Why Emma Powell’s Resignation Matters

Until we address these double standards, we will not be honouring the legacy of the women who marched in 1956 — we will simply be pretending.

Photo by Giacomo Ferroni on Unsplash

Written By: Blessing Mathabela

On the 9th of August, our nation celebrated Women’s Day, a time to reflect on the bravery of the 20,000 women who marched to the Union Buildings in 1956 to protest the apartheid regime’s pass laws. We honour these mbokodos, whose courage and unwavering spirit continue to fuel our fight against gender-based violence, inequality, and exclusion.

While this month is dedicated to commemorating the women who carried the torch before us, it must also urge us to reflect on the present. Are we truly honouring their legacy, or are we simply paying symbolic homage while their struggle remains unfinished? We have certainly made progress, empowering women in education, the workplace, and public life. However, the journey is far from complete. The advancements we celebrate today are not favours bestowed upon us; they are the fruits of decades of resistance, activism, and the promise enshrined in our Constitution. Access, dignity, and equal representation are not rewards; they are fundamental rights.

Yet, even as we reflect on this progress, we must ask ourselves: do we truly understand the depth of the fight those women faced?

One need only look at the current landscape of South African politics to understand the ongoing barriers women face. The descendants of those 20,000 women who marched in 1956 are still largely absent from key decision-making spaces. When women do occupy these positions, they are subjected to levels of scrutiny and hostility that their male counterparts rarely face. This is the reality of the political arena today, women in leadership are often judged more harshly and expected to justify their every move, while men are afforded a much broader scope to act without question.

Emma Louise Powell, former Shadow Minister of International Relations for the Democratic Alliance, is the latest to bear the weight of this double standard. I don’t share Emma Powell’s ideological commitments wholesale, nor do I romanticise the DA’s increasingly hawkish alignment with U.S. foreign policy.

But it’s impossible to ignore the particular venom reserved for women like Powell, women who speak outside the state-sanctioned script, and who are punished not only for what they say, but for the fact that they had the audacity to say it at all. Women are held to far harsher standards than men. Powell resigned not because of incompetence, but because she dared to challenge the ANC’s foreign policy, particularly its ties to regimes known for human rights abuses.

Her fact-finding mission to Israel, which attracted significant criticism in the local media, became a focal point for those seeking to discredit her. Yet, similar visits or comments made by male politicians like Gayton McKenzie and Kenneth Meshoe went largely unchallenged. Powell’s real “offense” was not her diplomacy; it was her decision to speak out against South Africa’s contradictory foreign policy, which maintains diplomatic relations with authoritarian regimes like Iran. In contrast, Israel, as a democratic state, has long been a subject of contentious debate in South African politics. Powell’s willingness to engage with Israel was framed as an ideological betrayal, but the intensity of the backlash speaks more to South Africa’s political gatekeeping than Powell’s actions.

The cost of dissent for women in politics is not only reputational. It is personal, physical and psychological. Powell’s allegations of surveillance and intimidation should alarm anyone committed to constitutional democracy. That a sitting Member of Parliament could be subjected to such treatment, not for corruption or misconduct, but for expressing dissenting views on foreign policy, is chilling. Women in politics are often expected to represent but not resist. They are told to lead but not too boldly. When they step out of line, especially in matters considered beyond their purview like global diplomacy, they are punished swiftly. Powell’s treatment echoes a broader pattern: when women speak plainly, act decisively or disrupt accepted narratives, they are cast as dangerous, disloyal or even unpatriotic.

Powell’s resignation is a case study in how gender, politics, and ideology collide. Her opposition to the ANC’s close relationships with regimes that openly violate women’s rights, particularly Iran, should have sparked national dialogue. Instead, she was pushed out. The ANC, which prides itself on championing human rights, had little to say about its ties to a state that punishes women for showing their hair or speaking out freely. The silence around these partnerships is deafening and highlights the hypocrisy within the political system.

In South Africa, this kind of treatment of women is nothing new. From Mama Winnie Madikizela-Mandela to Lindiwe Sisulu, Patricia de Lille to Phumzile Van Damme, women in politics have faced disproportionate scrutiny and harsh criticism. I am not excusing any of their actions, but the point remains: men in similar positions make mistakes and recover; women are expected to tread carefully, and when they crack, they are discarded.

This is the systemic bias that continues to undermine women’s leadership and agency in our political landscape. The question we must ask ourselves is: how many more capable women must be pushed out before we recognise this bias?

How long will we allow women to be punished for their conviction, their boldness, and their willingness to lead differently?

This Women’s Month, let us do more than just celebrate “women empowerment.” Let us interrogate the systems that vilify women who lead boldly. Let us ask why the same courage that makes male politicians “statesmen” is seen as “arrogance” or “recklessness” when displayed by women. Let us commit to the hard and necessary work of creating a political landscape where women are not punished for their conviction, where their leadership is not diminished by their gender.

Until we address these double standards, we will not be honouring the legacy of the women who marched in 1956. We will simply be pretending.

Blessing Mathabela, a final-year student at Wits University and Vice President of the Wits Golden Key Chapter, is a proud member of Africans for Peace, bringing African perspectives to global peace debates. Passionate about gender justice, she advocates for social change and works to create inclusive spaces for marginalised voices on and off campus.