Translator: Denise RQ Reviewer: Lena Clemente
It is 55 years
since the ANC Women's Congress coined the phrase,
(Afrikaans) "Wathint' abafazi, wathint' imbokodo',"
which means, "You strike a woman, you strike a rock."
(Laughter)
I was born in 1994
in the sprawling working-class townships of south,
within Johannesburg, known as Soweto.
The year of my birth
was the year that Nelson Mandela became president of South Africa.
It was the birth of the rainbow nation.
Being born in this epic year definitely inspired me,
but while this was a time of hope and new beginnings
for ordinary South Africans,
the legacy of apartheid was not shed easily.
My own parents, who had been thrust into the forefronts
in the fight against apartheid in their early teens,
have suffered the consequences for their resistance.
And to this day, my life has been molded by those incidences.
Against all odds, my parents received high school and college degrees,
and they've made it a priority for my siblings and I to get an education.
As I matured, I'd become more aware
of the equity struggle that has remained long after freedom came to South Africa.
While I excelled from an early age in academics, arts, and sports,
my own schooling in the boundary education system
- a system which was set up specifically to limit black people
by limiting the amount of international and domestic affairs
that could be imparted to them
in order to keep them as second-class citizens -
which was all my parents could afford,
highlighted for me the appalling legacy of disposition and exclusion.
When I turned 13,
my mother's small salary managed to secure me space into a school
that was previously reserved for white people.
There, I had to wrestle constantly
with whether I'd pay school fees or go in with an empty tummy.
Although I had achieved academic status,
diplomas in English, history, and economics,
I still have not been awarded a scholarship.
At one point,
my principal advised me to return to boundary education schools
which are close to my neighborhood and are no-fee schools.
I was devastated.
My esteem immediately hit rock bottom.
I was in a nervous condition, and my academics took the strain.
I began to worry about my family's financial stability.
I felt vulnerable, and I began to believe
that you know, maybe girls will never make it in this country.
We might as well wear fishnet stockings
and paraded the streets for the men to take us in.
In the end though, it was personal resolve
that kept me warm in the midst of my own struggles.
I came to the realization
that if I were to give back the love and the hope to my parents,
the only way to do so would be to stop moping and get up.
If I didn't, I would be saying yes
to the negating of major gains that have been won against apartheid.
After I'd collectivized to my moral courage,
I knew where I was needed the most,
and that is in my community.
I rose up as a leader amongst my peers
to confront the issues that girls are facing on a day-to-day basis
in my country.
I restored after school literacy, numeracy, and sports programs;
I held [meetings] for previously disadvantaged children in my community,
whom, mind you, are now excelling
in order to receive the financial aid they need for university.
I also started a group name called "Girls are [inaudible]" on Facebook
for my fellow scholars,
and then, early this June, my big break, "V-Girls,"
the daughter movement of V-Day introduced me to the world of activism.
Through this global movement made up of a network of girls
who are aspiring to realize the change they imagined for the world,
I encountered numerous cases where girls are becoming the solution.
On October, 22, 2011, V-Girls, South Africa,
an anti violence movement founded by
the American-based playwright and activist, Eve Ensler,
took to the streets in the first ever refusal march.
The refusal march was about
refusing to please boyfriends, friends, and even the system.
We were letting girls know
that they had to claim back their bodies, their minds,
and they had to find new verbs rather than 'to please':
'invent', 'create, ' or 'imagine.'
The march was about saying enough.
We have had enough.
We were singing, chanting, "We are going to be girls."
We are refusers.
The march was envisioned and organized by girls for girls, to girls,
to uplift and empower the youth about sounding a call to action
with our message: when one girl suffers, we'll all suffer.
(Laughter)
For it is us, girls, who are imagining a nation
in which women participate as equals
in the political and all other spherical orders with men.
It is us, girls, who want to achieve new prominence in politics.
We are the ones who are creating a new voice for ourselves
and waging a courageous fight for other women.
It is us, girls, who are appointing ourselves
as special representatives and envoys.
I am empowering myself as a leader and a thinker,
and this will benefit South Africa by educating the general public
about the gender gap and the biases that keep it in place.
By this, I hope to achieve and creative a South Africa that is free of corruption,
free of gender-based violence,
free of stigmatization based on HIV/AIDS status, and race.
That's the rainbow nation I believe my parents fought for.
I thank you.
(Applause)