Legal documents will not protect you from the violence
Across South Africa, a wave of fear is washing over African migrants — documented and undocumented alike — as a campaign group's self-imposed deportation deadline approaches and economic desperation finds its oldest outlet: the scapegoating of the stranger. In a country where nearly half the workforce is unemployed, the foreign-born have become the face of a crisis they did not create. What unfolds in town halls from Kleinmond to Johannesburg is not merely a political dispute over borders, but a recurring human story about how suffering, when unaddressed by those in power, turns neighbor against neighbor.
- A group called March & March has set a June 30 deadline for undocumented migrants to leave South Africa, with no clear enforcement mechanism but a trail of violence already in its wake.
- At least five Mozambican nationals have been killed in recent xenophobic attacks, and over a hundred migrants have fled to municipal buildings seeking protection from angry crowds.
- Legal residency papers offer almost no protection — long-settled migrants with permits, businesses, and South African families describe living in 'extreme fear' every single day.
- Unemployment at 43.1% has halved public willingness to welcome immigrants, giving political parties a ready-made issue to exploit ahead of November local elections.
- President Ramaphosa has promised stricter border enforcement while warning against vigilante violence, but the government's cautious navigation has yet to defuse the tension on the ground.
In late May, roughly a hundred migrants from Mozambique and Malawi took shelter in a town hall in Kleinmond after an angry crowd descended on their settlement and ordered them to leave. Ghana had already arranged evacuation flights for hundreds of its citizens. The scene captured something larger: a country in the grip of a xenophobic surge that is spreading faster than any authority seems willing to stop.
The catalyst is a campaign group called March & March, which has organized protests in cities across South Africa and issued a June 30 deadline for undocumented migrants to leave — without specifying what follows if they don't. The marches have reignited tensions that have smoldered for decades. In Mossel Bay alone, violence in late May left multiple people dead, with Mozambique reporting five of its citizens killed.
What distinguishes this moment is that legal status has ceased to function as protection. An Ethiopian entrepreneur who has lived in South Africa since 2000, married to a South African and father to a nineteen-year-old daughter, said the violence is indiscriminate: 'None of the legal documents will protect you.' A Zimbabwean restaurant owner in Johannesburg, resident since 2009, said simply: 'This is my home. I'm so stressed.'
The economic backdrop is stark. Unemployment has reached 43.1 percent, and the share of South Africans willing to welcome immigrants has fallen from 25 to 15 percent since 2020. Lawyers for Human Rights frames the dynamic plainly: when governments fail to deliver, migrants become the easier target. March & March's leader has claimed illegal immigrants number between 15 and 30 million — figures far beyond what census data supports — and has declared South Africa is being 'invaded.'
Smaller political parties are aligning with the protests ahead of November elections, while the ANC treads carefully. President Ramaphosa has promised tougher enforcement at borders and warned against vigilante lawlessness, but the June 30 deadline looms, and across South Africa, migrants wait to learn what it will mean.
In the last week of May, about a hundred people from Mozambique and Malawi crowded into the town hall in Kleinmond, a town roughly sixty miles southeast of Cape Town. An angry crowd had come to their informal settlement and told them to leave. They sought shelter in the municipal building, uncertain what came next. Many of them told reporters they wanted their governments to help them go home. Ghana had already arranged flights for several hundred of its citizens to escape South Africa.
This scene has become emblematic of a broader panic sweeping through Africa's largest economy. A campaign group called March & March, which organized its first protest in March 2025, has given all people living illegally in South Africa until June 30 to depart—without clarifying what enforcement might follow. The group has orchestrated marches across the country, from KuGompo City to Durban, Johannesburg, and Pretoria. The rallies have reignited xenophobic sentiment that has simmered in South Africa for decades, periodically boiling over into violence. In late May alone, Mozambique reported that five of its citizens were killed in xenophobic attacks, though South African police gave a lower count of two Mozambicans and one South African dead during violence in Mossel Bay on the south coast.
What makes the current moment distinct is that legal status has become almost meaningless as protection. An Ethiopian entrepreneur who arrived in South Africa in 2000 and is now married to a South African woman—they have a nineteen-year-old daughter together—described the atmosphere in stark terms: "Every day and almost everyone I meet, they are in fear, extreme fear." He added the crucial observation that the violence is not targeting only undocumented migrants. "The sad part is it's not because they are undocumented," he said. "But none of the legal documents will protect you from the violence." Sandy Khumalo, who holds a residency permit and runs a restaurant in downtown Johannesburg serving fellow Zimbabweans, echoed the anxiety. "Since 2009, I've been here, so this is my home," he said. "I'm so stressed."
The backdrop to this crisis is economic desperation. South Africa's unemployment rate has climbed to 43.1 percent since 2020, a rise of 3.4 percentage points. In that same period, the proportion of South Africans willing to welcome all immigrants collapsed from one quarter to just 15 percent, according to surveys by the Human Sciences Research Council, a state body. The foreign-born population has nearly tripled to 2.4 million between 1996 and 2022—representing 3.9 percent of the country's 62 million people, up from 2 percent in 1996. These are real numbers, but they exist in a context of real hardship. Sharon Ekambaram, who leads the refugee and migrants' programme at Lawyers for Human Rights, offered a diagnosis: "People are struggling to hold the government to account and it's easier to blame the migrants."
March & March's leader, Jacinta Ngobese-Zuma, has claimed that illegal immigration ranges from 15 million to 30 million people—figures vastly higher than census data suggests. "South Africa is currently being invaded," she declared last month. "South Africans have become refugees in their own country." The group says it is funded by concerned South Africans through social media contributions, both financial and in-kind. Another prominent figure in the marches is Ngizwe Mchunu, a radio DJ who was acquitted of charges related to inciting riots in July 2021, when more than 350 people were killed following the imprisonment of former president Jacob Zuma.
Political parties have begun to exploit the moment. Smaller parties like ActionSA and Jacob Zuma's uMkhonto we Sizwe are associating themselves with the protests ahead of local elections in November. The ruling African National Congress has tried to navigate more carefully. President Cyril Ramaphosa acknowledged in a televised address that "South Africans from every walk of life have raised concerns about migration and illegal immigration," and he promised a tougher crackdown on illegal immigration and corruption within border authorities. But he also issued a warning: "We will and must not allow groups to use the legitimate concerns of South Africans to destabilise our country through inciting lawlessness and violence." He emphasized that only state officials are permitted to demand proof of nationality.
Otlotleng Mokgatle, a political analyst at Control Risks, noted the danger inherent in the moment: "The issue is highly volatile and even for those parties that might see it as an opportunity it does carry for them pretty big reputational and even internal stability risks." Parties that support anti-migrant marches risk being blamed for subsequent outbreaks of looting and violence. Meanwhile, the June 30 deadline set by March & March approaches, and African migrants across South Africa wait to see whether it will be enforced, and if so, how.
Citações Notáveis
Every day and almost everyone I meet, they are in fear, extreme fear. The sad part is it's not because they are undocumented. But none of the legal documents will protect you from the violence.— Ethiopian entrepreneur and long-term resident of South Africa
South Africa is currently being invaded. South Africans have become refugees in their own country.— Jacinta Ngobese-Zuma, leader of March & March
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does legal status matter so little right now? Surely a residency permit should offer some shield.
It should, but fear operates differently than law. When crowds are moving through neighborhoods telling foreigners to leave, a piece of paper in your pocket doesn't stop them. The violence isn't discriminating between documented and undocumented—it's targeting anyone perceived as foreign.
The unemployment rate is 43 percent. That's staggering. Is that the real driver here?
It's part of it, yes. People are desperate, and desperation makes scapegoating easier. But it's also convenient—blaming migrants lets politicians and citizens avoid harder questions about corruption, inequality, and economic policy.
March & March claims 15 to 30 million illegal immigrants. The census says 2.4 million foreign-born people total. How do they arrive at those numbers?
They don't, really. Those figures are inflated claims designed to amplify the sense of invasion. The actual numbers don't support the scale of alarm, but perception has become the operative reality.
President Ramaphosa seems to be walking a tightrope—acknowledging concerns while warning against violence.
He has to. If he dismisses the concerns, he loses legitimacy with voters who are genuinely struggling. If he endorses the marches, he risks unleashing more violence and destabilizing the country. It's a narrow path.
What happens on July 1st if people don't leave?
That's the question no one can answer. March & March hasn't specified. The government hasn't clarified. That uncertainty itself is part of the terror—people don't know what enforcement looks like, so they imagine the worst.