South Africa’s xenophobia is no longer only a political or social crisis. It is becoming an educational one.
The rhetoric heard in communities is finding its way into classrooms, where children are learning foreigners are to be feared, blamed and excluded.
Not only are anti-immigration groups rallying to displace schoolchildren because of the documents they may or may not carry, but as we saw in Kraaifontein a few months ago when protests turned violent, pupils are increasingly calling for the exclusion of other pupils from schools because of where they were born.
They’re upset about overcrowding, strained resources and alleged safety concerns. The education system is undeniably under pressure, and every year many parents struggle to secure school placements. Their frustrations are real.
However, frustration should not be confused with facts. According to the department of basic education’s 2025 pupil enrolment data, about 250,000 foreign pupils are enrolled in public schools. This is about 1.8% of more than 13-million pupils nationwide.
Whether all these pupils are documented or undocumented is often conflated in public debate, but the figures do not support the claim that foreigners are the primary cause of overcrowding or school admission pressures.
The real pressures on schools stem from longstanding structural challenges such as unequal funding, uneven infrastructure development, demographic shifts, teacher shortages and persistent poverty. It is the pupils from different backgrounds who bear the brunt of the inequalities.
The policies of exclusion do not begin when a child is denied entry at the school gate or expelled. It often begins much earlier: in classrooms, playgrounds and communities where children learn, explicitly or implicitly, that they do not belong.
This is what Delice Lumbu, a coach working with at-risk pupils in Cape Town, experienced growing up. Born in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, she arrived in South Africa as a toddler.
By the age of 11, she had developed “an identity crisis” after years of being bullied.
The cost of exclusive education
Our research has repeatedly revealed dropouts are the culmination of many interacting risks rather than a single event. Poverty, discrimination, weak school belonging, violence and limited psychosocial support combine over time to push pupils out of education.
Our most recent publication, however, insists inclusive education systems improve participation, wellbeing and learning outcomes for all pupils, not only those considered vulnerable.
Xenophobic rhetoric, therefore, poses risks that extend far beyond immigration policy. When children are portrayed as “the problem”, schools can become places of fear and danger rather than belonging.
Pupils who are or are perceived to be foreign may experience bullying, intimidation and exclusion. For Lumba, it was an isolating source of insecurity.
“I wasn’t really proud of being Congolese,” she told us. “I hated the word ‘foreigner’. I just wanted to fit in with my classmates.”
These are precisely the kinds of experiences that research identifies as increasing pupils’ risk of disengagement and dropout. The consequences are not confined to migrant children.
As minister of basic education Siviwe Gwarube recently observed, many South African children themselves lack identity documents because of poverty, orphanhood, administrative failures or displacement after disasters.
Vigilante approaches to documentation, therefore, risk excluding vulnerable, undocumented South African children alongside migrant pupils. None of this diminishes the genuine frustrations of parents who struggle to enrol their children.
The government must continue to improve school planning, expand infrastructure, reduce overcrowding and strengthen administrative systems. Communities are justified in demanding better services.
Blaming children cannot solve these problems. The 1976 history offers a cautionary lesson. Apartheid thrived by dividing communities and assigning blame to vulnerable groups rather than confronting systemic injustice.
In June 1976, thousands of young South Africans took to the streets, believing every child deserved an education that affirmed their dignity, humanity and future. Their struggle challenged a system that decided who belonged and who did not.
Today, 50 years later, as xenophobic narratives increasingly shape public debate about education, we are again confronted with fundamental questions about belonging, access and whose rights deserve protection.
The debate over migrant pupils is ultimately not only about immigration. It is about whether we still believe education is a universal public good. The young people who marched through Soweto 50 years ago demanded an education system that recognised their humanity.
Their struggle was never simply about who could enter a classroom. It was about ensuring education became a pathway to freedom rather than an instrument of exclusion. The unfinished work of 1976 is not merely expanding access to schools. It is building an education system where every child, regardless of where they come from, what language they speak, or whether they possess the correct paperwork, can learn safely, belong fully and realise their potential.
Lumba’s story reflects this pivot and its positive potential for our collective future. Rather than becoming resentful after years of bullying, she found a youth support programme that helped her rebuild her confidence and understand her rights.
Looking back, she credited her recovery and success to something surprisingly simple: belonging. “I met a lot of young people who were like me,” she said. “Instead of creating resentment towards those who bullied me, I wanted to be part of the change.”
- Mansfield is the programme director for the Zero Dropout Campaign
Would you like to comment on this article?
Sign up (it's quick and free) or sign in now.
Please read our Comment Policy before commenting.