August is my least favourite month. And, since 1994, the most miserable month of the year has a name: Women’s Month. Moreover, to add insult to winter misery, those of us unlucky to have been born with two X chromosomes are subjected to an unsolicited annual monthlong fiesta of vapid congratulatory messaging.
This year, 2014, will probably go down in history as the year that we didn’t just scrape the bottom of the barrel, but also scoured it down to paper-fine sawdust.
Every year we sink lower in our betrayal of those valiant women who marched on the Union Buildings in 1956; each year we forget more of their just and revolutionary cause.
Read it at the M&G.
Image – Robben Island/Mayibuye Archive