Like millions of South Africans, I watched the viral recording of the AmaZulu king, Misuzulu kaZwelithini, chastising and insulting his second wife, Queen Nomzamo Myeni.

Among other disturbing things shown in the video, he threatened to physically assault her and accused her of having an affair. Without a sense of irony, he then told her that he had a girlfriend waiting for him.

He also stated he wanted her out of the royal household and used degrading language to belittle her place within it. The queen appeared to be filming the video herself, remaining silent until the end, when she said: “This is the life I live, day and night.”

Cultural fundamentalists have sought to frame the incident as a private matter between the king and his wife. They are insisting that he should be given space to handle matters of the royal household without commentary by members of the public.

The Royal House released a statement in which King Misuzulu takes accountability for his actions and offers an apology. It also states that the king’s and queen’s continued participation in public engagements demonstrates an unshakeable commitment to the Zulu nation. Clearly, the intention was to present the matter as resolved.

By stating that the royal couple continues to participate in public engagements together, the statement sends a message that they overcame the incident and remain committed to one another and to the Zulu nation. This may very well be true. What is also true is that this matter demands reflection.

South Africans cannot be expected to unsee that video or dismiss it as merely a private family matter. Not in a country where a woman is killed every three hours.

Not in a country where more than 5,500 women are murdered every year, most of them by intimate partners and exes. Not in a country where, over a recent three-month period, 957 women were murdered and 1,567 survived attempted murders.

We cannot treat this as a private matter because we know many women like Queen Myeni who, in her own words, live with abuse “day and night”. Many do not leave their abusers, not out of loyalty, but because leaving an abusive relationship is difficult and often dangerous.

It is especially harder when the alleged abuser is a powerful man existing in a society that excuses abusive behaviour and perpetuates the “ride or die” mentality that cements the idea that women who leave are weak or disloyal.

Beyond the verbal abuse captured in the video, another issue deserves attention: the recording itself. Some will argue private disputes should never be recorded because every relationship has difficult moments.

This has merit. But when a woman records abuse, it should make us pause. The decision to record an abuser is rarely ever to publicly shame him. Women record abusers primarily to gather concrete evidence for legal protection, to counter gaslighting, and to ensure their physical safety.

Abusers often manipulate situations to make victims doubt their own sanity or to paint the victim as the aggressor. Audio or video documentation objectively preserves what actually happened.

Additionally, recordings provide objective, undeniable evidence that can be used to secure protection orders, file police reports, and gain child custody.

A record of threats can help hold an abuser accountable if police intervene. But more than this, in a South Africa where victims are frequently shamed, recordings can serve to prevent victim-blaming.

Society and legal systems often expect a perfect victim. In this situation, marginalised or emotional reactions are frequently weaponised to discredit survivors. Verifiable recordings strip away subjectivity.

The real issue is not that the video was recorded. It is why the queen felt she had to record it in the first place. This is what demands reflection.