Compassion collides with cruelty — the suffering of animals and the toll on the woman who defends them

Wrolien interacting with Bull calf at Sevontein prison. (Photo: Supplied)

2 Jun 2025

NSPCA inspector Wrolien Rabie stands between farm animals and their suffering, often alone, sometimes afraid. For her, compassion is both a duty and a burden – one that she carries without fanfare.

When Wrolien Rabie stepped foot on a farm one morning to inspect the animals, a burly farmer growled at her: “You’re very brave for a woman to walk alone on this farm, aren’t you?”

To Rabie, it wasn’t bravery. It was duty. In that moment, she wasn’t a woman defying expectations – she was an inspector doing her job, driven by a fierce commitment to protect the voiceless.

This brief exchange encapsulates the complex world Rabie inhabits, one in which compassion collides with cruelty and in which the emotional shock that can result from enforcing animal welfare laws comes with few protections.

Rabie is an inspector with the National Council of Societies for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (NSPCA), specialising in farm animal welfare. Her days are spent traversing rural roads, inspecting commercial farms and intervening in cases of neglect and abuse.

Behind the badge lies a profound emotional toll, a weight she carries quietly as she stands between animals and their suffering. “I never saw myself as a woman walking on to that farm,” she reflects. “I saw myself as an inspector looking for animals that might need help.”

Wrolien Rabie explains to the owner the concerns she has about a goat. (Photo: Supplied)

animals Wrolien Rabie interacts with the elderly on an emerging farm. (Photo: Supplied)

But the reality is more complicated. As a woman in a traditionally male-dominated sphere, she faces scepticism and even hostility. Once, a man grabbed her by the neck when she refused to return a dog he had abandoned with stab wounds. “He wanted the dog back, even though he left it to suffer. We had to fight him off,” she says.

Balancing compassion with the demands of her role isn’t easy. “People call us killers,” she says. “They say we love blood. But they don’t see that we’re not in the business of prolonging suffering. Sometimes ending suffering is the kindest thing we can do.”

Rabie leans heavily on her support system: her faith, her colleagues, her family and her friends. Psychologists also offer counselling to NSPCA staff.

“Only certain people can understand what we go through. Sometimes you just don’t have the capacity to take on more,” she admits. “I’m lucky to have people who remind me of who I am. Just because I had to end the suffering of a thousand chickens doesn’t make me a killer.”

She did not begin her career with animals in mind. Growing up in the south of Johannesburg, she first worked in construction administration. But a temporary receptionist job at an animal welfare organisation exposed her to the world of animal inspections.

“I went out with one of the inspectors to a bestiality case during an outreach. It was random, but it opened my eyes. That’s when I knew where my passion lay: getting justice for these animals and helping communities do better,” she explains.

Working in the farm unit brings its own challenges. Farmers resistant to change push back against her inspections, especially when traditions clash with modern animal welfare standards.

“It’s hard to tell a farmer who’s been doing things the same way for 40 years that it’s not acceptable any more,” she says. Access to properties isn’t guaranteed, and she often encounters open hostility.

“Sometimes I’m alone, surrounded by 15 farm workers. I have to calculate my next move carefully,” she admits.

Legally, Rabie operates under South Africa’s Animals Protection Act of 1962, a law that many critics call outdated. She defends it. “People say it needs to change, but right now, it does what it needs to do. My fear is that if it’s amended, it might weaken our ability to act against powerful parties.”

Rabie interacts with a calf at Sevontein Prison. (Photo: Supplied)

Her work demands difficult decisions. In assessing an animal’s condition, she must determine whether neglect was intentional or the result of circumstances beyond the owner’s control.

“Intent matters,” she explains. “If someone left a dog to starve because they were waiting for it to die, that’s cruelty. But if someone in a remote area tried everything they could, that’s different.”

The emotional cost is immense. Rabie recounts two experiences that haunt her.

The first was witnessing a religious ceremony known as qurbani, in which animals are sacrificed without pre-stunning.

“A cow looked me in the eyes just before they slit its throat,” she recalls. “There were tears in its eyes. That image replayed in my mind for weeks. I struggled to sleep.”

The second was a recent mass cull at a chicken farm. “Walking in and seeing half-eaten, half-dead chickens... the stench, the suffering... It makes you wonder how people can do this,” she says. “You think, how can anyone let animals starve like this while they sit down to a meal themselves?”

Yet, for every horror there are moments of hope. Rabie tells the story of Smoke, a dog that suffered severe burns after someone threw boiling water on him.

“His eyes spoke to me,” she says. After months of treatment, Smoke survived and was adopted by a loving couple. “Now he’s the happiest dog ever. He’s been with them for three years. That’s what keeps me going.”

Despite witnessing humanity’s darkest impulses, Rabie refuses to lose faith in people. “At first I was very idealistic,” she says. “Over time, I’ve realised there are bad humans, yes. But not all are bad. Some film cruelty, some report it, some adopt animals no one else wants. It balances out.”

Her hope is that greater community support, stronger enforcement and more compassion – not just for animals but for those trying to help them – will ease the burden inspectors face. “It’s easy to criticise from the outside. But compassion for the person behind the badge would make a difference.”

Four years into a role that demands courage, resilience and unflinching empathy, Rabie remains steadfast. “We do this to end suffering,” she says. “And as long as there’s suffering, I’ll keep showing up.” DM

This story first appeared in our weekly Daily Maverick 168 newspaper, which is available countrywide for R35.

Categories:

Tags:

DM is much better if you are signed in...

Our Burning Planet