Authored By: Tshepang Shekgola
Stellenbosch University
I. INTRODUCTION
“A hungry stomach has no ears”: this African proverb captures something I have come to understand about vigilantism through growing up in Mamelodi East, a township in Tshwane, Gauteng, South Africa, and through engaging with the literature. Vigilantism is generally understood as people taking the law into their own hands by attempting to stop crime or punish people they believe have committed wrongdoing rather than relying on formal law-enforcement institutions.
Before engaging academically with vigilantism, calling someone from my community a “vigilante” would have seemed like an easy label imposed by outsiders. It feels different when one grows up in a community where collective responsibility is part of everyday life. The belief that “Ngwana o hodiswa ke motsana” (a child is raised by the village) means that responsibility for a child extends beyond their parents. A neighbour disciplining another person’s child can therefore be understood as communal responsibility rather than interference. This reflects Ubuntu and the idea that the wellbeing of one person is connected to the wellbeing of the community.
It was within this understanding of collective responsibility that I first came to understand vigilantism, not simply as violence or lawlessness, but as a perceived means of protecting the community and restoring what is considered right. My initial understanding was that vigilantism was mainly a response to state illegitimacy. However, engaging with Misago’s multideterminant approach has changed this understanding. Vigilantism emerges from interacting social, political and economic conditions rather than from state failure alone.1
This article argues that socio-economic deprivation, insecurity, social cohesion, collective moral codes, mobilisation, political economy and failures of governance can make informal justice appear necessary. However, the same collective power can create alternative systems of authority that selectively protect, punish and exclude. Understanding vigilantism therefore requires asking not only why communities take the law into their own hands, but also who benefits when they do so and whose moral judgement determines what the community considers just.2
The article first traces how my understanding moved from state illegitimacy to a multideterminant account. It then examines self-help, community moral codes, mob justice, selectivity and exploitation, before applying the same framework to the 30 June 2026 anti-immigration protests.
II. FROM STATE ILLEGITIMACY TO A MULTIDETERMINANT UNDERSTANDING
My initial understanding of vigilantism was closely connected to state failure. In communities experiencing poor service delivery, inadequate policing, unemployment and poverty, formal institutions can become difficult to trust. In the informal settlement where I live, deprivation of basic socio-economic needs such as water, sanitation and electricity has made the failure of the state tangible rather than theoretical.3
However, deprivation does not automatically make people violent. It creates insecurity and survival pressures. When legitimate opportunities are limited, people begin looking for alternative ways of obtaining security, income, belonging and protection.
Misago’s multideterminant approach has made me reconsider whether state illegitimacy alone can explain vigilantism. Socio-economic and political deprivation, xenophobia, collective discontent, political economy, mobilisation and governance interact rather than operate independently. This is important because communities experiencing similar deprivation may respond differently. Deprivation creates conditions in which certain forms of action can become more attractive, but it does not determine the outcome.4
The important question therefore becomes what happens when formal institutions repeatedly fail to meet the needs of a community and people begin looking elsewhere for security, belonging and solutions.5
III. SOCIO-ECONOMIC DEPRIVATION AND COLLECTIVE SELF-HELP
Welfarism, as part of socio-economic and political deprivation, concerns the failure of the state to provide protection and essential services to marginalised communities. In Mamelodi, poor policing, inadequate service delivery, poverty, unemployment, inequality and limited opportunities can deepen insecurity and youth marginalisation.6
This is something I have seen among people I grew up with. Some have joined gangs, while others have dropped out of school as gangsterism becomes part of their environment. When there are few recreational spaces, youth programmes or meaningful opportunities, the street can become their school and gangs their role models. In Mamelodi, gangs such as Boko Haram, a prominent local organised-crime group, illustrate how alternative structures of power, protection and income can become embedded within communities.
This does not mean that poverty causes young people to become criminals. Rather, deprivation can make alternative structures attractive. Through gang and wider community exposure, violence can become normalised as a way of solving problems. A young person can begin to believe that if they want something to happen, they must act for themselves.7
This is what I mean by being “schooled by the street.” Young people can learn from their environment what behaviour produces respect, money, protection or fear. Yet they can also become the visible perpetrators while more powerful people remain behind them. A young gang member may commit an offence, refuse to implicate someone above them or accept responsibility because they believe their loyalty will protect their family or future position. In reality, they may sacrifice their freedom, receive a criminal record or lose their life while someone more powerful receives the greater benefit.8
The same logic of self-help can be seen in less violent forms. “Bridging” electricity occurs when residents make unauthorised connections because formal access is unavailable. Such connections may be collectively organised to meet basic needs, but they are dangerous and can result in death. What matters for understanding vigilantism is the underlying reasoning: a need exists, the formal system does not provide a solution, and the community creates its own. When this logic moves from electricity and basic services to security and justice, collective self-help can become vigilantism.
IV. FROM COLLECTIVE SELF-HELP TO A COMMUNITY MORAL CODE
Collective self-help is not necessarily violent. It can arise from social cohesion, Ubuntu and communal responsibility. Neighbours may protect one another, community leaders may organise safety initiatives and residents may participate in community policing forums or neighbourhood patrols.9
The danger begins when solidarity develops into an authority that determines who belongs, who is dangerous and who deserves punishment.
This creates an “us” and “them” distinction. A community can begin with the belief that “we protect one another” and move towards “we protect ourselves from them.” Someone perceived as a threat can become “othered” and placed outside the community’s moral protection.10
This is illustrated by Mapogo a Mathamaga, a South African vigilante organisation that emerged as a community response to crime and presented itself as an alternative where formal law enforcement was perceived to be failing. Oomen’s description of Mapogo as a moral community demonstrates how collective solidarity can develop into an alternative system of authority and punishment.11
Mapogo’s history also demonstrates that community solidarity is not always neutral or inclusive. During apartheid, many traditional leaders became associated with the apartheid administration and were challenged during the youth revolts of the 1980s. Later struggles over authority demonstrated that community mobilisation could also become connected to questions of who should govern and whose authority should be respected.
Mapogo therefore makes me question the assumption that a community’s moral code is always neutral or universally shared. A group can regard itself as protecting respectable members of society while regarding those who challenge its values as outsiders or threats.12
Social cohesion therefore cannot simply be described as a cause of vigilantism. Ubuntu, trust and solidarity can produce positive forms of community safety. However, those same relationships can facilitate collective violence when fear and anger are mobilised against someone perceived to threaten the community.
The same solidarity that allows people to protect one another can therefore become the mechanism through which people collectively exclude or punish someone else.13
V. FROM COLLECTIVE MORALITY TO VIGILANTE JUSTICE
It is within this context that frustration can contribute to mob justice. Vigilantism is not necessarily experienced by participants as random violence. It can involve rituals through which a community collectively expresses righteous anger, fear and unity in an attempt to restore what it believes is a broken moral order.14
When someone is perceived to have violated the community’s moral code, they can become “othered.” People may physically surround that person, placing them in the middle while the group closes in around them. Beatings, sjambokking, necklacing and lynching can become collective expressions of the belief that a moral boundary has been crossed.15
What concerns me is how individual judgement can become absorbed into collective judgement. Someone who might not ordinarily act violently alone may participate because the community has already decided that the person deserves punishment. It can almost appear as though everyone receives the same signal that a person must be dealt with.
This creates a collective moral compass. The community identifies the wrong, identifies the person believed to be responsible and collectively determines the appropriate punishment.
There is often also a belief that formal justice will not provide a satisfactory outcome. The person may be released on bail, the case may take years or the accused may eventually return to the same community. The community therefore sees immediate punishment as justice.16
The Bontle Mashiyane case illustrates this frustration. Samuel Tsela was arrested in connection with the kidnapping, rape and murder of six-year-old Bontle Mashiyane. The charges were later provisionally withdrawn because of insufficient evidence. After he moved to Mataffin, however, community members reportedly recognised him, warned him to leave and later attacked and killed him.17 The case demonstrates how frustration with formal justice can result in the community substituting its own punishment for state-administered justice.18
This tension can also be understood through S v Makwanyane. The case affirmed constitutional protections of life, dignity and freedom from cruel, inhuman or degrading punishment and ultimately abolished the death penalty. Yet communities experiencing serious crime may perceive formal legal protections as protecting offenders while victims remain vulnerable.19
The problem with vigilantism is therefore not that the community’s anger is necessarily irrational. Formal justice may indeed be slow and imperfect. The problem is that vigilantism replaces one imperfect system with another that does not have the safeguards of formal justice. The community becomes the investigator, judge and punisher.
VI. WHO CONTROLS THE COMMUNITY’S MORAL COMPASS?
The Lubabalo Vellem case demonstrates the selectivity that can arise. Vellem, a community leader in Masiphumelele, faced serious allegations connected to mob-justice incidents. His arrest resulted in community mobilisation and protests demanding his release, and he was eventually released on bail.20
The significance of the case is not to establish that Vellem was guilty. The allegations remained allegations. Rather, the case makes me question why a community capable of collectively punishing people accused of violating its moral code could also mobilise to protect an influential community actor facing serious allegations.
This suggests that vigilantism may not always apply the community’s moral code equally. Belonging, influence and perceived usefulness can affect who is protected and who is punished.21
This is where I think about the community almost as a collective body. Individual judgement can become subordinate to collective judgement. If an influential person identifies someone as a criminal, drug dealer or threat, people may accept that judgement without independently testing the allegation. Yet when the influential person is accused of wrongdoing, the collective judgement can shift. The danger is therefore not only that vigilantism bypasses the state. It can also reproduce the inequalities and selectivity that communities believe they are resisting.22
VII. WHEN PROTECTION BECOMES EXPLOITATION
The political-economy perspective makes this contradiction even clearer. Mapogo demonstrates how something presented as community protection can become economically organised.23
Protection fees are an example. Protection may be demanded from businesses regardless of how small they are. It may involve a woman selling hair on the side of the street, someone selling fruit, a small shop owner or someone selling building materials. These people may already operate within a vulnerable informal economy, yet they may still be expected to pay for protection, with refusal potentially resulting in threats or violence.24
The contradiction is that the people being protected can become the people being exploited. I see a similar pattern in gangs. Young people may believe that joining a gang will provide protection, money, belonging or status. Yet they can become the people who carry the greatest risk while someone higher up receives the greater benefit.
A young person may protect their “boss,” refuse to implicate them and even sacrifice their freedom because they believe that their family will be protected or that loyalty will eventually be rewarded. In reality, the young person may end up in prison while the person benefiting from the organisation remains protected. This makes me question whether participation always means that a person understands whose interests they are serving. They can be both perpetrators and victims of the same system.
VIII. IMMIGRATION, STATE FAILURE AND THE 30 JUNE 2026 PROTESTS
My understanding of the 30 June 2026 anti-immigration protests in South Africa is similarly complicated. The protests were a major national mobilisation concerning irregular immigration, involving groups such as March and March and Operation Dudula. Thousands of people participated in demonstrations across South Africa. Although many demonstrations were peaceful, the broader mobilisation was accompanied by incidents of intimidation, violence and vigilantism.
I do not believe that every concern raised by those participating should automatically be dismissed as xenophobia. Concerns about undocumented migration, unemployment, pressure on public services, housing and the informal economy can be genuine, particularly in communities already experiencing deprivation.
The South African government itself acknowledged concerns about irregular immigration, border management, pressure on public services and criminal syndicates exploiting the immigration system. This is important because dismissing every concern as xenophobia prevents a serious discussion about why communities are frustrated.
There are also genuine institutional failures. The Chidimma Adetshina controversy exposed allegations of identity theft and fraudulent documentation. Importantly, Chidimma herself was an infant when the alleged conduct occurred and should not be treated as the person responsible for it. The significance of the case is instead that it demonstrated how weaknesses within identity and immigration systems can harm ordinary South Africans and undermine confidence in the state.25
I therefore understand why people may feel that the state is failing to control who enters the country, who receives documentation and who remains within it. However, this is where I recognise the distinction between a legitimate grievance and a legitimate response.
I can accept that the state has failed communities while still believing that this failure does not transfer the state’s legal authority to private citizens.
There is a difference between demanding that immigration laws be enforced and enforcing those laws yourself. There is a difference between demanding that corruption be investigated and assaulting a foreign national. There is a difference between protesting immigration policy and collectively deciding who should be removed from the country.
This distinction became particularly important on 30 June. The government recognised the constitutional right to peaceful protest while condemning intimidation, violence and vigilantism. It also emphasised that private individuals are not authorised to demand documentation or enforce immigration law against other people.
For me, this is what makes 30 June important. It shows how vigilantism can develop from a genuine grievance. People experience state failure and eventually begin to believe that the community must enforce the solution itself. The grievance may therefore be genuine while the method of responding to it becomes unlawful.
IX. CRITICAL EVALUATION
My engagement with vigilantism has made me question the assumption that communities simply want harsher punishment. Vigilantism is connected to deeper questions of survival, belonging, authority and trust.
Deprivation can create survival pressures. Those pressures can encourage self-help. Self-help can become governed by a community’s moral code. Social cohesion can provide the relationships through which collective action occurs. Collective action can then be directed against people identified as threats. Political and economic actors can further exploit this mobilisation.
The paradox is that the same community solidarity that protects people can also exclude, punish and exploit them.
Vigilantism therefore attempts to fill a gap left by the state, but it can create another system of rules, punishments and exclusions. Mapogo demonstrates how community protection can develop into alternative authority. Gang structures demonstrate how young people can become both participants and victims. Mob justice demonstrates how collective anger can become collective punishment.26 Vellem demonstrates that community justice can be selective. The 30 June protests demonstrate how genuine grievances about immigration and state failure can become connected to private attempts to enforce the law.
The deeper problem is therefore not simply whether communities have legitimate grievances. It is what happens when those grievances are converted into private authority.
X. CONCLUSION AND RECOMMENDATIONS
My engagement with the literature has fundamentally changed my understanding of vigilantism. I began by viewing it mainly as a response to state illegitimacy. I now understand it as the product of interacting conditions in which deprivation creates insecurity and survival pressures, self-help becomes governed by a community’s moral code, social cohesion facilitates mobilisation, and political and economic actors can exploit that mobilisation.
“A hungry stomach has no ears.” For me, this captures why people may stop trusting formal institutions when their basic socio-economic needs remain unmet. It does not justify vigilantism, but it helps explain its appeal.
Addressing vigilantism therefore requires more than educating communities about the importance of following the law. People cannot be taught to trust the law when they see the law being ignored, selectively enforced or undermined in their own communities. What is preached must also be practised.
This requires responsive policing, equal enforcement of the law, meaningful service delivery, employment opportunities and community leaders who work with rather than against their communities. The state, police and community leaders must work together to bridge the gaps that allow vigilantism to appear necessary. Communities must also have lawful ways to participate in their own safety.
If people see that their socio-economic needs are taken seriously, that the law applies equally and that those in authority are also held accountable, there will be less reason to believe that justice must be created outside the law. The pursuit of justice should not itself become another form of injustice.
FOOTNOTE(S):
1 J.P. Misago, “From Deprivation to Mobilization: Towards a Multideterminant Model of Xenophobic Violence in South Africa” (2025) 11 African Human Mobility Review 1, 10-13.
2 Misago (n 2) 13.
3 G. Super, “Punitive Welfare on the Margins of the State: Narratives of Punishment and (In)Justice in Masiphumelele” (2021) 30 Social and Legal Studies 426, 432.
4 Misago (n 2) 10-11.
5 Super (n 4) 440.
6 Super (n 4) 432.
7 G. Lamb, “Social Cohesion and Violence in South Africa: Constructing a Puzzle with Missing Pieces” (2019) Springer 1, 15.
8 Misago (n 2) 13.
9 Super (n 4) 440.
10 Lamb (n 8) 15.
11 M. Asif & D. Weenink, “Vigilante Rituals Theory: A Cultural Explanation of Vigilante Violence” (2022) 19 European Journal of Criminology 163, 165.
12 B. Oomen, “Vigilante Justice in Post-Apartheid South Africa: A Study of Mapogo a Mathamaga” (2004) 67 African Affairs 1, 15; N. Rush Smith, “Rejecting Rights: Vigilantism and Violence in Post-Apartheid South Africa” (2015) 114 African Affairs 341, 345.
13 Misago (n 2) 13; Rush Smith (n 13) 345.
14 Lamb (n 8) 15.
15 Super (n 4) 437.
16 Asif & Weenink (n 12) 165.
17 Super (n 4) 432.
18 “Bontle Mashiyane: Suspect in girl’s murder killed by mob” News24 (15 February 2017) https://www.news24.com accessed 19 August 2026.
19 S v Tsotetsi 2019 (2) SACR 594 (WCC) para 26.
20 S v Makwanyane and Another 1995 (2) SACR 1 (CC) para 117.
21 S v Hena and Another 2006 (2) SACR 33 (SE) para 40.
22 S v Hena (n 22) para 41.
23 Super (n 4) 437.
24 Super (n 4) 438; Rush Smith (n 13) 345.
25 “Chidimma Adetshina: The Miss South Africa contestant at the centre of a nationality row” BBC News (August 2024) https://www.bbc.com accessed 19 August 2026; International Labour Organization (ILO), “How Immigrants Contribute to South Africa’s Economy” OECD Publishing (2018) https://www.oecd.org/migration/how-immigrants-contribute-to-south-africa-s-economy9789264085398-en.htm accessed 19 August 2026.
26 Misago (n 2) 13.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Table of Cases
S v Hena and Another 2006 (2) SACR 33 (SE)
S v Makwanyane and Another 1995 (2) SACR 1 (CC)
S v Tsotetsi 2019 (2) SACR 594 (WCC)
Table of Legislation
Constitution of the Republic of South Africa, 1996
Journal Articles
Asif M & Weenink D, “Vigilante Rituals Theory: A Cultural Explanation of Vigilante Violence” (2022) 19 European Journal of Criminology 163
Lamb G, “Social Cohesion and Violence in South Africa: Constructing a Puzzle with Missing Pieces” (2019) Springer 1
Misago JP, “From Deprivation to Mobilization: Towards a Multideterminant Model of Xenophobic Violence in South Africa” (2025) 11 African Human Mobility Review 1
Oomen B, “Vigilante Justice in Post-Apartheid South Africa: A Study of Mapogo a Mathamaga” (2004) 67 African Affairs 1
Rush Smith N, “Rejecting Rights: Vigilantism and Violence in Post-Apartheid South Africa” (2015) 114 African Affairs 341
Super G, “Punitive Welfare on the Margins of the State: Narratives of Punishment and (In)Justice in Masiphumelele” (2021) 30 Social and Legal Studies 426
Online Sources
“Bontle Mashiyane: Suspect in girl’s murder killed by mob” News24 (15 February 2017) https://www.news24.com accessed 19 August 2026
“Chidimma Adetshina: The Miss South Africa contestant at the centre of a nationality row” BBC News (August 2024) https://www.bbc.com accessed 19 August 2026
International Labour Organization (ILO), “How Immigrants Contribute to South Africa’s Economy” OECD Publishing (2018) https://www.oecd.org/migration/how-immigrants-contribute-to-south-africa-s-economy-9789264085398-en.htm accessed 19 August 2026
