Out of Africa

I

In early April last year, 32-year-old Amuri Djuma was attacked outside his small furniture store in Isipingo, south of Durban. A group of men raided his store and looted most of the goods, leaving him financially devastated and homeless. Eight months later, the looting has dimmed into yet another memory of violence, and Djuma has been forced into resilience.

Swindled out of his assets and unable to re-enter the capital-intensive furniture business, he opened a cosmetics store in Isipingo, supplying neighbouring barber shops with makeup and haircutting material.

Djuma was left at the mercy of his landlord to restart his business. The landlord agreed to delay the rent until the business took off and he managed, based on the success of his previous business, to secure loans to buy stock. “Some South Africans were sympathetic to us after the attacks,” he said, “and so they support us.”

Djuma certainly is a long, long way from home.

He fled the civil war in the east of the Democratic Republic of the Congo in 2004 and made his way to South Africa, the richest country in the continent. “I left the DRC to seek a place where I could live, do business, in peace, so to say, that is why I came here to South Africa,” Djuma said when I first spoke to him on a very wet April afternoon at a refugee camp in Isipingo.

Almost every day, there is some type of attack on foreigners—be it psychological or physical—at the hands of South Africans, a zealous rearguard action over the few economic gains of post-apartheid South Africa.

Djuma’s experience of xenophobia is not unique. Almost every day, there is some type of attack on foreigners—be it psychological or physical—at the hands of South Africans, a zealous rearguard action over the few economic gains of post-apartheid South Africa.

In April 2015, violence broke out in the surrounding areas of Durban, quickly spreading to parts of Johannesburg. Unlike the events of mid-2008, when 62 people were killed during xenophobic violence, the death toll this time was lower, but the level of terror as vast.

“This xenophobia is not an event of today,” said Djuma. “It has been there and will always be there.”

 

II

South Africa has a long, chequered past of xenophobia. Amid varying levels of turmoil in neighbouring countries in the 1980s, scores of refugees entered the country but were only recognised as such after 1993, when South Africa became a signatory of the Refugee Convention. But attitudes, as black South Africans are well aware, can remain stubborn despite formalities.

Like many other developing countries, South Africa is host to hundreds of thousands of refugees and asylum-seekers from across Africa. The queue at one of the country’s four refugee reception centres is filled with Somali, Congolese, Burundian and Zimbabwean people fleeing violence and persecution.

Because of its impressive infrastructure, built off the backs of cheap black labour under apartheid, South Africa suffers from an American-style “exceptionalism”. It regards itself as a “special case” on a continent of “basket cases”.

The country is, however, also host to thousands of economic migrants, many of whom are not documented, from Sudan, Nigeria, Tanzania and Malawi. The level of migration has fostered tensions with local residents and has revealed deep economic and social insecurities in post-apartheid South Africa.

Because of its impressive infrastructure, built off the backs of cheap black labour under apartheid, South Africa suffers from an American-style “exceptionalism”. It regards itself as a “special case” on a continent of “basket cases”. There is no other reason, other than its historical amnesia, that could explain why so many South Africans hold significantly high levels of bias towards foreign nationals, especially foreign black African nationals. The bias also extends to new Pakistani and Bangladeshi migrants operating spaza shops—informal convenience stores—and wholesale stores in the hinterlands, who are seen as inconvenient competition at a time in which there is a rush for a sliver of a slice of a smaller pie.

Like many others, Djuma is particularly concerned about the health of the country because he understands that impatience with a stagnant economy can quickly be translated into violence against foreign nationals. “Zuma is fumbling, and he doesn’t know what he is doing. The economy is collapsing, and if things go wrong, we will be blamed.”

South Africa is staring at another recession: the economy has been crawling at 1.4 percent over the past year, unemployment is at 5.4 million, and the currency continues to devalue following a series of poor decisions by President Jacob Zuma.

There is a deep-seated belief in South Africa, like in many other parts of the globe, that refugees, asylum seekers and economic migrants are a drain on the economy. The rhetoric extends from the populist right-wing narrative in France to the dangerous anti-Mexican, anti-Muslim hate of Donald Trump. In South Africa, the catalyst of the violence came via the words of Zulu King Goodwill Zwelethini, who suggested in March that foreigners were changing the landscape of local culture and ought to return to their home countries.

“Zuma is fumbling, and he doesn’t know what he is doing. The economy is collapsing, and if things go wrong, we will be blamed.”

“We are requesting those who come from outside to please go back to their countries,” he said. “The fact that there were countries that played a role in the country’s struggle for liberation should not be used as an excuse to create a situation where foreigners are allowed to inconvenience locals.” The king’s statement proved to be a preamble to horrific violence.

Mobilising mobs over the question of who belongs and who doesn’t has never been easier. In a shrinking world, migration and identity are the biggest levers of conflict in the 21st century.

South Africa likes to think of itself as the only and prized destination for the troubled in Africa. In October 2013, when questioned over the government’s wisdom of implementing e-tolls in the greater Johannesburg region, Zuma replied:  “We can’t think like Africans in Africa. It’s not some national road in Malawi.”

The arrogance is unfounded. Ethiopia, Uganda, Ghana, Kenya, Rwanda, even Malawi have recorded greater economic growth over the past two years. Meanwhile, Ethiopia and Kenya are by far the greatest recipients of refugees on the continent. Tanzania and Uganda also host sizeable refugee populations.

Uganda, host to ninth-largest population of refugees worldwide, was found to be benefitting from the refugee population who operated small businesses, hired locals and contributing positively to the economy. Even the Pope has lauded the country’s progressive policies as “outstanding”.

Mobilising mobs over the question of who belongs and who doesn’t has never been easier. In a shrinking world, migration and identity are the biggest levers of conflict in the 21st century.

But in South Africa, locals find the success of foreign African nationals infuriating in the face of poor service delivery and a litany of broken promises by the South African government. “Where are the free houses, free education, free water and electricity you promised us at the dawn of democracy?” they ask. The success of foreign nationals, be it refugees or asylum-seekers, is in some ways, the antithesis to a legitimate story of an inept, uncaring, redundant economy.

 

III

In September, Djuma was robbed outside his new store. This time, three men wielding knives surrounded him, stealing his mobile phone and $150 worth of cash. I suspect it’s the reason I couldn’t get hold of him for weeks during September and October when I called repeatedly to ask how he was doing. I thought he had changed his number, or worse, that he had left the country. Turns out he was just a victim of another petty crime in South Africa.

Government and police services often argue that foreign nationals are simply victims of a wave of criminality in the country; citizens are neither safe nor immune to the scourge. But Djuma is able to make the distinction between xenophobic violence and regular criminality.

“What happened in September was just an ordinary crime,” he says. “They just robbed me. It would have been xenophobia if we had gone to the police station and if the police didn’t take us seriously and refuse to file a case. This is often the problem.”

In other words, xenophobia is not simply targeted criminality. It is when the superstructure of the state connives to uphold the negative assumptions of foreign nationals, and defends the criminality perpetuated against them. There are dozens of videos showing police partaking in looting, of meting out abuse to foreigners suspected of a crime, to even raiding foreigners’ homes during late-night police operations.

There are dozens of videos showing police partaking in looting, of meting out abuse to foreigners suspected of a crime, to even raiding foreigners’ homes during late-night police operations.

Last April, the South African Police Service (SAPS) and the Ministry of Home Affairs launched “a cleanup” programme called Operation Fiela. Activists continue to describe the operation as disproportionately targeting foreigners, of cementing the perception that should they lack the necessary paper work, they were “illegal” and therefore a public nuisance. Between April and July, 15,396 “illegal migrants” were repatriated to their home countries. Over the past six months, more than 40,000 people, many in their pyjamas, were arrested in brutal raids across the country.

In early December, the SAPS said they had arrested 127 suspected criminals through Operation Fiela, but wouldn’t say if any of the suspects were foreigners. Authorities have repeatedly denied that Operation Fiela targeted foreigners. Brigadier Jay Naicker, for instance, calls it a “misconception” but the others have framed targeting of foreign nationals as “institutionalised xenophobia” In other words, the state was willingly blaming its ills on the already disenfranchised.

Djuma says the space for foreign African nationals is rapidly shrinking in the country. He said it is increasingly difficult to send money abroad to family. He is especially concerned at the lack of reintegration. He, along with a few others, had returned to the community in Isipingo on the premise there would be programmes in place to ensure that such attacks wouldn’t take place again.

Nothing has been done, however. He feels taunted by the inaction. “It’s the same problem. If something happens tomorrow, we won’t know where to turn.”