Africa at the crossroads — from exclusionary populism to the prophetic call for a borderless continent

Since the dawn of independence, African states have repeatedly betrayed the very ideals of solidarity they proclaimed. Migrants, often fellow Africans, have been scapegoated whenever economies faltered or political legitimacy waned. The record is damning and stretches across the continent.

In the late 1950s and 1960s, newly independent West African states expelled migrants associated with colonial administrations, branding them “outsiders” even though many had lived and worked in those territories for decades. In 1969, Ghana issued the infamous Aliens Compliance Order, expelling more than half a million Nigerians and other West Africans. The justification was economic hardship and the need to protect jobs for citizens, but the deeper reality was a nationalist populism that sought easy scapegoats rather than structural solutions.

Just three years later, Uganda under Idi Amin expelled 80,000 Asians, mostly Indians, accusing them of economic domination. Their businesses were nationalised, their families uprooted, and Uganda’s economy destabilised for decades.

The pattern continued. In 1975, Zaire (now Democratic Republic of the Congo) expelled thousands of West African traders under “Zairianisation” policies aimed at reclaiming economic control. In 1983, Nigeria expelled nearly two million Ghanaians during economic decline, birthing the infamous “Ghana Must Go” migration crisis. The checkered bags that carried their belongings became symbols of humiliation and survival. In the 1990s, Ivory Coast expelled Burkinabé migrants amid debates over Ivoirité, a toxic identity politics that fractured communities.

The 21st century has not broken the cycle. Angola’s Operação Brilhante, in 2004–2005, expelled hundreds of thousands of Congolese miners accused of engaging in illegal diamond mining. In 2009, Equatorial Guinea expelled Cameroonians and Nigerians accused of “illegal residence”. In the first decade of this century, South Africa witnessed xenophobic violence that displaced Zimbabweans, Mozambicans and Nigerians. In 2017, Algeria expelled thousands of sub-Saharan migrants, abandoning them in desert border zones.

Almost all these “expulsions” coincided with economic decline, nationalist policies or political instability. Migrants inevitably became scapegoats for unemployment, crime and resource scarcity. Despite the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (1981) prohibiting mass expulsions, the practice has persisted, exposing the insincerity of regional treaties and the fragility of continental solidarity.

Ghana Must Go

The “Ghana Must Go” story remains one of the most vivid illustrations of exclusionary populism. Migrants carried their lives in cheap, checkered plastic bags, which became cultural icons across Africa. What began as humiliation has become a reminder of how ordinary objects can carry extraordinary histories. The bag is not just luggage; it is a symbol of exclusion, vulnerability and survival.

The expulsions highlighted the fragility of regional integration. Economic downturns triggered nationalist policies that undermined solidarity. Migrants were treated as disposable, their humanity reduced to baggage. The lesson is clear: when governance collapses into ad hoc reactions, dignity is traded for chaos.

Operation Dudula

Fast-forward to the present, and South Africa has become the stage for the continent’s latest betrayal. Operation Dudula, emerging from Soweto, mobilised anger against migrants, accusing them of “stealing jobs” and overwhelming services. Dudula is not an isolated vigilante movement; it is the continuation of a continental tradition of reactionary expulsions, now rearing its ugliest head in South Africa.

This movement threatens the very prospects of unity at a time when Kenya, Rwanda, Botswana, Namibia and Burkina Faso are dismantling visa restrictions in pursuit of pan-Africanism. Dudula’s rise is a regression into the politics of exclusion when the continent desperately needs inclusion. It is a betrayal of Africa’s future, a refusal to learn from history, and a dangerous flirtation with populism that undermines the very idea of African unity.

Malema’s borderless Africa

Against this backdrop, Julius Malema’s vision of a borderless Africa emerges as a radical yet necessary antidote. His proposal is anchored in five transformative pillars:

1. The removal of colonial-era borders;
2. Free movement of Africans across the continent;
3. A single African currency;
4. One African president and parliament; and
5. A unified African army.

While some pillars may appear utopian, the first two, dismantling artificial borders and enabling free movement, are achievable within five years. They require no revolution, only political will, regional cooperation, and a reawakening of pan-African consciousness. Malema’s vision is not mere rhetoric; it is a strategic blueprint for healing a continent fractured by colonial cartography and neo-imperial inertia.

Cities as crucibles of unity

African cities have been the hosts of migration implosions. From Lagos to Kampala to Accra to Johannesburg, migrants are treated as disposable, their shops looted, their homes burnt and their lives disrupted, yet cities are also the crucibles where new social contracts can be forged. Urban governance must teach tolerance, build literacy around integration, and redefine residency not by origin but by the nature of the transactional and transformative relationships within city ecosystems.

Citizenship must be reimagined as participation in the urban commons, not as a passport stamped by colonial cartography. Cities must become laboratories of pan-Africanism, places where diversity is not feared but embraced, where migrants are not scapegoats but partners in building resilient urban futures.

What does it mean to be African?

The persistence of expulsions across the continent forces us to confront a question that is both uncomfortable and unavoidable: what does it truly mean to be African to Africans themselves? If nationality is repeatedly wielded as a weapon against the vulnerable, then pan-Africanism becomes little more than hollow rhetoric. The very idea of African unity collapses when citizenship is reduced to a fragile shield that can be stripped away in moments of economic strain or political opportunism.

To be African must mean more than holding a passport stamped by colonial cartography. It must mean belonging to a shared destiny, contributing to the life of African cities and communities, regardless of origin. The cushion of nationality should extend to all who build, trade, teach, heal and sustain the urban commons, yet time and again, migrants have been treated as disposable, their humanity subordinated to populist scapegoating.

Regional and international bodies have failed to protect them. Treaties are signed with fanfare but rarely enforced with conviction. The African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (1981) explicitly prohibits mass expulsions, yet they continue unabated, from Ghana in 1969 to Algeria in 2017, and now in the xenophobic violence of South Africa. This exposes the insincerity of commitments made in Addis Ababa, Abuja and Johannesburg. What is the value of pan-Africanism if it collapses at the first sign of economic downturn? What is the meaning of solidarity if neighbours are expelled when times get tough?

To be African must mean embracing a continental identity that transcends borders, one that refuses to romanticise exclusion or tolerate ad hoc governance. It must mean building cities and nations where belonging is defined not by origin but by participation, where solidarity is not conditional but absolute. Until this redefinition occurs, pan-Africanism will remain a fragile slogan, easily shattered by populist anger and economic mismanagement.

The next five years

History has shown us, time and again, that exclusionary populism is a recurring disease in Africa’s political bloodstream, from Ghana’s Aliens Compliance Order to Uganda’s expulsion of Indians, Nigeria’s “Ghana Must Go” crisis, Angola’s Operação Brilhante, and now the xenophobic eruptions in South Africa, yet history also teaches that cycles, however entrenched, can be broken. The recent removal of visa restrictions for fellow Africans in progressive states such as Kenya, Rwanda, Botswana, Namibia and Burkina Faso is more than administrative reform; it is a signal of a new dawn, a refusal to let colonial cartography dictate the future of African unity.

If Malema’s vision of a borderless Africa is taken seriously, and if the brazen energy of Generation Z, already witnessed in the Tanzanian protests after the chaotic 2025 elections, is infused into continental politics, then the next five years will not merely be a period of incremental change. They will mark the birth of a truly borderless Africa. This is not a utopian dream. It is survival. It is destiny.

The prophetic call is clear: Africa must choose unity over exclusion, discipline over populism, solidarity over scapegoating. The continent stands at a decisive crossroads. One path leads to repeated expulsions, fractured identities and fragile states condemned to recycle the failures of the past. The other path leads to a borderless Africa. This continent finally lives up to its promise, where belonging is defined not by origin but by contribution, and where pan-Africanism is no longer a slogan but a lived reality.

The choice is ours. The time is now. And the next five years will determine whether Africa remains trapped in cycles of betrayal or rises to claim its destiny as a continent without borders. DM

Wellington Muzengeza is a political risk analyst and urban strategist offering incisive insight on urban planning, infrastructure, leadership succession and governance reform across Africa’s evolving post-liberation urban landscapes.