Protected: Stability is not the destination. It is the foundation.:
Crime is increasingly detected online but policing remains offline:
South Africa is living through a policing paradox: many crimes are now first discovered online, yet local policing remains largely offline. Assaults, robberies, bullying, GBV incidents and public disorder increasingly surface on WhatsApp, TikTok, Facebook and X before a case number is opened, before a patrol vehicle arrives and before any official reassurance is offered. Communities are documenting harm in real time and distributing evidence at scale, sometimes within minutes. However, in many municipalities, local police stations are digitally absent during the most volatile early hours, only appearing once national outrage peaks or a newsroom calls for a comment. This isn’t a “communications gap”; it is a frontline governance failure, because modern responsiveness is measured in the spaces where citizens experience and interpret state presence and today, that space is undeniably digital.
South Africa’s online footprint makes this urgency unavoidable. DataReportal’s “Digital in South Africa” profile consolidates social media and internet indicators that show the depth of platform penetration and the scale of everyday digital participation. At the same time, DataReportal’s 2026 South Africa report indicates that the country had 29.1 million active social media user identities (as of October 2025), a reminder that the public sphere, where fear and outrage travel, has become massive, fast and persistent. In parallel, the Reuters Institute’s 2025 South Africa chapter illustrates how news and public information ecosystems are evolving, with social and video platforms influencing what people see first, what they trust and how they mobilise. These are not abstract trends: they change the operational meaning of “community policing” because communities now assemble digitally before they assemble physically.
A recent Gauteng case illustrates the broader pattern. In May 2025, a viral video showing learners assaulting another learner triggered national outrage and arrests followed. The state’s most authoritative, verifiable account of that incident is not a rumour thread; it is a formal statement. The official government media statement confirming the arrests shows how digital virality can translate into enforcement action but it also exposes a governance weakness: where was the local station-level presence when communities were demanding immediate clarity, safety guidance and visible accountability? What citizens often meet in the first 12–24 hours is not a calm, credible institutional voice but a noisy mix of speculation, partial information and anger. Media coverage echoed the scale of attention and public concern, including IOL’s reporting on the arrests following the viral video and TimesLIVE’s coverage of the Gauteng education department’s response but the deeper question remains: why must communities rely on provincial departments, journalists, or national-level police messaging when the crisis is hyper-local and unfolding live in their own streets and schools?
This matters because silence is not neutral in a low-trust environment; it is interpreted. Trust in the police is already under strain and the data is blunt. Afrobarometer’s 2024 South Africa dispatch on public views of the police reports that only about one-third of South Africans say they trust the police, while large majorities perceive corruption and improper practices as common. When trust is this fragile, digital absence becomes a multiplier of suspicion: people assume the station is overwhelmed, uninterested or hiding something and those assumptions harden into behaviour. Cooperation declines. Reporting declines. Rumours become “truth” through repetition. And when communities feel abandoned, the temptation toward vigilantism rises. This is exactly why station-level visibility is not a cosmetic add-on; it is part of restoring legitimacy in everyday governance.
But here’s the constraint that policy-makers must confront honestly: local police stations are not absent online merely because of capacity — they are absent because of institutional rules and centralised control. SAPS has, at times, explicitly communicated that no station or sub-structure may run social media accounts without approval. The public can see this posture directly in official messaging from SAPS’ verified channels, for example, this SAPS post referencing restrictions on unauthorised station-level social media accounts. Centralisation may protect brand consistency but it undermines the very thing communities need most during crises: speed, locality and a credible voice that can confirm facts, discourage retaliation, and signal that the state is present. In a viral moment, a delayed national statement does not calm a neighbourhood; a trusted local response does.
This is where the governance argument becomes unavoidable. The Constitution expects public administration to be responsive, transparent and accountable not only in annual reports but also in daily interactions. When a violent incident trends in a municipality, people aren’t asking for polished national messaging; they are asking: “Is the station aware? Are officers on scene? What should we do? How do we report safely? Is there a suspect description? Is it safe to move?” These are local questions requiring local answers. Digital participation has effectively become part of the social contract: citizens will share information, evidence and warnings — and in return they expect institutions to show up, listen and respond with clarity. If the state’s frontline safety institution cannot show up where the public is already gathered, it should not be surprised when the public begins to organise without it.
Worse still, digital absence creates the perfect conditions for the spread of misinformation. South Africa has already seen how quickly online narratives can inflame conflict when credible state voices are missing. The July 2021 unrest remains a defining example. The SAHRC’s July Unrest Report (final, January 2024) documents the scale of the crisis (including loss of life and massive economic harm) and reflects how social fracture, mobilisation and information flows shaped events. Alongside it, the Presidency’s Expert Panel report into the July 2021 civil unrest interrogates the failures of detection, coordination, and response. The lesson for local policing is simple: you cannot counter rumours, incitement or panic that originate outside the platform ecosystem where they spread. Monitoring is not enough. Communities want engagement that is credible, immediate and locally grounded, which reduces heat and increases order.
So what should “active” station-level social media actually mean? It does not mean a dormant page that posts generic safety tips once a month. It means a verified, accountable presence that can acknowledge incidents early (“We are aware of the video circulating…”), guide reporting (“Here’s how to submit information safely…”), correct misinformation (“This rumour is false; this is what we can confirm…”), and communicate protective actions (“Patrols have been deployed; please avoid the area…”). It means building digital relationships before the crisis, so that when something happens, the station is already a trusted node, not a stranger arriving after the damage is done. It means treating social media as part of the community policing infrastructure, not as optional PR.
SAPS already recognises the digital terrain but recognition must evolve into localised practice. Public-facing SAPS communication has, for years, referenced social media as a tool in policing and service delivery. For example, SAnews’ report on SAPS using social media to monitor service delivery shows that the institution has long understood the value of digital feedback loops. Yet monitoring service delivery complaints is not the same as crisis engagement and national accounts are not the same as station-level legitimacy. The public not only wants to be observed; they also want to be heard, reassured and guided in real time, particularly when emotions are high and misinformation is circulating.
This is where reform must be practical, not rhetorical. If central leadership is concerned about reputational risk, the answer is not a blanket prohibition; it is effective governance design, including training, protocols, escalation pathways and clear ethical guidelines. Station accounts can be operated by designated officers, bound by standard operating procedures and audited for compliance, exactly the way other sensitive public functions are managed. Messaging can be template-driven during critical incidents to prevent speculative posts. Comments and direct messages can be triaged with explicit disclaimers (“not monitored 24/7” paired with emergency contact numbers), while still allowing for acknowledgement and updates. The point is not perfect communication; it is visible responsiveness that reduces panic and strengthens trust.
Local station commanders should see this as a leadership obligation, not an admin burden. Being digitally present is a form of accountability: it signals that the station is not hiding behind central bureaucracy when communities are scared. It also enhances investigative capacity, as communities already share leads online, including images, videos, vehicle descriptions and patterns of movement. A trusted station page can channel that information into safer, more structured reporting processes, reducing the spread of harmful doxxing and retaliation. In this way, station-level digital presence is not only good governance; it is operationally smart policing.
South Africa does not need to invent this from scratch. We already have the public evidence that virality triggers state action, as seen in the Gauteng bullying case and other viral incidents where public attention accelerated investigations. We also have credible evidence that misinformation and mobilisation can intensify crises when the state is digitally absent, as the post-2021 unrest reports show. And we have robust indicators that trust in the police is weak, meaning legitimacy must be rebuilt through visible, everyday responsiveness. The question, then, is not whether local police should show up online — it is whether SAPS and station leadership are willing to treat digital presence as part of constitutional responsiveness rather than a risk to be avoided.
If local police stations want communities to cooperate, comply, and believe in the rule of law, they must meet people where they are and people are online. The next crisis will not wait for a press release. The next viral video will not pause while approvals are being processed and moved up a chain. The public will assemble digitally in minutes. The only question is whether local policing will be present as a credible stabilising force or whether it will arrive late, after the damage to trust has already spread.
Dr Lesedi Senamele Matlala is a public governance scholar, evaluation specialist, and Senior Lecturer in Public Management, Governance and Public Policy at the University of Johannesburg. He is the Chair of the South African Monitoring and Evaluation Association (SAMEA) and has published widely on digital governance, citizen-based monitoring, public accountability and state responsiveness in South Africa. His work focuses on strengthening democratic institutions and evidence-informed decision-making in the public sector.
If customary law marriage comes first, no civil marriage allowed later:
A new Constitutional Court judgment about the validity of customary and civil marriages has huge implications. An untold number of Black couples, married under customary law and later under civil law, are suddenly finding that, in the wake of this judgment, their rights are not protected in the way they had assumed. Now they must face a new reality – their civil marriage isn’t valid and their customary marriage, along with the often-unwritten marital property contract that goes with it, is the one that counts in the eyes of the law.
Read the judgment here: https://www.saflii.org/za/cases/ZACC/2026/2.html
The story behind this judgment can be told in a couple of sentences: Two people get married to each other twice, first in terms of customary law and later in terms of civil law. Then one of the spouses wants a divorce and the other heads to court claiming that the second marriage isn’t valid. The dispute ends up at the Constitutional Court, where the judges are effectively asked to decide which of the two marriages and their associated contracts, is valid.
The answer will obviously be very important to the two people involved because the two marriages provided for very different settlement arrangements when they end (through death or divorce). But the court’s answer is also important far beyond the particular couple in this case. Because the idea of ‘two weddings’ is very popular in South Africa, many other couples will be affected by the outcome.
Many people will be surprised by the court’s judgment. We unpack it below, but one thing the decision makes very clear is this: the days of rushing into marriage, whether customary or civil, or even beginning lobolo discussions, without first considering and resolving the legal implications, are now completely gone.
Following this judgment, it’s more important than ever that anyone getting married, whether in a traditional ceremony, at the magistrate’s court or in church, should consult an attorney to help explain the options and draft a legally binding agreement that will suit the couple’s particular circumstances. Your future financial happiness and security could well depend on that advice.
Now, let’s consider in a bit more detail the facts of the case heard by the Constitutional Court.
Couple have ‘two marriages’, eight years apart
A couple (named just VVC and JRM to protect their identities) married each other under customary law in August 2011. This marriage was in community of property. In other words, all the assets (and all the debts) of both spouses were merged into one and both were equally responsible for all the debts, present and future, that might be incurred by either of them.
(It’s important to note here that any customary law marriage will automatically be in community of property, unless the couple makes other arrangements well before the wedding and even before lobolo discussions begin.)
Fast forward eight years in the lives of VVC and JRM. It’s 2019 and now the couple decide to get married again, this time under civil law. As part of this process, they sign an antenuptial contract (ANC) under the Recognition Act. This contract completely changes how their marital estate will work: under the ANC that they sign for this wedding, their marriage will be out of community of property and subject to the accrual system. It’s important to understand that, in making these arrangements, they don’t do anything about first undoing the community of property contract created by their initial marriage.
Their new ANC contract – out of community of property and subject to accrual – might suit many couples. It’s quite different from the contract of their first marriage. Now their assets aren’t pooled. Instead, each keeps control of the assets they bring into the marriage. Each is responsible for the debts they incur, with no responsibility for the debts of the other. And the ‘accrual’ arrangement means that, at the end of the marriage, whether by death or divorce, the one whose estate has made the smaller gain is entitled to half the difference between what their estate gained and what their partner’s estate gained.
What happens when one of them wants a divorce?
But then trouble strikes. Not long after their civil marriage, VVC asks for a divorce. This would require their marital estate to be settled and divided as they agreed via the ANC they signed at the time of their second wedding. But the other spouse, JRM, objects.
JRM believes that a divorce at this point would divide their marital estate in the way they had agreed when they signed the new ANC at the time of their ‘second’ marriage (out of community of property, with accrual). JRM also obviously fears that it would produce a less advantageous settlement (to JRM) than would have been the case under their ‘first’ marriage (in community of property).
So JRM’s lawyers go to court and argue that the civil marriage and the ANC the couple signed for their second wedding were invalid and that the divorce had to be settled under the arrangements agreed at the time of the first marriage. Alternatively, they say the section of the Recognition Act that allowed the ‘second marriage’ to take place was unconstitutional.
Why did they say it was unconstitutional? JRM’s attorneys took the view that the section of the Recognition Act under which the couple made the changes to their contract wasn’t strict enough. It allowed people originally married under customary law to change from a marriage in community of property to a marriage out of community of property just by a simple written agreement signed by both parties. They argued that it ought to require a judge to closely examine the changeover before it would be authorised. Because the law doesn’t spell out that this was necessary, the section was unconstitutional, they said.
Judicial approval always needed before marital contract can be changed
JRM’s attorneys weren’t saying anything unusual. The Recognition Act didn’t seem to require the usual process – but any couple, however they are married, who want to change the way their marital regime is structured and sign a new contract must first go through a legal process to change their marital regime. And it must always be approved by a judge before the changes will take effect. This is to make sure that the new arrangement is fair to the couple and to any creditors.
Take, for example, a case where the first marriage arrangement said that both partners shared everything equally (in community of property). Suppose the couple now want to change and sign a new contract, with some assets now being listed as the sole property of one of them (out of community of property). This would mean that one partner would no longer be able to claim a half share in the assets of the other as they could have done under the terms of the ‘first’ marriage. A judge would have to consider all the facts carefully. If the judge decided that this wasn’t fair, then the proposed new contract might well not be approved.
But back to the dispute between VVC and JRM over which ‘marriage’ – and therefore which marriage contract – was valid. The case went first to the high court. There the judge found that the second marriage contract wasn’t valid because there was no judicial oversight. But the judge also held that the section of the Recognition Act that seemed to allow a second marriage without judicial oversight was unconstitutional.
And because the Constitutional Court (the highest court in South Africa) has the final say on whether a law is unconstitutional, the judges of that court then had to reconsider the whole matter of VVC and JRM and their two marriages.
Couples bound by their ‘first marriage’ contract
What the Constitutional Court eventually decided, by a majority of six to three, was that a customary law marriage is just as valid as a civil marriage and that customary law marriages had to be recognised and treated as the equal of any marriage under civil law. In the case of VVC and JRM, this meant their first marriage was valid. And their community of property agreement, associated with their customary law wedding, continued to hold: it would be the marriage contract under which the divorce settlement would have to be finalised.
The reasoning of the court in this case and a series of earlier cases, has been that women who married under an older form of customary law were often left financially vulnerable at divorce or death. To prevent this and to provide protection for women, both Parliament and the courts have been strengthening legal protections under customary law marriage. The ‘standing’ of customary law marriages was also strengthened, so that they are now seen by the law as equivalent to any other marriages and the default position in all customary marriages is that the marriage is in community of property.
Presumably, in the case of VVC and JRM, they did not sign any ANC before their customary marriage. But it doesn’t have to be like that: if a couple wants a customary marriage but believes that an ANC, with or without accrual, would suit them and their financial situation better, they can choose this route. However – and this is really important – the ANC would have to be signed and registered before the customary marriage takes place and should be done even before lobolo discussions are held since these discussions are often seen as part of the marriage contract itself.
Implication of court’s decision: get your marriage contract right first time round
That’s why it’s so important for anyone planning a wedding to schedule a visit to an attorney well in advance of the actual day. It’s essential to have a discussion about the financial and property issues that are always involved when a couple gets married – and it’s essential for those decisions to be taken in good time so that the marriage contract reflects what the two people involved really need.
The case of VVC and JRM shows only too clearly the problems that can arise when the contract hasn’t been thought through carefully before a marriage takes place. A ‘second marriage’ might have worked in the past as an easy way to change the marriage contract to one that better suits the parties but, after this case, because of the way the Constitutional Court says the law must be interpreted, it will never again provide an easy route to fix the problem.
A final word: it may be possible to change a marriage contract, though that depends on the individual facts and how – or even whether – they can remedy the situation is something that an attorney will be able to advise after hearing all the facts of a couple’s case. But, as explained above, even if it is possible, it could be an expensive, lengthy process, subject to a judge’s approval. Inevitably, following this new judgment, there will be ‘married twice’ couples who could now find themselves locked into the contract that goes with their customary law wedding rather than the ANC they thought they had put into place with their second marriage.
So here’s the takeaway: for any couple considering a wedding, the court’s judgment means they should stop immediately and consult an attorney about the legal implications and the contract that would best suit them before they go any further.
Kaamilah Paulse director of the family and matrimonial department at Herold Gie Attorneys and recipient of the M&G 2023 Power of Women awards
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