Hannah Cornelius’ Cousin: “It’s OUR #MeToo”

It has taken me five months to put pen to paper. Or, if you will, to put keyboard to social media… writes journalist Lali van Zuydam, who has penned these thoughts in her personal capacity, as a close relative of  Hannah Cornelius who was tragically killed in  Stellenbosch, South Africa, earlier this year.

Since my younger cousin Hannah Cornelius was kidnapped, raped and murdered in Stellenbosch earlier this year, I have wanted to write about her many times. I didn’t want to spew, or blame, or complain. I wanted to pay tribute. I needed to add value to a conversation that South Africans are in dire need of having.

As I waited for the ‘right’ moment to say something, #MeToo exploded on social media. Suddenly, women and girls all over the world were publicly sharing their stories.

I am so incredibly fortunate to not have a #MeToo story of my own. So many women in South Africa suffer (many, in silence) because of sexual harassment and sexual abuse.

There are so, so, so many of these stories in South Africa that we have become desensitized – myself included. Two years as a journalist, covering these stories all day, will do that to you.

It took a horrific tragedy in my own family to realise what so many other families and women and cousins and parents go through on a daily basis. Think of Anene Booysen, think of Karabo Mokoena, think of all the girls on the front page of the newspaper because of the horrible things they endured at the hands of others.

And then think of my beautiful, perfect, 21-year-old cousin with her entire life ahead of her – murdered for a decades-old VW Golf with zero value. Raped by several men. Why?

Because they could? For fun? Who knows.

It has become standard practice in our shared culture to be ‘armchair critics’ – to say “we have to do something”, to come up with a striking hashtag, to call on others to make the scourge go away.

But what do we do? We go to work, to the gym, to parties. I am guilty of the same. It’s human nature to “go on with life” and to do your best to survive. Is this living? What happens to the girls who survive sexual abuse? Do they get to have a full life again, or do they only exist?

It has taken me months to accept that Hannah’s last moments do not define who she was. In one day, she became a hashtag and a South African statistic. Let’s remember that – before these girls become statistics, they are people. With hopes, dreams and ambition.

Why, as a man, would you want to take that from her? Why do you think it’s okay? Are you so confident that you’ll get away with it because you threatened her if she spoke out?

I am 27 years old. I am a woman and I will someday be a mother, aunt, grandmother. What am I achieving by looking the other way because I don’t have my OWN #MeToo story?

What I realised since losing Hannah, there is no such thing as my own #MeToo story. This is everyone’s story. This is MY problem too. And it will be my daughter’s problem and my niece’s problem.

What #MeToo has taught me is that it’s imperative to have a conversation about our shared problems. But it has to lead to action. My aunt and uncle will launch the Hannah Cornelius Foundation next week. That’s their action – to become change agents so that fewer people might suffer the same incredible loss they have. I am so proud to know they are DOING something. I am so proud that they want to prevent this from happening to someone else’s daughter, cousin, niece or mother.

In the week that the crime statistics were released in South Africa, remember this: don’t wait until it happens to you or someone you love.

Talk about it.
Think about it.
Do something about it.
If not for yourself, for Hannah or Karabo or Anene.

– Lali

This post is republished with kind permission of Lali van Zuydam. Follow Lali on Facebook.