The clock is ticking for thousands of foreign nationals in South Africa. By the end of this month, they must either produce valid papers or face the consequences. But for many, the threat is not just from the state. Machete-wielding gangs are terrorising shops and homes in townships from Soweto to Durban, targeting those they accuse of ‘stealing jobs’ and ‘driving up rents’.
This is not a story of politics, though the politicians are involved. This is a story about the price of bread, the desperation of the unemployed, and the tightening vice on the working class.
South Africa’s official unemployment rate sits above 32 per cent. For young black South Africans, it is closer to 60 per cent. In the townships, where the informal economy is the only economy, competition for every rand is fierce. And the scapegoat is often the foreigner.
‘They come here with nothing, work for less, and undercut us,’ said a street trader in Alexandra, who asked not to be named for fear of reprisals. ‘But my children also go hungry.’
That sentiment is being weaponised. In the past fortnight, at least five foreign-owned shops have been looted in the Johannesburg township of Tembisa. In KwaZulu-Natal, reports of gangs demanding protection money from Somali shopkeepers have surged. The police say they are ‘monitoring the situation’, but victims describe a force that is slow to respond, sometimes complicit.
Meanwhile, the government’s ‘Operation Shanela’ is rounding up undocumented migrants, detaining them in overcrowded facilities before deportation. Critics say it is a performative crackdown, designed to placate a restless electorate ahead of next year’s elections.
‘The government is using migrants as a punch bag,’ said Thabo Moruti, a labour organiser in Gauteng. ‘Instead of addressing wage stagnation, instead of enforcing the national minimum wage, they go after the most vulnerable. It’s a distraction from the real issue: an economy that does not work for the poor.’
And the poor are paying the price. On the ground, the distinction between legal and illegal migrant blurs. A shopkeeper with a permit but no passport is still a target. A street vendor with a child born in South Africa is still labelled ‘foreign’. The deadline adds urgency to the fear.
The cost of living is soaring. The price of a loaf of bread has risen by nearly 15 per cent in the past year. Electricity tariffs are up. The petrol price is up. And in the informal settlements, where migrants and locals live cheek by jowl, the tension is palpable.
‘We buy from the same shops, our children go to the same schools,’ said a woman in Diepsloot, balancing a baby on her hip. ‘But when there is no work, people look for someone to blame. It is the foreigners today. Tomorrow it might be the women. Or the disabled.’
Unions have been largely silent, wary of being seen as anti-migrant. But the Congress of South African Trade Unions (COSATU) has warned that the crackdown could lead to a humanitarian crisis. ‘We cannot solve unemployment by deporting people,’ said a spokesperson. ‘We need jobs, not scapegoats.’
Yet the gangs keep swinging their machetes. The deadline keeps approaching. And the real economy, the one where families struggle to put food on the table, trembles on the edge.
