Behind SA’s migration tensions lies a deeper crisis of institutional trust and accountability

As South Africa approaches the self-imposed 30 June deadline advanced by anti-immigration groups, there is a palpable sense of unease that extends far beyond questions of migration.

The anxiety surrounding this moment cannot be understood solely through the lens of xenophobia, nor can it be reduced to debates about border control. Rather, it speaks to a deeper and more troubling reality: the extent to which South Africans have become accustomed to confronting crises after institutions have already failed to prevent them.

For many, the atmosphere surrounding the current moment evokes memories of July 2021. The violence and destruction of that period left scars that were not merely economic. They exposed how quickly uncertainty can fill the vacuum created by weak institutions and ineffective leadership.

The Expert Panel established by President Cyril Ramaphosa concluded that structural inequalities, poor coordination among security agencies and broader governance failures contributed to the unrest. The South African Human Rights Commission later estimated that approximately 350 people lost their lives and that the economic damage exceeded R50-billion.

Beyond these figures lay something less tangible but equally significant: the erosion of public confidence and the lingering trauma experienced by communities that discovered how fragile normality could become.

The fears generated by recent anti-immigrant mobilisation are understandable. Malawi has facilitated the repatriation of some of its citizens amid growing concerns regarding attacks and intimidation in SA. Yet it would be too simplistic to regard the present moment merely as evidence of xenophobia. Questions relating to migration, border security and social cohesion are being debated across much of the world.

Increasingly restrictive migration policies

Europe and North America have witnessed the rise of increasingly restrictive migration policies and growing public concern around state capacity and social integration. SA is therefore not unique in confronting these challenges.

What distinguishes the South African experience is not the existence of these debates, but the context within which they occur. They unfold against a backdrop of profound institutional distrust. South Africans have become accustomed to learning about corruption, criminal infiltration and governance failures long after the fact.

The Zondo Commission exposed years of State Capture only after immense damage had already been inflicted upon public institutions. More recently, the Madlanga Commission has heard allegations concerning political interference and organised criminal networks within structures responsible for safeguarding the country’s security architecture. Similar patterns continue to emerge across sectors, where inquiries and parliamentary processes reveal failures that functioning systems ought to have identified much earlier.

The implications of this pattern extend beyond politics. They raise important questions about the nature of accountability itself. Section 195 of the Constitution envisages a public administration characterised by accountability, transparency and responsiveness. The Batho Pele principles similarly emphasise service, consultation and openness.

Retrospective accountability

Yet the practical reality often appears to be one in which accountability operates retrospectively rather than prospectively. Failures are identified after institutions have collapsed. Corruption is uncovered after resources have been lost. Lessons are extracted after tragedy has occurred.

The cumulative effect is that responsibility seldom travels upwards towards those entrusted with constitutional authority. Instead, it is displaced downwards. In healthcare settings, nurses frequently become the public face of systemic deficiencies over which they have little control. Teachers absorb frustrations generated by broader social and economic failures. Frontline public servants are expected to answer for decisions taken elsewhere.

Within communities struggling with unemployment, crime and insecurity, migrants and other vulnerable groups become repositories for anxieties whose origins lie far beyond migration itself.

This tendency should concern us because it reflects a broader pattern in which those with the least power are repeatedly expected to carry the burden of failures they did not create. It is perhaps no coincidence that societies characterised by prolonged uncertainty become increasingly susceptible to scapegoating. When institutions are perceived to be ineffective, fear seeks alternative targets. In such contexts, vulnerable groups become symbols onto which wider frustrations are projected.

SA’s democratic history offers no shortage of symbols. Hector Pieterson remains etched into the national consciousness as a reminder of the cost of injustice and the dangers of dehumanisation. More recently, the assassination of Babita Deokaran highlighted the risks faced by those who expose corruption and challenge entrenched interests.

Integrity of institutions

The allegations raised by KwaZulu-Natal Police Commissioner Lieutenant-General Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi have prompted renewed concerns regarding the integrity of institutions that ought to inspire confidence rather than anxiety. These episodes differ in their circumstances, yet they share a common thread. They remind us that societies are ultimately judged not by the eloquence of their constitutional ideals, but by the extent to which those ideals are translated into functioning systems and meaningful accountability.

Perhaps this explains why the present moment evokes not only fear, but fatigue. South Africans have become familiar with commissions, inquiries and promises of reform. Revelations generate outrage, followed by commitments to accountability and assurances that lessons have been learned. Yet the recurrence of these crises creates the uncomfortable impression that, despite the passage of time, the underlying conditions remain remarkably unchanged.

The French writer Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr famously observed that “the more things change, the more they stay the same”. The phrase captures something of SA’s predicament. Names change, governments change, scandals change and commissions change, yet many of the underlying patterns remain stubbornly familiar. There is something profoundly unsettling about a society in which inquiries have become routine instruments for late discovery.

A challenge of social cohesion

The tensions surrounding migration should therefore be understood as a challenge of social cohesion, and as a mirror reflecting deeper questions about governance and accountability. Xenophobia may be one manifestation of this crisis, but it is not its root cause. The more fundamental issue concerns the extent to which SA has normalised institutional failure and accepted retrospective accountability as an inevitable feature of public life.

A country cannot investigate its way towards resilience. Nor can it build social cohesion while repeatedly asking those with the least power to absorb the consequences of failures that originate elsewhere. Unless accountability once again begins to move upwards, fear will continue to move in the opposite direction. History suggests that, when this happens, it invariably settles upon those least able to bear its weight.

Beneath the headlines, the rumours and the uncertainty lies a more uncomfortable question. After three decades of democracy, are we becoming a society that acts only after tragedy, governs only after crisis and learns only after failure?

If so, then the greatest danger confronting SA is not merely that everything changes. It is that, despite those changes, everything somehow stays the same. DM