- Reflects on the legacy of the 1956 Women’s March and the courage of women in confronting injustice.
- Highlights the role of women in post-apartheid restorative justice and emotional repair.
- Calls for recognition of women’s invisible labour in sustaining communities and institutions
Every August, as South Africa honours Women's Month, we are reminded of the extraordinary courage of the 20 000 women who marched to the Union Buildings in 1956. Their legacy lives on in every woman who continues to confront injustice, inequality, and the silent burdens that history too often fails to record.
The image of Rahima Moosa, Lilian Ngoyi, Helen Joseph, and Sophia De Bruyn at the base of the Union Buildings during the 1956 Women’s March, as they hold petitions signed by women from across the nation, stands as a potent symbol of defiance, resistance, and the unwavering spirit of solidarity. They were acutely aware that their actions were not for personal recognition, but rather for the advancement of the liberation cause.
As Charlotte Mannya-Maxeke would later articulate, reflecting on the selflessness of those who preceded her: “This work is not for yourselves, kill that spirit of 'self' and do not live above your people, but live with them. If you can rise, bring someone with you.” For Maya Angelou, the act of rising is part of the struggle. She wrote in that classic poem, Still I Rise: “You may write me down in history. With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt. But still, like dust, I'll rise.”
Indeed, numerous women who dedicated their lives for our freedom sacrificed the ‘self’ for the benefit of the ‘many’ and raised themselves and others. The sacrifices made by Winnie Mandela, Albertina Sisulu, Bertha Gxowa, and countless others exemplify this relinquishing of the ‘self’ for the ‘many’. Others, such as Phila Portia Ndwandwe, paid the ultimate and painful price for the values they steadfastly upheld.
Quiet labour, enduring resistance
But beyond protest and policy, there is another form of resistance and nation-building, quieter, slower, but no less profound. It is the work of healing, and it is women who so often shoulder it. From post-conflict societies to post-apartheid South Africa, the task of stitching together broken families, divided communities, and traumatised institutions has largely been carried out by women, mothers, daughters, sisters, leaders, and elders, whose emotional labour sustains our collective humanity.
At Freedom Park, our mission is deeply rooted in the ideals of reconciliation, remembrance, and nation-building. We honour not only the visible victories of our democratic journey but also the invisible resilience of those who heal what violence and oppression have shattered. And in this sacred work, women have always led, not necessarily from podiums or parliaments, but from kitchens, classrooms, courtrooms, and community halls.
Women and the hidden burden of reconciliation
Restorative justice is not simply a legal or political process, it is a deeply emotional and cultural journey. It demands truth-telling, forgiveness, dignity, and restoration. And often, it is women who guide this process. Whether counselling survivors, raising children in fatherless homes, or supporting formerly incarcerated sons and husbands, women carry the weight of rebuilding after the damage has been done.
Yet, this emotional labour remains underacknowledged. Women are expected to forgive, to hold families together, to nurture peace, even when they themselves have been the most wounded. We saw this during apartheid and its aftermath, when many women testified at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, not only as victims, but as the moral compass of their communities.
Compassion as a leadership tool
In recent years, women have also begun to shape institutional cultures in ways that foreground compassion, accountability, and integrity. In the judiciary, civil service, academia, and the corporate sector, women leaders are increasingly redefining what leadership looks like, moving away from hierarchical and punitive systems toward more inclusive and restorative models of governance.
This is not to romanticise the role of women, but rather to recognise the value of care, empathy, and dialogue as powerful tools in reimagining our institutions. It is no coincidence that institutions led by women are often those that prioritise social cohesion, ethics, and transformation.
At Freedom Park, we have seen firsthand the impact of placing women at the centre of dialogue and memory. Our exhibitions, dialogues, and cultural programmes continue to tell the stories of women not only as fighters, but as healers, nurturers, and visionaries. It is their labour, emotional, intellectual, spiritual, that binds the nation’s wounds.
From personal pain to national healing
What does it mean to heal a nation? It means confronting uncomfortable truths while making room for grace. It means recognising that trauma is not only historical but inherited, passed down through generations in bodies, homes, and memories. And so, the work of healing is not just for politicians or historians, it is for each of us. But it is women who have long shown us how.
Their stories, whether of mothers seeking justice for disappeared sons, or grandmothers restoring indigenous knowledge, or young women organising for gender-based violence reform, remind us that healing is both personal and political.
Honouring the healers
This Women's Month, let us honour not only the heroines of the past but the healers of the present, the women who restore not only what was broken, but what was forgotten. Let us make visible their unseen labour. Let us resource, recognise, and support their efforts not as acts of charity, but as acts of nation-building.
Freedom Park stands as a space for memory and healing. As we continue to reflect on our past and imagine our future, we reaffirm the truth that has echoed across generations: a nation that heals, begins with its women.
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