Protecting Children in the Age of Social Media.

When Privacy Laws Meet Public Lives.

Both the Children’s Act and the Maintenance Act in South Africa are clear: when there are active cases involving children, parties are prohibited from publishing or sharing any information that could reveal the child’s identity. This includes names, photographs, or any details that could make a child identifiable. Court judgments and published articles follow the same principle using only initials to protect minors from exposure.

The intention behind these laws is sound and rooted in child protection. They aim to shield children from secondary harm such as bullying, social stigma, and long-term emotional distress. Once something is shared online, it can be copied, reshared, and remain searchable indefinitely, a permanent digital footprint that the child never consented to and cannot easily erase later in life.

Yet in practice, this is far more complex in today’s social media-driven world. Many parents, often out of frustration or pain, turn to platforms to express what they’re going through, whether it’s conflict over parenting arrangements, maintenance disputes, or experiences of abuse. While these posts may feel like emotional release or truth-telling, they can unintentionally identify a child or violate their right to privacy.

This challenge grows even more complicated when public figures, influencers, or media personalities are involved. For people whose livelihoods depend on their public image, a separation or custody issue does not unfold quietly. It becomes a matter of public curiosity, often amplified by followers, sponsorships, and press coverage. Even subtle posts, like motivational quotes or “healing” messages can invite speculation, gossip, and judgment.

The children, though innocent, often become collateral damage in this digital storm. Some parents respond by no longer posting identifiable images of their children, particularly after incidents of online bullying or invasive commentary. Others may be bound by non-disclosure agreements (NDAs), designed to protect reputations, brands, and financial arrangements.

But beyond public figures, these dilemmas exist for ordinary parents too. In community groups, WhatsApp chats, and Facebook posts, parents frequently discuss their cases or frustrations. The intent is rarely malicious, often, it’s a cry for empathy or understanding. Yet the law does not distinguish between public figures and private citizens when it comes to a child’s right to privacy.

South Africa’s Children’s Act (Sections 74 and 36) explicitly prohibits publication of any material that reveals or may reveal the identity of a child involved in legal proceedings. The Protection of Personal Information Act (POPIA) reinforces this by restricting the collection, use, or sharing of a minor’s personal information without proper consent.

On an international level, the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (Article 16) enshrines every child’s right to privacy and protection from unlawful interference. This applies not only to state actions, but also to the conduct of parents and the public.

Digital safety is now part of modern child protection. The legal framework recognises this, but social norms haven’t fully caught up. Many adults still see social media as a personal diary, not a public broadcast. But once a post leaves your device, it enters a world without context, control, or compassion.

I encourage parents to use the anonymous function on Facebook and to make their profiles private.

I am also conscious of this tension personally. Although my children are now adults, I have shared aspects of my own story publicly, not for attention, but as part of awareness, advocacy, and accountability. My own legal journey has spanned over fourteen years, and I have spoken out to hold the Department of Justice, SAPS, and the NPA accountable for systemic failures. My children did not ask for this, and I recognise that even when the intention is advocacy, the impact can still be a reminder for them.

I have only ever spoken about one of my children in this context, because it is on his behalf that I continue to fight for protection through maintenance. I have never named their father, and I returned to my maiden name to create some distance. Still, I am aware that our story exists in the public space, and that awareness carries weight. The alternative, however, would be silence and silence allows injustice to thrive.

Few parents plan for these dilemmas when family life is harmonious. Few imagine that the same platforms used to share joyful moments could one day become evidence, or that a child’s photo could become the subject of online cruelty.

As we navigate this intersection of law, technology, and emotion, one truth stands firm:

Children did not choose the conflict. They deserve the full protection of our silence when appropriate, our discretion, and our wisdom, even as we continue to speak truth to power.

When Safety Isn't an Attack on Fatherhood.

Why the UK’s Repeal of the Contact Presumption Is a Necessary Shift.

The recent decision by the UK Justice Department to repeal the statutory presumption of parental involvement has triggered emotional reactions, especially among those aligned with the so-called “parental alienation” movement. Some have framed this as a war on fathers or the erosion of family integrity. But in truth, this reform signals something far more profound: a long-overdue realignment of family justice with the realities of domestic violence, coercive control, and child safety.

What the repeal actually means.

The 2014 presumption stated that courts should assume contact with both parents benefits a child, unless proven otherwise. It created a starting position that both parents’ involvement was inherently positive. However, as countless case reviews, inquests, and child deaths have revealed, this presumption has too often overridden evidence of abuse, coercive control, and risk.

The UK’s Ministry of Justice and Domestic Abuse Commissioner found a disturbing pattern: courts prioritising contact even in cases where there were clear indicators of danger. Mothers (and some fathers) were disbelieved, children were silenced, and abusers were granted access under the banner of “a child’s right to both parents.” The repeal is not an attack on fatherhood; it is an attempt to break the pattern of institutional blindness that has cost children their lives.

Where the ‘parental alienation’ argument misses the mark

The blog by Sinta Ebersohn, echoing global fathers’ rights rhetoric mischaracterises the reform as an erosion of justice. But it fails to confront a central truth: the “presumption of contact” has not protected children; it has protected perpetrators.

Her framing relies heavily on:

The false equivalence between “parental alienation” and “abuse”;

The assumption that false allegations are common; and

The belief that removing a presumption of contact somehow “erases” good parents.

None of these claims are supported by empirical evidence.

Multiple international reviews, including the UK’s Harm Panel Report (2020), Domestic Abuse Act Review (2023), and similar Australian inquiries, show that false allegations are rare, while failure to act on genuine abuse is widespread.

The notion of parental alienation has itself been heavily criticised by the UN Special Rapporteur on Violence Against Women (2023), who warned that it is routinely misused in court to discredit protective mothers and reframe coercive control as “conflict”. In this context, centering the narrative around “alienated fathers” diverts attention from the actual epidemic - gendered violence and systemic disbelief of women and children.

Safety is not bias, it’s balance restored.

The repeal doesn’t mean that fit, loving parents will be excluded. It means that contact will no longer be presumed safe without proof. Courts must now start with a child’s right to safety not a parent’s right to access.

For survivors of domestic and economic abuse, this is monumental. It acknowledges that post-separation abuse, including financial control, stalking, and legal harassment doesn’t end with the relationship; it often intensifies through the court process.

The UK shift mirrors a growing global recognition: family law must no longer function as a continuation of abuse by other means.

In South Africa, the conversation lags behind, and why it matters here. Our courts still operate under a similar assumption that contact is always beneficial, even when histories of violence, intimidation, or non-support exist. Maintenance defaulters routinely seek increased contact while withholding financial support, a pattern of economic coercion that the system rarely identifies as abuse.

Meanwhile, genuine protective parents, often mothers, are accused of alienation for trying to keep children safe. The concept has become a tool to silence victims rather than protect children.

As South Africa moves toward reforming its maintenance and domestic violence systems, the UK example offers a crucial lesson: children’s safety and parents’ rights are not equal claims. Safety must come first, and contact should follow only when it is safe.

What this reform really signals

The repeal does not dismantle family bonds, it redefines accountability. It says:

A parent’s involvement is not automatically beneficial.

Abuse, coercive control, and financial manipulation must be examined before contact is granted.

The well-being of children and the safety of victims are non-negotiable starting points.

This is not an ideological attack on fathers. It is a reality check for systems that have too long treated abuse as a “relationship issue” rather than a safety issue.

Toward a child-centred justice system

For reformers, this shift is part of a broader evolution: away from adversarial family law, and toward trauma-informed, evidence-led decision-making.

It means early fact-finding, judicial education on coercive control, and mechanisms to protect victims from re-traumatisation through repeated litigation.

And for those of us focused on economic abuse and maintenance reform, it offers a parallel insight: just as a presumption of contact can endanger children, a presumption of “shared financial responsibility” without enforcement equally harms them.

Both systems fail when they privilege adult rights over child well-being.

Final thought

Repealing the presumption of contact is not about removing a pillar of family life, it’s about reinforcing its foundation.

A family justice system that cannot recognise abuse cannot deliver justice.

And a parent who truly loves their child will support a system that puts safety first even when it demands accountability from them.

The Illusion of Equality in Africa's Family Courts.

By Felicity Guest, Financial Abuse Specialist and Founder of Child Maintenance Difficulties South Africa (CMDSA)

When I attended the launch of the Equality Now report Unequal Equalities: The State of Family Law in Africa last year, one statement stayed with me:

“At the current pace, it could take 260 years, six generations, to achieve equality in Africa’s family courts.”

Two hundred and sixty years. Six generations of women, mothers, and children still waiting for justice systems that see and hear them.

The promise of equality, and its quiet betrayal.

South Africa’s Constitution enshrines equality. Our Children’s Act was designed to reflect that, ensuring every child’s best interests are paramount, and that both parents share responsibility.

But in practice, the scales still tip heavily against women.

Every day, we see:

Protective mothers disbelieved or labelled as “vindictive.”

Abuse allegations dismissed as “relationship conflict.”

Mothers forced into psychological evaluations based on accusations, while fathers accused of violence face none.

Children removed from primary caregivers and placed with fathers who display coercive or abusive behaviour and a frightening trend of child placed into foster care.

These are not anomalies. They are symptoms of a systemic bias that betrays the promise of equality our Constitution upholds.

A continental crisis of inequality

The Equality Now report confirmed that no African country has achieved full equality in family law.

Discriminatory laws, outdated traditions, and gendered bias remain deeply entrenched.

Even when legislation improves, courtroom culture often doesn’t.

Legal pluralism, where statutory, customary, and religious laws coexist, leaves women navigating multiple, often contradictory, systems.

And across Africa, judges still view mothers as emotional and fathers as rational, a mindset that sustains discrimination under the guise of neutrality.

South Africa’s paradox: progressive laws, regressive outcomes

South Africa is hailed for having one of the world’s most progressive Constitutions. Yet in our family courts, women’s experiences tell another story.

Amendments to the Children’s Act, heavily influenced by fathers’-rights lobbying, were presented as promoting equality. But they often prioritise shared parenting even in cases of documented abuse or coercive control.

What we now see is equality without accountability and equality without safety is not justice.

The cost of delayed justice

If it will truly take 260 years to achieve equality in family courts, then generations of women and children will continue to be failed.

Equality on paper means nothing when:

Protective mothers are punished.

Abuse is reframed as “conflict.”

The system values paternal access over child safety.

Equality without safety is not justice.

Real equality begins with safety.

When mothers can be believed.

When coercive control is recognised as abuse, not parenting conflict.

When children’s voices carry weight.

Until then, equality remains an illusion and every year that passes, another generation pays the price.

Because justice delayed, especially for women and children, is justice denied.

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