There are marches.
There are threats.
There are people being told to leave.
There are reports of businesses shutting down, people fleeing, and fears that violence could erupt against foreign nationals. Human rights groups and aid organizations have warned that both documented and undocumented migrants have been caught in the anxiety and displacement surrounding the protests.
Now, let me say something that some people may not like…South Africa, like every sovereign country, has the right to enforce its immigration laws.
Countries have borders.
Countries have immigration laws.
Countries can decide who enters and who stays.
There is nothing controversial about that. If South Africans do not want undocumented immigrants in their country, that is their right.
The issue is not the desire for lawful immigration, the issue is how that desire is expressed. This is because somewhere along the line, the conversation appears to have become:
“Foreigners out.”
This is where things become dangerous because who exactly is a foreigner?
The Nigerian businessman with legal papers?
The Zimbabwean nurse?
The Malawian construction worker?
The Congolese student?
The Somali shop owner?
The child born in South Africa to immigrant parents?
How exactly do angry mobs determine who is legal and who is not?
Do they carry portable immigration offices in their pockets?
Do they travel with biometric scanners?
Do they ask everyone for documents before deciding whether to attack them?
Of course not. History has taught us that once a crowd decides that a group is the problem, nuance becomes the first casualty.
Reports from recent protests suggest that both documented and undocumented migrants, largely from other African countries, have been affected by the climate of fear and violence.
And that, is where I become uncomfortable, because if the issue is illegal immigration, then let us discuss illegal immigration. But if the issue is simply that the immigrant is African, then let us be honest about that too.
Honesty, even when ugly, is more useful than pretending. Now, let me ask the question that has been bouncing around my head.
How exactly do undocumented immigrants take over your jobs?
I am genuinely curious.
According to estimates frequently cited by researchers and international organizations, immigrants make up only about 4% of South Africa’s population.
Four percent.
So how many jobs can four percent of the population realistically “take over”? And perhaps the more uncomfortable question is this:
How does someone with no papers get the job that someone with papers supposedly cannot get?
What exactly happened during the interview? Did the employer say:
“We had a qualified South African applicant, but this undocumented gentleman with no legal status is simply irresistible”?
I am asking sincerely.
This is because if undocumented migrants are consistently getting jobs, perhaps we should also ask why employers hire them.
Is it because they can be paid less?
Is it because they are easier to exploit?
Is it because they are willing to do difficult jobs that others may not want?
Is it because there are failures in labour regulation and immigration enforcement?
These are policy questions, they deserve policy answers. Not fists, not fire and not fear.
Then there is another accusation that keeps appearing.
“They are taking our women.”
How exactly does someone “take” another adult?
Are South African women pieces of furniture?
Are they public infrastructure?
Did I miss the memo where women stopped having agency?
Perhaps some women choose foreign partners.
Perhaps some do not.
But reducing human relationships to territorial ownership is a fascinating way to understand romance.
Imagine introducing yourself like this:
“Hello, my name is Sipho, and my biggest competition in dating is a Zimbabwean mechanic.”
Surely there are deeper issues to explore.
Perhaps employment.
Perhaps social mobility.
Perhaps confidence.
Perhaps inequality.
Because blaming immigrants for every frustration is convenient but convenient things are not always true.
The truth is that South Africa has enormous structural challenges.
Unemployment.
Inequality.
Poverty.
Crime.
Those problems existed before many of today’s migrants arrived and unfortunately, removing migrants will not automatically remove those problems.
Scapegoats are useful because they make complicated problems feel simple, but simple explanations often produce disappointing solutions.
That said, there is something positive the rest of Africa can learn from this moment. It is this: There is no place like home.
I know, that sounds sentimental but stay with me.
Watching these events unfold should force all of us to ask difficult questions.
What happens when another country changes its mind?
What happens when policies shift?
What happens when nationalism rises?
What happens when economic hardship makes immigrants convenient targets?
What happens if the country you built your life in suddenly decides you no longer belong?
Where do you go?
What do you return to?
What have you built at home?
These questions matter.
I recently saw a Nigerian in the diaspora ask why he should contribute anything to Nigeria.
A fair question.
Everyone has the right to decide where to invest their time and money. But let me ask another question.
If tomorrow your host country says, “Thank you very much, but it is time to go,” what then?
Where do your children go?
What do they inherit?
What community catches you?
What soil remembers your name?
Perhaps this is why home matters. Not because it is perfect (goodness knows Nigeria is not), but because every human being should have somewhere that remains theirs.
Somewhere worth building.
Somewhere worth improving.
Somewhere worth returning to if life suddenly changes, and life changes very quickly.
There are stories across the world of naturalized citizens discovering that immigration laws can shift, citizenship rules can be challenged, and rights that seemed permanent can become uncertain. Governments often retain broad powers over citizenship and immigration matters, especially for people who acquired nationality through naturalization rather than birth.
That should humble all of us. None of us knows what the future holds, which is why abandoning our countries entirely may not be the wisest strategy.
Maybe we should travel.
Work abroad.
Learn abroad.
Invest abroad.
But perhaps we should also build at home.
Create opportunities at home.
Demand better governance at home.
Because if every talented African waits for another country to solve their problems, who is left to solve ours?
Perhaps that is the hidden lesson in all this. South Africans are saying, in their own complicated and sometimes troubling way: “We want our country to work for us.”
That desire is understandable. The methods, especially when they descend into xenophobia or violence, are not. But the underlying question remains powerful.
What are we doing to make our own countries work for us?
Nigerians should ask that question too.
Ghanians should ask it.
Kenyans should ask it.
Togolese should ask it.
Every Africans should.
Because the ultimate goal should not be escaping Africa, the ultimate goal should be making Africa somewhere fewer people feel compelled to escape from.
Anyway…,
I hope South Africa finds answers.
I hope Africa finds answers.
And I hope we all remember something simple:
Immigrants did not create all our problems, but perhaps our inability to build countries that people do not want to leave has certainly created some of them.
The questions, as always, remain open.
– Ria