Gender Equity

Sheinbaum calls for nationwide review of sexual harassment laws, as attack shines light on Mexico’s poor record on women’s safety.

Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum has called for sexual harassment to be made a crime nationwide after being groped on the street while greeting supporters near the presidential palace in Mexico City.

Sheinbaum, 63, said on Wednesday that she had pressed charges against the man and would review nationwide legislation on sexual harassment following the attack by a drunk man who put his arm around her shoulder, and with the other hand touched her hip and chest, while attempting to kiss her neck.

Mexico’s first woman president removed the man’s hands before a member of her staff stepped between them. The president’s security detail did not appear to be nearby at the moment of the attack, which was caught on camera.

The man was later arrested.

“My thinking is: If I don’t file a complaint, what becomes of other Mexican women? If this happens to the president, what will happen to all the women in our country?” Sheinbaum told her regular morning news conference on Wednesday.

In a post on social media, the president said the attack was “something that many women experience in the country and in the world”.

Presenté una denuncia por el episodio de acoso que viví ayer en la Ciudad de México. Debe quedar claro que, más allá de ser presidenta, esto es algo que viven muchas mujeres en el país y en el mundo; nadie puede vulnerar nuestro cuerpo y espacio personal.

Revisaremos la… pic.twitter.com/jcs6FweI6q

— Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo (@Claudiashein) November 5, 2025

Translation: I filed a complaint for the harassment episode that I experienced yesterday in Mexico City. It must be clear that, beyond being president, this is something that many women experience in the country and in the world; no one can violate our body and personal space. We will review the legislation so that this crime is punishable in all 32 states.

Sheinbaum explained that the incident occurred when she and her team had decided to walk from the National Palace to the Education Ministry to save time. She said they could walk the route in five minutes, rather than taking a 20-minute car ride.

She also called on states across Mexico to look at their laws and procedures to make it easier for women to report such assaults and said Mexicans needed to hear a “loud and clear, no, women’s personal space must not be violated”.

Mexico’s 32 states and Mexico City, which is a federal entity, all have their own criminal codes, and not all states consider sexual harassment a crime.

“It should be a criminal offence, and we are going to launch a campaign,” Sheinbaum said, adding that she had suffered similar attacks in her youth.

The incident has put the focus on Mexico’s troubling record on women’s safety, with sexual harassment commonplace and rights groups warning of a femicide crisis, and the United Nations reporting that an average of 10 women are murdered every day in the country.

About 70 percent of Mexican women aged 15 and over will also experience at least one incident of sexual harassment in their lives, according to the UN.

The attack also focused criticism on Sheinbaum’s security detail and on her insistence on maintaining a degree of intimacy with the public, despite Mexican politicians regularly being a target of cartel violence.

But Sheinbaum dismissed any suggestion that she would increase her security or change how she interacts with people following the incident.

At nationwide rallies in September to mark her first year in power, the president allowed supporters to embrace her and take selfies.

Growing up in Rawalpindi, a city adjacent to Pakistan’s capital Islamabad, Mahnoor Omer remembers the shame and anxiety she felt in school when she had periods. Going to the toilet with a sanitary pad was an act of stealth, like trying to cover up a crime.

“I used to hide my pad up my sleeve like I was taking narcotics to the bathroom,” says Omer, who comes from a middle-class family – her father a businessman and her mother a homemaker. “If someone talked about it, teachers would put you down.” A classmate once told her that her mother considered pads “a waste of money”.

“That’s when it hit me,” says Omer. “If middle-class families think this way, imagine how out of reach these products are for others.”

Now 25, Omer has gone from cautious schoolgirl to national centrestage in a battle that could reshape menstrual hygiene in Pakistan, a country where critics say economics is compounding social stigma to punish women – simply for being women.

In September, Omer, a lawyer, petitioned the Lahore High Court, challenging what she and many others say is effectively a “period tax” imposed by Pakistan on its more than 100 million women.

Pakistani governments have, under the Sales Tax Act of 1990, long charged an 18 percent sales tax on locally manufactured sanitary pads and a customs tax of 25 percent on imported ones, as well as on raw materials needed to make them. Add on other local taxes, and UNICEF Pakistan says that these pads are often effectively taxed at about 40 percent.

Omer’s petition argues that these taxes – which specifically affect women – are discriminatory, and violate a series of constitutional provisions that guarantee equality and dignity, elimination of exploitation and the promotion of social justice.

In a country where menstruation is already a taboo subject in most families, Omer and other lawyers and activists supporting the petition say that the taxes make it even harder for most Pakistani women to access sanitary products. A standard pack of commercially branded sanitary pads in Pakistan currently costs about 450 rupees ($1.60) for 10 pieces. In a country with a per capita income of $120 a month, that’s the cost of a meal of rotis and dal for a low-income family of four. Cut the cost by 40 percent – the taxes – and the calculations become less loaded against sanitary pads.

At the moment, only 12 percent of Pakistani women use commercially produced sanitary pads, according to a 2024 study by UNICEF and the WaterAid nonprofit. The rest improvise using cloth or other materials, and often do not even have access to clean water to wash themselves.

“If this petition goes forward, it’s going to make pads affordable,” says Hira Amjad, the founder and executive director of Dastak Foundation, a Pakistani nonprofit whose work is focused on promoting gender equality and combating violence against women.

And that, say lawyers and activists, could serve as a spark for broader social change.

The court docket describes the case as Mahnoor Omer against senior officials of the government of Pakistan. But that’s not what it feels like to Omer.

“It feels like women versus Pakistan.”

‘It’s not shameful’

Bushra Mahnoor, founder of Mahwari Justice, a Pakistani student-led organisation whose name translates to “menstrual justice”, realised early just how much of a struggle it could be to access sanitary pads.

Mahnoor – no relation to Omer – grew up in Attock, a city in the northwestern part of Pakistan’s Punjab province, with four sisters. “Every month, I had to check if there were enough pads. If my period came when one of my sisters had hers too,” finding a pad was a challenge, she says.

The struggle continued in school, where, as was the case with Omer, periods were associated with shame. A teacher once made one of her classmates stand for two entire lectures because her white uniform was stained. “That was dehumanising,” she says.

Mahnoor was 10 when she had her first period. “I didn’t know how to use a pad. I stuck it upside down; the sticky side touched my skin. It was painful. No one tells you how to manage it.”

She says that shame was never hers alone, but it’s part of a silence which starts at home and accompanies girls into adulthood. A study on menstrual health in Pakistan shows that eight out of 10 girls feel embarrassed or uncomfortable when talking about periods, and two out of three girls report never having received information about menstruation before it began. The findings, published in the Frontiers in Public Health journal in 2023, link this silence to poor hygiene, social exclusion and missed school days.

In 2022, when floods devastated Pakistan, Mahnoor began Mahwari Justice to ensure that relief camps did not overlook the menstrual needs of women. “We began distributing pads and later realised there’s so much more to be done,” she says. Her organisation has distributed more than 100,000 period kits – each containing pads, soap, underwear, detergent and painkillers – and created rap songs and comics to normalise conversations about menstruation. “When you say the word ‘mahwari’ out loud, you’re teaching people it’s not shameful,” she says. “It’s just life.”

The same floods also influenced Amjad, the Dastak Foundation founder, though her nonprofit has been around for a decade now. Its work now also includes distributing period kits during natural disasters.

But the social stigma associated with menstruation is also closely tied to economics in the ways in which its impact plays out for Pakistani women, suggests Amjad.

“In most households, it’s the men who make financial decisions,” she says. “Even if the woman is bringing the money, she’s giving it to the man, and he is deciding where that money needs to go.”

And if the cost of women’s health feels too high, that’s often compromised. “[With] the inflated prices due to the tax, there is no conversation in many houses about whether we should buy pads,” she says. “It’s an expense they cannot afford organically.”

According to the 2023 study in the Frontiers in Public Health, over half of Pakistani women are not able to afford sanitary pads.

If the taxes are removed, and menstrual hygiene becomes more affordable, the benefits will extend beyond health, says Amjad.

School attendance rates for girls could improve, she said. Currently, more than half of Pakistan’s girls in the five to 16 age group are not in school, according to the United Nations. “We will have stress-free women. We will have happier and healthier women.”

‘Feeling of justice’

Omer says her interest in women’s and minority rights began early. “What inspired me was just seeing the blatant mistreatment every day,” she says. “The economic, physical, and verbal exploitation that women face, whether it’s on the streets, in the media, or inside homes, never sat right with me.”

She credits her mother for making her grow up to be an empathetic and understanding person.

After completing school, she worked as a gender and criminal justice consultant at Crossroads Consultants, a Pakistan-based firm that collaborates with NGOs and development partners on gender and criminal justice reform. At the age of 19, she also volunteered at Aurat March, an annual women’s rights movement and protest held across Pakistan on International Women’s Day – it’s a commitment she has kept up since then.

Her first step into activism came at 16, when she and her friends started putting together “dignity kits”, small care packages for women in low-income neighbourhoods of Islamabad. “We would raise funds with bake sales or use our own money,” she recalls.

The money she was able to raise enabled her to distribute about 300 dignity kits that she and her friends made themselves. They each contained pads, underwear, pain medication and wipes. But she wanted to do more.

She got a chance when she started working at the Supreme Court in early 2025, first as a law clerk. She’s currently pursuing postgraduate studies in gender, peace and security at the London School of Economics and says that she will go back to Pakistan to resume her practice after she graduates.

She became friends with fellow lawyer Ahsan Jehangir Khan, who specialises in taxation and constitutional law. The plan to challenge the “period tax” emerged from their conversations.

“He pushed me to file this petition and try to get justice instead of just sitting around.”

Khan, who is a co-petitioner in the case, says that fighting the taxes is about more than accessibility and affordability of sanitary pads – it’s about justice. “It’s a tax on a biological function,” he says.

Tax policies in Pakistan, he says, are written by “a privileged elite, mostly men who have never had to think about what this tax means for ordinary women”. The constitution, he adds, “is very clear that you cannot have anything discriminatory against any gender whatsoever”.

To Amjad, the Dastak Foundation founder, the fight for menstrual hygiene is closely tied to her other passion – the struggle against climate change. The extreme weather-related crisis, such as floods, that Pakistan has faced in recent times, she says, hit women particularly hard.

She remembers the trauma many women she worked with after the 2022 floods described to her. “Imagine that you are living in a tent and you have mahwari [menstruation] for the first time,” she says. “You are not mentally prepared for it. You are running for your life. You don’t have access to safety or security. That trauma is a trauma for life.”

As temperatures rise on average, women will need to change sanitary pads more frequently during their periods – and a lack of adequate access will prove an even bigger problem, Amjad warns. She supports the withdrawal of taxes on sanitary pads – but only those made from cotton, not plastic ones that “take thousands of years to decompose”.

Amjad is also campaigning for paid menstruation leave. “I have come across women who were fired because they had pain during periods and couldn’t work,” she says. “When you are menstruating, one part of your brain is on menstruation. You can’t really focus properly.”

Meanwhile, opponents of the taxes are hoping that Omer’s petition will pressure the Pakistani government to follow other nations such as India, Nepal and the United Kingdom that have abolished their period taxes.

Taking on that mantle against the government’s policies didn’t come easily to Omer. Her parents, she says, were nervous at first about their daughter going to court against the government. “They said it’s never a good idea to take on the state,” she says.

Now, they’re proud of her, she says. “They understand why this matters.”

To her, the case is not just a legal fight. “When I think of this case, the picture that comes to mind … It’s not a courtroom, it’s a feeling of justice,” she says. “It makes me feel a sense of pride to be able to do this and take this step without fear.”

Melbourne, Australia – Lee Little recalls the phone call with her daughter in December 2017; it was just minutes before Alicia was killed.

“I spoke to her 15 minutes before she died,” Little told Al Jazeera.

“I asked her, was she OK? Did you want us to come up to pick you up? And she said, ‘No, I’ve got my car. I’m right, Mum, everything’s packed.’”

Alicia Little was on the verge of finally leaving an abusive four-and-a-half-year relationship.

Not only had Alicia rung her mother, but she had also called the police emergency hotline for assistance, as her fiance Charles Evans fell into a drunken rage.

Alicia knew what to expect from her partner: extreme violence.

Evans had a history of abuse towards Alicia, with her mother recounting to Al Jazeera the first time it occurred.

“The first time he actually bashed her, she was on the phone to me. And the next minute, I heard him come across and try to grab her phone,” Little said.

“I heard her say, ‘Get your hands off my throat. I can’t breathe.’ And the next minute, you hear him say, ‘You’re better off dead.’”

Little told how she had taken photos of her daughter’s terrible injuries.

“She had broken ribs. She had a broken cheekbone, broken jaw, black eyes, and where he’d had her around the throat, you could see his finger marks. It was a bruise, and where he’d give her a kick, and right down the side, you could see his foot marks.”

Like many abusive relationships, a pattern would emerge, whereby Alicia would leave temporarily, only to return after Evans promised to change his behaviour.

“This went on and off for the four and a half years,” Little said.

“He’d bash her, she’d come home, and then she’d say to me, ‘Mum, he’s told me that he’s gone and got help.’”

Yet the violence only escalated.

On the night Alicia decided to leave for good, Evans drove his four-wheel-drive at her, pinning her between the front of the vehicle and a water tank.

Alicia Little, aged 41 and a mother of two boys, died within minutes before the police she had called could arrive.

As she lay drawing her final breaths, security camera footage would later show her killer drinking beer at the local pub, where he drove to after running Alicia down.

Evans was arrested, and after initially being charged with murder, had his charges downgraded to dangerous driving causing death and failing to render assistance after a motor vehicle accident.

He would walk free from jail after only two years and eight months.

The statistics

Alicia Little is just one of the many women in Australia killed every year, in what activists such as The Red Heart Campaign’s Sherele Moody are saying is so prevalent that it amounts to a “femicide”: the targeted killing of women by men.

According to government data, one woman was killed in Australia every eight days on average between 2023-2024.

Moody, who documents the killings, contests those statistics, telling Al Jazeera they do not represent the true scale of deadly attacks on women in the country.

Government data records “domestic homicide”; women killed resulting in a conviction of murder or manslaughter.

As in the case of Alicia Little, the lesser charges her killer was convicted on related to motoring offences and do not amount to a domestic homicide under government reporting and are not reflected in the statistics.

“One of the key weapons that perpetrators use against women in Australia is vehicles,” Moody told Al Jazeera.

“They almost always get charged with dangerous driving, causing death. That is not a homicide charge. It doesn’t get counted despite it being a domestic violence act, an act of domestic violence perpetrated by a partner,” Moody said.

“The government underrepresents the epidemic of violence. And in the end, the numbers that they’re using influence their policy. It influences their funding decisions. It influences how they speak to us as a community about violence against women,” she said.

Moody said that between January 2024 and June this year, she had documented 136 killings of women; many – like Alicia Little – by their partners. “Ninety-six percent of the deaths I record are perpetrated by men.”

“Around 60 percent of the deaths are the result of domestic and family violence,” she said.

While much focus is on women’s safety in public spaces – for example, walking home alone at night – Moody said the least safe place for a woman is actually in her own home.

“The reality is that if you’re going to be killed, whether you’re a man or woman or a child, you’re going to be killed by someone you know,” she said.

Data shows that only about 10 percent of female victims are killed by strangers, deaths often sensationally covered by the media and prompting public debate about women’s safety.

“Yes, stranger killings do happen, and when they do, they get a lot of focus and a lot of attention, and it lulls people into a false sense of security about who is perpetrating the violence,” Moody said.

Male violence in Australia

Patty Kinnersly, CEO of Our Watch, a national task force to prevent violence against women, said attacks on women are the “most extreme outcome of broader patterns of gendered violence and inequality”.

“When we refer to the gendered drivers of violence, we are talking about the social conditions and power imbalances that create the environment where this violence occurs,” Kinnersly said.

“These include condoning or excusing violence against women, men’s control of decision-making, rigid gender stereotypes and dominant forms of masculinity, and male peer relations that promote aggression and disrespect towards women,” she said.

“Addressing the gendered drivers is vital because violence against women is not random; it reflects deeply entrenched inequalities and norms in society. If we do not address these root causes, we cannot achieve long-term prevention,” she added.

Patterns of male violence are deeply rooted in Australia’s colonial history, in which men are told they need to be physically and mentally tough, normalising male aggression, write authors Alana Piper and Ana Stevenson.

“For much of the 19th century, men far outnumbered women within the European population of the Australian colonies. This produced a culture that prized hyper-masculinity as a national ideal,” they write.

Colonial male aggression also resulted in extreme violence perpetrated on Indigenous women during the frontier times, through rape and massacres.

Misogyny and racism were also promoted in Australia’s parliament during the 20th century, as legislators crafted assimilationist laws aimed at controlling the lives of Indigenous women and removing their children as part of what has become known as the “Stolen Generations”.

Up to a third of Indigenous children were removed from their families as part of a suite of government policies between 1910 and 1970, resulting in widespread cultural genocide and intergenerational social, economic and health disparities.

This legacy of colonial racism and discrimination continues to play out in vast socioeconomic inequalities experienced by Indigenous people in the present day, including violence against women, activists say.

Recent government data shows that Indigenous women are 34 times more likely to be hospitalised due to violence than non-Indigenous women in Australia and six times more likely to die as a result of family violence.

“Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women are among the most at-risk groups for family violence and intimate partner homicide in Australia,” First Nations Advocates Against Family Violence (FNAAFV) Chief Executive Officer Kerry Staines told Al Jazeera.

“These disproportionately high rates are the result of historical injustice and ongoing systemic failure,” Staines said, including forced displacement of Indigenous communities, child removals and the breakdown of family structures.

“Many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities have been affected by multigenerational trauma caused by institutional abuse, incarceration and marginalisation. When trauma is left unaddressed, and support services are inadequate or culturally unsafe, the risk of violence, including within relationships, increases,” she said.

Indigenous women are also the fastest-growing prison cohort in Australia.

On any given night, four out of 10 women in prison are Indigenous women, despite making up only 2.5 per cent of the adult female population.

Staines said there is a nexus between domestic violence and incarceration.

“There is a clear and well-documented relationship between the hyper-incarceration of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and the high rates of family violence experienced in our communities,” she said.

“The removal of parents and caregivers from families due to imprisonment increases the likelihood of child protection involvement, housing instability and intergenerational trauma, all of which are risk factors for both perpetration and victimisation of family violence.”

‘Toxic culture’

While Australia was one of the first Western countries to grant women voting rights, deeply rooted inequalities persisted through much of the 20th century, with women being excluded from much of public and civic life, including employment in the government sector and the ability to sit on juries, until the 1970s.

This exclusion from positions of authority – including the judicial system – allowed a culture of “victim blaming” to develop, particularly in instances of domestic abuse and sexual assault, activists say.

Rather than holding male perpetrators to account and addressing violence, focus remained on the actions of female victims: what they may have been wearing, where they had been, and prior sexual histories as a basis for apportioning blame to those who had suffered the consequences of gender-based violence.

Such was the case with Isla Bell, a 19-year-old woman from Melbourne, who police allege was beaten to death in October 2024.

Media reporting on Isla’s death focused largely on her personal life and provided graphic details about her death, while little attention was given to the two men who were charged with Isla’s alleged murder.

Isla’s mother, Justine Spokes, said the reporting “felt really abusive”.

“The way in which my daughter’s murder was reported on just highlights the pervasive toxic culture that is systemic in Australia,” said Spokes, describing a “victim-blaming narrative” around the killing of her daughter.

“It was written in a really biased way that felt really disrespectful, devaluing and dehumanising,” she said, adding that society had become desensitised to male violence against women in Australia.

“It’s just become so normalised, which I think is actually a sign of trauma, that we’re numb to it. It’s been pervasive for that long. If that’s the mainstream psyche in Australia, it’s just so dangerous,” she said.

“I really think that this pervasive, toxic, misogynistic culture, it’s definitely written into our law. It’s very colonial,” she added.

The Australian government, led by Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, has committed to the ambitious task of tackling violence against women within a generation.

A spokesperson from the Department of Social Services told Al Jazeera the government has invested 4 billion Australian dollars ($2.59bn) to deliver on the National Plan to End Violence Against Women and Children 2022-2032.

“The Australian Government acknowledges the significant levels of violence against women and children including intimate partner homicides,” the spokesperson said in a statement.

“Ending gender-based violence remains a national priority for the Australian Government. Our efforts to end gender based violence in one generation are not set-and-forget – we are rigorously tracking, measuring and assessing our efforts, and making change where we must,” the spokesperson added.

Yet for Lee Little, mother of Alicia Little who was killed in 2017, not enough is being done, and she does not feel justice was served in the case of her daughter, describing the killer’s light sentence as “gut-wrenching”.

Little is now petitioning for a national domestic violence database in a bid to hold perpetrators accountable and allow women to gain access to information regarding prior convictions.

“Our family would love a national database, because perpetrators, at this moment, anywhere in Australia, can do a crime in one state and move to another, and they’re not recognised” as offenders in their new location, she said.

Little said public transparency around prior convictions would protect women from entering into potentially abusive relationships in the first place.

Yet the Australian federal government has yet to implement such a database, in part due to the complexities of state jurisdictions.

The federal attorney-general’s office told Al Jazeera that “primary responsibility for family violence and criminal matters rests with the states and territories, with each managing their own law enforcement and justice systems”.

“Creation of a publicly accessible national register of perpetrators of family violence could only be implemented with the support of state and territory governments, who manage the requisite data and legislation.”

Despite the apparent intransigence in law, Little remains committed to calling out violence against women wherever she sees it.

“I’ve been to supermarkets where there’s been abuse in front of me, and I’ve stepped in,” she said.

“I will be a voice for Alicia and for a national database till my last breath,” she added.

On a recent evening in Senegal’s capital, Dakar, an imam named Ibrahima Diane explained to a group of men why they ought to be more involved in household chores.

“The prophet himself says that a man who does not help to support his wife and children is not a good Muslim,” said the 53-year-old, as he described bathing his baby and assisting his wife with other duties.

Some of the men chuckled, not entirely convinced, while others applauded.

Diane was participating in a “school for husbands”, a United Nations-backed initiative in which respected male community members learn about “positive masculinity” in relation to health and social issues, and promote these concepts within their communities.

In Senegal, as in many other West African countries with large rural or conservative populations, men often have the final say in major household decisions, including those related to health.

Women may require their husbands’ permission for life-changing decisions, such as accessing family planning or other reproductive health services, as well as hospital deliveries or prenatal care.

After attending the school for husbands, Diane regularly delivers sermons during Friday prayers, in which he discusses issues around gender and reproductive health, from gender-based violence to combating stigma surrounding HIV.

“Many women appreciate my sermons,” he said. “They say their husbands’ behaviour has changed since attending them.” He added that some men have told him the sermons inspired them to become more caring husbands and fathers.

The programme was launched in Senegal in 2011, but in recent years has attracted the attention of the Ministry of Women, Family, Gender and Child Protection, which regards it as an effective strategy for combatting maternal and infant mortality.

“Without men’s involvement, attitudes towards maternal health will not change,” said Aida Diouf, a 54-year-old female health worker who collaborates with the programme. Many husbands prefer their wives not to be treated by male health workers, she explained.

Discussions for men have also focused on girls’ rights, equality, and the harmful effects of female genital mutilation.

The programme now operates at least 20 schools throughout Senegal, and more than 300 men have been trained.

In some communities, men who once enforced patriarchal norms now promote gender equality, a shift which has led to a reduction in the number of forced marriages and greater acceptance of family planning, according to Senegal’s Ministry of Gender.

Men join the groups after being recruited based on trust, leadership and commitment. Candidates must be married, respected locally, and supportive of women’s health and rights.

After training, the men serve as peer educators, visiting homes and hosting informal discussions.

Although maternal and infant deaths in Senegal have declined over the past decade, experts say there is still much progress to be made. The country recorded 237 maternal deaths per 100,000 live births in 2023, and 21 newborns out of every 1,000 died within their first month. The UN’s global target is to reduce maternal deaths to 70 per 100,000 live births and newborn deaths to under 12 per 1,000 by 2030.

A key problem is that many women have continued to give birth at home, said El Hadj Malick, one of the programme’s coordinators.

“By educating men about the importance of supporting their wives during pregnancy, taking them to hospital and helping with domestic work at home, you are protecting people’s health,” Malick said.

He noted that he still encounters difficulty in changing attitudes on some issues.

“But when we focus on women’s right to be healthy, it gives a human face to the concept and it becomes universal,” Malick said.

Marius Borg Hoiby faces up to 10 years in prison after being charged with 32 criminal offences, including rape.

The son of Norway’s crown princess has been charged with raping four women, domestic violence, assault and other crimes following a yearlong police investigation, according to prosecutors.

Marius Borg Hoiby, 28, son of Crown Princess Mette-Marit and stepson of the heir to the throne, Crown Prince Haakon, is expected to stand trial early next year and could face up to 10 years in prison if found guilty of the most serious charges, Oslo state attorney Sturla Henriksbo said on Monday.

Hoiby denies the most serious accusations against him but plans to plead guilty to some lesser charges in court when the trial starts, his lawyer Petar Sekulic told the Reuters news agency.

“He does not agree with the claims regarding rape and domestic violence,” Sekulic said of his client.

Hoiby was charged on Monday with 32 criminal offences, including one count of rape with sexual intercourse and three counts of rape without intercourse, some of which he filmed on his telephone, the prosecution said.

Henriksbo estimates the trial could begin in mid-January and take about six weeks.

Hoiby does not have a royal title and is outside the line of royal succession.

“It is up to the courts to hear this case and to reach a decision,” the royal palace said in a statement.

The prosecutor said Hoiby, as a member of the royal family, would not be treated “more lightly or more severely” than anyone else in similar circumstances.

Domestic abuse

Police in November last year held Hoiby in detention for one week as part of the investigation.

In August of last year, Hoiby was named as a suspect of physical assault against a woman with whom he had been in a relationship – the only victim identified by the prosecution, Nora Haukland.

“The violence consisted, among other things, of him repeatedly hitting her in the face, including with a clenched fist, choking her, kicking her and grabbing her hard,” the prosecutor said.

Hoiby, in a statement to the media at the time, admitted to causing bodily harm to the woman while he was under the influence of cocaine and alcohol and of damaging her apartment. He had stated then that he regretted his actions.

According to media reports, he spent time with gang members, Hells Angels bikers and members of Oslo’s Albanian mafia. In 2023, police contacted him to discuss his hangouts with “notorious criminals”.

It emerged last year that Hoiby had already been arrested in 2017 for using cocaine at a music festival.

On May 25, Olorato Mongale, a 30-year-old woman from South Africa, went on a date with a man she had recently met.

Less than two hours later, she was dead.

Her half-naked body was found by the roadside in Lombardy West, a suburb north of Johannesburg. It showed signs of severe trauma and bruising. Investigators concluded that she had been murdered elsewhere and dumped at the scene.

Her brutal and senseless killing led to a wave of grief and outrage on social media. Days later, a family spokesperson revealed that Mongale – a master’s student at the University of the Witwatersrand – had once worked as a journalist. She left the profession seven years ago due to the emotional toll of reporting on gender-based violence and femicide (GBVF).

Her family said Mongale had grown increasingly anxious about her own vulnerability to male violence. In particular, the 2017 murder of 22-year-old Karabo Mokoena haunted her. Mokoena was stabbed to death by her ex-boyfriend, Sandile Mantsoe, who then burned her body beyond recognition and buried the remains in open grassland in Lyndhurst – a suburb just kilometres from where Mongale’s body was found.

Despite her conscious efforts to avoid Mokoena’s fate, Mongale ultimately became what she had feared most: another name added to the long and growing list of South African women murdered by men.

At her funeral on June 1, her mother, Keabetswe Mongale, said her daughter had tried desperately to fight off her attacker.

“When I saw her at the government mortuary, I could see that my daughter fought. She fought until her nails broke,” she said.

Her devastating death serves as a stark reminder that women and girls across South Africa continue to face an existential threat from gender-based violence, despite years of government promises and reforms.

On May 24, 2024, President Cyril Ramaphosa signed into law a bill establishing the National Council on Gender-Based Violence and Femicide. The body is mandated to provide leadership and coordination in the fight against GBVF. While it appeared to be a step forward, it did not represent a transformative policy shift.

This is not the first such initiative. In 2012, then-Deputy President Kgalema Motlanthe launched the National Council Against Gender-Based Violence, with a similar mandate to coordinate national anti-GBV efforts.

More than a decade later, with yet another council in place, GBVF crimes continue.

In November 2023, the Human Sciences Research Council (HSRC) of South Africa released the country’s first national study on GBVF. It found that the persistence of gender-based violence is rooted in “deeply ingrained societal norms and structures that perpetuate male dominance and reinforce gender hierarchies … leading to female subordination, systemic inequalities, and violence against women”.

The destructive effect of entrenched patriarchy is undeniable. In South Africa, a woman is murdered every three hours. That is approximately 8 women a day. One study estimates that around 7.8 million women in the country have experienced physical or sexual violence.

While women of all races and backgrounds are affected, Black women face higher rates of GBVF – an enduring legacy of apartheid and its structural inequalities.

This crisis is not unique to South Africa. The terror faced by women and girls is a continent-wide phenomenon.

In November 2024, the United Nations published its report Femicides in 2023: Global Estimates of Intimate Partner/Family Member Femicides, revealing that Africa had the world’s highest rate of partner-related femicide that year.

Kenya stands out for its staggering figures.

Between September 2023 and December 2024, the country recorded more than 7,100 cases of sexual and gender-based violence. These included the murders of at least 100 women by male acquaintances, relatives, or intimate partners in just four months.

Among the victims was Rebecca Cheptegei, a Ugandan Olympian and mother of two, who competed in the marathon at the 2024 Paris Games. On September 5, 2024, she died in Eldoret, Kenya, from severe burns after her former partner doused her in petrol and set her alight during a domestic dispute. He himself later died in a hospital from his injuries.

The Kenyan government later recognised GBVF as the most pressing security challenge facing the country — a belated but crucial move.

On May 26, Kenya’s National Gender and Equality Commission noted that the surge in GBVF crimes was driven by “a complex interplay of cultural, social, economic, and legal factors”. Patriarchal traditions continue to fuel inequality and legitimise violence, while harmful practices such as forced marriage, female genital mutilation (FGM), and dowry-related violence further endanger women’s lives. Economic hardship and women’s financial dependence only deepen their vulnerability.

Across the continent, we are witnessing a dangerous resurgence of archaic patriarchal norms.

The COVID-19 lockdowns in 2020 further exposed the scale of the crisis. Since then, countless behavioural change campaigns have been launched, but they have largely failed.

This is no surprise.

According to Afrobarometer data from November 2023, nearly 48 percent of all Africans believe domestic violence is a private matter, not a criminal offence.

The uncomfortable truth is that many African men, regardless of education or economic status, do not prioritise the safety or rights of women and girls.

On International Women’s Day last year, South African rugby captain Siya Kolisi said it plainly: “Men are not doing enough.”

Indeed, many continue to uphold harmful customs such as child marriage and remain disengaged from efforts to protect women. Years of empty rhetoric have led to a growing body count.

It is time for African men to take full ownership of this crisis and commit to radical change.

They must reject cultural practices and ideals of manhood that dehumanise women. African cultures are not unchangeable, and patriarchy is not destiny. A new, egalitarian model of African masculinity must be nurtured — one based on dignity, equality, and nonviolence.

This cultural reorientation must begin in families and be sustained through schools, religious and traditional forums, and community life.

It must happen for Olarato Mongale. For Rebecca Cheptegei. For the thousands of others whose lives were stolen.

And most urgently, it must happen for the women and girls across Africa who live each day knowing that their greatest threat may come from the men closest to them.

There can be no just African future unless African manhood is transformed.