Veronique Jephtas is breaking barriers and voicing truths. This 23-year-old actor, director, writer, poet and activist has been vocal about anti-GBV issues and has been announced as the face of SA Women Fight Back (SAWB), as well as an ambassador for Women for Change. She spoke to Lezanne Steenkamp about cycles, change and ten rands.
“Even when I was young and completely unaware of the evil that surrounded my world, I questioned everything. I challenged the system – I guess it’s a part of who I am.” Veronique Bianca Jephtas stares back at her reflection. The light that fills the room, enhances the complete contrast of her skin – her presence clearly noted. Her hands rest on the table as she leans forward towards what she sees. Taking her time. She slightly tilts her chin – a sign of pride.*
Jephtas is the second in her family, after her grandfather, to obtain a university degree. She is the face of South African Women Fight Back (SAWFB) and an ambassador for Women for Change. She is also an actor, writer, director, poet and activist. It seems almost excessive for only one mirror. Her gaze moves over to the other side of the room. She turns around: “Something happened here, something is happening here.”
Veronique Jephtas preparing for her performance in Jakkals en Wolf, Onbeperk, at the Toyota US Woordfees 2020. PHOTO: Lezanne Steenkamp
Jephtas grew up in Paarl, in a fairly quiet neighbourhood. When moving to Stellenbosch in her first year to study Drama and Theatre Studies, she was introduced to a very different culture – one that includes racism.
“I got here, and I was very aware that I now only had the right to speak for myself. It introduced me to the weight of identity. I am a woman of colour.”
Her weight shifts back, as she reaches for the eyeliner on the table. She turns around and positions herself, as before. Gently she drags a line across her first eyelash, leaving a clear mark with incredible precision.
“We need to understand cycles; cultural cycles, racial cycles and generational cycles – it all has such a big impact on us, without us even realising it.”
Writing from the inside-out
Hoe change hulle, her first written production, which debuted at the Toyota US Woordfees 2020, addresses this very topic. It follows a young man’s perspective while in prison. He reminisces about generational curses, life in the ghetto and the lack of fulfilling one’s potential.
The focus is, however, on the solution: ‘Hóé change hulle?’ How do they change?
“Shelly, the main character, is a good man – he doesn’t conform to any stereotype. He simply just got caught in the system,” she says.
Jephtas, who completed her honours degree in Drama and Theatre studies, specializing in Creative Writing at Stellenbosch University last year, says that she has a passion for Protest-Theatre. “You know, writing about the right things. Perspectives, necessary conversations, the things people just want to brush off. I write from the inside-out.”
She gets to tell her truth. It clearly shows in her work. She aspires to enlighten and educate. “My younger siblings have a new perspective on what is within the norm. Addressing the President, that’s normal to them. Just imagine the power in something like that, in something like changing perspectives. I would never want for them to live in a world where they don’t know that they can speak up, or that they don’t have the power to.”
Veronique Jephtas adding the finishing touches in the dressing room of The Adam Small Theatre Complex, before her on-stage call for Jakkals en Wolf, Onbeperk, at the Toyota US Woordfees 2020. PHOTO: Lezanne Steenkamp
Dear Mr. President
She shifts her weight as she swiftly moves over to the other eye.
“Cycles can be broken. They need to be broken.”
Dear Mr. President, a poem Jephtas wrote in reaction to the rapid increase in gender-based violence last year, went viral in September. Jephtas explains that she is extremely passionate about women and their journeys. Her intention, however, was never to challenge President Cyril Ramaphosa, but to simply address him.
“Resistance-Poetry has always been a way of executing my feelings. With Nene’s death [Uyinene Mrwetyana, murdered and raped in a post office in Cape Town] I was deeply saddened. I was numb,” she says. To her it felt like the women in South Africa were broken.
“It was personal from the start. For me, it’s not that my sister has to be raped for me to be vocal about it. Marginalisation infuriates me.”
For Jephtas, her drive lies within a mixture between the realisation that it could’ve been her and in being a voice for the voiceless.
“It’s that feeling of constantly feeling unsafe. We are marching…just to turn our televisions on and to see our leaders dancing.” The question for Jephtas, is how to turn conversation into action?
“Nene believed in the same things that I do. She also stood up against injustice. With her death came the realisation that even though we are dressed properly, even though we are walking in broad daylight, with our fists in the air – we are still powerless. That is what hit me the hardest, not necessarily the graphics of her death, but the familiarity of it.”
How do we get women out of that situation? Why is it necessary for the ratio to be 70 female accusations of rape/abuse against one single man, for a case to be believable? She doesn’t wait for a response.
“I want to educate myself. We need to work realistically, not off emotion – it’s not sustainable. I will be sitting down with lawyers very soon, in an attempt to understand how the system works. To gain perspective on where our justice system is failing us – why are accused rapists granted parole? What are we missing? We have to start somewhere.”
She adjusts her microphone.
The need for change
“I’ve been involved in several workshops with various women on the topic of gender-based violence. It is amazing to be able to work with these women directly, to share in their experiences and to encourage their futures. We’ve connected people with lawyers, doctors and psychologists. It is what this platform is for, because in the end you get to save a life.”
The last workshop was held by WHEAT, The Women’s Hope Education and Training Trust, last year to end off the 16 days of activism. It aims to encourage and support women.
“Once we did an exercise focused on the weight and the value that a name carries. It was as simple as saying your name out loud. The result was unimaginable – multiple women were unable to do it. That pride, that power – it has been taken away from them. A lady approached me afterwards thanking me for making her name beautiful again. Now that right there is what it is all about.”
Veronique Jephtas as Kraai in Jakkals en Wolf, Onbeperk surrounded by (from left to right) Ané Koegelenberg as Uil, Cantona James as Springbok and Alistair Seymour as Flamink, at the Toyota US Woordfees 2020. PHOTO: Lezanne Steenkamp
In February, Jephtas took to Facebook again, with her follow-up poem: The Apology We Never Got. It was inspired by the 8-year-old Tazne van Wyk’s death.
“Once again we find ourselves drowning in a pool of tears, along with our fears with the reminder that our call for help, falls on deaf ears,” Jephtas recites in the recorded recital of her poem that went viral on social media platforms. “We failed her. I apologised on behalf of our President, because it’s the apology she [we] never got.”
A feeling of remorse settles itself in her words. She turns back, facing the mirror once again.
“I know it’s not my place to write another’s narrative, but we are sharing this experience.” She refers to a pivotal moment in her life that played out in May 2017, whilst our country was mourning Hannah Cornelius’ death. She was walking down the street with a friend a few days after the news broke, still carrying the weight of what happened on her chest. A bakkie came from behind, with about nine men on the back.
“Obviously we were cat-called. That moment. That feeling. What are we marching for? Why are we still fighting? That’s why.”
“I was in a conversation with a lawyer on this specific matter once before. And we kept drawing to the same conclusion; we need to raise our men right,” she says.
“I am not saying all men are trash, but are you telling me that not one single guy on that bakkie wasn’t second guessing their actions? If not, then we have a problem. If so, why is there no accountability amongst them? I do, however, believe things will change. It has to. Maybe not in my lifetime, but we need to make it happen.”
She picks up the black lip liner. The finishing touch, before her five-minute on-stage call for the children production, Jakkals en Wolf, Onbeperk. She starts filling her lips with great care.
“We need to be acknowledging our differences in race, gender, upbringing and in our cycles. How can we bring about change, if there is no understanding and no accountability?”
She takes a step back, examining the final product. Satisfied, she states, “A ten rand in your hand, is very different from a ten rand in my hand.” She smiles, almost challenging.
“But what are you going to do with your ten rand?”
*Please note: This interview was conducted before the nationwide lockdown regulations were implemented.