Action of the ignorant
By Tongai Mutindi & Tadiwa Zedhias Dengu
“Nothing is more terrible than to see ignorance in action.” — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The 30th of June has come and gone, yet the dust has not settled. Across social media, images continue to emerge of African migrants being stopped in the streets, questioned by civilians and, in some cases, removed from communities regardless of whether they possess valid documentation. Goethe’s observation has rarely appeared more apt. A dangerous line has been crossed. Immigration enforcement, once the exclusive preserve of the State, is increasingly finding itself in the hands of angry crowds. The distinction between lawful enforcement and mob justice is beginning to disappear, and with it, one of the fundamental pillars of constitutional democracy.
“Hating people is like burning down your house to get rid of a rat.” — Harry Emerson Fosdick
The rhetoric has become painfully familiar. Foreigners are blamed for collapsing service delivery. They are accused of taking jobs, occupying university spaces, driving crime and overwhelming public resources. Fosdick’s warning aptly captures the danger of such thinking. Yet remarkably little evidence accompanies these sweeping accusations. Public sentiment has become the substitute for empirical fact, and perception has increasingly displaced reality.
South Africa undoubtedly faces profound challenges. Unemployment is estimated to remain above 30%, while youth unemployment is believed to exceed 45%. Economic growth has remained subdued for much of the past decade, averaging only modest levels, and inequality continues to rank among the highest in the world. These are realities demanding courageous economic reform, improved governance and sustained investment. Yet reducing decades of structural economic problems to a migrant population estimated to constitute only a small fraction of the country’s residents is neither sound economics nor sound public policy. It is the oldest political instinct in history: when solutions are difficult, find someone easier to blame.
History has travelled this road before. In Part I, we reflected on post-First World War Germany, where Jewish communities were systematically portrayed as the architects of national decline. They were blamed for military defeat, economic hardship and social instability. The tragedy that followed remains one of humanity’s darkest chapters. Millions perished, yet Germany’s economic and political fortunes were not restored simply because a convenient enemy had been identified. Hatred solved nothing. It merely created new victims.
“Hate has caused a lot of problems in this world, but it has not solved one yet.” — Maya Angelou.
Angelou’s observation captures the enduring lesson of history. Whenever societies allow hatred to masquerade as public policy, they may succeed in producing victims, but they never eliminate the underlying causes of their economic or social challenges. Prejudice can destroy communities, erode constitutional values and deepen divisions, but it has never created jobs, strengthened institutions, reduced inequality or delivered lasting prosperity.
South Africa now risks repeating a similar mistake—not in identical historical circumstances, but through the same dangerous logic. Whenever societies become convinced that removing one group will miraculously cure unemployment, poverty and inequality, reason begins to surrender to emotion. Complex economic questions are transformed into simplistic political slogans, and structural failures are personalized into human targets.
What makes this even more troubling is that migration itself is neither unusual nor abnormal. Human mobility has shaped African civilisation for centuries. Today, estimates continue to suggest that the overwhelming majority of African migrants remain within Africa itself, moving in search of employment, education, business opportunities and safety. Throughout the continent, migration has historically facilitated trade, strengthened regional labour markets and promoted economic integration. Properly managed migration has never been Africa’s greatest challenge; poor governance has.
The greatest paradox is that Africa is not poor in resources. It is rich in minerals, fertile land, human capital, entrepreneurial talent and one of the youngest populations in the world. Recent estimates suggest that the continent possesses the capacity to mobilise well over a trillion dollars annually through better utilisation of its own domestic resources, sufficient to finance much of its development ambitions if governance, transparency and institutional efficiency were significantly strengthened. Africa’s principal challenge has therefore never been a shortage of wealth. It has too often been the management of that wealth.
South Africa is no exception. The country’s greatest obstacles remain structural. Decades after apartheid, productive assets, accumulated wealth and economic opportunity remain unequally distributed. Education disparities, labour market exclusion, corruption, weak economic growth, poor governance and declining public confidence in institutions continue to undermine inclusive prosperity. Deporting migrants cannot alter any of these structural realities. There exists no economic formula by which removing a migrant population estimated at only a few percent of society suddenly redistributes wealth, creates investment or generates sustainable employment.
Equally troubling is the growing acceptance of vigilantism. Democracy is founded upon a social contract between citizens and the State. Immigration laws exist precisely because governments—not mobs—are entrusted with enforcing them. When civilians begin demanding identity documents in the streets, conducting roadside inspections or deciding who belongs and who does not, they are not strengthening democracy. They are signalling a loss of confidence in the institutions they elected to govern. Mob justice has never been a substitute for the rule of law. It merely replaces legal certainty with fear.
None of this should be mistaken as an endorsement of illegal immigration. Every sovereign nation possesses both the right and the obligation to regulate its borders. Those who enter unlawfully should be dealt with firmly through lawful procedures, due process and functioning institutions. Constitutional democracies distinguish themselves not merely by the laws they enact, but by the manner in which those laws are enforced. Collective punishment, intimidation and violence directed at entire communities—even those lawfully present—can never be reconciled with constitutional governance.
Perhaps the greatest irony is that South Africa’s prosperity has never existed in isolation. Regional trade, investment, skills and labour mobility have long contributed to economic growth across Southern Africa. South African companies have established operations throughout the continent, benefiting from African markets, African consumers and African investment opportunities. At the same time, neighbouring countries continue to trade extensively with South Africa, supporting industries, commerce and employment. To portray neighbouring states merely as burdens rather than partners ignores an economic reality that has benefited South Africa for decades.
Credit must equally be given where it is due. President Cyril Ramaphosa, President of the Republic of South Africa, has publicly condemned xenophobic violence and reiterated that immigration enforcement is the responsibility of the State rather than private citizens. Likewise, Julius Malema, President of the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF), has consistently argued that South Africa’s primary struggle is against inequality, unemployment and concentrated wealth rather than against fellow Africans. Such statements deserve recognition because leadership requires public rejection of violence and unlawful vigilantism.
Yet public condemnation alone is no substitute for effective governance. The true measure of a government’s resolve is found not merely in its words but in its ability to uphold the rule of law. Despite repeated condemnations, movements and demonstrations associated with anti-foreigner sentiment have continued to mobilise publicly. Campaigns led by figures such as Jacinta Ngobese-Zuma, together with the broader March and March Movement, have remained visible in public discourse, while reports and images circulating across social media continue to depict African migrants leaving communities, seeking refuge and gathering in places they believe to be safer. Whether every image reflects the full reality is beside the point; the perception across the continent is that many African migrants no longer feel secure. Perception, particularly when fuelled by repeated incidents, carries profound political and diplomatic consequences.
Even where demonstrations begin peacefully, they carry a heightened responsibility when the language employed has the potential to legitimise hostility against an identifiable group. Chants such as “Abahambe”—literally, “they must go”—may, in isolation, be defended as political expression. Yet in an environment already scarred by recurring xenophobic attacks, such rhetoric can assume a far more troubling meaning. Words are rarely neutral. History repeatedly teaches that violence is seldom born in a single moment; it is cultivated gradually through language that normalises exclusion, dehumanisation and collective blame. When slogans become rallying cries against an entire class of people, they risk transforming political dissatisfaction into social hostility.
This inevitably raises difficult constitutional questions. Why has the State appeared unable to bring this climate under effective control? Why does enforcement against unlawful intimidation and vigilantism appear hesitant while ordinary migrants continue to express fear? These are legitimate questions in any constitutional democracy. Governments are not judged solely by their denunciations of unlawful conduct, but by the effectiveness, consistency and impartiality with which they prevent it.
With national elections on the horizon, these questions inevitably acquire a political dimension. Whether fairly or unfairly, some observers may conclude that robust intervention against movements enjoying segments of public support carries electoral risks. If that perception takes hold, it risks creating the impression that political calculation is competing with constitutional principle. Such a perception—whether ultimately justified or not—is itself damaging, because confidence in the rule of law depends upon the public believing that governments will enforce the law consistently, irrespective of political expediency or electoral considerations.
There is an old saying that, “Don’t blame a clown for acting like a clown; ask yourself why you keep going to the circus.” The wisdom of that observation extends beyond individual relationships to the conduct of governments. It is futile to express repeated outrage at xenophobic rhetoric and vigilantism if those who perpetuate it continue to do so without meaningful legal consequence. The real question is not merely why such movements persist, but why the institutions constitutionally entrusted with safeguarding the rule of law have allowed conditions in which they are able to flourish with apparent impunity. When unlawful conduct is tolerated long enough, it ceases to shock and instead risks becoming normalised.
“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.” — John Donne
Africa must respond, but not with retaliation. We should never answer intolerance with intolerance. Boycotts, diplomatic engagement, lawful economic choices and principled political pressure remain legitimate democratic tools, but violence must never become our language. Donne’s profound reminder that no one exists in isolation, but that each of us forms part of a greater whole, is particularly relevant to the African continent. Our economies, histories and futures are deeply interconnected. If South Africa forgets that it needs Africa, then Africa should remind her—not through hatred, but through lawful, dignified and principled engagement worthy of the continent we seek to build.
William Shakespeare once observed that “the mob has many heads but no brains.” History repeatedly proves the wisdom of those words. A movement built upon finding scapegoats never stops with its first target. Once today’s “foreigner” disappears, tomorrow another group will inevitably be blamed. That is the nature of populism; it constantly requires a new enemy to sustain itself.
South Africa stands at a crossroads. It can choose the difficult path of confronting inequality, corruption, poor governance, weak economic growth and economic exclusion, or it can continue pursuing the illusion that prosperity lies just beyond the expulsion of its neighbours. One path demands leadership. The other merely demands louder slogans. Africa should hope the former prevails.
For the real enemies of Africa have never been Africans themselves. They are hatred, division, corruption, poor governance and the politics of persuading ordinary people to blame one another for problems that demand courage, leadership and truth.
