Annestacia Wiese

My colours to the mast
SUGAR and spice and all things nice, that’s what little girls are made of. Those are the words of a nursery rhyme.
When a girl is born, mothers usually have such wonderful expectations of her. When she grows up, she is complimented on her looks, behaviour and talents.
When women achieve great heights, moms shed a tear. Sometimes dads do, too.
These blessings have been taken away from Annestacia Wiese. At the age of 11 her life was cut short.
She will never have a boyfriend, join in the excitement of looking for her name in the paper after passing matric, go to university, have that great job, get married.

Last Friday, on the day Annestacia disappeared, many people were wearing pink and blue in memory of another girl whose body was found after she had gone missing. An e-mail had been circulated to encourage people to do so.
At first I found it distressful that so much is being done for a girl who had also been murdered. Yet I decided it was the least I could do to vent at such unwarranted violence.
Until society is rid of such toxicity that steals our children of a right to life and safety, and until we have a legal system that is seen to put the criminals behind bars, we all have to voice our demand for justice.
So, as you read this column, I will be wearing blue jeans and a pink top. For most of the day, I will be barefoot. I do this in memory of Annestacia Wiese.
She didn’t deserve to die so disgracefully.
It is such a kneejerk reaction for parents to want to protect their children. This is the right thing to do.
As a journalist one is often hardened as events unfold. Some might say we are cynical. We are, after all, the seemingly heartless people who tell the world everything they want to hear. And then some.
But we, too, are often beaten by the wrongs we have to report on.
The reporter who covered the story is a journalism intern. It is the first time she followed a story from the Friday to the Sunday, recording events as they unfolded.
She couldn’t sleep and was disturbed by the story. So much so that she couldn’t write this column.
Her experience is typical of so many other rookie journalists.
As journalists, we are taught never to get involved.
By remaining true to this ethos and to my humanity, I am doing what little I can. And if it means wearing the colours Annestacia was last seen wearing, then so be it.
I hope you, our loyal readers, advertisers and friends, can find it in your heart to make your voices heard.
May Annestacia’s death – and that of other girls and boys – not be in vain. Mandy King, Assistant Editor TygerBurger