EXPERT OPINION: ‘Children of migrants live under a shadow of exclusion’ – UP social work experts
In schools, playgrounds and communities across South Africa, children are growing up learning that belonging is conditional. For some, a surname, darker skin tone or accent can mark them as “foreign”. For others, exclusionary xenophobic language is normalised long before they can spell the words. The result is a generation of children – both migrants and citizens – quietly absorbing the message from adults that humanity can be divided into those who belong and those who do not. Those who do not belong are expected to be silenced and made invisible.
This everyday reality cuts deepest for the children of migrants. They are born and raised in South Africa, speak its languages, have adopted its cultures and know no other home. Yet they live under a shadow of exclusion, constantly reminded that their names, skin tone or family histories place them on the outside. They are neither fully recognised by the country of their birth nor easily accepted in their parents’ countries of origin. When relatives back “home” tease them for not speaking their parents’ languages, the irony is cruel: they are foreigners in both worlds.
In the public imagination, migration still evokes images of adults crossing borders in search of work. But the real, long-term story is unfolding among their children – the second generation who grow up in limbo, facing deeply uncertain futures. These second-generation migrants are part of South Africa’s youth who will define the country’s future and its prospects for social cohesion, yet they are often excluded from influencing it. Their experiences of exclusion, bullying or bureaucratic neglect are not just individual injustices; they are early lessons in how society values – or devalues – human life, especially those seen as not belonging.
Xenophobia has become an unspoken curriculum in our schools. When children hear adults label classmates as “illegal”, “border jumpers” or “outsiders”, they learn to measure worth through nationality. Teachers, overwhelmed by large classes and limited support, often have no guidance on how to create inclusive learning environments. In some communities, social workers and educators witness how the stress of displacement, job insecurity and discrimination filters down to children, shaping their sense of identity and possibility.
The cost of this social climate is profound. Denying belonging to one group of children corrodes the moral foundation for all. When inclusion becomes conditional, empathy and solidarity shrink. Children who are South African citizens learn fear instead of friendship; children of migrants learn silence instead of confidence. The result is a generation divided not only by paperwork but by suspicion.
Belonging and feeling at home are not sentimental luxuries; they are psychological necessities. Children who grow up feeling unwanted are more vulnerable to mental distress, poor educational outcomes and social alienation. This is not only a personal tragedy; it is a social failure. Every act of exclusion sows mistrust that weakens the fabric of communities already strained by poverty, unemployment and violence.
For migrant children, the absence of clear belonging often extends into adulthood. They navigate identity questions that few institutions are prepared to acknowledge or address. While citizenship policies determine legal belonging, everyday interactions shape emotional and social belonging, and it is here that South Africa’s xenophobic undercurrent does its quietest damage.
This moment calls for a collective reckoning. We must ask: what kind of society teaches its children, migrant and citizen alike, that belonging has borders? What hope is there for social cohesion when the youngest among us inherit our divisions instead of our dreams?
Schools, community organisations and social work practitioners have an opportunity and a moral responsibility to nurture inclusive spaces. Belonging can be built through everyday actions: inviting all children into play, recognising diversity in school activities and ensuring social services are not gatekept by nationality. Policymakers, too, must recognise that integration and inclusion are not just about adults crossing borders, but about the futures of all the children who grow up behind those borders.
Ultimately, the question is not only where these children belong, but whether South Africa can become a place that allows every child to belong. The moral measure of our society lies in answering that question.
Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the University of Pretoria.