sikukula
As I walked into court and sat at the back on 25 October 2024, after putting my phone on silent I looked around. To my surprise, right in the seat infront of me, literally arms length away is the rapist who violated my body and soul.
I sit in stunned silence, my heart racing, eyes itching, a scream wants to come out but I keep telling myself 'you are stronger than that, you are not weak, keep your composure’. My head spins, I battle to breathe, my son notices my trembling and distracts me. Memories, once locked away, flood back, haunting me. My impulse wants to pounce on him a battle ensues inside me.
The courtroom, a supposed sanctuary of justice, has become a torture chamber. I'm trapped, reliving the nightmare, as the perpetrator's gaze pierces through me like a dagger, then he looks down and giggles. I must be seeing things!
The justice system, designed to protect and serve, has failed me. Failed every victim who's ever suffered at the hands of a predator. By granting my rapist bail despite evidence, the court has unleashed a terror upon me, the society in which he lives by forcing us to be in the same space as him without consequence. His freedom is my imprisonment.
A note from the writer of this short story : Lukhanye Sikukula
The system has been lenient to a rapist by granting him bail. From 2019 they waited for DNA. In 2023 DNA came back a positive match. After several months appearing the accused then absconded court in November 2023. He is still up and about, continuing to terrorise the community. We are not protected are the thoughts in my mind.
The NPA's Policy Framework on Victim Support, The guidelines and the Criminal Procedure Act 51 of 1977 (which emphasize victim protection) have been grossly disregarded.
The justice system's failure to uphold these principles has betrayed my trust. I'm not alone; countless survivors suffer similar neglect.
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