Opinion article by Prof Narnia Bohler-Muller, Research Theme Leader: Flourishing Life, Directorate Research Development, University of the Free State

Xenophobia has long been a feature of South African society. What is particularly concerning is that hostility towards immigrants appears to be deepening and becoming increasingly normalised. According to the latest Human Sciences Research Council (HSRC) analysis, the proportion of South Africans who say they would welcome all immigrants has declined from 34% in 2003 to just 15% in 2025, while the proportion who would welcome no immigrants has risen to 42% - the highest level recorded in the survey's history. 

These findings should concern us deeply, not simply because of what they reveal about attitudes towards foreigners, but because of what they reveal about us. 

It is tempting to view xenophobia as a problem that affects only migrants. That would be a mistake. Xenophobia is not merely a threat to those who are excluded; it is a threat to the moral foundations of our society and to the constitutional project upon which our democracy rests.

The frustrations driving anti-immigrant sentiment are real. South Africans continue to confront staggering levels of unemployment, inequality, poverty, crime and insecurity. Many communities feel abandoned by a state that has struggled to fulfil its constitutional promises. These conditions create fertile ground for resentment and scapegoating by those with nefarious intentions. 

Yet recognising the legitimacy of public frustration does not require us to accept the legitimacy of exclusion. Indeed, history teaches us that societies rarely solve their deepest challenges by identifying new groups to blame. 

The danger of exclusion 

The Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben offers a useful lens through which to understand what is at stake. Agamben warned of the dangers that emerge when societies create categories of people who are physically present but politically and morally excluded. He described this condition as ‘bare life’ - a state in which human beings are reduced to their mere existence, stripped of meaningful recognition, belonging and protection. 

One need not embrace all of Agamben's arguments to appreciate the warning. The moment a society begins to ask who deserves dignity, rather than how dignity can be protected, it enters dangerous territory.

South Africans should recognise this danger. Our constitutional democracy emerged from a history in which human worth was systematically categorised, graded and denied. The struggle against apartheid was not simply a struggle against racial discrimination. It was a struggle against a political order that treated some lives as less valuable than others.

The Constitution represented a profound rejection of that logic. It affirmed that dignity inheres in all persons and that human worth cannot be contingent upon race, ethnicity, origin, status or utility. The constitutional promise was never merely procedural; it was ethical and transformative. It sought to create a society in which all people could flourish. 

This is why the rise in xenophobic sentiment should alarm us. The danger lies not only in acts of violence or discrimination, but also in the growing normalisation of exclusion itself. Once exclusion becomes accepted as a legitimate political principle, the constitutional culture that sustains rights begins to erode.

Constitutional democracies do not survive through courts and legal texts alone. They depend on habits of recognition. They require citizens to acknowledge the humanity of others, even when those others are different from themselves. When this recognition weakens, constitutional guarantees lose their social foundation. 

Ubuntu as a constitutional ethic 

At this point, ubuntu offers an important corrective.

Ubuntu is often invoked as a call for compassion, but it is much more than that. It is a profound philosophical account of what it means to be human. Ubuntu teaches that personhood is relational. We become fully human through our relationships with others, and our wellbeing is intertwined with the wellbeing of those around us. This insight carries particular significance in the present moment. 

Xenophobia assumes that flourishing can be achieved through exclusion. Ubuntu suggests precisely the opposite. It reminds us that flourishing emerges through recognition, belonging and mutual care. It teaches that our humanity is not secured by diminishing others, but deepened through our relationships with them. 

Nelson Mandela understood this well. So too did Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Both recognised that denying another person’s humanity ultimately diminishes our own. 

Ubuntu therefore challenges us to move beyond the narrow calculus of fear and competition towards a richer understanding of our shared humanity. This does not mean ignoring the pressures that communities face, nor does it require abandoning legitimate debates about migration policy, border management or resource allocation. Democracies must be able to have these conversations openly and honestly. 

There is, however, a crucial distinction between debating policy and denying humanity. The former is necessary in a democracy. The latter corrodes democracy itself. 

Protecting South Africa's constitutional promise 

Ultimately, what is at stake is not only the treatment of foreigners. It is the future of South Africa's constitutional imagination. 

Do we respond to insecurity by narrowing the circle of belonging, or do we strengthen the values that hold a diverse society together? Do we embrace exclusion as a political principle, or do we reaffirm the constitutional commitment to dignity and equality?

The latest South African Social Attitudes Survey (SASAS) findings suggest that many South Africans are increasingly drawn towards the former path. That trend should serve as a warning.

Human flourishing is not a scarce resource that must be protected from outsiders. It is a collective achievement sustained through dignity, trust, participation and social solidarity. When fear becomes the organising principle of public life, these conditions begin to unravel. 

If Agamben warns us about the dangers of reducing people to ‘bare life’, ubuntu reminds us what is lost when we do so. We lose not only the humanity of those we exclude; we risk losing our own humanity. 

In an earlier reflection, I argued that a society that suspends ubuntu forecloses its own becoming. Today, that warning feels more urgent than ever. The greatest threat posed by rising xenophobia is not only the harm inflicted on migrants. It is the possibility that South Africa may gradually come to accept exclusion as normal, dignity as conditional, and belonging as something reserved for the few.