I’ve been sitting here, internally debating whether to wax eloquent on the Jacob Zuma rape trial in today’s blog. “Jacob who?” you ask? Jacob Zuma, a former deputy president of South Africa who is standing trial for raping a family friend in November. David dug it up and forwarded it to me as possible fodder for the blog.

In my mind, the noteworthy thing about this trial is the way in which many supporters of Zuma are responding to the victim. They feel that she has been paid off to ruin Zuma’s political career, and they’ve gotten rather violent in their demonstrations outside the Johannesburg High Court—pro-Zuma protestors a few weeks ago hurled rocks at a woman they thought was Zuma’s accuser, injuring someone who had nothing to do with the case. Many seem to feel that the victim has crossed the line in accusing a hero of the African National Congress, one who spent years in prison during South Africa’s apartheid segregation—in a sense, his national sacrifice is more important than any violation of personhood that she might have suffered. And of course, her sexual history is being called into question. Once again, an accuser in a rape case is on trial just as much as the accused.

For me, though, this rape trial brings up an issue I’ve been thinking about lately in terms of talking about international women’s rights. On the one hand, highlighting stories like this on the blog makes clear that the struggle for women’s equality is far from over. You can’t say that our world is safe for women (or men and children, for that matter) when a woman in South Africa is raped every 26 seconds and only one out of nine of those rapes is ever reported—and only seven percent of those reports leads to conviction.

When we highlight these issues in the United States, however, it can set up this sense of false superiority. “Look at those poor African/Asian/Latin American women! Look at how few rights they have!!” we’re tempted to exclaim. “Let’s set up an advocacy group! Send missionaries! Educate those people!”

“Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:3). Jesus is right, you know… while we should definitely be concerned about the plight of our sisters abroad, maybe we need to take a look at the plank in our own eye when it comes to women’s rights.

Take rape, for instance. In the late nineties, according to Men Against Sexual Assault at the University of Rochester, the United States had the highest rape rate among countries which report such statistics—13 times higher the Brits and 20 times higher than Japan. Statistics from 2000 said that roughly one out of every five college women reports being a victim of completed or attempted rape. Despite the sensationalist tales you’ll see on the news, 80% of all sexual assaults are perpetrated by an acquaintance of the victim. And over half of all rape prosecutions in this country end in either dismissal or acquittal (compare that to a 69% conviction rate for murder trials and 54% for all other felonies). If you want to verify the stats for yourself, they are only a Google away.

So rather than writing off rape as a major problem in South Africa, we need to acknowledge that rape is a major problem here, too—as is the feminization of poverty, access to quality health care, representation of women in leadership positions, and a host of other concerns that show just how much women still function on the margins of established power structures.

And when we Americans acknowledge the planks in our collective eye, and with humility begin working to remove them, we’ll be in a better place to partner with our international sisters to bring justice to all people.

“Or how can you say to your neighbor, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ while the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.” --Matthew 7:4-5

Kelsey