We can no longer pretend it doesn’t exist. Masculinities shape our daily lives, whether at work, at the taxi rank or in the boardroom. Every interaction carries a performance of masculinity: often invisible, but deeply powerful.
To truly understand behaviour, power dynamics and inequality, we must confront and incorporate masculinities into our laws, traditions and everyday life.
Masculinity studies examine how social expectations of male identity, particularly hegemonic or dominant masculinity, shape behaviour, power relations, and institutions.
It challenges the idea that all men naturally behave in dominant, aggressive or emotionally detached ways, and instead shows how these traits are socially constructed, reinforced and normalised, often at the expense of women, queer people and non-conforming men.
Hegemonic masculinity is powerful not only because it dominates, but because it draws support from those who subscribe to it, regardless of gender identity.
This is evident in the men and women who rush to defend those accused of sexual harassment or misconduct, even before any formal process takes place. Hegemonic masculinity presents itself as the only legitimate form of masculinity, demanding alignment while rejecting or subordinating alternatives.
This logic also extends to women who internalise and uphold it, some of whom uncritically support men accused of gender-based harm, or in rare cases, weaponise misconduct claims for personal gain, undermining efforts to address genuine gendered violence.
In a country grappling with endemic gender-based violence, high rates of sexual harassment and persistent power imbalances, ignoring masculinity as a framework is not just negligent, it is dangerous.
Its absence in law and policy means the root causes of abuse, coercion and silence often go unaddressed.
Missed opportunities: Legal cases that ignored masculinity
Consider the Jacob Zuma rape trial, in which Fezekile “Kwezi” Kuzwayo accused the former president of rape. While the court focused on Kwezi’s sexual history and credibility, it failed to interrogate the power dynamics between a 63-year-old man and a 31-year-old woman who viewed him as a father figure.
In fact, the judgment only mentioned the term “power” once. Masculinity studies would frame Zuma as embodying hegemonic masculinity, a cultural script that normalises male power over women, compounded by political status, age and authority.
Similarly, in Coko v S (2020), the accused, Loyiso Coko, was acquitted on the basis that the complainant, having consented to foreplay, had tacitly consented to intercourse.
This reasoning overlooks the evolving understanding, central to masculinity studies, of how male entitlement and societal norms around “normal” male behaviour distort the concept of consent.
Under cross-examination, the complainant was asked why she didn’t stop the accused during intercourse. She responded: “I did not feel like I was in a position to stop anything. I felt like almost powerless and vulnerable and not in a position to change the situation.”
Despite this testimony, the high court did not mention the word “power” even once. This omission is troubling. Had a masculinity-informed lens been applied, the court would have interrogated how Coko’s gendered power, his sense of entitlement as a man, might have contributed to the erosion of the complainant’s consent.
Thankfully, the Supreme Court of Appeal overturned the judgment. In doing so, it explicitly engaged with the role of power in rape cases, acknowledging that consent cannot be meaningfully given where one party feels powerless or unable to assert their will.
The Mbenenge hearing: Another missed opportunity
We now face the case of Eastern Cape Judge President Selby Mbenenge, accused of sexual misconduct by his former secretary. Public debate has largely focused on whether there was an explicit rejection of his advances.
While the tribunal rightly considered consent, power dynamics, cultural context and the judge’s conduct, neither the legal proceedings nor the commentary have engaged masculinity as an analytical framework.
What’s missing is a deeper interrogation of how dominant masculinity shapes these dynamics, an often invisible but deeply embedded force that informs behaviour, entitlement and silence within institutions.
We must ask:
- Was Judge Mbenenge wrong to initiate a relationship with a junior employee while holding the highest judicial office in the Eastern Cape? and
- Did the power imbalance contribute to the complainant’s delayed or “unclear” rejection of his advances?
The first question points to broader issues of workplace ethics and the urgent need for judicial policies that prohibit relationships between superiors and subordinates, and even colleagues in general.
It also highlights how hegemonic masculinity functions in such contexts, where men feel socially entitled to women’s bodies and consent becomes diminished. When a superior initiates a romantic or sexual advance toward a junior employee, the junior’s ability to freely consent is compromised.
Had the judiciary incorporated masculinity studies into its induction and training processes, Judge Mbenenge might have understood that initiating such a relationship was not only unethical, but also a clear abuse of power. In a system grounded in ethics and African values such as ubuntu, such conduct would not be debated, it would be condemned.
The second question cuts even deeper. It reveals how women, especially younger and junior employees, often struggle to say no explicitly, not because they consent, but because they fear reputational harm, career setbacks or isolation.
Power imbalance mutes rejection, not always through coercion, but through expectation, intimidation and consequence.
In this case, Judge Mbenenge was not just a man; he was a judge president, an elder both in age and at church, and a father figure. He embodied dominant masculinity, respected, authoritative and revered. To later argue that the complainant never clearly said no is to ignore the layered and structural ways in which power operates.
Furthermore, masculinity studies also remind us that men can be victims, particularly those who reject or do not conform to dominant forms of masculinity.
But that is not the case here. Judge Mbenenge appears fully aligned with the very power structures under scrutiny. It is difficult to argue that power ever shifted to his secretary, Ms Mengo, or that the Judge President relinquished his authority while making advances toward her.
I agree with Lisa Vetten’s analysis of the power dynamics, particularly her insight that the complainant’s consent was shaped by vulnerability and coercion. However, while Vetten draws from a gender studies perspective, focusing on how power operates across gendered experiences, I argue for a masculinity studies lens, which specifically examines how dominant norms of manhood, such as entitlement and control, shape male behaviour.
Both approaches address gendered power, but masculinity studies centres how masculinities themselves contribute to harm.
South Africa cannot seriously address sexual harassment, workplace misconduct or gender-based violence without confronting the masculine structures that enable them. It is time to:
- Integrate masculinity studies into legal education, judicial training, and workplace policies;
- Centre power dynamics, not as side issues, but as core to understanding consent and accountability; and
- Reframe how the law interprets silence, delay and behaviour, especially in male-dominated institutions.
Only when our laws and institutions adopt a nuanced understanding of masculinity and power can we begin to create safer, more equitable spaces for all. DM