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Afrikaners, whose forebears had ridden north from the Cape in the early nineteenth century to conquer a hostile land, never ceased to remind themselves and anyone else who would listen that the word ‘survivors’ best defined who they were. But the truth was that all South Africans were survivors. Survivors are, by definition, pragmatists. This shared characteristic was the chief reason why, unlike other warring peoples who had proved unable to rise above past grievances, black and white South Africans were able to agree to abolish apartheid and to make peace. They see themselves as problem-solving people, and it was this can-do attitude that gave rise to a uniquely South African expression, which the Afrikaners invented but all other races incorporate into daily conversation, ‘We’ll make a plan.’ Pistorius, whose life story it seemed to sum up, used it all the time. It meant, ‘We’ll overcome this obstacle. We’ll think of something. We’ll get to our destination.’
    By triumphing on the world stage he had shown people everywhere that South Africans were indeed made of sterner stuff. He had set an example to all: if he could make a plan, if he could soar in the face of the cards life had dealt him, anybody could. He held up a flattering mirror to South Africans, reflecting back the image they wished to see of themselves at their best.
    Not anymore. Now he reflected South Africa at its worst. Though people knew him only through the media, and knew less of Reeva Steenkamp and nothing at all of what had passed between them on the night she died, many had made up their minds that he was a monster who had killed her knowingly, not in a panic but in a rage, and they clamored for a punishment to fit the crime, one that would send a message that women had endured enough.
    The figures showed how much. South Africa was tenth in the world murder rankings by country, with forty-five killings a day on average in 2013, and undisputed global champion when it came to violence against women. Every four minutes a South African woman or girl – often a teenager, sometimes a child – was reported raped, and every eight hours a woman was killed by her male partner. (The phenomenon has a name in South Africa: ‘intimate femicide’.) On the face of it, as many South Africans saw it, Pistorius had swelled those statistics. There was no shortage of opinion pieces in the press during the weeks and months that followed the shooting framing his case in the context of generalized gender violence.
    He hated that. He hated the unfairness of people assuming he was guilty before he had had a chance to tell his story in court, and it mortified him that they were choosing to portray him as a woman-hater. All the more so as Reeva herself had been an advocate for women’s rights, speaking out against abusers and rapists. He had always supported her – had shared in her outrage and horror at one very recent crime, one so savage that it was singled out by the president, Jacob Zuma, in his annual state of the nation address.
    On February 3, 2013 a seventeen-year-old girl called Anene Booysen from a poor rural township near Cape Town was raped, mutilated and left for dead at a construction site near a bar where she had spent much of the night with friends. A doctor who had tried to save herlife was quoted in the press as saying that after raping her the attacker had opened up her stomach and ripped out her intestines. Pistorius and Reeva had discussed the case, the two of them as appalled as anybody else in South Africa. Reeva was moved to make her feelings public on Instagram. ‘I woke up in a happy safe home this morning,’ she wrote. ‘Not everyone did. Speak out against the rape of individuals in SA. RIP Anene Booysen.
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sayNO.’ She had spent part of February 13 polishing up a speech she was due to give two days later to students at a school in Johannesburg in memory of Anene Booysen and in honor of the ‘Black Friday