The words appeared on walls across South African townships weeks before the end of June: “30 June” – a deadline for undocumented migrants to leave, or face removal. The chalked ultimatum, signed by vigilante groups Operation Dudula and March and March, was a crude but effective piece of street theatre. When the day arrived, the feared bloodbath did not materialise; most of the 120 marches were peaceful, according to police. Yet in Johannesburg and Durban, shots were fired, migrants were evicted from their homes, and nearly a thousand people were arrested – a tally that, authorities conceded, included both protesters and irregular migrants. In Cape Town’s Khayelitsha township, a 40-year-old Ghanaian, Bashiru Isak, was shot dead. Ghanaian officials insist he was killed during the anti-immigrant demonstrations; South Africa’s justice minister calls that account “false information” that unfairly brands the nation as xenophobic.

The diplomatic reverberations were swift. Ghana declined a planned visit by President Cyril Ramaphosa, originally intended as a working trip for the bilateral Bi-National Commission. In Accra, government spokesmen stressed that the relationship remained cordial, but the message was unmistakable: a high-level welcome would be inappropriate while Ghanaian nationals were being repatriated in their hundreds and a citizen lay dead. In Abuja, Nigeria’s Senate convened an emergency session. Senator Adams Oshiomhole proposed that Nigeria appropriate the profits of South African companies operating on its soil – including MTN and DStv – to compensate victims. Others called for severing diplomatic ties. The chamber ultimately opted for a more measured path, demanding written assurances from Pretoria for the safety of Nigerians and a full investigation, while pointedly rejecting the nationalisation of South African assets.

Viewed from Rome, the protests are less an explosion of xenophobia than a symptom of a state in advanced decay. The Italian daily Il Fatto Quotidiano notes that foreigners number at most four million in a country of 62 million, yet they are blamed for joblessness that afflicts one in three adults and for electricity blackouts caused by the collapse of the public utility Eskom. The ruling African National Congress, in power uninterrupted since 1994, is mired in corruption scandals, and the anti-migrant marches are, in part, a theatre of distraction. During the Nigerian Senate debate, former leader Yahaya Abdullahi went further, warning that the attacks might be a “coordinated effort to destabilise the government of South Africa” and unseat the ANC, orchestrated by right-wing elements. President Ramaphosa himself has condemned the violence while simultaneously promising faster deportations, more border checks, and the deployment of 3,000 soldiers.

The crisis has forced African capitals to navigate a delicate balance. In Accra, the deferral of Ramaphosa’s visit was carefully framed as a postponement, not a snub, with officials emphasising that the two nations’ ties remain “cordial” and that the president would be welcome once tensions ease. Yet the episode reveals a new willingness among African states to publicly link diplomatic courtesies to the treatment of their diasporas. In Abuja, the Senate’s debate exposed a rift between those who see South Africa as a strategic partner and those who view its government as complicit in the violence. The Italian observer’s lament – that African leaders at continental summits “laugh and exchange jokes” while discussing private interests, rarely the fate of those left behind – captures a frustration that now echoes from legislative chambers to the streets.

As the diplomatic cables flew, the vigilantes made a promise of their own. Jacinta Ngobese Zuma, leader of March and March, told a crowd that her group would return to the streets every Thursday, from now until November’s local elections. The chalked ultimatum has been replaced by a calendar of recurring confrontation, a weekly ritual that ensures the question of who belongs – and who does not – will not fade quietly from South Africa’s walls.