Last Saturday in Harare squatter camp in Khayelitsha local residents knocked on the doors of foreign nationals to remind them to be leaving. No violence accompanied the xenophobic intimidation, however the xenophobia continues to simmer just under the surface.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Nobody loves a Refugee
Some business owners in Maitland plan to lodge an interdict application to force the Home Affairs Department to move its newly opened refugee centre out of Voortrekker Road. (from IOL)
The City of Cape Town has told the Cape High Court that it is essential to evict more than 200 refugees from Bluewaters, near Strandfontein, because it requires the land as a recreational facility and holiday resort for the upcoming festive season. (also from IOL)
The City of Cape Town has told the Cape High Court that it is essential to evict more than 200 refugees from Bluewaters, near Strandfontein, because it requires the land as a recreational facility and holiday resort for the upcoming festive season. (also from IOL)
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Seething below the surface
'Xenophobic violence could happen today, tomorrow or next week, who knows," shouts Moriti Phasha inside his humid corrugated iron office in Brazzaville, a craggy informal settlement on the outskirts of Atteridgeville, west of Pretoria, and the site of the first outbreak of xenophobic violence early last year. (from the M&G)
Phasha is a self-appointed community leader who handles more than 100 service delivery queries by Brazzaville residents each day.
It's been 18 months since last year's violent attacks and Phasha says the community remains remorseless.
"Who can blame the community for behaving like this?" he asks. "The people of Brazzaville have lived here for 12 years without electricity, water and employment and are very frustrated. It is unfair to expect them to be pleased to share the little space they have with Zimbabweans and Malawians and Mozambicans and Somalis under these circumstances."
Phasha says the attacks were intended to draw government's attention ahead of the 2009 general elections.
"The government's response to the attacks made us look like fools. Instead of addressing our concerns, they rushed to set up camps for foreigners using our tax money. They treated them like royalty and had the police guarding the camps day and night. But nobody ever says anything about our problems and the promises government always makes. We have become victims of the vote."
Despite wide public condemnation of last year's violence, which claimed more than 60 lives and left about 20 000 foreigners displaced, sporadic attacks have continued, say experts. And as frustrated communities countrywide take to the streets in protest against lacklustre service delivery and corrupt local government officials, fears abound of yet another spate of violence.
Dr Loren Landau, head of the forced migration studies programme at the University of the Witwatersrand, says that although last year's attacks were a result of a combination of broken election promises, skyrocketing food prices and electricity outages, they cannot be seen as something of the past.
"When government does not deliver and people begin to feel left out, they are vulnerable to be mobilised for attacks of this nature," he says, adding that the 2011 local government elections will be a platform community leaders will use to mobilise against one another in the jostling for positions.
What worries Landau most is that government hasn't done much to change the situation. "An initial commission of inquiry has gone nowhere," he says, "and it is clear from the draft national plan of action that they still need to understand the real issues."
He says government's approach of attributing the attacks to poor people's increasing impatience with the lack of service delivery further entrenched the idea that foreigners -- more than 75% of migrants are from the Southern African Development Community -- are a threat to people's livelihoods because they are taken care of with resources meant for South Africans.
The decision to give Zimbabweans 90 days visa-free entry to South Africa exacerbated the perception that foreigners are being treated better by the government than citizens.
But Gauteng government spokesperson Thabo Masebe maintains that the victims of the xenophobic violence integrated themselves back into society without any real help from government.
"Our job was to create an environment of safety and communities had to accept that they can live with foreign nationals. None of these communities where the attacks [occurred] had any problems again."
Masebe says this is thanks to government's public education strategies and campaigns by community leaders to convince communities to accept foreigners. "And the message has sunk in," he says.
Landau disagrees, saying attacks have continued but on a much smaller scale. "There have been continuing attacks -- not necklacing, but they have been there."
A recent study by the forced migration programme found that no reintegration had actually taken place. He says victims did not return to their original homes but instead relocated to the inner city, where accommodation is more expensive but deemed safer.
Landau says government has not paid enough attention to the small civic groups that were originally set up in the 1980s and 1990s and which were responsible for organising the attacks. "These groups are community policing forums or street committees that are socially legitimate and which, in the name of security and protecting the community's values, encourage violence against foreigners."
According to recent reports, 137 people have been convicted in connection with the xenophobic attacks, and 182 cases have been withdrawn because of witnesses or complainants having left the country. In May this year 51 cases were ready for trial and 82 had been referred for further investigation.
The national prosecuting authority's Bulelwa Makeke says there have been convictions for these cases under various charges, such as assault and grievous bodily harm, intimidation, murder and malicious damage to property.
"I am, however, not in a position to provide you [with] any statistics and precise numbers, as our information is captured according to conviction rates [for] general crime types," says Makeke, indicating that the xenophobic attacks have not been classified or tracked independently of general crime.
But a brisk walk along Brazzaville's muddy avenues, which draws curious stares from the locals, shows not much has changed and highlights the obvious divisions between South Africans and foreigners.
Unemployed resident Norah Matloa says foreigners in Brazzaville have become stubborn and are quick "to cry xenophobia". She says they are involved in all sorts of criminal activities, but when confronted or reported to the police they claim that they are being victimised because they are foreigners.
"These people are untouchables now and we are nothing in our country," says Matloa. "Most of us are not happy with this situation and I wouldn't be surprised if another attack happens."
Meanwhile, outside the home affairs' refugee reception centre in the Crown Mines industrial area, refugees, mostly Zimbabweans, Mozambicans and Somalis, crowd the busy road. Colourfully dressed female traders selling cold drinks, cigarettes and biscuits have taken pavement space to set up stalls. The area looks like a mini-market and taxis come and go -- loading and off-loading refugees opposite the centre's heavily guarded entrance.
Joyce Sibanda, a Zimbabwean refugee, is one of the traders. She arrives at the centre at 5am daily to do business.
"It is an everyday struggle but it is better than being in Zimbabwe doing nothing," she says. Sibanda's wish is "to get a green book" so that she can conduct her business freely. "For me getting the green book is the ultimate goal. Zimbabwe won't be fixed overnight. It will take a long time and maybe all of us will be dead then," she says, chuckling, fingering the variety of sweets and bubblegum on her stall.
Since the opening of the refugee centre four years ago, tussles about trading space between refugee traders and factory owners have become a common occurrence. Factory owners recently complained to the Department of Home Affairs about the booming informal activities next to the factories and the increase in theft that has come with it.
But Sibanda is not troubled. "We don't care what happens between the department and the owners of these factories. All we want is a better life and better treatment from South Africans," she says. "They can chase us all they can but we are not going anywhere. I'd rather be killed here [in South Africa] than die of hunger in Zimbabwe."
Phasha is a self-appointed community leader who handles more than 100 service delivery queries by Brazzaville residents each day.
It's been 18 months since last year's violent attacks and Phasha says the community remains remorseless.
"Who can blame the community for behaving like this?" he asks. "The people of Brazzaville have lived here for 12 years without electricity, water and employment and are very frustrated. It is unfair to expect them to be pleased to share the little space they have with Zimbabweans and Malawians and Mozambicans and Somalis under these circumstances."
Phasha says the attacks were intended to draw government's attention ahead of the 2009 general elections.
"The government's response to the attacks made us look like fools. Instead of addressing our concerns, they rushed to set up camps for foreigners using our tax money. They treated them like royalty and had the police guarding the camps day and night. But nobody ever says anything about our problems and the promises government always makes. We have become victims of the vote."
Despite wide public condemnation of last year's violence, which claimed more than 60 lives and left about 20 000 foreigners displaced, sporadic attacks have continued, say experts. And as frustrated communities countrywide take to the streets in protest against lacklustre service delivery and corrupt local government officials, fears abound of yet another spate of violence.
Dr Loren Landau, head of the forced migration studies programme at the University of the Witwatersrand, says that although last year's attacks were a result of a combination of broken election promises, skyrocketing food prices and electricity outages, they cannot be seen as something of the past.
"When government does not deliver and people begin to feel left out, they are vulnerable to be mobilised for attacks of this nature," he says, adding that the 2011 local government elections will be a platform community leaders will use to mobilise against one another in the jostling for positions.
What worries Landau most is that government hasn't done much to change the situation. "An initial commission of inquiry has gone nowhere," he says, "and it is clear from the draft national plan of action that they still need to understand the real issues."
He says government's approach of attributing the attacks to poor people's increasing impatience with the lack of service delivery further entrenched the idea that foreigners -- more than 75% of migrants are from the Southern African Development Community -- are a threat to people's livelihoods because they are taken care of with resources meant for South Africans.
The decision to give Zimbabweans 90 days visa-free entry to South Africa exacerbated the perception that foreigners are being treated better by the government than citizens.
But Gauteng government spokesperson Thabo Masebe maintains that the victims of the xenophobic violence integrated themselves back into society without any real help from government.
"Our job was to create an environment of safety and communities had to accept that they can live with foreign nationals. None of these communities where the attacks [occurred] had any problems again."
Masebe says this is thanks to government's public education strategies and campaigns by community leaders to convince communities to accept foreigners. "And the message has sunk in," he says.
Landau disagrees, saying attacks have continued but on a much smaller scale. "There have been continuing attacks -- not necklacing, but they have been there."
A recent study by the forced migration programme found that no reintegration had actually taken place. He says victims did not return to their original homes but instead relocated to the inner city, where accommodation is more expensive but deemed safer.
Landau says government has not paid enough attention to the small civic groups that were originally set up in the 1980s and 1990s and which were responsible for organising the attacks. "These groups are community policing forums or street committees that are socially legitimate and which, in the name of security and protecting the community's values, encourage violence against foreigners."
According to recent reports, 137 people have been convicted in connection with the xenophobic attacks, and 182 cases have been withdrawn because of witnesses or complainants having left the country. In May this year 51 cases were ready for trial and 82 had been referred for further investigation.
The national prosecuting authority's Bulelwa Makeke says there have been convictions for these cases under various charges, such as assault and grievous bodily harm, intimidation, murder and malicious damage to property.
"I am, however, not in a position to provide you [with] any statistics and precise numbers, as our information is captured according to conviction rates [for] general crime types," says Makeke, indicating that the xenophobic attacks have not been classified or tracked independently of general crime.
But a brisk walk along Brazzaville's muddy avenues, which draws curious stares from the locals, shows not much has changed and highlights the obvious divisions between South Africans and foreigners.
Unemployed resident Norah Matloa says foreigners in Brazzaville have become stubborn and are quick "to cry xenophobia". She says they are involved in all sorts of criminal activities, but when confronted or reported to the police they claim that they are being victimised because they are foreigners.
"These people are untouchables now and we are nothing in our country," says Matloa. "Most of us are not happy with this situation and I wouldn't be surprised if another attack happens."
Meanwhile, outside the home affairs' refugee reception centre in the Crown Mines industrial area, refugees, mostly Zimbabweans, Mozambicans and Somalis, crowd the busy road. Colourfully dressed female traders selling cold drinks, cigarettes and biscuits have taken pavement space to set up stalls. The area looks like a mini-market and taxis come and go -- loading and off-loading refugees opposite the centre's heavily guarded entrance.
Joyce Sibanda, a Zimbabwean refugee, is one of the traders. She arrives at the centre at 5am daily to do business.
"It is an everyday struggle but it is better than being in Zimbabwe doing nothing," she says. Sibanda's wish is "to get a green book" so that she can conduct her business freely. "For me getting the green book is the ultimate goal. Zimbabwe won't be fixed overnight. It will take a long time and maybe all of us will be dead then," she says, chuckling, fingering the variety of sweets and bubblegum on her stall.
Since the opening of the refugee centre four years ago, tussles about trading space between refugee traders and factory owners have become a common occurrence. Factory owners recently complained to the Department of Home Affairs about the booming informal activities next to the factories and the increase in theft that has come with it.
But Sibanda is not troubled. "We don't care what happens between the department and the owners of these factories. All we want is a better life and better treatment from South Africans," she says. "They can chase us all they can but we are not going anywhere. I'd rather be killed here [in South Africa] than die of hunger in Zimbabwe."
Friday, October 23, 2009
Nowhere to run
Despite attempts to evict victims of last year's xenophobic violence from a Cape Town safety camp, their future remains uncertain. Their relocation could mean more attacks, writes Yazeed Kamaldien (from the M&G)
Rehema Shindano is 15 and the eldest of five sisters -- refugees from the Democratic Republic of Congo -- who haven't been to school for more than a year.
Having fled their home when xenophobic violence erupted countrywide in May 2008, they now live in a plastic tent with their parents at the Blue Waters safety site in Strandfontein, Cape Town.
Shindano's family was among the 20000 African foreigners in Cape Town displaced by the violence.
Now they face the possibility of a second eviction -- and this time it will probably be back to the townships they fear. They have lived at Blue Waters for about 18 months, against the will of officials who have wanted them off the site since last September.
The City of Cape Town's application for an eviction order to get Shindano, her family and about 300 other refugees out of the Blue Waters seaside recreation area continued in the Cape High Court this week. Meanwhile, Shindano lives in limbo.
"I would like to go back to school one day, but not in this country because I don't feel comfortable here anymore. I would like to live in a safe place where the people will welcome us with open arms. Where people are kind to us. I'm not sure where that will be," says Shindano of her ideal future.
Her younger sisters giggle and play in the small tent where they live. Utensils and foodstuffs are packed on the tent's floor. There is not much light inside the tent as there is no electricity here -- they use candles to light their temporary homes and firewood for cooking. If they want cellphone batteries recharged, they send the devices to friends. There is no hot water; mobile toilets have been set up but sanitation is not this site's best feature. Tents are grouped according to the nationalities of the site's inhabitants.
The site is a sort of no-man's-land the inhabitants of which face an uncertain future. It's a bleak existence at Blue Waters, but the refugees stay on. Why not reintegrate?
Shindano says it simply: "We are still scared of what might happen." She says they had lived in the Samora Machel informal settlement in Phillipi, Cape Town, from the time they arrived in South Africa in 2003. But then everything changed.
"I remember refugees taking their belongings and running to the police station. I was coming home from school that day. In trains people were shouting that they would kill foreigners. We were scared of showing them our faces or telling them that we were foreigners," says Shindano. "We got home and our father told us that we should leave. We knew what would happen. They were saying that we should leave this country."
The Shindanos ended up at a police station, then at two different mosques and finally at Blue Waters. It doesn't offer much.
"People give us food and clothes. That's the happiest time. Sometimes it's very boring to live here. It feels like the United Nations has failed us," says Shindano.
Most refugees at Blue Waters have the impression that the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) will secure them a brighter life elsewhere.
Lawrence Mbangson, an UNHCR representative in Cape Town, has been acting as a mediator between refugees and the city's authorities. He seems to be more sympathetic to the city's desire to clear Blue Waters.
The UN body has been pivotal in moving the Blue Waters refugees to the Delft Symphony Way temporary relocation area, which has problems of its own. Mbangson feels strongly that some refugees are exploiting the situation.
"Some refugees are in this country illegally. They want resettlement … very few people get that.
"Even if you meet the criteria, it can take four to eight years. And they don't qualify. They don't realise that a plane will not come from nowhere to take them to America or Europe," he said.
Moving these refugees to Delft -- which locals call Blikkiesdorp, in reference to its 1 300 flimsy zinc structures -- has so far been disastrous. Refugees say they constantly face death threats from locals, while murders and drug abuse are common.
Samsam Ahmad, a Somali mother of two children, said that she does not "feel safe in this place". She was holding her new-born baby as she talked about her fears.
"Every night they knock and say, 'What are you doing here? This is my place'. They say they want to burn us. My children's lives are at risk. Every night I don't sleep. I left Blue Waters because the UNHCR said they want to give us protection. But now my life is in danger. This is not protection."
A fragile-looking 60-year-old Somali woman demonstrates the loud bangs they get at night on their temporary zinc homes in Blikkiesdorp. An Ethiopian refugee appears, willing to share his story, but is scared of being named.
"I came here [to Blikkiesdorp] because I had no choice," he says. "The UNHCR said it would put us somewhere where there is protection. But here, someone can kill me."
Back at Blue Waters, Shindano is scared and uncertain. She says she had lots of South African friends.
"They didn't feel right about what was happening but I knew somewhere inside of them they felt that foreigners should leave this country. I'm not sure how I knew this. I thought that their parents started talking about it to them," says Shindano.
"When the whole country is against you, it's just not right. You are scared and you just want to run."
Rehema Shindano is 15 and the eldest of five sisters -- refugees from the Democratic Republic of Congo -- who haven't been to school for more than a year.
Having fled their home when xenophobic violence erupted countrywide in May 2008, they now live in a plastic tent with their parents at the Blue Waters safety site in Strandfontein, Cape Town.
Shindano's family was among the 20000 African foreigners in Cape Town displaced by the violence.
Now they face the possibility of a second eviction -- and this time it will probably be back to the townships they fear. They have lived at Blue Waters for about 18 months, against the will of officials who have wanted them off the site since last September.
The City of Cape Town's application for an eviction order to get Shindano, her family and about 300 other refugees out of the Blue Waters seaside recreation area continued in the Cape High Court this week. Meanwhile, Shindano lives in limbo.
"I would like to go back to school one day, but not in this country because I don't feel comfortable here anymore. I would like to live in a safe place where the people will welcome us with open arms. Where people are kind to us. I'm not sure where that will be," says Shindano of her ideal future.
Her younger sisters giggle and play in the small tent where they live. Utensils and foodstuffs are packed on the tent's floor. There is not much light inside the tent as there is no electricity here -- they use candles to light their temporary homes and firewood for cooking. If they want cellphone batteries recharged, they send the devices to friends. There is no hot water; mobile toilets have been set up but sanitation is not this site's best feature. Tents are grouped according to the nationalities of the site's inhabitants.
The site is a sort of no-man's-land the inhabitants of which face an uncertain future. It's a bleak existence at Blue Waters, but the refugees stay on. Why not reintegrate?
Shindano says it simply: "We are still scared of what might happen." She says they had lived in the Samora Machel informal settlement in Phillipi, Cape Town, from the time they arrived in South Africa in 2003. But then everything changed.
"I remember refugees taking their belongings and running to the police station. I was coming home from school that day. In trains people were shouting that they would kill foreigners. We were scared of showing them our faces or telling them that we were foreigners," says Shindano. "We got home and our father told us that we should leave. We knew what would happen. They were saying that we should leave this country."
The Shindanos ended up at a police station, then at two different mosques and finally at Blue Waters. It doesn't offer much.
"People give us food and clothes. That's the happiest time. Sometimes it's very boring to live here. It feels like the United Nations has failed us," says Shindano.
Most refugees at Blue Waters have the impression that the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) will secure them a brighter life elsewhere.
Lawrence Mbangson, an UNHCR representative in Cape Town, has been acting as a mediator between refugees and the city's authorities. He seems to be more sympathetic to the city's desire to clear Blue Waters.
The UN body has been pivotal in moving the Blue Waters refugees to the Delft Symphony Way temporary relocation area, which has problems of its own. Mbangson feels strongly that some refugees are exploiting the situation.
"Some refugees are in this country illegally. They want resettlement … very few people get that.
"Even if you meet the criteria, it can take four to eight years. And they don't qualify. They don't realise that a plane will not come from nowhere to take them to America or Europe," he said.
Moving these refugees to Delft -- which locals call Blikkiesdorp, in reference to its 1 300 flimsy zinc structures -- has so far been disastrous. Refugees say they constantly face death threats from locals, while murders and drug abuse are common.
Samsam Ahmad, a Somali mother of two children, said that she does not "feel safe in this place". She was holding her new-born baby as she talked about her fears.
"Every night they knock and say, 'What are you doing here? This is my place'. They say they want to burn us. My children's lives are at risk. Every night I don't sleep. I left Blue Waters because the UNHCR said they want to give us protection. But now my life is in danger. This is not protection."
A fragile-looking 60-year-old Somali woman demonstrates the loud bangs they get at night on their temporary zinc homes in Blikkiesdorp. An Ethiopian refugee appears, willing to share his story, but is scared of being named.
"I came here [to Blikkiesdorp] because I had no choice," he says. "The UNHCR said it would put us somewhere where there is protection. But here, someone can kill me."
Back at Blue Waters, Shindano is scared and uncertain. She says she had lots of South African friends.
"They didn't feel right about what was happening but I knew somewhere inside of them they felt that foreigners should leave this country. I'm not sure how I knew this. I thought that their parents started talking about it to them," says Shindano.
"When the whole country is against you, it's just not right. You are scared and you just want to run."
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