COPYRIGHT AND CITATION CONSIDERATIONS FOR THIS THESIS/ DISSERTATION

o Attribution — You must give appropriate credit, provide a link to the license, and indicate if changes were made. You may do so in any reasonable manner, but not in any way that suggests the licensor endorses you or your use.

o NonCommercial — You may not use the material for commercial purposes.

o ShareAlike — If you remix, transform, or build upon the material, you must distribute your contributions under the same license as the original.

How to cite this thesis

Surname, Initial(s). (2012) Title of the thesis or dissertation. PhD. (Chemistry)/ M.Sc. (Physics)/ M.A. (Philosophy)/M.Com. (Finance) etc. [Unpublished]: University of Johannesburg. Retrieved from: https://ujcontent.uj.ac.za/vital/access/manager/Index?site_name=Research%20Output (Accessed: Date).

SOCIAL CAPITAL AND TRUST IN A RISKY ENVIRONMENT: MOZAMBICANS IN JOHANNESBURG by Sandra Jane Roberts 909803601

Submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree

DLitt et Phil Sociology in the Department of Sociology of the Faculty of Humanities at the University of Johannesburg

Supervisor: Professor Tina Uys Co-supervisor: Professor Kammila Naidoo

November 2017

DEDICATION

To Dael, in appreciation.

ABSTRACT

Mozambican migration into South was a key source of labour for even before the existed as they now do. The countries are joined by long-standing routes of migration, and social networks and positive cultural scripts act to encourage mobility. Johannesburg is the destination essential to the long-term plans of many Mozambicans, both men and women. They have positive conceptions of the possibilities to be found in Johannesburg in the form of jobs and income-generation, particularly when compared to the opportunities in . However, Johannesburg is not a welcoming host. Legislative provisions largely exclude possibilities for long-term settlement and formal jobs for Mozambicans, who are often unskilled and semi-skilled workers. This makes detention, deportation, and economic exploitation very real risks. There are high levels of resentment against black immigrants in South Africa, which introduce the risk of violence.

This thesis examines the perceptions and experiences of risk, social capital, and trust of Mozambicans who travel to live and work in Johannesburg. The research is based on ethnographic fieldwork conducted in Maputo, and Rosettenville, in southern Johannesburg, South Africa. The study found that Mozambicans applied the concept of risk to Johannesburg, comparing risks to those in Mozambique. Risks were braved to provide access to opportunities that are not available in Mozambique. Having family in Johannesburg was one such opportunity. Most migrated after an invitation from a family member, while a few migrated without reliance on any support networks in Johannesburg. Many gained through social networks and found accommodation and jobs through network relationships. Yet risks in Johannesburg are ongoing, and threaten immigrants’ economic well-being and long-term plans. At the same time, there are opportunities in Johannesburg, such as education. Making use of these advantages while accumulating in order to be self-sustainable is essential to Mozambican migrants who plan to return to Maputo with the necessary material goods, skills and qualifications to continue to earn in that city. A model of how risk and social capital change throughout the stay in Johannesburg draws together the study findings. The shared understanding of risks, or riskos, by Mozambican immigrants in Johannesburg, indicates the existence of a risk culture.

I

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Firstly, I would like to express my sincere gratitude to my supervisor, Professor Tina Uys, for her continuous support and precise guidance in the writing of this thesis. I am also appreciative of her support in allowing me to study full time for 15 months, and to travel to Maputo for research purposes. I would also like to acknowledge my co-supervisor, Professor Kammila Naidoo, for her advice, feedback, and encouragement. Both supervisors have provided invaluable comments and insight. I am also indebted to the input given by Professor Sakhela Buhlungu, who acted as my co-supervisor before leaving for the University of Pretoria.

Secondly, I thank my research assistants, Adolfo Zunguze, who welcomed me into his home, guided me around Maputo and transcribed Portuguese interviews. To other research assistants not named here as per agreement, I am grateful for your assistance and openness when helping me in numerous ways.

I would like to acknowledge Albert van Houten for proofing and providing feedback on chapters. James French is acknowledged for his early support. Dael Morris provided incomparable assistance in clarifying my thoughts and reducing the details of the findings to a model.

Last but not the least, I would like to thank my family: my parents, my aunt Mary and my siblings, Lisa and Aidan and their spouses for supporting me throughout writing this thesis.

The financial assistance of the National Research Foundation (NRF) towards this research is hereby acknowledged. Opinions expressed, and conclusions arrived at are those of the author and are not to be attributed to the NRF.

III

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT ...... I ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ...... III LIST OF FIGURES ...... VIII LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS ...... IX GLOSSARY ...... XI TIMELINE ...... XIII NOTES TO THE READER...... XV CHAPTER ONE: THE SIGNIFICANCE OF RISK, SOCIAL CAPITAL, AND TRUST FOR MOZAMBICANS IN JOHANNESBURG ...... 1 1.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 1 1.2. BACKGROUND AND CONTEXT ...... 2 1.3. PROBLEM STATEMENT AND RESEARCH APPROACH ...... 6 1.4. OUTLINE OF CHAPTERS ...... 11

CHAPTER TWO: MOZAMBICAN MIGRATION FROM THE EARLIEST PORTUGUESE PRESENCE IN MOZAMBIQUE TO THE END OF APARTHEID IN SOUTH AFRICA (C. 1652 TO C. 1992) ...... 13 2.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 13 2.2. EARLY AND MOVEMENTS OF SLAVES TO THE CAPE (C. 1652 TO 1838) ...... 14 2.3. LABOUR MIGRATION AND FORMALISED LABOUR MIGRATION TO THE MINES (C. 1870 – 1928) .... 18 2.4. INCREASED MIGRATION TO SURROUNDING TERRITORIES DURING THE TIME OF ’S (NEW STATE) (C. 1928 TO C. 1960) ...... 25 2.5. LIMITING LABOUR MIGRATION AND MOVEMENT RELATED TO THE STRUGGLE FOR INDEPENDENCE (C. 1960 TO 1975) ...... 31 2.6. REFUGEE MOVEMENTS DUE TO HUNGER AND THE CIVIL WAR (C. 1975 - 1994) ...... 34 2.7. ESTIMATED NUMBERS OF MOZAMBICANS IN SOUTH AFRICA IN 1994 ...... 38 2.8. CONCLUSION ...... 39

CHAPTER THREE: MOZAMBICAN MOBILITY TO SOUTH AFRICA: A RISKY ENDEAVOUR ...... 40 3.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 40 3.2. LIMITED ECONOMIC OPPORTUNITIES IN MAPUTO ...... 41 3.3. POLICY AND PRACTICES OF SOUTH AFRICAN STATE AGENTS REGARDING MOZAMBICANS ...... 44 3.3.1. Migration policy and Mozambicans ...... 44 3.3.2. Policy implementation: Department of Home Affairs (DHA) ...... 49 3.3.3. The South African Police Service and the Metro police ...... 52 3.3.4. Detention and repatriation ...... 54 3.4. PROVISION OF SERVICES TO MIGRANTS ...... 56 3.4.1. Access to policing services ...... 57 3.4.2. Access to health services ...... 58 3.4.3. Access to education ...... 60

IV

3.4.4. Access to financial services and finance ...... 61 3.5. XENOPHOBIA AND VIOLENCE FROM CITIZENS ...... 63 3.6. ECONOMIC RISKS ...... 66 3.7. MOZAMBICANS IN JOHANNESBURG: ESTIMATED NUMBERS ...... 68 3.8. CONCLUSION ...... 68

CHAPTER FOUR: RISK AND MIGRATION: A CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK ...... 70 4.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 70 4.2. HISTORY AS PER BECK’S RISK SOCIETY THESIS ...... 70 4.2.1. Premodernity to modernity ...... 71 4.2.2. Simple modernity to risk society ...... 73 4.3. MODERNITY IN AFRICA ...... 75 4.4. THE INTERACTION BETWEEN CLASS AND RISK IN THE RISK SOCIETY ...... 78 4.5. WORK IN THE RISK SOCIETY ...... 79 4.6. REFLEXIVITY ...... 83 4.7. RISK CULTURE ...... 85 4.8. MOBILITY AND MIGRATION DECISION -MAKING ...... 86 4.9. CONCLUSION ...... 91

CHAPTER FIVE: SOCIAL CAPITAL AND TRUST THEORY ...... 92 5.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 92 5.2. SOCIAL CAPITAL THEORY ...... 92 5.2.1. Bourdieu ...... 93 5.2.2. Putnam ...... 96 5.2.3. Social capital theory: Clarification and discussion ...... 97 5.3. SOCIAL CAPITAL IN MIGRANT POPULATIONS...... 100 5.4. TRUST THEORY AND TRUST’S RELATIONSHIP TO SOCIAL CAPITAL ...... 102 5.5. SOCIAL CAPITAL AND MOZAMBICANS: SOME EVIDENCE FROM OTHER STUDIES ...... 104 5.6. CONCLUSION ...... 109

CHAPTER SIX: EXPLORING RISK, SOCIAL CAPITAL AND TRUST: ...... 110 ON RESEARCH DESIGN ...... 110 6.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 110 6.2. ETHNOGRAPHIC APPROACH ...... 110 6.3. THE EXTENDED CASE METHOD...... 112 6.4. MOZAMBICANS IN JOHANNESBURG AS A CASE ...... 113 6.5. RESEARCH SITES...... 114 6.5.1. Rosettenville ...... 114 6.5.2. Maputo ...... 120 6.6. DATA COLLECTION ...... 121 6.6.1. Participant observation ...... 121 6.6.2. Group and individual interviews ...... 122

V

6.6.3. Questionnaires ...... 123 6.6.4. Media content analysis ...... 124 6.7. BASIC INFORMATION ABOUT PARTICIPANTS ...... 124 6.8. DATA ANALYSIS ...... 128 6.8.1. Transcribing ...... 128 6.8.2. Coding and Writing ...... 128 6.9. DATA SATURATION AND ETHNOGRAPHIC RETURNING ...... 129 6.10. RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN RESEARCHER AND RESEARCHED ...... 130 6.11. ETHICAL CONSIDERATIONS...... 131 6.12. LIMITATIONS ...... 132 6.13. CONCLUSION ...... 132

CHAPTER SEVEN: RISKS AND RISK MITIGATION IN JOHANNESBURG ...... 133 7.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 133 7.2. LOCAL SOCIOECONOMIC FACTORS IN MOZAMBIQUE AND OPPORTUNITIES IN SOUTH AFRICA ... 133 7.3. RISKOS IN GETTING TO AND LIVING IN JOHANNESBURG ...... 135 7.3.1. Risks associated with visas ...... 136 7.3.2. Socioeconomic risks ...... 139 7.4. RISKS FROM SECURITY AGENTS ...... 150 7.4.1. Police harassment ...... 150 7.4.2. Lindela Repatriation Centre and deportation ...... 152 7.5. CRIME IN JOHANNESBURG AND ROSETTENVILLE ...... 153 7.6. XENOPHOBIC ATTITUDES, VIOLENCE, AND THE DANGERS OF SOUTH AFRICAN WOMEN ...... 157 7.7. ISOLATION ...... 160 7.8. CONCLUSION ...... 161

CHAPTER EIGHT: OPPORTUNITIES FOR MOZAMBICANS IN JOHANNESBURG: SOCIAL NETWORKS, SOCIAL CAPITAL, AND TRUST ...... 162 8.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 162 8.2. MIGRATING IN THE MIDST OF SOCIAL SUPPORT ...... 162 8.2.1. Deciders or pioneering immigrants ...... 163 8.2.2. Followers ...... 166 8.2.3. Becoming independent ...... 168 8.3. GROWING SOCIAL CAPITAL IN JOHANNESBURG ...... 169 8.4. ASSISTING OTHERS ...... 172 8.5. THE RISKS OF SOCIAL CAPITAL ...... 174 8.6. TRUST AND DISTRUST ...... 176 8.7. OTHER OPPORTUNITIES IN JOHANNESBURG ...... 180 8.8. CONCLUSION ...... 183

CHAPTER 9: RISKS, TRUST AND SOCIAL CAPITAL AS ELEMENTS IN MOZAMBICAN MIGRANTS’ EXPERIENCES IN JOHANNESBURG – DRAWING IT ALL TOGETHER ...... 184 9.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 184

VI

9.2. A MODEL FOR MOZAMBICAN MIGRATION IN THE CONTEXT OF RISK, SOCIAL CAPITAL AND TRUST184 9.2.1. Relative local socioeconomic factors ...... 185 9.2.2. Initial risks and social capital in Johannesburg ...... 187 9.2.3. Sustained risks, expanding and narrowing social capital...... 190 9.2.4. The Mozambican migration model summarised ...... 195 9.3. MOZAMBICANS AND THE RISK CULTURE ...... 198 9.4. RECOMMENDATIONS FOR FURTHER RESEARCH...... 201 9.5. CONCLUSION ...... 201

REFERENCES ...... 202 APPENDIX I: QUESTIONNAIRE ...... 240 APPENDIX II: SELECTED BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION ON PARTICIPANTS ...... 242 APPENDIX III: INTERVIEW SCHEDULE AND FIELDWORK ACTIVITIES ...... 243 APPENDIX IV: INFORMED CONSENT FORM ...... 245

VII

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 2.1: White established by 1879 in South Africa ...... 19 Figure 2.2: Mozambican provinces and surrounding territories ...... 27 Figure 2.3: Homelands of South Africa, c.1970 ...... 30 Figure 6.1: Southern suburbs of Johannesburg ...... 115 Figure 6.2: Participant referral chains ...... 126 Figure 9.1: Model of Mozambican migration ...... 198

VIII

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS ADF African Diaspora Forum ANC African National Congress CBD Central Business District CDE Centre for Development and Enterprise CoRMSA Consortium for Refugees and Migrants in South Africa DA Democratic Alliance DoBE Department of Basic Education DoH Department of Health DHA Department of Home Affairs DoJCD Department of Justice and Constitutional Development DSTV Digital Satellite Television Frelimo Frente de Libertação de Moçambique or the Mozambican Liberation Front HRW Human Rights Watch ID Identity Document IFP Inkatha Freedom Party IMF International Monetary Fund JMPD Johannesburg Metropolitan Police Department MDC Maputo Development Corridor NGO Non-governmental Organisation NP National Party PPP Public-Private Partnership SADC Southern African Development Community SAPS South African Police Service StatsSA Statistics South Africa, the national statistics agency of South Africa Renamo Resistência Nacional Moçambicana or the Mozambican National Resistance RRO Refugee Reception Office SAHRC South African Human Rights Commission SAMP Southern African Migration Project SDI Spatial Development Initiative, a methodology for encouraging investment and infrastructure development in specific locations

IX

UCKG Universal Church of the Kingdom of God UN United Nations UNHRC United Nations High Commission for Refugees US United States USD United States Dollar VFS Previously Visa Facilitation Services, an international private company that receives visa applications on behalf of applicants and sends them to the Department of Home Affairs VOC Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie or the Dutch East Indian Company, a transnational company given responsibility for developing the Cape WLNA Witwatersrand Native Labour Association (sometimes shortened to Wenela) ZAR South African Rand ZANU-PF African National Union – Patriotic Front ZCC Zionist Christian Church

X

GLOSSARY There are various spellings of many of these terms. The glossary spellings are adopted throughout.

Anglo-Boer War Also termed the South African war, it is the second war fought for independence of Orange Free State and the from the British.

Aventureiro Adventurer, associated in Vidal’s work (2011) with setting out to Johannesburg in search of making enough to build a house.

Assimilados A class of African under Portuguese colonialism in terms of which the indigenous person was considered to be civilised, accompanied by the adoption of the and other marks of being civilised. Frequently used interchangeably with Civilados.

Basotho People of Sotho heritage or from Lesotho.

Chamber of Mines An association of mine worker employers in South Africa.

Chibalo The system and/or practice of under the Portuguese colonialists, sometimes spelt shibalo.

Indígenas Indigenous Mozambicans.

Joni Mozambican slang term for Johannesburg

Location An older word that now would be considered a township (see below).

Metro police Metropolitan police, in this study particularly from the Johannesburg metropolitan area.

Prazos A land grant or lease to colonists, settlers and traders in Portuguese Africa

XI

Security Cluster The Justice, Crime Prevention and Security Cluster, a joint initiative of the SAPS, SANDF and DHA to secure the safety of all in South Africa.

Spaza A tuck shop often run from a house.

Taxi A minibus van used for transport.

Township The use of the word ‘township’ has changed over time. Initially, it meant a suburb, more commonly now it refers to an area where black South Africans are likely to live. Townships often consist of a combination of formal and informal housing.

Tsotsis Colloquially used term for criminals.

Wards Suburbs that are grouped together for the purpose of local governance and enumeration by Statistics South Africa (StatsSA) in censuses.

Witwatersrand A region named after the ridge that runs roughly west-east for 56 kilometres, from Randfontein in the west to Springs and Nigel in the east, which is roughly the current greater Johannesburg.

Zanj Slaves from eastern Africa including Mozambique, and .

XII

TIMELINE c 600 Trade routes from Asia to southern Africa are already established c 1450 Portuguese take over the Arab port of in Mozambique

1652 First Dutch, German and French settlers arrive in the

1658 First slaves arrive at the Cape Colony

1700s At this point, most slaves in Cape Colony are from Mozambique and Madagascar

1807 Slave trade (not yet slavery) is abolished in British colonies

1820s Portugal’s most profitable colony, , gains its independence

1833 Slavery Abolition Act is passed by the United Kingdom abolishing slavery in the

1834 Slavery is abolished in the Cape Colony

1835 First great movement out of Cape Colony by Dutch settlers, termed the Great Trek

1852 (Transvaal) is established

1870s First free Mozambican labourers came to work in the mines in Kimberley and on farms in the Cape and in railways and harbours

1870s Roads are built linking Portuguese Mozambique with the Afrikaner South African Republic

1885 Act of Berlin signed, triggering European powers to scramble to control African territories

1886 is discovered on the Witwatersrand

1889 Rosettenville is proclaimed

1890 Portuguese laws are passed to lease land to companies and force Mozambicans to labour for companies in Mozambique

1897 First agreement between the Portuguese and South African governments signed to ensure labour to mines

1901 Modus vivendi agreement signed by the British and the Portuguese governments that secured labour for the mines and traffic through Mozambican ports

1902 The South African, or second Anglo-Boer war, ended

1926 A military coup takes place in Portugal

XIII

1928 An agreement is signed between Portugal and South Africa to have a portion of miners’ wages paid upon return to Mozambique (termed deferred pay)

1932 Salazar becomes Prime Minister of Portugal

1932 Portugal enforces policy on growing in Mozambique causing massive migration to surrounding countries c1950 Rosettenville becomes a Portuguese and Madeiran enclave known as ‘Little Portugal’

1951 Bantu Authorities Act No. 68 of 1951 is signed

1959 Shangaan tribe is granted their own homeland in South Africa, called Gazankulu

1960 Decolonisation was well underway in Africa, drawing the South African and Portuguese governments closer

1960s Mozambican labour is reduced in favour of internal labour migration system in South Africa

1962 Frelimo (Frente de Libertação de Moçambique or the Mozambican Liberation Front) formed 1964 Frelimo launches their first attack against Portuguese rulers in Mozambique starting the war of liberation

1970s White Mozambicans fleeing conflict are welcomed into South Africa (this continued into the 1980s)

1974 Mozambique gains independence

1977 Civil war breaks out in Mozambique, causing refugees to flee Mozambique in the 1980s and 1990s

1991 The Aliens Control Act (No. 96) is signed to ‘control, contain and export’ external threats

1992 ends

1994 Apartheid falls

2005 Mozambicans qualify for an automatic 30-day visitor’s visa when crossing the border

2016 90-day visitors’ visa available for Mozambicans entering South Africa

XIV

NOTES TO THE READER Quotes from participants have been lightly edited to improve their clarity, as they were oftentimes not as clear when written as they were when heard. Some such edits included correcting pronunciation for legibility (for example ‘dis’ was replaced by ‘this’ where appropriate), other times the personal pronouns where corrected (for example him’s was replaced by their to better capture the meaning). In a few instances, participants’ statements were reordered to make their meaning clear in order to summarise a long story. Such edits have been kept as few and small as possible in an attempt to retain their character and colour. The changes made do not change the intended meanings of the speaker.

Names have been changed to protect the identities of participants. Participants are identified only by these pseudonyms and the site of their interview.

XV

CHAPTER 1

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF RISK, SOCIAL CAPITAL, AND

TRUST FOR MOZAMBICANS IN JOHANNESBURG

1.1. Introduction

Rosettenville, the suburb of Johannesburg in which this research takes place, was proclaimed in 1880, shortly after the discovery of gold. It was laid out as a residential area for European settlers in what would become the city of Johannesburg, with streets after the founder’s children and flowers. Rosettenville might have become a prosperous suburb, but it had the disadvantage of lying to the south of Johannesburg. The area had only poor-quality ore and infrastructure linking the area to the capital of Pretoria was poorer than that lying to the north of the city. It was also later cut off from the rest of the city by the formation of a belt. The southern suburbs were snubbed by those who could afford to live elsewhere (Hart 1968).

In the late 1880s and early 1890s, when the gold mining industry became established in the Transvaal province and required large numbers of unskilled (black) labourers (Beavon 2004: 22). In the late 19th century, the Portuguese and South African governments signed the first in a series of labour agreements that would ensure a steady supply of black workers from Portuguese (now Mozambique). These agreements led to Mozambicans arriving at the goldfields of the Witwatersrand1 as contract labourers (First 1983:15). Some Mozambicans entered without contracts, as the border separating the two countries was easily crossed, and Shangaan (a tribe from southern Mozambique) labour was highly sought after (MacDonald 2014; Murray 1995). Mozambicans formed the majority of miners on the Witwatersrand, depopulating southern Mozambique and inhibiting the country’s development (First 1983:15).

White prospectors, coming to Johannesburg, were followed in short order by tradespeople, and the city flourished and industrialised, making money after both world wars. The population of Europeans from countries considered as ‘less desirable’ immigrants by the South African

1 The area in which Johannesburg lies and gold in South Africa is found

1

government also grew. White from both mainland Portugal and the island of were not considered ideal immigrants. Madeirans, who were often prevented from legal migration from 1913, entered illegally through Mozambique, and travelled to Johannesburg using the same paths as black Mozambicans (MacDonald 2012: 103; Peberdy 2009: 127. Many Portuguese-speaking people (both Portuguese and Madeiran) settled in the working-class suburb of Rosettenville. The Portuguese population was notably poorer than other white South Africans. By the 1940s, Rosettenville had become an enclave for white Portuguese-speaking immigrants (Beavon 2004: 185; Glaser 2012: 220, 221).

These snapshots are of the distant past. Today, Rosettenville is a neighbourhood of mixed races and nationalities, with many Portuguese South Africans having dispersed to other parts of Johannesburg and abroad (Glaser 2012: 220, 221). However, Portuguese is still widely spoken in Rosettenville and the area is still home to Portuguese businesses. In the post-apartheid period, Mozambicans no longer form the majority of miner labourers on the Witwatersrand (Kabwe-Segatti 2006: 67). In the contemporary period, Mozambicans who come to South Africa are more likely to be tradespeople, domestic workers and traders (Dinat and Peberdy 2007; Rogerson 1997, 1999). According to the 2011 South African census, foreigners make up a significant proportion of the population of Rosettenville2, and among them are Mozambicans3. The Mozambicans who currently live in the suburb of Rosettenville form the centre of this study.

1.2. Background and context

Throughout human history, migration has been the rule rather than the exception. Viewing current mobility outside the historical population movements in southern Africa gives a distorted view of present migration. In fact, there have been critiques about the scholarly ‘sedentary bias’ that pervades studies of migration, inspiring a new body of writing on mobility as the norm (Malkki 1992; Sheller 2011; Sheller and Urry 2006). People moved to trade or due to war or climatic variation. Long before colonial powers demarcated borders, southern Africa had sophisticated social conventions in place to provide travellers with assistance (MacDonald 2012: 9).

2 And the other suburbs that make the ward or local authority area in which Rosettenville lies. 3 Rosettenville and other areas close to the inner city are known to have relatively high portions of foreigners in comparison with the population in general

2

The geographical location that is now Mozambique virtually ensured migration would be a regular occurrence. The initially attracted the attention of traders due in large part to the proximity of gold from . Slave traders, both Arab and Portuguese, followed (Iliffe 1995: 53, 54, 128, 325; Vernet 2009: 48–49). Advances in maritime technology in the mid-fifteenth century enabled the Portuguese to establish control of ports down the east coast of Africa, including Mozambique (Tignor et al., 2013: 453, 454). This enabled the Portuguese to participate in the slave trade with people taken from the region. In the 1800s, the first Mozambicans who arrived in the region that is now South Africa, came to the Cape Colony as slaves (Harries 2014: 324). Later, Mozambican and Malagasy slaves grew to be the biggest proportion of slaves arriving at the Cape (Fourie 2012: 4).

After gold was discovered on the Witwatersrand in 1886, Mozambican migrant labourers began coming to the Transvaal. A string of intergovernmental agreements secured South African mines the right to recruit labourers from southern Mozambique (Katzenellenbogen 1982: 36–38). The colony of Portuguese East Africa (later called Mozambique) brought income to Portugal, even as the ‘empire’ lost the it’s remunerative slave trade, as the slave trade was abolished by Britain, who forced other European powers to comply. Gold mining in South Africa remained profitable throughout the first decades of the twentieth century despite low-grade ore and high machinery costs, because of the abundance of cheap labour, much of which was Mozambican (Davenport 2013: 319; Smith 1991: np).

The people who lived in the territory that was to become Mozambique had fallen increasingly under the power of the Portuguese. They opted to migrate under contract or informally rather than remain in the Portuguese colony and endure hut taxes, forced labour, famine, and floods. There were opportunities for Mozambican chieftains, who received income in exchange for workers. Migrant labourers gained employment in South Africa with higher wages, increased availability of goods, and greater economic opportunities than those in Mozambique (First 1983; Newitt 1994: 491–498).

In the 1950s, the process of decolonisation in Africa had started and gathered pace (Dudley 1984: 60). However, in the , Portugal fought to retain her African colonies4 against

4 Angola, Guinea-, and Mozambique, as well as the islands of , and São Tomé and Príncipe.

3

significant international pressure. Portuguese colonies in Africa began to engage in an armed struggle to free themselves from oppression. Led by the Frente de Libertação de Moçambique or the Mozambican Liberation Front (Frelimo), Mozambicans began their fight for independence in 1964 (Funada-Classen 2012: 206; Newitt 1994: 532–534). In the 1960s, the South African government cut down foreign labour in preference to local labour to keep ‘dangerous’ nationalist ideas out of the country. Simultaneously, the Portuguese and South African authorities grew closer in the interests of maintaining white power in southern Africa (Correia 2007: 90; Miller 2012: 184).

Independence was finally granted to Mozambique in 1974, not because of a military victory, but because of a coup in Portugal. Most of the educated Portuguese population fled the country after liberation, leaving most skilled positions vacant. Assets and money were taken out of the country. Subsequently, income from migrant labour was reduced, firstly through the drastic reduction of foreign labour in South Africa, in favour of an internal migrant labour system. Secondly, the long-standing deferred payment arrangement, which had ensured that a portion of the miners’ wages were paid in Mozambique, was broken. Deferred pay contributed a significant portion of the total income to the economy. The loss of both resulted in a considerable loss to the economy. In addition, the expected financial support from communist countries was slow in coming through. Famine followed, with the scrapping of the forced labour system (chibalo) and quotas hitherto in place for peasant farming. Droughts followed floods from 1977 to 1982 (Funada-Classen 2012: 386; Morgan 1990: 602; Newitt 1994: 552).

In 1977, civil war broke out in Mozambique. The perceived threat posed by a stable black communist government to white and capitalist interests in the region contributed to the conflict. The war was supported by (now Zimbabwe) and South Africa with the aim of maintaining the stability of white rule in these countries (Funada-Classen 2012: 5–7; Newitt 1994: 564). Refugees fled to surrounding countries, including South Africa (McGregor 1994). The struggle for independence and the Civil War saw up to a third of Mozambicans flee the country, many of whom came into the racially-segregated system in South Africa, which designated ‘homelands’ or ‘Bantustans’ for different tribes. The Shangaan tribe had been granted the homeland of Gazankulu, and some Mozambican Shangaan were often welcomed there (Lubkemann 2005; Polzer 2004).

4

The Mozambican Civil War ended in 1992. Two years later, apartheid fell in South Africa. By this time there was a sizable number of Mozambicans in the country. An estimated 350 000 Mozambicans had entered South Africa as refugees in the 1980s and 1990s (Dolan 1995). In a succession of amnesties during the 1990s, Mozambicans and others from the South African Development Community (SADC) were offered permanent residency. For various reasons, few took up these offers and even fewer had their applications approved (De Vletter 1999; McDonald 1999). Others were already citizens, having obtained legitimate or illegitimate documents (MacDonald 2014; Polzer 2008).

By the start of the post-apartheid period, significant numbers of Mozambicans had migrated to, and many remained in, South Africa. Some were able to take advantage of the amnesties and gained permanent residence permits. However, in the 1990s, Mozambicans were overwhelmingly targeted for deportation. Over the course of four years, half a million Mozambicans were deported. Many simply re-entered the country illegally. These processes left a sizable number of Mozambicans in South Africa without papers, despite the country’s political commitments to Mozambican refugees (Covane, Macringe and Crush 1998).

In 2005, a 30-day automatic visa was approved by South Africa for Mozambicans. The period was extended from 30 days to 90 days in 2016 (Ngwenya 2015). This visa facilitates entry and is useful for cross-border traders, but for Mozambicans who enter the country to work, as many have throughout history, it allows for exploitation by employers. Although the number of Mozambicans working in mining has decreased, an inter-governmental agreement remains in place (Crush, Ulicki, Tseane and Jansen van Vuuren 1999). Currently, Mozambicans work as farm workers, in construction, motor car repair, vending and trading, as domestic workers, and subcontracted mine workers (Dinat and Peberdy 2007; Rogerson 1997, 1999). These forms of work are often informal and precarious, making permanent residency and work permits difficult to get.

Contemporary migration of Mozambicans has fundamentally changed in character. It has become more feminised, more temporary (or conceived as temporary), and more trade-related (Dodson 2000; Söderbaum 2004: 167; Vidal 2010, 2014). Travel to Johannesburg from Maputo is easy, fast and relatively cheap, which may serve to attract immigrants. Migration has increasingly become inter-urban. Maputo, the capital of Mozambique, has densified and expanded as a result of urbanisation due to the civil war and other factors. In addition, the arid

5

southern Mozambique conditions provide little food or employment (de Brito, Chaimite, Pereira, Shankland and Sambo 2014). Historical migration links, perceptions of better economic opportunities, and cross-border social networks continue to drive migration from Mozambique to South Africa, often straight from Maputo to Johannesburg. (Gallego and Mendola 2013; Muanamoha, Maharaj, and Preston-Whyte 2010; Vidal 2010).

The presence of foreigners in South Africa is often considered a security threat, and deportation is the method used for dealing with unwanted non-nationals. The South African repatriation system has drawn repeated criticism from human rights activists for violating the rights of the people detained (HRW 1998; LHR 2010, 2012; LHR and CoRMSA 2010; SAHRC 1999, 2000, 2015). The system is expensive and ineffective, as foreigners simply re-enter the country illegally. The Department of Home Affairs (DHA) annual reports complain of a lack of funds and personnel to oversee the process, while lawsuits against the Department on the treatment of foreigners drain the available budget (Amit 2012; Covane, Macringe and Crush 1998; DHA 2011, 2014, 2015).

There are a limited number of contemporary studies on Mozambicans migrating to Johannesburg. Many authors have looked at the historical linkages between South Africa and southern Mozambique, including the physical infrastructure (De Vletter 1998; First 1983; Harries 1994, 2014; Katzenellenbogen 1982; MacDonald 2012). There has been some exploration into social networks of Mozambicans in the city (Madsen 2004). Some recent studies have focused on the links between Maputo and Johannesburg (Helgesson 2008), and particularly Mozambicans from Maputo migrating to Johannesburg, notably by Dominque Vidal (2007, 2010, 2011, 2014). Vidal’s (2014) greatest work on the subject is published in French; there are few English-language sources that explore these links (cf. Vidal 2007, 2011).

1.3. Problem statement and research approach

Mozambicans have historically moved to South Africa in response to floods, colonialism, war, and economic hardships. Scholars have noted that, once established, migratory systems between countries tend to be relatively stable. The formation of networks influences people to migrate from sending to receiving areas (Massey et al. 1993: 448–454). Mozambicans often have networks in place to assist new immigrants based on these historical links, as well as drawing on the positive social constructions of migration (Muanamoha et al. 2010; Newitt

6

1994: 413). In addition, infrastructure and the availability of automatic visitors’ visas make travelling to Johannesburg relatively easy and inexpensive (Madsen 2004: 10; Vidal 2007: 58).

The word ‘risk’ has entered daily parlance, and elaborate theorisation has developed from numerous intellectual traditions, including anthropology (Douglas and Wildavsky 1983; Douglas 1994) and sociology (Giddens 1990; Beck 1995, 1999, 2009). Beck’s concept of the risk society is the best known of the risk perspectives. He argues that under conditions of late modernity, risks have multiplied, and people are more aware of risks, which are global in nature, in that they can cross borders, and are distributed throughout societies (1999: 49). By this Beck means that people everywhere are affected by risks caused by events far away, for example, climate change. They are also aware of risks through the media. According to Beck, risks have both an element of social construction and very real impacts on people’s lives outside of such constructions (Beck 2006: 61). The term ‘risk culture’ as argued for by Lash (2000), better captures what Beck describes, in that society implies organisation and order, which is undermined in the current, late modern period. Lash considers the understanding of risk to be loose and shared, yet fragmented and contested, and to vary between groups.

The experiences of Mozambicans entering South Africa and Johannesburg are marked by risk (Hassim, Kupe and Worby 2008; HSRC 2008, Landau 2004b, 2008b; Misago 2009). Once in South Africa, Mozambicans and other foreigners face xenophobic attitudes and even violence from citizens. Non-nationals face hostility from officials and the denial of health and other services. Moreover, Mozambican paradigms of migration carry the connotations of risk. Vidal (2010) found that immigrants from Mozambique considered themselves aventureiros (adventurers), a word which implies danger. Migration to Johannesburg and South Africa has long been considered a rite of passage for Mozambicans (First 1983; Pirie 1993: 729), which carries connotations of hardship. The South African state and its citizens have long viewed foreigners as security risks and a threat to the national body (Neocosmos 2010; Nyamnjoh 2006; Von Lieres 2005). Vigneswaran (2007) used the concept of risk and related it to current theory, but from the perspective of media portrayals rather than those of immigrants. As far as could be determined in the reviewed literature, there has hitherto not been a study that unpacks the perceptions of risks recognised by people migrating from Maputo to Johannesburg.

Internationally, migration has not been extensively explored in terms of the risk perceptions of migrants. Williams and Baláž (2012, 2014) noted this lack and argued that risk theory provides

7

a fruitful approach to exploring migration. O’Brien (1996), applied Beck’s idea of the risk society to immigration into Germany; however, this from the perspective of the national population, rather than the immigrants themselves. The concept of risk has seldom been used to look at migration, either in South Africa or globally (Williams and Baláž 2012). The exception is Massey (1990, 1999), who referred to migration as a risk mitigation strategy, but did not use data from Africa. Other studies have considered the social identity aspects of migration, where risk is incorporated into a person’s sense of self. In this case, the positive connotations of risk and migration are incorporated into people’s social identity (Elsrud 2001). In studies where risks and risk perceptions are the central concern, the risks perceived and faced by immigrants were often not central to the study (cf. Tulloch and Lupton 2003).

This study takes the concept of risk and Beck’s conceptualisation of the risk society or risk culture as a departure point to explore how migration decisions are framed, and how Mozambicans understand the risks they face when they come to South Africa. This thesis explores their perceptions of risk and the actual risks that they experience. Conceptually, it also includes risk as a social portrayal, where risks are understood and portrayed in such a way as to lessen an individual’s anxiety (Joffe 2003).

Migration is not a phenomenon driven solely by economic concerns. It has social aspects and connotations that have been explored through the concept of social capital. Bourdieu (1986) expanded the concept of economic capital by introducing social, cultural, and symbolic capital. Other theorists viewed social capital as providing support for people through social means. Field (2008: 1) noted that social capital’s ‘central thesis can be summed up in two words: relationships matter’. Social relationships have an impact on the quality of people’s lives and are thus a resource. It is embedded in social networks and require effort and time to develop. The concept became popular in the social sciences when international bodies adopted and applied it as a palliative for impoverished countries and communities, a practice that has been critiqued (Cheong et al. 2007; Fine 2010; Fine and Green 2000; Portes and Borocz 1989).

The role of social capital has been increasingly explored in studies of urban Africa (Madhavan and Landau 2011). For immigrants, some factors act to lower the risks of migrating. Established networks lower the risks of acting on poor quality information, and the psychological costs of moving to a new location (Fine 2004; Kau and Sirmians 1977). In addition, networks and ethnic commonality can be used to provide accommodation and jobs.

8

Some research has indicated that social networks and support structures have developed among non-South Africans along both national, and for Mozambicans, ethnic lines (Polzer 2004; Polzer Ngwato, 2012). Immigrants make use of extensive networks that facilitate movement to, and provide options for, exiting South Africa (Kihato and Landau 2006). There is also evidence that livelihoods are sustained through social networks (Machava 2005; Madsen 2004). However, some studies indicate that ethnic ties can be a liability to migrants (Nyström 2012).

Studies on social capital among immigrants in South Africa often indicate that it is weak. Nyström (2012) looked at social networks among immigrants in Johannesburg, and found that using the social networks in Johannesburg before migration could lead to poorer adaption to the city, and that those without such networks may do better. Madhavan and Landau (2011) found that social capital was poor for immigrants in various African cities including Johannesburg, and that in an urban environment, few immigrants and citizens trusted those among whom they lived. High proportions even distrusted co-nationals.

Machava (2005) looked at networks among former Mozambican refugees in South Africa, and between Mozambicans and South Africans. He found that the experience of these former refugees was marked by suspicion, and that Mozambicans found it difficult to translate social networks into economic opportunities. From the Mozambican side, Gallego and Mendola (2013) looked at social networks in southern Mozambican migrant-sending communities, and found that labour migration together with higher incomes and remittances, boosted social and economic engagement of the families of emigrants in migrant-sending communities. The functions of networks for immigrants were explored by Muanamoha et al. (2010), in terms of the practical assistance lent to new Mozambican immigrants in South Africa. Cross-border family-based networks assisted new immigrants in providing accommodation and finding jobs. Moreover, Madsen (2004) found that social networks served to enable Mozambican immigrants to evade detection by the South African authorities, and were based on shared norms of moral behaviour. In all the studies reviewed for this thesis, no study focused on the social links between Maputo and Johannesburg, or the impact of social capital on Mozambican migration experiences.

Trust is conceptually linked with both risk and social capital in the theory. Trust is frequently considered an indicator of social capital (Putnam 1995). However, trust is not necessarily an

9

indicator of social capital, and a generalised tendency to trust is optimism rather than trust (Cook et al. 2005). Moreover, bundling trust into social capital ignores the fluctuations of trust (Streeten 2002: 10). In late modernity, trust became a project that needed to be worked on by revealing information about oneself. Trust is part of the process of individualisation and the theatre where the self is created (Giddens 1990). In this view, trust is risky, and it is possible to cooperate without the emotional commitment of trust (Hardin 2002, 2006).

This study builds on and contributes to the work on risk, and applies it to migration (particularly risks experienced by Mozambicans migrating to Johannesburg). Studies that explicitly use the concept of risk in considering decisions to migrate, and migrant understandings of risk in Johannesburg, were not found in the literature surveyed. This research aims to address gaps in the current work on migration, exploring Maputo-Johannesburg migration through the concepts of risk, social capital, and trust in a former Portuguese enclave.

The question central to this thesis asks how risk perceptions and experiences, social capital, and trust relationships shape the experience of Mozambican migration into Johannesburg. This is done by exploring the following questions: 1. What are the perceived risks in Mozambique, and the supposed opportunities in Johannesburg? 2. What are the general views of risks in Johannesburg? What risks are experienced in Johannesburg? Is there a difference between risks participants expected or perceived to exist and those experienced? 3. Does social capital help Mozambicans deal with risks and in what ways? 4. Who do participants trust and how does trust relate to social capital in their understandings? In answering these questions, a greater understanding of risk, social capital and trust is gained through combining these concepts and applying them to the field of migration.

In order to investigate these questions, a case study approach was adopted, involving ethnographic data collection. Initial participant observation and interviews took place in various areas in Maputo. Thereafter, ethnographic fieldwork was conducted in Rosettenville. In both cases, fieldwork took place predominantly in people’s homes. There was no overlap in terms of networks between these two samples, as none of those interviewed in Maputo stayed in Rosettenville. In total, 29 people participated, 16 in Maputo and 13 in Rosettenville. The interviews were supported by a questionnaire completed by each participant, which included basic questions on demographics and income. The research was reflexive and reiterative as

10

multiple interviews with participants were conducted over time, with the fieldwork conducted from 2009 to 2015. This allowed for checking details and investigating changes in personal circumstances and perceptions of risk and trust. The case study was contextualised within the socio-historical context in order that the case study may be extended to other contexts (Burawoy, 1991).

1.4. Outline of chapters

The remainder of the thesis is structured as follows: Chapter 2 starts with a review of the history of migration from Mozambique to South Africa under conditions of pre-colonial trade involving slavery to the Cape and Natal colonies. This culminated in migrant labour agreements between the Portuguese and South African governments. Labour migration, both inside and outside of these agreements is explored, together with the changes in the relationships between the countries over the periods up to the end of apartheid.

In 2008, South Africa gained international infamy after xenophobic attacks against black foreigners across the country left 60 people dead and over 700 wounded. Chapter 3 explores xenophobia and xenophobic violence as one of the risks experienced by Mozambicans and other black foreigners in the post-apartheid period, according to existing research. Other risks examined include the lack of economic opportunities in Mozambique, post-apartheid immigration policy and policing, denial of services, as well as economic marginalisation in South Africa.

The risks experienced in South Africa by Mozambicans are not unique, but are common to marginalised immigrants and peoples everywhere. These risks partly result from worldwide dynamics and international historical events. Chapter 4 looks at risk theory and considers how it can be applied to the migration of Mozambicans into contemporary South Africa. It does this by exploring the Risk Society thesis and the concept of the risk culture.

If risks were the only consideration when deciding to migrate, Mozambicans could consider almost any neighbouring, or other, country. However, in South Africa, there are not only risks but also opportunities. Some of these are economic, but some are created through social relationships. Chapter 5 considers the theorisation of social capital and trust relationships, as

11

well as the existing research findings on social capital and networks of Mozambicans in South Africa.

In exploring the phenomena and perceptions of risks, social capital and trust in Mozambicans in Johannesburg, various methodological approaches can be taken. Chapter 6 discusses the methodological approach chosen and the reasons for this choice. The research was conducted in Rosettenville, Johannesburg, and various sites in Maputo. In both cases, an ethnographic approach was taken.

Risks or ‘riskos’ (in Portuguese) was a concept widely-understood and applied by those who participated in the study, both in Johannesburg and Maputo. Chapter 7 presents the research findings in terms of risk, which reflect the participants understanding of risk. Risks were due to migration, and migration was undertaken partly as a response to risk.

Immigrants necessarily lose social capital when they migrate to a different country, as they often move from many of their close social relationships. However, the hostility of a new environment may also cause co-nationals to band together and support each other. Chapter 8 presents the participants’ use of social capital and who they trusted in Johannesburg. These relationships did not remain static. Relationships with people from Maputo changed over time, and new relationships formed.

The final chapter draws together all the elements of the thesis, the literature reviewed, the findings, and the social theory. It considers the different phases of migration together with their risks and opportunities, as migrants move from an initial risk period to a sustained risk period, and hope to accumulate, which is the ideal for which many emigrated. These phases are represented as a model of risks and opportunities.

12

CHAPTER 2

MOZAMBICAN MIGRATION FROM THE EARLIEST

PORTUGUESE PRESENCE IN MOZAMBIQUE TO THE END OF

APARTHEID IN SOUTH AFRICA (C. 1652 TO C. 1992)

2.1. Introduction

This thesis is about current Mozambican migration into Johannesburg. However, why would Mozambicans choose to come to South Africa, and Johannesburg in particular? The first answer to this question is presented in this chapter – because such movement precedes written records and colonial borders. Migration scholars have noted that present migration is embedded in past movement (Levitt and Jaworsky 2007: 132). In this case, inter-territory exchange goes back well over a millennium. As such, the norm has been migration. Over this long period, migration occurred in various forms, including trade, slavery, labour migration, and refugee flight, many of which were accompanied by informal migration. The predominant pattern has been from Mozambique to South Africa. Migration has generally been materially beneficial for those who moved and their families. Today, the cultural predilection towards mobility has its origins in this history.

The current relationship between the two territories is built on the movement of Mozambicans into South Africa and, to a lesser extent, a shared history of struggle against white rule. This chapter provides a historical perspective from the time of the importation of slaves to the Cape and Natal colonies from Mozambique, to the beginning of the democratic dispensation in South Africa. The slave trade was abolished in Britain in 1807, and successively in other countries. Slavery itself came to an end in the British colonies in the early 1830s (van der Linden 2011: 285). Recruitment for contract labour in South Africa was almost immediately undertaken in Mozambique, and later formalised in a series of inter-governmental agreements signed between the Portuguese and South African governments. It was during this period that gold mining became common for Mozambicans, and the Witwatersrand became a favoured destination. As the Portuguese government came under the control of the authoritarian leadership of António de Oliveira Salazar (prime minister of Portugal from 1932), formal labour migration increased. By the 1960s, decolonisation was well underway. However, Portugal was reluctant to let go of

13

her colonies, which led to a struggle for liberation that ensued until the mid-1970s. The fight for liberation, shortly followed by civil war and natural disasters, changed the nature of migration, causing refugee flight, some of which was to South Africa. Estimates of the numbers of Mozambicans in South Africa in 1994 conclude the chapter.

2.2. Early colonialism and movements of slaves to the Cape (c. 1652 to 1838)

The experience of Mozambicans has been deeply impacted by the nature of Portuguese colonialism. The populations native to Mozambique were part of global flows of people and goods for many centuries. However, the Portuguese were to contribute to migration of Mozambicans on a global scale. It was also under the Portuguese that Mozambican labour migration to South Africa would start, initially in the form of slavery. This section starts at the point of the formation of the Cape Colony and the need for slave labour, until emancipation in the Cape Colony (Iliffe 1995: 53, 54; Tignor et al. 2010: 334, 369).

The decision to focus on periods after colonial contact in this study was due to the scale of migration, but this necessarily downplays pre-colonial movement and with it, African people’s agency. From the 11th to the 14th century, the region had been part of broader Afro-Euro Asian integration. Glass beads in the area indicate trade routes with Asia from the 7th century. In starting with slavery, there was no intent to disregard the pre-existing development of African trade networks and ports (De Silva 1999; Wood 2012).

In the mid-15th century, the Portuguese had the finest naval technology in the world. Their taking over the ports down the east coast of Africa, including those in present-day Mozambique, was an expression of their domination of the seas at the time. They sought to take over the trade from the existing Indian, Arab, and Swahili traders. Sofala, a port in Mozambique, drew particular Portuguese interest due to the promise of gold from Great Zimbabwe. The interest of the Portuguese lay in trade rather than settlement, but some Portuguese married into African families and succeeded in expanding inland. Parts of what became Mozambique were bustling with entrepreneurial activities, with various African peoples participating. However, by the time the Portuguese had established their supply lines, the gold of Great Zimbabwe was largely depleted (De Silva 1999: 691; Marks 1975: 388–393, Newitt 2001: 18, 19; Tignor et al. 2013: 453, 454).

14

By the middle of the 17th century, the prospects of significant profits from the colony looked slim. Yet slaves were increasingly becoming a valuable resource, as global demand for African slaves grew dramatically from the 17th century onwards, shifting the Portuguese focus in Mozambique to the slave trade. The colonial power of Portugal showed little interest in developing their African territories or even occupying them. The Portuguese settlements that did exist in Africa, served to extract slaves and ivory for trade (Ishemo 1995: 162; Tignor et al. 2013: 453, 454, 495).

On the southern tip of Africa, a very different type of colonisation was happening. The Cape of Good Hope was established by the Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie (VOC, the Dutch East Indian Company). From 1652, the colony was settled by Dutch, German and French freemen. However, demand for food from the trade and refreshment station, almost immediately outstripped supply. Local supplies of labour were limited, as there was only a small population of Khoi in the Colony (many had been driven away), who could be used as labour on farms, and enslavement of the local inhabitants was illegal. This labour, together with that of the colonists, was insufficient and in 1658, the first slaves were landed in the colony. The first Mozambican slaves came soon thereafter, offloaded at the Cape of Good Hope in exchange for provisions, or because they were sickly and would not survive the voyage to Brazilian . From the 17th century, South East Africa was the preferred supplier. In the 18th century, most slaves in the Cape Colony came from Mozambique or Madagascar (Fourie 2012: 4; Harries 2014: 325, 328; Iliffe 1995: 127, 128; Liebenberg, n.d.: 41, 43).

Mozambique slaves supplied Portuguese, Swahili and Arab slave traders. The area was populous. The higher rainfall, mineral resources, and agriculture, together with trade also allowed for broader groupings of people in the areas of eastern South Africa, Zimbabwe, and southern Mozambique. These included the Sotho-Tswana, the Nguni of the coastlands, and the Tonga-Tsonga. Those considered Mozambicans in the Cape Colony did not necessarily originate in Mozambique, but landed at some point in Mozambique under Portuguese control. Some may have initially been from territories in the Transvaal, as conflicts in the territory drove some people north (Klein 2010: 71; Marks 1975: 567, 568; Vernet 2009: 48, 49).

15

The number of slaves in the Cape Colony grew, despite the particularly harsh conditions. Slaves were initially expensive. In 1750, only half of white men could afford to own a slave. To extract their value, they were worked hard, and there was no culture of treating slaves as family. For most of the 18th century, slaves outnumbered the free population two to one. The colony kept no central record of slaves, including mortality figures. However, slaves born in the Cape were taller (indicating better nourishment) and more educated (in that they were more numerate) than those brought in from other areas (Baton and Fourie 2012; Iliffe 1995: 128– 130; Worden 2014).

Violence was prevalent in the Cape Colony; corporal punishment was meted out by VOC agents to any man – sailors, freemen, and slaves alike. While violence was supposed to be limited to agents of the Company, court records show that violence also occurred on the plantations away from the city. There was no general segregation, with slaves commonly sleeping in their master’s houses. Violence served not only to punish a slave who had transgressed in some way, but to act as a warning to others. Life was no easier for slaves owned by the VOC, who lived in cramped and unhygienic slave lodges. For company slaves, occupations were allocated by colour, with the worst jobs going to Mozambicans. Slaves (and other indicators of wealth) were also not evenly distributed in the society, with most of them owned by a class of landed gentry and affluent city dwellers living in the Cape Colony, but with lands outside the Colony. Manumission of slaves was rare, and fleeing slaves were often brought back by other settlers or ‘Hottentots’ (Khoi people), who likely feared slavery themselves. There was little hope of freedom for slaves in the Cape (Iliffe 1995: 128, 130, 139; Ross 1979: 427; Worden 1982: 46–49).

Accounts differ in terms of slave women’s experiences at the Cape. Most accounts emphasise the gender ratios as offering a degree of protection for women. Men outnumbered women as much as three to one for much of the 18th century. Homosexuality was punishable by death. In contrast, sexual relationships with slaves were not illegal. In this way, some women may have had a degree of protection based on sexual and marital relationships with settlers. Between 1657 and 1807, 480 black women married into the white population. This resulted in their emancipation. However, many slave women were not so fortunate. Should slave women not married to white men fall pregnant, whether the father was slave or freeman, the offspring was born into slavery. Over half of the slaves born in 1658 had European fathers, and slave women went through the trauma of having their children born into slavery. The fertility rate for slave

16

women was very low. This is conventionally ascribed to wet-nursing. However, stress from overwork, separation from family, or physical abuse could also account for this, as could abortion and infanticide by slaves as a way of opposing slavery. Moreover, sexual exploitation of women was likely to have been common, although it is unrecorded. This probably included rape and forced prostitution by both free men and other slaves. Overall, there is a lack of information about slave women’s lived experiences (Iliffe 1995: 129; Ross 1979; van der Spuy 1996).

In the early 19th century, the economic dominance of the Netherlands was waning as Britain’s grew. The Portuguese lost their military supremacy, and many countries began to industrialise. Movements in Britain advocating the end of slavery gradually impacted the empire, which exited the slave trade in 1807 at the height of its participation. In 1814, after battles for control with the Dutch, the Cape Colony came under British control. As the slave trade grew, so did Portuguese participation in it. With Britain’s exit, the Portuguese briefly gained control of most of the transatlantic slave trade. Abolitionists at this time increasingly pressured Britain to act to end the slave trade of other European nations, and Britain negotiated the end of the slave trade practiced by other colonial powers. By 1817, the Portuguese slave trade was confined to the southern hemisphere, and was policed by the British navy. The Portuguese crown had not profited from the trade as much as they could, as much of the profit was lost to merchants and other intermediaries. In the 1820s, Portugal suffered a big blow, losing their biggest and most profitable colony, when Brazil gained its independence (Arrighi 1994: 161, 162; Drescher 2010; Flint 1976: 10; van der Linden 2011).

Slavery itself was abolished in the Cape Colony in 1834. By this time, Afrikaners, a people descended from French and Dutch settlers, disliking British rule, had started leaving the Cape Colony, but the scale of migration increased sharply in 1835, in a movement that would later become known as the ‘great trek’. The end of slavery in the British colonies did not lead to an immediate change in the conditions of former slaves. At the time, the economy and productivity of the Colony boomed, indicating that labour was still available. In fact, slavery was simply transmuted to apprenticeships, which were legal until 1838. These apprenticeships were facilitated by the increasingly young population of former slaves. The introduction of a law on vagrancy in the Cape Colony meant that former slave owners had the means to re-establish control over their erstwhile slaves, based on them having ‘no reasonable means of subsistence’ (Ross 1993: 141). Freed slaves were denied land, and although they were free to have their

17

own families, they were sentenced to poverty and proletarianised. Further legislation criminalised vague forms of misconduct under the law, and another law made squatting on government land illegal, leaving little choice but to work under conditions established by employers (the same was true of the Khoi). Mission stations or country towns offered the only possibility of freedom or social mobility. Simultaneously, the formal emancipation injected money into the Cape Colony through the British compensation to former owners of slaves, while British markets for South African wine and internal markets for wheat meant that the economy flourished. Official slave trade by Portugal ended in 1842 (Bradlow 1984: 166; Harries 2014; Iliffe 1995: 181; Ross 1993: 138–145; van der Linden 2011: 212, 213).

While these changes took place among the colonialists, changes were also taking place in the territory of Mozambique. People classed as Tsonga came from many ethnic backgrounds, and spoke different languages. They had settled around Delagoa bay (modern Maputo) in the mid- 16th century. Tsonga-speaking people were displaced in 1935 from the area around the bay following Zulu attacks on the Shangana (Shangaan). The Shangaan migrated north of the Limpopo, causing the Tsonga to move, while other groups were integrated into the Shangaan. Tsonga and Shangaan are often used interchangeably now to refer to the same group of people (Earle et al. 2006: 12, 13).

2.3. Labour migration and formalised labour migration to the mines (c. 1870 – 1928)

Between 1838 and 1870, many changes took place in what was to become South Africa. As a result of the great trek, Afrikaners moved to various places in the country, and control of most of the territories was in Afrikaner hands. They had won wars against the African inhabitants, and some were already displaced as a result of internal inter-ethnic conflicts. Afrikaners had won the Republic of Natal or Natalia in 1839, but it was annexed by the British in 1843. The Transvaal was recognised by the British as an Afrikaner Republic in 1852, and the Orange Free State was recognised in 1854. This left four white colonies in the territory, two under British control and two under Afrikaner control. Their movements and dates are shown below in Figure 2.1 (Thompson 2001: 70–109).

18

Figure 2.1: White colonies established by 1879 in South Africa Source: Thompson (2001: 82)

With the slave system officially ended, migrant labourers were needed in the Cape and Natal colonies. In 1867, diamonds were discovered in Kimberley in the northern Cape, and the diamond mines also required labour. Freed slaves were landed at Natal to labour for the British, with little remuneration. From the 1870s, Mozambicans came to work in the mines in Kimberley, on farms in the Cape, and at the railways and harbours. In Kimberley, firearms were available for sale and chieftains sent their young men to the mines there for this reason. After guns could no longer be legally sold to the labourers, men continued to come to the mines, as relatively high wages meant they could afford consumer goods and pay bride wealth (lobola) with the wages they earned. These wages:

19

...initiated a revolution in the social and ultimately also in the political relations of southern Mozambique which gathered momentum as the century advanced (Newitt 1994: 484). Labour contracting was formalised through contracts in the late 1870s within the Natal and Cape colonies (Correia 2007: 28; Harries 1994: 31; Katzenellenbogen 1982: 37; Newitt 1994: 483; Wilson 1972: 1).

Infrastructure developed along long-established paths of migration, and in the interests of the South African Republic and the Portuguese (MacDonald 2012: 156). In 1871, work began on a road linking the South African Republic to Delagoa Bay (later called Lourenço Marques, then Maputo port), and another in 1875 (Katzenellenbogen 1982: 10–12). These roads capacitated the sending of goods through the harbour, and were made possible by a treaty between the South African Republic and the Portuguese (the Afrikaner Republics sought some autonomy from the British-controlled ports). The British refused to recognise the treaty as they wished to contain Afrikaner independence, and warily watched these developments (Iliffe 1995: 182).

For most people, there was relative ease of movement. In 1880, paper documents were seldom needed to cross the border. At the time, the border crossing was marked by a border post that resembled a trading post. The border itself was demarcated with stone beacons after an agreement between the Afrikaner Republics, the British and the Portuguese. During the 1880s, necessary documentation for travellers proliferated, and was issued by Portuguese, Afrikaners and British alike. The border crossing was formalised into a camp with a small police force (MacDonald 2012: 22, 156).

As a result of the Act of Berlin in 1885, Portugal was forced to occupy the territories under their control, or lose them. The Act of Berlin triggered the colonial powers’ ‘’, as they all endeavoured to lay claim to tracts of the continent. Portugal had attempted and failed to gain a coast-to-coast empire from Angola to Mozambique. They had been unsuccessful because they did not occupy all the territories between the two. Due to Portugal’s lack of capacity to control the territory, and as was common at the time, the Portuguese government gave jurisdiction over the territory to companies. Such companies were predominantly controlled by foreign (particularly British) interests. In 1890, a law was passed on prazos (a land grant or lease), which allowed companies to lease large tracts of land and

20

gave the companies jurisdiction over the people on that land (Anderson 1962a: 99, 100; Newitt 1994: 420–452; Roberts 1986: 128).

During 1890, Portugal passed labour and tax legislation to ensure that companies in their colonies had access to cheap labour. On paper, Portuguese colonialism was non-racial, and indígenas (indigenous Africans) could become (assimilated) or civiliâdos (civilised) and would be exempt from forced labour and able to own land. In order to qualify to become assimilados, Portuguese fluency, and a profession or some self-sustaining economic activity or employment in the government service were necessary (Newitt 1994: 441, 442). The reality was that this ‘assimilação’ seldom happened, as labour was so valuable. Whites or Afro-Portuguese were automatically classed não-indígena. In contrast, the native population (indígenas) of Mozambique was forced into labour, either in Mozambique or beyond, by a law on idleness and hut taxes enforced by the Portuguese government. Proletarianisation was facilitated through recruitment by local chieftains, under penalty of captivity and the offer of monetary rewards (Anderson 1962b: np; Katzenellenbogen 1982: 37, 38; Smith 1991: np; Roberts 1986: 514).

Since the end of formal slavery, Portuguese colonialism had not been very profitable to the motherland. However, with the discovery of gold on the Rand in 1886, Portugal was again better able to exploit their one key resource in Mozambique – labour. The discovery of gold in the South African Republic (the Afrikaner colony of the Transvaal) required great numbers of unskilled labourers. Consequently, with little change in form, slavery was transmuted to the contract labour system. Rather than selling slaves, the Portuguese in Mozambique now supplied migrant labourers. In the early period of labour migration to South Africa, profits were small for Mozambique relative to the value created. The migrant labour system allowed for profits by both territorial governments and business interests through the migrant labour system, without the moral condemnation that slavery attracted (Beavon 2004: 33, 34; First 1983; Harries 2014: 332, 333; Katzenellenbogen 1982: 1; Yudelman and Jeeves 1986: 102).

A formal agreement around mine labour was signed in 1897, 10 years after which more than half of the able-bodied men in southern Mozambique were working in the Transvaal, Natal, or the Northern Cape (First 1983:15). This labour recruitment succeeded in ensuring good profits in the Transvaal gold mines, even as bonded Chinese labourers were repatriated (Davenport 2013: 294). Successive agreements around labour were informed by mineral-based company

21

interests in South Africa and attempts to extract profits from workers and ports by the Portuguese government, particularly in Lourenço Marques (Harris 1960: np).

The South African, or second Anglo-Boer war, ended in 1902. It had resulted partly due to the profits of mining, which could ultimately undermine British power in southern Africa. The 1901 modus vivendi agreement between the British and the Portuguese was signed before the end of the war. It secured labour for the mines and traffic through Mozambican ports. This and subsequent agreements meant that all conditions of labour were negotiated between the British (or later the Afrikaner) governments and the Portuguese government – periods of service, wages, when the period started and ended, as well as repatriation after the term ended. In the agreement, The Witwatersrand Native Labour Association (WNLA), who served mine interests, obtained a monopoly from Portuguese authorities over Mozambican labour from the southern provinces. Mining, in whatever conditions, was far more profitable for the workers than labouring for the Portuguese. The Portuguese government gained an income (through a fee for each labourer) as well as getting more revenue through clauses on the routing of goods through Mozambican ports and railways (First 1983: 17–19; Harris 1960: np).

After the second Anglo-Boer war, mining companies were unable to control production costs associated with gold mining, but they were able to regulate labour costs. As opposed to alluvial mining, deep-level mining developed in this period, requiring more labour and equipment. Two types of labour were needed: skilled (white) labour and unskilled (black) labour. Black labour was exploited through social control to restrict movement (and so prevent wage competition), consequently, black labourers could be paid very low wages (Beavon 2004: 33). Restrictions included six- and twelve-month contracts that would be illegal to break, and the use of mining compounds to house the labourers (Katzenellenbogen 1982: 36–42). By centralising labour recruitment, fixing an average maximum wage, and increasing the size of the geographical recruitment area, the Chamber of Mines managed to keep wages stable (Stahl 1981: 13, 14).

Migration, outside state control, was relatively commonplace (Alexander et al. 2009: 82). The pay for agricultural work in Mozambique was very low. In contrast, wages were better in the mines or cities (the scarcity of labour having pushed up wages in Lourenço Marques). Conditions in the Portuguese colonies were harsh, which also caused migration into British territories (Harris 1960: np; Newitt 1994: 413, 414 Vail, White and Penvenne 1979: 25). The boom initiated by gold on the Rand provided some economic options for people who otherwise

22

had very little, and ‘clandestine’ migration could not be completely curtailed. The formal mine migration systems in this period were circumvented in some ways to gain entry and stay in the Witwatersrand area. Even before the mining agreements were established, the Portuguese authorities had instituted passports, and travel without them was a criminal offence. However, these attempts at control were not successful. The border was easily crossed and forged papers relatively easily attainable for those who sought them (MacDonald 2014, 159: 3).

Labour recruiters found many willing to sign up for labour in the sugar plantations in Natal, and later for the mines. Mines offered the best pay, even if the working conditions were particularly harsh. The exposure to consumerism and goods that could make a real impact on the quality of people’s lives was also a factor in the voluntary signing up of labourers (Katzenellenbogen 1982: 37–47; Roberts 1986: 149). In addition, recruitment films were developed and shown in the Portuguese territories to entice more men to sign up (Reynolds 2007: 139)

The hardships of mine work began in getting to the mines. It was a long journey, initially undertaken on foot. It was only in 1905 that trains were used to transport workers. The use of railways to carry workers enabled the WNLA to expand the area in which they recruited, from Lourenço Marques to other areas in southern Mozambique. The trip took 26 hours by rail. Upon arrival, labourers were kept in a compound before being taken to the mine or colliery. After signing the contract, this process was reversed. Labour migration increasingly became the norm for all black miners, as the British South African government tried to curtail black urbanisation by the start of the 20th century. Mozambican migrants drove down the wages of other miners. As a result, Mozambican miners were often disliked by their South African peers. Yet many Mozambicans opted to stay on the mines or in South Africa; between 1902 and 1906, 58 per cent of the 75 370 men who came to South Africa returned to Mozambique (although some may have returned after 1906). The Portuguese colonialists had also lost prestige, and labourers began to adopt English names and opted to denationalise themselves (Alexander 2008: 52, 53; Harries 1994: 198; Katzenellenbogen 1982: 102, 103; Pirie 1993: 716).

There was also informal migration into South Africa and within the Witwatersrand, even after the Chamber of Mines attempted to prevent wage increases through regularising labour migration (Newitt 1994: 414).. Demand for labour was so high that from 1910 to 1940 ‘criminal gangs’ operated on the borders of Swaziland, Mozambique and South Africa, recruiting

23

workers. These workers ended up in legitimate labour pools as the WNLA officials looked the other way (Murray 1995). Because of the legitimate avenues in employing Mozambicans from southern Mozambique, any able-bodied African man who migrated for economic reasons was likely to be called ‘Shangaan’. Labourers came from northern Mozambique, , (), South Africa, and the central or northern parts of Mozambique (and thus from outside the legal recruiting area) (Harries 1994: 181).

Irregular practices proliferated, as various third parties sought to profit from the demand for labour, some circumvented the systems to profit from the valuable resource that was Mozambican labour. There was an option for workers to go to Lourenço Marques and apply for passes themselves to go to South Africa. Such labourers would pay their own travel costs, as this meant that they could choose which mine to go to and avoid the risk of landing up at a colliery (Harries 1994: 181; Katzenellenbogen 1982: 104, 105). In some cases, these passes were used as a cover for illegal recruiting and trafficking, with recruiters turning miners into bonded labourers through loans taken to make the journey (Katzenellenbogen 1982: 105).

In Mozambique, forced labour or chibalo was formalised through the penal code in 1917, which criminalised the non-payment of hut tax or trivial infractions such as improper dress and drunkenness. Mozambican companies could not compete with the higher wages offered in Rhodesia and South Africa, and this led to a strict enforcement of chibalo. Forced labour also served to avoid wage competition as Mozambicans were unable to choose their own employers. Companies developed their own labour legislation, and extreme coercion was used to trap Mozambicans into forced labour (Newitt 1994: 410).

Those who had gone to the mines before could request the same mine again and take ‘brothers’ with them to work at that particular mine. In this way, miners acted to recruit other miners, and could also potentially obtain portions of their ‘brother’s’ wages. By 1926, an immigration official estimated that 600 Africans of uncertain origin entered the Transvaal through the northern and eastern borders each week (MacDonald 2012: 169). Demand was such that illegitimate practices, while attracting official British condemnation, were ignored (Katzenellenbogen 1982: 106).

Marginalised Mozambican women and children, who would otherwise be forced to labour in Mozambique, could migrate and take advantage of industrialisation in the Witwatersrand.

24

However, high rental rates drove women to brew beer, which was often accompanied by prostitution. Mines offered safer and cheaper housing, but women were not welcomed because of their association with prostitution and beer-brewing. In an attempt to prevent children coming to the mines, the provision that migrant labourers should ‘look sixteen’ was introduced into migrant labour practice. Even after this prohibition, boys often worked in the mines, usually on the surface, but they were also useful underground to crawl through narrow gaps. Thus, the Witwatersrand provided economic options not only to Mozambican adult men (Harries 1994: 199–201).

This labour migration to the Transvaal had significant impacts on both countries. In Mozambique it undermined the entire economy, and particularly the agricultural sector, because of shortage of labour. The inter-governmental agreements, together with the Mozambican preference for mine labour in South Africa over agricultural work in Mozambique, left rural Mozambique impoverished. The southern were turned into a service economy for South Africa (and Rhodesia to a lesser degree), while most of the rest of the country was leased mainly to British business interests, as both the companies given oversight of the colony were British-owned. Regardless, it brought money in for Portugal (although less than it should have), both through the amount charged for each worker, and money generated by the ports. The administration was decentralised, and much of the revenue generated did not reach the Portuguese crown (or later the Republic). In addition, as miners were paid while in South Africa, the Mozambican economy did not receive an injection of their earnings. In 1926, a military coup took place in Portugal, partly due to its failure to use the colonies to reduce the balance of trade deficit (First 1983:3–14; Katzenellenbogen 1982: 103; Smith 1974: 661).

2.4. Increased migration to surrounding territories during the time of Portugal’s Estado Novo (New State) (c. 1928 to c. 1960)

An economics professor, António de Oliveira Salazar, was appointed as finance minister in Portugal. He accepted the position on condition that he was given wide-ranging powers, and greatly improved Portugal’s financial position. Salazar viewed the colonies and Portugal as a closed system, to provide beleaguered Portugal with revenue and foreign exchange. Under Salazar, some income into Portugal’s coffers came in the form of deferred payments of miners’ wages through a 1928 agreement (first proposed in 1912), under which a portion of miners’

25

wages was paid only when they had returned to Mozambique (First 1983:25, 26; Newitt 1994: 448–496; Smith 1991: 522).

In the 1930s, fascism was on the rise in Europe. In 1932, Salazar was made Prime Minister, and the Office of the President became symbolic. Portugal under Salazar has been called a ‘dictatorship without a dictator’ (Pinto 2000: 52), or an authoritarian bureaucracy (Kuin, 1990: 145; Anderson, 2000: 145). While never a fascist, Salazar was much influenced by it. Salazar ruled through bureaucracy, with almost no decentralised decision-making. He made most of the decisions for the empire, even on trifling matters, while curtailing the powers of other ministers. He also established a secret police force (Ferreira, de Carvalho and Pinto, 2009: 119– 121; Raimundo, Ferreira and de Carvalho, 2009; Zander 2016: 220, 221).

From 1932, Portugal pushed their policy of growing cotton in Mozambique, through offering bonuses for Mozambican-grown cotton. This agriculture was in service of Portugal’s own rapidly industrialising economy. The experiments of the Portuguese government in large scale production were costly to both peasant farmers and forced labourers. So much time was demanded of the peasants (often women), that they were unable to tend food crops, which resulted in famines. Peasant farmers often laboured for little reward, and they provided a buffer to company losses, should crop prices drop (Funada-Classen 2012: 81; Isaacman 1980: 585). In the face of famine and exploitation, Mozambicans left for Nyasaland (Malawi), Rhodesia, and South Africa (Roberts 1986: 7; Tornimbeni 2005). Figure 2.2 below shows the location of these countries relative to Mozambique

26

Figure 2.2: Mozambican provinces and surrounding territories Source: Funada-Classen (2012: xii)

Under Salazar, Portuguese business in Mozambique achieved little growth. Colonies served as markets for Portuguese goods, while the mother country got goods from the colonies at preferential rates. The colonial Mozambican state also made a significant profit on gold from 1940 onwards, which was made available from the South African state at a fixed rate and then sold on the international market. Salazar discouraged industrialisation in the colonies until after World War II (which ended in 1945). After the war, industrialisation was permitted but limited. From the 1940s onwards, international and Portuguese investment was encouraged. Even when the economy grew, it grew on the back of increasing amounts of forced labour, both women and men, and to the detriment of peasant farmers. For the first time, however, Salazar ensured

27

that the Portuguese state profited, rather than businesses and individuals (Newitt 1994: 448; 457–459).

Reforms to labour legislation, by Salazar, made little impact on the population and provided little impetus to stay in Mozambique. Salazar initially made reforms to the working conditions of Mozambicans. Indígenas could theoretically select their employers and get paid a minimum wage. Chibalo remained legal ‘as necessary’, and in 1942, with restrictions on recruitment relaxed in many parts of the country, many were forced into ‘contracts’ for up to six months of the year. More Mozambicans from the south migrated as labourers than ever before. Numerous laws were passed from 1944 to 1949, which sought to control encroachment on work reserved for whites, and many aspects of black Mozambicans’ lives. From 1944, all indígenas were regulated with passes to control migration and track work records of the peasants, much as in South Africa. While Salazar promoted the idea that Portugal was reforming the lives of people in its African colonies, in fact, more mechanisms to control all aspects of Mozambique, including its population, were instituted (Newitt 1994: 448, 471; Penvenne 1995: 104, 105; Smith 1991: 521).

The forced labour and lack of development in Mozambique had black Mozambicans migrating legitimately or clandestinely to neighbouring countries; for instance, in 1948 over 40 000 Mozambicans fled to Southern Rhodesia (Funada-Classen 2012: 83, 108; Isaacman 2000). Occasionally, entire villages would leave en masse (Isaacman et al. 1980: 592). Moving over borders was relatively easy despite controls, and neighbouring countries were often welcoming. Swaziland welcomed Mozambicans, especially if they had fought for Britain in the World War II, and Swaziland was often a stop en route to South Africa (and an additional Swazi passport) (McGregor 1994). Migration, particularly for rural Mozambicans, was a form of resistance against Portuguese power (Isaacman 1996: 208;

Meanwhile, South Africa abandoned the gold standard. This led paradoxically to an increase in the price of gold in 1932. The state grew wealthy off taxes and duties from the mines. While migration increased into South Africa, the country became increasingly restrictive for black people, both Mozambican and South African. By the 1930s, slums in the eastern, southern, and western areas of Johannesburg had grown dramatically. It was a central concern that whites and ‘non-whites’ should be separated to prevent the formation of a class-based alliance. As

28

poor whites were enfranchised, the government was interested in combating both white poverty and white slums. In Johannesburg, the Native (Urban Areas) Act 21 of 1923, had necessitated the removal of ‘non-whites’ from all but a handful of suburbs. The Slums Clearance Act of 1934 allowed for the removal of blacks from suburbs and the building of subsidised white housing (Beavon 2004: 105–118; Parnell 2002; Republic of South Africa, 1923).

During and after World War II, South Africa increasingly industrialised, requiring greater pools of labour, which caused more urbanisation in Johannesburg. After the war, the employment of African workers had increased by more than three times the rate of increase in the employment of white workers in South Africa. In 1948, the National Party came to power and progressively impacted the geography of Johannesburg. Overcrowding in black areas was actively encouraged, as the city could not accommodate the African labour force as it was required to do. Funding for housing for black residents came from brewing traditional African beer (‘kaffir beer’), which black women had previously brewed. After 1948, black people were increasingly confined to the south-west of Johannesburg, which became known as Soweto (Beavon 2004: 116, 122–147).

In Mozambique, no educated black elite developed, despite the assimilados policy and Portugal’s desire to have a black class that would support colonisation. Mozambicans had little hope that their children would have a better life than theirs. Salazar’s universal education of three years schooling through the Catholic Church, served to leave black children few future options besides manual labour. According to the 1950 census, 99 per cent of indígenas were illiterate. The only hope to improve their own and their families’ lives was to migrate and find work outside Mozambique (Cross 1987: 556; Harris 1960: np; Newitt 1994: 467).

The South African Nationalist government increased racial segregation in South Africa. In 1951, the homeland system in South Africa was created. Under the Bantu Authorities Act No. 68 of 1951, homelands or Bantustans were reserved for each African ethnic group. Initially, it was envisaged that Shangaan, Venda and Northern Sotho tribes were to share two homelands, but the Shangaan tribal authorities argued against this, and got their own homeland in 1959. Through this process, Gazankulu was formed from sections of Venda and Lebowa. The Bantustan was granted, even though the Shangaan in South Africa had originally come from Mozambique. Gazankulu borders the Kruger National Park, and as such was readily accessible for those prepared to walk through the Park. The recognition of Gazankulu speaks to the long

29

history of migration to South Africa. It also provided fleeing Mozambicans a route to enter South Africa (Polzer 2004: 6, 7; Republic of South Africa 1951). Figure 2.3 below shows a map of the homelands in South Africa, c. 1970.

Figure 2.3: Homelands of South Africa, c.1970 Source: Stull, Bell, and Ncwadi (2016)

The entrenchment of apartheid worsened conditions in South Africa for the majority of the population. As black people were removed from cities and increasingly confined to the Bantustans, it reduced options for African mobility within and from outside the country. From 1956, black areas in the suburbs were re-designated as white, and their inhabitants removed. The same year, a law declared that only five Africans were allowed on any property in Johannesburg, including apartment blocks, business premises and backyard quarters. Accordingly, domestic servants and sub-tenants were forced out of white areas and black residents were increasingly removed to Soweto (Beavon 2004: 131).

30

2.5. Limiting labour migration and movement related to the struggle for independence (c. 1960 to 1975)

Both the Estado Novo and apartheid had assisted in entrenching white power in Mozambique and South Africa. However, by 1960 African decolonisation was in the air; a United Nations resolution that year made self-determination a right for colonies (Funada-Classen, 2012: 206). Portugal’s own nationalism was mounted as a defence against decolonisation, based partly on the fact the territories had been controlled (in some form) since the 16th century, and as such were ‘overseas provinces’ (Dudley 1984: 60). Portugal may also have felt justified in retaining control of her colonies by the fact that many of the colonies in the southern African region were still ruled by whites. At the time, South Africa was ruled by the white apartheid government, which also ruled Namibia (then South West Africa) (Sidaway and Simon 1993: 7); a white minority government controlled Rhodesia; and Bechuanaland (today Botswana) was a British Protectorate (Mogalakwe 2006), as were Lesotho and Swaziland (Potholm, 1966).

In the face of civil unrest and moves towards independence, by 1960 the Portuguese and South African authorities had grown closer, based on a shared interest in retaining white control of the region. For instance, in the newly independent Congo, the two governments cooperated to deploy mercenaries and weapons (paid for by South Africa). In 1961, the outbreak of civil unrest in Angola resulted in a new agreement ensuring that greater tonnage would be transported through Lourenço Marques (now Maputo port). South Africa had regularly routed 18 per cent of its imports and exports through the port, which amounted to 25 000 tonnes per day, or 30 per cent of Mozambican foreign earnings (Correia 2007: 90; Grundy 1982 in Gibb 1987: 407; Hodges 1982 in Gibb 1987: 407).

The Portuguese colonies (Angola, Mozambique, and Guinea-Bissau), began armed struggles against colonial rule in the early 1960s. Contestations in Portuguese colonies were the first serious challenge to colonial power in southern Africa. While having supposed international support against colonialism, Mozambique, and other Portuguese colonies received no practical assistance, and had to fight for their own independence (Funada-Classen 2012: 3, 206; Mondlane 1983: 125).

31

In 1962, liberation organisations, some of which had been in existence from the late 1950s, joined together and formed Frelimo in (now ). In 1964, Frelimo launched their first attack against the Portuguese. Rather than armed combat, the Mozambican independence war was largely one of diplomacy and political manoeuvring by both sides. Salazar’s approach was to heighten ethnic feuds and keep Frelimo’s support base divided. Frelimo simultaneously tried to play up international sympathies, which were already in favour of self-determination (Newitt 1994: 528). Neither side had sufficient resources for an outright victory (Carter 1970: 487; Funada-Classen 2012: 160, 244; Miller 2012: 184; Mondlane 1983: 138; Newitt 1994: 528–534).

Unsurprisingly, this was a period of significant movement in and out of Mozambique. Some were eager to join the struggle for independence when it started, and Frelimo’s ranks swelled dramatically, both from people inside and outside Mozambique. Others moved away as the Portuguese launched attacks against the populace. Emigration to , Tanzania and Malawi occurred in waves. South Africa became less attractive to Mozambicans as oppression of black people increased and the country moved from reliance on international workers to an internal migrant labour system. This was prompted by a desire to keep subversive ideas from the populace as African nations gained their independence (Burawoy 1976: 1079; Cohen 1995: 435; Mondlane 1983: 138).

In 1964, a new agreement was signed by South Africa and Portugal concerning migrant labour to the mines. The labour agreement ensured that the cost of migration (recruitment, transport, accommodation, and repatriation) was borne by the employer. Mozambicans gained wage parity with South African miners, and were to be treated like South African miners in terms of food, accommodation, clothing, working hours, and apprenticeships. Mozambican miners were to understand the terms of their employment contract and sign it themselves, prior to departure for South Africa. However, should a miner’s contract be terminated (due to incapacity or otherwise), they would be deported without the opportunity to seek work elsewhere. The agreement did not provide for any allowance to visit family during the contract, or to reunite the family at the end of the contract. In addition, although the employer was responsible for payment of medical examinations on return to Mozambique, Mozambicans were paid out significantly less than South Africans should they have a claim for a work-related ailment. They had no legal recourse, as this was prohibited by the agreement (Bamu 2014: 21, 22).

32

In the mid-1960s, three recruiting agencies unaligned to the Chamber of Mines, challenged the WNLAs dominance. They recruited for coal, platinum, and other mines, collieries, and agriculture. However, the number of Mozambicans working outside the mining sector decreased between 1960 and 1970. Official Mozambican migration was reduced during this time, with the establishment and ‘independence’ of the Bantustans. The Bantu Homelands Citizenship Act No. 26 of 1970, made black Africans citizens of the Bantustan, rather than of the Republic of South Africa. The creation of these ‘homelands’ or ‘Bantustans’ allowed for the labour migration system to be applied within South African borders. However, this may have served to disguise migration from Mozambique since Mozambicans could travel via the Bantustans, some of which were close to the border (including Gazankulu). South Africa diversified its economic bases and expanded economically during 1960 to 1974. The opportunity for growth stemmed from the security provided by the band of white-controlled territories to the north, which kept African nationalism and communism from South Africa’s borders and gave the country access to cheap labour (First 1983: 24; Miller 2012: 186–191).

The creation of the Bantustans, did not quite make black South Africans ‘aliens’ or foreigners, but they were no longer citizens. However, in practice, only half of the black population lived in the homelands, even after removals. As such, the situation of Mozambicans was similar to that of South African migrant labourers. Those already in the country under informal arrangements would have had similar experiences to those of black South Africans. Moreover, the Homelands Citizenship Act made citizenship available not only by birth, but also by language affiliation or identification as a member of a particular ethnic group (Brooks and Thomas 1977; Republic of South Africa 1970).

According to the 1970 South African population registry, only 7 per cent of ‘foreign-born’ Africans were not economically active; this reflected a government policy to limit the number of dependents brought into the country by migrants. Women were presumably included in this figure, but data on the gender of migrants in 1970 was not available as far as could be determined. Stahl (1981: 14–32) suggests that female migrants may have been disproportionately affected, accounting for a large proportion in the declining volumes of migrants to South Africa.

33

In 1970, Portugal decided to tighten spending and develop closer economic ties within Europe, while many Portuguese sold their interests in Mozambique. Reduced Portuguese business interests in Mozambique, rapid modernisation in Portugal, and the ideological victory of Frelimo, set the scene for Portuguese withdrawal. Despite these movements, in the 1970s, the relationship between Portugal and South Africa deepened, with South Africa agreeing to bankroll counter-insurgency activities in Mozambique and Angola, while cutting military spending on internal security. Portugal and Rhodesia acted as proxies to keep conflict (and communism) away from South Africa’s borders (Miller 2012: 12,13; Newitt 1994: 532–536).

South Africa’s strategy to protect itself did not count on the events in Portugal that were soon to transpire. In 1974, Portuguese rule collapsed to the ideologies of decolonisation and democratisation. Frelimo insurgents had massacred 9 000 people after the Portuguese called a ceasefire in 1974. In the following year, Mozambique gained its independence, not through having won a military or ideological battle, but through Portugal’s decision that the war was no longer worth sustaining. The newly-independent Mozambique was established as a socialist state. When the Portuguese withdrew, so did most of the skilled Portuguese and Indian populations, and the support services for industries virtually collapsed. Ninety per cent of the Portuguese living in Mozambique left the country. Assets and money were taken out of the country, often driven over the border to a welcoming South Africa. The South African government was left with a military policy unsuited to the new situation, and felt much compromised in terms of national security, while internationally, Mozambique was increasingly isolated (Davidson 1984: 793; Funada-Classen 2012: 386; Miller 2012: 26, 184; Mondlane 1983: 140–143; Newitt 1994: 532–534, 551).

2.6. Refugee movements due to hunger and the Civil War (c. 1975 - 1994)

Independent Mozambique was born in 1975, amid hostility from white-controlled South Africa and Rhodesia, and distrustful white and Indian skilled populations, who soon left. In 1976, South Africa dramatically reduced the use of Mozambican labour. The same year, Mozambique imposed sanctions against Rhodesia in accordance with a United Nations (UN) ruling, and so denied the country access to their ports, thus losing a significant source of income. Mozambique became even more economically dependent on South Africa as a result. In 1977, South Africa reneged on long-existing transport agreements, which drastically reduced the traffic through Mozambican harbours, and in 1978, they broke the deferred payment

34

arrangement that had brought foreign currency into Mozambique. Thus, the newly-independent Mozambique lost multiple sources of income almost simultaneously (Funada-Classen 2012: 386; Jenkins 2000: 209; Machava 2011: 598).

It was not long after independence that opposition to the new government appeared within Mozambique. Portugal had fostered some support in the rural areas, which Frelimo lacked. Frelimo had unified only parts of Mozambique, and their post-liberation centralisation policy in a diverse ethnic environment was experienced, particularly in rural Mozambique, as a continuation of colonial policies. The Frelimo government was left with many detractors (Funada-Classen 2012: 382–401; Machava 2011: 602; Morgan 1990: 602).

The opposition to Frelimo resulted in armed conflict between the Frelimo government and the Resistência Nacional Moçambicana (the Mozambique National Resistance, or Renamo), in 1977. The war must be understood within the context of the Cold War, and the decolonisation threat posed to white rule in Rhodesia and South Africa. Rhodesia and South Africa were supportive of Renamo’s activities, but did not orchestrate them, as some scholars have argued. White Rhodesia had little liking for Mozambique, which supported the Zimbabwean National Liberation Army, the military wing of the Zimbabwe African National Union – Patriotic Front (ZANU–PF), a force for independence in Rhodesia. Rhodesia gave Renamo dissidents haven and later, some support (Funada-Classen 2012: 5–7; Newitt 1994: 563).

In addition to the renewed conflict, Mozambique soon faced famine. Upon independence, the country experienced a prolonged drought in southern Mozambique. State-driven agriculture projects could attract neither the necessary labour nor the much-needed profit. Thus, experienced managers left the country. Peasant farming, which had boosted agricultural profits, also declined as production quotas were removed. Poor prices for cash crops on the world market were a further disincentive for agricultural production. To feed its population, in 1975, the country was forced to import food at high prices. In southern Mozambique, floods followed the drought in 1977, 1978, and up to 1982. The famine was worsened by unemployed farm workers and miners moving to find work in the cities, thereby doubling Maputo’s population. The beleaguered Frelimo state had to nationalise businesses to avoid collapse, and by 1878, Mozambique had nationalised 50 per cent of the country’s businesses, including all those abandoned by the Portuguese (Morgan 1990: 601; Newitt 1994: 552).

35

With the Cold War impacting the region, Mozambique faced opposition based on its communist stance. After Zimbabwe’s independence in 1980, South Africa increased its support of Renamo, which was also backed by the United States of America (USA) under Ronald Reagan. South Africa followed a systematic destabilisation policy in previously white- controlled countries, particularly former Portuguese colonies. By 1983, Renamo had destroyed 140 villages, 840 schools, 200 primary health care centres and 900 shops in Mozambique (Funada-Classen 2012: 5–8; Newitt 1994: 563–565).

In the early 1980s, conditions in Mozambique started improving and state functions were gradually restored as Eastern Bloc countries finally came to the country’s aid. Ideologically- driven immigrants, some of whom were skilled, tried to replace the departed Portuguese. However, their assistance could not stop the decline. In 1984, the war damage, food shortages caused by economic and political chaos, as well as the worldwide recession, forced the Frelimo government to seek aid from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank; this marked the beginning of structural adjustment loans to the country (Funada-Classen 2012: 8; Newitt 1994: 552).

Swaziland experienced a mass influx from Mozambique following the Nkomati Accord in 1984. The Nkomati Accord was a non-aggression pact between the Frelimo and apartheid governments, which attracted renewed attacks from Renamo in southern Mozambique. Mozambicans fled the war, floods, and famine. No definite figure exists for refugees who fled their homes, however, some estimates are as high as a third of the population (this includes both internal and external displacement). As the Chamber of Mines had cut the quotas of Mozambican miners, refugees were forced into informal labour markets in Swaziland and South Africa (Hanlon 2010: 78; McGregor 1994: 547–557; Newitt 1994: 551).

The rightlessness of the Mozambican refugees who fled the 1980 civil war was a salient feature of their experience. They were often incorporated into the Gazankulu homeland through ethnic solidarity and the charity of the Shangaan residents. Practically, they were ghettoised amid an already poor people. While many had entrepreneurial skills, access to finance was limited by their informal status. Many Mozambicans were forced by circumstance to work as domestic workers or field labourers for their poor South African counterparts, making them an

36

underclass of an underclass, often facing resentment of those already marginalised in the Bantustan (de Jongh 1994: 227; Polzer 2004; Steinberg 2005:7).

Farms throughout the then northern Transvaal had always relied on migrants who entered the territory illegally. In fact, most undocumented migrants into South Africa had been agricultural workers in Natal and the old Eastern Transvaal (today Mpumalanga). In the 1980s, when Mozambicans fled the Civil War and famine, they risked arrest to engage in work, often on commercial farms. Farm labourers in the Lowveld were much needed, with demand exceeding supply throughout the 20th century (Mather 2000: 428; Mather and Mathebula 2000: 21).

In 1986, the South African government responded to the influx of refugees by electrifying the border fence to lethal levels, and increasing border patrols, thus diverting more refugees through Swaziland. Mozambicans who came into the apartheid state entered the Bantustan system. By this time, all black South Africans had lost their South African nationality, and were confined to designated black areas. There was no official policy on refugees, and Mozambicans were absorbed into the Bantustans until the second half of the 1980s. Later in the 1980s, as the apartheid government relaxed rules around keeping black people out of cities, tens of thousands of Mozambicans came to Johannesburg. They settled in townships, squatter camps, and the new grey areas near the CBD. Many of these refugees had initially fled conscription and famine in Maputo. They were joined by former miners (Crush and McDonald 2001: 4; Lipton 1986: 53; McGregor 1994: 556; Vidal 2014: 59).

Demand had historically outstripped supply for farm labourers in Natal and the Eastern Transvaal, but in the 1990s this changed, as refugees offered their services. Women (the wives of permanent farmworkers or those from the homelands) were typically seasonal workers who were employed for harvesting, while men were more likely to be permanently employed. Temporary employment was poorly paid, and farmers were known to avoid payment of wages by having refugees arrested after they had worked for some weeks (Mather 2000: 428; Mather and Mathebula 2000: 21). Arrest resulted in deportation or recruitment by Renamo, abetted by the South African Police. It is not clear how common this practice was. However, a refugee in Cammack’s (1992) study noted that prisoners were recruited in local jails and at Komatipoort while awaiting deportation (Cammack 1992: 29–31)

37

The Civil War ended with the withdrawal of external support, in 1992. During this time in South Africa, apartheid was being dismantled. The Cold War had ended with the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991. The withdrawal of external support for Frelimo and Renamo in Mozambique meant that neither side could afford to feed their soldiers. Post-independence Mozambique, which had grown considerable economic strength in the post-World War II boom that hit the colonies, experienced a precipitous economic decline in 1995, that left it one of the most heavily indebted countries in the world. This economic situation had its roots in the prolonged periods of war – the war for liberation, followed almost immediately by (and partly because of) the Civil War. Socialism did not last long in Mozambique. The Civil War had extracted a high price from the populace, and the government was forced to remove almost all social support systems developed under structural adjustment lending programmes in order to feed the citizens (Abrahamsson 1995: 300; Brück 2000: 56; Funada-Classen 2012: 8, 12; Riddell 1992: 56).

2.7. Estimated numbers of Mozambicans in South Africa in 1994

It is difficult to put a precise figure to how many Mozambicans were living in South Africa at the end of apartheid, not only because Mozambicans entered South Africa illegally, but also because of the social and cultural integration of South Africans and Mozambicans. In the Shangaan homeland of Gazankulu, Mozambicans often integrated seamlessly. However, in 1994, 71 279 Mozambicans were repatriated. This number doubled the following year. The election that ended apartheid, took place in April 1994. Various sources have the number of Mozambican refugees in the country at this time as upwards of 300 000. This number seems to come from estimates by Chris Dolan5 (1995) on the number of Mozambicans in the former homelands, along the eastern border of South Africa, based on records of the Catholic Church and Dolan’s own figures. One-fifth of Gazankulu was believed to have been Mozambican (Dolan 1995; Kabwe-Segatti 2006; Polzer 2008).

According to Dolan (1995) most of the 100 000 to 350 000 Mozambican refugees who fled the civil war before 1992, entered the migrant labour system. In 1993, the HSRC estimated the total number of undocumented migrants in South Africa to be five to eight million (Minnaar, Pretorius and Wentzel et al. 1995). Others have disputed these figures. Polzer (2008) shows

5 Who was, at that time, a researcher at the University of the Witwatersrand Rural Facility

38

how bureaucratic, academic, and social categories failed to account for a large proportion of refugees, as they integrated into local communities and so became invisible. It is thus not clear how many Mozambicans were in South Africa at the end of apartheid. This is precisely because Mozambicans and South Africans are not discrete groups, South Africans have Mozambican families and vice versa (Crush and McDonald 2001; De Vletter 1998: 15; HRW 1998; Kabwe- Segatti 2006).

In 1996, there were 73 787 Mozambicans officially working on the mines in South Africa (Kabwe-Segatti 2006). The numbers working on farms during the mid-1990s are unclear. Mozambicans who remained in Swaziland towns were visible by their concentration in certain sectors of the economy, such as vehicle repair, tailoring, carpentry, and building (McGregor 1994). It is likely that they filled similar niches in South Africa.

2.8. Conclusion

Since their first contact with Portuguese and Arabic ships, Mozambicans have experienced net losses in interactions with outsiders. Other than slaves and refugees, Mozambicans who emigrated used the system and the gaps therein to create lives preferable to those they would otherwise have had. People’s lives were improved through migration in terms of gaining access to money and the benefits thereof. Labour migration meant freedom from forced labour, even if it entailed risks associated with travelling to the destination, risks involved in mine work, and doing jobs that no other miner would do. Despite the risks, successive waves of Mozambicans migrated. For South Africa, labour was secured at rates below the cost of labour reproduction, while contracts ensured that unwanted Africans could be repatriated at the end of the contract and in so doing, black urbanisation in South Africa could be avoided. However, the stripping of labour from these provinces, either to South Africa or Lourenço Marques, ensured that southern Mozambique remained underdeveloped. The following chapter considers the post-apartheid period and contemporary risks experienced by Mozambicans migrating to South Africa and Johannesburg in particular.

39

CHAPTER 3

MOZAMBICAN MOBILITY TO SOUTH AFRICA: A RISKY

ENDEAVOUR

3.1. Introduction

Apartheid in South Africa came to an end in 1994, just two years after the 16-year-long civil war in Mozambique ended in 1992. Even before the 1994 elections in South Africa, the African National Congress (ANC) was in discussions with the ruling National Party (NP). The civil war in Mozambique and the vindictive behaviour of the departing Portuguese may have served as a warning to the ANC to attempt a peaceful change of power. Many ANC members had been in exile in Mozambique to escape political persecution in South Africa and had a first- hand view of the struggle. However, despite the peaceful transition to majority rule in South Africa, most of the population still remains economically marginalised (Bond 2000; Klein 2014: 199, 200; Manghezi 2010).

By 1994, there was both a sizable stable population of Mozambicans within South African borders and a sizable oscillating population engaged in migrant labour for the agricultural, mining, and industrial sectors. Migration had become inculcated as a way of life for generations of Mozambicans, and the migratory routes were marked by formal infrastructure, linking Mozambique to South Africa. Under mining agreements, Mozambicans had been a relatively privileged class in South Africa. Some are still of this class, but in this current period, Mozambicans increasingly come into South Africa and compete directly with unskilled South Africans, attracting resentment and occasional violence (Funada-Classen 2012: 7; Katzenellenbogen 1982; Newitt 1994: 459, 563; Peberdy 2010: 5). Within this setting, the study focused on the experiences of the research participants travelling from Maputo to Johannesburg.

This chapter starts at the beginning of the contemporary migration journey. Given the limited opportunities in Mozambique that serve to encourage migration, these risks are braved in the hope of better outcomes than those available in Mozambique. Once in South Africa, Mozambicans are exposed to a host of systemic risks due to policy provisions and practices by

40

state and other actors. As the South African government fails to deliver on economic promises made to South Africans, foreigners attract blame from politicians and citizens. These sentiments result in practical barriers for foreigners in accessing services, and occasionally in violence. While Mozambicans themselves may come to South Africa for better opportunities than those available in Mozambique, they find that employment options in South Africa are limited. This chapter considers the inherent risks in both countries.

3.2. Limited economic opportunities in Maputo

Mozambicans lack economic opportunities in their own country. Mozambique has shown impressive growth from its low base, but it remains one of the countries with the lowest gross domestic product (GDP) per capita in the world (totalling USD434.93 million in 2016). While the economy grew at 7 per cent per year between 1994 and 2014, the productive base has narrowed, becoming more focused on extractive activities, thus reducing business and employment opportunities (Castel-Branco, et al. 2015: 9).

In 2011 unemployment rate in Mozambique was 27 per cent; however, only 32 per cent of jobs are in the formal economy (AEO 2012). While formal jobs are not always more financially rewarding than those in the informal sector, they do provide limited opportunities for expansion into small businesses. Most frequently, those involved in the Maputo informal economy, sell food or small commodities. Others engage in activities outside the law. Growth in the informal sector is constrained by the absence of available capital investment, bureaucratic barriers, and the poor climate for small businesses. However, the formal sector is expanding rapidly, with Mozambique having one of the fastest-growing formal sectors in the region over the past 20 years (Crush et al. 2015: 16). The poor skills levels of many Mozambicans prevent access to the formal employment opportunities, which are often reserved for foreigners (Jones and Tarp 2015). This means that the estimated 300 000 youths entering the labour market every year have little chance of gaining formal employment or even engaging in remunerative informal activities. Thus, most youths enter the informal economy (Almeida Santos, Roffarello and Filipe 2015: 12; ILO 2007).

Given the high level of national debt in Mozambique, large investments of state funds to benefit the people and improve employment chances are unlikely. In 2015, state debt was officially pegged at 67 per cent of the GDP; however, the state had taken further undeclared loans of

41

another 10 per cent (Castel-Branco and Massarongo 2016:np). According to the Instituto de Estudos Sociais e Económicos (Institute of Social and Economic Studies), public debt reproduces vulnerabilities in the Mozambican economy and generates further debt, limiting potential for broadening the productive base, and in turn the possibilities for decent jobs. While other countries can service large amounts of debt, Mozambique’s economy is vulnerable in that it is largely reliant on imports (Bradshaw and Huang 1991; Castel-Branco and Massarongo 2016: np; Riddell 1992).

Mozambique is a food-importing country, making the population’s food security vulnerable to currency fluctuations. Hunger led to protests when global prices spiked between 2008 and 2012. Policies aimed at increasing food security have been ineffective. In both urban and rural areas, food is the largest part of most households’ expenditure, with the poor most affected by price increases. Ninety-eight per cent of households are reliant on food from informal markets or street vendors. Reliance on informal traders is an indicator of food insecurity, while more food-secure households are able to source food from supermarkets (Crush and Frayne 2011: 16, 28, 29). Many households in Maputo are not food secure, and 23 per cent grow a portion of their food or rely on food grown by household members in rural areas, causing family members to move from the city to rural areas in order to improve food security (de Brito et al. 2014: 8–19).

South African-owned chains of supermarkets in Mozambique have undercut local businesses and small traders, causing them to shut down. Moreover, these South African-owned businesses privilege large producers in South Africa over small Mozambican producers, even when official business policies state otherwise. Cross-border traders bring much of the food that stocks the informal market stalls in Mozambique. Even basic food products are less expensive in Johannesburg, and are bought in South Africa and resold in Maputo markets (Vidal 2007: 59). The flow of foodstuffs over the border through informal means outstrips formal trade. Much of the trade is in groceries, meat, fish, and eggs, rather than fruit and vegetables. Through both formal and informal means, Mozambique, particularly urban Mozambique, is reliant on South Africa for food as much of the country faces increasing desertification, loss of mangroves, heightened probability of crop failures, and undermining of infrastructure due to climate change (Broto, Oballa and Junior 2013: 687; Crush and Frayne 2011: 11–28).

42

The socio-economic and geographical layout of Maputo reflects broader events in the country. Significant urbanisation occurred in 1960 because of foreign investments in industry. Further urbanisation resulted from unemployment among former mine and farm labourers in the late 1970s. The city, as it is known today, was formed in 1979 from the cities of Lourenço Marques, Matola and Machava. In the early 1980s, the civil war began to affect the city, with insecurity and attacks in peripheral areas driving more people to the city centre (Jenkins 2000: 208; Shikhani 2012: 5).

Infrastructure is uneven in Maputo. While telecommunications and hotels have proliferated, there is an absence of basic infrastructure in other areas such as electricity and water supply, and road drainage (Broto et al. 2013: 686–689). The city is susceptible to flooding, which undermines the scant infrastructure. As 30 per cent of the population is dependent on pit latrines and a considerable sector has limited access to sanitation, flooding has a high risk of bringing disease (Marvin 2015: np; Melo 2012: 11) About 70 per cent of the population lives in informal settlements. Surrounding the dense CBD are areas where owner-occupiers gradually build their homes. This has been encouraged as a policy since 1979. As a result, social-spatial disparities are less severe than in Johannesburg. However, there is very little resilience to flooding due to poor building quality (Hodson and Jenkins 2000: 208, 209; Jenkins and Wilkinson 2002: 38).

Over half of the population in Mozambique remains poor. The Human Development Index (HDI) assesses three dimensions of human development: life expectancy, mean years of education, and gross national income (GNI) per person. Mozambique’s HDI value for 2014 was 0.416, placing it at 180 out of 188 countries. However, adjusted for inequality, the rating falls to 0.273 (UNDP 2015). This means that people in Mozambique are living longer, are more educated and on average earn more, but these benefits accrue unevenly throughout the population (de Brito et al. 2014: 13).

The lack of formal job options, the expense of food and the small chance of changing circumstances for many Mozambican citizens, together with the history of successful migration, make South Africa attractive. The informal dependencies in terms of food obtained through cross-border trading, also serve to ensure that people continue to cross the border.

43

3.3. Policy and practices of South African state agents regarding Mozambicans

Once Mozambicans make the decision to leave Mozambique for South Africa, they enter another sovereign state. Nation-states have the right to determine who should be allowed into the territory, what work they may do in the country, and their length of stay. These criteria are often explicitly stated, and designate who can be included or excluded. However, the practice of South African officials also reveals hidden criteria, including how the receiving state wishes to view itself, and whom they consider able to blend into the national body (Peberdy 2009: 1, 2).

There is a current global move to link immigration and security. The decline of nation-states may be one of the reasons, and in formulating immigrations policy allows states to exercise some sovereignty. The securitisation of immigration policy, as found in South Africa and many other parts of the world (Bigo 2002; Vale 2002), is based on leaders’ desires to demonstrate symbolic control over the territory and citizens’ fears of job losses. In South Africa, such securitisation is also seen. This chapter now turns to consider migration policy and the risks that it introduces to Mozambicans who migrate to South Africa.

3.3.1. Migration policy and Mozambicans After the fall of apartheid, Mozambicans were granted permanent residency in South Africa in a succession of amnesties. The ANC had promised South African citizenship to Mozambicans residing in South Africa in exchange for voting in the 1994 elections (Polzer Ngwato 2012: 108). However, citizenship was not automatically granted for voting, but following the elections, three amnesties were made available to Mozambicans. The first was for miners, in 1995. Just over 51 000 miners met the conditions of having worked in the mines since 1986, and having voted in 1994. These miners were given permanent residency (not all of whom were Mozambicans).

The second amnesty, in 1996, was for SADC citizens who had been resident in South Africa for five years and were gainfully employed, or were married to a South African. From the SADC applicants, 125 000 received documents. In total, it is estimated that less than 40 per cent of Mozambicans who were eligible took up the offer for refugees and miners (De Vletter 1998: 1, 24–-26; Steinberg 2005: 16).

44

The third amnesty was for refugees. In the mid-1990s, South Africa formally acknowledged the rights of refugees, leading to Mozambican refugees being offered amnesty in 1999 and 2000. Approximately 90 000 refugees took up the offer, and in 1998, it was estimated that between 200 000 to 300 000 Mozambican refugees remained in South Africa. Those who did not take up the offer risked arrest and deportation as ‘illegal aliens’. Assuming that these estimates are accurate, between 30 and 45 per cent of those eligible for permanent residency took up the offer (Crush 1998: np). In total, then, by the end of 2000, about 80 per cent eligible Mozambicans had taken up the offers (Polzer Ngwato 2012: 106).

Surveys of miners and refugees indicated why the take-up of permanent residency was not higher. Ninety-four per cent of miners were aware of the provision, and 87 per cent felt that they were eligible, but considered South Africa to be a temporary destination where they worked, and not a permanent place to live. In addition, there was confusion about the benefits of permanent residency, and many felt that anti-Mozambican sentiment would make it difficult to integrate into South African society. Refugees who would have been granted amnesty, on the other hand, did not take up the offer because they were not given much time to do so, and were suspicious of the DHA who had, four years earlier, used registration of refugees to encourage voluntary repatriation. In addition, those who were given refugee status were sometimes not given documentation to this effect. Others, who had previously been registered as South Africans in the Gazankulu homeland, lost the records of their citizenship with the computerisation of the system. There was a steep increase in deportations of Mozambicans after 1993, despite their recognition as refugees (De Vletter 1998: 1, 2; De Vletter 1999; McDonald 1999; Peberdy 2010: 7; Polzer 2007a: 23; Polzer Ngwato 2012: 109).

Once in South Africa, Mozambicans are subject to South African immigration law. Since 1994, immigrants in South Africa have been subject to two separate Acts on immigration, and four amendments to the two Acts. These Acts make provision for temporary visitors’ visas, work visas, corporate (work) visas, relatives’ visas and permanent residency. The intergovernmental agreements governing mining were always considered outside the purview of these Acts, and have remained virtually unchanged since the mid-1990s (Peberdy 2010: 7). The Acts and their implications for Mozambicans are now considered.

The Aliens Control Act No. 96 of 1991, was formed around the core concern of security; to ‘control, contain and export’ threats (Sinclair 1999: 341). Crush and McDonald (2001: 3)

45

described the Aliens Control Act as ‘a thinly disguised state assault on forced migrants from war-ravaged Mozambique’. The Act made no explicit allowance for temporary permits in order to work in the country. In addition, every temporary residence permit had to be issued by a panel who were tasked with making decisions. The Act undermined undocumented migrants’ fundamental constitutional rights. It also made illegal the employment of anyone without a residency permit. The Act had no mechanism to deal with the increasing numbers of asylum seekers, or the skills needs of the country. Spouses, children and those in the employment of ‘aliens’ residing in the country were allowed temporary residency permits (Kabwe-Segatti 2008: 69, 70; Kabwe-Segatti and Landau 2008: 34; Peberdy 2010: 6; Republic of South Africa 1991, sec. 26).

The Aliens Control Amendment Act No.76 of 1995 was introduced to ‘improve control’ over immigration. It allowed for the arrest and detention without a warrant of persons suspected of being illegal aliens (Republic of South Africa 1995, sec. 6). The emphasis of the Amendment was to ensure that unskilled and semiskilled immigrants could not enter the country. The Act and its Amendment were in contradiction to the Interim Constitution of 1994, and the 1996 Constitution. The Act maintained race-based distinctions to the detriment of Africans that sought to migrate into South Africa. The Amendment led to a more than two-fold increase in rejected applications from 1994 to 1996, compared with those of 1990 to 1992. However, the 1995 Amendment made it possible for foreigners to temporarily reside in the country with a work permit. The Amendment Act did not make provision for an explicit category of temporary residency permits for spouses or dependent children, but continued to allow entry on this basis. However, wives of permanent residents were not automatically given residency (Dodson 2001: 74, 75; Peberdy 2010: 6).

The apartheid-era immigration legislation did change a little with the introduction of the Immigration Act No. 13 of 2002, but retained a two-door system – one for skilled migrants, the other to provide a flexible labour supply based on short-term entry into the country. In this way, the legislation provides mines and corporate interests with unprotected labour by continuing the migrant labour systems, with their associated social problems, and treats immigrants as a temporary stopgap. It continues to discriminate against women by making permanent residency contingent on a ‘good faith spousal relationship’ with a South African or permanent resident, otherwise, the spouse could lose their visa. In practice, most of these are

46

likely to be women. However, the 2002 Act made provision for a Corporate Work Visa, allowing for the continued recruitment of farmworkers from Mozambique and other countries. (Dodson and Crush 2004: 9–113; Jordan and Duvell 2003: 17, 18; Landau 2004b: 11; Maharaj 2004; Republic of South Africa 2002).

The 2002 Act and subsequent amendments successively brought immigration law more in line with the Constitution while attempting to address skill loss, through emigration, by encouraging skilled immigration. The 2004 and 2011 Immigration Amendment Acts (No. 19 of 2004 and No. 13 of 2011) continued to exclude semi- and unskilled workers from permanent residency, and allow only mine and agricultural workers temporary residency. Migrant mineworkers may not bring wives or family with them. The 2011 Amendment retains the provision that allows for the arrest without a warrant of suspected illegal immigrants. It does, however, reduce the maximum period of imprisonment of a foreigner from two years to three months (Peberdy 2010: 7, 8; Republic of South Africa 2004, 2011; Vidal 2007: 57).

Work permits are difficult to obtain, and are ‘...issued only to foreigners where South African citizens with the relevant skills are not available for appointment’ (Department of Home Affairs, n.d. -a). Scarce skills categories cover a range of technical and professional occupations. General work permits require the applicant to have secured a job before applying, with the onus being on the employer to prove that there was no suitable South African applicant. The skills categories implicitly favour male immigration. Temporary residence, work and relatives’ visas are exclusionary because they favour affluent and educated immigrants. Permanent residency is available after five years on a work permit or relatives’ visa. For this reason, it is currently difficult for Mozambicans to become permanent residents of South Africa (Dodson and Crush 2004; Peberdy 2010: 7, 8; Republic of South Africa 2014a).

Another visa available to Mozambicans, is the visitors’ visa, which is essentially a tourist permit. It has at different points required an application and a fee to be paid, before a bilateral agreement for an automatic 30-day visitors’ permit was signed for implementation in 2005.6 Currently, Mozambicans can enter the country on an automatic visitors’ permit. However, those entering on this permit are not legally allowed to work, and face expulsion when their visas expire. There is also no way for a person entering on a visitors’ permit to apply for

6 This was succeeded in 2016 by an automatic 90-day visitors’ permit.

47

permanent residency or any other visa. In this way, visitors’ visas serve the dual purpose of reducing the load on the DHA in processing work applications, while allowing for expulsions or withdrawal of visas in the future (Peberdy 2010: 7, 8; Republic of South Africa 2014a, sec. 9; Streiff-Fenart and Segatti 2011: 45; Vidal 2007: 57).

Currently, anyone who is legitimately in danger in their country of origin may apply for refugee status in South Africa. This includes Mozambicans. Attacks in northern Mozambique by Renamo insurgents; who remained armed since the civil war, have caused refugee flows. However, due to the location of the conflicts, those affected have fled to Malawi. Mozambicans are unlikely to get refugee permits in South Africa, the number of Mozambican refugees recognised in 2014 was minuscule (Budlender 2014: 4; Gida and Lucey 2013; Louw-Vaudran 2016).

Migration policy in South Africa, despite its liberal Constitution, keeps most Mozambican migrants in a state of impermanence or illegality. Successive Immigration Acts have not significantly improved the situation. In fact, they have sought to harden entry into South Africa and reduce access to South African citizenship or permanent residency. Migration scholars have noted that there is a global move towards migration policy being increasingly politicised, and moved from a bureaucratic to an electoral issue. This is partly due to slower economic growth, the availability of employment and income inequality in many countries. Simultaneously, immigrants increasingly seek to remain in the receiving countries. The lack of a permit prevents legitimate participation in the formal economy. With limited options for legal long-term settlement and greater attempts at control, migration has been driven underground (Landau and Wa Kabwe-Segatti 2009: 17; Morris 1997: 202; Massey 1999: 314).

In South Africa, the net effect of the amnesties and subsequent legislation is that some Mozambicans have permanent residency, but most are dependent on visitors’ visas. There remain some Mozambicans working on the mines, under the inter-governmental agreement, while others have corporate work visas for jobs in mining, farming and other industries (Mather and Mathebula 2000; Peberdy 2010: 7, 8; Polzer 2008; Vidal 2007: 57).

48

3.3.2. Policy implementation: Department of Home Affairs (DHA) The DHA describes itself as the ‘custodian, protector and verifier of the identity and status of citizens and other persons resident in South Africa… [It] regulates and facilitates immigration and the movement of persons through ports of entry’ (Department of Home Affairs, n.d.-c). As such, the DHA is responsible for taking all decisions about immigrants, and with the consent of Parliament, decisions on regulatory frameworks. Since 1994, the DHA has experienced such a backlog in issuing documents that it is almost impossible to determine whether a foreigner is in the country legitimately. For citizens, the right to identity documents and passports upon application is enshrined in the provision for ‘Freedom of movement and residence’ in the Bill of Rights (Republic of South Africa 1996, chapt. 2). For non-citizens, these rights, together with the right to work in the country, must be granted by the State (Republic of South Africa 1996, sec. 22, 23).

The South African strategy has been to manage migration away from the borders, essentially by making the country an unwelcoming place for immigrants. As African immigrants can enter the country with relative ease, the bureaucratic burden has been shifted to urban DHA offices (Vigneswaran 2008b: 784, 785). In this way, immigrants can enter the country, but once in, they can be ejected should they be unable to get the necessary papers. The Department of Home Affairs has seldom been able to do workplace inspections, which are a key part of the planned system for finding undocumented migrants (Vigneswaran 2008b: 784, 785). However, the Department announced plans to increase capacity in 2015, and there were reports of inspections in 2017 (Mabena 2017; Mhundwa 2015). In addition, while citizens may act as informants on suspected undocumented foreigners, this seldom happens, despite the seemingly high levels of xenophobia. Irregularities in the system have resulted in a dramatic rise in the number of appeals against decisions on visas, which appear to be arbitrary (Vigneswaran 2008b: 784, 785). In a Green Paper circulated for comment in 2016, there appear to be new moves aimed at moving migration management to the border (DHA 2016).

A 2006 survey of high-ranking officials, including those from the DHA in the Johannesburg region, found that staff members felt helpless in the wake of perceived massive migration into Johannesburg. They frequently overestimated the number of foreign immigrants, and most saw non-nationals as a liability adding a further burden to Johannesburg’s already over-encumbered services and facilities. Half believed foreigners were more ‘involved in crime’ than nationals, but many (43 per cent) believed foreigners to be as likely to commit crime as South Africans.

49

Stereotypes exist in the DHA, which link certain nationalities to certain types of crimes (Johnston 2008: 8, 9; Vigneswaran 2011: 167).

In addition, the DHA has been found to detain rather than assist immigrants. In a 2010 survey of detainees at Lindela Repatriation Centre7, half of those awaiting deportation had been arrested by the DHA as opposed to police or the Johannesburg Metropolitan Police Department (JMPD, or Metro police). The research found that arrests by the DHA are often arbitrary or abusive, targeting legitimate applicants such as asylum seekers, while attempting to renew or replace documents. Rather than providing a service to foreign immigrants, some DHA officials themselves are complicit in the persecution of legal immigrants (Amit 2010: 22, 29, 30).

In an attempt to address the administrative burden of immigration in 2014, the DHA outsourced the receiving of applications to a company named Visa Facilitation Services (VFS). Costs for using their services are prohibitively high for poor immigrants, as the company levies additional charges. According to their 2016 website, online applications cost R1 350, with an additional R5008 to visit a VFS office. Application fees go to VFS and not to the DHA, where other fees are charged depending on the type of application. Moreover, VFS does nothing more than receive applications that need to be processed by Home Affairs. Effectively, the service ensures that immigrants and refugees do not crowd the DHA offices as they did previously, and that immigrants have very little recourse to challenge the speed of their applications or decisions made on them (Alfaro-Velcamp and Shaw 2016: 988; Donnelly 2014; Pokroy 2015; VFS Global n.d.).

In 2015, the Presidency announced that the DHA would be restructured from an administrative and governance department to a security department. This restructuring would include the hiring of 350 former members of the South African National Defence Force (SANDF). Moreover, the Minister in the Presidency for Performance Monitoring and Evaluation announced in 2016 that the DHA would become a part of the Justice, Crime Prevention, and Security Cluster (called the security cluster), further linking immigration to security. Notably, the announcement was made after a breakout of xenophobic violence in Durban. The justification for this move was purportedly to respond to citizens’ concerns about

7 This is a privately-run detention centre for those awaiting deportation in Krugersdorp, west of Johannesburg. 8 USD129.6 and USD48 respectively, at the 2014 exchange rate, the year of the research

50

undocumented migrants. An operation by the Security Cluster (Operation Fiela-Reclaim) has been challenged in the High Court and widely condemned by human rights activists for encouraging xenophobia. The operation was supposedly undertaken in response to xenophobic attacks on foreigners and involved warrantless searches of private residences by police and the army for undocumented immigrants (de Wet 2015; SA News 2015, 2016).

In a research study of immigrants in South Africa, focused on Cape Town, the various ways foreigners are criminalised are discussed. Partly foreigners are compelled to buy documents illegally because of the inefficiencies and corruption in the immigration and asylum systems. A key contributing factor is that the there is confusion around who qualifies for refugee status, meaning that people who would not be entitled to it still apply. This results in more applications pending than there would overwise be. Applicants are given asylum seeker status and have to prove that they qualify, but rulings on applications are delayed. The closure of the RRO in Cape Town to new asylum applications means legitimate refugees have to go to other offices to apply. In contrast, legitimate papers are available for purchase because of corruption in the department. Many, who would qualify as refugees are forced buy papers illegally, as official rulings on their status are never made (Alfaro-Velcamp and Shaw 2016). Consequently, many legitimate foreign immigrants are without documents. Inefficiencies, together with irregular practices have served to undermine the legitimacy of the institution. Disproportionally impacting the poor, a lack of documentation is a very real threat to their financial and food security, their health and wellbeing. It also lands even legitimate asylum seekers in the repatriation system (Alfaro-Velcamp and Shaw 2016: 988, 989).

The DHA behaviour towards refugees and other foreigners is in contravention of the country’s Constitution and several international treaties to which South Africa is a signatory. In not issuing documentation to immigrants as it should, the DHA disadvantages immigrants and their children (Corbacho, et al. 2012; CoRMSA 2008: 38; HRW 1998; Kihato and Landau 2006: 9; Sutton et al. 2011). It is also likely that their continuing hostility and failure to deal with refugees and other immigrants is likely to discourage applications by Mozambicans for permanent residency or refugee status. Simultaneously, continuing corruption in the DHA offices encourages alternative ways of getting documents. This exacerbates attempts by the DHA to keep accurate records of foreigners in the country.

51

3.3.3. The South African Police Service and the Metro police Johannesburg and other large metropolitan areas have two streams of law enforcement, both of which have jurisdiction over people thought to be illegal immigrants. The South African Police Service (SAPS) is funded by the national government and is the main crime-fighting body, while the Metro police enforce traffic regulations, by-laws and prevent crime, having the power of ‘search, seizure and arrest’. Launched in 2001, the JMPD is funded by local government (Rauch et al. 2001: 5, 9, 18). In practice, the JMPD and the SAPS often partner in joint operations (Palmary 2004). Together with the DHA, the SAPS and Metro police play distinct roles in policing immigration in Johannesburg, while the SANDF and SAPS share responsibility for border control. The policing agencies that Mozambicans are most likely to encounter in Johannesburg are discussed below.

Both the SAPS and the Metro police have great power over those they suspect of being foreign. Foreigners are identified using similar subjective judgements as those employed by apartheid government officials when determining race. African and Asian immigrants are more likely to be recognised as foreigners and ill-treated. Drawn from the general population, policing personnel may enter the service already prejudiced. A 2001 survey of Metro police recruits, for instance, found that 30 per cent believed immigrants (both internal and foreign) caused crime (Bhamjee and Klaaren 2004: 55; Palmary 2002: np, 2004: 64; SAHRC 1999).

A survey of deportees found that non-nationals arrested by the SAPS are more frequently injured during arrest, are denied phone calls, and not given a reason for the arrest (Amit 2010: 22, 23). Moreover, non-nationals are denied the opportunity to produce their documents in line with the law. Occasionally, arrested non-nationals are found to be carrying valid documents at the time, or affidavits about the loss of their papers, but are still detained (Amit 2010: 24–27). In addition, a number of operations have been undertaken with seemingly the sole motive of removing foreigners (Crush 2001a: 7; Klaaren and Ramji 2001: 31; Palmary 2004: 64; Vigneswaran 2008b: 790).

In 2013, a highly publicised murder of a Mozambican national by SAPS personnel took place. The man, Mido Macia, had worked in South Africa as a taxi driver for ten years. He was handcuffed to a police van, and dragged behind it, before being assaulted in a police cell (News24 2015). Eight policemen were involved in the murder, which was brought to public attention by a video taken by a bystander. It was identified as having a xenophobic motive by

52

Human Rights Watch (Clayton 2013). In 2006, a black foreign woman was beaten by police, later causing her to miscarry (Dissel, Jensen and Roberts 2009: 40). These incidents may not be indicative of general police practices (Amit 2010: 22, 23).

However, a household survey in Alexandra (a township in the north of Johannesburg) and central Johannesburg found that 55 per cent of black foreign immigrants were frequently stopped or visited in their homes for potential immigration violations (Misago, Grindrey, Duponchel, Landau and Polzer, 2010: 39). Not even legitimate migrants are safe from harassment, either out of doors or in their own homes. Harassing law-abiding foreigners distracts police from being where they are most needed, in addressing real crime and violence in South Africa, thus leaving room for vigilantism (Landau 2004b: 13; Misago 2009: 3; Peberdy 2010: 15; Sutton et al. 2011)

In the immediate post-apartheid period, public officials and police publicly scapegoated foreign migrants for the country’s ills. The association of immigrants with crime was visible both in the practice of keeping crime statistics and in continues to be so in the operations undertaken to find and remove immigrants. Crime statistics were used to reflect the number of ‘illegal aliens’ caught, implying in the reporting that the police were actively tackling a societal scourge (Crush 2001b: 111; Nyamnjoh 2006: 39; Palmary 2004; Roberts and Van Houten 2009).

For the police, there are few disincentives for the arbitrary arrest and detention of foreigners, but many benefits. The arrest of ‘illegal’ immigrants meets arrest targets, without putting police lives in danger as dealing with armed, violent criminals may. Police sometimes destroy or confiscate official papers, or refuse migrants opportunities to produce them. The term ‘illegal immigrant’ is misleading because it implies a link with illegal activities that is not always the case, especially considering the backlog at the DHA. In fact, those without documents are more likely to obey the law to avoid attracting attention, which may lead to their deportation (Rosaldo 1999: 256).

Corruption is known to occur in police practice. In Amit’s (2010) survey of deportees at the Lindela Repatriation Centre, the police were more frequently identified as having requested a bribe than other state agents. Migrants may make easy and rewarding victims of both theft and corruption on the part of police as they are often prevented from opening bank accounts and as

53

a result, may have large amounts of money on them. Police are susceptible to bribery and corruption as they are poorly paid and generally have little chance of promotion. In addition, incoming constables to Johannesburg are under enormous pressure in terms of community expectations, which encourage them to live beyond their means. Their needs for additional funding are often met through side-line businesses, often funded by corrupt practices (Amit 2010: 57; Landau 2004b: 12; Steinberg 2008b: 100–112).

Since an absence of documentation is associated with crime, police may appear to be doing a good job by harassing and arresting migrants (Misago 2009: 3). In fact, policing in the post- apartheid era has arguably changed all disappointed hopes (largely economic) into security concerns. By arresting and deporting foreign nationals, the police demonstrate that they are on the urban poor’s side, as they imply that it is foreigners who are stealing the promised benefits that were due to the poor after liberation. As the SAPS attract suspicion from the populace, the motive for this practice may be to win popular support. In demonstrating their support of nationals by removing people considered threating to South Africa’s economic interests, such practices may serve to quell suspicions of police corruption and social climbing (Steinberg 2012).

3.3.4. Detention and repatriation The official process upon the arrest of someone suspected of being foreign is as follows: police officers (or DHA officials) are to offer the suspected foreigner a chance to produce papers proving that they are in the country legitimately. Should the suspected illegal foreigner not be able to produce the required documents, or fail to satisfy the officer that he or she is in the country legitimately, they can be arrested without an arrest warrant. Thereafter, they can still produce documentation or otherwise prove that they have papers; failure to do so results in deportation (Immigration Act 2002 s 3, 34, 41).

The potential deportee should be notified in writing of the intention to deport him or her, and of his or her right to appeal under the Act. He or she may also request a warrant of deportation from a court, and if the warrant is not produced within 48 hours, he or she should be released. Detention before deportation may only be for 30 days, unless an extension is granted. Although arrest and repatriation are discretionary, foreigners are detained and deported as a matter of course. Persons to be repatriated are held in Lindela prior to deportation (Amit 2013: 32, Immigration Act, 2002 s 34).

54

The Lindela Repatriation Centre is run by a private company, Bosasa, under an agreement with the DHA. It is not clear whether this contract is valid under South African immigration law, or if the DHA is legally allowed to cede authority over immigrants to a private company. Lawyers for Human Rights (LHR) have raised concerns that detainees have little access to DHA officials, primarily only to Bosasa guards, who are not trained in immigration law or the rights of foreigners (LHR 2010: 21).

The Lindela facility itself compromises migrants’ rights under the Constitution, the Refugee Act, and the Immigration Acts. Detainees are subjected to hunger, violence, and unhygienic conditions. Procedural irregularities routinely occur, many of the detentions are illegal, and detainees are not informed of their legal rights. Complaints have been made about violence from guards and between detainees. In addition, lengths of incarceration in Lindela often exceed the prescribed 120 days, and often follow previous detentions, in excess of the allowed 48 hours. When the SAHRC conducted their 2015 investigation, it was found that an inmate at Lindela had been detained for over one-and-a-half years. The South African repatriation system seems to operate under a suspension of normal human rights and conventions, and suspension of legal oversight. When legal cases are brought against Lindela, the bill is paid by the DHA from citizen taxes (Amit 2012: 12, 52–62; LHR 2010: 21–62; SAHRC 2015).

A 2010 survey of Lindela inmates found that corruption occurred at several stages, with different amounts paid as customary bribes at each stage. Bribes are paid to avoid arrest, to get out of jail, to be freed from Lindela, and to avoid deportation (Amit 2010). The Centre has been found guilty on multiple occasions of human rights abuses. Poor migrants may be unable to resist violence and respond negatively to requests for bribes. The most vulnerable will be unable to make the cost of bribes, which lands them powerless in the repatriation system. Women and even children are detained at Lindela, even though it is not permissible by law to detain children for immigration reasons (HRW 1998; LHR 2010; 2012; LHR and CoRMSA 2010; SAHRC 1999, 2000, 2015; Solidarity Peace Trust and PASSOP 2012: 38).

The detention and repatriation system in South Africa is in line with international trends that consider arrest and repatriation an effective solution to unwanted immigrants. Governments around the world have adopted this strategy in attempting to control and deter migration, and in so doing, frame migration as a security risk. Although the public generally supports

55

repatriation, there is little evidence that it is effective in improving security within national borders. Officials tend to conflate persons without documents with security risks (Amit 2013: 32, 33). Repatriation is expensive. Calculations on the cost of the repatriation system to South Africa for 2013/2014 as calculated by Mthembu-Salter et al. (2014) was R90.7m9 for Lindela’s running costs and almost R200m for deportations. Gauteng immigration policing cost the state R362.6m in 2007/2008. These amounts pale beside the R500m10 in legal claims against the DHA for immigration violations. (The latter two costs are not only related to costs accrued by the repatriation centre.)

Mozambicans have been disproportionally affected by the deportation system during certain periods. Between 1994 and 1998, over 80 per cent of deportees were returned to Mozambique, although Zimbabweans formed an increasing proportion of those in the system. These figures may be higher than the actual number of Mozambicans and Zimbabweans, simply because others may have claimed to be nationals of these countries in order to re-enter the country quickly. Immigrants who can and wish to return to South Africa do so, but may not be able to do so legitimately, due to having previously been deported. As a result, they are more likely to enter the country illegally. As such, the repatriation system essentially becomes a revolving door. The DHA no longer gives a breakdown of the numbers of people deported to different countries, so current numbers are unknown. Once someone has been deported, they will be eligible for permanent residency only if they meet a number of criteria or pay R50 00011 to the South African state (or R2 000, if they paid their own deportation costs). May 2015 saw the arrest and deportation of 400 Mozambicans. In a Security Cluster operation named Operation Fiela-Reclaim, Mozambicans constituted over half of the 750 arrested. This number resulted from a series of warrantless searches, supposedly to address xenophobia (Amit 2013: 33; Covane et al. 1998; Johnston 2008: 22; Patel 2015; Ramjathan 2003 in Landau 2004b; Vigneswaran 2008b: 791).

3.4. Provision of services to migrants

The South African constitution makes many rights available for all who live in South Africa, rather than for its citizens only (Republic of South Africa 1996, chap. 2). These rights are

9 USD8.65m and USD19m respectively at 2014 exchange rate 10 USD47.7m 11 USD4 770

56

accessed predominantly through the Department of Health (DoH) and the Department of Basic Education (DoBE). However, these services often require documentation issued by the DHA. Without this documentation, attending school or accessing health care becomes difficult (Klaaren and Ramji 2001; LHR and CoRMSA 2010; Mthembu-Salter, Amit and Landau 2014; Vearey 2011).

In withholding services to immigrants, state and other agents increase the risks that foreign nationals experience. In terms of health, South Africans are also put at risk. In this section, these services are examined and discussed in terms of the service provisions made by various government departments. The first, discussed below, is access to policing services through the Department of Police and the SAPS. The SAPS have been explored in their role of enforcing migration law; here, their role as a service provider to all in South Africa is considered in relation to crime prevention and investigation. The second is access to health services through the Department of Health, primary care clinics and hospitals. The third is access to education through public schools, and finally, the fourth is access to financial services.

While much of this research on the treatment of migrants does not concentrate on Mozambicans, the discussions below focus on the treatment of immigrants generally, and on Mozambicans only where possible.

3.4.1. Access to policing services The vision of the SAPS is ‘to create a safe and secure environment for all people in South Africa’. The Constitution states that the ‘objects of the police service are to prevent, combat and investigate crime, to maintain public order, to protect and secure the inhabitants of the Republic and their property, and to uphold and enforce the law’ (chapt. 11, s 205). Thus, policing in South Africa should not only serve its citizens, but all inhabitants of South Africa.

Yet foreigners are disproportionately the victims of crime. A 1999 Southern African Migration Project (SAMP) survey found that refugees were more likely to be victims of crime, and that West Africans were more likely to be robbed. In all, almost a quarter (23 per cent) of the sample were assaulted, and 42 per cent had been robbed (McDonald, et al. 2000: 180). Forty-two per cent of non-nationals were robbed in a 2002 survey of inner-city Johannesburg, compared to 30 per cent of the total population. Foreigners were more commonly assaulted, burgled, had their vehicles stolen, and murdered. They were also reported as the perpetrators of crime in the

57

above survey (63 per cent). In thirty-nine per cent of cases, non-nationals identified foreigners as the perpetrators of the crime (Leggett 2003: 53).

Criminals target foreigners with little fear of negative consequences. Foreigners, regardless of their legal status, are less likely to report crime (Misago et al. 2010). In a survey of residents in Alexandra and the Johannesburg city centre, few foreign residents in either locality said they would report crime incidents to the police. Between 54 and 63 per cent in Alexandra and the CBD respectively, would not report crime, as opposed to 40 and 46 per cent of long-term residents (figures for internal migrants are similar to foreign migrants). When asked why they would not report, responses indicated that they did not trust the police. They felt that the police did not care about foreign nationals or that they would have their own migration status discovered (Misago et al. 2010: 39). Criminals can therefore feel safe when targeting immigrants, both because of the inadequate protection afforded non-nationals, and the victims’ lack of means to redress (Maharaj 2004: 11).

3.4.2. Access to health services Immigrants coming to work in South Africa are generally healthy and do not greatly tax the health care system. They are likely to move back to their originating areas if they become ill. In this way, they are close to family support and preferred burial sites. However, foreigners may be subject to health problems associated with living conditions and communicable diseases, and are often disproportionately affected by crime and violence. Moreover, immigrants may face poor food security, which causes health decline. In addition, because of the violence immigrants face during xenophobic outbreaks, otherwise healthy people may find themselves in need of health care (HRW 2009: 8, 26–48; Misago 2009; Vearey 2012: 63, 64).

The public health care system in South Africa has three tiers of services. The first line of access to services is provided by primary health care clinics. These are distributed on a local level (particularly in cities), and provide free services. These primary health care clinics are typically staffed by nurses and visited by doctors. They stock a supply of certain medications to be dispensed. The next tier is the district hospitals to which patients are referred by primary clinics when they require more sophisticated treatment. The third tier is academic hospitals that offer advanced diagnostics and treatments. Additional health care is provided through non- governmental organisations (NGOs), sometimes together with the public sector. Most of the

58

population cannot afford private health care, and the system is overburdened due to insufficient staff and facilities. (Cullinan 2006; Jobson 2015).

Health care policy in South Africa is inclusive, making it a universal right, even for foreigners. While immigrants, with the exception of refugees, may have to pay additional fees for health care services, no one may be denied them. The National Health Act No. 61 of 2004 makes free health care available for pregnant and lactating women if they have no medical aid. Children under six years of age are also to receive free primary health care. This is given through state- funded clinics or community health centres. Likewise, no one may be denied emergency treatment by health care workers (Republic of South Africa, 2004, sec.4). However, permanent and temporary residents, and those who have no documentation, must pay in full for public health care. Refugees are not mentioned in the 2012 Patient Fee Schedule (Department of Health 2012: 1), but the Refugees Act states that refugees have the same rights to health care and education as citizens (Republic of South Africa Refugees Act 130 of 1998, sec.27).

The differential access to health care and associated fees for different kinds of immigrants lead to confusion among health care practitioners confronted with various papers. Furthermore, no translators are provided by the DoH, and language barriers frustrate even well-intentioned providers when they are unable to assist. The confusion around documentation, together with the absence of clear policies that accommodate immigrants, makes health care prohibitively expensive for them. For instance, a means test for free health care typically includes proof of receiving a social grant, for which not all foreigners qualify. In fact, contrary to policy, foreigners may end up being classed as full-fee patients by default (HRW 2009: 60–62, 66–72; Vearey 2012: 6163).

Health care practitioners are known to discriminate against foreigners, refusing them treatment, or sending them elsewhere. Referrals between clinics and hospitals cost patients a significant amount in both time and travel, and in fees. Discrimination is also expressed through verbal and physical abuse, and longer waiting periods (HRW 2009: 54; Landau 2008: 189, 2010: 73; HRW 2009: 54, 55; Vearey 2012: 63).

Foreigners are sometimes denied life-saving care and treatment. A study found that 17 per cent of refugees and asylum seekers had been refused emergency medical care. Female immigrants surveyed had experienced denial or delays in assistance during labour, which could be

59

considered an emergency, depending on the situation (Belvedere 2003 in Landau 2008: 189; HRW 2009: 68). Immigrants also experience difficulties getting anti-retroviral treatment (ART), based on assumptions that migrants come to South Africa to access ART, or that they will not adhere to the treatment programme. Denial of ART can result in further infection of the national population. In addition, confusion about the need to fill in a police report after a rape (which migrant women may not wish to do), can exclude migrant women from post-rape treatment, including post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP) (Vearey 2012: 63–65).

Discrimination based on ignorance or malevolence against foreigners and their children can cause them to suffer unduly. While policy frameworks are in place to accommodate immigrants, there are constraints on the public health care system. In this context, those who are required to provide services in these environments may feel animosity towards immigrants, whom they consider a further burden on an already overburdened system.

3.4.3. Access to education The Department of Basic Education (DoBE) is part of the Education for All (EFA) global initiative led by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO). Under it, the Department has undertaken to provide universal primary school education and to reduce illiteracy. While quantitatively they are achieving well against the targets set, other studies indicate foreign children are often excluded from education. Figures for most immigrant groups are not available, but 24 per cent of refugee and asylum seekers children are not in school, and 70 per cent of Somali children of school-going age are not in school (DoBE 2013: 5; LHR and CoRMSA 2010: 2; Peberdy and Majodina 2000).

According to a report on progress made towards education targets by the DoBE (2013), 99 per cent of children in South Africa have access to primary schooling. The report quotes the census figures as showing that 98 per cent of children attend school at some point (although foreign children may not be included in this figure). School fees are the most common reason why children do not attend. Enrolment in high school is 86 per cent (for 16- to 18-year olds), reflecting a high dropout rate. The South African Schools Act No. 84 of 1996 and related regulations prohibit exclusion, based on ‘nationality, documentation status or ability to pay’. Non-school attendance was frequently the case with past refugees who may not have had Mozambican or South African documentation. Children were sometimes unable to obtain documentation because they were orphaned, and their parents had no documents when they

60

died (or if they came to South Africa with someone other than their biological parents). Furthermore, school registration requires the submission of a birth certificate, an immunisation card and the last school report. Immigrants may find these requirements hard to comply with. Often, foreigners do not get feedback on why their children have been denied access to schooling, and they are not referred, as they should be, to the DoBE in their district. In addition, both children and their parents are subjected to xenophobic comments by teachers. Children in inner-city and border areas are accused of causing overcrowding in schools, even though they are often the minority of the learner population. In this way, the DoBE scapegoat’s immigrants for poor planning (DoBE 2013: 17–24; Hall and De Lannoy 2016; Landau 2008: 189, 2010: 73; LHR and CoRMSA 2010: 3; Polzer 2007b: 5; Veriava 2014).

Poor education, or the absence of it, has a long-term impact on the children concerned. The Statistics SA Poverty Trends in South Africa report showed that in 2011, 66 per cent of people with little or no education were poor. The correlation between education and poverty held at the upper level, with fewer of those with post-matric education likely to be poor (5.5 per cent in 2011). In finding employment, some foreign nationals may have ethnic-based networks to draw on, or an income despite their lack of education, but many become locked into poverty. Denying immigrant children access to education can have multi-generational effects on their livelihoods. It is accepted that educated mothers provide better care for their children, and the educational achievement of their children is influenced by the mother’s level of education (Carneiro, Meghir and Parey 2013; Magnuson 2007; StatsSA 2014: 30).

3.4.4. Access to financial services and finance Sixty per cent of the South African population does not have access to financial services, but it is doubtless higher for international immigrants (Makina 2013). The lack of available banking facilities may involve the risk of carrying cash, which can be lost to both corrupt police and criminals. Even the SAPS has encouraged banks to provide foreigners with accounts. Without banking services, robbery can result in extreme financial loss. In addition, employers may require non-nationals to have a bank account. If they cannot be paid electronically, they may not be hired (Bhamjee and Klaaren 2004: 58, 59; CoRMSA 2011: 9, 25; Jacobsen and Bailey 2004: 101; Landau 2004a: 22, 2010: 73).

Following civil society efforts, refugees and asylum seekers are theoretically able to open bank accounts (CoRMSA 2011: 9). There is legal provision for persons with permanent and

61

temporary residency visas (including work visas) to open bank accounts. However, in practice, despite the legal provision to open accounts, many foreigners are unable to do so. For instance, anti-money laundering legalisation requires proof of South African residence, which precludes many poor domestic and international migrants, who are unable to produce the documents required by banks (Bidandi 2014). Bank personnel often do not know how to react to the variety of documents that immigrants carry. Moreover, there appear to be no standardised procedures across banks for foreigners wanting to open accounts, and despite the legal provisions, banks use their discretion in deciding whether to grant an applicant an account (Immigration South Africa n.d.; Landau 2008a: 189, 2010: 73).

Transactional banking for the majority of low-income unbanked people in South Africa is provided through the low-fee Mzanzi Account, but this is not available to immigrants. While Zimbabweans and Mozambicans are not strictly comparable, Zimbabweans on average are often far more educated, and unlike Mozambicans, have benefited from special permits to stay and work in South Africa. A survey of Zimbabwean immigrants conducted in 2007 found that only 40 per cent had access to formal bank accounts, and that many opted for informal financial services in order to remit funds. Greater numbers of Zimbabweans with citizenship or permanent residency, as opposed to other visas, were found to have bank accounts. It is likely that far fewer Mozambicans have access to bank accounts and loans (ANA Reporter 2017; Bhamjee and Klaaren 2004: 22; Makina 2013).

Even those immigrants who succeed in establishing bank accounts can find them frozen should the account become inactive. South African banks can freeze the accounts of refugees and other immigrants when visas expire, leaving them without access to funds. In addition, the time lag between the application for an account, and the approval thereof is a considerable problem for immigrants (CoRMSA, 2011: 25; Law Society, 2013).

Charges for international monetary transfers are prohibitively high, especially for those with low earnings. As many immigrants work in South Africa to send funds home to their families, these fees present a significant barrier to using banking institutions (Landau 2008: 189, 2010: 73). Makina (2013) found that Zimbabweans often use friends or taxi drivers to take money (and presumably goods) over the border. This method is used regardless of whether a person has a bank account or not, but it clearly represents a security risk to those who transport the

62

funds, and for those whose money it is. It also represents a risk in terms of money laundering and illicit activities as cash is impossible to trace.

As immigrants are isolated from family and other support networks at ‘home’, formal institutions may be their only access to credit. Without a bank account, it is difficult to access the necessary credit to create or expand businesses. Many foreign nationals bring a range of entrepreneurial and practical skills into the country. Access to credit provides the means to capitalise on these skills; it helps immigrants ensure their own financial and food security, and creates employment for others. While it is difficult for many South African residents to access credit, it is even more so for foreigners. A survey of residents in inner Johannesburg found that only 10 per cent of non-nationals (versus 25 per cent of citizens) considered formal banking an option for credit (Jacobsen and Bailey 2004: 100, 101; Misago et al. 2010: 31).

Some non-governmental organisations (NGOs) do provide microloans, allowing foreign entrepreneurs to expand their businesses. This growth has enabled them to employ South Africans. As such, there is an economic argument to be made in favour of microloans as they can create employment, broaden the tax base, and feed into the South African economy. This is due to non-nationals’ improved ability to consume more and buy supplies for their businesses. Microloans may afford foreigners the opportunity to set up successful microenterprises in South Africa (Jenkins and Wilkinson 2002: 38; Jacobsen and Bailey 2004: 101).

The denial of policing, health care, education and financial services affect immigrants’ lives. The result of two or more of these services being denied to immigrants is cumulative, likely reducing their chance of making a living in South Africa, and thereby reducing any contribution they could have made to the South African economy. Worse, the denial of health services to any section of those living in South Africa risks the health of citizens.

3.5. Xenophobia and violence from citizens

A contributing factor to the denial of services is likely to be xenophobic sentiments in the populace. ‘Xenophobia is a form of attitudinal, affective, and behavioral prejudice toward immigrants and those perceived as foreign’ (Yakushko 2009: 43). Prejudicial sentiments and behaviours against foreigners are common in South Africa. Xenophobia is especially

63

prominent in urban centres, with Johannesburg having been called ‘the epicentre’ (Johnston 2008: 8). Negative perceptions translate to poor and sometimes violent treatment of black immigrants (HRW 1998; HSRC 2008; Johnston 2008: 8; McDonald et al. 2000: 180; Murray 2003: 441).

South Africans often believe that black non-nationals ‘steal jobs and women’, and commit crimes. Citizens associate foreigners with violent crime, job loss and disease. These stereotypes reflect defensiveness, particularly in terms of men’s machismo. Xenophobia in Johannesburg has been considered an outcome of high rates of crime, for which people are seeking scapegoats. Many South Africans do feel a sense of injustice together with an increasing sense of foreigners rushing in to capitalise on their newly-won gains. This has taken the form of recurrent moral panics (Gqula 2008; Johnston 2008; Mattes, et al. 1999: 12; Misago 2009; Murray 2003: 440; Landau 2011).

It is easy to single out poor black people for xenophobic violence and consider it some sort of ‘pathology’ (Harris 2002). However, a broad cross-section of South Africans expresses xenophobic sentiments, regardless of race. A Wits-Tufts survey found that 64.8 per cent of South Africans in Johannesburg considered the expulsion or departure of non-South Africans as positive, and ‘many supported drastic measures toward this end’ (Landau 2006: 131). Similarly, Mattes et al. found that South Africans widely supported strict controls on immigration, and that anti-immigrant sentiments were widespread among South Africans (Mattes et al. 1999: 7–9, 17; see also HSRC 2008). Another survey found that people with a lower subjective sense of wellness were more likely to believe negative stereotypes of immigrants. Pervasive inequality in South Africa may have more to do with xenophobia than does poverty (Gelb 2008; Gordon 2015).

Political leaders fuel xenophobic sentiments. Some researchers have suggested the official xenophobic articulations are due to the need to construct an idea of a nation outside the racialised conception of ‘nation’ in apartheid South Africa. As such, the creation of a non- racialised identity for South Africa has been explicitly formed through the othering of non- South Africans. This necessitates a cognitive separating of South Africa from the rest of the continent and denial of the history of help that South Africa received from neighbours who sheltered and openly supported nationalist movements in South Africa during the liberation struggle (Croucher 1998; Dodson and Oelofse 2000; Gordon 2015; Murray 2003).

64

An analysis of speeches made by political leaders found that they perpetuate xenophobia by not contradicting extant perceptions of the threat that foreigners from Africa represent. Simultaneously, policy decisions reaffirm national interests over regional concerns. Statements in speeches by political leaders are not countered in South Africa by any robust societal challenges or groups that present strong alternative messages on foreigners. This means that there is no alternative for public understanding of foreigners, or of immigration in South Africa (Ilgit and Klotz 2014). In contrast, immigration does not need to be portrayed as a security risk, but can be framed around needed skills or used to highlight the role of the country as a haven against the persecuted (Amit 2013).

There exists a conceptual continuity between current popular support for immigration controls and that in support of influx controls under apartheid. Under apartheid, influx control sought to keep the black majority of South Africans away from the white minority by confining most of the black population to ‘homelands’, thus sentencing them to extreme poverty. In the apartheid period, fears of disease, poor wages, business competition and declining property values kept the majority away from urban centres. In the post-apartheid period, the same fears about the threats posed by ‘others’ are implicitly being tapped into by politicians. These fears are linked with security concerns. Xenophobic and racist rhetoric on immigration are long- standing subjects in South African society (Peberdy 2009; Vale 2002).

Xenophobia does not have to have violent outcomes, but it often does. The most dramatic example of xenophobic violence occurred in 2008. The ‘xenophobic attacks’ started in Alexandra and spread quickly to various parts of the country. More than 60 people were killed, 700 were wounded, and between 17 000 (according to the SAPS) and 200 000 (according to some NGOs) were displaced, while unknown numbers of people were raped. A central figure in media portrayals was Ernesto Nhamuave, a Mozambican national who was lynched and set on fire. The perpetrators of this crime were not convicted (Murray 2003; Neocosmos 2010; Landau 2011; Tromp 2015; Vidal 2014: 59).

The 2008 xenophobic attacks were related to local-level politics, in the lead up to the 2009 national elections. Violence was linked to the micro-politics of informal settlements and townships (Misago 2009) and ethno-political concerns. A section of Alexandra saw a campaign to remove Zulu-speaking Inkatha Freedom Party supporters, followed by non-Zulu speakers.

65

As such, the xenophobic attacks were a political and an ethnic struggle. The plan was a success as the particular area in Alexander was subsequently free of Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP) supporters and non-Zulu speakers (Steinberg 2008a). Those involved in xenophobic attacks framed their actions as completing what the police had set out to do, suggesting that citizens felt that they had official support, even if only tacit (Steinberg 2012).

Seven years later, in 2015, King Goodwill Zwelitini likened immigrants to parasitic head lice, sparking xenophobic attacks in KwaZulu-Natal. While he later called for an end to the attacks and said that the media had misinterpreted his meaning, he did not retract the statement. Zulu speakers have affirmed that there can be no mistaking his meaning. The King is the leader of the Zulus, which is the biggest ethnic group in South Africa, and has the support of most of the eleven million Zulus in the country (Govender 2015). After the fieldwork for this research was completed in 2017, the mayor of Johannesburg, Herman Mashaba, visited Rosettenville after a house was set on fire by angry residents. The house allegedly belonged to a Nigerian drug lord. After the meeting, 12 houses were set ablaze. The subsequent fires were blamed on the mayor (Whittles 2017).

There has been little research done on how women are affected by high levels of xenophobia. This is probably because migrants are believed to be men (Dodson and Crush 2004: 99). Women have been raped during xenophobic attacks (Landau 2011: 1; Vidal 2014: 59). Considering the official treatment of migrants, sexual assault is not likely to be reported, and sexual violence and rape is routinely used for the purposes of ethnic cleansing in different parts of the world (Fuller 2008). The high rate of gender-based violence in South Africa and the combination of official discrimination against and exploitation of migrants, together with a sense that no consequences result from attacks on migrants, has put female migrants in a particularly vulnerable position. However, no studies on this phenomenon were found in the literature review for this study.

3.6. Economic risks

Because of the difficulty involved in obtaining work visas, Mozambicans are most likely to enter on visitors’ visas, and undertake informal labour or cross-border trading. Such entry is captured in tourism figures, which do not give the total number of Mozambicans coming into the country, but provide some information on those who enter using visitors’ visas. According

66

to the South African Tourism Strategic Research Unit (2016), most Mozambicans who crossed the border to South Africa in 2015 came to Gauteng (66 per cent) or Mpumalanga (36.9 per cent). Most stayed for the full 30 days allowed by their visas. Many were young, with most (43.9 per cent) aged between 25 and 34 years. In 2014, over half of them had entered South Africa between six and nine times. Most gave their reason for coming as visiting friends or relatives (52.7 per cent) (Cramer 2001: 100, 101; Söderbaum 2004: 167; South African Tourism Strategic Research Unit 2016).

A 2006 household survey by SAMP in Mozambique found that 17.5 per cent of respondents were employed as semi-skilled or unskilled manual workers. It is likely that Mozambican migrants to South Africa are also predominantly unskilled or semi-skilled. There are indications that Mozambicans in South Africa often find work in the construction industry. In a 1998 survey, almost 40 per cent of Mozambican deportees had been employed in construction. A further 2.5 per cent were electricians. All working in these sectors were male. Six per cent of females surveyed were domestic workers, which is in line with previous research on female migration from Mozambique to South Africa. Other trades were mechanics, taxi drivers, panel beaters, security guards, and restaurant helpers. Six per cent of those surveyed by SAMP in Mozambique, were hawkers or traders. Cross-border trading was traditionally a female pursuit, but was increasingly being undertaken by men (Crush 2011: 9; Dinat and Peberdy 2007; Dodson 2000; Peberdy 2000; Peberdy and Crush 2001; Ratha, et al. 2011; Rogerson 1999).

It is likely that many Mozambicans labour in South Africa and then take goods across the border for trade purposes. Tourism figures from South Africa show that Mozambicans spend significant amounts of money in South Africa. In 2015, Mozambicans spent the second-highest amount per person of all visitors from southern African region. Mozambicans spent R5 085m in total, or an average of R4 30012 per person. The highest spenders were Zimbabweans, with a total of R12 36713 per person. Considering their poor earnings, the expenditure is significant, and is likely related to the informal trade that stocks Mozambique with South African goods. Despite the low number of people who identified themselves as hawkers or traders, it is possible that many engage in cross-border trade, even if they do not hawk goods themselves

12 USD391m and USD330 respectively 13 USD951

67

(Peberdy 2000; Peberdy and Crush 2001; South African Tourism Strategic Research Unit 2016; Vidal 2014).

3.7. Mozambicans in Johannesburg: Estimated numbers

At the time of this study, how many Mozambicans were there in Johannesburg? This was difficult to ascertain based on the available information. One of the difficulties in estimating the number of foreigners in Johannesburg is their invisibility and the fact that some are permanent residents or citizens, which could mean that the actual population of Mozambicans in Johannesburg is higher than census figures imply. The 2011 South African census does not provide a breakdown by nationality, but indicates a total of 2.2 million foreigners in the country. This equates to 4.2 per cent of the total population, but 9.5 per cent of those living in Gauteng (StatsSA 2012: 40). In 2010, Mozambicans accounted for just over 14 per cent of all African immigrants, significantly lower than Zimbabwe’s 39 per cent (StatsSA 2014).

In a 2008 household survey, the Centre for Development and Enterprise (CDE) estimated that the total number of foreigners in Johannesburg was between 500 000 and 550 000, which equated to between 12,35 and 14,5 per cent of the total population of Johannesburg at that time. Zimbabweans and Mozambicans, were believed to make up the largest proportion of non- nationals, although people from Lesotho also made up a large share (Johnston 2008).

The CDE research team estimated that 14 per cent of the total number of households in the Johannesburg survey were Mozambican. This means that there were approximately 70 000 to 77 000 Mozambicans in Johannesburg, assuming the perceptions of the research team and their estimates were accurate.

3.8. Conclusion

South Africa’s significant Mozambican population remains socio-economically marginalised, experiencing xenophobic attitudes and abuse from both authorities and citizens. The predominantly semi-skilled and unskilled labour provided by foreigners, such as Mozambicans, is considered a threat to the employment and wage levels of South Africans. The South African government’s failure to improve the lot of most of its citizens, and the presence of foreigners, have provided a target for citizen disenchantment and predictably

68

resulted in xenophobic violence. Black foreigners experience everyday discrimination and denial of services. South Africans may feel their bigotry is partially justified because of tacit or overt political and police support of discrimination. Foreign entry into the country is easier on a visitors’ visa than previously; however, this visa, at least initially, serves to hide the risks associated with migrating to South Africa. Over time, the risks for migrants manifest in increased chances of arrest, solicitation of bribes, deportation, denial of services and economic marginalisation. The ‘invisibility of risks’ in late modernity is a key concern of sociologist Ulrich Beck’s risk society. This theory and its applicability to the current case is explored in the following chapter.

69

CHAPTER 4

RISK AND MIGRATION: A CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK

4.1. Introduction

Theoretical and empirical understandings cannot be completely separated. Theory informs empirical research and makes it more widely applicable (Joas and Knöbl 2009: 3). In the case of this study, neither Mozambique nor South Africa are isolated from ideologies and social understandings that exist outside their borders. They are both caught up in broader historical, social, and socio-economic influences. The previous chapter considered the history of the relationship between South Africa and Mozambique.

This chapter looks at the risk society thesis of Ulrich Beck and considers how it can be applied to the current context. The application is not possible without making several observations about the history of the continent, and the way that African societies have modernised and yet are not modern. The modern world has implications for class, work, our relationship with risk, as well as migration. These are all explored, drawing on academic work conducted in different parts of the world, including Mozambique and South Africa.

4.2. History as per Beck’s risk society thesis

One of the great ironies of our time is that even as people live longer and experience less present dangers, the public are more aware of risks than ever. Ulrich Beck, a German sociologist, was among those who noted this apparent contradiction. Beck (1992: 21) defines risk as a ‘systematic way of dealing with hazards and insecurities induced and introduced by modernisation itself’. His book Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity, was first published in German in 1986 and in English in 1992. It introduced the concept of the risk society, which has subsequently been refined and clarified in multiple works.

Risks are everywhere, for all people in the world, because of the particular features of the current era. Beck (1992: 11) asserted: Just as modernisation dissolved the structure of feudal society in the nineteenth century and produced the industrial society, modernisation today is dissolving industrial society and another modernity is coming into being.

70

This is emblematic of Beck’s view of history, which he divided into three periods: firstly, the premodern or pre-industrial period; then the modern period (variously called simple or early modernity or simply, modernity); and high, late, second or reflexive modernity period, which is synonymous with the risk society. He emphasised that such periodisation is a heuristic device and that one period does not abruptly become another, but characteristics blend between eras. It is for this reason that in explaining Beck’s views of history, the focus is on the transitions rather than the eras themselves.

4.2.1. Premodernity to modernity Two sociologists have contributed significantly to sociological understanding of modernity and risk, Beck (1992) and Giddens (1990) developed their understanding of modernity in line with each other, but initially separately. Beck outlines a view of history, moving from premodernity, to modernity toward reflexive modernity, but was more interested in simple and late modernity than premodernity (Beck 1992: 7, 2009: 119). Both Beck and Giddens shared a sense that the world is still being propelled by the energy that was generated by industrialisation. Beck quotes Giddens on his work on risk, but did not feel the need, while drawing on a view of history that starts in premodernity, to describe premodernity itself. The lack of a clear explanation from Beck on premodernity necessitates the adoption of other descriptions. The account given here stems from Giddens’s book The Consequences of Modernity (1990).

Before modernity, societies were not clearly delineated as nation-states are today: … agricultural communities and hunting and gathering societies normally shaded off into other groups around them and were not territorial in the same sense as state-based societies (Giddens 1990: 17). Premodernity was also marked by humans who saw themselves their lives as tied to nature, crops, animals and natural disasters. In the premodern period, hazards were everywhere. Hazards were caused by nature. The transition from premodernity to modernity lay in the development of mechanisms to deal with (natural) hazards, such as the building of dams or the creation of early warning systems (Beck 1992: 19, 2009: 94). Relations of dominance were based on violence, rather than economic domination. In addition, the ability to accumulate was limited by the need for an individual to be in proximity to his or her possessions. Social relations were also limited and insular in that there were clear divisions between insiders and outsiders, as all people in communities were acquainted, in all but the biggest neighbourhoods in agrarian societies (Giddens 1990: 49).

71

In contrast, modernisation is defined by Beck (1992: 50) as: … surges of technological rationalization and changes in work and organization, but beyond that includes much more: the change in societal characteristics and normal biographies, changes in lifestyle and forms of love, change in the structures of power and influence, in the forms of political repression and participation, in views of reality and in the norms of knowledge. In social science’s understanding of modernity, the plough, the steam locomotive and the microchip are visible indicators of a much deeper process, which comprises and reshapes the entire social structure. More simply, modernity is defined by Giddens (1990: 1) as the ‘modes of social life or organisation that emerged in Europe around the 17th century onwards’. The transition to modernity is evidenced by the rise of the nation-state, reliance on fuels for power such as coal and oil, together with capitalism as it is currently understood, and the complete commodification of labour and their products. For both Beck and Giddens, modernity marks a break with premodern and pre-globalised worlds. Capitalism is central to modernisation, under which goods or ‘commodities’ are exchangeable for money. The difference in the value between the inputs (labour, raw materials, etc.) and the amount that can be charged, allows for accumulation. Beck uses Zanf’s (1992) institutions as indicators of modernity, which include ‘competitive democracy, the market economy and the affluent society with mass consumption and a social safety net’. The emphasis on the nation-state and the ability to accumulate are central to both Beck and Giddens (Beck 1994: 19; Giddens 1999: 4, 6; Marx 1996: 400).

The enlightenment emerged from a religious context of premodernity and superseded it, but it did not fundamentally change the underlying certainty. Under premodernity, certainty is based on divine law. Under modernity, empirical observation and reason lent predictability. The dominance of Europe during this period offered evidence of the superiority of reason (Giddens 1990: 40). Arising, too, in the modern period are concepts or principles of human rights, such as self- determination, the sanctity of human life, the need for rationality in public discourses and democratic legitimation of power, all of which should be supported by the nation-state (Beck 2009a: 46). Modernisation has improved the lot of many people in the world. The average life expectancy is longer than before, and many of the indicators of human development have improved. Genuine material need has been reduced. This has been achieved through improved technology and human productivity. As such, Beck is relatively positive about the impacts of modernity (Beck 1992: 19, 2009: 94; Jarvis 2007).

72

A new world was formed with the uncertainties of premodernity becoming certain in the modern era. In the modern era, the concepts of the premodern world were used to understand the changed circumstances, but were not up to the task. It takes time for cultural understandings to catch up to changing social and economic realities in new eras (Beck 2009: 214–217).

4.2.2. Simple modernity to risk society Simple modernity to risk society is the transition point between two eras that Beck says we find ourselves in. Certainties under modernity are uncertain now. Today, we live with the institutions of modernity, as new institutions have not yet formed. The risk society is ‘a phase of development of modern society in which the social, political, ecological and individual risks created by the momentum of innovation increasingly elude the control and protective institutions of industrial society’ (Beck 1999: 72). The risk society, then, is a symptom of the industrial society (Beck 1992, 1999, 2006: 61).

During the progress made from premodernity to modernity, the impacts of human activity become visible and tangible. They were increasingly a result of industrialisation and technological development. For example, industrialisation created pollution that could be seen and felt; it settled in a haze over cities and choked those who breathed it. In the risk society, there are invisible risks everywhere. We are surrounded by a myriad of invisible things that can kill us. Risks are found in the toxins in our water, in the air, in our food. Risks under conditions of the risk society are not actualised catastrophes or destruction, but continually threaten to become so: … risk leads a dubious, insidious, would-be, fictitious, allusive existence: it is existent and non-existent, present and absent, doubtful and real. In the end it can be assumed to be ubiquitous and thus grounds a politics of fear and a politics of prevention (Beck 2009a: 3). Industrialisation made possible phenomena we now take for granted, such as urbanisation, car accidents and toxicity from medicines and man-made chemicals. For Beck, risks are both objectively real and constructed. In this way, he rejects the dualistic conception of ‘real’ and ‘(socially) constructed’ as artificial, an idea produced by modernity. There are real risks with real impacts on people’s lives (such as chemicals in our food), but the people also interpret and construct their own perceptions of risks. Risks are not nature or culture, but a man-made hybrid (Beck 1992: 7, 1999: 146, 2006: 62, 64, 2009a: 77).

73

As risks in the risk society are not visible, the population relies on experts for information about them. Governments have experts that assess the risks of medicines, water and food. However, people are not exposed to just one risk, but combinations of them. Experts tend to defend the producers of risk rather than the people at large. In addition, specialisation means that the risks that fall between scientific fields are not explored. Scientists also disagree among themselves. As a result, people do not trust scientists and speculate about the invisible things that affect us. While experts may explain risks to the public, people modify and reinterpret them (Beck 1992: 51–74).

Beck argues that never before have people been so aware of risks that impact everyone regardless of borders. Risks are not confined within national boundaries, they cross borders and affect people everywhere. Global mass media is central to people’s perceptions of the severity of risk. In the minds of the populace, the world is a mass of risks, the reactions to which differ in different communities (Beck 1992: 71, 72, 155, 1999: 49, 2009a: 1, 9; Mythen 2004: 4).

The globalisation of risk is an important aspect of the risk society. One of the principles of globalisation is the geographical separation of the means of production from capital. Globalisation is thought of as the spread of relations of exchange throughout the world, the relations of exchange having already been cast in terms of capitalism. Beck defines it as ‘the processes through which sovereign nation-states are crisscrossed and undermined by transnational actors with varying prospects of power, orientations, identities, and networks’ (Beck, 2000: 11). These processes cannot be reversed. Beck considers dimensions of communications technology, ecology, economics, work organisation, culture, and civil society as globalised (2000: 13). Under globalised capitalism, transnational corporations and the global capital class have great economic and political power, both in their home countries and abroad. Some have budgets larger than those of most nations, and the power to ensure that reason and the desire to reduce risk, does not challenge their profit margins (Giddens 1990: 70; Beck 2000).

Risks in the second modernity are attributed to decision-makers such as ‘people, firms, state agencies and politicians’ (Beck 1992: 98). As such, the public is aware that those who endanger them and those who are supposed to protect them may be the same people. Therefore, the representatives of nation-states are distrusted. The nation-state is also undermined in the risk

74

society as governments are unable to control or avoid risks since they cross borders. Nation- states are interdependent as the risk society spreads throughout the world (Beck 1999; Beck 2006: 62). As a result, the predominant institution of modernity (the nation-state) is ironically unable to deal with the impacts of modernity. Risks have proliferated and globalised. Risks cannot be kept outside a country’s borders, but at the same time, nation-states are expected to reduce risks and deliver development to the people. However, nation-states lack the autonomy and power to do so.

4.3. Modernity in Africa

Beck’s risk society is not immediately applicable to an African context without some observations about his historical view. He acknowledges that modernity is not simply transplantable, and yet there is pressure to do so. This necessitates a deeper understanding of modernity than can be read from Beck. In Africa, societies were formed into states and, under conditions of extreme coercion, were required to modernise.

The discussion about modernity in Africa must start with Beck’s definition of modernity and its applicability. His adoption of Zanf’s definition of ‘competitive democracy, the market economy and the affluent society with mass consumption and a social safety net’ already indicates that modernisation is not complete in African countries. Democracy, the market economy, and social safety nets exist in varying degrees on the continent. In particular, social safety nets such as unemployment benefits and free health care are only available to some, and under specific conditions. This is partly due to various historical factors.

In the 1950s and 1960s, as African states began to gain their independence, the USA became the greatest world power. The end of World War II left the USA in a position of economic domination over war-ravished Europe, and able to institute a new world order, established at Bretton Woods: … the production of world money was taken over by a network of governmental organisations motivated primarily by considerations of welfare, security, and power – in principle the IMF and World Bank, in practice the US Federal Reserve System acting in concert with the central banks of the closest and most important US allies (Arrighi 1994: 279). The US became the world’s banker. The IMF and World Bank are funded by taxpayers throughout the world, but voting power is slanted in favour of the countries which had greater

75

power at the end of World War II. Control rests with a small group of developed countries and the US has veto power on any decision made by the IMF (Stiglitz, 2015: 12). As such, corporate interests in the US and other developed countries often dictate the policies adopted.

A key condition of lending is structural adjustment. Structural adjustment policies require countries that borrow from the World Bank to adopt currency devaluation, the reduction of state interference or ownership in the economy, the removal of subsidies, and trade liberalisation (the removal of barriers to free trade between countries, such as duties on trade goods). Currency devaluation should improve the profitability of exports; however, it also causes the cost of living to increase dramatically, as fuel and medicines are often imported and therefore more expensive. Forced reduction of state interference in an economy prevents governments from implementing policies that support education, health, and livelihoods. The removal of food or fuel subsidies causes costs to rise for the poorest. Trade liberalisation promotes the exportation of raw goods and the importation of processed goods (Riddell 1992).

Structural adjustment lending has been linked all over the world to increases in inequality and unemployment, and the entrenchment of poverty (Stiglitz, 2015: np). It fundamentally undermines African and other developing nation-states. Moreover, structural adjustment leads to unemployment, a poorer domestic market, and impedes economic growth. Accumulated debt becomes increasingly difficult for countries to service (Bradshaw and Huang 1991; Riddell 1992). This has undermined the sovereignty of states: National governments have been far less free than ever before to pursue their ends by means of war, territorial expansion, and to a lesser but none the less significant extent, violations of their subjects’ civil and human rights (Arrighi 1994: 67). Many developing countries lack the necessary control over their own territories to modernise (Moore 2001), and structural adjustment borrowing locks developing nations into only limited industrialisation.

The relative modernisation of some countries allows them to transfer risks to countries which have not yet undergone industrial modernisation (Beck 2009a: 168). In the present case, this works in multiple ways. Historically, South African business and the state have benefited through underdevelopment in Mozambique. South Africa imported cheap labour from southern Mozambique because of underdevelopment in the country. South Africa, the more economically dominant country, industrialised on the back of the labour supplied by

76

Mozambique. Conversely, the lack of industrialisation in Mozambique meant that there was little industry to absorb labour. In addition, the country did not develop as it may otherwise have, due to the lack of labour (First 1983).

More recently, in very different contexts, both Mozambique and South Africa have come under the power of the neoliberal economic policies of the IMF and the World Bank. After independence, Mozambique was compelled to seek international aid to feed its citizens. The Mozambican communist government adopted structural adjustment policies in exchange for loans. In contrast, South Africa, always subject to the vagaries of British business interests, voluntarily adopted such policies in the transition from apartheid. In adopting these policies, the further modernisation of both countries was undermined (Bond 2000; Carmody 2002: 266; Davis 2003; Jenkins 2000).

For Beck, modernisation is a process, but modernity itself is elusive. He argues that western modernity is not ideal for every context. In fact, the environmental impacts of industrialisation make it untenable. In addition, western modernisation was founded on a particular set of cultural factors. It is a historical peculiarity and as such, is not readily transplantable. Yet forces both internal and external to nation-states encourage modernisation. Based on the experiences of developed countries concerned with problems relating to excess rather than the lack thereof (such as obesity rather than hunger), modernisation is not necessarily to be desired. In fact, a wholesale adoption of modernisation is likely to reproduce the faults of the system (Beck 1992, 1994: 19; 1999, 2009a: 175, 176; Beck and Grande 2010: 410).

Some scholars have critiqued the uncritical adoption of modernisation theory (Bhambra 2014). Modernisation itself involves the adoption of a Eurocentric view (Hardt and Negri 2001: 69– 83) and modernisation theory may imply that modernisation is a positive phenomenon. In fact, such modernisation that spread during the colonial period in Africa was based on violence and coercion. African wealth previously went to colonial masters, partly through the institution of slavery. In the British colonies, British goods were exchanged for slaves, slaves for tropical products (such as sugar), which were then exchanged for British manufactured goods (Williams 1994: 51–56). In this way, wealth was transferred out of Africa. Central to modernity is the nation-state, which supports subordinating people to capitalism, capitalist accumulation, and the ruling elite. As nationalism was used in throwing off colonial rule, states in Africa are essentially modern conceptions in that they are a product, and were part of the fuel of

77

colonialism, which in itself was a product of modernity. Without colonialism, African territories would likely be far different in size and shape, and may not have been formed into nation-states at all (Hardt and Negri 2001: 96–107).

Modernisation in the colonies was not an organic process as it is sometimes presented in Europe. The institutions of modernity for former colonies were generally formed by colonial masters rather than evolving on their own. Many of the colonial structures ‘were often simply taken over by indigenous elites after independence’ (Ashcroft 2001: 2). Moreover, the rise of neoliberal globalisation together with the independence of African states, undermined the ability of African countries to develop the robust institutions associated with modernity (Leys 1994; Moore 2001).

4.4. The interaction between class and risk in the risk society

Even though African countries are not fully modernised, they experience the risks associated with modernity. In fact, both on a global level and within societies, risks tend to cluster in populations that are already poor, rather than in better-off communities. As such, ‘risks seem to strengthen, not to abolish, the class society. Poverty attracts an unfortunate abundance of risks’ (Beck 1992: 35) [emphasis in original]. Unskilled workers are far more likely to be unemployed, be exposed to more toxins, less nourished and educated. Poorer education levels and a lack of attentiveness to pertinent information make it less likely that a person will avoid risks, even when they are able to (Beck 1992: 35).

The need to create employment and attract investment makes countries more willing to import risks. For instance, poorer countries and regions import hazardous waste and hazardous industries. Richer countries and neighbourhoods are able to expel them. Factories and industry give the appearance of greater autonomy and ‘development’. Yet it is in these contexts that safety measures such as protective clothing are least likely to be used. In addition, the risks are least likely to be recognised, let alone studied (Beck 1992: 39–43). In African countries, food security is compromised by climate change, and they experience more natural disasters and extreme weather. Climate change may increase the incidence of malaria and other public health concerns. In addition, climate change is fuelling conflicts and causing new flows of migration (Broto et al. 2013; Hendrix and Glaser 2007; Senior, et al. 2002; Tanser, Sharp and le Sueur 2003).

78

Nations and individuals with the means to export or avoid risks do not escape them indefinitely, and as the impacts of the risks increase, they impact those who produce the risk. Beck called this the ‘boomerang effect’. In this case, those who produced risks through their activities can find their assets devalued due to the pollution they produced, and are forced to pay damages resulting from lawsuits (Beck 1992: 37–40).

Whereas in previous epochs, people may have organised based on class around the idea of equality or at least, wage increases. People in the risk society are not concerned with attaining an economic or social ideal, but avoiding disaster. In this way, a solidarity of anxiety arises. In an age in which confidence and belief in social class, nation and progress have become more or less questionable, the global perception of global risk represents perhaps the last – ambivalent – source of new commonalities and interaction networks (Beck 2014: 56). This can drive people to extremism and irrational activity. New alliances and communities arise, with world views, norms, and certainties that centre on invisible threats.

4.5. Work in the risk society

The cultural impact of modernisation is invisible in that it is everywhere, and informs assumptions that few people realise they have. It becomes invisible because it is the background stuff of modern life. Central to this is the idea of employment. Industrialisation changed the historical understanding of work. Culturally, work has become central to people’s lives. People prepare for work through education, and devote a great portion of their life to it. Work becomes a source of identity and even in retirement, non-work is defined by wage labour. Work is often considered central to social inclusion. The emergence of this understanding of work is particular to and out of step with concepts preceding industrialisation. In ancient Greece, for instance, work was an indicator of social exclusion and slaves who performed work were ineligible for citizenship. This was noted by both Marx and Weber (Marx 1996; Weber 1930; Beck 1992: 139, 140).

Work, in a modern society, is central to people’s sense of self and to social life: Even outside of work, industrial society is a wage labor society through and through in the plan of its life, in its joys and sorrows, in its concept of achievement, in its justification of inequality, in its social-welfare laws, in its

79

balance of power and in its politics and culture (Beck 1992: 144, italics in original). On an individual level, social identities are shaped by work. People ask about what you do when they meet you. By this they do not mean your hobbies. The social expectations of men in this regard are frequently extended to women. Women are also expected to work, even while caring for children. Work and family are ideally supposed to provide people with stability (Beck 1992: 140; Beck 2014a: 10).

Yet while social expectations are that people should work, in the globalised capitalist economy, unemployment is systemic. To stimulate economic development and attract foreign investment, the cost of labour is reduced to boost profits and taxes for global businesses are cut, depriving states of funds that could boost employment. In a race to the bottom, poor countries compete to gain the attention of transnational corporations. Jobs can be exported, with the division of labour crossing countries. Consumer goods can be assembled from parts made all over the world, and call centres to service the goods can be placed far from the countries that manufacture them (Beck 2000: 3, 4; Sklair 2000).

In late modernity, industry is transformed through automation, overseen by a few highly skilled people, thus undermining the need for great numbers of labourers. In service industries such as retail and tourism, more people are employed on a part-time basis. Underemployment serves to boost employment figures, while increasing numbers of people join the ranks of the working poor. More people perform flexible labour, and jobs are frequently outsourced: Employment is becoming precarious; the foundations of the social-welfare state are collapsing; normal life-stories are breaking up into fragments; old age poverty is programmed in advance; and the growing demands on welfare protection cannot be met from the empty coffers of local authorities (Beck 2014a: 3). Individuals are forced to sell themselves on the open market and develop microbusinesses. In so doing, individuals bear the economic risks previously borne by corporations and states. The youth is increasingly entering this environment (Beck 1992: 143–149).

Most people no longer work in factories or mines. Work is becoming increasingly geographically decentralised, and people can even work from home. Few can hope to have one workplace throughout their working career. While people may request flexible working arrangements to deal with their various responsibilities, particularly in female-headed and dual

80

income households, it ultimately undermines their income. There is an economic knock-on effect that ensures that most remain precarious, not only in the developing world but also in the developed world (Beck 1992: 88, 139–143). The informalisation and casualisation of work is a symptom of the risk society.

Labour unions are increasingly unable to protect such workers, and individuals often fail to see the structural components of their exploitation. People tend to incorporate their experiences into their life biographies, and in so doing, are less likely to organise collectively. The continued emphasis on the value of work in terms of personal identity means that people often tend to blame themselves for their circumstances (Beck 1992: 88–149, 2006: 63; Beck and Grande 2010: 411).

This is an important aspect of the risk society, in the sense that the world has changed and there is a disjoint between people’s expectations of work and the reality. Beck argues that this is an opportunity for society to transform yet again, and that the centrality of work is a historically- contingent phenomenon. While this is true, those caught in the current system of underemployment find their social identities compromised and regard themselves less valuable as people for this reason (Sennett 2012).

The frontier of employment demonstrates nation-states’ inability to provide for their citizens, particularly in contexts where the welfare state is weak or non-existent. The monetarisation of economies without industrialisation and high unemployment rates leave states in a constant crisis of legitimacy. This is particularly the case as liberation parties often rose to power on the ticket of nationalism and communist principles. Yet poverty remains high and inequalities increase (Beck 1992: 149, 2014a: 19–27).

Nation-states assert their power by hardening entrance requirements and ensuring that semi- and unskilled migrants are unlikely to secure long-term legal access to the country (Bigo 2002). In this way, exclusionary immigration policy is a reaction to the nation-state’s lack of power, and is a facet of late modernity: This misgiving-based security process becomes a political technology of ruling that concentrates fears on an adversary who is always opaque and difficult to catch, while, at the same time, pursuing a policy of forgetting the (often unintentional) consequences of structural public policies implemented twenty or thirty years ago (Bigo 2002: 81).

81

South Africa’s current approach to immigration, while highly concerned with security, ignores the assistance rendered to those fighting for liberation from apartheid who were given shelter and support in neighbouring countries (see Manghezi 2010). In South Africa, there are efforts to articulate the enemy in the form of the black foreigner. The black foreigner, as a result, experiences very real risks because of the perceptions of the state and citizens. These include threats to a foreigner’s bodily integrity through violence or ill-treatment by state officials or citizens. Foreigners also have their financial security challenged through negative stereotypes, and their vulnerability allows for exploitation (Crush 2001b; Gordon 2010; Hassim et al. 2008; Valji 2003).

In South Africa, while inequality and unemployment rates remain high, hostility is likely to persist. The country has a range of social grants to support the poor, yet inequality is growing. According to World Bank data (World Bank, 2011), the Gini coefficient, an inequality measure, increased from 0,59 in 1993, to 0,63 in 2011. This increase reflects the growing inequality over the period. South Africa has numerous protections in place for workers; however, labour brokers provide flexible labourers who have little protection (Kenny 2004; Kenny and Webster 1998). Although the practice was curtailed by the Labour Relations Amendment Act No. 6 of 2014, it is not clear how this influences the precariousness of workers (Republic of South Africa 2014b; Vatalidis and Badal 2015). Various industries have experienced decline and increasing levels of informal and flexible labour. Only one-third of the economically active population has jobs. Those with formal jobs often take on other informal work, and are generally in debt (Barchiesi 2007; Bond 2015; Padayachee 2006: 307; Webster 2012). Black South Africans in contemporary South Africa remain economically marginalised. As such, poor foreigners may attract resentment, and possibly violence, should they be seen as competition for scarce jobs and other economic opportunities

Black foreigners and South Africans frequently share class positions. Beck recognised that individualisation in the wake of the risk society has undermined people’s ability to organise based on class: … as a result of shifts in the standard of living, subcultural class identities have dissipated, class distinctions based on status have lost their materiel traditional support, processes for the diversification and individualisation of lifestyles have been set in motion (Beck 1992: 91). In other words, individualisation separates class distinction from social identity. Social identities can be reflexively adopted, but this does not mean that inequalities disappear. The

82

effects of inequality are just conceived as individual crises. Social organisation, then, takes place based on a number of issues not necessarily economic. Yet some ascribed characteristics associated with categories such as race, gender, ethnicity, nationality, and sexual orientation attract permanent conflict and discrimination.

Beck has been critiqued for his dismissal of class in the wake of individualisation: The general, tendential assertions he advances about business and organizational restructuring assume what needs to be demonstrated – namely, that these new organizational forms spell the demise of social class, as well as the viability of class analysis (Elliott 2002: 304). Elliot (2002: 304) argues that there is urgent need to analyse how patterns of domination and power interact with the symbolic understandings of risk. While Beck does not contend that class has disappeared, there seems to be room for a better analysis of risk and class within his risk society thesis. Such analysis should be based on empirical work. Indeed, drawing on an argument from Tamir (2004), the formation of nation-states allowed for unique cross-class alliances that resulted in stability. Under globalised conditions, there is an erosion of the benefits of citizenship, and borders increasingly become permeable. As a result, when facing competition from non-nationals for scarce jobs, the lower classes feel exposed and alone and a defensive nationalism arises. There is potential for conflict in cases where the risk posed to the lower classes outweighs the benefits of globalisation (Tamir 2004: 142, 143).

4.6. Reflexivity

Thus far the chapter has outlined and highlighted the objective aspects of risk, and considered the consequences of modernity in the present age. In late modernity, the effects, the ‘ecological, structural and cultural crises’ (Rossi 2014: 59) defy rationality. These crises in the risk society have been accelerated by the process of globalisation. Globalisation has led to a proliferation of risks, and global companies who often create these risks often act without opposition. Furthermore, global and national decision-making bodies do not act in accordance with rational principles, which would result in a reduction of risk. It is this break with rationality that leads to the necessity of reflexivity (Rossi 2014).

Individuals in reflexive modernity need to engage reflexively with all-pervasive risks. For both Beck and Giddens, reflexivity provides a form of considering the self and the world. Beck’s concept of reflexivity seems contradictory in different works. He has argued both that it is

83

reflexive as in an involuntary reaction (1992), and that it is reflexive as it begs the individual to consider her or his actions (2014a). In another work, Beck seems to reconcile these two seemingly contradictory positions through the use of Latour’s definition of reflexivity by stating: ‘Reflexive’ signifies not an ‘increase of mastery and consciousness, but a heightened awareness that mastery is impossible’ (Beck et al. 2003: 3). Reflexivity is practiced within the unknown. Beck considers an individual’s action as happening where knowledge is not present, or that cannot be present (Beck 1994: 176, 177; 2003, 2006: 67, 2009).

Risk is reflexive. ‘Risk is a reflexive notion because it balances benefits against harms and makes the future decidable in the present’ (Beck 2009a: 19). Risk changes people’s experience of time and space, as the imagined future has the potential to determine present actions, rather than current actions being regulated by the past. In contrast, Giddens sees reflexivity as the interplay between thought and action. While it may appear in his 1992 book that Gidden’s concept allows for people to actively engage in their worlds, it does not explain how decisions are made and carried out. In line with Erwin Goffman, Giddens (1992: 32) understands reflexivity as a form of self-monitoring. In traditional cultures, reflexivity is limited to a reinterpretation of traditions. In contrast, under reflexive modernity: ...thought and action are constantly refracted back upon one another. The routinisation of daily life has no intrinsic connections with the past at all, save in so far as what "was done before" happens to coincide with what can be defended in a principled way in the light of incoming knowledge (Giddens 1992: 33). In this way, life under reflexive modernity is deeply unsettling. Knowledge is uncertain and changeable.

However, the concept of reflexivity has a far longer history. The views of Giddens and Beck (at least those in the works reviewed), do not allow for an understanding of how people act and consider their actions in social interaction. According to Adams (2003), George Herbert Mead’s view of reflexivity and identity development offers a better social-psychological account of reflexivity and social action, despite long preceding Giddens and Beck. Mead believed that the self or identity arises out of social interaction and in relation to others. Therefore, there is an element of culture informing people’s identity. Mead suggested that future goals change the rational workings of the mind, arousing the present mind to the future attainment. Thus, setting a goal changes how individuals think about themselves and their world (Mead 1981: 133). Mead’s view, I argue, allows for a better understanding of decision-

84

making and action, and better links to the social-psychological work on risk that is often based on previous experience and culture. This reflexive, social engagement with risk leads to the development of a risk culture.

4.7. Risk culture

In consideration of the social, constructionist aspects to risk, Scott Lash (2000) suggests that the term ‘risk society’ should be supplemented by the idea of a ‘risk culture’. He agrees with many of the tenets of Beck’s theory but argues that the use of the word ‘society’ presumes order, while there is disordering in high modernity. Risk culture, as Beck defines it, is a ‘loose ensemble of sense-making and sensibilities, that constitute a reflexive-ethics of contextualization, challenging, disclosure and politicization’ (Lash 2000: 30). Beck in an article in the same book as that in which Lash’s appeared agrees with this definition of risk culture as what he meant by risk society (Adam, Beck and Loon, 2000).

The disordering of risk means that the nucleus of the culture is not based on norms related to public life (as per Talcott Parsons), but rather on values central to the risk culture: They are cultures and not institutions in the sense that they operate in the media of values not norms. But they are characteristically risk cultures (unlike communitarian traditional bodies, which are not risk, but ‘security cultures’) in that there is a chronic uncertainty, a continual questioning, an openness to innovation built into them (Lash 2000: 60).

In this way, the culture is constantly being considered and remade around shared values, such as hard work. This is not through rational calculation or normative action, but through symbolic practices and repurposing existing symbols (Lash 2000: 60).

Social-psychological perspectives of risk provide a complementary alternative understanding of the ways that people communally interpret and perceive risks in the risk culture. People have an optimistic bias when comparing themselves to others, considering others more at risk. This leads to errors of judgement when making decisions. Joffe critiques the underpinning assumption of ‘risk perception’ in saying that risks could be better understood in terms of social representations. She posits that people faced with potential danger that causes them to feel anxious, deal with this anxiety by presenting risks to others in certain ways. Additionally, people tend to over-estimate their skills in avoiding risks. In this way, risk representation

85

transforms anxiety engendered by risks away from oneself and projects it to other people (Joffe 2003: 57, 60, 62–64).

Part of this interaction with risk is the development of social identities by unconsciously incorporating positive feelings and experiences into the self and projecting outward negative experiences and feelings (Joffe 1999: 88). To understand new information (such as that about risks), individuals draw on images, symbols and metaphors that exist within their social networks (Joffe 2003: 64), thus transforming messages (including mass media messages), in order for them to be understood. People’s understandings from external sources of information are in line with efforts to protect their identity and the identity of those with whom they associate (Joffe 2003: 66).

Lyng (1990) considered the phenomenon of voluntary risk-taking. His work on risk-taking attempts to explain ‘high risk behaviour in terms of a socially constituted self’ (Lyng 1990: 852). He coined the term ‘edgework’ to describe the phenomenon of individuals ‘negotiating the boundary between chaos and order’ (Lyng 1990: 855). In the modern world, the ‘self’ cannot be found in daily institutional activities, but people pursue projects of self-reflexivity through voluntary risk-taking. In so doing, they are not only ‘finding’ themselves, but are creating themselves. Reflexivity in second modernity offers choices together with risks. With the erosion of other structures that give people a sense of identity, voluntary risk-taking can become an important identity source (Lyng 2008). Such risk-taking can include decisions to migrate.

4.8. Mobility and migration decision -making

Beck (2014) wrote about mobility under cosmopolitanisation, which he described as the ‘multidimensional process which has irreversibly changed the historical ‘nature’ of social worlds and the standing of states in these worlds’ (Beck 2008: 27). It includes a sense of ‘boundarylessness, blurring differentiations and cultural contradictions’ (Beck 2014b: 16). Beck asserts that globalisation means that everyone everywhere experiences a banal cosmopolitanisation, or a cosmopolitanisation of everyday life. By this he means that consumption reflects the connections between geographically separated people. Many products, physical and cultural, are from everywhere. In this way, people the world over are familiar with the same brands, recording artists, etc.

86

Cosmopolitan practices include one or more characteristics, including extensive physical or virtual mobility, the capacity to ‘consume’ environments, a curiosity about places, peoples, and cultures. Other characteristics are a willingness to take risks in encountering the ‘other’, an understanding of one’s self and culture in relation to others, and an appreciation for other places and cultures (Szerszynski and Urry 2002: 470). While some may choose a cosmopolitan lifestyle, for others, cosmopolitanisation is enforced through shared risks (Beck and Cronin 2014: 38–41). Beck (2002: 34) describes those exploited by transnational migration as ‘excluded others’.

While everyone lives in a risk society, those who are in precarious and vulnerable positions are likely to remain so when they migrate. In this respect, Cohen (2006: 137–154) introduces three groups of migrants. First, citizens or migrants who have become naturalised in another country. Second, denizens, who have some rights in the country, but are not given full citizenship. Denizens include asylum seekers and those with temporary residence permits. They may be well-paid citizens of other countries, or low-paid externally-recruited labour. Third, helots, who are exploited immigrants, including illegal migrants who have overstayed their visas, and those who are trafficked14 for labour or as sex workers. The risk associated with migration is higher for helots than for denizens and citizens. Those who migrate out of economic need are likely to be helots.

Cosmopolitanisation and economic need may incline people towards mobility. In considering why people migrate, migration scholars have traditionally taken a rational choice approach to migration decisions, centring on individual cost-benefit calculations. Costs of migration include the cost of making the trip (including transport and accommodation), the cost of searching for a job (time, money, and effort), the cost of income lost, and the psychological cost of moving to a strange new location (Massey 1990: 8). Moving away from individual utilitarianism, some have suggested that mobility may be a household strategy rather than an individual strategy, as it increases household income and reduces economic risks (Adepoju 2000; Williams and Baláž 2014: 103). Remittances, in this situation, are in the interests of both

14 Human trafficking is often a particular form of forced labour migration where labourers are deceived, moved and trapped into labour. Typically, trafficked persons are moved over national borders. It is akin to slavery or bonded labour.

87

the individual and the household since the individual is securing a home by paying towards it (Massey 1990: 10), while the household is receiving an income that may be hard to earn locally. Current approaches note that migration decisions are not completely economically rational, but are motivated by a range of personal reasons (Haug 2008: 599).

Although originating from very different schools, the bounded rationality approach and the risk society perspective both observe that individuals avoid information overload and consequently usually have imperfect information on which to make decisions, and that such decision-making cannot be entirely rational (Williams and Baláž 2014: 85–97). In Beck (1992: 53), there is an aspect of irrationality in decision-making, not due to lack of information, but rather as there is so much information and contradictory expert opinion. Thus, mobility in late modernity occurs in the midst of multiple information sources and social networks (Kesselring 2008). In this respect, Kesselring (2008: 78) says that we live in a ‘mobile risk society’, which: …sets its members into motion without giving any clear-cut reliabilities, any direction and guidance for a successful life without anxiety and fear of failure. The increasing mobilization of the risk society leads into a social situation where the individuals are forced to navigate and decide whilst they are confronted with increasing lack of clarity, with social vagueness and obscurity. In this way, under conditions of the risk society, mobility takes place under uncertainty that cannot be resolved, not because of a lack of information, but because there is too much information from too many sources.

Social and personal factors may support or deter migration. Firstly, people may prefer views of a situation that supports their social identity. The risk and uncertainties inherent in mobility can have positive cultural connotations. Moving offers the migrants the opportunity to transform themselves and realise projects that would otherwise not be possible without travel (Kesselring 2008: 82). Significant numbers of people also have the means to travel [and]… “a willingness to take risks by virtue of encountering the ‘other’” (Szerszynski and Urry 2002: 70). There may be social support for decisions to migrate, related to a positive view of risk. Emigration may have positive social scripts to be drawn on. In this respect, people construct narratives around risk, adventure, and migration (see Elsrud 2001). This facing down of risk can become a rite of passage (Cohen 2004 in Williams and Baláž). In sending areas, poor households, that do not have members who have migrated, become deprived relative to those who have members who migrate. This sense of deprivation is increased by conspicuous

88

consumption items such as houses, cars, and modern appliances (Massey 1990: 13). Consumption may support positive social identities and make people appear successful.

Secondly, unsuccessful migration can have differing social and identity risks. In some cultures, the risks of failing may add to the risks of migration (see Vidal 2014: 94, 95). As such, identity risks are culturally informed, while the decision to migrate may be based on personal and social, rather than external, risks. Some prestige comes from travelling or living in particular locations, and this may influence the decision even if the financial returns are less, or if the attempt at migration is not economically successful. People may choose to bear the cost if migration leads to an increase in status (Katz and Stark 1986). Additionally, potential migrants consider their competencies when deciding to migrate. They may consider issues such as whether they can speak the language and have the skills to get a job (Williams and Baláž 2014: 57). In some families, attitudes towards risk and trust tend to be transmitted inter-generationally (Dohmen et al. 2011). While many of the above authors have adventure-seeking travellers in mind rather than those motivated by stark need, motivations are seldom singular. Even the most deprived may be attracted by risk and embrace a self-perception that includes positive associations of risks.

Thirdly, personal risk endowments are considered in terms of why an individual may decide to migrate. A risk endowment is the amount of risk that an individual is prepared to take. Individuals who are more likely to take risks, are also more liable to migrate (De Jong and Gardner 2013: 26; Jaeger et al. 2010). However, risk-averse individuals engage in migration if they consider the rewards large enough (Katz and Stark 1986: 146). Additionally, those with high risk tolerance may opt not to move if their current conditions are marked by income, job, or physical security. Various studies have demonstrated that men tend to be more risk-tolerant than women, and that younger rather than older people are likely to be more risk tolerant. This indicates that all other factors being equal, young men may be more likely to migrate. However, there are a range of other considerations, including social ones at play (Williams and Baláž 2014: 65).

Fourthly, Roberts and Morris (2003) developed an option theory about why people migrate. They posit that migration offers options in the midst of risk, and that migration in a developing world context cannot be examined outside considerations of risk and opportunity. This is one of the reasons for circular migration, which allows for the household to benefit from lower

89

costs to maintain a family the place of orientation, while simultaneously benefiting from higher incomes in cities. This diversification of risk partly compensates for the lack of insurance and credit that such migrants experience. Roberts and Morris also note the role social networks play in reducing risk and offering a sense of safety and opportunities that individuals would otherwise not have.

These links between risk and migration, assembled from different sources, suggest that the risk associated with migration may provide social support or at least support for a particular social identity. Beck (2006: 67) noted that culture impacts people’s views on risks and the risks associated with migration. Other sociologists have argued that reflexivity is embedded in social processes that are interpretive and rely on assumptions and emotions (Lash 1999; Holmes 2010). The embracing of migration is part of a risk culture.

However, scholars often do not acknowledge the context of social struggle and conflict in which migration takes place. This is likely due to the perspectives of researchers, who often take ‘sedentariness’ as a norm, do not consider the perspectives of migrants, and undertake research with the purpose of finding ways to stop migration. Researchers sometimes appear to approach migration with the underpinning assumption that it represents a risk to the national body. This takes as natural and normal the existence of the nation-state. Even in post-colonial contexts, nation-states are considered normal, whereas they are a historical anomaly based on subjugation by others. As a result, nation-states have a mix of people with different ethnicities and cultural backgrounds, and there are often no natural nations. While some may feel a sense of national pride or emotional connection to a place of origin, they may also be involved in struggles for freedom from domination, persecution, economic opportunities, and struggles against proletarianisation or other contestations (Castles, 2010; Gray 2016; Malkki 1992; Sheller 2011; Sheller and Urry 2006).

In separating migration from other social phenomena, migration studies remain distinct from broader sociological scholarship on social change (Gray 2016). I argue that social change scholarship tends to ignore migration as a strategy in transforming individual, household, and potentially, community outcomes. In addition, it discounts one of the most common ways to struggle, which is simply to move. In this case, struggle refers to the fact that people are fighting to survive and struggle as in standing up to the status quo.

90

For Mozambicans, there is a long history of associating migration with risk. This can be seen in observations of migration as a rite of passage for young men leaving for the mines. Going to the mines was how boys became men and were able to provide for their families (First 1983; Pirie 1993: 729). More recently, Vidal (2010) found that men going to Joni (Johannesburg) considered themselves aventureiros (adventurers), travelling to Johannesburg to make their fortune (Vidal 2010).

4.9. Conclusion

Socioeconomic conditions may prompt individuals to migrate. Mozambican cultural views of risk and of migration may serve to encourage individuals to see migration as a good option. Risk taking can support social identities and offer opportunities that make attempts at migration worthwhile. Migration does not eliminate risk. In many countries, it is difficult or even dangerous to be an immigrant. South Africa is particularly risky for black immigrants. Most unskilled or semi-skilled Mozambicans are likely to enter South Africa as helots. They experience great risks linked to their vulnerable socioeconomic status and their position as direct competition for unskilled and semi-skilled South Africans. Moreover, they and other black foreigners, suffer at the hands of the police, the repatriation system, and in the denial of services such as health care and education. These risks can be mitigated to a certain degree through social capital and social relationships. The next chapter considers social capital and trust theories.

91

CHAPTER 5

SOCIAL CAPITAL AND TRUST THEORY

5.1. Introduction

Everyone, including people who migrate, access resources through social relationships. The concept of social capital reflects exactly this – that social relationships provide access to resources. The prominence of the concept necessitates a careful examination of what is meant in this study by social capital, as the term is used in various ways by different researchers. This makes research in the area often very confusing because the key components are variously conceived. In the view of some researchers, trust is an aspect of social capital, for others it is a separate concept.

This chapter examines the relevant theory and the literature on social capital, and considers how it may be applied to Mozambicans in Johannesburg. It commences by exploring aspects of the theory of social capital as outlined by Bourdieu (1997) and Putnam (1995, 2000), and then clarifies the concept based on existing taxonomies. It focuses on the use of social capital by migrants and considers how social capital differs according to an individual’s choice to rely on social relationships. Some migrants decide to migrate without reliance on social networks, while others make use of the existing networks at their destination. The discussion then looks at trust theory, which is often linked to social capital, but is also linked to risk. The theorisation of trust forms a separate body of literature and is only linked to social capital in some ways. The chapter then turns to examine what is known about social capital stores among Mozambicans in South Africa and Johannesburg.

5.2. Social capital theory

Social capital may help explain why people emigrate from particular areas to others, and what increases the likelihood of the venture being successful. The principle of social capital is that social networks are valuable (Field 2008: 1, 12). Social networks offer access to opportunities that individuals would otherwise not have. While information about the receiving area may be provided through social networks, social capital goes further and offers resources (Massey and

92

Espinosa 1997: 951, 392). In the case of South Africa and Mozambique, ethnic ties, family histories, and for some, established social and family relationships can span the border.

The seminal views of Pierre Bourdieu, a French sociologist and philosopher, and Robert Putnam, an American political scientist, have formed the basis of much of existing social capital research (Field 2008: 21). The two perspectives are based on very different intellectual traditions. Bourdieu’s sociology is radical in nature (Fine 2010: 7), while in contrast, Putnam’s views are embedded in neoliberal frameworks. Bourdieu’s and Putnam’s theories are the most cited in migration studies (Kindler 2014: 5). These two perspectives are discussed in turn.

5.2.1. Bourdieu Social capital is one of several types of capital, as expressed in Bourdieu’s article The Forms of Capital (1986). He argued that in understanding how people deploy resources to reach their goals it is not only necessary to look at economic capital, but also at cultural and social capital (Bourdieu 1986: 15–16). Bourdieu viewed capital from a historical accumulation standpoint, similar to Marxist theory (Burawoy and Von Holdt 2012: 36). However, he differed from Marx’s economic reductionism, in that he felt the social world cannot be entirely reduced to its economic base. In his 1986 article on capital, Bourdieu rejected the economic view that alienates capital in its mercantile form from other social phenomena. The discussion here is based on this article, drawing on some of Bourdieu’s other works to provide clarity.

Power and capital are considered synonymous in Bourdieu’s article. The chances of success in any endeavour are higher if the person undertaking it has greater capital: Capital, which, in its objectified or embodied forms, takes time to accumulate and which, as a potential capacity to produce profits and to reproduce itself in identical or expanded form, contains a tendency to persist in its being, is a force inscribed in the objectivity of things so that everything is not equally possible or impossible (Bourdieu 1986: 15). Capital is the power to make things work to one’s advantage. It manifests as economic, social, cultural, and symbolic capital.

Economic capital comes in the form of fixed and unfixed assets. It ‘is immediately and directly convertible into money and may be institutionalized in the form of property rights’ (Bourdieu 1986: 16). People with accumulated capital can gain more. In common with Marx, Bourdieu considered capital as ‘accumulated labour’. Those with capital are able to appropriate labour

93

from others. He argued that the analytic separation of economic capital allowed for the development of capitalism; this is because the extraction of economic capital removes it from symbols and social relationships.

Social capital, on the other hand, is: … the aggregate of the actual or potential resources which are linked to possession of a durable network of more or less institutionalized relationships of mutual acquaintance and recognition—or in other words, to membership in a group—which provides each of its members with the backing of the collectively-owned capital, a ‘credential’, which entitles them to credit, in the various senses of the word (Bourdieu 1986: 21). Time and effort, sometimes money, are invested in these social relationships. This effort is required on a continual basis, even with formally instituted or family groups requiring maintenance. A network of relationships is the product of these investments. For the investments to be worthwhile, they must be recognised as such by members of the group. Exchange of recognition is ‘endlessly affirmed and reaffirmed’. In this way, there are symbolic transactions in social relationships. Investments are risky, as they may be lost through a refusal to honour the debt incurred through the exchange (Bourdieu 1986: 24).

Social capital, for Bourdieu, is something that can be developed purposefully or unconsciously through establishing relationships with others. An individual’s capacity to generate social capital is based on that of the group of which she or he is a member, and her or his capacity to draw on network connections. In other words, larger groups may have more social capital, on the condition that a member can cash it in. The number of members allowed into groups of high economic capital is limited, and their prestige defended by both network members and their representatives (Bourdieu 1986: 17–21). Networks of people with greater amounts of power are difficult for people without such resources to access: The volume of the social capital possessed by a given agent thus depends on the size of the network of connections he can effectively mobilize and on the volume of the capital (economic, cultural or symbolic) possessed in his own right by each of those to whom he is connected (Bourdieu 1986: 21). In this way, although everyone may have access to social networks, their value is limited by the amounts of the different forms of capital possessed by the members. So even in groups with lower economic capital, the existing capital may be protected for people considered inside the group in favour of people who are not. In this way, both in high- and low-capital groups, membership and consequently, capital, is likely to be defended.

94

In discussing cultural capital, Bourdieu is concerned with how those with larger amounts of cultural capital retain it. This is partly done through creating a sense of ‘prestige’ around certain activities. Cultural capital comes in three forms: embodied, objectified, and institutionalised. Embodied cultural capital entails physically demonstrated signifiers of class that span generations. It includes such things as table manners, pronunciation, or the art of conversation (Bourdieu 1984: 70; 1986: 18, 19). Objectified cultural capital refers to acquired goods such as pictures and books. Holt (1998) argued that it can be applied more broadly to consumption that is obvious to the observers. As such, objectified cultural capital has moved closer to embodied cultural capital. Those of higher classes consume a greater variety of goods, and these goods are often observable when consumed, like designer clothes and cars. Institutionalised cultural capital equates to educational qualifications that are bestowed by institutions such as universities. All these forms of cultural capital are invested in by families and are accumulated, like economic capital, over time, often generations.

Cultural capital is deployed as part of an arsenal of weapons in the struggle to maintain economic capital. For instance, those with more economic power can buy better institutionalised or objectified cultural capital to secure future income. For this reason, groups with higher amounts of capital, in all forms, have more power and are advantaged in terms of perpetuating power over generations (Bourdieu and Passeron 1990: 32, Bourdieu 1986: 17– 19).

Symbolic capital refers ‘not so much to a specific type of power, but rather to an aspect of most forms of power as they are routinely deployed in social life’ (Bourdieu 1991: 23). In other words, the forms of capital have within them symbols that people appreciate and which support the perceived value of the capitals (Bourdieu 1977, 1984, 1991; Holt 1998: 3). This can be seen in formalised associations that provide social capital, and in the various types of cultural capital which require a common symbolic language to support them.

Bourdieu’s theory of the forms of capital and how they interact allows for understanding of how inequality persists over time. As such, he found social exclusion implicit in social capital. ‘Connections, group memberships, and social networks yield power and shape life chances’ (Daly and Silver 2008: 540, 541). However, it also explains how families, regardless of class, may invest in cultural capital, including obvious indicators of their wealth and education, and

95

the education of their children. It also points to how people invest in social activities, including joining clubs or groups that may lead to useful relationships, although those seeking membership may find that to protect their own assets and prestige, current members may bar their entrance.

5.2.2. Putnam An alternative view of social capital is found in Putnam’s (2000) treatise Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community, which expanded on ideas published in 1993 and 1995. The concept of social capital was becoming increasingly prominent, and Putnam developed it further to analyse changing kinds of social engagement in America in the early 1990s. He defined social capital as ‘connections among individuals – social networks and the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness that arise from them’.

Putnam considered social capital as consisting of networks, norms, and trust. In his embracing of networks, Putnam’s concept is closest to Bourdieu’s. Like Bourdieu, Putnam considered social capital partly as an attribute of an individual. In this way, an individual could have good social capital through networks. As a result, people may join a club that advances them personally and professionally. Formal associations are an important signifier of social networks, and much of Putnam’s book looks at these formulised networks (like professional associations, bowling clubs, and churches). People who engage in these are called ‘machers’, and through their engagement they often contribute to a common good, such as volunteering. ‘Schmoozers’ have an active social life, but their activities are less purposeful and organised. There is some overlap as machers are often good schmoozers. The decline in civil engagement has meant that schmoozers now form much of the American population, and networks are increasingly informal, not organised, and do not seek to assist society or particular parts thereof (Putnam 2000: 93–96).

Social capital functions in two ways, according to Putnam (2000). It can bond people within groups or bridge disparate people. Bonding social capital ties together people in similar situations or of similar groups; for instance, those ties shared by people in the same neighbourhood or same race group. Bridging social capital incorporates more distant ties, and links dissimilar people in different circumstances (Field 2008: 42; Putnam 2000: 22). The stronger ties of bonding social capital may be less useful to the individual than the weaker links of bridging capital. Reliance only on bonding social capital can lead to few opportunities for

96

economic mobility. Bridging relationships may result in more inclusive, less narrow identities (Putnam 2000: 22, 23). A further type of social capital, identified by other researchers, is linking social capital, which relates to an individual’s capacity to leverage resources, ideas, and information from formal institutions beyond the community (Woolcock 2001).

Another effect of networks is that they foster and sustain the norms of reciprocity (Putnam 2000: 20). A generalised norm of reciprocity is more valuable in societal terms than specific reciprocity (returning a favour with another favour). Generalised reciprocity allows individuals to do favours for others, believing that someone will do something good for them later. Civic engagement based on positive norms is expressed as civil society, and is necessary for strong democracies, safe neighbourhoods, health and happiness. However, norms can also be exclusionary, in that they can be used to exclude those outside a network or a social category. They can also be used in negative ways, such as involvement in gangs and in perpetration of crime (Putnam 1995: 23, 2000: 67, 307–349).

Putnam considers a society based on generalised reciprocity to be a more efficient society. He considers generalised reciprocity to be underpinned by trust. ‘Honesty and trust lubricate the inevitable frictions of social life’ (Putnam 2000: 135). Putnam implicitly equates trustworthiness and trust. Without trust, he maintains, the transaction costs of institutions that regulate cooperation, such as legal systems, are costly and time-consuming. Trust can be thick, in that it is ‘embedded in personal relations that are strong, frequent, and nested in wider networks’ (Putnam 2000: 136). Thin trust is rooted in less personal relationships, acquaintances, and strangers and is useful in that it allows for cooperation between people who do not know each other well. Before considering how Bourdieu and Putnam’s theories may be applied to the current case, the chapter considers different taxonomies of social capital.

5.2.3. Social capital theory: Clarification and discussion Social capital, as a concept, has been subject to a great deal of academic critique. It is often used without clear definition and conceptualisation. The popular adoption of Putnam’s social capital is problematic, and has allowed the concept to be applied to ever-increasing research problems, whether it is appropriate or not. This allows social capital to be considered an attribute of communities, societies, or nations, rather than small groups or individuals. As this stretch was never formally theorised, it has created much confusion and conceptual fogginess (Fine 2001: 97; Portes 2000: 4).

97

Social capital is clearly to be found in networks. Putnam implies that the good created in these networks can spread out to communities and even countries. However, social networks are unique to an individual and are the source of social capital. Even within the same group, two members are unlikely to have completely overlapping sets of social relationships. Portes argues for the separation of causes and effects when examining social capital. The sources are ‘a person’s networks, including those that she or he explicitly constructed for that purpose’. Effects, in contrast, are the ‘array of material and informational benefits’ (Portes 2000: 4).

Social capital also has a range of aspects, the discussion of which starts with the taxonomy offered by Streeten (2002), in which he suggests that there are five aspects of social capital. First, social interaction provides enjoyment and entertainment: it is consumed. This is more likely to be the form of social capital indulged in by Putnam’s schmoozers, who are interested in socialising for its own sake. Social capital is not only cultivated in the expectation of getting something in return, but fulfils people’s social needs. Second, investment in social capital uses up other resources, notably time. As people have limited time and resources, social networks may be costly to maintain (Bourdieu 1986: 22, 23), particularly if there are few benefits to their maintenance.

Third, social capital can directly translate to economic capital or improved income, for instance through jobs. This is frequently the focus of studies on social capital (Harriss 2002). It is also what Bourdieu seemed to have in mind when thinking about social capital. However, he noted that obligations incurred through the use of social capital are unenforceable. Obligations, under social capital, may be doubly hard to enforce in contexts where social networks shift, such as in migration. Fourth, it provides for goods that otherwise may have to be bought, but are shared within the network, such as childcare. Fifth, social relationships, enjoying common activities, also give a sense of identity: They give people recognition, identity, status, dignity, a sense of belonging, friendship, honor, social status and prestige (Streeten 2002: 9). Social networks strengthen norms; part of the identity component to social capital is concerned with norms.

Other theorists have considered further benefits of social capital, notably that networks facilitate the flow of information. Some kinds of information may be difficult or impossible to

98

find outside of social networks. Social capital can also influence an individual’s behaviour through the cumulative effect of the normative expectations put on him or her, and the social pressure that stems from the possibility of disbarment from the network. Additionally, social networks may give a person social credentials. This could be given through formal organisations such as professional associations, but may also be bestowed by informal networks (Lin 1999: 31).

If social capital is accrued during leisure time, it is accumulated at the expense of other activities that could otherwise be undertaken, such as furthering education. Social capital requires investment, and activities that do not build social capital may serve to undermine it and the social relationships on which it is based. For instance, in opting to work long hours to make extra money, an individual may find him or herself estranged from friends, as they may not see or talk to each other for extended periods. Thus, the time needed to invest in these relationships is used for a different purpose (Green and Brock 1998). As such, social capital has costs, and is invested in only when there are few other options, or when the benefits are deemed to be worth it, even if social or emotional. Moreover, in Bourdieu’s concept of social capital, which is in line with that of Green and Brock (1998), he notes the possibility of social exclusion.

In fact, people of lower socio-economic means may be barred from formal organisations. The running together of informal networks with formal organisations was critiqued in a British study by Li, Pickles, and Savage (2005), who found that people lacking the socio-cultural and economic resources and competences that more affluent people possess, must rely on more informal relations. (Li, Pickles and Savage, 2005). This implies that many large quantitative studies that only consider formal association participation exclude, by design, much of the social participation in which socially-marginalised people engage. In addition, the ability to accumulate cultural capital is also related to class. For example, being given the opportunity to study does not substitute for networks, norms, experiences, and expectations of success (Ecclestone and Field 2003: 269). However, social exclusion has its own rich history and separate body of literature, and the absence or limits of social capital cannot simply be considered social exclusion, but any analysis must take into account the specific context (Daly and Silver 2008: 564, 565).

99

5.3. Social capital in migrant populations

Not all migrants have the same amount of social capital when arriving at their destination. The act of migration risks loss of access to social networks; those who migrate without the assistance of social networks are likely to have less support than those who do. Migration researchers have noted that over time, migration tends to become self-perpetuating. Some have posited that each act of migration creates additional social capital that promotes and sustains more migration (Massey 1990: 8). This implies differences in the levels of social capital that migrants can draw on. Mills, Senior and Goldsen (1950) used the concepts of ‘decider’ and ‘follower’ migrants to distinguish between those who decide for themselves to migrate and those who migrate as a result of invitations from others. Despite the fact that the study was based on interviews conducted in 1947 and 1948, it remains highly relevant, and can further clarify the use of social capital by migrants, even as the study predates the concept.

Pioneer migrants are considered by Lindstrom and López-Ramírez (2010) to be early migrators, in that few people from the sending area have migrated to the receiving area. Followers are those who migrate once the migration route is established. In contrast, Mills et al. (1950: 43–59) consider deciders as those who decide to migrate for themselves. Deciders take the risk of migrating independently of social networks; persons may have access to those networks and opt not to use them, or the networks may be absent. Followers, in this view, benefit from deciders having taken the risk and established a foothold in the receiving area, and they use their relationships to lower the cost and risk of migration. Followers benefit from social capital as they are frequently invited and assisted by those who have gone before them.

The concept of decider and follower appears in The Puerto Rican Journey, a study commissioned by the Puerto Rican government in response to media reports in New York, of the ‘Puerto Rican problem’. Media reports reflected concerns about large-scale Puerto Rican migration to New York. Puerto Ricans, as American citizens, could migrate legitimately to mainland US without restriction. However, they were racially and linguistically distinct from the US population. As a result, Puerto Rican migration to New York bears some similarities to Mozambicans migrating to Johannesburg. Moreover, due to the US mainland/Puerto Rica geographic separation, Puerto Rican migration was much like cross-border migration from Mozambique to South Africa. In addition, Puerto Ricans often worked as unskilled and semi- skilled workers, as Mozambicans do in South Africa. (Mills et al, 1950: 3–20; Vélez 2005).

100

They experienced a similar backlash to that of Mozambican migrants to South Africa, as reflected in media reportage.

However, more than the similarities between the two cases, the Mills et al. (1950) use of the concept of decider and follower can be used in the application of the concept of social capital to migrant populations. This is even though the researchers’ development of the concepts precedes social capital theory. The distinction between deciders and followers is a useful one. Deciders, by choice or necessity, migrate outside of social relationships. Followers migrate, in large part, due to invitations from people with whom they have a relationship. As the Mills et al. (1950) study is the only research that was found that considered the distinction of self- motivated migration and migration that takes advantage of social networks, the study’s findings are explored in some depth. The research findings have been critiqued in that, despite the prevalence of women migrants, the discussion largely treats all migrants as male (Rua 2015: 26). A careful reading of the statistics shows that other phenomena are not discussed in depth. As a result, the presentation here considers the statistics that appear in the report, and where they are discussed, the discussion.

In the Puerto Rican study, both men and women had decided to migrate outside of reliance on social networks and had done so. Many respondents cited economic reasons as their motive for migration. In fact, this was the reason given by most of the male and female deciders. According to the authors of the report, economic opportunities in New York were considered more subjectively discernible than their lack in Puerto Rico. However, more women than men cited family reasons as causing their migration or a combination of family and economic concerns. Women commonly felt they were pushed to migrate, often to get away from family domination and gender expectations. Others who felt pushed to migrate, both deciders and followers, had found themselves alone due to bereavement or the breakup of a relationship (Mills et al. 1950: 43–52).

Despite Puerto Rican deciders migrating outside reliance on social networks, both they and followers were armed with information about New York before leaving, mostly gleaned through conversations. Deciders tended to have thought about their decision for longer than followers. In this way, they were likely to have had more conversations and collected more information than followers. Women tended to think for longer than men. Both deciders and followers accessed jobs through social networks, which indicates that even those who migrated

101

without the support of others could access support once in New York, either from existing networks or those developed subsequent to migration (Mills et al. 1950: 53–55).

Both informational and practical support offered to migrants to deal with the uncertainty of mobility can be considered a form of social capital (Haug 2008). The fact that deciders consult others before migration may indicate social capital. There are indications of both the negative and positive sides to social capital in migration decisions in the Puerto Rican study. The actual decision may partly have been made to avoid the constraints and expectations that women faced in Puerto Rico. As such, the decision was partly made to escape the negative aspects of social relationships in the place of origin. Drawing on social relationships also offered economic opportunities. However, the relationships available from the sending area may entail constraints that are not acceptable to the individual. They chose to rather take the risk and form new networks. There are also indications that even without reliance on social capital in migrating, social capital may be available at the receiving area when needed.

5.4. Trust theory and trust’s relationship to social capital

A body of sociological work, separate but related to social capital is that of trust. The consuming of trust under the banner of social capital is problematic, as it sidelines the rich understandings that exist on the concept. In addition, as an aspect of social capital, trust loses much of the important conceptual distinctions that exist in the concept by itself. It also implies that social capital is somehow dependent on a base level of societal trust, which in Bourdieu’s (1997) conception, it is not. As a result, and in order to address the research questions of this study, the concept is discussed in its own terms, based on the separate theorisation of the concept.

Karin Cook, Russell Hardin, and Margaret Levi (2005) are rational choice theorists who engage in experimental work on trust. They provide some clarity in terms of the definitions of trust and trustworthiness. Trust exists ‘when one party to the relation believes the other party has incentive to act in his or her interest or to take his or her interests to heart’ (Cook et al. 2005: 2). Trust may be given with the expectation of gains and in the hope of it resulting in resources, but it is not a necessary requirement. In addition, trust is only contextually a social good. Trust itself is not necessarily good in and of itself, in fact, generalised trust is really optimism and can be a form of naivety (Hardin 2001: 14, 32). This implies that the decision to trust is risky.

102

Trust and trustworthiness are often confused. What people call trust is trustworthiness (literally – to be worthy of trust). Being trustworthy is worthwhile to the person trusted when there are incentives to retain the relationship (Hardin 2002: 1). It is therefore subject to power relationships, as the more powerful in the relationship may have other resources outside the relationship, and less incentive to continue it. Trustworthiness, then, is likely to be higher when the incentives are greater, or the risks of breaching trust are significant (Cook et al. 2005: 3). Trust is specific; it operates primarily on an inter-personal level, based on particular expectations, expressed as ‘I trust X to do Y’. In other words, trust is limited to a person and an expectation of that person, and is generally based on encapsulated (self) interests. Distrust, therefore, may be the rational reaction when outcomes are likely to be negative for the trustor (Cook et al. 2005: 60).

Trust is more closely associated with the concept of risk in most conceptualisations than it is with social capital. Luhmann (2000: 97) contends that trust ‘presupposes a situation of risk’. The context occasioned by the decline of religion, or a belief in fortune, precipitates the rise of trust as a central point of stability amid risk. Trust is therefore a gamble (Luhmann 2000: 96), or a bet about how others will act in the future (Sztompka 1999: 25). Cook (2005) goes further and suggests that trust relationships emerge in conditions of uncertainty or risk. Migrants moving away from close-knit communities with shared norms, values, and language, undermines their confidence in being able to predict how people will act. As a result, they are likely to avoid having to predict the behaviour of strangers and prefer to invest in a few relationships that require the building of trust over time.

Giddens (1990) describes trust as existing as a result of having revealed personal information to another in a relationship over time. In this way, it requires concentrated investment. The dominant pattern of investment, according to Giddens, is in sexual and romantic relationships, but is not limited to these. Individuals reflexively seek self-actualisation through investment in relationships founded on trust: Personal trust, therefore, has to be established through the process of self- enquiry: the discovery of oneself becomes a project directly involved with the reflexivity of modernity (Giddens 1990: 94). This view links the individual’s personal identity, their need for connection, and their response to a risky environment. Trust relationships in the risk society have been transformed, based on

103

the social changes under late modernity. Trust has become a reflexive project. Gidden’s view does not necessarily contradict Hardin’s encapsulated self-interest view of trust, but broadens it with the inclusion of individuals’ needs for connection and identity. Individuals may still distrust the trusted other in some area. For instance, the other may not be trusted to drive if they have been drinking.

Interpersonal relationships involve investments, but the investment in trust makes an individual vulnerable to the actions of the other. Betrayed trust has a particularly emotional salience (Hardin 2002). When the trustor is particularly dependent on the trustee, the trustee’s untrustworthiness can result in loss of income, accommodation, physical and food security, and other resources. Stories based on such betrayals are common in our society.

As an affective, reflexive phenomenon, trust, although linked with social capital in that it is a social phenomenon, differs from social capital. In fact, social capital and trust are two different ways of using social relationships. Deeper, trust-based relationships may act to facilitate access to resources, but are not necessarily built for this purpose. They are concerned with establishing emotional connections. Social capital can act to transform the conditions that a migrant finds themselves in and to become better established in the host community. As such, trust may not necessarily exist in relationships that are useful in accessing resources. Social capital and trust are related only to a certain extent.

5.5. Social capital and Mozambicans: Some evidence from other studies

Mozambicans may initially need less social capital to enter South Africa, as the costs of migration are relatively low in terms of time and money, and there are few bureaucratic hurdles for those with passports. Migration scholars who consider migration as a household strategy, point to conditions where greater amounts of investment in the migration of one individual are required (see Adepoju 2000; Massey 1990). This may not be the case with Mozambicans. As the journey from Mozambique to South Africa is inexpensive, many Mozambicans may not need to borrow money or require investments from family. As with the Puerto Ricans moving to New York, there are no entry requirements, and Mozambicans are likely to enter on a visitors’ visa (Vidal 2007). Under current conditions, there is less necessity to incur debt, yet migrants may make use of non-financial contributions. A study of African immigrants, including Mozambicans, in South Africa, found that they make use of extensive networks to

104

facilitate movement within, and exiting of, South Africa. In fact, some participants bragged that re-entry into South Africa cost them only R5015 (Kihato and Landau 2006). These figures may be outdated, as there are few more recent studies into Mozambicans.

Those who immigrated prior to the visitors’ permit, or during the Mozambican Civil War when there were fewer available routes and risk was higher, may have required more money (and / or time) to make the journey. Studies from that time show that networks were a source of information, but that social capital and practical support offered to new migrants may have been lacking. Mozambican nationals were known to sometimes exploit new refugees, and the presence of co-nationals did not necessarily improve chances of success, but rather provided a model of what could be accomplished (Dolan: 1997: 16, 17).

However, a study on Mozambican refugees accessing jobs in Gazankulu found that personal relationships were critical in getting some jobs, particularly as Mozambican refugees were less educated than their South African counterparts. This study found that work on game reserves was secured by the few who had access to exclusive networks, but formal work on mines was not. Most Mozambican refugees relying on ethnic ties in the former Gazankulu, were locked into extreme poverty, as the South African Shangaan in Gazankulu were most commonly unemployed, with two-thirds of their households experiencing regular food insecurity (Machava 2005: 46–54). As such, social capital, even if available, may have been of limited value in the long term.

In this case, a distinction needs to be made between ethnicity and nationality. Polzer (2004) found that Mozambican refugees were well integrated into the South African Shangaan population in Gazankulu. Hospitality was extended based on ethnic commonality, and local leaders attempted to render assistance to their ‘brothers from the east’. This hospitality would have been a form of bridging social capital. Still, many who came to Gazankulu would move away from these established social networks and on to Johannesburg, where there were more economic opportunities (Polzer 2004, Steinberg 2005: 5–8).

In Johannesburg, there may be a sense of obligation in migrant communities to help ‘neighbours from home’. These are not transnational communities, but are made up of people

15 USD7 in 2006

105

from the same neighbourhoods in Maputo. In this sense, some Mozambicans feel both away from home and at home in Johannesburg, as they are surrounded by familiar neighbours and friends (Madsen 2004). A study on Mozambicans’ social networks in migrating to South Africa found that those sampled in two districts in southern Mozambique and South Africa were assisted by friends when coming to South Africa for the first time. They were helped with accommodation (70 per cent), jobs (63 per cent) and finances (49 per cent). In over half of those surveyed, friends had physically accompanied them over the border and some ‘friends’ had extorted or stolen money from them in the process. Many were assisted by border agents, smugglers, guides, and drivers (Muanamoha et al. 2010). Johannesburg was not included in the study, but the aid, and risks experienced may be similar.

Social capital is used by Mozambicans to access money when necessary to cope with harassment by the SAPS and Metro police. When possible, Mozambicans’ friends and family provide the necessary money to others in trouble and when bribery of state officials is necessary (Helgesson 2008: 270; Madsen 2004). However, material deprivation may make it impossible to offer or reciprocate assistance, and obligations may be avoided for this reason (Vidal 2008: 5–8). As a result, social ties can be of short duration, with minimal forms of trust and cooperation. This may relate to the overall ideal of returning to Mozambique, and in this sense, Mozambicans may be ‘living for home’ (Madsen 2004). However, it could also reflect a hesitancy to invest in social relationships in contexts marked by transiency.

A more recent study of La Rochelle, a suburb previously inhabited by Portuguese-speaking whites close to Rosettenville, considered whether it could be classed as a Mozambican ethnic enclave (Moyo and Cossa 2015). Using a combination of deed registry information and key informant interviews, it was found that Mozambicans did not consider La Rochelle a primary destination when coming to Johannesburg, but had learnt about the neighbourhood once in the city. They often came to the area because of perceptions that it offered economic opportunities and lower transport costs. As such, it seems that social networks for Mozambicans in Johannesburg may not be tight enough to form into enclaves.

Broader nationality-based social networks may be lacking among Mozambicans. The lack of solid social networks among Mozambicans in Johannesburg can be attributed to three factors. Firstly, social relationships in Maputo are fragile. Other sources refer to the undermining of traditional structures in southern Mozambique through mine migration and colonialism

106

(Gallego and Mendola 2013), which may disincline Mozambicans to collective organising. Furthermore, much of Maputo itself is made up of migrants rather than an established community (Jenkins 2000). Secondly, social networks are lacking due to migration. Moreover, those who attempt to organise Mozambicans are likely to be assimilados, who have higher social status in South Africa and little in common with most Mozambicans. As a result, even if they may wish to help their countryfolk, they do not organise around the issues of importance to the majority16 (Vidal 2010: 62). Thirdly, distrust in the country was fostered by colonial and post-colonial secret police, who would jail dissenters, or send them to rehabilitation camps (Newitt 1994: 519–522; Vidal 2014: 75-77).

A study on networks among a small group of Mozambicans found that the network acted as a ‘moral community’ (Madsen 2004). The network was non-formal and worked to overcome practical obstacles. However, an offending member had been excluded because his drunkenness threatened the group by making them visible to the South African authorities. The study found that Mozambican organisations in Johannesburg may be ‘a form of moral community, with a shared vision of an idealised future in Mozambique’ (Madsen 2004: 173). Immoral conduct is punished through cancelling obligations to help the offending member and excluding him/her from the community, making continued invisibility difficult. The motivation for the moral community is based in the ideal of transience, in that Mozambicans work hard while in Johannesburg in order to return home. It is necessary to work hard and behave properly to achieve this goal. As the amounts of money made by undocumented migrants are often low, the moral assertion of being honest (rather than criminal) justifies the absence of funds sent home. Money may have symbolic value in terms of reaffirming commitment to home. Instead of spending money on short-term, everyday transactions, it is important to save money and invest in goods for the home as such saving and remitting signal virtue (Madsen 2004).

In a study by Madhaven and Landau (2011: 487–490), a lack of bonding social capital was found among co-national foreign immigrants and citizens in Johannesburg, Maputo and Nairobi. The indicator of social capital, in this study, was a tendency to trust others, bringing the conceptualisation of social capital more in line with Putnam than Bourdieu. The findings were similar for both Johannesburg and Maputo, with less than 50 per cent of foreigners saying

16 Vidal gives the example of organising Portuguese lessons, when most Mozambicans wished to learn English or Zulu.

107

they trusted co-nationals. Foreign co-nationals were more likely to trust each other than were the citizens of these two cities. The authors suggested that there may be defensiveness in long- term residents and natives alike, who feel threatened by newcomers. The study found that the population in any one city was heterogeneous and that natives were often recent immigrants from other areas. The idea that social capital would form, and trust develop along national lines, was not the case in any of the three cities studied.

In terms of bridging social capital in Johannesburg, inter-ethnic social capital may be lacking. Patterns of inclusion and exclusion in the city were more likely to be on national lines, even among people of the same ethnic group (Vidal 2008: 5–8). A ‘logic of individual interest prevails over ethnic conscience’, and ethnicity is just one part of Mozambicans’ personal identity. This, he posits as a reason for the weak social ties among Shangaans in Johannesburg and the absence of ethnic enclaves.

In terms of the various studies on Mozambicans and the use of social capital, most seem to support the theoretical view taken in this thesis that it is an asset of a particular individual, rather than a community asset, and that it may be extended or retracted based on the behaviour of that individual. The benefits of social capital are seemingly weighed against the risk or cost of extending it. Place may be important in terms of social networks, in that social networks are denser in areas where people have had the opportunity to invest, and had invested, in social relationships. In this way, it makes more sense to invest in family members or people from the same neighbourhood in Maputo than relative strangers.

Bourdieu’s (1997) conceptualisation of social capital is better applied to this study than Putnam’s (1995, 2000), both in the concept that social capital is exchangeable for economic capital and in the additional concept of cultural capital, which can be invested in by Mozambicans in the form of education, through speaking a language, or through buying consumer goods. Putnam’s ideas of social capital as applied to Mozambicans in Mozambique or South Africa, are not in keeping with the particular history of the country, or it’s migratory patterns. Putnam writes about social capital decreasing in America with the decrease in civic organisation. His historical view could not be further from the experience of Mozambique, where civic organisation was brutally suppressed and undermined through the secret police. Civic associations are also unlikely to be accessible based on many Mozambicans’ class position.

108

The use of social capital to retain privilege across generations makes better sense in the context of Mozambique (and by implication Mozambicans in Johannesburg), with the benefits accrued through migrant labour. However, Putnam’s (2000) adoption of bonding and bridging social capital retains some usefulness in migration studies, as non-ethnic networks offer opportunities that ethic networks may not. This current study used Bourdieu’s theory, which frees social capital as a concept from that of trust or trustworthiness. The theorisation on trust found in Cook (2001), Hardin (2002, 2006), and Giddens (1990) was also found useful. When considering the indications of exploitation of Mozambicans in the literature, both by South Africans and other Mozambicans, a blanket ‘trust’ in other people would seem to be extremely naive, even without the history of social fragmentation experienced in Mozambique.

5.6. Conclusion

Social capital may offer opportunities to migrants. However, in Bourdieu’s conception of social capital, the capital available to an individual is limited to the resources within her or his network. Moreover, social capital takes time and effort to accumulate and maintain. It also incurs a debt, but carries the risk that it will not be repaid. Migration of Mozambicans to South Africa and into Johannesburg may reflect the opportunities available through social relationships. Networks may facilitate movement into Johannesburg, and potentially provide both accommodation and a job. It is inexpensive in terms of time and money for Mozambicans to enter South Africa. The automatic visitors’ permit protects Mozambican citizens with passports from expulsion for a short period. However, the options for longer-term legal settlement are limited, both in the personal aspirations of Mozambicans and the legislative provisions, Mozambican presence in Johannesburg is marked by transiency. In this way, the potential of social networks is limited, unless they provide extra-legal means of attaining longer-term visas. Otherwise, individuals must become extremely adept at remaining invisible to the authorities. The following chapter considers the methodological approach taken to explore social capital and risk in the lives of Mozambicans in Johannesburg.

109

CHAPTER 6

EXPLORING RISK, SOCIAL CAPITAL AND TRUST:

ON RESEARCH DESIGN 6

6.1. Introduction

Indications from the published research are that Mozambicans enter a dangerous environment when they come to South Africa. There is evidence that Mozambicans may benefit from social capital when coming to Johannesburg, and that it may serve to mitigate risk. History and culture inform how people see the world. While the risk society theory emphasises how individuals in the second modernity are aware of risks, they are still embedded in cultural understandings. It is necessary to understand how individuals see risk as well as their social and socio-economic environments. These insights are to be gained through careful data collection and examination of the data. This chapter considers the research methods employed in the study, including the choice of approach, and how data was collected and analysed. The relationship between researcher and participants as well as ethical considerations and limitations of the study are examined.

6.2. Ethnographic approach

This study examined how risks were perceived and experienced, and how capital and trust were used within a Mozambican community in Johannesburg to harness the resources necessary for successful migration. The topic required a thorough understanding and critical evaluation of the responses of participants. General interests were transformed into the research questions through interaction with the participants.

Ethnographic research questions frequently evolve and even transform during research (Hammersley and Atkinson 2007: 3). Thus, the general interest in risk and trust evolved to the final research questions: 1. What are the perceived risks in Mozambique, and the supposed opportunities in Johannesburg?

110

2. What are the general views of risks in Johannesburg? What risks are experienced in Johannesburg? Is there a difference between risks participants expected or perceived to exist and those experienced? 3. Does social capital help Mozambicans deal with risks and in what ways? 4. Who do participants trust and how does trust relate to social capital in their understandings?

Hammersley and Atkinson (2007), whose previous definition of ethnography is often cited, noted in the latest edition of their foundational book Ethnography: Principles in Practice that no single definition exists. They note that it is best understood in looking at what ethnographers do, it: …usually involves the researcher participating, overtly or covertly, in people's lives for an extended period of time, watching what happens, listening to what is said and/ or asking questions through informal and formal interviews, collecting documents and artefacts –in fact, collecting whatever data are available to throw light on the issues that are the emerging focus of inquiry (2007: 3). An ethnographic approach entails understanding those being studied; it is often not expressed through what is said, but in the behaviour displayed. Ethnographic research results in rich data on the research focus, which is necessary to appreciate the social world of those being studied (Hammersley and Atkinson 2007: 8). The combination of what people say, how they act, and the context in which the action occurs offer a multi-dimensional view of a social situation. It is also possible to critically evaluate what people say against the researcher’s knowledge of their social understanding of the world with which they become acquainted

Ethnographic field research, which was originally an approach taken in social anthropology, is predominately associated with observation as a research method (Babbie and Mouton 2001: 279–280). Since it is based on social anthropology, it is primarily interested in culture. Fieldwork ‘involves the disciplined study of what the world is like to people who have learnt to see, hear, speak, think and act’ (Spradley and McCurdy 1979: 3). Regarding the research questions of this study, it was important to understand participant perceptions of risk and trust and their experiences in this regard, which indicated other risks that they did not include in their responses to questions. Evidence obtained from observation provides a basis for understanding the responses of people and can also support or contradict what they say. It allows for comprehension of both the explicit and tacit knowledge that people have.

111

6.3. The Extended Case Method

The aim of this thesis was to explore the experiences of Mozambicans in Johannesburg in terms of how they cope and attempt to accumulate, using the social relationships available to them. In order to elucidate clearly both the theory and the observations of the study, the selected research method needed to join the data to the theory. Burawoy described the extended case method as ‘concerned with the reciprocal relationship between data and theory’ (Burawoy 1991: 271), and paired it with ethnography as a research approach. The extended case study method was selected to explore the link between data and theory. This section considers the rationale behind this decision. It discusses how Mozambicans in Rosettenville, Johannesburg, formed the case, and how the case was extended by considering it as an exemplar of other cases.

The extended case method is based on the case study approach. A case study is an empirical inquiry that investigates a contemporary phenomenon in depth and within its real-life context, especially when the boundaries between phenomenon and context are not clearly evident (Yin 1994: 13). Cases can be of individuals or groups, and are studies of contemporary, rather than historical events. Case studies are used in situations where behaviours cannot be manipulated, and allow for in-depth study (Yin 1994: 11). They can be associated with qualitative and quantitative research, and can be exploratory, descriptive, or explanatory (Yin 1994: 7, 8). This research is based on social networks, which is ideal for a case study method (Yin 2011: 211).

The extended case method ‘extends’ out to provide insight about different contexts: Reflexive science starts out from dialogue, virtual or real, embeds such dialogue within a second dialogue between local processes and extra-local forces that in turn can only be comprehended through a third, expanding dialogue of theory with itself… The extended case method applies reflexive science to ethnography in order to extract the general from the unique, to move from the “micro” to the “macro,” and to connect the present to the past in anticipation of the future, all building on pre-existing theory (Burawoy 1998: 5). This is how a case study can be used in building on theory. It becomes the hyperlocal point against which theory is tested and refined.

Only with proper contextualisation can the case become exemplary (Burawoy 1998: 5). The particular must link with the universal by embedding it within its context. Thus, the case must

112

point beyond itself to a ‘context that enlarges and assimilates the instance’ (Gelley 1995: 7). Context in this instance refers to both interpretive and physical locations and these must be considered and elaborated on in ethnography. In addition, the ethnographer must make a case for why the case is exemplary (Horgan 2006: 8). For this reason, the grounds for choosing a case must be explained.

The extended case method is based on a reflexive approach, which seeks ‘generalizable and falsifiable explanations’ by using a particular case within its context. Burawoy (1998: 12) points out that the terms ‘validity’ and ‘reliability’ come from a positivist perspective and are not applicable to ethnography. Not all factors can be controlled. Reflexive science, he argues, ‘elevates dialogue’ and ‘intersubjectivity between participant and observer’ (Burawoy 1998: 14). Rather than objective observation, an ethnographic approach allows for participation and the opportunity to observe the reactions to the pressure created by the participation. In applying constant reflexivity and going back to the field to test assumptions, the approach tests the observations from the field against the field. It then examines the theory to see what can be applied and what should be modified. In this way, the study is applicable outside the confines of the original research site.

6.4. Mozambicans in Johannesburg as a case

What makes Mozambicans living in Johannesburg a good case to study? Vidal stated that Mozambican presence in South Africa is an area that needs theorisation and revisitation (2014: 8). Migrants are often considered a risk in political parlance and many South Africans consider migrants a threat to their livelihoods (Landau 2011). Despite the association of migrants with risk, the concept of risk has seldom been explicitly examined in studies on South Africa, or globally (Williams and Baláž 2012). O’Brien (1996) applied Beck’s idea of the risk society to immigration into Germany; however, this was from the perspective of the national population, rather than the immigrants themselves.

The treatment of Mozambicans in South Africa offers a dramatic picture of the risks associated with migration. Johannesburg draws Mozambicans in, but it is a risky city, where there are occasionally violent reactions to Mozambicans and other (African) immigrants. South Africa’s solution to undocumented immigration is not unusual, with the state attempting to manage immigration by periodically deporting people. Mozambican experiences in coming to

113

Johannesburg are much like other immigrants from poor countries entering richer countries. In this way, foregrounding the risks experienced by Mozambicans may give insight to other immigrants in different countries. After all, risks are imbedded in modernisation and globalisation and they can, and often do, cross borders.

6.5. Research sites

Fitzgerald (2006) noted that the field of an ethnographic inquiry is a conceptual space with constantly negotiated and constructed boundaries, rather than simply a geographic area. He emphasised that migration researchers need to follow the people to understand both localities that encompass the migration. Yet case studies are often embedded within national boundaries and analysis based on the nation-state as a unit of analysis can disguise, rather than clarify social phenomena. Understanding migration based on a country as a unit of analysis is ahistorical and may lack proper contextualisation. Still, much scholarship on globalisation in migration and sociological literature, falls into this trap (Beck 2014b: 15; Sheller and Urry 2006; Wimmer and Glick Schiller 2002). Beck devoted most of the final years of his life to encouraging cosmopolitan social science. He wrote: ‘the national outlook is also an essentialist outlook: it separates historically interwoven cultural and political realities’ (Beck 2014b: 47). A national outlook was avoided in this case by choosing research sites in Johannesburg and Maputo. Fieldwork was conducted in both the sending (Maputo) and the receiving (Johannesburg) cities. The purpose of the Maputo fieldwork was to establish what Mozambicans thought of Johannesburg, and served as a way for the researcher to begin to understand the population under study.

6.5.1. Rosettenville To understand the Johannesburg fieldwork site, a scrutiny of the current Rosettenville demographics and a brief history of the surrounding suburbs is presented. Rosettenville was proclaimed as a suburb in 1889, as part of a group of suburbs, called the southern suburbs, that lie to the south of the Johannesburg CBD. A map of these appears in Figure 6.1 below. Historically, the southern suburbs had several disadvantages that led to them being less popular. Firstly, some suburbs to the south of the CBD were de-proclaimed (for use by mines), effectively cutting off the area from the rest of the city. Secondly, due to geological reasons, the southern suburbs are notably colder than those to the north. Thirdly, the area is further away from Pretoria, which was already established as the administrative capital of South Africa.

114

Rosettenville itself became populated very slowly, because it was considered too far from the city centre (Harrison and Zack 2014; Hart 1968: 66–68; Kaplan and Robertson 1991: 49).

Figure 6.1: Southern suburbs of Johannesburg Source: Harrison and Zack (2014)

In the 1940s, Rosettenville became a working-class white suburb (Levy 2012: np; SAHO 2011). The southern suburbs were increasingly populated by Portuguese and Madeiran immigrants. Madeira was poorer than the Portuguese mainland, and as the island’s population grew larger than the fishing and farming economy could sustain, many migrated from the island (Glaser 2013: 78; MacDonald 2014: 83–90). Madeirans were effectively excluded from migrating to South Africa as they were often illiterate (Immigration Regulation Act No. 22 of 1913). The Act made literacy in a European language compulsory for those outside farming, domestic service, artisans, mechanics, and miners (Peberdy 2009: 39). After World War II, the nationalist government sought to encourage and even subsidised European migration. There was soon a backlash, and people questioned whether Madeirans and Portuguese could be considered ‘white’ (Glaser 2013: 77, 78).

115

Driven by overpopulation on their island and a lack of economic opportunities, Madeirans routinely entered the Union of South Africa illegally, where there were networks of recruiters, safe houses, forgers, and translators to aid newcomers (MacDonald 2014: 170). Mainland Portuguese citizens were more likely to enter legally. Those who came to Johannesburg could come to Rosettenville which was increasingly becoming a Portuguese enclave. Racial separation in the city was evident, as was religious and ethnic segregation. Southern Europeans of lower socio-economic classes, often lived south of the CBD (Beavon 2004: 180–187). By 1950, Rosettenville was called ‘Little Portugal’ and immigrants from Portugal and Madeira could speak only Portuguese there (Brodie 2008: 181; Glaser 2012: 220–221).

Until the mid-1960s, the Portuguese were officially tolerated as immigrants because they bolstered South Africa’s white population. However, the Catholicism of Southern Europeans was considered a threat to the Protestant state. Accordingly, stricter legislation limited the entrance of Portuguese immigrants into South Africa from 1966 to 1973 (Peberdy 2009: 127). Officials were instructed to turn down immigration applications from Madeirans, and throughout the 1970s, only a handful would gain entrance each year (Peberdy 2009: 127).

As African countries gained their independence, the apartheid government not only encouraged them to come and live in South Africa, but actively courted white refugees from newly independent African states (Peberdy 2009: 123, 124). White Mozambicans arrived in the 1970s and 1980s. Given the ethnic-spatial layout of the city, it is likely that those who came to Johannesburg settled in Rosettenville and the surrounding suburbs. Arriving white Mozambicans were very different to the Portuguese already in Rosettenville. They were better educated and skilled, worked as professionals rather than in trades, and entered South Africa as preferred immigrants. However, when in South Africa, they were treated with the same ethnic hostility as the Portuguese (Glaser 2012: 222). The lower status afforded to the Portuguese is reflected in the earnings of Portuguese immigrants, which were the lowest of all incomes of European immigrants in the 1960s and 1970s (Glaser 2010: 70). The southern suburbs offered cheap rentals or accommodation, with extended families or people who would take in lodgers (Glaser 2010: 70).

Rosettenville is now no longer the Portuguese enclave it once was. The changes in Rosettenville are evident in data from various censuses. In Ward 56 of Johannesburg (into

116

which Rosettenville falls) the population is larger than previously, and is predominantly black, with more than a quarter of its residents having been born outside South Africa. The Rosettenville population was 58 per cent black, according to the 2011 census, in contrast to the 22 per cent found in the 2001 census. Simultaneously, the white population has decreased from 70 per cent to 21 per cent (Wazimap n.d.). Glaser attributes this to three factors. Firstly, the increasing wealth among some Portuguese meant that they could afford property elsewhere. Secondly, some Portuguese opted to emigrate to Portugal, Brazil, Angola, and Mozambique, due to fears of crime and political instability. Thirdly, from the 1990s, others moved out as Rosettenville became a popular destination for black South Africans and immigrants, causing property prices to drop (Glaser 2012: 225). Similarly, Moyo and Cossa (2015: 149) in their study on Mozambicans living in the adjacent suburb of La Rochelle, found evidence that post- 1994 overcrowding of rented houses owned by Portuguese people led to other Portuguese homeowners selling and leaving.

In the 2011 census, Ward 56 in Johannesburg was home to 10 199 households, 50 per cent of whom lived in houses, 18 per cent in apartments, and 17 per cent in backyard flats. Only 1,5 per cent of households lived in shacks. Most people (57 per cent) rented accommodation. English had become the predominant home language, at 40 per cent, more than double the figure in Gauteng as a whole. Seventy-one per cent were born in South Africa, as opposed to the 92 per cent of South Africa, as a whole. Twenty-seven per cent were born outside South Africa, 12 per cent in SADC countries, 11 per cent did not specify, and 3 per cent came from elsewhere in Africa. The median annual income was R57 300, or double the average in South Africa. Most households had water, sanitation, waste disposal, and electricity (StatsSA 2012). Rosettenville is served by the Booysens Police Station, and statistics show that the incidence of both violent and non-violent crimes in the suburb declined between 2004 and 2014, except for drug-related crime, which has increased from 196 to 780 over the same period (SAPS 2013). However, there have been ongoing accusations against the SAPS for disguising crime that was not discovered as a result of proactive policing.

Today, Rosettenville has many signs of urban decay, but also shows indications of a vibrant community. There are many pedestrians and children often play in the streets. Palisade fencing increases the height of walls, rather than brick. This is different from other areas of Johannesburg where houses are invisible behind high brick walls. There is also drug and prostitution-related activity that may not be obvious to a casual observer during the day.

117

Much of this study’s ethnographic fieldwork took place in people’s Rosettenville homes, which ranged from houses to flats and backyard dwellings. They were invariably neat and tidy, though sometimes cramped because of the many people living in them. Interviewees often lived quite far apart, and travelling between homes was faster and safer by car. Some fieldwork took place in a hairdressing salon. The suburb is served by a local primary health care clinic.

a. Accessing participants Gaining access to Mozambicans in Rosettenville and accessing participants, was more difficult than expected. As I could not immediately access the population that was my central concern, I interviewed other people to find out about the area and people. I was an outsider as I knew no one who lived in Rosettenville and was not Mozambican. In trying to make contact, I interviewed people in the neighbourhood who had contact with Mozambicans. All served to give better contextual information to the study. While some acted by giving me information about Mozambicans in Johannesburg and others told me about Rosettenville, none could do both. For this reason, they are considered ‘background’ rather than ‘key informant’ interviewees.

Initially I had assumed that there would be organisations for Mozambicans, as there are for other nationalities, and contacted the Mozambique embassy in Pretoria to put me in touch with immigrant organisations. I was referred to a Mozambican lawyer practicing in Johannesburg, who was involved in a more formalised Mozambican organisation. He had no personal contacts in Rosettenville, and it seemed clear from the interview that there was no extensive organisation of Mozambicans in the city. The organisation with which he was involved facilitated voluntary repatriation, and it seemed to have little grassroot support or participation.

An internet search resulted in the discovery of the Papillion Foundation. I assumed that their provision of second-language English lessons would potentially allow me access to Mozambicans. The directors of the Foundation had no insight into the Mozambican community in Rosettenville. However, the organisation became central to the research in assisting me to recruit participants by announcing in their second-language English class that I was looking for Mozambicans to interview.

118

I was curious about the changes taking place in Rosettenville, and sought to speak to people who had lived there for a while and were familiar with the neighbourhood. Two non- Mozambican families were interviewed with the aim of better understanding the risks experienced in the neighbourhood. The Foundation referred me to a white family in Rosettenville. I interviewed the mother and son who together were involved in feeding homeless people in the neighbourhood. They knew about Mozambicans in the area, but could not introduce me to any. A colleague studying with me introduced me to friends of his, a black South African family in the neighbourhood. This family knew nothing about Mozambicans, but told me about the police extorting money and beating up their next-door neighbours, who were Nigerian. They were aware that drugs were sold from the house, and felt that Nigerian men were trafficked to South Africa for this purpose. Both families told me about crime and ongoing urban degeneration in the neighbourhood.

I also interviewed the sister in charge at the Rosettenville Clinic, and the principal of a local government primary school. The aim of these interviews was to better understand the risks in the neighbourhood in terms of health and education. They both told me that they were obliged to help the many foreigners of different nationalities in their facilities. Language was a problem for many of the school children. Those who could not speak English and learners acted as translators during classes to assist others who could not understand. I attempted to interview the station commander at the Booysens Police Station that serves Rosettenville, but failed to secure the interview. The process of attempting to find Mozambicans to interview seemed to indicate how little those they interact with, know about them as a population, and how successful they are at evading detection.

b. Selection of participants From the initial announcement made to the second-language English class at the Papillion Foundation, I accessed my first participant. Once contact was made with her, I used snowball sampling (or chain referral) to access others. Noy (2008: 329) argues that there is much to be learnt from the dynamics of accessing interviewees, and as such, it is a form of data collection in itself. of the findings of the research. Snowball sampling is often used to access hard-to- reach populations (Biernacki and Waldorf 1981: 141, 142). This was the case in this research as finding participants was difficult. The great benefit of snowball sampling is that it relies on social networks already in place, and therefore makes an excellent choice when studying social networks. The technique allows for information gleaned through the sampling to be

119

contextualised within the social network (Knoke 2008: 18). For instance, it can indicate the centrality of certain participants to a social network, or the cohesiveness of groups. It also entails a co-production of knowledge, as the participants who refer the researcher to others necessarily maintain more power than a traditional respondent (Noy 2008: 329). However, the insular nature of the study participants’ social networks, meant that reliance on any one person was limited.

During the selection of participants, conscious attempts were made to include a variety of people including those of different gender, employment status, age and documentation types. Referrals were largely independent of these factors (gender being a notable exception). In terms of documentation, those with documents knew those without, but there was no sense of those with permanent residency being noticeably better off than those with visitors’ visas, as one would expect.

Before initiating additional referral chains, and rather than including too many networks in the study that would prove unrelated, efforts were made to exhaust the intimate acquaintances of each Rosettenville participant. While individual experiences were central to the research, it was the networks that the participants relied on that were of interest in terms of the research question. Non-Mozambicans were excluded from the study.

The use of multiple points of entry for chain referrals avoided reliance on a single key informant. Biernacki and Waldolf (1981: 153) observe that ‘respondents that are enlisted to find other potential respondents become de facto research assistants’. The danger in this is that participants can try to guide the research. In this study, the networks included Tsonga-speaking people, but none who did not speak Portuguese at all.

6.5.2. Maputo Maputo is the originating point from which much Mozambican migration to Johannesburg takes place. Although Mozambican migrants can potentially come from all areas of the country, the dominant pattern is urban-urban migration (De Vletter 1998: 18). Therefore, if people do hail from other parts of the country, they are most likely to move to Maputo first, and subsequently on to Johannesburg (see Vidal 2010). The study’s Maputo fieldwork concentrated on Mozambicans who travel to Johannesburg. It took place in various parts of Maputo. This

120

was not because of a lack of participants in any area, but to see the diversity of people coming to Johannesburg.

Accessing Mozambicans in Maputo who lived in Johannesburg was mostly based on the networks of my research assistant. However, in one instance, a car with a Gauteng Province number plate heralded the presence of people who were likely to work in Johannesburg. Participants were open to the interviews and seemed uninhibited in their responses. Since the research took place over the Christmas period, many people who lived in Johannesburg were in Maputo. In some cases, the research assistant acted as a translator, but many participants responded in English during the interviews.

6.6. Data collection

Data collection took place between 2009 and 2015, first in Maputo and then in Rosettenville. The difficulty in accessing Mozambicans in Rosettenville meant that there was a gap of many months between the end of the Maputo fieldwork and the start of the Rosettenville research.

6.6.1. Participant observation As an ethnographic study, participant observation formed a key part of the fieldwork. There are various types of observable data, such as exterior physical signs, expressive movement, physical location, language, behaviour, and time duration to be considered (Denzin 1970). One of the advantages of observation is that it allows the observer to become familiar with the subject, often unobtrusively. Thus, previously unnoticed aspects be seen; people’s actions are often more telling than their verbal accounts (Kelleher in Babbie and Mouton 2001: 295). Observation offered an independent source of collaboration or rebuttal during the interviews, enabling the researcher to better understand and contextualise the data provided.

Participant observation framed the interviews. This was particularly the case in Maputo, where I celebrated Christmas with my research assistant’s family and other participants in their homes or in open-air pubs. In Rosettenville, much of the ethnographic observation was carried out in the hairdressing salon run by a participant, and otherwise in people’s homes. A limited amount of observation was also conducted at the second- language English school.

121

Exterior physical signs, clothing, and the housing in which people lived were examined together with the physical location. Moving around between the houses and flats (apartments) of participants also provided a spatial perspective of where people lived relative to one another and the existing amenities. Notes were taken during observation, and consolidated afterwards. The fact that some interviews took place in people’s homes, provided valuable insights into their lives and living conditions. Interactions within families, between members of households and between friends were observed. The hairdressing salon in Rosettenville was especially useful as I could stay for long periods and talk to people who arrived. Participant observation afforded a familiarity with those studied, and provided far deeper insights than what interviews alone would have.

6.6.2. Group and individual interviews In this study, people participated in both group and individual interviews. Group interviews generated lively discussion, but were not suitable for probing sensitive topics. In-depth interviews allowed the researcher to probe issues more deeply. The group and individual interviews did not form two different phases in the research but occurred as different situations arose, and when different approaches were needed.

Group interviews have three distinct advantages. Firstly, group interviews allowed for more people to be canvassed and their experiences incorporated into the study. Secondly, they allowed for flexibility and for the participants to speak on the topics they wished to discuss. Thirdly, the group interviews simulated the group situation and provided a sense of the shared culture; these negotiated, shared constructions of risk and trust provided insights into who was considered to be trustworthy or untrustworthy and why (see Bryman 2004: 347, 348). Group interviews also made a valuable point of departure for identifying and further investigating issues meaningful to the participants.

In-depth interviews were a key method of data collection and had several benefits for the study. Firstly, they are flexible and interactive, while still having some structure. This allowed for exploration of the issues that participants deemed important. Secondly, they allowed for further probing when necessary, and enabled the researcher to ensure a clear understanding of the participant’s input. Finally, in-depth interviews made for better sharing of confidential information.

122

Seven people participated in two group interviews, one in Maputo and one in Rosettenville. All of these participants were women. Individual in-depth interviews were preferred to group interviews, and formed the bulk of interviews in both Maputo and Rosettenville. Twenty-two people were interviewed individually17 between 2009 and 2015. All interviews were recorded and later transcribed.

During the interviews, participants in Johannesburg were asked where they went regularly, and who they trusted and to what degree. Their responses were then mapped together with the participant. This activity was included to help participants think through their social relationships and consider the risks linked with particular spaces. It provided a greater understanding of these issues than was possible from interview questions, and helped ensure that social networks were more fully explored during the interviews.

The quality of information gained from both in-depth and group interviews relies on the skill of the interviewer to question contradictions and compare information acquired in this way against that gained from other sources. Contradictions in this case stood out particularly in interviews that were often widely spaced. Using multiple forms of data collection assisted in this regard. It was important to rely not only on the interview data, but on other sources as well. Multiple interviews together with reflexivity during and after the data collection process strengthened the research and thesis.

6.6.3. Questionnaires Questionnaires are not generally associated with qualitative research. However, to ensure that the demographic information about participants was available to the researcher, they were included in the study. Questionnaires were completed before each interview and allowed for quick collection of information that could be checked, clarified, and explored further in the interviews. The questionnaire covered: gender, age, occupation, income and alternative sources of income, remittances, place of origination, citizenship, visas, and length of time the person had resided in Johannesburg (see Appendix I). In addition to providing demographic information on all participants, this served to confirm facts given in the interviews and discuss areas where there was a difference between the questionnaire and the verbal account.

17 One person was interviewed both individually, and in a group

123

6.6.4. Media content analysis The intention was to examine the media consumed by the participants to consider the media messages they were exposed to about risk and social relationships. In so doing, this viewpoint would provide a way to triangulate the data from fieldwork. However, the locally available Portuguese language newspaper O Século de Joanesburgo was not read by many participants. This was confirmed by the editor, who explained that the primary market was Portuguese South Africans, then Angolans, and finally Mozambicans, who apparently responded to content and competitions late, implying that they had read second-hand editions. A participant who did read the newspaper, concentrated first on the obituaries for indications of what was happening in the Mozambican and Portuguese communities. The television consumed was also not useful to analyse, as mostly participants watched Digital Satellite Television (DSTV) Portuguese- language Brazilian soap operas and sports. These choices indicated more about the language and interests of the participants than their perceptions of risk. Accordingly, these mediums were found not to be useful avenues of exploration.

6.7. Basic information about participants

None of those interviewed in Maputo had lived in Rosettenville, but all had lived in or regularly travelled to Johannesburg. Three participants (interviewed in Maputo) lived in Natalspruit, situated in Katlehong, in the east of Johannesburg. Another three interviewed were from Bertrams, which is west of the CBD but still quite central. Two of those interviewed came from Soweto, and two each from Randburg and Kya Sand, north-west of the CBD. Other participants lived in diverse areas such as Joubert Park, Eldorado Park, Alberton and South Deep, and another lived in Carltonville, which lies just outside the boundaries of Johannesburg, in western Gauteng.

Thirteen participants lived in Rosettenville and the immediately adjacent suburbs of La Rochelle, Regents Park and Turffontein. They were included in the study as they were part of the social networks in Rosettenville. Unsurprisingly, social networks do not end at the boundaries of suburbs.

Participants interviewed in Maputo were mainly male, with 12 men and only four women. While men were plentiful and visible, women were harder to find. The male participants were engaged in migrant labour across the border, and the women worked in South Africa or

124

engaged in cross-border trade. The absence of available women may have been due to the use of a male research assistant in Maputo, and the fact that many women were involved in Christmas preparations and childcare activities, as schools were closed for the holidays. The men, in contrast, were more likely to be outside sitting on porches and drinking. They often spoke fluent English, but the women spoke very little.

The income of those interviewed in Maputo was higher than those interviewed in Johannesburg, but since more male participants were interviewed there, this was not surprising. Those interviewed in Maputo were more likely to be in full-time formal employment. The most common range of income in Maputo was R1001 to R3000 per month18, while that in Rosettenville was R501 to R100019. The participant in the highest income category in Rosettenville was given income by her boyfriend, who paid her R10 00020 a month. She did not live with him as he lived with his wife and children.

Corresponding to the lower income levels in Rosettenville, those interviewed there were likely to remit less to Maputo. This were often clarified by ‘I send when I can’ and sometimes the response was simply ‘what I can’. Only one participant did not remit at all. Aida, was reliant on food from other people and was in no position to remit. She had decided to stay in Johannesburg and was not building a house in Maputo or intending to return to Mozambique, although this may have been because her husband had left her, and she had lost access to their shared assets in Maputo.

The women in the study, were more vulnerable in terms of their income and residency status than the men. Female participants were often financially reliant on their partners, and experienced great insecurity in terms of their residency status. They were also far more likely to use a visitors’ visa than the men. Clear differences were apparent between the study populations interviewed in Maputo and Rosettenville, but there were striking similarities in terms of their responses to questions. A table for quick reference appears as Appendix II.

18 USD133 and USD190, in 2010 19 USD 67 to USD133 20 USD1 333

125

a. Rosettenville The participants in Rosettenville are now discussed. Figure 6.2, below, shows the participants in Johannesburg. The first person who assisted me was Maria21, a student at the Papillion Foundation who introduced me to Julia who also helped me. Ana was recruited later from a different group doing the same course. In terms of networks of participants, Maria, aged 37, an ad hoc bartender, introduced me to six people. Her friend, Bella, also aged 37, was a retail assistant in a local business. Julia, aged 34, was her hairdresser. Sia, aged 37, was a friend of Maria, studied English and occasionally tended bar. Constância, aged 34, was another Mozambican. She was a housewife and English student. Nocentia, Maria’s cousin, was a 25- year-old housewife and was completing matric. Ricardo, aged 45 was a carpenter.

Figure 6.2: Participant referral chains

Nocentia introduced me to Cornélio, aged 43, a carpenter who worked for her father- in-law. Julia introduced me to Angelica, aged 40, a domestic worker and friend. Julia also introduced me to Jorge, aged 34, another friend who was employed by her boyfriend as a mechanic.

21 All names have been changed

126

Having interviewed these people, I returned to a different English class and announced I was looking for Mozambicans in the area. Ana approached me. Aged 29, Ana was studying English and introduced me to Aida, aged 38, a friend who ran a hairdressing salon. In a further visit to the Foundation, I met Lúcia, a housewife and English student aged 30. Thirteen people were interviewed in total, but 22 interviews held, as some people were interviewed repeatedly. Some participants from Rosettenville were interviewed up to four times.

b. Maputo Most of the fieldwork in Maputo was conducted in Bairro de Magoanine B (CMC), where my research assistant and his family lived. The suburb is built on dunes. Houses in Bairro de Magoanine B (CMC) have large yards. The more established side of the bairro (neighbourhood) has tarred streets and walled houses. Many of the houses on the less established side had an unfinished look, as many were built but not plastered. People built on when they had the money to do so. Houses on this side were accessed through sandy pedestrian roads that ran over the dunes.

Six men were interviewed in Magoanine B (CMC), three of them lived in Bertrams in Johannesburg: José, aged 26, was employed in the construction industry as a builder, Ernesto, aged 43, was a welder, Paulo, was a 30-year-old auto mechanic. Those living in other areas in Johannesburg were Maurício, a 22-year-old welder and builder, who lived in Natalspruit, Katlehong in the south east of Johannesburg), and Fernando, aged 25, who vended sweets and biscuits, and stayed in Eldorado Park in Soweto. The sixth man, Alberto, aged 33, worked on a mine in Carltonville, which is just outside the boundaries of Johannesburg. He was included in the study as a comparison, as he was formally employed on a mine.

Compone (meaning Compound) in Maputo had established houses. There, I conducted a group interview with four women. They were Constantina, aged 27, who bought clothes in South Africa and sold them in Maputo, staying in Randburg when there; Clara, the eldest at 55, vended vegetables and stayed in Natalspruit; Marissa, aged 29, worked as a hairdresser and lived in Kya Sands, northern Johannesburg; and Ida, aged 32, a domestic worker in Randburg.

Hulene is an area situated quite close to the Maputo airport. It has well-established brick houses with additional buildings on the properties, which house extended family. I interviewed four men and a woman in Hulene: Florencio, a 37-year-old man who owned a small auto electrical

127

business in Rockville, Soweto; Francisco, aged 33 who worked as a panel beater living in Alberton; Rui, a 32-year-old retail assistant who worked in a hardware store and lived in Natalspruit; Carlos, aged 58, who owned his own construction company and lived in Joubert Park when in Johannesburg, and Eva, aged 23, a hairdresser who lived in Soweto.

6.8. Data analysis

Qualitative research entails a different approach to data analysis than quantitative research. The process I followed from actual fieldwork to coding and writing was to live with the data, interrogate it, return to ask more questions, and compare the responses from the questionnaires and interviews. It was by no means the linear process that this section’s structure may suggest. Attention was given not only to what people said about themselves, but what they said of others, and what was not mentioned at all. Data analysis happened in transcribing, coding, and recoding data and during writing. Computer-assisted data analysis took place. Writing was a reflexive, iterative process that served to refine the analysis. In writing, I noted contradictions in the data collected at different points and sought for the reasons underlying the silences and contradictions. The different stages are now discussed.

6.8.1. Transcribing Transcribing is generally not considered a method of data analysis; however, it can be a useful step in analysing data and is not a neutral process (Green, Franquiz, and Dixon 1997). In this study in addition to myself, two other people did transcriptions. The research assistant in Maputo transcribed Portuguese interviews, and an English-speaking honours student transcribed most of the English interviews. I consolidated and added to transcripts. In doing the transcriptions, attempts were made to be as faithful to the audio files as possible. It was important to add non-verbal cues into them and include changes in voice, laughter, side conversations, and pauses. In this way, there was a great deal of interpretation inherent in transcribing the interviews.

6.8.2. Coding and Writing The analysis was done using Atlas TI software. Interviews were transcribed and opened in the software. In Atlas TI segments of primary documents, such as transcriptions, can be coded (Lokila 1995: 42). Themes were coded by identifying them and attaching relevant keywords, this process is known as coding. Axial coding was done on a more conceptual level, working

128

with the codes rather than the data itself. Finally, previous codes were scanned and the most relevant selected, a process known as selective coding (Neuman 2000: 422–424).

A process of inductive reasoning was used in writing the thesis, facilitating a rich understanding of the social situations of Mozambicans in Rosettenville and Maputo. Changes in participant attitudes and situations over the fieldwork period were noted. In writing, I frequently went back to the coding, adding to and adjusting as need be. Writing and reflection also revealed contradictions in people’s accounts, and the reasons for them.

6.9. Data saturation and ethnographic returning

Various methods can be used to triangulate data. This study used ‘within method’ triangulation, by choosing one method and employing different strategies to examine data (Denzin and Lincoln 1998: 46). As such, the questionnaire responses were interrogated, and social relationships mapped in interviews. Repeat interviews also served to help triangulate the data, as did interviewing others within participants’ social networks. According to Ritchie et al. (2003: 80), data saturation is reached ‘at the point where no new insights would be obtained from expanding the sample further’. In this study, if the information gleaned from each method or source was not found to be contradictory, it was taken as an indication that the particular data was sufficient.

Ethnographic returning helps to provide a balanced picture of the participants’ testimony as well as any potential biases that may be introduced into the study (O’Reilly 2012: 531). In this study, the field was revisited, issues referred to briefly in interviews were further expanded, and more questions were asked of the same participants. Details were confirmed and expanded on. The analysis was enriched by revisiting the field and observing and re-interviewing participants. While participants seemed frank and open in the interviews, with repeated careful listening, it became apparent that some obfuscated and avoided topics with which they were less comfortable. A superficial listening may have missed this. For this reason, I returned to Rosettenville repeatedly, speaking when possible to the same people, as their circumstances and the way they felt about situations and relationships changed. In this way, both the subjective perceptions of risk and their experiences were incorporated into the study.

129

6.10. Relationship between researcher and researched

Since the extended case method involves a dialogue, it is incumbent on the researcher to consider her relationship with the participants. The relationship of the researcher to the subject may be problematic for all qualitative research as researchers bring their preconceptions, perspectives on the world, and past experiences into the research field (Tufford and Newman 2012: 80, 81). Careful consideration of the relationship between the researcher and ‘subjects’ helps to bracket preconceptions and level power relationships.

Power relations cannot be left outside the research setting, and class and race intersect in various ways in South Africa (Seekings 2008). Clearly there is a power differential between the ‘researcher’ and the ‘researched’. Mozambicans and other migrants also frequently form an underclass in the neighbourhoods in which they live, increasing the power differential. Unlike South Africa, Mozambique has not had an overt racial separation in terms of social interaction and marriage, but ‘whiteness’ has a salience for Mozambicans based on the Portuguese colonial system – that it was something to be ‘earned’ through adopting the Portuguese language, and becoming ‘assimilated’. Speaking Portuguese may have reflected an acceptance of this idea at some point in the family history of those researched. Participants in this study all spoke Portuguese, most as a home language, although in one case, English had become the home language since the participant had married a South African. However, participants are never completely without power, and are able to frame their experiences in different ways to the researcher.

The power relationships in research can also be considered in terms of etic and emic perspectives. Etic constructs are: accounts, descriptions, and analyses expressed in terms of the conceptual schemes and categories regarded as meaningful and appropriate by the community of scientific observers (Lett 1997: 85). In contrast, emic approaches are from researchers within the community. As insiders, they have greater knowledge than outsiders, who rely on participants for their understanding of the experiences and culture of the research field (Rabe 2004: 150, 151). In terms of emic and etic perspectives, the approach in this research was more etic. However, the more a researcher spends time in the field the more of an ‘insider’ the researcher becomes. People take you into their confidence. I found that participants were willing to share with me over time more than they were telling others. Friends or long-term acquaintances can pose more of an identity risk

130

when confiding in them than confiding in a researcher, who is an outsider. In this way, being an outsider was a benefit. There were no consequences in talking to me, people could speak freely and with the assurance of confidentiality. Over time, participants shared more personal information. Repeat interviews meant that I already had this background, which led to further revelations of previously hidden sentiments and experiences.

Being an outsider researching a group that tends to be secretive and seeks to remain ‘invisible’ was not a great impediment. This possibly had something to do with the fact that I was demographically very different to the participants. I came into the study with few preconceptions and a passion for the subject. I approached participants experiences with an openness that was unencumbered by previous contact. This, together with spending time with participants likely aided me in being accepted and assisted as I asked questions and sought to understand.

6.11. Ethical considerations

There were some risks for participants in partaking in this study. Firstly, there were risks of becoming visible to authorities. Many participants lacked or possessed expired documents and had experienced harassment from authorities. Secondly, considering the repeated occurrence of xenophobic violence in South Africa, there was a potential for physical harm for Johannesburg interviewees. Thirdly, there were also psychological risks, because questions or discussions at times involved recounting painful life events. Working with a vulnerable group such as this required careful attention in planning and carrying out interviews to minimise potential negative effects (Liamputtong 2007: 37–46).

The following precautions were taken. Firstly, the research was carefully explained before the interview, and consent obtained based on an informed understanding of the research. Secondly, pseudonyms were used for individuals and their specifics, and Details of where they live and other identifying information were not supplied. Finally, private spaces were usually chosen for the interviews. Privacy put participants at ease and disguised the fact that research was being conducted. As a result, participants do not attract interest based on the presence of a researcher.

131

6.12. Limitations

In studying social capital, partners of participants may provide important information. While not all participants were married to Mozambicans, some were. Speaking to them would have provided useful supplementary information. Unfortunately, some were consistently unavailable, or were not referred by the participant. Interviews with partners would have deepened the understanding of similar events from partners’ perspectives.

The participants in this study all spoke Portuguese, which is another potential limitation, as there are Mozambicans in Johannesburg who do not. Some of the participants could not speak Shangaan at all, meaning that they were excluded from Shangaan-speaking networks. This population could have lent interesting data, but was excluded based on the social network relationships on the basis of this linguistic (and possibly cultural) divide. In this way, the study did not address Mozambicans in Mozambique as a whole, but rather as a relatively privileged section of the Mozambique population. In this way, the extent to which the thesis speaks to all ‘Mozambicans’ is limited.

6.13. Conclusion

In adopting ethnographic research, the research could collect in-depth information about Mozambicans living in Johannesburg and their perceptions of risk, social capital and trust. By embedding this study in the long history of the relationship between the two countries, questioning the initial responses of participants and lengthening and deepening the study, this research is paradigmatic of the reflexive approach advocated by Burawoy (1991, 1998). In understanding the perceptions and experiences of risk, this study can speak to other populations of migrants. It is one of only a handful of recent studies on Mozambicans in Johannesburg, and globally one of a few that tries to understand risk from the perspective of immigrants. The following chapter considers the findings from the research in terms of the experiences and perceptions of risk.

132

CHAPTER 7

RISKS AND RISK MITIGATION IN JOHANNESBURG 7

7.1. Introduction

The existing literature on risks and risk mitigation in Johannesburg indicates that both historically and presently, Mozambican migration into South Africa has often been rife with risk. To some extent, risk has driven migration. Researchers have discussed various sources of current risks for Mozambicans in South Africa, such as harassment and assault by officials, deportation and xenophobic violence. In navigating these risks, social capital is one of the resources that migrants have when moving to a new country (see Funada-Classen 2012; Isaacman et al. 1980; Vidal 2011). How risks are perceived is less well documented.

This chapter looks at the perceptions of risk encountered in this study, both those participants mentioned in Maputo and those in Johannesburg. The socioeconomic risks in Maputo were usually cited as the reason for migration. There were some socio-economic risks experienced in getting to and living in Johannesburg. Risks from security agents in Johannesburg were also experienced. Crime was a source of risk, as was xenophobic attitudes and violence. Partly due to the preceding risks, was the risk of isolation. Participant perceptions of these risks are now discussed.

7.2. Local socioeconomic factors in Mozambique and opportunities in South Africa

Participants gave economic opportunities as their motive for migrating. This is in line with observations made by the researcher in Maputo and Rosettenville. The informal economy was visible in many parts of Maputo; hawkers sold goods on street corners, vegetables were available from small stalls outside houses, and many people ran tuckshops from their homes. The Mercado Municipal (central market) formed a mass of stalls that sold goods and food. Foreign exchange was easily available from men who lingered near the market. There was some formal economic activity, but the scale of informal activity was notable. In contrast, Rosettenville is a partially industrialised area with a mall, a McDonalds, parks, numerous small shops and businesses, and some houses and blocks of flats. Shops are run from houses, much

133

like in Maputo. Nevertheless, far more formal businesses, especially retailers, are on display. Rosettenville looks as if it has seen better days; some blocks of flats are empty, gutted, and home to squatters. These descriptions are just snapshot impressions (particularly of Maputo, which is a massive city), but participants expressed similar perceptions, that there was a greater chance of formal employment in Johannesburg.

Not only was formal employment difficult to find in Maputo, participants said, but jobs unlikely to pay enough to cover the rising cost of living there. Formal employment in Johannesburg may cover household expenses in Maputo, but jobs in Maputo were unlikely to. Paulo explains: I don’t like [living in South Africa]. But I have to go there, because there’s no jobs in Mozambique… I spend too long without my family. One year in South Africa and ten or 15 days in Maputo. But I must (Paulo, Maputo). Paulo worked as an auto-mechanic in Bertrams, Johannesburg, supporting his family in Maputo. The cost of supporting his family meant that Paulo saw them only a few days a year. He felt that there was no option other than to migrate to work. In Johannesburg, Paulo had a circle of friends, but avoided having girlfriends and people who imbibed alcohol. He had qualified as an auto-mechanic in Maputo at a technical college, but could not sustain himself and his family by working there.

Some women appeared to have followed their husbands to avoid economic marginalisation in Maputo while their husbands were in Johannesburg or to prevent their husbands finding girlfriends in the city. Bella and Aida explained how they had followed their husbands to Johannesburg. In both cases, their husbands were already in the country. Aida had been staying with her parents-in-law in Maputo while her husband was in Johannesburg. Bella had been invited by her sister who lived in Johannesburg, and in so doing, she joined her husband. While this was not explored in depth it is very likely that they moved to Johannesburg to ensure that they were not marginalised in Maputo, and to curtail their husbands’ freedom to find girlfriends. It may be strategic for women to come to Johannesburg with their husbands or boyfriends rather than leaving them to live there alone. Married women in Mozambique, whose husbands practice transnational polygyny, become increasingly isolated and under-resourced when their husbands find new wives in South Africa (Lubkemann 2000).

134

Participants generally felt that Mozambique offered them few opportunities to live the lives that they wished to. Men expressed the lack of economic opportunities in terms of the fact that they could not support their families and live in Mozambique. I don’t like it [living in South Africa], but, what can I say, it’s a job. If you are hungry, what are you going to do? I like staying with my family, but … money. The money. Because if you are staying here who’s going to pay electricity, whose going to pay food, whose going to pay for children to go to school. I support them (Alberto, Maputo). Julia and Ana spoke of the moral obligation to earn in Johannesburg to support their families in Maputo. Julia supported her parents, Ana her grandmother.

The responses of these participants are in line with the existing literature. Socio-economic risks are well documented. A broad section of the population of Maputo faces similar socio- economic risks with the lack of employment opportunities in the formal sector (Jenkins 2000; Shikhani 2012: 5). Previous research noted that the cost of living in Maputo has steadily increased (de Brito et al. 2014; Shikhani 2012: 5), as identified by the participants. Considered together, it is unsurprising that these risks encourage migration.

Even though this study focused mainly on the risks experienced in Johannesburg, it became apparent that migration from Maputo was a risk mitigation strategy. Unemployment, under- employment, and lack of economic opportunities in Mozambique drove participants to migrate. Understandings of the risks and opportunities in Johannesburg were framed through comparison with those in Mozambique. Both before migration and while in Johannesburg, participants recalled having weighed up the relative risks and benefits of living in South Africa. For most Mozambicans, South Africa was not seen as a permanent destination, but as a stepping-stone to the material resources necessary to secure their family’s future.

7.3. Riskos in getting to and living in Johannesburg

Riskos is Portuguese for risks, and was a widely understood and applied concept to various lived experiences. The perceived risks in South Africa are discussed in the following sections, starting with the risks attached to various visas, and the real and potential risks on entry. It then looks at economic risks that could undermine the migrant’s objectives in Johannesburg, potentially leaving them worse off than before migration. These manifest in underemployment

135

and insufficient income, and the rising costs in Johannesburg, particularly for accommodation. Other threats to a person’s economic security are ill health and partner abandonment.

7.3.1. Risks associated with visas The South African state sets the conditions of entry and the length of stay for foreigners. Non- citizens have no rights of entry into South Africa other than those bestowed by the state under certain conditions, the violation of which could lead to deportation. Some participants had entered the country illegally, however, the creation of the visitors’ visa in 2005, gave Mozambicans (and others) the right to enter South Africa on this visa as it was automatically legal for anybody with a passport. At the time of this research, the period of stay was 30 days, extended to 90 days in 2016. Various visas were used by participants, and the visa most prominently sought after was the permanent residence visa. permits.

Two people in the study, both interviewed and resident in Johannesburg had, about 20 years previously, illegally crossed the border to enter the country. They termed this illicit entry ‘jumping the border’. Aida crossed the border to live with her husband who was already living in Johannesburg in 1996 (although she had first come to South Africa in 1994). She explains: I jumped the border! I was in Maputo, then went to Katembe, Ponta do Ouro, and then from there to some people in the bush. I found the transport. I came with my first, no, second son, second! He was one year. With a thousand of people, many people. A truck with many people, many people… (Aida, Rosettenville). Ricardo crossed the border in 1989, after having bribed the Mozambican police. Jumping the border was the most dangerous way to come into the country and required extra funds for bribes and transport.

Illegally crossing the border is no longer necessary, as an automatic visitors’ visa is now issued to Mozambicans crossing the border. The visitors’ permit is offered to citizens of both countries after a bilateral agreement between South Africa and Mozambique in 2004 (Ostanel 2011: np). Mozambicans with a passport can now pass through the border with relative freedom. The visa provides the opportunity to safely travel as opposed to bribing or being smuggled in. Most of the participants relied on visitors’ visas. This temporary visa prohibits working and is intended for short-term use. Despite this, most of those with this type of visa worked, either for themselves or for others on a full-time or part-time basis. Some people reported having relied on this visa for ten or more years. The visa is automatically renewed when crossing the border,

136

but there is a limit to how many times it can be renewed. Because people were in South Africa for long periods, renewal quickly became necessary and was very expensive. It entailed going to the border themselves every 30 days, or having someone take it on his or her behalf. A few said that they would always renew. If there was no money when renewal was due, participants either borrowed money or were forced to let the visa expire.

Ana was one of the very few who said that she travelled to the border every month to renew. She said: I always stamp my passport, every month. Sometimes I just go for a weekend, like Friday, Saturday come back on Sunday. But sometimes I also stay there in Mozambique for longer and then I come back again. I have to stamp my passport, because I can’t stay here without having a passport. I always go myself because I think it’s a risk to send it with somebody else, because some people steal the passports. They change your picture, put their own picture and use for other people. Ne? That’s why I prefer to go, even if I’m not getting in Mozambique, just to go to the border, stamp and come back (Ana, Rosettenville). Ana was unemployed and supported by her boyfriend, who gave her an allowance to cover living expenses. Florencio, interviewed in Maputo, said he also always went to the border to renew his visa, and would not trust anyone else to take money to Mozambique. He was in South Africa on a visitors’ visa, running a small business as an auto electrician. Renewing the visa for both was an opportunity to give goods and food to their families. They both personally went to the border and did not rely on other people.

Renewing in person is very costly, both in terms of time and money. The transit time to the border is over five hours one way, and longer by bus or taxi. Going on to Maputo takes a minimum of two extra hours. A bus trip from the border to Maputo costs about R22022 each way (depending on the time of year and other factors), but taking a train was cheaper. However, even without the costs associated with renewal, going to Maputo entails additional costs as going ‘home’ means having to take money or goods. Participants often had little choice because there was no money to travel to the border, and they were forced to take the risk of having an expired visa.

22 USD30 in 2010

137

Others sent their passports to the border with someone else. Sometimes, people took advantage of a family member or friend who was travelling to Mozambique, and would send the passport with them. For a fee, bus or taxi drivers would take passports to the border and have them renewed, but it was risky putting a passport into unknown hands. Costs for doing this varied considerably, from R150 to R30023. It would cost more if the visa were already expired than if not. While the passport was in transit to the border, participants would be undocumented. According to immigration regulations, there is no possibility for those who rely on the visitors’ visa to get permanent residence without getting some form of temporary visa first (Republic of South Africa, 2014a).

A few participants had temporary visas. The South African government offers various temporary residence permits, including business visas, general and critical skills work permits, inter-company and corporate work visas, student visas for students on exchange programmes or studying, permits to visit family, to get medical treatment or to retire (Department of Home Affairs n.d. -a). Few participants could access or even knew that they were eligible for temporary visas. One participant had a work visa and another a relatives’ visa. These are less expensive for migrants and do not need to be renewed very often.

José had a work permit to work for a company in the construction sector. He said that the company for which he worked had organised it after he had requested them to do so. In 2010, he had been working at the company for three years. There are several types of work visas available in South Africa. The validity of work visas varies depending on length of contract and type of visa, but are generally valid for four to five years (Department of Home Affairs n.d.-b).

Aida had a relatives’ visa; or at least she thought this was the case. She explained that she got her visa on the basis of being married to a permanent resident. However, her husband had left her, and she would need at some point have to sign divorce papers. She would then lose her permit to be in the country, even though she has been in South Africa since 1994. Loss of residency is the risk of the relatives’ visa, as it depends on the relationship between spouses continuing. Other participants would have qualified for relatives’ visas, based on their long- standing relationships with, or marriages to, South Africans: two of the women interviewed in

23 USD14 and 28

138

Rosettenville and two of the men interviewed in Maputo. One of the men had been deported while married to a South African citizen. They did not mention relatives’ visas and all four relied on visitors’ permits.

The most highly prized permit was a permanent residence visa. To qualify for permanent residency, Mozambicans must have been resident in South Africa for five years, either working or as the spouse of a South African (Department of Home Affairs n.d.-d). Ernesto had applied as a result of an amnesty and expressed appreciation for this opportunity, which he associated with Mandela’s presidency. Few participants had permanent residency, which is the most secure form of residency, allowing people to remain in the country and bestowing on them most of the rights of citizenship, including the ability to conduct business and legitimately apply for employment.

Participants who were aware that they had the opportunity to apply had done so. However, some had experienced long delays in the processing of permanent residency permits. One participant said that it was easy and quick; she had applied at the border: You need documents to work, or you will be caught. I applied for permanent residency at the Giyani border. I needed a passport, my Mozambican ID. They checked my visa and money (Sia, Rosettenville). Others had been waiting for varying lengths of time. The person who had been waiting for the longest had applied in 1996, and the permanent residence permit had yet to come through.

Those with permanent residency were least vulnerable as they could get employment and run businesses. However, some participants complained that permanent residency did not offer the protections they had expected. Ernesto was involved in a traffic accident, and his claim against the Road Accident Fund was rejected because he was a permanent resident, rather than a citizen. He and another permanent resident complained that their opinions were sidelined. A permanent residency permit allows application for citizenship after five years, but Mozambique does not allow for dual citizenship, thus, being granted South African citizenship would result in the loss of Mozambican citizenship.

7.3.2. Socioeconomic risks In common with many South Africans, Mozambicans face many economic risks such as the increasing cost of living and low income earning capacity. However, the impact of poor health

139

and partner abandonment is also high, with few support systems established in the country. The absence of many protections of citizenship increases the impact of all these socio-economic risks. This section explores the socio-economic risks that participants perceived and experienced. Many of the risks described are not continuously experienced; at some point they are actualised, but are only threatened in others.

a. Underemployment, exploitation, and flexible work While participants justified their decision to move based on the availability of more jobs in Johannesburg than in Maputo, many acknowledged that this was not the case to the extent that it once was. When speaking of jobs, participants seemed to want formal employment, but should the pay not be sufficient, or the job disliked, they would then run their own microbusinesses. The income of all participants was very low. Only two men earned above R5 000 per month,24 and one woman was given R10 000 per month by her boyfriend.

For participants, the most common occupation was hairdressing (four of the participants). There were also builders (three), mechanics (three), vendors (three), of which two were cross- border traders, welders (two), and carpenters (two). This translates to six people employed in, or contracted to, the construction industry and six in auto repair. Two men, both interviewed in Maputo, were employed by mines. There were two people working as domestic workers, and two worked in retail.

The two miners interviewed, Luís and Alberto, were the least precarious of all the participants. Luís worked in Westonaria, Alberto in Carltonville, just outside the boundary of Johannesburg. Luís, who was 43 when interviewed, worked in South Deep gold mine as a drill operator. He was comparatively well off: With my salary, I build this big house, you can see [it is a double storey] house and I have these cars for me, one for both my wife and daughter (Luís, Maputo). Alberto (33) was completing an engineering diploma in Carltonville, while he worked as an engineering assistant. He was studying for a diploma to give him the qualifications needed to be an engineer on the mine. The mine paid his tuition fees, but he would have to repay the money should he fail. He kept his costs down in Johannesburg by living in a hostel, and could

24 USD667

140

funnel most of his money to his family and to the building of his house in Maputo. The interview took place in Maputo in a partially completed room in his house. His contact with risks outside the mine was low, and he was most concerned about those faced by himself and the miners working underground. When in Carltonville, he lived simply and did not waste his money by going out. There may be further benefits to working on the mines for households in Maputo. Miners’ wives interviewed in Maputo were able to improve their household income through cross-border trading and domestic work. One of the miners’ wives interviewed was studying in Johannesburg.

The most secure form of work was formal work, where the employee got pay slips and had access to credit. In 2007, Ricardo got a job in a bed factory. Unfortunately, the company closed just two years later. While he had a stable income, he applied for a home loan and bought a house in Rosettenville. This credit made his family more financially secure than they had been before the purchase of the house. He let outside rooms to provide a stable income while he used his networks to secure work as a carpenter. When his friends had a construction job, they would call him to do the carpentry, and when he had a request to do work, he would try to bring his friends in for the job. When he struggled to get piece jobs, rental income and the funds brought in by his wife selling vegetables provided a buffer, but the loss of his formal job left his family situation far more precarious.

Most of the participants were in economically precarious positions; the income figures suggest exploitation or underemployment. The worst story in this regard was Ana’s, when she was working as a hairdresser: I lost my job because there were no clients, so they couldn’t afford to pay me. I was working without getting paid. Then I stopped because there wasn’t a salary. Sometimes they would give me half, sometimes nothing. And to go there I was using transport, and then end of the month, no salary. … It was very, very small money, R250 per week. I used to work from Monday to Sunday and no rest. And sometimes I did some other clients’ hair at home, so I can have more money to buy food, because the money was not enough to pay the rent, buy food, buy clothes. Because the rent… it’s very expensive here (Ana, Rosettenville). Ana was working for a business in the Johannesburg CBD, the amount she was paid was far below the minimum wage, even for a domestic worker. Her boyfriend then said he would support her while she improved her education so that she could get a better-paying job. He gave her R10 000 a month, while she studied English.

141

When people initially came to the country, they took whatever jobs they were offered. Many of them were underpaid and working conditions were poor. Initially, the women interviewed were likely to find domestic work or retail jobs. When possible, they moved on to other forms of work. Sia had resigned from her previous job she due to the working conditions: You have jobs here, but it’s shops… You can work in the [local shop], in the [local shop] they kick you [laughs]… I worked there… I worked there a month and then I left because of the customers and the salaries, they don’t pay the same amount [to foreigners] and you work long hours there. I left and then I found the piece job I’ve got (Sia, Rosettenville). A piece job is an occasional job. Sia’s husband earned enough to cover the household expenses and her job supplemented the household income. She thought that the family was doing well financially, her husband had never said that there was no money for anything. When interviewed, Sia had a permanent visa, and so was less vulnerable than other participants.

Bella mentioned discrimination against Mozambicans, even as they got the opportunity to work in a Portuguese business. She liked her boss, but as she was on a visitors’ permit, she had to renew it every month. Mozambicans were hired by the business, but could not be registered for unemployment insurance as the South African employees were. Mozambicans were not given key positions because they had to go to the border to renew their 30-day visas and so would be absent from work for a week every month. When we renew, we can stay a week without coming, which is why our boss does not give Mozambicans key areas like cashier and supervision (Bella, Rosettenville). While Bella did not say that she and the Mozambicans with whom she worked were exploited, they had limited chances of getting better-paid employment.

Entrepreneurs were also not doing well financially. Some had to sell assets while struggling to maintain income levels. Carlos was the most successful businessman interviewed. He owned his own construction company, but felt that conditions had become tougher since he had arrived in South Africa in 1992. He explained why he could no longer get government tenders: For those days, in 1990s everything was fine, especially for a construction company, but now things are tough because of the legislation, if you happen to fire one of the employees, the government comes on top of you. I don’t like working with South Africans because they are lazy. When you pay them, they stay several days without coming to work… I used to win tenders before, but with this government I have not won any. I rely on my old clients to survive (Carlos, Maputo).

142

The construction industry has been on the decline since 2009, and in 2016 big construction firms were found guilty of collusion by the South African Competition Commission. In addition, the cost of labour has decreased more than the decline in sector earnings. This indicates that the costs of labour have been purposely lowered. Moreover, employers were found to avoid paying for the necessary skilled artisans (PWC 2016). So, Carlos may be correct in his perception that tenders have become difficult to get.

While entrepreneurial work could be more beneficial than working for an employer, it introduced the risk of variable income which threatened the household. One of the times I interviewed Maria, she and her husband were in crisis. Her husband was selling his car and returning to Maputo because he could not secure enough work in Johannesburg to cover all the household expenses. In Johannesburg, he had his own plumbing business, having worked initially as a mechanic when first arriving in the city. He had been a truck driver in Mozambique. His plumbing business secured work all over Johannesburg. Maria brought in some money with her piece job as a bar lady at a local bar, but she worked only when there were events at the bar. She spoke of the economic hardships they were undergoing, which caused her husband psychological stress. It was hard to discuss, as they did not know what was going to happen next or how they were going to pay school fees and rent: He stays there for month, check and go, you see? Maybe he’s going to fix the house, build there, what-what. All those things… He’s selling his car now, he’s selling, he wants to go back home. Life is not good anymore, but I think it’s this season, September, to November, December there’s no jobs, January the jobs they start to come again (Maria, Rosettenville). Maria and her husband were on the brink of losing their small flat, and having to return to Maputo, which she was particularly against. She was aware that inflation in Maputo had made it very hard for people there and that they would struggle, if forced to leave Johannesburg. It seems that she had been right about work coming later; and the family situation stabilised, and they remained in Johannesburg.

The economic insecurity experienced by participants is similar to that experienced by vulnerable South Africans. It appears that a good, consistent income from microbusinesses has become harder to achieve, and that non-exploitative jobs are more difficult to find. Both those with permanent residency and those on visitors’ visas felt vulnerable to economic stresses.

143

b. Accommodation and rising costs In Rosettenville, many houses, backyard structures and flats were available for accommodation. Those who lived in houses would often share them with other families, one family per room, with shared bathrooms and kitchens. In comparison to shared houses, flats offered far greater privacy. Others lived in backyard structures with one family or many families living on the properties.

Rented accommodation in Rosettenville was a particular source of insecurity because of rental increases. The worst example of this was the rent increases experienced by Maria. Already struggling because her husband’s business was not attracting enough work, Maria had complained that the rental of their flat was too high. The flat had one bedroom and was very small for a family of four. The two boys slept in a partitioned off section of the living room. She said: Ei, small place, my dream is to have a big house, that’s my dream, I pray day and night. I tell you when I start to stay here the rent was R800 and something, R800! And can you believe now it’s R3 000! Rent, they come up two months, ago, we even go ask that guy, ‘What’s going on, it’s come up, just like this’ and then [my husband] complained, he says ‘I'm going, I'm going because I think I'm working just to pay rent’ You see? It’s a lot, it’s a lot (Maria, Rosettenville). Simultaneous to extreme rental increases experienced by participants, there were more and more empty blocks of flats that were no longer rented out. Chapter 5, section 19(1) b of the Rental Housing Act No. 50 of 1999 prohibits such increases unless detailed in the initial rental contract. Maria later moved to an adjacent suburb, to a building with more stable rent.

Lúcia had moved many times since coming to Johannesburg in 1996. Previously, she had lived in a flat in Jeppe25 for five years, and was saving money because of the lower rental rates there. However, the rent was increased in an apparent attempt to force tenants to move out. They made ends meet for a while, but the building was then sold, forcing them to move. Lúcia was very upset by the experience, as she knew and liked her neighbours. The family had moved to Malvern before coming to live in Rosettenville. They had gone from a respectable sized flat in Jeppe to one room in a house, shared by herself, her husband, and their children. She had sold and given away possessions in every move to fit into smaller spaces.

25 A suburb east of, but close to the CBD

144

Bella also stayed in a room in such a house. Her living conditions meant that she had little privacy: The house belongs to a Nigerian, but he doesn’t stay there. My rent is R1 50026 a month. I am renting a room in the house, I share with my daughter. There are no problems, there’s a mix of people in the house. Two Tanzanians, some people from South Africa, and some others, I think they are from Zimbabwe… I don’t talk to them much, if you talk too much, you make a problem (Bella, Rosettenville). When first interviewed, Aida had a similar living situation, except that they lived in a back room away from most of the people in the house. She shared the one small room with her three children.

Others lived in backyard rooms on properties inhabited by families. Such accommodation may be more secure, as it is less likely to suffer from dramatic increases in rent unless the house itself is sold. Cornélio said: I stay in a back room. There’s a family in the house, a mixed family… The rent is R800. There is a toilet and a small kitchen (Cornélio, Rosettenville). Cornélio lived on the property of another participant, Nocentia and her South African coloured husband. He was employed by Nocentia’s father-in-law as a carpenter, building wooden huts. The low rental amount may have partly been to compensate for a poor salary.

A Rosettenville estate agent remarked that rent increases were purposely made to drive foreigners out of the area. She said that owners who had rented their houses to a family found that within weeks, it would become home to multiple families, with rooms cordoned off for each family. Foreigners were thought to cause damage when renting properties, which devalued the property and made it unsuitable for future rental. The agent said that Nigerians were intimidating the owners of flats and businesses, forcing them to sell. Someone working in a shop in the area said the same, pointing to buildings that had been bought by Nigerians. Several participants lived in houses owned by Nigerians.

c. Partner abandonment When I first interviewed Aida, she was living in a small one-room, backyard flat with her three children, aged 20, 16 and 7. All three were still in school. The backyard room was on the property of a house that was home to ten families; three other families lived outside in backyard

26 USD200

145

rooms. A shop was run from the property, and the boundary wall had some of the goods for sale painted onto it. Aida braided hair in the back yard to earn an income.

Aida thought that she was in South Africa with a relatives’ visa (her husband had permanent residency), having entered the country illegally in 1996. Previously, she had shared a large flat with her husband and children. She and her children had been left with no place to stay after her husband moved out and stopped paying the rent for the flat they stayed in. She was evicted and forced to move. With the loss of her husband she had lost her home, and faced losing her legal basis for being in South Africa.

Aida got a little income from her hairdressing, but it was inconsistent. She had few supplies. Clients would bring extra hair to be braided into their own. The income covered the rent, but hardly any food. Other people were feeding her and her family by donating food. Her husband had left Aida to live with his girlfriend, who was the mother of his three-year-old daughter. He’d sent Aida divorce papers, but she had refused to sign them, although she knew she would be divorced either way. At that point, school fees for her children were unpaid, and she feared that they might be forced to leave the school.

Aida had lost her accommodation and her financial and food security when her husband left her for another woman. She did not know if her children would complete their education and was uncertain about what would happen next. She could not return to Mozambique as she had fled famine to come to South Africa from Maputo 15 years before. Aida’s story shows how divorce and desertion can impact women’s income security. The abandonment had compromised Aida and her children’s food security, making them dependent on the charity of others.

Later, Aida moved into a better backyard flat with separate rooms for the children and television with a DSTV connection, due to maintenance paid by her husband. The children’s school fees were paid by their father. Aida felt that if her husband had not asked for a divorce to marry his girlfriend, he would not have supported his children. She said that it was her agreement to divorce him that led to his decision to support the children.

146

d. Ill health Participants worried about their health and tried to keep healthy. A few of those interviewed both in Johannesburg and Maputo referred to the risk of HIV. Two participants interviewed in Maputo mentioned this risk. One man spoke of it in the context of drinking, socialising, being out after dark, and having girlfriends in Johannesburg. He said that he preferred to avoid these risks. Constantina also mentioned it: HIV is a risk if you have sex with someone who is not your husband, malaria and TB is [also] very dangerous (Constantina, Maputo). Constantina said this in a conversation about Mozambican women coming to Johannesburg and moving in with men in order to get accommodation and other resources.

There are two clinics in or close to Rosettenville, which participants visited for contraception and other primary care, and HIV testing could be done at the same time. Maria’s husband’s first wife was dead; she did not know why. She tested for HIV every three months when she went to get contraception: Like me, I like to go take HIV test every three months. At the clinic, every three months, when I go take pills for family planning, I test, because he’s the one who likes to stay out and drink, I don’t know what is going on, I don’t follow him. I just stay and wait. However, this, I don’t know (about my husband’s previous wife) she was still small… Always when I go to the clinic, they say, and they advise, they say that it’s free to test for HIV (Maria, Rosettenville). Maria also had her husband test regularly. He was negative. She was concerned that her husband might be having sex with other women while he was out drinking, and that it would lead to her becoming HIV positive: Yes. But I can say he’s busy drinking and he’s not drinking, that’s why every three months I make sure, the day they will catch me with HIV, oh God! What’s going to happen? (Maria, Rosettenville) HIV would potentially compromise their future plans and was much feared.

Bella’s husband’s poor health negatively impacted both her and her children, leaving her the household breadwinner: He is not working now, he used to buy things and sell them… [Now] he is in and out [of hospital], he gets sick and better. He’s in Maputo – goes to doctor there, didn’t get well here. It was R400 for the doctor here, one month it was R2 000 for the doctor and R20027 for the medicine, he didn’t take tests. Now

27 USD53, USD266 and USD26 respectively

147

he went to hospital in Maputo for tests, the hospital is not free, but the money is not a much as in South African hospitals (Bella, Rosettenville). Paying for the rent, school fees for her daughter in Johannesburg and fees for her oldest child at university in Maputo, left Bella with little money for the month. Her monthly salary was R3 000 and her fixed expenses were R2 30028 a month (rent, schooling, and university fees). Even using public hospitals, the fees were too much to carry. She did not know what was wrong with her husband, and apparently, doctors were not sure either. Bella shared a house with others and was worried that she or her daughter would catch some disease through sharing the bathroom and kitchen: I have to wake up early in the morning to use the bathroom. Some people take long in the bathroom. … But just the fact that we are sharing a bathroom and kitchen does not make it lesser risk, people carry a lot of disease from where they come from, so you might get infected with a strange illness (Bella, Rosettenville). Bella’s concerns for her health were unsurprising. If she got sick, neither parent would be able to support her children.

Julia suffered a loss of income as she had to take much time off from her hairdressing salon to take her grandson to the clinic and hospital. The young boy (aged one at the time), had been burnt with boiling water after having pulled on a kettle cable. Trips to the clinic and then the hospital were time-consuming. She would be out for most of the day. Her grandson needed a skin graft and she and his parents had already waited for four weeks to get the operation. After the long waits and numerous visits to the clinic and hospital, Julia and the boy’s parents decided to send the child to Mozambique for traditional treatment.

Many female participants made regular use of clinics, often for birth control. Most liked and spoke well of the local clinics, although some staff were known to be rude and address people in languages that they could not understand: Hmm, sometimes when you go to the hospital, to the clinic, they treat, if they know you are not South African, they don’t treat you like others, but not all of them. They start to speak Zulu, traditional language, they don’t understand I’m not South African, I can try to communicate with them in English because it is the language I’m learning to communicate with other people. Umm, these other places, eish, the hospital and the clinic (Sia, Rosettenville)

28 USD400 and USD307 respectively

148

Furthermore, participants complained that clinics did not always see all the patients who came for treatment as they would turn away people far down the queue, or close the clinic early. Thus, participants would not necessarily go to the nearest clinic, but one where they felt that they would receive the necessary services. Overall, female participants seemed to be able to access regular and good health care, particularly family planning services. However, there was no evidence that they migrated to gain access to such services. It is in South Africa’s interest to provide such services, as non-provision of primary health care can result in higher costs in the long term, both for foreigners and citizens.

The nursing sister in charge of the Rosettenville Clinic was interviewed for this research. At the time of our appointment the clinic was busy, with many people waiting to be seen by the staff. The sister was aware of the many foreigners in the area and of their right to health care, even if they did not have a South African identity document. Foreign languages were challenging to deal with, and it was important that staff could communicate clearly with patients to treat them properly. The sister told me that she tried to ensure good service provision to everybody, but that at times it was difficult to do so because of the large number of people seen at the clinic.

Ill health was considered a particular risk, not only to the infirm person, but for their family as well. It presented the potential of great expense and loss of income to the household. It was a risk that could not entirely be eliminated, but the effect was ameliorated by making use of support networks and less expensive health care in Mozambique. However, it was not clear whether this strategy was effective.

e. Summary notes on socioeconomic risks Participants earned very little, most between R1 000 and R3 00029 a month. Income was boosted by having additional household members work, but this was unlikely to improve it by much. Women, in particular, earned small amounts. Most participants were not in formal full- time employment. Permanent residence seemed to offer few economic benefits in terms of employment, as participants with visitors’ visas had also found formal employment. However, a visitors’ visa may have limited their potential for improved income and promotion. Foreigners were discriminated against in terms of rentals charged, and were less-preferred

29 USD133 to USD400

149

tenants. High rentals constituted significant risk to households, and the only option to mitigate this risk was to move. Moving meant the loss of items of value, as participants had to sell their possessions to fit into smaller accommodation.

As many Rosettenville participants were in their thirties and had children, they were vulnerable to partner abandonment. Some women participants came to Johannesburg in order to be with their husbands or boyfriends. Only one woman had been abandoned by her husband, but the impact was clearly enormous in terms of her financial security. Women who are not married are likely to be more vulnerable, as children may not be officially acknowledged.

Ill health is a significant risk, and one that participants took seriously. It could undermine any option to remain in Johannesburg. However, primary healthcare was relatively easy to get for participants, although it may be harder for people without the linguistic skills that most participants had. Beyond primary healthcare, the option of access in Maputo seemed more attractive, even with the additional cost of transport.

7.4. Risks from security agents

The marginalised position of participants made them especially vulnerable to police harassment and solicitation, both from SAPS and JMPD personnel. The implicit threat behind police harassment and solicitation for bribes is detention or deportation. Police solicitation of bribes, harassment, and the Lindela Repatriation Centre are discussed in this section.

7.4.1. Police harassment In coming into South Africa, the participants faced risks in common with other foreigners in the country. The core right that citizens have, and non-nationals do not, is the right to be in the country. Harassment, solicitation, incarceration, and deportation may be related to illegal activities that people are involved in, including residency in contradiction with South African law. However, this was not always the case. Participants were found to avoid the police, both the SAPS and JMPD, under most circumstances and regardless of their residency status. On occasion, the Metro police were particularly mentioned, but participants mostly referred to ‘the police’. Harassment and solicitation of bribes by police was a prominent theme in participants’ responses. Police pose a risk because they can incarcerate or deport Mozambicans, particularly on the expiration of visitors’ visas.

150

Many participants were worried about or had experienced police personnel demanding bribes. Some who did not have visas worried about this, and overall, participants felt vulnerable to the demands for bribes and arrest regardless of their legal status in the country. Most participants avoided the police as much as possible and said that they would go to a police station if necessary, but avoided police on the street as they would solicit money. Angelica had a 30-day visa, but had no documentation on her: Police on the street, they try to get bribes from innocent people. The police, they ask for money. It happened to me before… In La Rochelle. I was walking, had to bribe police officer, I didn’t have passport, it was a R30 bribe. I was walking and I didn’t have a passport, nothing, I had to bribe them with R30 (Angelica, Rosettenville) José is especially careful of police, despite having a work visa: Police, I don’t like them. Even with a work permit, they want bribes, I just avoid them… I’m very attentive, never face a person, calculate the distance between them and me, and always avoid police (José, Maputo) Those with darker skins worried more about the police than their fair-skinned counterparts. José, above, had dark skin.

Police solicit bribes through threatening arrest and deportation. Both incarceration and deportation had disrupted the plans of participants. Those with valid visas tried to carry them at all times. Cornelio worked as a carpenter assembling wooden huts. His incarceration meant that he missed work: The police will catch you without documents. Just walking down the road, if I left my passport, they will catch me and put me in jail. It happened before… I was here [points], I was here in Fordsburg. To catch a ride in Carlton Centre and come here. They say ‘Where’s your passport?’ I say ‘I leave it at my house, there’ and they say ‘No, let’s go to John Vorster [police station]’. I slept there I think for three days, from Sunday to… ya three days. I went to court and was set free, then they put a stamp, and then I came out… I stayed there for three days because they wanted bail for one day and I didn’t have (Cornélio, Rosettenville). Rosettenville was served by the Booysens police station, situated about five kilometres away by car. However, for those dependent on taxis, it involved taking a taxi into the CBD and then another to the police station. The police station was very busy when I visited it (on several occasions). It is not a large police station, and there seemed to be resource constraints. In a current affairs television programme in 2005, the Booysens police station’s staff had been exposed for harassing foreigners (Staff Reporter 2005).

151

While Mozambicans may have good reasons for distrusting and avoiding the police, the South Africans interviewed also complained about the police. One interviewee said that they never had cars available to respond to calls, and that Metro police had prevented her from feeding people in a local park. Another alleged the police had solicited bribes and assaulted the Nigerians who lived in the house next to hers. She said that there was drug-dealing and prostitution going on in the house, and that police had beaten a man to death there one night. Another night she had transported one of the young men staying at the house to the hospital after an assault by police. She also alleged that the police took bribes to keep them from arresting drug dealers.

7.4.2. Lindela Repatriation Centre and deportation Police represented the risk of deportation via Lindela. Some participants said that they feared having to stay in Lindela more than repatriation. However, only two participants had been there (one interviewed in Maputo and one in Johannesburg). Their experiences there had differed. Mozambicans being deported from Lindela are fortunate in that transport is available to send them home relatively quickly, in contrast to migrants from further afield. Ricardo describes his experiences: I don’t like the way they do things. Sometimes they can take us without a reason… if you don’t have your ID with you they can take you to the Lindela, after that, deport you. [I went to Lindela and then was deported in] 1998. Ya, before I got the ID… I was coming from Pretoria to Joburg. And then they stopped the taxi, and start searching… it was before I got an ID. I got an ID in 1999. Ei, Lindela, [laughs] Ei, that place, it is not good. What can I say, it’s worse than prison. It’s better to be in prison than Lindela… You can’t sleep. You have to wake anytime; you must wake up around 2 ‘o clock [2 a.m.] to have breakfast and then sleep again… (Ricardo, Rosettenville). Ricardo said that other detainees were violent, but not the guards. The other person that had been there said that nothing bad had happened to him there. He was deported in 2009. As Lindela is supposed to be a short-term holding facility, it offers no entertainment in the form of books or television, such as can be found in prisons.

Deportation and Lindela were one of the most cited risks: [The big risk in South Africa, you] have to have a valid passport or be deported by the police. I haven’t been to Lindela or been deported. I just don’t go out; then the police won’t catch me (Constantina, Maputo).

152

Ana, discussed earlier, made sure that she always renewed her passport, as she did not want to be deported: Mmmm, other risks? I’m from Mozambique, if we don’t have a passport or ID, you can go to jail, they can deport you… I think it’s not good to stay without having your documents. Many come from Mozambique without having their passports and then they get arrested, go back home. Sometimes [the police find foreigners] in the streets, just like that and then they go home without even buying anything for their parents because of the ID… It’s not good (Ana, Rosettenville). Ana was the only one to mention the additional shame of not bringing anything for the family, should she be deported.

Maria had been robbed twice. One time she risked her life to try to retain her passport, and fought with the men who were robbing her: They kicked me, I bite one of them, because I know passport; that is something you need here in South Africa, without that they can arrest you. I fought, I fight, fight, fight, but they took everything! It was at High Street. I couldn’t go to the police because they took my passport… At that time they were taking lots of people and putting them in those combis30 there. But after that, I got to make another passport. Even until now I’m still waiting for them to make the papers, they are not out yet (Maria, Rosettenville) The imperative to carry passports at all times may avoid deportation, but it makes their loss through crime more likely.

7.5. Crime in Johannesburg and Rosettenville

Crime was most frequently the first risk mentioned by those interviewed. In most cases, participants were either worried about the risk of becoming a victim of a crime, or had been a victim of crime. People usually meant theft when they spoke of crime. Occasionally this was accompanied by violence. Not all who considered crime a significant risk had been victims, but all were cautious in avoiding it.

Fernando was once caught in the CBD. It was late at night and there were no taxis available to go home. He found the situation harrowing, as he had to sleep on a street in the CBD: The biggest risk in Johannesburg is that it’s not safe to walk at night because of crime. I’ve never been assaulted, but have seen many assaults. One day I

30 Vans

153

slept on the street [in the CBD]. There was no taxi, it was too late, I was very scared (Fernando, Maputo) Living in Eldorado Park, Fernando had to walk through Hillbrow (an area that is often considered very dangerous) to get home, and he was too afraid to do this. He had witnessed muggings in Eldorado Park on numerous occasions, although he had not himself been a victim. Fernando derived part of his income from selling illegal cigarettes (in addition to sweets and biscuits), and so was himself involved in an illegal activity.

Fear of crime, like the fear of police, meant that people felt they were not free to walk around in Johannesburg, and avoided doing so as much as possible. Constantina described how she and friends had been accosted by criminals (tsotsis) in the CBD: One day, I was with friends, we met some tsotsis, they wanted to take money, I was scared. [It happened in the CBD], they tried, but didn’t take our money, because we resisted… Joburg is risky because anyone can take money at any time (Constantina, Maputo). Constantina studied in the CBD, and travelled from Randburg to get there. She felt that travelling around Johannesburg was more dangerous than travelling from Maputo and back to buy and sell clothing as a cross-border trader.

Participants had changed their behaviour to avoid crime. Catarina explained: [My] money, wallet and cell phone was stolen in Randburg in 2004. [I was] very depressed because I was going to go shopping. I was left without enough money for transport. I had to ask people for money at the hairdressing salon… Now I put money and cell phone in my bra. I have a Jet31 account and draw money only when I need it (Catarina, Maputo). Some participants said they no longer went out to drink because of crime. Cornélio had been robbed by people he considered ‘nice’ when out drinking one night. As a result, he had decided to rather drink at home: Oh, thieves? When I come, sometimes I’m drunk. People they can rob me and take cell phones and money. I always check to see. There’s no lights on the street. Now, I just stay home. What else can you do? Even to drink you have to buy in the mall there and bring it to the house (Cornélio, Rosettenville). Cornélio’s experience of theft resulted in his drinking at home. He was also more cautious and less trusting of others he had met when drinking.

31 Jet is a chain of retail clothing stores

154

African foreigners face greater risks of crime and the fallout can be worse (Misago et al. 2010). Losing a passport through theft was a particular fear. It was expensive and could lead to arrest and deportation. Cornélio had lost his passport in a robbery. He did not report the theft because he felt that doing so would risk deportation. Having been stopped by police once without his passport, he was forced to bribe them in order not to be deported: I was here for a long time, and I stay here without a passport because they stole my passport… they stole that other passport with my cell phone. Now when I go home, I’ll get the five-year passport, I didn’t have money to get the five-year one before. I just make the temporary passport and wait for the five-years one (Cornélio, Rosettenville). The loss of documentation is expensive, time-consuming and exposes participants to further risks from security agents.

Violent crime, in the form of theft, was a common complaint about Rosettenville. Most of the participants who had been robbed had been assaulted at the same time. Parks were recognised as especially dangerous: See, by the park, see… You see, when, err, you go down there, in Verona Street, there’s lots of parks there, from the top to down there, it’s full of parks. Its very dangerous (Maria, Rosettenville). Sia was the only participant to mention rape as a risk associated with parks: It’s so quiet there, and you cannot walk alone. Other people will walk alone. Where I work, by Wemmerpan32, sometimes the men take the women and do whatever they do to them there by the dam. the next day you see the police there. Some people go there just to party, making braais33, you going to see after they are robbing cell phones they are stabbing people, and one time, the Southern Courier34 reported the one guy they stabbed him for his cell phone (Sia, Rosettenville).

Aside from theft and violence, crime takes other specific forms in Rosettenville. The suburb has much drug- and prostitution-related activity. Such crime gained the area much publicity in early 2017, as residents grew angry about drugs and prostitution in the area (Whittles 2017). Those interviewed also mentioned drugs and prostitution. Two of the participants mentioned that they knew of Mozambicans in the area that worked as prostitutes. Participants associated prostitution and drug dealing with Nigerians in the neighbourhood:

32 Wemmerpan is suburb to close to Rosettenville 33 Barbeques 34 The Southern Courier is a local newspaper for Rosettenville, Turffontein and Robertsham, distributed free to residents

155

The Nigerians are making crime because they are selling drugs and prostituting the girls also. … Too much of them are Mozambican plenty of them. I can tell by the way they speak, the way they dress. That this one, she’s from Mozambique. I was living in the flat where there were prostitutes. I was renting a flat, so prostitutes also they’re living there. I knew they were prostitutes because of how they used to dress, they used to dress like they were naked. When I walk with my husband they used to wink at him [imitates them and laughs]. I didn’t feel safe because they were smoking drugs and they steal. The prostitutes are thieves… And they leave condoms outside… They would have sex on the street and sometimes in those small passages. I only saw it once, in the passage. And I saw one other, she died because of overdosing and drugs. She was already dead, she was a white girl (Aida, Rosettenville). Aida said that with prostitutes in the building, there was theft of clothes off the clothesline and the goods of their clients, too. Aida also clearly had not liked prostitutes winking at her husband. They were best avoided.

Participants, including Nocentia, were concerned about their children being exposed to drugs: These things [drug dealing] they don’t hide them; they can do them in front of people and that is what I’m scared of. My children can try them one day on the weekend… Sometimes I can go to the shop and find people busy selling drugs. I smell drugs, and I’m going there with my kids (Nocentia, Rosettenville). Drug dealers are known to loiter around the neighbourhood or deal from houses. Ana’s brother may have stolen from her to fund drugs. When I spoke to her half-sister (a South African, living near Rosettenville), she said that their brother was a drug addict and involved in criminal activities to support his habit. Ana did not think this was the case, saying that he only consumed ganja (cannabis). She gave her brother money if possible when he came to her and asked. He had been in jail a few times, and Ana often did not know where he was or the reasons for his absence.

Participants had been, or feared becoming, victims of crime. One participant said he wished to avoid being drawn into crime. He did this by avoiding having friends in Johannesburg. Another derived some income from selling contraband cigarettes. Overall, most were law-abiding and worried about crime in the neighbourhoods in which they lived. Like South Africans, they tended to blame a particular population, often Nigerians. However, the Nigerians that they most encountered were more likely to be landlords. In early 2017, angry residents burned houses, allegedly belonging to (Nigerian) drug dealers. After the incident, a satellite office for the

156

JMPD was opened in Kenilworth (an adjacent suburb) to deal with crime in the area (Comaro Chronicle 2017).

Participants feared that people encountered on the streets and in parks would prove dangerous. Nocentia considered everyone a risk, even people claiming to be police, and would not let anyone onto her property whom she did not know. She said that police were not to be trusted on the basis that you could not know for certain that they were police: I can’t trust the police because I don’t know if they are the real police. In a house down the road, they went there and they said, no we’re police, they went in and took everything in the house, plus then they raped her. The girl I think was 15 years old. Now I hear that that girl is sitting there at home with AIDS. I don’t know if they put it in the newspaper. They are my neighbour’s friend, so that’s why I know the story (Nocentia, Rosettenville). Whether the perpetrators were police or not, they made Nocentia wary and she would not let strangers onto the property, even if they stated that they were police, or from City Power (the provider of electricity to the Johannesburg municipality).

7.6. Xenophobic attitudes, violence, and the dangers of South African women

Foreigners in South Africa also face risks from the xenophobic attitudes of some South African citizens. The xenophobic violence of May 2008 had shaken the sense of security of many of the participants, despite the fact that few had experienced xenophobic violence, but had rather learned about it through media coverage. The fact that the most prominent coverage of the 2008 attacks featured a Mozambican man being burnt alive may have contributed to this (Bevan 2008). In general, the term ‘xenophobia’ was often used synonymously with xenophobic violence. Xenophobia was frequently mentioned in the participant interviews, making it a prominent theme. While participants did not always use the term ‘xenophobia’, they frequently expressed the sentiment that South Africans disliked them.

Many participants considered xenophobia a risk. However, when questioned, most felt a sense of being unwelcome, rather than fearing imminent physical harm because they were foreign. Some felt this dislike might become violent: Because we are foreigners, when somebody sees that we are foreigners, they can do anything at any time (Florencio, Maputo). In my area things were fine, but during the xenophobic attacks things have just changed, I learnt to know that locals hunt people from outside South Africa and can kill you easily (Bella, Rosettenville).

157

Those who felt that South Africans were xenophobic avoided South Africans when possible to guard themselves against violence or simply unpleasant situations.

Bella (quoted above) worked in a Portuguese-owned business and felt that even though the South Africans with whom she worked were friendly, they would gossip about Mozambicans and slander them behind their backs: South Africans don’t want people from other countries and Mozambique, as well, here. I just stay here for work. I work with a mix of people. Work nice- nice, but not like people from Mozambique… they are not nice like people from Mozambique, No. They are always saying they don’t want us [Mozambicans]. They always say they don’t want us… South Africans are always fighting and killing each other. Myself, I like them, but they don’t like us, they talk behind your back, don’t like to work, like to get paid. They don’t want to be nicely with us. They can be your friend, but when you go, they don’t talk nicely about you. But they are nice to your face (Bella, Rosettenville). After the xenophobic violence, Bella said she had avoided South Africans if possible and avoided speaking Shangaan in front of people she did not know. South Africans were regarded with apprehension by most participants and many opted to socialise with other Mozambicans or other foreigners.

Zulus were perceived as particularly xenophobic; José comments: Zulus put themselves on top. But I’ve accomplished my goals by working in South Africa, despite the xenophobia from the Zulus... I don’t know if the xenophobic attacks will happen again (José, Maputo). Marisa encountered Zulus at the location she lived in. Her boyfriend had previously dated a Zulu woman, so her perceptions were likely influenced by this: I don’t like Zulus because there’s no respect. A Zulu in South Africa doesn’t consider you a person. There’s lots of Zulus in the location. Zulus don’t have respect (Marisa, Maputo). Individual xenophobic incidents involving Zulus have not been widely reported. It is possible that Zulus are more xenophobic, and there is evidence of Zulus perpetrating xenophobic violence and knowledge of Zulu words had been used as a ‘test’ to discover foreign nationals (Steinberg 2008a; 2012). Zulus also constitute the largest ethnic group in South Africa.

A participant and her husband had witnessed an apparent xenophobic attack and murder of a security guard working for a Bangladeshi shop-owner in Rosettenville. The shop was below the flat that Nocentia and her husband rented. She described the event:

158

Some guys came there… they start to say ‘Open the gate’. The owners were from Bangladesh, and the owner say ‘I can’t open the gate, this time, it’s too late, you must come tomorrow morning’. And they say ‘It’s not too late’. And they said ‘We’ll kill you, you are Bangladeshi’ and the owner he didn’t open. And they were saying that they were policemen. They [were] civilians and the owner, he says, show your paper and bring your cards if you want to come inside my shop. They come as police, you see, but they are civilians, you see? One was even a taxi driver I recognised. They say, ‘You are Bangladeshi, we will kill you.’ They shoot the security guard and then he fell. It was a sad story for me. I will never forget that incident (Nocentia, Rosettenville). After the incident, Nocentia felt it best to avoid people she did not know well, and did not go out ‘partying’ because there was a risk that South Africans might be violent towards her.

In one case, xenophobic attitudes may have made some men more willing to beat a participant. On two occasions, Francisco’s South African Sotho wife had summoned men to beat him. He said that South Africans had beaten him because he was Mozambican, although it is also possible that they beat him simply because his wife had asked them to: The problem is that she [my wife] used to go out with other men, she was cheating, because men love her. At times when she comes back home, she would come with those people to beat me. This was because I was a foreigner. She only wanted money, not love (Fransisco, Maputo). Francisco was beaten twice. The first time, police responded to the disturbance and arrested him, rather than those who had beaten him, as he did not have a visa to be in the country. He was released after four days in jail, when a friend bribed the police. After the second beating, Francisco left for Maputo with their child.

When participants discussed xenophobia, it was often in the context of romantic relationships that acted as warnings against having relationships with South Africans, and often, Zulu women. Zulu women were singled out as dangerous: Zulus, they are violent. In South Africa the other ethnic groups like Tswanas, Xhosas, they are just coming to work jobs, they are not in that powerful position. If I were to have a wife, I would have someone else, other than Zulu, maybe Tswana or Pondo (Florencio, Maputo). Some participants felt that all South African women should be avoided. Girlfriends could take their money: If you marry a South African woman she can take all your clothes and money away. It once happened to me, I lost all that I had (Carlos, Maputo).

159

Girlfriends could also undermine the ability to save. Rui explained that his Zulu landlady tried to persuade him to show interest in her daughter, in order to gain access to his money: The owner of the room I stay in is Zulu, a woman. Normally people that own houses and build other small houses inside the house, they are women. They chase away men, Zulu women they always chase away their husbands. These women, these owners of the houses sometimes offer their children to lie with him in order to control his money. Even 12 or 14 years old, they can give them away. They want you to marry the daughter, so the money never goes away. You pay rent and then you pay more with the daughter (Rui, Maputo). South African women were thought to try any means to get hold of their money.

Negative perceptions of Zulus, both women and men, were prevalent, but were not investigated. In some cases, these perceptions could have related to historical resentment due to Zulu attacks into Mozambique, or competition for jobs in the mines. Some of the literature refers to Zulu ethnic competition driving xenophobia and ethnic discrimination (Steenkamp 2009; Steinberg 2008).

Mozambicans felt that they risked xenophobic attitudes where they encountered South Africans in the workplace, near home, and in shared public spaces. While there is a xenophobic sentiment that foreigners are here to ‘steal’ South African women, South African (and sometimes Zulu) women are considered dangerous to the plans of Mozambicans in that they would steal their money or find a way to access it.

7.7. Isolation

Many participants said that they would have preferred to stay in Maputo. People felt that there was less crime in Maputo, and that they could trust their neighbours and rely on their friends in the city. Neighbours and friends would assist if they could, and it was safe to walk around, even late at night. People were known in their neighbourhoods, and there was a sense of community: Here people know you, you stay in that place, you were born in that house (Florencio, Maputo). I have no family [in Joburg], I am so isolated there, unlike here, I know everybody, I can go wherever I want (Constantina, Maputo). The safety and community of Maputo were contrasted with Johannesburg and its forced isolation, largely due to high crime rates. Even other Mozambicans in Johannesburg were not trustworthy; in fact, one participant had been mugged by a Mozambican.

160

Participants chose to migrate despite the disadvantages of isolation. They further isolated themselves to avoid spending money and being exposed to crime. For the most part, this applied to both men and women. In both discussions on the lack of jobs in South Africa and the separation from people at home, together with the perceived higher risk of crime in South Africa, there was a sense that people were taking risks, including that of short-term isolation, with the expectation of future rewards.

7.8. Conclusion

Participants felt besieged by risks. When asked, they described risks that would come from the outside, such as crime, police, hostile South Africans, rising costs and health risks. However, in listening to participants’ experiences, economic risks emerged as far more impactful, but were sidelined in conversations as they served to undermine their social identities and plans for the future. Such risks, particularly not making enough money, participants seemed to feel reflected poorly on them and undermined their value as people. The structural components of exclusion were not mentioned, despite the fact that many participants were affected. For instance, none complained about the limitations imposed by the visitors’ visa, or even expressed frustration at the time taken to get permanent residence permits. Ultimately, the long- term impact of economic risks faced in South Africa appeared to be the goal of returning successfully to Maputo. Given their present circumstances, this goal may not be achieved.

Migration was a risk-mitigation strategy for participants in this study. As such, the risks found in Maputo were traded for those in Johannesburg. Maputo remains a base to escape should circumstances in Johannesburg deteriorate, due to such events such as the loss of employment, increases in the cost of living, or a deterioration in health. However, an early return was to be avoided. The following chapter considers the opportunities available in Johannesburg in the form of social capital, and examines trust relationships.

161

CHAPTER 8

OPPORTUNITIES FOR MOZAMBICANS IN JOHANNESBURG:

SOCIAL NETWORKS, SOCIAL CAPITAL, AND TRUST

8.1. Introduction

The findings related to participants' experiences and perceptions of risk indicated that Mozambicans face myriad risks and felt hemmed in by various dangers. The study examined both risk and social capital. Would social capital act to assist people to deal with some of the risks? The literature review indicated that many Mozambican families from southern Mozambique were likely to have a history of labour migration to South Africa. Muanamoha et al. (2010) found that many Mozambicans came to South Africa due to invitations from people in their social networks who were already in the country. Social capital is often linked with migration, and is considered an asset for vulnerable people to access necessary resources (Nee and Sanders 2001; Portes and Borocz 1989).

This chapter presents the opportunities that participants perceived to be in Johannesburg when making the decision to migrate. It explores resources accessible through networks established by previous migrants. A few participants had not made use of these networks on entering the country, but most had. Once in Johannesburg, participants formed new networks. The chapter then looks at trust relationships. While in Johannesburg, participants took advantage of the benefits available in the city. These and other opportunities are considered in this chapter. 8.2. Migrating in the midst of social support

The distinction between deciders and followers made by Mills et al. (1950), implies two separate conditions of arrival with regard to social capital. In terms of this understanding, pioneers may migrate into areas that already contain many co-nationals, but they do so independently, rather than relying on the assistance of those already in the receiving area. Followers move as a response to invitations of people already over the border. It is possible, then, to migrate independently of existing networks, but it is doubtless riskier. The following section considers these two immigrant categories in light of more recent theorisation on social capital.

162

8.2.1. Deciders or pioneering immigrants Participants partly perceived South Africa as an option because they knew people, particularly family who lived or had lived, in South Africa. The presence of current or past successful examples of migration to South Africa demonstrated this strategy’s potential for success. However, not all relied on social networks to move to Johannesburg. Of all the participants interviewed on both sides of the borders, only two could be considered as deciders with any degree of certainty: Ricardo and Julia.

Ricardo and Julia had come to Johannesburg in the hope of finding employment in the city. Both had been unemployed in Maputo. Ricardo described his reason for coming to Johannesburg: I came here looking for a job in 1989. I didn’t know anybody in South Africa. I didn’t have a job in Mozambique. I came to Joburg first (Ricardo, Rosettenville). Julia described her reason for coming in almost the same terms: I’ve been here since 1999. I came to look for a job, life was terrible back home. I like to be in my country. I’m here because I have to be (Julia, Rosettenville). They said that the lack of opportunities in Maputo had resulted in their coming to the city despite having no support to draw on in the city.

When Ricardo first came in 1989, he bribed an official at the border to get into the country. He was 23 at the time. On arrival, he bought and vended oranges: When I came, I had a piece job. I was buying oranges, then vending. I was self-employed. I start working in 1990. Then I got a full-time job, from 1990, 1992, 1993, then I lose the job. I was a carpenter. It was for a company. Ya, building cupboards and putting fittings and all those stuff (Ricardo, Rosettenville). He got a job as a carpenter in 1990. In 1994, Ricardo lost his job and returned to Matola in Maputo.

When Julia arrived in South Africa, she had family in the country, a brother and a cousin living in Pretoria and Soweto respectively. She chose not to rely on them, or otherwise felt that she could not. She came with a friend and her friend’s boyfriend in 1991, and funded her own travel costs and rental once in the city with her savings. Julia came with no assurance of a job

163

and did not even ensure that she had the current contact details of her cousin. She was assaulted soon after arrival and was left feeling very vulnerable: I came with my friend from Mozambique and my friend’s boyfriend. My friend’s boyfriend didn’t pay the rent when we came here, the whole of the house lost the room because he didn’t pay the rent. And then he went to stay with his brother. My friend’s boyfriend’s brother. And then when I finish my money, his brother chased me out. And then I didn’t have nobody, even to talk to, I was having a bad time. So, my friend she called her cousin who was staying around here in Rosettenville to come to fetch me. And then I went to the bus stop waiting for my friend’s cousin. She didn’t come. And then when I go back home, that one [my friend’s boyfriend’s brother] he beat me. Having been assaulted and forced to leave the house, Julia called a man she had previously met at the bus stop while waiting for her friend’s cousin, Jorge. She told him about the situation and was invited to live with him and his cousins in Soweto: The time I came here, ne, I was suffering. I was having no money when I came. The people I came with, they eat my money. Jorge is the one who helped. [I was staying in Soweto at the time… it was] 92, 91. …. I was not working. He was just helping me, giving me a space where I can stay and give me food. Jorge and his three cousins… At night they were leaving the room with me, and go to another friend’s to sleep… I was there for two months (Julia, Rosettenville).

Julia moved out of Jorge’s accommodation when her cousin found her a job as a domestic worker in Bezuidenhout Valley: The time I was suffering when those people chase me out. I call my mother and tell her everything. So lucky, my cousin after that, she go to Mozambique. And then my mother told her what is happening. And when she came back she called me to go stay with her. But I don’t want to stay with her for nothing, so I tell her that if she find another job for me, then I can move, but if she can’t find a job, I’m fine. That’s why I was staying two months with them. And then I leave when she found a job for me. Julia’s expectation was that she would be able to find a job in South Africa, and this she had done with the help of her cousin, but in the process, she was assaulted and was on the verge of homelessness soon after arrival.

There were anecdotes of other women deciders. The women interviewed in Maputo spoke about women using new sexual relationships to get accommodation in South Africa, although none of them admitted to doing this. They expressed concerns about women being forced to stay with men they did not know, should they have no family in South Africa: It’s terrible in South Africa for women; they are forced to stay with a man if they have nowhere to stay, even if you don’t like him. (Catarina, Maputo).

164

Women interviewed in Rosettenville also indicated that this happened, but felt that there was agency on the part of the women: [To] Start a life, … she can stay with a man, start with this man, but when she wakes up, she can leave that man and go to another. Mozambican people! [laughs] It’s the truth (Maria, Rosettenville).

Mozambican women! Eish! They find a man and live with him, just for a place to stay. They don’t care (Marissa, Rosettenville). Clearly, accessing accommodation by staying with a stranger is risky, and is likely a strategy of last resort.

Mills et al. (1950) noted that for safety, female deciders were more likely to cross the border with others, while men could come alone. In this study; Julia came with others, but with Ricardo, it was not clear. Based on survey responses, Mills et al. (1950) observed that male deciders were likely to have economic motivations, while women migrated due to family concerns or a mix of family and economic factors.

This was the case with Julia and Ricardo, in terms of how they framed their decisions. Both were concerned with their unemployment, but Julia described her decision in terms of the additional burden her unemployment in Maputo was to her parents, and her obligation to help them. Her father continued to work because he could not afford to retire, and she felt that she had to assist them to ensure that they had enough to live on: I think South Africans don’t help each other that much. And it’s got worse... Like even my parents, ne, they are old, but they are Mozambican, they are not giving them nothing [a pension]. That’s why they have to work and we have to do something for them. They are not giving him increase. But the food, everything is getting more expensive. So, if we are not helping them how are they … [trails off].

Both Ricardo and Julia built networks after arriving. Ricardo met his ‘wife’ in Johannesburg: We are not officially married, but I’m still with the same woman. I met her in Joburg, we were working together, it was in 1993. I was working together there selling vegetables, at Market Street. Julia met Jorge, who had taken her in after she was assaulted and had nowhere else to stay. He was living with his cousins, and they gave her the bedroom while she stayed with them and they slept over with friends. She later met her boyfriend, a white South African Portuguese

165

man while working in her cousin’s restaurant. When I met her, she was running a hairdressing salon out of the house she shared with her boyfriend.

8.2.2. Followers Most participants came to South Africa on invitations by people they knew. Follower participants arrived with access to more practical support than did deciders, in particular, most had access to accommodation. Ana came to South Africa to join her mother, who, after Ana was born, had married a man in South Africa. Ana had not met her mother. She was raised by her grandmother, and lived with her step-mother before coming to Johannesburg: I came to South Africa because I was coming to my mother because I was living in Mozambique with my step-mother. That’s why I came, to meet my mother. Mmm, it was nice to meet her. I stay with her, maybe two years. My uncle was a driver. He used to come deliver stuff here. I didn’t have money to come here, so my uncle gave me a lift. Maria was invited to come stay with her brother-in-law when she was pregnant. Her husband was on the road as a driver, and her brother-in-law was concerned for her wellbeing. When I first came, my brother-in-law was taking care of me, because he is here for a long time. I stayed with him. Ya, but here it’s different, because at the time I was pregnant. I was in difficult conditions. You see? He said, ‘Come this side and I will take care of you’. Maria took the opportunity, and described the move as undertaken to improve her life. Her husband later joined her.

In this study, most followers moved in with a sibling or their spouse, sometimes with cousins or uncles, already established in Johannesburg. Most often, newcomers moved in with men. Men would come and live with their brothers or friends; women were most likely to live with their husbands or boyfriends. There were a few women who engaged in some form of cross- border trading who were interviewed in Maputo. They stayed with their husbands or boyfriends in Johannesburg and then crossed the border to either buy or sell.

The jobs that participants could access through family were limited by the relationships and occupations of family members. Alberto’s father got him a job on the mine in Carltonville, where he worked: I went there in 1997, I was on contract. In 1998, I got a permanent contract to come. My father was working for the mines and he organised for me to get the job (Alberto, Maputo).

166

The two miners interviewed saved money by staying in hostels rather than renting accommodation. Alberto was completing his diploma and the mine was paying his tuition. He and Luís, in working for the mine, were the most secure. Alberto’s father managed to get him permanent residency. He thought that it was because mine management had requested names of family who wanted to work for the mine in the future, and had applied on their behalf.

In some cases, a newcomer would replace the recruiter at his / her job. Two men (Rui and José), took over their brother’s jobs. José got the construction job that his brother had vacated. He was the most secure, as he had got a work visa through the company, and was officially employed. Rui’s brother was working as an assistant in a hardware store, but had decided to return to Maputo: I work as an assistant in a shop. A hardware shop. I’ve been working in Johannesburg for about five years. I took my brother’s job. He worked there a long time. For seven years (Rui, Maputo).

Generally, men could source better-paid employment through networks than women could. For the women, the first job that they could source through networks was often domestic work. This form of work is both poorly paying and not well liked. However, it was valuable when it was accompanied by accommodation. Angelica had found her job as a domestic worker in this way. She had followed her husband to Johannesburg and was living with him, but was unemployed. She heard through friends that a Portuguese-speaking family was looking for a domestic worker: I found my job through my friends. They wanted someone who could speak Portuguese. I went there to present myself and they interviewed me and then hired me (Angelica, Rosettenville).

Bella was a follower who, she felt, was left in the lurch. She did not feel that she had much assistance from those whom she knew in South Africa. Bella was left the breadwinner of the household when her boyfriend (later her husband) got sick: I came to South Africa in 2004, because my sister invited me to come and work here. My boyfriend was working here … The first time I thought people who know me could help me, but just found out that I needed to struggle by myself (Bella, Rosettenville). Bella was not invited by her husband, but followed him on the invitation of her sister. Her husband engaged in cross-border trading. She had been running her own business in Maputo, vending food and books on the side of the road. She had to find employment for herself in

167

Johannesburg, which she did by going from business to business asking for a job until she was hired.

The less risky form of migration is a form of chain migration, where once the first person has established a foothold, others in their network can follow, with subsequent migrants capitalising and building on the success of the first. Participants often accessed both jobs and housing through the networks they had before moving to Johannesburg. Such networks of family members or friends already in South Africa provided a sense of security for those who followed. They knew they would have accommodation, possibly a job, and were given advice on travel and other practicalities.

In terms of Streeten’s taxonomy of social capital, the form of social capital here translated into economic capital (when jobs could be accessed through networks) or commodities that would have to be bought (as in the case of accommodation and information). In either case, followers were afforded opportunities that they would otherwise not have had. This correlates most closely to Bourdieu’s (1986) conception of social capital. This form of social capital was also very much within a group, or family, so is a form of bonding social capital as per Putnam. For followers, they gained through the information transmitted through networks as identified by Lin (1999: 31).

8.2.3. Becoming independent According to a nation-wide study in 2004 in Mozambique, 54 per cent of Mozambicans had parents who had worked in South Africa (Crush, Williams, and Peberdy 2005: 2). As a consequence, it is likely that there are many opportunities for Mozambicans to follow on the basis of family relationships. Just as Muanamoha et al. (2010) found, networks helped to provide accommodation and jobs for Mozambican migrants. In this study, almost all were assisted initially by family, rather than friends or others. As such, family networks in South Africa may initially function as a ‘pull factor’ in the decision to go to Johannesburg. They provide an example (or at least the appearance) of success and valuable information. However, social capital is only as valuable as the resources in the network. This meant that better work or consistent employment was available through social capital, only if it was available in the network.

168

Newcomers, both deciders and followers, found their own accommodation and jobs when they had the opportunity, seemingly not wanting to burden those who had assisted them. In this way, the initial assistance was a short-term investment. Later, newcomers had to look after themselves. Julia moved out of Jorge’s flat when she got a job as a domestic worker, as Ana had moved out of her mother’s house. Jorge lived by himself in a room in a Rosettenville house, rather than with his cousins, as he did when first interviewed.

A key goal in migrating was the opportunity to care for or support one’s family. Participants emphasised the importance of establishing a household of their own. There seemed to be an expectation that the person who invited them to Johannesburg would become less important to the newcomer over time. That the newcomer would become increasingly independent and able to provide care for his or her own family. Maria’s husband initially got a job as a mechanic, and had since set up his own plumbing business. Maria explained how her husband insisted that he would care for her and the family: My brother-in-law doesn’t help so much anymore, because he knows my husband is working, only before when he was doing nothing. But now, my brother-in-law, he’s got his own family. Now he’s fighting, my husband, he’s fighting to take care of his family (Maria, Rosettenville).

The relationship with supporters of the newcomer becomes less important as the new migrant gains independence. The focus of the one-time newcomer becomes their own family. This independence means that the recruiter or others that were supporting the newcomer are no longer responsible for him or her. It does not mean the end of social engagement, but a lesser need for assistance.

8.3. Growing social capital in Johannesburg

The growth of social networks in Johannesburg occurred together with the decline of the importance of the relationships with the person who had provided the initial assistance. People met others in Johannesburg, and sometimes they met up again with people they had known in Mozambique. Jorge explains: I don’t have too many friends. It’s only three friends. They are all Mozambican. On weekends, sometimes I go there, sometimes they come here. I knew them in Mozambique, then we all came here. Each one made his own way. And then, we saw each other in Mozambique in December and realise we were all here. I know one from primary school and the other two from high school (Jorge, Rosettenville).

169

While Jorge had serendipitously discovered friends living in Johannesburg, most of participant’ social networks were increased with people that they met for the first time in South Africa.

For unmarried migrants, keeping to the network of people they had known on entry, excluded the opportunity to find partners in South Africa. Nocentia had met her husband on the streets of Rosettenville while staying with her brother and sister-in-law; he was a coloured South African: We met in the street… I stayed next to his house, before I moved here. We were neighbours. I was still with my brother and sister-in-law (Nocentia, Rosettenville). Communication was initially tough as they spoke no common language, but they gradually learned to communicate: That time my English was very bad, I could not speak nothing, nothing. How we communicated is a long story. I used to have a friend would interpret. Sometimes we did not understand each other and we just said ya, ya, ya. I didn’t have a choice. I had to learn English (Nocentia, Rosettenville). They subsequently married and had two children. She was completing her matric when interviewed. Her husband worked for a bank as a manager.

The implicit assumption behind the choice of Rosettenville as a site for this research, was that there would be a relationship between the original Portuguese inhabitants and the Mozambican migrants. Speaking Portuguese seemed to help some in Rosettenville and Bella was one such person. She worked in a business owned by Portuguese South Africans. This was her second job in retail since coming to Johannesburg, and she seemed to have a good relationship with her boss because they were both Portuguese-speaking: If I need money, I could go to my boss or friends at work, sometimes family in Maputo, my sister in Maputo. My boss is a nice guy; he speaks Portuguese. He is a Portuguese migrant (Bella, Rosettenville). Julia’s boyfriend was a Portuguese South African. Before his business was sold, he had hired Jorge as a forklift mechanic. Julia and Bella were the only two participants with relationships with white Portuguese-speaking people. Generally, because white Portuguese people and Mozambicans in Johannesburg have little to do with each other. This became apparent through the specific people interviewed, and was possibly due to the dispersal of white Portuguese to other parts of Johannesburg, or racial and cultural divides being stronger than the linguistic similarity.

170

Mozambicans share the Portuguese language with Angolans. Two women participants had previously worked for Angolans. Ana had previously worked for Angolans as a domestic worker, and Angelica was currently doing so. Aida also had Angolan clients who came to her to have their hair braided. Nobody reported strong social relationships with Angolans, but they benefited through the shared language.

Portuguese and Spanish are closely related and often speakers of the two languages can communicate. Paulo described how he got his job through his Chilean friend: I was there one day with a friend from Chile and I was fixing his car there, and he asked me ‘Do you need a job?’ and I say ‘Yes, why not?’ and then he says he might have a job. And then my friend went there and spoke to them. And then he come to tell me to go to them. And then I start working (Paulo, Maputo). Speaking Portuguese may have facilitated this friendship. Paulo had studied in Mozambique and was qualified as an auto-mechanic, which may have assisted him in getting the job.

Ricardo relied on networks to access jobs. Short-term construction jobs were sourced through friends who had projects to complete, and each would complete their part according to their speciality, such as plumbing or carpentry: Sometimes I make piece jobs. You pay money, I can do anything. I’m striving to get the jobs through my friends. If someone has got a job they call us. If I’ve got a job, I call them (Ricardo, Rosettenville). The work Ricardo could secure in this way was insufficient, and he told me that he was doing ‘nothing at the moment’. He did have a number of skills, having been trained as a machine operator, although he described himself as a carpenter. His social network had expanded subsequent to his arrival.

For Aida, social capital developed through her hairdressing translated directly to food. She explained how lots of people had bought food for her and her family after her husband left her and before he agreed to pay maintenance: A lot of friends, they have to buy food for me. Now that my husband has left… the ones whose hair I plait. My friends, people are helping me, it’s friends that know about my story, like how I was living before. Some they are not friends, but they are feeling sorry for me because of the life I’m living now (Aida, Rosettenville). At the time of this interview, Aida had just been left by her husband. Aida was fortunate that she had so many relationships with people who would assist her. It turned out that she had

171

social capital when she needed it. These relationships were largely dependent on her work as a hairdresser, without which she would not have known so many people.

Expanding social networks led to opportunities that would not otherwise have been available within the initial family or co-national networks. This was partly because expanding networks meant that people gained access to other people’s networks. Participants did not necessarily source jobs through people they knew directly, but were recommended through others. In this way, they were referred by others to the employer.

The type of social capital that grew in Johannesburg was based in sociality, in that it was enjoyable and met individuals’ social needs. Social capital in these relationships simultaneously supported an individual’s norms, and gave individuals a sense of identity. Participants mentioned that they had developed relationships with people with common values and interests. However, this did not always mean that participants developed relationships with others within a group and frequently made use of so-called ‘bridging’ social capital, as relationships were also developed with others outside participants’ nationality or ethnicity.

8.4. Assisting others

However, practical support was also lent to others, as participants were able. Participants assisted others in various ways. One was by taking goods over the border for them. Alberto explains: I ask a friend to bring food and other stuff here. We know each other, we are staying in this place, and then he says, I’m going to Mozambique, and then I’m going to keep my money and I’m going to go give my wife or I’m going to go buy some stuff and send it with him to my wife. When I come here, I carry things for other people. Each helps each other (Alberto, Maputo). Christiana carried money across the border. She crossed frequently as a cross-border trader. The car she was travelling in was hijacked, she lost all her goods and money, as did those who were travelling with her. But worse, she felt, was the loss of R50035 in cash that she was carrying for someone else. Offering this favour to others may have poor outcomes for both people involved. This may disincline people to offer to take goods for others, or ask others to

35 USD67

172

take goods for them, as individuals travelling across the border are more at risk than taxi or bus drivers.

Carlos, interviewed in Maputo, had a construction company in Johannesburg and was in a position to hire others. He had done well, and had hired his brothers. He had a permanent residence permit. Carlos resented the labour laws that forbade him from hiring non-South Africans because he felt that they were lazy and that firing them would lead to legal penalties. He preferred to hire Mozambicans with permanent residency. Carlos found that it was harder to make the amount of money that he had formerly. He no longer got government tenders and had to rely on his old clients.

Ana opted to adopt her cousin’s daughter. Ana could not have a child of her own and her cousin was a teenage mother and poor: My cousin doesn’t have much money, she’s 19. And her father passed away when she was young, so she has no money. The father of the child doesn’t care about her. I just know him but he doesn’t even care about her. He’s still young, he’s still a small a boy, they’re both young. Too young (Ana, Rosettenville). Through this adoption, Ana ensured that her grandmother, who had raised her, would not have to raise another child. The girl was four-years-old, meaning Ana’s cousin gave birth to the child at age 15.

Making social capital available to others is not necessarily visible in the short term, as participants are not always in a position to assist others. However, in the long term, complex exchanges take place. Julia hired a niece to work in her hairdressing salon, a piece job to assist on Saturdays. The job was available only when business was good. Julia herself had previously worked in her cousin’s restaurant. Jorge had helped Julia when she first arrived by providing accommodation and food. Many years later, Julia’s boyfriend hired Jorge in his business to repair forklifts. Jorge continued to assist Julia by giving her lifts into town to buy supplies for her hairdressing salon.

When participants helped others, it was not with a sense of self-sacrifice or resentment. They helped others when they could, without jeopardising existing relationships and their economic security. Participants offered favours in accordance with the means available to them. Their own insecurity limited what they could offer others. Help would not be offered beyond the

173

means available. The support that most provided was limited to temporary accommodation, occasional work, and assisting others to find jobs. While there may have been an expectation that as they had been helped, they would help others, participants often did not feel that they were able to do so. However, when they did help others, they did not boast or discuss it at length, but briefly mentioned it in conversation. Some participants seemed pleased that they could help others, as if this was additional proof of their success.

8.5. The risks of social capital

In some respects, participants considered social relationships risky. Social capital requires effort to foster and maintain and necessarily involve a trade-off in terms of time, which could be spent in other ways. In addition, investments of time and energy could compromise existing relationships, or involve activities that participants were not comfortable with.

Both men and women described feeling isolated in Johannesburg. Female participants in Rosettenville, often said that they had opted not to have many friends: I don’t have many friends. My friends are the ones that start to learn English with me. I’m staying home lots of the time (Maria, Rosettenville) Maria and Sia had approached the Papillion Foundation, and they began learning English together. They met Constância in the class. Despite the fact that she had referred me to more people than any others had, she considered much of the people she knew only nominally friends. Maria’s cousin, was especially emphatic when describing the risks associated with ‘friends’: I don’t make friends, [because] you know friends can finish your relationship, your marriage. They can put you on the wrong path, that is why I don’t like it… My brother, my brother loved them. He can leave his wife for friends… I think your relationship with your husband is the most important (Nocentia, Rosettenville). Nocentia spent most of her time with her children and husband. She went out with her husband and their friends, but said she had no friendships independent of those with him.

A key benefit of expanding social networks for single people – the opportunity to meet romantic or sexual partners, would become a risk for those in a stable relationship. Even if they earned an income themselves, almost all women in the study were financially dependent on their husbands or partners, and most said they had no desire for bigger friendship networks. Women were typically married or in a stable relationship and had few friends outside the

174

marital or romantic relationship. Maria said she had opportunities to cheat with the men she met at her work, but she turned them down.

Situations where women may meet and befriend other women were limited for the study participants. Most said that they went to church on a regular basis. They went to different churches, mostly to those in their neighbourhood. Some went to the Zionist Christian Church (ZCC), others to Catholic churches, some to the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (UCKG), which offered services in Portuguese in Rosettenville. Other participants did not mention the churches they attended. Lúcia was the only Muslim participant, and attended the Robertsham mosque. No participants attended church with other participants. Attending church resulted in acquaintances, but most participants did not consider them real friends. Maria opted to go to mass in English to improve her fluency, she knew people at her church, but spoke only sometimes to other mothers and those who minded the children. Julia had had friends at her old church, but could no longer attend. She used to attend in the evening, but her husband could no longer drive at night due to his failing eyesight. She had accompanied clients to their churches, but did not consider them her close friends.

Hairdressing salons provided a congenial atmosphere. There were discussions of world events and gossip was exchanged. Salons were safe spaces to socialise. Those who ran them were partly dependent on social capital to sustain their client base, but had to keep their prices low as their clients had few resources. However, the work itself was sociable: Hairdressing is nice. I like it, because you can see other people, and you can make friends when they come and do their hair, ya, and I like doing peoples hair. Um, I learn many things, how to treat the clients also. To be good with them, not to be rude. To leave your stress at home when you go to work (Ana, Rosettenville) However, being friendly to clients did not mean becoming friends with them.

The potential gain from social capital must be weighed against the risk of social relationships to the main relationship or other activities. Women and men were aware that they could have affairs. They also suspected that others cheated on their spouses and told of others who behaved in this way. But the risk in doing so was not necessarily worth it. For many people, it was often quite lonely in Johannesburg as people had only their partner and a few people they could socialise with.

175

8.6. Trust and distrust

Like riskos, participants had a lot to say on the subject of confiança (trust). The concept was generally interpreted in terms of inter-personal (one-on-one) relationships. Almost without exception, participants said that they trusted nobody or only one or two people, or if they trusted people, that they did not fully trust them. People also spoke about being inclined to distrust others of a certain group or people who displayed certain behaviours. This section considers responses about trust.

Many participants trusted family members, particularly those who had ’recruited’ them or convinced them to move. There was a sense, for some, that they were being looked after, particularly for younger participants: My brother got me the job, I got it when he left. I trust my brother, he always looks after me, I stay with him. My brother and two friends, they will take things and money to Mozambique and help when I need it (José, Maputo). Marco, also stayed with his brother: [I trust] my brother in South Africa… My brother is very good, he’s the one who took me to South Africa. He got me a job. I’m staying with my brother, and he takes care of me (Marco, Maputo). Both José and Marco were in their 20s and not yet married.

Like José and Marco, Ana trusted a particular family member. She had come to Johannesburg to meet her mother for the first time as an adult, and had lived with her for two years before finding a job: [I trust my mother], even if she doesn’t have money, but she can always help me with something. Even if she does not have money (Ana, Rosettenville). Even if someone was not able to help, it was good to have someone they could talk to. Ernesto’s and José’s families were neighbours in Maputo, and they both lived in Bertrams (a suburb close to the CBD). Ernesto was 43 and José was 26. Ernesto was a permanent resident who had benefitted from an amnesty, José had a worker’s visa. Ernesto considered José a friend, and said that he only trusted friends such as José. They had known each other a long time and their families also knew each other well. Ernesto felt that the basis for this trust was that their families had been neighbours for so long.

This is similar to other participants’ responses on whom they trusted. They were inclined to trust people they had known for a long time. Jorge trusted his friends from school that he later

176

met up with in Johannesburg. A few people said that it takes time to trust. As a result, they trusted only a few people and only to a certain extent. Alberto relied on friends to transport money and goods home for him. This indicated that there was some level of trust, but he explained: Ya, but I don’t trust, really, really, really trust. I can say I trust another guy, my friend, but ehh, I don’t trust a lot. I trust a little bit. I have to know somebody a long time before I trust them because you don’t meet somebody today and then you trust them. No. You are supposed to know him (Alberto, Mozambique). Aida said that she trusted no one since her husband had left her and tried to divorce her. She laughs at being asked whom she trusts: I just stopped, I trust no one. Trust nobody… I don’t like talking about my life, but I am careless. I don’t trust, but am careless (Aida, Rosettenville). Aida did not want to share what was happening to her, but she was upset and felt that she needed to talk about it. Even when participants were interviewed together with a friend, or the friend acted as a translator, many said that they trusted no one other than their spouses.

When participants said that they trusted a family member or spouse, most commonly it was their spouse or sexual partner only. I trust my husband, he tells me the truth. I really don’t know why, you can say he drugged me. It is because we trust each other; you know your brother can always lie. We [my husband and I] have got an open relationship, that is why we trust each other (Nocentia, Rosettenville). Ana’s response tied her trust to her boyfriend, and her reliance on him: I trust my boyfriend… I rely on my boyfriend, because he’s the one that does everything for me… My boyfriend is kind. I can see now, since I stopped working since like two years ago, he pays my rent and everything for me. And he is not asking, he is not forcing me to look for a job, ne. He wants me to get a good job one day, so I trust him (Ana, Rosettenville).

These responses by women were similar to those of male participants. Men who had wives or girlfriends often said that they trusted only them, or their partner and only a few other people. Ricardo said: Who I trust? [laughs]. I can say only my wife. I trust nobody, ei, in this country, no. It is full of tsotsis, I don’t trust… All of them, Afrikaners, Mozambicans, South Africans, they are all the same (Ricardo, Rosettenville).

177

This was also the case with some men who were in South Africa while their wives stayed in Mozambique. Some described how they trusted nobody in South Africa and only trusted their wives in Maputo.

Later, it emerged that partners were often distrusted in some areas. There was a great awareness of the risks of HIV, and some women were worried about their husbands potentially cheating on them and the fact that they might infect them. As per Hardin’s (2006) concept, trust is related to certain types of behaviour. So, trust may be given in one situation and not in another. The areas in which partners were trusted changed over time during the fieldwork. Sia and Constância, who were interviewed with Maria, all stated that they trusted only their husbands, while acknowledging that Mozambican men cheat just as much as South African men. Responses about trust may reflect that trusting one’s spouse is a virtue, although nobody could be trusted in every respect.

In terms of groups of people, only a few participants felt that they trusted other Mozambicans, while others trusted South Africans, and some responded that they trusted other foreigners. In Johannesburg, other foreigners in similar positions were sometimes considered more trustworthy than South Africans, who could suddenly become xenophobic, but nationality was not a predictor of whom people would trust. White Portuguese people were identified as untrustworthy during some conversations, but Bella trusted her white Portuguese boss for a loan when needed. Most people were not inclined to trust members from any one group. Participants told stories of how they had learned to distrust people from almost every group they had encountered, or to only trust individuals within groups: [I trust] Mozambicans and South Africans. It depends on individuals. I don’t like drinking and smoking. I trust people who are the same. People who drink have no ambition (Paulo, Maputo).

Potential sexual partners did not have to be Mozambican, but could be from any group. In some cases, people told stories about South African women that included warnings to avoid them, although many men were in relationships with South African women. Some women participants considered South African men as potentially attractive partners. It was felt that Mozambicans in Maputo could be trusted as there was a sense that they lived in communities where everyone knew each other. In contrast, there was a sense of anonymity in Johannesburg.

178

Most participants used bus or taxi drivers to transport goods and renew visas. Some mentioned the names of bus companies they used. In terms of trusting taxi drivers, sometimes the same driver would be used regularly. A few participants said they would trust any taxi driver. Possibly, reneging on the agreement to deliver the money would result in forfeiting future business. Many would opt to rely on taxi drivers rather than friends, but this may have been because individuals were more vulnerable to being robbed en route.

As a group, the police were most frequently singled out for distrust. Reference has already been made about police being regarded as a risk. Julia said: I have to bribe police, running when you see police. There is too much crime in South Africa, you do not trust people, it is difficult living in a society like this. Yes, when you see the police, you are running. [laughs] South African police force are so many, when you drive, whenever you stop must give them money or something else otherwise they will give you a fine (Julia, Rosettenville). The study’s fieldwork involved travelling to and from Rosettenville over years. There were often roadblocks set up the main road into the suburb. It is possible that participants were often stopped when driving into Rosettenville.

Trust in police was also situational. Maria, for instance, had refused to report the loss of her passport after being mugged, as she feared that she would be arrested. Yet she had chased down a JMPD car to ensure that a motorist who had hit her and tried to drive away, would be reported. Others said they would trust police at the station when reporting a crime, but not on the street.

Only one participant trusted police to such an extent that he felt that police were his friends. Florincio, interviewed in Maputo, was an auto-electrician in Lenasia who repaired the cars of policemen at his business. The policemen whose cars he worked on he considered his friends. Catarina, who lived next to a police station in Natalspruit near Katlehong, felt that the police had gained her trust through approaching her and reassuring her that she would be safe during the xenophobic attacks in 2008: It was not difficult. There the police are controlling. I remember this other time the cops came and then told us… ‘Don’t be afraid, and live the way we live in South Africa’ but that pain was that guys can come in at any time and get through to us (Catarina, Maputo). In this respect, the inverse relationship between risk and trust is most clear. Police represented a risk in most contexts and therefore were not to be trusted. However, when police protected

179

participants from other risks (such as xenophobic attacks) or otherwise assisted them, they were likely to be trusted.

While some were entrusted with information, even secrets, participants did not identify many trusted people. This distrust was not necessarily a reflection of poor social capital, as networks could still be drawn on when needed. Trust given easily seemed to be more cautiously bestowed when living in Johannesburg, and was easily undermined. People were pragmatic rather than optimistic in choosing to trust. Those participants who had not shared a long history with other participants were not trusted by default.

In general, only the partner who had the same incentives to act for the good of the household was trusted. The responses were consistent enough to indicate that they were likely to be a normative response. This is in line with Giddens’s (1990) contention that in late modernity, there is a tendency to move from trust based on community relationships to trust in intimate partners, and moreover, that trust is a project that required time and effort. There was a sense of sexual relationships being marked with a mixture of trust and distrust, rather than complete trust. This is in line with theories of trust based on encapsulated self-interest and dependent on expected behaviours (Hardin 2006).

8.7. Other opportunities in Johannesburg

While in Johannesburg, participants benefited from some of the advantages of the city. While these opportunities may not have prompted migration, they seemed to incline people to stay. These advantages included the opportunity to learn English, access to affordable food and consumer goods, and better-quality education for children.

Participants worked to improve their own skills and education. In total, five of the women interviewed in Rosettenville were learning to speak English. Another participant was completing her matric, while another had been to college while in Johannesburg. The Papillion Foundation offers language and other courses at subsidised rates, but the training is not free. These women were investing time and money in their own education. In so doing, they were improving institutional and embodied cultural capital in the hope of trading them for economic capital in the future. Those who continued their language studies would do so at the University of the Witwatersrand’s language school, earning a certificate from that institution. This was for

180

use both in Maputo and in Johannesburg. Knowledge of English was valuable for getting jobs in the tourism industry in Mozambique.

Despite the overall goal of saving to return to Maputo, participants invested in consumer goods in Johannesburg to make life more comfortable. Earning South African rands made it possible to buy consumer goods. José was 26 when interviewed in Maputo, and working in construction. He sported white sneakers and stonewashed jeans that made him stand out from his neighbours in the dusty Bairro de Magoanine B (CMC). Despite his smart appearance, he said that he remitted between a third and a half of his salary every month to assist his family in Maputo. He and others did not mention the opportunity to consume afforded by higher salaries. This is despite electronics, commonly a large television with a DSTV connection in Rosettenville homes. Constância; however, considered this the chief advantage of being in Johannesburg and said she enjoyed being able to buy ‘pretty things’ to put in her home in Rosettenville and make it beautiful.

Food was more affordable in Johannesburg than in Maputo. This meant that people sent food over the border to their families rather than money. Participants mentioned sending potatoes, fish, meat and onions rather than money, but more than that, Johannesburg offered the opportunity to buy pre-prepared food. Constância, noted the ease she felt in living in South Africa: Everything is easy in South Africa, like the food, you can buy food prepared, take it away, you can also eat outside and so forth (Constância, Rosettenville). Food preparation can be a drain on women’s free time, and consequently, the quality of life for women may be better in Johannesburg.

However, the ultimate investment was in good education for their children. South African schooling was seen as superior to that in Mozambique, where the pupil per class numbers are high. Participants had children in both public and private schools in and around Rosettenville. Some were exempt from fees. Education was a significant expense in many households.

Lúcia was an English student. She had been taken out of school after completing her primary education because her father felt that she was educated enough. She and her husband had married at 16 and 18 respectively. She wanted more opportunities for her children:

181

The education is good in South Africa. I’m here for my children to study. They study and I study to have a nice job. Here I can help raise my children (Lúcia, Rosettenville). Johannesburg offered Lúcia the opportunity to ensure that her four boys could study and finish their education before they got married. She could study English at the same time. Maria planned for her children to attend primary and secondary school in South Africa, and then a public university in Mozambique. University education was cheaper in Mozambique at some institutions.

Education was not given as the prime reason for migration, but it influenced the decision to stay in the country. Participants found that leaving became harder once their children had started their schooling. In fact, the timeframes for departure were based on this. The welfare of the couple themselves was sacrificed for the welfare of the children. There were advantages in continuing to live in Rosettenville, including attending a particular church, being able to study, and the ability to buy goods relatively easily. Even in the tough times people stayed in South Africa because of their children’s education. While living in Johannesburg, the female participants took the opportunity to study. This would enable better jobs, either in Johannesburg or one day in Maputo.

Short-term consumption was not given as a rationale for working in Johannesburg: quite the opposite. The most expressed perceived benefit of working, and the ultimate result of income earned in Johannesburg, was to build a future in Maputo. Participants prized property, and particularly houses in Maputo, above all other investments. A house was an important step in securing a future in Maputo. It meant retirement (at a later stage), and independence from the Maputo-based family. With few exceptions, all participants interviewed in Rosettenville were building, or planned to build, houses in Maputo.

Owning a house, however, would not provide an income. It would only establish a little independence from the broader family. In returning to Maputo, it was necessary for participants to have some kind of money-making plan, financed through money earned in Johannesburg. Some men planned to buy a vehicle such as a bakkie (pickup) or combi (van) which would provide future income by transporting people and goods. For instance, Alberto wished to retire at 55, as his father had done, and buy a combi taxi and make money to sustain his family in that way. By doing this, his father had earned sufficient income to live in Maputo. José also

182

planned to earn money transporting goods with his bakkie. Julia intended setting up a hairdressing business when she returned to Maputo, and would need to buy equipment and supplies sourced in South Africa.

The opportunities available in Johannesburg would ideally lead to long-term benefits in Maputo. It was essential to find employment, work hard and invest in building materials and other valuable items. Some participants had detailed plans for their departure, seemingly living for the time they could leave. Others had learned to enjoy the advantages of living in the city. Until departure, the benefits of Johannesburg were available in terms of access to consumer goods, less expensive food and education.

8.8. Conclusion

In this study, Mozambicans were found to gain through social capital, both in coming to the country and once in the country. The source of social capital was not limited to other Mozambicans, but through relationships with people of various nationalities. In being open to, but leery of relationships with people unknown to them, participants took advantage of most sources of social capital. However, most in Rosettenville were limited in the number of people they could go to when necessary. Even if people knew others who would assist, they were not always able to do so. Responses in terms of who people trusted seemed to indicate a normative expectation that the partner was the person to trust. However, trust did not apply in all situations and distrust often accompanied trust. The widespread belief that partners and family members were the ones to trust, fits with the fact that trust relationships involve investment. Trust is developed over time. While anyone is potentially trustworthy, it is only with the investment of time that the trust grows.

183

CHAPTER 9

RISKS, TRUST AND SOCIAL CAPITAL AS ELEMENTS IN

MOZAMBICAN MIGRANTS’ EXPERIENCES IN

JOHANNESBURG – DRAWING IT ALL TOGETHER

9.1. Introduction

This thesis began by asking how social capital is used by Mozambicans, who migrate to Johannesburg, to harness resources necessary for success, within the context of the risk that underpins experiences of many Mozambicans. It examined how people described the risks that drove them to migrate from Maputo and attracted them to Johannesburg, and their perceptions of the risks associated with Johannesburg. Strategies dealing with risks, including the use of social capital, were explored. In addition, trust relationships were discussed. In looking at risk, the study addresses the existing gap in the research of Mozambican migration to South Africa, and in migration studies generally. The analysis of the fieldwork findings in Maputo and Rosettenville is presented, in the light of previous studies and existing theory. In concluding the thesis, a model of Mozambican migration is presented. The application of the concept of a risk culture to Mozambicans in Johannesburg is then discussed. Finally, some recommendations for further research are given.

9.2. A model for Mozambican migration in the context of risk, social capital and trust

The findings from the previous two chapters are summarised here, and a model presented that reflects the changing risk environments and the social capital available before and subsequent to migration for Mozambicans who migrate to Johannesburg. The model, which is an original contribution, is a descriptive graphical presentation the different risk and social capital environments that drove migration, and those subsequent to migration. The model deals with this over three phases towards the ideal of having accumulated enough to return to Maputo. First, the risk environment and perceptions of opportunities prior to migration or the relative ‘local socioeconomic factors’. Second, the ‘initial risk period’ and the attendant social capital available for deciders and followers. Third, the ‘sustained risk period’ with its associated increasing and decreasing social capital and the investment in trust relationships. It is in this

184

sustained risk period that participants hope to accumulate; however, this is hard to accomplish in reality. Finally, the model ends with the completed house and other resources needed to succeed in Maputo. In accumulating, they would have been able to complete their houses in Maputo (or Johannesburg) and set themselves up to return to Mozambique, having transformed the initial risk environment through their diligent work and sacrifices in Johannesburg. Each of these phases are discussed and the model is then graphically presented.

9.2.1. Relative local socioeconomic factors Information about South Africa seemed to be plentiful, for participants before migrating. There were clear indications of common perceptions about going to South Africa, and the relative risks and opportunities it would offer. Participants frequently mentioned their perceptions of economic factors in South Africa in comparison to those in Mozambique, and said that they must take advantage of them, despite the risks involved in the move. They felt there were few other options, and that the risks associated with perpetual unemployment (in Maputo) and further impoverishing their families, drove them to consider options in South Africa.

Participants were prepared to take risks in migrating in the hope that it would improve the lot of the family, or at the very least, not further burden them. Participants often gave their reason for migration as a need to access jobs, gain independence and not further stretch family finances. A few followed their partners into the country, which may have been to be with them, but could also have functioned to avoid economic marginalisation and prevent abandonment, as they were aware that the male partner could take another girlfriend or wife in South Africa. It is likely that motives were mixed. Based on the interviews, the ideal trajectory for all was entry, accumulation, and independence (this entailed departure for most, who planned to return to Maputo). It would be accomplished by working hard in Johannesburg and taking advantage of opportunities that presented themselves.

Participants explained how they had decided to move based on Johannesburg’s supposed superior chances. However, it is important to consider how individual perceptions are coloured by the history of migration, as these perceptions are shared by many Mozambican families. This history may predispose people to migrate, as they have examples of success that they can point to. In the broader context of historical labour migration to South Africa, Johannesburg holds a particular cultural significance in the collective Mozambican imagination, allowing participants to cast their minds back to consider what influenced their decision to move.

185

In this study, there are two different strategies in regard to the use of networks in Johannesburg. Deciders moved without reliance on networks, followers relied, or at least had expected to be able to rely on existing relationships. Followers were invited. Both deciders and followers said that they had little choice but to migrate. The two deciders in the group expressed their lack of choice in terms of economic need, for themselves or their families. Many followers, in contrast, said that they were ‘told’ to come. For some, invitations from family may have been extended only as a form of politeness, yet still the opportunity was taken. Both followers and deciders indicated that they believed there were greater opportunities available in Johannesburg than those in Maputo. Both deciders and followers came from an environment that included strong cultural scripts on the benefits of migration, and some had seen successful examples of previous migration, or at least more success than was deemed possible by remaining in Mozambique.

Most of those who had entered South Africa could come and go quite freely on their visitors’ visa. Together with the inexpensive transport, this likely acted as an incentive to immigrate. The availability of an automatic visa and the multiple options for travel (combi taxis, buses, trains, and trucks), meant that people came to South Africa at little cost. The availability of transport and visas eased initial entry into the country. It also allowed people to visit. Nocentia had come to visit, and in doing so met her husband. Nobody had expressed a desire to stay permanently as the motive for initial entry, and most expressed a desire to return to Maputo. The ease of entry also facilitated cross-border trade.

The opportunities presented by South Africa and Johannesburg offer migrants the chance to become independent, able to provide for their family, have a better life, and not further burden others. The findings of this study align with previous studies in that migration served as a rite of passage (First 1983; Pirie 1993: 729). While those who migrate may not go through the trials of working on the mines, they are tested in other ways, given the insecurities of Johannesburg. This indicates that the norm of migration as an entrance into adulthood, a rite of passage, persists, but in an altered form.

The idea that Mozambicans brave risk in coming to Johannesburg is similar to Vidal’s (2011) observation. In the current study, participants acknowledged risk, but unlike in Vidal’s study, the term aventureiro was not encountered in either the English or the Portuguese interviews.

186

There was a sense of taking a chance, but the masculine overtones implied in the word were lacking. The absence of the term is not surprising, given the number of women who participated in the study, whereas Vidal’s study seems to have focused on men. Vidal (2011) also noted how making a successful business had replaced becoming a miner in the minds of Mozambican migrants, as the chances of mine employment had fallen. The establishment of a business seemed the plan in the study, or at least the backup plan, if formal employment was not available or did not pay enough. Migration was part of a strategy to achieve independence, and participants were practical and realistic about the risks they faced. Mozambicans faced risks, as necessary, to allow them to access more economic resources.

The risks associated with Mozambicans migrating to Johannesburg have undergone a fundamental change since the end of apartheid and the concomitant economic and political changes that have occurred. Maputo itself has undergone many changes, with visible artefacts of South African economic domination, including South African retail chains (Grobbelaar 2004; Hentz 2005). Riots, fuelled by food shortages, have taken place on more than one occasion (de Brito et al. 2014). Hunger and climate change have led to increasing migration to Maputo from other areas in southern Mozambique (Jenkins and Wilkinson 2002), while the lack of opportunities in the city have resulted in people moving on to South Africa and Johannesburg (Vidal 2007).

9.2.2. Initial risks and social capital in Johannesburg There are greater and lesser risks in migrating. Establishing accommodation and income was fundamental to the success of the participants’ strategies for migrating to Johannesburg. Failure to do so would result in a prompt return to Maputo. Accommodation is the immediate need. For those with relationships with people already established in Johannesburg, this was secured through people they already knew. Mostly this was through male family members.

Followers face less risks on arrival, compared with deciders. Most followers had secure accommodation on arrival; deciders did not. Both decider and follower participants were assisted in getting jobs, however. This was done more frequently through recommending somebody or providing information of a vacancy rather than the network members directly offering employment for others. In this way, the assistance offered by family members could prove very valuable. Sometimes the job would be vacated by a family member. Two participants both got their jobs after their brothers had vacated the positions.

187

Social capital, in this phrase, tended to vest in family relationships. It is closest to what Bourdieu (1986) had in mind when discussing the way social capital can be exchanged for economic capital, or to gain what would overwise need to be bought. The reliance on family- based social capital makes sense, considering existing research on social fragmentation in southern Mozambique, partly due to labour migration (Gallego and Mendola 2013), and the nature of Maputo, which is itself a migrant city (Jenkins 2000).

Social capital is also protective against other risks that a new migrant may otherwise unwittingly encounter. Existing relationships allow people to blend in as they learn the skills of navigating Johannesburg. There seemed to be rules employed to avoid the police by those who participated in the study. These ‘rules’ were presumably learnt through social networks or over time after arrival in Johannesburg. Inexperience as to where police may be, and not knowing how to be vigilant when in public would heighten risks associated with police.

The risk of crime is persistent both when people initially arrive, and later. However, inexperience may make both the losses and the likelihood greater on arrival. The term ‘crime’ denoted theft (with or without violence), in most of the interviews. In one case, a participant feared being lured into crime. Participants had changed their behaviours after being robbed, hiding their goods and avoiding areas that they felt were dangerous. Few mentioned rape or domestic violence. Yet, Julia and Francisco had both been assaulted in a domestic setting. As a consequence of the study’s design, those who had to return to Mozambique as a result of crime may not have been part of the study. Due to this, the seriousness of the risk may be underestimated in this research.

The use of social relationships in migration can be reiterated as part of the original findings of this study. Social relationships, particularly family, provided both information and practical assistance to newcomers. In this case, networks seem to encourage and sustain undocumented migration, including that of Mozambicans. This is in line with other studies that have noted the assistance lent to Mozambicans when immigrating to South Africa and Johannesburg (Madsen 2004; Muanamoha et al. 2010). Only two participants mentioned relationships based on the fact that they were neighbours in Maputo. Madsen (2004) noted in his study that there was an obligation to assist neighbours from Maputo for a small group of Mozambicans in

188

Johannesburg. In this study, participants were mostly helped, and when possible, tried to help family members.

A risk that occurs early after arriving is the expiry of the visitors’ visa (at the time of the fieldwork it lasted only 30 days). This expiry means that the person who was initially in South Africa legally suddenly loses their legal basis for remaining in the country. They quickly go from being documented to becoming undocumented. Consequently, while the automatic visa facilitated entry, it quickly becomes a risk.

After arriving, some participants seemed to have lost some of the optimism that they arrived with; this was not the planned journey to change their lives with friends (as Julia seemingly imagined), and expected assistance in getting employment was not forthcoming (as for Bella). They had found themselves in difficult positions, sometimes without the anticipated support and with little money. They would have to navigate it themselves. To remain in Johannesburg, they had found ways to do just this. Only those who had successfully navigated this period are included in the study.

The pattern of social support of new migrants has been established in previous time periods. Mines allowed for in-family recruitment, which Mozambicans took advantage of, and clandestine migration was undertaken on the basis of relationships with people already in South Africa (Katzenellenbogen 1982: 106; MacDonald 2012: 169). Later, refugees were helped by others; Polzer noted the assistance provided by Shangaans in Gazankulu to Mozambican refugees, even while there were few resources in the homeland. Machava (2005) found assistance persisted even after newcomers were no longer refugees, and social networks were used to provide employment.

Upon arrival, participants seemed to have little choice but to trust those they had come with or stayed with. Many seemed optimistic about the relationships and the prospects in South Africa. Some seemed to have grown disenchanted since arrival. Sometimes this was due to personal experiences, such as crime or betrayal. Others became disillusioned after the 2008 xenophobic attacks. Many people seemed to become weary of trusting others, even while they used social capital to establish themselves in the city.

189

9.2.3. Sustained risks, expanding and narrowing social capital Once jobs, or income and accommodation had been secured, the participant’s risks were stabilised. With this degree of stability, they entered the sustained risk period. In this period, the risks experienced were like those faced by vulnerable South Africans, but additional risks were based on the absence of South African citizenship, or not having a visa. During this phase, income and accommodation had to be retained.

In this research, there are two broad strategies related to emigration. One is that men cross the border alone and send money back to their families, much like traditional labour migration. A few men interviewed in Maputo did this, but in Rosettenville, those interviewed were far more likely to have their families with them. Some had met their partners in the city, while others were either preceded or followed by their spouses, boyfriends, or girlfriends. Either way, it transpired that family members came together in Johannesburg, and that, nuclear families were likely to live together in Rosettenville.

a. Chronic socioeconomic pressures Increases in rent and costs of living made it difficult for income to keep ahead of costs. Many participants complained about increases in living costs. It remained necessary for participants to continuously improve income levels in order to retain their accommodation and pay other living expenses. The choice of having the family in Johannesburg necessitated the increase of household expenditure, and made it difficult to remit. Additional expenditure was incurred, including schooling for the children and investment in the home in Johannesburg. In addition, many of the married women were furthering their own education, which also came at a cost. This impacted participants’ capacity to support family in Maputo, but also to make ends meet for the family in Johannesburg.

In addition, participants frequently lived in areas marked by chronic insecurity. Few considered Johannesburg or the neighbourhood they lived in as long-term options. Rosettenville seemed to be subject to two contradictory but reinforcing processes. While owners attempted to raise rents to push out foreigners, buildings were left uninhabited. Those who would rent to foreigners, such as Nigerians, provided relatively low rentals but poor living conditions. Both these processes lowered the security of residents; raising rentals meant a lack of security of tenure, while poor living conditions could mean theft of property and health risks. Both processes caused further urban degeneration, with some areas so dangerous that they had to be

190

completely avoided. Theft, often accompanied by violence, and drug dealing, meant that people did not want to continue living in Rosettenville. There was also visible prostitution in the suburb. There was no sense of Rosettenville being a Mozambican enclave, or that there were significant networks of support and that neighbours were bound by ties of kinship or friendship. Many participants felt immured in their homes and avoided walking outside if possible.

By the sustained risk period, the risks posed by criminals and the police forces were well known and more easily navigated. Capitalising on the learnings during the last period, they were more successful in avoiding police or Metro police who may solicit bribes or have them deported. Mozambicans had also learned to pass as South Africans or avoid contact that may lead to xenophobic attitudes and violence. While crime remained a risk, participants knew the areas to avoid and the situations that might make them vulnerable, such as drinking outside the home. This avoidance of public spaces by Mozambicans was found by Ostanel (2012), with some exceptions, such as socialising in public places that were considered safe.

Participants believed that if income continued to come in and costs were kept down, they would be more stable and less vulnerable. However, this was not necessarily the case. Dramatic events such as deportation, ill health or severe injury, could cause a premature return to Mozambique. The more endemic risk of rising costs that could not be supported, would also result in failure.

b. Social capital and other opportunities Regarding social capital, there are two strategies in the sustained risk phase, depending on need. Those for whom the benefits of social capital are required from broader networks may invest in these relationships, and those for whom these networks represented a risk, reduced the number and intensity of their social relationships. Because of the lack of resources available in Mozambican nationality-based groups, there were no particular benefits to investing in relationships with other Mozambicans. Relationships with non-Mozambicans could have been more valuable in securing income and other resources. Socialising could be expensive and result in crime if done in a public space. It is doubly risky. So, there is both the expanding of social capital, in some respects and the narrowing in others.

Once established in the city, participants often had (and needed) less social capital from the family members who invited them. This may have been due to the newcomers no longer needing as much support, an expectation that they would become independent, or because their

191

focus had shifted to their partner and children. Many people felt isolated in the city. Nuclear families turn inwards. Women were likely to be concerned with their children, rather than with broader family. As participants became precariously established, they were less likely to need help from the initial family networks. In fact, demands from extended family members could destabilise them; tighter networks became an encumbrance. Only their immediate family members could be counted on to act in their interests, as their interests were the same.

Partnerships, for the most part, were better established and more stable in this phase, and were fiercely defended. Broader social networks, necessary for developing social capital, could disrupt the relationship with a spouse or partner. Not only did building networks with others with few resources hold little value, they served to undermine the primary partnership, and so endanger the relationship. At this stage, many social relationships were costly rather than beneficial, particularly if there were few resources in the networks. Some research indicates that social capital may decrease as people become more established and wish to gain a higher standard of living. National and ethnic networks lose importance. Ethnic networks may have limited resources, and can lead to poor long-term outcomes (Nee, Sanders, and Sernau 1994; Nyström 2012).

Along with the increased confidence in navigating the urban landscape, some participants seemed to have broader networks in this phase. They also had friends (defined broadly) who they could talk to about the stresses, and who could provide support in other ways. They thus developed social capital that was more focused on socialising. These social relationships were also a source of identity and an expression of norms. People spent time with those with whom they said they shared values. In this way, participants developed other forms of social capital – those associated with socialising and identity, which appear in Streeten’s (2002) typology.

Non-family relationships with co-nationals or others were also useful. Women involved in hairdressing would form relationships with clients that were not always considered friendships, but were pleasant nevertheless, and provided the opportunity to socialise. Women would share childcare responsibilities to a limited extent. Men and women used relationships to find work.

Despite the dangers posed by social relationships, participants assisted others (particularly family members) according to their means and in ways that would not endanger the primary relationship or their own economic stability. Participants could now be benefactors, rather than

192

beneficiaries of economic assistance with jobs or accommodation. While participants were not able to give much, they gave what they could without risking their own stability.

This period was also marked by the ability, at least for the women, to take advantage of the benefits of Johannesburg more fully. They knew about opportunities to improve their education and took advantage of them. Many of the women were fortunate in that they had time available to attend classes during the day. They invariably improved their education with the goal of getting employment or better jobs, so that they could contribute more to the household in future. They were also familiar with the available primary health care, and used the family planning and HIV testing services. However, the chief advantage of being in South Africa was access to education for their children, which was the focus of many of the women’s daily lives and their decision-making.

c. Trust and trustworthiness Most participants who had been in the country for longer periods, said that they did not trust the people with whom they socialised, and had come to trust only their spouse or partner. While some men said that they trusted their brothers, or in one case the neighbouring family, these were only a few and none of these lived with their nuclear family in Johannesburg. In this way, ‘trust’ was more in line with Giddens’s (1990) understanding of the concept that under the conditions of high modernity, people are more likely to invest in sexual or intimate relationships and cultivate trust. These responses from participants reflected that it was too risky to trust most people.

Trust seemed to be related to providing for the family and to looking after the children, and came with an expectation that their partner was on their side. Both women and men participants underscored their own trustworthiness. They said that they trusted their spouse and implied that their spouse was able to trust them. They did not cheat or spend time with others, and particularly avoided those who did not have the same moral values. Many women openly acknowledged that their husbands may cheat. They themselves had opportunities to cheat, but said that they did not take them. Trust was cultivated despite suspicions of ‘cheating’.

Investment in a single relationship is risky. Partner loss was a risk for women in the study, based on their economic dependence. Should they lose their partners, the women risked losing their accommodation, and would struggle to support themselves and their children. In most

193

cases, partner loss would mean failure, as they would not be able to accumulate to build a house in Maputo. The risk of losing their husbands could also have acted to make the women more definite about the importance of their marriages and of upholding their moral standards. The economic benefits to a stable marriage are well established (Smock et al. 1999).

Trust and trustworthiness may also have components of social identity. The investment in a single intimate relationship, sexual fidelity, and investing in the home also seemed to be linked to Christian values. This is not surprising, given the high number of participants who identified as Christians, and who attended church. Being a good wife and mother meant being moral. Few men mentioned church attendance, but moral commitment to the family was expressed, as was the need to save, rather than to spend, particularly for those whose families were in Maputo.

Madsen’s (2004) study resonates with these findings, in terms of his ‘moral community’. All participants projected themselves as moral. However, participants did not so much ‘police’ immorality. In some cases, women who themselves would not cheat had friends who did. In Madsen’s (2004) study, men who had come from Maputo together, sanctioned one of their members for his drunkenness by withdrawing all support. Drinking was generally frowned upon, and participants said that they avoided people who drink. In this study, drinking was often disapproved of, and drinkers and non-drinkers seemed to avoid each other, or otherwise chose not to socialise. However, they were not in a position to sanction drinkers.

d. Opportunity to accumulate? Risks in Johannesburg were faced and navigated as best as possible, with the long-term aim of returning to Maputo and being financially independent. As such, participants aimed to build houses and establish means to earn a living upon their return to Maputo. This implies an economic progression to greater stability, and the opportunity to accumulate. Moving to and working in South Africa was a strategy to transform the risk of unemployment experienced in Mozambique, and accumulate the necessary assets to ensure that participants would be independent of their families and able to support themselves. Changing life situations and high inflation rates in Mozambique and South Africa, meant that time lines were lengthened, and plans were subject to change, but the ultimate goal did not alter.

For most of those interviewed, the success of the strategy of migration is unlikely outside formal, protected employment, and the anticipated quick accumulation did not materialise.

194

Putting money aside was tough. Participants whose families were in Johannesburg spent money in the city that they would otherwise have remitted. Few participants had formal employment and those who did were poorly paid. Most were scraping by on what money they could make through their small businesses and piece jobs. For participants, gains were difficult to make and easily lost.

In addition, Johannesburg has certain comforts that could erode the ambitions of the arriving participants. The urgency of the long-term vision lessened somewhat, even while its importance was repeatedly expressed. For them, the risky environment of Johannesburg became more benign and less threatening, as long as their sense of security was not endangered. The idea of successful entrance, accumulation, and a quick exit was not ever likely to occur, and participants became aware of this. Their lessening emphasis on a future in Maputo could have been a combination of disappointed hopes and finding comforts in Johannesburg.

Furthermore, between the initial entrance into Johannesburg and the current time, concerns had changed. The education of their children made the departure date distant. Should there be more children, or if a child failed a grade, their planned stay had to be extended. The house in Maputo, the building of which had been the prime issue of concern, seemed to become more distant as a greater portion of household expenditure went to education and living expenses.

The opportunity to accumulate was largely a chimera, for almost all participants the gains they made towards accumulation seemed incremental and sometimes lost. While nobody mentioned selling their house, delays in the building based on economic hardships in Johannesburg, were evident. Cars (preferably a bakkie or van), were often important in terms of long-term plans. However, during the course of the research, some men were forced to sell their cars. The sale of a car not only represented the end of this option, but if not replaced, it could undermine options for their livelihood, as owning a vehicle in Johannesburg was essential for engaging in the kind of work that many men did.

9.2.4. The Mozambican migration model summarised A model of Mozambican migration into South Africa in the context of risk is shown in Figure 9.1. It includes a representation of all the risks discussed in the findings chapters, such as the local environmental factors in Mozambique that caused people to consider the risks associated with migration, initial risks experienced on arrival in South Africa, and sustained

195

environmental risks. The model also shows the success path that would enable Mozambicans to either return to Maputo (or remain in Johannesburg), having transformed the risks that initiated migration through accumulating the necessary funds and assets to do so. The benefits of social capital in assisting the migrant towards success are shown at critical points. Returning to Maputo was overwhelmingly the preferred option. The Figure also shows the failure path that lands Mozambicans back in Maputo without the necessary resources.

The first stage, termed ‘local socio-economic factors’ is before migration. In this research, four factors were found that incline an individual towards migration. The first is the existence of social networks (generally family) in South Africa. The second is a belief in greater economic opportunities in the country. The third is a desire to be independent and set up a household, or at very least not further burden the family. The fourth is the possibility to travel to Johannesburg. These are opportunities or ‘pull factors’. In listing these factors, I do not mean to imply that they are the only grounds, but they were the driving reasons in this study. The lack of economic opportunities in Maputo acts as a ‘push factor’.

The second period, the ‘initial risk period’ comprises the initial risks experienced in Johannesburg. During this period, risks are at their highest. It is essential to secure accommodation and an income of some kind, either through employment or self-employment. Alternatively, establishing a stable relationship with a partner with sufficient income can support the ability to remain in the city. This phase is the least stable, and requires newcomers to learn how to navigate the city to avoid police harassment, crime, and xenophobic violence.

If successfully navigated, individuals transition to the third or ‘sustained environmental risks’ period. During this period, individual risks are increasingly enmeshed with household risks, as participants have children in Johannesburg or need to support family in Maputo. If Mozambicans can keep their household costs down or improve their income, it is possible to accumulate. In both this and the earlier initial risk period, deportation, serious injury, and ill health can result in failure and a forced return to Maputo.

With few family members or networks in South Africa, retaining one’s health, a job or some form of income and accommodation is critical. Rising costs for housing, then, represent a significant risk both in short-term and long-term planning. In order to be successful in accomplishing the goals that led them to South Africa, participants must keep costs down or

196

improve their income. There are distinct advantages conferred by securing and retaining a partner for the household, whether the ultimate plan is to return to Mozambique or not. Preserving this relationship is clearly important, and participants did not wish to jeopardise their relationships or the resources of the family through infidelity or social relations and friendships.

In reading this model, it is important to understand that the phases are not as linear as they appear. Having moved into a sustained risks period, through loss of income or accommodation, it is possible to return to a situation similar to the initial risk period. The sizes of social networks in the city should be greater. The failure path simply indicates failure in an attempt. Such attempts may be repeated numerous times, although the erosion of resources to travel and the disappointment would presumably limit the number of times an individual would attempt entry. Another form of failure is remaining in Johannesburg and not accumulating, although this is a likely outcome. People can remain in a sustained risk situation and not accumulate to complete the plan that would lead them to returning to Maputo adequately prepared.

The model is not to be interpreted as something to be rigidly applied: the differences between deciders and followers imply as much. Most people found accommodation through family networks, others through newer social networks. Expansion of social networks occurs not only in the sustained risk period, but also expand on arrival. The model means to express the dynamics of social capital and the risks over time, as participants stayed in Johannesburg.

197

Figure 9.1: Model of Mozambican migration

9.3. Mozambicans and the risk culture

There was definite evidence of a strong common culture in terms of people’s understandings of risks, with diverse people having similar perceptions. This was true of those interviewed both in Maputo and Johannesburg. Interviewees not only understood, but applied the concept of risk (riskos) to their experiences. Perceptions were similar, regardless of the visas relied upon. All participants felt vulnerable to crime, most to policing, and many mentioned

198

deportation and the Lindela facility. It was considered risky to befriend or form relationships with South Africans (in some cases Zulus), but relationships with co-nationals were not necessarily less risky. Participants shared information about risks, and discussed risks in social situations.

The reasons for these risks may have been known to the participants, or they may have had opinions about them, but were cognitively separated from their everyday lives. While politics and world events were discussed during observation, there was no sense of overarching blame for individual circumstance on political or historical grounds. Risks simply existed. Beck (1994) noted that people tend to blame themselves for the risks they experience. This was not always so in the case of the participants; some considered themselves to be responsible, but at other times they acknowledged that the chances of success had not been good to begin with. In this regard, Vidal (2011: 240) considered that, because of their history, Mozambicans do not often collectively organise or have high expectations from the authorities.

While southern Mozambican society may be marked by fragile social relationships and a lack of social structure, there is a sense of the risk culture, in that there are common perceptions of risk. Lash’s (2000) concept of the risk culture seems to apply here. Lash defined the risk culture as a ‘loose ensemble of sense-making and sensibilities that constitute a reflexive-ethics of contextualization, challenging disclosure and politicization’. In this study, there was evidence of loose but widespread sense-making, and a common approach or conceptualisation of the world and the risks therein. Risk as a concept seems to assist in making sense of the world. In other words, risk is included in the cultural conceptions of reality. This was found in both of the separate groups of people interviewed in Johannesburg and Maputo. It also has resonance with Madsen’s work (2004), in that people were assisted in Johannesburg to stay invisible, implying a situation of continual risk.

Risk, as a culture, is based on values. Braving risks and working hard to care for their families were values that most participants clearly displayed. Most avoided drinking, and others who did drink, said that they avoided cheating. However, values are not fixed, and are likely to change over time. Moreover, Lyng’s (1990) work on voluntary risk emphasised the psychological and socio-historical context within risk taking. Risk taking itself can also be considered a virtue and can be important to individuals’ sense of self. In the context of long histories of migration, where ‘manhood’ was earned by migration to the mines (First 1983;

199

Pirie 1993: 729), Mozambicans are likely to be positively disposed towards migration to Johannesburg. In addition, the simultaneous deprivations of poverty and unemployment in Maputo can serve to undermine people’s sense of self, and any attempt to migrate to improve life chances may bestow positive qualities.

One of the risks borne by individuals in each case was their identity investment in the migration. Migration was presented as a strategic decision. It involved substantial financial investment and commitment to follow a certain path. Failure in Johannesburg would result in a loss of face. Identity risks are not immediately obvious and do not function like the other risks encountered by participants. The ultimate effect of identity risk could be that their stay in Johannesburg would be extended longer than was economically feasible, precipitating the sale of assets necessary for their long-term plans of economic sustainability in Maputo. This is in line with Vidal’s (2014) category of ‘the bankrupts’, where Mozambicans continue to stay in Johannesburg, but barely manage to sustain themselves in the city.

When interviewed, participants wished to show their progress towards the goal of building a house, and that they were economically secure, even as they suffered increased economic hardships and at times were barely able to sustain themselves. Previous research has noted that people have an optimistic bias when considering risks, and think that negative events are more likely to befall others. Despite this, facing risks produces anxiety, which people tend to exclude from their social presentations (Joffe 2003). Even if the study participants were stable in Johannesburg, they were in limbo between their current state and their desired state. They often attempted to defend the decision to migrate, even when the outcomes were not those desired. Their identity seemed to have become entangled in their decision to migrate.

It is to be expected that Mozambicans will engage in active identity work in the context of the hostility they face in South Africa (see Crush 2001b; Gordon 2010; Hassim et al. 2008; Valji 2003). There was also a distinct tendency among participants to emphasise how they were self- directed creating lives for themselves in Johannesburg. Even as followers often said that they were ‘told to come’. They seemed to reflexively engage with practical and identity risks.

200

9.4. Recommendations for further research

This study explored how social capital and trust relations shape the migration experiences of individuals who migrate along established immigration routes. The research also speaks to experiences of risk under high modernity for migrants who face the prospects of precarious jobs (much like citizens) and have to engage more in the informal economy.

Further research that considers the gender differences and gendered identities of migrants under risk conditions can be undertaken. Previous studies pointed to, but left untheorized, the association between risk and masculinity in Mozambicans. However, risk appetites, and the identities of migrant women in risk conditions have not been explored, as far as could be ascertained in the literature. This reflects a masculine bias in migration studies that commonly ignores women, even when women form a substantial proportion of migrants.

Considering the number of Mozambicans who migrate, it would be possible to do a household survey in Mozambique on risk, trust, and social capital. The separation of social capital and trust as presented in this study, provides information on how people can gain from social capital while not investing trust. A survey could also consider the periodisation of migration, and explore whether migrants do indeed experience a decline in terms of the numbers of people they have trusted over time, and confirm this apparent trend.

9.5. Conclusion

Approaches to use of social capital by migrants differ. Some attempt to use existing relationships for help, others will not or cannot rely on networks. This distinction illustrates one of the ways risk intersects with social capital. To better understand the various ways risk and social capital intersect over time, the thesis presented a model of the changing risk environment and social relationships. If all these risks are successfully navigated, the migrant may be able to transform his or her risks in the place of orientation or choose to remain in the destination. In order to succeed, individuals cannot assist people as much as they might like; social capital, which represents an opportunity, can become a risk. Trusting others is also a risk. Common understandings of risk are part of broader culture. The complexities of these factors were considered in this thesis in relation to Mozambican migration. The work represents an original contribution to the field.

201

REFERENCES AEO. 2012. Mozambique. Issy les Moulineaux, France: African Economic Outlook. Accessed 15 May 2016, http://www.afdb.org/fileadmin/uploads/afdb/Documents/Publications/Mozambique %20Full%20PDF%20Country%20Note.pdf.

Abrahamsson, H. 1995. The International Political Economy of Structural Adjustment: The Case of Mozambique. European Journal of Development Research, 7(2): 297–319.

Adam, B., Beck, U. and Loon, J.V. (editors). 2000. The Risk Society and Beyond: Critical Issues for Social Theory. London: Sage Publications.

Adams, M. 2003. The Reflexive Self and Culture: A Critique. The British Journal of Sociology, 54(2): 221–238.

Adepoju, A. 2000. Issues and Recent Trends in International Migration in Sub-Saharan Africa. International Social Science Journal, 52(165): 383–394.

Agência de Informação de Moçambique. 2005. South Africa: Entry Visas for South Africa to Be Abolished. Accessed 5 November 2016, http://allafrica.com/stories/200504140259.html.

Aguilera, M.B. 2005. The Impact of Social Capital on the Earnings of Puerto Rican Migrants. The Sociological Quarterly, 46(4): 569–592.

Alexander, P. 2003. Paternalised Migrants, Policing and Political Economy: Highveld Colliery Strikes, 1925–49. Social Dynamics, 29(1): 49–77.

Alexander, P. 2008. Challenging Cheap-labour Theory: Natal and Transvaal Coal Miners, ca 1890–1950. Labor History, 49(1): 47–70.

Alexander, P., Bonner, P., Hyslop, J. and van der Walt, L.F. 2009. Introduction: Labour Crossings in Eastern and Southern Africa. African Studies, 68(1): 79–85.

Alfaro-Velcamp, T. and Shaw, M. 2016. Please GO HOME and BUILD Africa: Criminalising Immigrants in South Africa. Journal of Southern African Studies, 42(5): 983–998.

All Africa. 2016. Mozambique: Mozambican Public Debt Now ‘Unsustainable’. Accessed 8 May 2016, http://allafrica.com/stories/201605040005.html.

Almeida Santos, A., Roffarello, L.M. and Filipe, M. 2015. Mozambique: African Economic Outlook. Issy les Moulineaux, France: African Economic Outlook. Accessed 15 May 2016, http://www.afdb.org.

Amit, R. 2010. Lost in the Vortex: Irregularities in the Detention and Deportation of Non- Nationals in South Africa. FMSP Research Report. Johannesburg: Forced Migration Studies Programme.

Amit, R. 2012. Breaking the Law, Breaking the Bank: The Cost of Home Affairs’ Illegal Detention Practices. Johannesburg: African Centre for Migration.

202

Amit, R. 2013. Security Rhetoric and Detention in South Africa. Forced Migration Review, 44(32).

Amit, R. 2015. Understanding Immigration Detention and Deportation in South Africa: A Summary of Law, Practice and Human Rights Violations. ACMS Issue Brief 11. Johannesburg: African Centre for Migration and Society. Accessed 2 August 2016, http://www.migration.org.za.

Amit, R. and Kriger, N. 2014. Making Migrants ‘Il-legible’: The Policies and Practices of Documentation in Post-Apartheid South Africa. Kronos, 40(1): 269–290.

ANA Reporter. 2017. How to Apply for The New Zimbabwean Exemption Permit. IOL News. Accessed 20 October 2017, https://www.iol.co.za/news/special- features/zimbabwe/how-to-apply-for-the-new-zimbabwean-exemption-permit- 11239067.

Anderson, J.M. 2000. The . Connecticut: Greenwood.

Anderson, P. 1962a. Portugal and the End of Ultra-Colonialism – Part I. New Left Review, (15):83–102.

Anderson, P. 1962b. Portugal and the End of Ultra-Colonialism – Part II. New Left Review, (16):88–123.

Arrighi, G. 1994. The Long Twentieth Century: Money, Power, and the Origins of Our Times. London, New York: Verso.

Ashcroft, B. 2001. Post-colonial Transformation. Psychology Press. London and New York: Routledge.

Babb, S. 2005. The Social Consequences of Structural Adjustment: Recent Evidence and Current Debates. Annual Review of Sociology, 31: 199–222.

Babbie, E.R. and Mouton, J. 2001. The Practice of Social Research. Cape Town: Oxford University Press Southern Africa.

Bamu, P.H. 2014. An Analysis of SADC Migration Instruments in Light of ILO and UN Principles on Labour Migration. Accessed 23 February 2016 http://www.ilo.org/addisababa/events-and-meetings/WCMS_239819/lang-- en/index.htm.

Barchiesi, F. 2007. Wage Labor and Social Citizenship in the Making of Post-Apartheid South Africa. Journal of Asian and African Studies, 42(1):39–72.

Baron, S., Field, J. and Schuller, T. 2000. Social Capital: Critical Perspectives. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Baton, J. and Fourie, J. 2012. Slave Numeracy in the Cape Colony and Comparative Development in the Eighteenth Century. Economic Research Southern Africa Working Paper series 2(70). Stellenbosch: Economic Research Southern Africa.

203

Beavon, K. 2004. Johannesburg: The Making and Shaping of the City. Pretoria: University of South Africa Press.

Beck, U. 1992. Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity. London: Sage Publications.

Beck, U. 1994. The Reinvention of Politics: Towards a Theory of Reflexive Modernization. In Beck, U., Giddens, A., and Lash, S. (editors.). Reflexive Modernization: Politics, Tradition and Aesthetics in the Modern Social Order. Cambridge: Polity Press.

Beck, U. 1997. The Reinvention of Politics: Rethinking Modernity in the Global Social Order. Cambridge; Malden: Polity Press.

Beck, U. 1999. World Risk Society. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.

Beck, U. 2000. What Is Globalization? Cambridge: Wiley-Blackwell.

Beck, U. 2006. Risk Society Revisited: Theory, Politics and Research Programmes. In Cosgrave, J. F. (editor). The Sociology of Risk and Gambling Reader. New York: Taylor & Francis.

Beck, U. 2008. Mobility and the Cosmopolitan Perspective. In Kesselring, S., Canzler, W., and Kaufmann, V. (editors). Tracing Mobilities: Towards a Cosmopolitan Perspective. Aldershot, England; Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, Ltd.

Beck, U. 2009a. Imagined Communities of Global Risk. Lecture for the Risk Conference in Shanghai, September 2009.

Beck, U. 2009b.Critical Theory of World Risk Society: A Cosmopolitan Vision. Constellations, 16(1): 3–22.

Beck, U. 2013. World at Risk. Cambridge; Malden: Polity Press.

Beck, U. 2014a. The Brave New World of Work. Cambridge; Malden, Mass: Polity Press.

Beck, U. 2014b. Cosmopolitan Vision. Cambridge; Malden: Polity Press.

Beck, U. and Grande, E. 2010. Varieties of Second Modernity: The Cosmopolitan Turn in Social and Political Theory and Research. British Journal of Sociology, 61(3): 409– 443.

Beck, U., Bonss, W. and Lau, C. 2003. The Theory of Reflexive Modernization Problematic, Hypotheses and Research Programme. Theory, Culture & Society, 20(2): 1–33.

Behind the Name. n.d. Behind the Name: Portuguese Names. Accessed 28 December 2014, http://www.behindthename.com/names/usage/portuguese.

Bhambra, G.K. 2014. Connected Sociologies. London and New York: Bloomsbury Publishing.

Bhamjee, A. and Klaaren, J. 2004. Legal Problems Facing Refugees in Johannesburg. In Landau, L. (editor). Forced Migrants in the New Johannesburg: Towards a Local Government Response. Johannesburg: Foundation for Human Rights.

204

Bhattacharyya, D., Jayal, N.G., Mohapatra, B.N. and Pai, S. 2004. Interrogating Social Capital: The Indian Experience. New Delhi: Sage Publications.

Bidandi, F. 2014. Refugee Rights and Financial Institutions in South Africa. Agency for Refugee Education, Skills Training & Advocacy. Accessed 25 December 2016, http://www.aresta.org.za/refugee-rights-and-financial-institutions-in-south-africa.

Biernacki, P. and Waldorf, D. 1981. Snowball Sampling: Problems and Techniques of Chain Referral Sampling. Sociological Methods & Research. 10(2): 141–163.

Bigo, D. 2002. Security and Immigration: Toward A Critique of the Governmentality of Unease. Alternatives: Global, Local, Political, 27: 63–92.

Birmingham, D. and Marks, S. 1977. Southern Africa. In Oliver, R. (editor). The Cambridge . Vol, 3. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Bond, P. 2000. The Elite Transition: From Apartheid to Neoliberalism in South Africa. London: Pluto Press.

Bond, P. 2015. Marikana’s Meaning for Crisis Management: An Instance of South Africa’s Resource Curse. In Schuerkens, U. (editor). Global Management, Local Resistances: Theoretical Discussion and Empirical Case Studies. New York: Routledge.

Bosten, E. 2015. Developing the MDC Business Potential from a Cluster Perspective. MBA dissertation. Coventry: University of Warwick.

Bourdieu, P. 1977. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Bourdieu, P. 1984. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Harvard: Harvard University Press.

Bourdieu, P. 1986. The Forms of Capital. In Richardson, J.G. (editor). Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education. New York: Greenwood.

Bourdieu, P. 1991. Language and Symbolic Power. Thompson, J. B. (editor). Cambridge: Polity Press.

Bourdieu, P. 2003. Participant Objectivation. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 9(2): 281–294.

Bourdieu, P. and Passeron, J.C. 1990. Reproduction in Education, Society and Culture. London: Sage Publications.

Bowland, C. and Otto, L. 2012. Implementing Development Corridors: Lessons from the Maputo Corridor. SAIIA Policy Briefing. (54). Accessed 16 September 2015, http://ledna.org/.

Bradlow, E. 1984. The Children’s Friend Society at the Cape of Good Hope. Victorian Studies, 27(2): 155–177.

205

Bradshaw, Y.W. and Huang, J. 1991. Intensifying Global Dependency: Foreign Debt, Structural Adjustment, and Third World Underdevelopment. The Sociological Quarterly, 32(3): 321–342.

Brodie, N. 2008. The Joburg Book: A Guide to the City’s History, People & Places. Johannesburg: Pan Macmillan.

Brück, T. 2000. Mozambique: The Economic Effects of the War. In Stewart, F. and Fitzgerald, V. (editors.). War and Underdevelopment: Country Experiences. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Budlender, D. 2014. Migration and employment in South Africa: Statistical analysis of the migration module in the Quarterly, Labour Force Survey, Third Quarter 2012. Johannesburg: African Centre for Migration & Society. Accessed 24 February 2016, http://www.miworc.org.za/docs/MiWORC-Report-5.pdf.

Burawoy, M. 1976. The Functions and Reproduction of Migrant Labor: Comparative Material from Southern Africa and the United States. The American Journal of Sociology, 81(5): 1050–1087.

Burawoy, M. 1991. The Extended Case Method. In Burawoy, M. (editor). Ethnography Unbound: Power and Resistance in the Modern Metropolis. Berkley: University of California.

Burawoy, M. 1998. The Extended Case Method. Sociological Theory. 16:4–33.

Burawoy, M. and Von Holdt, K. 2012. Conversations with Bourdieu: the Johannesburg Moment. Johannesburg: Wits University Press.

Byiers, B. and Vanheukelom, J. 2014. What Drives Regional Economic Integration? Lessons from the Maputo Development Corridor and the North-South Corridor. European Centre for Development Policy Management, Discussion Paper.

Cabrita, J.M. 2000. Mozambique: The Tortuous Road to Democracy. New York: Palgrave.

Cammack, D. 1992. Mozambican Refugees: Flight and Refuge in the 1980s. Unpublished paper presented to African Studies Seminar, Oxford University, Oxford.

Campbell, C. 1997. Migrancy, Masculine Identities and AIDS: The Psychosocial Context of HIV Transmission on the South African Gold Mines. Social Science and Medicine, 45(2):273–281.

Campbell, H. 1984. War, Reconstruction and Dependence in Mozambique. Third World Quarterly, 6(4): 839–867.

Carneiro, P., Meghir, C. and Parey, M. 2013. Maternal Education, Home Environments, and the Development of Children and Adolescents. Journal of the European Economic Association 11: 123–160.

Carter, G.M. 1970. Challenges to Minority Rule in Southern Africa. International Journal, 25(3): 486–496.

206

Castel-Branco, C., and Massarongo, F. 2016. Mozambique’s Secret Debt: The Impact on the Structure of the Debt and the Economic Consequences. Maputo: Instituto de Estudos Sociais e Económicos. Accessed 13 September 2016, http://www.iese.ac.mz/wp- content/uploads/2016/07/IESE_IDeIAS86e.pdf.

Castel-Branco, C.N., Massingue, N. and Muianga, C. 2015. Questions on Productive Development in Mozambique. Maputo: Instituto de Estudos Sociais e Económicos. Accessed 13 September 2016, http://www.iese.ac.mz/lib/publication/livros/IESE_FAN_EN.pdf.

Castles, S. 2002. Migration and Community Formation under Conditions of Globalization. International Migration Review, 36(4): 1143–1168.

Castles, S. 2007. Twenty-First-Century Migration as a Challenge to Sociology. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 33(3): 351–371.

Castles, S. and Davidson, A. 2000. Citizenship and Migration: Globalization and the Politics of Belonging. London: Macmillan.

Castles, S. and Miller, M.J. 2009. The Age of Migration: International Population Movements in the Modern World. Fourth edition. Cambridge: Palgrave Macmillan.

C-BRTA. 2015. Country Profile for Mozambique 2015. Pretoria: Cross-Border Road Transport Agency. Accessed 7 August 2016, http://www.cbrta.co.za/wp- content/uploads/MozambiqueFinalReport2015.pdf.

Cheong, P.H., Edwards, R., Goulbourne, H. and Solomos, J. 2007. Immigration, Social Cohesion and Social Capital: A Critical Review. Critical Social Policy, 27(1): 24– 49.

Cho, Y. and Feda, K. 2015. Skills and Employability in Mozambique: Implications for Education and Training Policies. The World Bank. Accessed 3 May 2016, http://documents.worldbank.org/curated/en/2015/05/24566443/skills-employability- mozambique-implications-education-training-policies.

Clark, J.D. (editor) 1982. The Cambridge History of Africa. Vol. 1. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Clayton, J. 2013. Eight South African Police Arrested Over Death of Man Dragged Behind Van. The Guardian. 1 March. Accessed 1 May 2016, http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/mar/01/eight-south-african-police-arrested.

Cohen, R. 1995. The Cambridge Survey of World Migration. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Cohen, R. 2006. Migration and its Enemies: Global Capital, Migrant Labour and the Nation- State. Aldershot, Hampshire, England; Burlington, VT: Routledge.

Cohen, S. and Hart, G.H.T. 1972. Clustering Characteristics of a Migrant Community in the Core of the Primate Centre. South African Geographical Journal, 54(1): 84–94.

207

Coleman, J.S. 1988. Social Capital in the Creation of Human Capital. American Journal of Sociology, 94, S95–S120.

Coleman, J.S. 1994. Foundations of Social Theory. Harvard: Harvard University Press.

Comaro Chronicle. 2017. New JMPD satellite station opened in Kenilworth. Comaro Chronicle. Accessed 22 August 2017, http://comarochronicle.co.za/143271/new- jmpd-satellite-station-opened-in-kenilworth/.

Comaroff, J. and Comaroff, J. 2003. Reflections on Liberalism, Policulturalism, and ID- ology: Citizenship and Difference in South Africa. Social Identities, 9(4):445–474.

Comaroff, J. and Comaroff, J.L. 2001. Naturing the Nation: Aliens, Apocalypse and the Postcolonial State. Journal of Southern African Studies, 27(3): 627–651.

Cook, K. 2001. Trust in Society. Vol. II. New York: Russell Sage.

Cook, K.S. 2005. Networks, Norms, and Trust: The Social Psychology of Social Capital. Social Psychology Quarterly, 68(1): 4-14.

Cook, K.S., Hardin, R. and Levi, M. 2005. Cooperation Without Trust? Russell Sage Foundation.

Corbacho, A., Brito, S. and Rivas, R.O. 2012. Birth Registration and the Impact on Educational Attainment. IDB Working Paper. Dominican Republic: Inter-American Development Bank.

CoRMSA. 2008. Protecting Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Immigrants in South Africa. Johannesburg: Consortium for Refugees and Migrants in South Africa.

CoRMSA. 2011. Protecting Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Immigrants in South Africa during 2010. Johannesburg: Consortium for Refugees and Migrants in South Africa.

Correia, P. 2007. Political Relations Between Portugal and South Africa from the End of the Second World War until 1974. D. Litt. et Phil thesis, University of Johannesburg.

Covane, L., Macringe, J. and Crush, J. 1998. The Revolving Door. Crossings. 2(2). Accessed 10 May 2009, http://www.queensu.ca/samp.

Cramer, C. 2001. Privatisation and Adjustment in Mozambique: A ‘Hospital Pass’? Journal of Southern African Studies, 27(1):79–103.

Cross, M. 1987. The Political Economy of Colonial Education: Mozambique, 1930-1975. Comparative Education Review, 31(4): 550–569.

Croucher, S. 1998. South Africa’s Illegal Aliens: Constructing National Boundaries in a Post- Apartheid State. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 21(4): 639–660.

Crush, J. & Frayne, B. 2010. Surviving on the Move: Migration, Poverty and Development in Southern Africa. Oxford: African Books Collective.

208

Crush, J. (editor). 2000. Borderline Farming: Foreign Migrants in South African Commercial Agriculture. Southern African Migration Project, Migration Series no. 16.

Crush, J. 1998. Beyond Control: Immigration and Human Rights in a Democratic South Africa. Cape Town: Idasa Publishers.

Crush, J. 2001a. Immigration, Xenophobia and Human Rights in South Africa. Cape Town: Idasa Publishers.

Crush, J. 2001b. The Dark Side of Democracy: Migration, Xenophobia and Human Rights in South Africa. International Migration, 38(6):103–133.

Crush, J. 2005. The Perfect Storm: The Realities of Xenophobia in Contemporary South Africa. Migration Policy Paper Series 50. Cape Town: Southern African Migration Project. Accessed 3 May 2016, https://www.africaportal.org/dspace/articles/perfect- storm-realities-xenophobia-contemporary-south-africa.

Crush, J. and Frayne, B. 2007. The Migration and Development Nexus in Southern Africa: Introduction. Development Southern Africa, 24(1): 1–23.

Crush, J. and Frayne, B. 2011. Pathways to Insecurity: Urban Food Supply and Access in Southern African Cities. London: African Food Security Urban Network. Accessed 17 February 2016, http://www.alnap.org/resource/6452.

Crush, J. and McDonald, D.A. 2001. Introduction to Special Issue: Evaluating South African Immigration Policy after Apartheid. Africa Today, 48(3): 1–13.

Crush, J. and Williams, V. 1999. The New South Africans: Immigration Amnesties and Their Aftermath. Cape Town: Idasa Publishers.

Crush, J., Skinner, C. and Chikanda, A. 2015. Informal Migrant Entrepreneurship and Inclusive Growth in South Africa, Zimbabwe and Mozambique. Migration Policy Series 68. Cape Town: Idasa.

Crush, J., Ulicki, T., Tseane, T. and Jansen van Vuuren, E. 1999. Undermining Labour: Migrancy and Sub-Contracting in the South African Gold Mining Industry. Cape Town: Idasa. Accessed 7 August 2016, http://www.queensu.ca/samp/sampresources/samppublications/policyseries/policy15 .htm.

Crush, J., Williams, V. and Peberdy, S. 2005. Migration in Southern Africa. A paper prepared for the Policy Analysis and Research Programme of the Global Commission on International Migration. Geneva: Global Commission on International Migration.

Cullinan, K. 2006. Health services in South Africa: A basic introduction. Johannesburg: Health e-news. Accessed 24 December 2016, http://www.health-e.org.za/wp- content/uploads/2013/04/Health_services_briefing_doc.pdf.

Cunguara, B. 2012. An Exposition of Development Failures in Mozambique. Review of African Political Economy, 39(131): 161–170.

209

Da Silva, T. and Andrade, X. 2000. Beyond Inequalities: Women in Mozambique. Maputo: Fórum Mulher.

Daly, M. and Silver, H. 2008. Social Exclusion and Social Capital: A Comparison and Critique. Theory and Society, 37(6): 537–566.

Davenport, J. 2013. Digging Deep: A History of Mining in South Africa. Johannesburg & Cape Town: Jonathan Ball Publishers.

Davidson, B. 1984. Portuguese-speaking Africa. In Crowder, M. (editor). The Cambridge History of Africa, 755–810. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Davis, D. 2003. From the Freedom Charter to the Washington Consensus. Development Updates, 4(3): 32-49. de Brito, L., Chaimite, E., Pereira, C., Sambo, M. and Shankland, A. 2014. Hunger Revolts and Citizen Strikes: Popular Protests in Mozambique, 2008-2012. Maputo: Institute of Development Studies. Accessed 17 February 2016, http://www.ids.ac.uk/publication/hunger-revolts-and-citizen-strikes-popular- protests-in-mozambique-2008-2012.

De Jong, G.F. and Gardner, R.W. 2013. Migration Decision Making: Multidisciplinary Approaches to Microlevel Studies in Developed and Developing Countries. Burlington: Elsevier. de Jongh, M. 1994. Mozambican Refugee Resettlement: Survival Strategies of Involuntary Migrants in South Africa. Journal of Refugee Studies, 7(2–3): 220–238.

De Pauli, S. and Kerr, A. 2008. Conceptualising Trust: A Literature Review. Maynooth, Ireland: National Institute for Regional and Spatial Analysis.

De Silva, C.R. 1999. but not African Sea: The Erasure of East African Commerce from History. Journal of Black Studies, 29(5): 684–694.

De Vletter, F. 1998. Sons of Mozambique: Mozambican Miners and Post-Apartheid South Africa. Southern African Migration Project Policy Series. Cape Town: Idasa Publishers.

De Vletter, F. 1999. Attitudes to the Miners’ Amnesty in Mozambique. In The New South Africans? Immigration Amnesties and their Aftermath. Cape Town: Idasa Publishers.

De Vletter, F. 2007. Migration and Development in Mozambique: Poverty, Inequality and Survival. Development Southern Africa, 24(1): 137–153. de Wet, P. 2015. Operation Fiela’s Warrantless Searches Challenged. The Mail & Guardian Online. Accessed http://mg.co.za/article/2015-06-23-operation-fielas-warrantless- searches-challenged/. de Wet, T., Patel, L., Forrester, C. and Korth, M. 2008. Johannesburg Poverty and Livelihoods Study. Johannesburg: Centre for Social Development in Africa.

210

Deane, K. D., Parkhurst, J. O., and Johnston, D. 2010. Linking migration, mobility and HIV: Linking migration, mobility and HIV. Tropical Medicine & International Health. 15(12): 1458–1463.

Denzin, N. and Lincoln, Y.S. 1998. Strategies of Qualitative Inquiry. California: Sage Publications.

Denzin, N.K. 1970. The Research Act: A Theoretical Introduction to Sociological Methods. New Jersey: Transaction Publishers.

Department of Health. 2012. Uniform Patient Fee Schedule Classification of Patients. Accessed 14 April 2017, http://www.health.gov.za/index.php/shortcodes/2015-03- 29-10-42-47/2015-04-30-09-10-23/uniform-patient-fee-schedule/category/108- u2012

Department of Home Affairs, n.d.-a. Types of Visas. Accessed 22 September 2016, http://www.home-affairs.gov.za/index.php/immigration-services/types-of-visas.

Department of Home Affairs. n.d.-b. Department of Home Affairs - Exempt Countries. Accessed 20 February 2016, http://www.dha.gov.za/index.php/immigration- services/exempt-countries.

Department of Home Affairs. n.d.-c. Department of Home Affairs. Accessed 11 January 2011, http://www.home-affairs.gov.za/.

Department of Home Affairs. n.d.-d. Permanent Residency (Immigration). Department of Home Affairs. Accessed 28 December 2014, http://www.home- affairs.gov.za/index.php/permanent-res].

DHA. 2011. Department of Home Affairs Annual Report 2010/2011. Pretoria: Department of Home Affairs.

DHA. 2014. Department of Home Affairs Annual Report 2013/2014. Pretoria: Department of Home Affairs.

DHA. 2015. Department of Home Affairs Annual Report 2014/15. Pretoria: Department of Home Affairs.

DHA. 2016. Green Paper on the International Migration. Accessed 6 March 2017, http://www.gov.za/sites/www.gov.za/files/40088_gon738.pdf.

Dinat, N. and Peberdy, S. 2005. Migration and Domestic Work in South Africa: Worlds of Work, Health and Mobility in Johannesburg. Cape Town: Idasa.

Dinat, N. and Peberdy, S. 2007. Restless Worlds of Work, Health and Migration: Domestic Workers in Johannesburg. Development Southern Africa, 24(1): 186–203.

Dissel, A., Jensen, S. and Roberts, S. 2009. Torture in South Africa: Exploring Torture and Cruel, Inhuman and Degrading Treatment or Punishment Through the Media. Johannesburg: CSVR. Accessed 24 December 2016, http://www.csvr.org.za/images/torture_media_text.pdf.

211

DoBE. 2013. Education for All (EFA) Country Report: South Africa. Pretoria: Department of Education. Accessed 1 May 2016, http://www.education.gov.za/.

Dodson, B. (2001). Discrimination by Default? Gender Concerns in South African Migration Policy. Africa Today, 48(3):73–89.

Dodson, B. 1998. Women on the Move: Gender and Cross-Border Migration to South Africa. Migration Policy Series 9. Cape Town: Southern African Migration Project.

Dodson, B. 2000. Women on the Move: Gender and Cross-Border Migration to South Africa from Lesotho, Mozambique and Zimbabwe. In McDonald, D.A. (editor). On Borders: Perspectives on International Migration in Southern Africa. New York: St. Martin’s Press.

Dodson, B. 2008. Gender, Migration and Remittances in Southern Africa. Migration Policy Series 49. Cape Town: Institute for Democracy in South Africa.

Dodson, B. and Crush, J. 2004. A Report on Gender Discrimination in South Africa’s 2002 Immigration Act: Masculinizing the Migrant. Feminist Review, (77):96–119.

Dohmen, T., Falk, A., Huffman, D. and Sunde, U. 2011. The Intergenerational Transmission of Risk and Trust Attitudes. The Review of Economic Studies, 79 (2): 645-677.

Dolan, C. 1995. Aliens Aboard: Mozambicans in the New South Africa. Indicator SA. 12(3).

Donnelly, L. 2014. Visa Services under Investigation. The Mail & Guardian Online. Accessed 22 November 2016, http://mg.co.za/article/2014-06-26-visa-services- under-investigation/.

Douglas, M. 1994. Risk and Blame: Essays in Cultural Theory. London: Routledge.

Douglas, M. and Wildavsky, A. 1983. Risk and Culture: An Essay on the Selection of Technological and Environmental Dangers. California: University of California Press.

Drescher, S. 2010. Portuguese Abolition in British Perspective. Africana Studia, (14): 201– 216.

Dudley, B.J. 1984. Decolonisation and the Problems of Independence. In Crowder, M. (editor). The Cambridge History of Africa. Vol, 8 Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Earle, A., Goldin, J., Machiridza, R., Malzbender, D., Manzungu, E., Mpho, T. 2006. Indigenous and institutional profile: Limpopo River Basin. IWMI Working Paper 112. Colombo, Sri Lanka: International Water Management Institute.

Ecclestone, K. and Field, J. 2003. Promoting Social Capital in a ‘Risk Society’: A New Approach to Emancipatory Learning or a New Moral Authoritarianism? British Journal of Sociology of Education, 24(3): 267–282.

Eddy, G. 2008. South Africa Survey 2007/2008. Johannesburg: Institute of Race Relations.

212

Elliott, A. 2002. Beck’s Sociology of Risk: A Critical Assessment. Sociology, 36(2): 293– 315.

Elsrud, T. 2001. Risk Creation in Traveling: Backpacker Adventure Narration. Annals of Tourism Research, 28(3): 597–617.

Erel, U. 2010. Migrating Cultural Capital: Bourdieu in Migration Studies. Sociology, 44(4): 642–660.

Ferreira, N.E., de Carvalho, R.A. and Pinto, A.C. 2009. The ‘Empire of the Professor’: Salazar’s Ministerial Elite, 1932–44. In Pinto, A. C. (editor). Ruling Elites and Decision-Making in Fascist-Era Dictatorships. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs.

Field, J. 2008. Social Capital. London and New York: Routledge.

Fine, B. 2001. Social Capital Versus Social Theory: Political Economy and Social Science at the Turn of the Millennium. London: Routledge.

Fine, B. 2004. Social Capital for Africa? Transformation: Critical Perspectives on Southern Africa, 53(1): 29–52.

Fine, B. 2010. Theories of Social Capital: Researchers Behaving Badly. New York: Pluto Press.

Fine, B. and Green, F. 2000. Economics, Social Capital and the Colonization of the Social Sciences. In Baron, S., Field, J. and Schuller, T. (editors). Social Capital: Critical Perspectives. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

First, R. 1983. Black Gold: The Mozambican Miner, Proletarian and Peasant. New York: St. Martin’s Press.

Fitzgerald, D. 2006. Towards a Theoretical Ethnography of Migration. Qualitative Sociology. 29(1): 1–24.

Flint, J.E. 1976. The Cambridge History of Africa. Vol, 5. Cambridge University Press.

Fourie, J. 2012. The Wealth of the Cape Colony: Measurements from Probate Inventories. Economic Research Southern Africa. Working Paper Series 268. Stellenbosch: Economic Research Southern Africa.

Fuller, R. 2008. Double Jeopardy of Women Migrants. Accessed 18 March 2009 http://allafrica.com/stories/200806060206.html.

Funada-Classen, S. 2012. Origins of War in Mozambique: A History of Unity and Division. Somerset West, South Africa: African Minds Publishers.

Gallego, J.M. and Mendola, M. 2013. Labour Migration and Social Networks Participation in Southern Mozambique. Economica, 80(320): 721–759.

213

Gelb, S. 2008. Behind Xenophobia in South Africa – Poverty or Inequality? In Hassim, S, Kupe, T., and Worby, E. (editors). Go Home or Die Here: Violence, xenophobia and the reinvention of difference in South Africa. Johannesburg: Wits University Press

Gelley, A. 1995. Unruly Examples: On the Rhetoric of Exemplarity. California: Stanford University Press.

Gibb, R.A. 1987. The Effect on the Countries of SADCC of Economic Sanctions against the Republic of South Africa. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers. 12(4): 398–412.

Gida, S. and Lucey, A. (2013). Mozambique: An Incomplete Peacebuilding Process? Pretoria: ISS. Accessed 24 February 2016, http://www.issafrica.org/iss- today/mozambique-an-incomplete-peacebuilding-process.

Gida, S. and Lucey, A. 2013. Mozambique: An Incomplete Peacebuilding Process? Pretoria: ISS. Accessed 24 February 2016, http://www.issafrica.org/iss-today/mozambique- an-incomplete-peacebuilding-process.

Giddens, A. 1990. The Consequences of Modernity. California: Stanford University Press.

Glaser, C. 2010. Portuguese Immigrant History in Twentieth Century South Africa: A Preliminary Overview. African Historical Review, 42(2): 61–83.

Glaser, C. 2012. The Making of a Portuguese Community in South Africa. In Imperial Migrations: Colonial Communities and Diaspora in the Portuguese World. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

Glaser, C. 2013. White but Illegal: Undocumented Madeiran Immigration to South Africa, 1920s–1970s. Immigrants & Minorities, 31(1): 74–98.

Goffman, E. 1959. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. New York: Anchor.

Golafshani, N. 2003. Understanding Reliability and Validity in Qualitative Research. The Qualitative Report, 8(4).

Golooba-Mutebi, F. 2004. Witchcraft, Trust, and Reciprocity among Mozambican Refugees and their South African Hosts in a Lowveld Village. Forced Migration Working Paper Series 9. Johannesburg: Forced Migration Studies Programme.

Golooba-Mutebi, F. and Tollman, S.M. 2004. Survival to Livelihood Strategies for Mozambican Refugees in South Africa. Forced Migration Review, (20): 28–29.

Gordon, S. 2015. Xenophobia Across the Class Divide: South African Attitudes Towards Foreigners 2003–2012. Journal of Contemporary African Studies, 33(4): 494–509.

Gordon, S.L. 2010. Migrants in a “State of Exception”: Xenophobia and the Role of the Post- Apartheid State. Transcience Journal, 1(1): 45–65.

Govender, P. 2015. South Africa’s Zulu king wants end to ‘vile’ xenophobic attacks. Reuters. Accessed 6 November 2016, http://www.reuters.com/article/us-safrica-violence- zulu-idUSKBN0NB18920150420.

214

Gqula, P.D. 2008. Brutal Inheritances: Echoes, Negrophobia and Masculinist Violence. In Hassim, S., Kupe, T., and Worby, E. (editors). Go Home or Die Here: Violence, xenophobia and the reinvention of difference in South Africa. Johannesburg: Wits University Press

Gramsci, A. 1971. Selections from Prison Notebooks. London: Lawrence and Wishart.

Green, J., Franquiz, M. and Dixon, C. 1997. The Myth of the Objective Transcript: Transcribing as a Situated Act. TESOL Quarterly, 31(1): 172–176.

Green, M.C. and Brock, T.C. 1998. Trust, Mood, and Outcomes of Friendship Determine Preferences for Real versus Ersatz Social Capital. Political Psychology, 19(3): 527– 544.

Grobbelaar, N. 2004. ‘Every Continent Needs an America’: The Experience of South African Firms Doing Business in Mozambique. SAIIA Business in Africa Report. Johannesburg: The South African Institute of International Affairs.

Gubhaju, B. and De Jong, G.F. 2009. Individual Versus Household Migration Decision Rules: Gender and Marital Status Differences in Intentions to Migrate in South Africa. International Migration, 47(1): 31–61.

Hall, K. and De Lannoy, A. 2016. Education – School attendance. Cape Town: Children’s

Institute. Accessed 20 October 2017, https://www.childrencount.org.za/indicator.php?id=6&indicator=15.

Hammersley, M. and Atkinson, P. 2007. Ethnography: Principles in Practice. London: Routledge.

Hanlon, J. 2010. Mozambique: The War Ended 17 years ago, but we are Still Poor. Conflict, Security and Development, 10(1): 77–102.

Hardin, R. 2001. Conceptions and Explanations of Trust. In Cook, K. (editor). Trust in Society. New York: Russell Sage.

Hardin, R. 2002. Trust and Trustworthiness. Vol. IV. New York: Russell Sage Foundation.

Hardin, R. 2006. Trust. New York: Russell Sage.

Hardt, M. and Negri, A. 2001. Empire. Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press.

Harries, P. 1994. Work, Culture and Identity: Migrant labourers in Mozambique and South Africa. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press.

Harries, P. 2014. Slavery, Indenture and Migrant Labour: Maritime Immigration from Mozambique to the Cape, c.1780–1880. African Studies, 73(3): 323–340.

Harris, B. 2002. Xenophobia: A New Pathology for a New South Africa? In Psychopathology and Social Prejudice. Cape Town: University of Cape Town Press. Accessed 2 November 2009, www.csvr.org.za.

215

Harris, M. 1960. Portugal’s African Wards: A First-hand Report on Labor and Education in Moçambique. New York: American Committee on Africa.

Harrison, P. and Zack, T. 2014. Between the Ordinary and the Extraordinary: Socio-Spatial Transformations in the ‘Old South’ of Johannesburg. South African Geographical Journal, 96(2): 180–197.

Harriss, J. 2002. Depoliticizing Development: The World Bank and Social Capital. London: Anthem Press.

Hart, G.H.T. (1968). An Introduction to the Anatomy of Johannesburg’s Southern Suburbs. South African Geographical Journal, 50(1):65 –72.

Hassim, S, Kupe, T. and Worby, E. 2008. Go Home or Die Here: Violence, Xenophobia and the Reinvention of Difference in South Africa. Johannesburg: Wits University Press.

Haug, S. 2008. Migration Networks and Migration Decision-Making. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 34(4): 585–605.

Helgesson, S. 2008. Johannesburg, Metropolis of Mozambique. In Nuttall, S. & Mbembe, A. (editors). Johannesburg: The Elusive Metropolis. Johannesburg: Wits University Press.

Hendrix, C.S. and Glaser, S.M. 2007. Trends and triggers: Climate, climate change and civil conflict in Sub-Saharan Africa. Political Geography, 26(6): 695–715.

Hentz, J.J. 2005. South Africa and the Political Economy of Regional Cooperation in Southern Africa. The Journal of Modern African Studies, 43(1): 21–51.

Holmes, M. 2010. The Emotionalization of Reflexivity. Sociology, 44(1): 139–154.

Holmström, S. 2007. Niklas Luhmann: Contingency, Risk, Trust and Reflection. Public Relations Review, 33(3): 255–262.

Holt, D.B. 1998. Does Cultural Capital Structure American Consumption? Journal of Consumer Research, 25(1): 1–25.

Horgan, M. 2006. Generalizing from Case Studies: The Status of the Example in Ethnographic Research. Paper presented to Annual meeting of the American Sociological Association, Montreal, Quebec, Canada.

Hornberger, J. 2008. Policing Xenophobia - Xenophobic Policing: A Clash of Legitimacy. In Hassim, S., Kupe, T., and Worby, E. (editors). Johannesburg: Wits University Press Go Home or Die Here: Violence, Xenophobia and the Reinvention of Difference in South Africa.

HRW. 1998. ‘Prohibited Persons’: Abuse of Undocumented Migrants, Asylum-Seekers and Refugees in South Africa. New York: Human Rights Watch.

216

HRW. 2009. No Healing Here: Violence, Discrimination and Barriers to Health for Migrants in South Africa. New York. Accessed 1 May 2016, http://www.hrw.org/report/2009/12/07/no-healing-here/violence-discrimination-and- barriers-health-migrants-south-africa.

HSRC. 2008. Citizenship, Violence and Xenophobia in South Africa: Perceptions from South African Communities. Pretoria: Human Sciences Research Council.

Hughes, T., Kajee, A. and Peberdy, S. 2007. Gender, Migration and Remittances in Selected SADC Countries: Preliminary Findings. Johannesburg: South African Institute of International Affairs. Accessed 16 March 2009, http://www.saiia.org.za/.

Ilgit, A. and Klotz, A. 2014. How far does “Societal Security” Travel? Securitization in South African immigration policies. Security Dialogue, 45(2):137–155.

Iliffe, J. 1995. Africans: The History of a Continent. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

ILO. 2007. The Socio-Economic Integration of Mozambican Youth into the Urban Labour Market: The Case of Maputo. Maputo: International Labour Office. Accessed 27 September 2015, http://www.ilo.org/.

Immigration South Africa. n.d. Bank accounts. Immigration South Africa. Accessed 25 December 2016, https://www.immigrationsouthafrica.org/bank-accounts.

Isaacman, A., Stephen, M., Adam, Y., Homen, M.J., Macamo, E. and Pililao, A. 1980. ‘Cotton Is the Mother of Poverty’: Peasant Resistance to Forced Cotton Production in Mozambique, 1938-1961. The International Journal of African Historical Studies, 13(4):581–615.

Isaacman, A.F. 2000. Transfrontiersmen and Transnational Migrations in Pre- Colonial South Central Africa, ca. 1850-1900. Zambezia, 27(2):109–138.

Ishemo, S.L. 1995. Forced labour and migration in Portugal’s African colonies. In The Cambridge Survey of World Migration. Cohen, R. (editor) Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Jacobsen, K. and Bailey, S. 2004. Micro-Credit and Banking for Refugees in Johannesburg. In Landau, L. (editor). Johannesburg: Foundation for Human Rights Forced Migrants in the New Johannesburg: Towards a Local Government Response.

Jacobsen, K. and Landau, L. 2003. The Dual Imperative in Refugee Research: Some Methodological and Ethical Considerations in Social Science Research on Forced Migration. Disasters, 27(3): 185.

Jaeger, D.A., Dohmen, T., Falk, A., Huffman, D., Sunde, U. and Bonin, H. 2010. Direct evidence on Risk Attitudes and Migration. The Review of Economics and Statistics, 92(3): 684–689.

Jarvis, D.S.L. 2007. Risk, Globalisation and the State: A Critical Appraisal of Ulrich Beck and the World Risk Society thesis. Global Society: Journal of Interdisciplinary International Relations, 21(1), 23–46.

217

Jeeves, A.H. 1983. Over-reach: The South African Gold Mines and the Struggle for the Labour of Zambesia, 1890–1920. Canadian Journal of African Studies / Revue Canadienne des Etudes Africaines, 17(3): 393–412.

Jenkins, P. 2000. City profile: Maputo. Cities, 17(3): 207–218.

Jenkins, P. and Wilkinson, P. 2002. Assessing the Growing Impact of the Global Economy on Urban Development in Southern African Cities: Case Studies in Maputo and Cape Town. Cities, 19(1):33–47.

Jewkes, R. 2002. Intimate Partner Violence: Causes and Prevention. The Lancet, 359(9315): 1423–1429.

Jewkes, R., Nduna, M., Shai, N.J. and Dunkle, K. 2012. Prospective Study of Rape Perpetration by Young South African Men: Incidence & Risk Factors. PLoS One, 7(5): e38210.

Jewkes, R., Sikweyiya, Y., Morrell, R. and Dunkle, K. 2011. Gender Inequitable Masculinity and Sexual Entitlement in Rape Perpetration South Africa: Findings of a Cross- Sectional Study. PLoS One, 6(12): e29590

Joas, H. and Knöbl, W. 2009. Social Theory: Twenty Introductory Lectures. Translated by Alex Skinner. Cambridge, UK; New York: Cambridge University Press.

Jobson, M. 2015. Structure of the Health System in South Africa. Johannesburg: Khulumani Support Group.

Joffe, H. 1999. Risk and “The Other”. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Joffe, H. 2003. Risk: From Perception to Social Representation. British Journal of Social Psychology, 42(1): 55.

Johnston, S. 2008. Immigrants in Johannesburg: Estimating Numbers and Assessing Impacts. CDE In Depth Series 9. Johannesburg: The Centre for Development and Enterprise. Accessed 14 January 2009, http://www.cde.org.za/.

Jones, S., Tarp, F. 2015. Priorities for Boosting Employment in Sub-Saharan Africa: Evidence for Mozambique. African Development Review, 27(S1), 56–70.

Jordan, B. and Duvell, F. 2003. Migration: The Boundaries of Equality and Justice. Cambridge: Polity.

Kabwe-Segatti, A. 2008. Reforming South African Immigration Policy in the Post-Apartheid Period (1990 - 2006): What It Means and What It Takes. In Kabwe-Segatti, A. and Landau, L. (editors). Migration in Post-Apartheid South Africa: Challenges and Questions to Policy-makers. Paris: Agence Française de Développement.

Kabwe-Segatti, A. and Landau, L. 2008. Migration in Post-Apartheid South Africa: Challenges and Questions to Policy-makers. Paris: Agence Française de Développement.

218

Kaplan, M. and Robertson, M. 1991. Founders and followers: Johannesburg Jewry, 1887- 1915. Cape Town: Vlaeberg Publishers.

Kardulias, P.N. and Hall, T.D. 2007. A World-Systems View of Human Migration Past and Present: Providing a General Model for Understanding the Movement of People. Forum on Public Policy. Accessed 1 February 2011, http://www.forumonpublicpolicy.com/archivesum07/kardulias.pdf.

Katz, E. and Stark, O. 1986. Labor Migration and Risk Aversion in Less Developed Countries. Journal of Labor Economics, 4(1): 134–149.

Katzenellenbogen, S.E. 1982. South Africa and Southern Mozambique: Labour, Railways, and Trade in the Making of a Relationship. Manchester: Manchester University Press.

Kau, J.B. and Sirmians, C.F. 1977. The Influence of Information Cost and Uncertainty on Migration: A Comparison of Migrant Types. Journal of Regional Science, 17(1): 89–96.

Kelle, U. 1997. Computer-Assisted Analysis of Qualitative Data. Accessed 22 October 2010, http://www2.lse.ac.uk/.

Kenny, B. 2004. Selling Selves: East Rand Retail Sector Workers Fragmented and Reconfigured. Journal of Southern African Studies, 30(3): 477–498.

Kenny, B. and Webster, E. 1998. Eroding the Core: Flexibility and the Re-Segmentation of the South African Labour Market. Critical Sociology, 24(3): 216–243.

Kesselring, S. 2008. Mobile Risk Society. In Kesselring, S., Canzler, W. and Kaufmann, V. (editors). Tracing Mobilities: Towards a Cosmopolitan Perspective. Aldershot, England; Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, Ltd.

Kihato, C. and Landau, L. 2006. The Uncaptured Urbanite: Migration and State Power in Johannesburg. Forced Migration Working Paper Series 25. Johannesburg: Forced Migration Studies Programme. Accessed 24 January 2009, http://migration.org.za/research/#WPS.

Kindler, M. 2014. Social Networks, Social Capital and Migrant Integration at Local Level - European Literature Review. KING Project – Applied Social Studies Unit Desk Research Paper. Warsaw: KING. Accessed 16 October 2016, http://www.king.ismu.org/.

Klaaren, J. and Ramji, J. 2001. Inside Illegality: Migration Policing in South Africa after Apartheid. Africa Today, 48(3): 35–47.

Klein, H.S. 2010. The Atlantic Slave Trade. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Klein, N. 2008. The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. London: Penguin Books.

Kloppers, R.J. 2006. Border Crossings: Life in the Mozambique/South Africa Borderland since 1975. DPhil thesis, University of Pretoria.

219

Knoke, D. 2008. Social Network Analysis. California: Sage Publications.

Kok, P. 2006. Migration in South and Southern Africa: Dynamics and Determinants. Cape Town: HSRC Press.

Kuin, S. 1990. Fascist Italy and Salazar’s Portugal, 1926-1936. In Bruyning, L.F. (editor). Yearbook of European Studies: Italy - Europe. Amsterdam and Atlanta: Rodopi.

Landau, L. (editor). 2004a. Forced Migrants in the New Johannesburg: Towards a Local Government Response. Johannesburg: Foundation for Human Rights.

Landau, L. 2004b. The Laws of (In) Hospitality: Black Africans in South Africa. Forced Migration Working Paper Series 7. Johannesburg: University of the Witwatersrand.

Landau, L. 2006. Transplants and Transients: Idioms of Belonging and Dislocation in Inner- City Johannesburg. African Studies Review, 49(2):125.

Landau, L. 2008a. Decentralisation, Migration and Development in SA’s Primary Cities. In Kabwe-Segatti, A. and Landau, L. (editors). Migration in Post-Apartheid South Africa: Challenges and Questions to Policy-Makers. Paris: Agence Française de Développement

Landau, L. 2010. Discrimination and Development? Immigration, Urbanisation, and Sustainable Livelihoods in Johannesburg. In Crush, J. and Frayne, B. (editors). Surviving on the Move: Migration, Poverty and Development in Southern Africa, Oxford: African Books Collective.

Landau, L. 2011. Introducing the Demons. In Exorcising the Demons Within: Xenophobia, Violence and Statecraft in Contemporary South Africa. Johannesburg: Wits University Press.

Landau, L.B. 2005. Urbanisation, Nativism, and the Rule of Law in South Africa’s “forbidden” Cities. Third World Quarterly, 26(7): 1115–1134.

Landau, L.B. 2007. Discrimination and Development? Immigration, Urbanisation and Sustainable Livelihoods in Johannesburg. Development Southern Africa, 24(1): 61– 76.

Landau, L.B. and Jacobsen, K. 2004. Refugees in the New Johannesburg. Forced Migration Review, 19:44–46.

Landau, L.B. and Kabwe-Segatti, A. 2009. Human Development Impacts of Migration: South Africa Case Study. Human Development, 5.

Lash, S. 1999. Reflexive Modernization: The Aesthetic Dimension. In Waters, M. (editor). Modernity Critical Concepts: After modernity. London: Routledge.

Lash, S. 2000. Risk Culture. In Adam, B., Beck, U. and Loon J. V. (editors). The Risk Society and Beyond: Critical Issues for Social Theory. London, California: Sage Publications.

220

Law Society. 2013. Law Society of South Africa News, November 2013. Accessed 2 May 2016, http://www.saflii.org.

Leggett, T. 2003. Rainbow Tenement Crime and Policing in Inner Johannesburg. (ISS Monograph 78). Pretoria: Institute of Security Studies. Accessed 7 February 2010, http://www.iss.co.za/Pubs/Monographs/No78/Notes.html.

Lesage, J.P. & Ha, C.L. 2012. The Impact of Migration on Social Capital: Do Migrants Take Their Bowling Balls with Them? Growth & Change, 43(1): 1–26.

Lett, J.W. 1997. Science, Reason, and Anthropology: The Principles of Rational Inquiry. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Little.

Levitt, P. and Jaworsky, B.N. 2007. Transnational Migration Studies: Past Developments and Future Trends. Annual Review of Sociology, 33(1): 129–156.

Levy, N. 2012. The Final Prize: My Life in the anti-apartheid struggle. Accessed 10 August 2016, http://www.sahistory.org.za/content/final-prize-my-life-anti-apartheid- struggle-norman-levy.

Leys, C. 1994. Confronting the African Tragedy. New Left Review 204:33–47.

LHR and CoRMSA. 2010. Submission on the Difficulties Faced by Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Other Foreign Migrant Children in Accessing Education. Johannesburg: Lawyers for Human Rights and the Consortium for Refugees and Migrants in South Africa. Accessed 1 May 2016, http://www.cormsa.org.za/wp- content/uploads/2009/05/lhr-cormsa-submission_on_education-february2010.pdf.

LHR. 2010. Monitoring Immigration Detention in South Africa. Johannesburg: Lawyers for Human Rights. Accessed 1 May 2016, http://www.lhr.org.za/sites/lhr.org.za/files/LHR_2010_Detention_Report.pdf.

LHR. 2012. Global Campaign to End Child Detention to focus on South Africa. Johannesburg: Lawyers for Human Rights. Accessed 5 March 2016, http://www.lhr.org.za/news/2012/global-campaign-end-child-detention-focus-south- africa.

LHR. 2015. LHR files high court challenge against Operation Fiela-Reclaim. Accessed 15 August 2016, http://www.lhr.org.za/publications/lhr-files-high-court-challenge- against-operation-fiela-reclaim.

Li, Y., Pickles, A. and Savage, M. 2005. Social capital and social trust in Britain. European Sociological Review, 21(2): 109–123.

Liamputtong, P. 2007. Researching the Vulnerable: A Guide to Sensitive Research Methods. London: Sage.

Liebenberg, H. n.d. Introduction to the Resolutions of the Council of Policy of Cape of Good Hope. Cape Town: TANAp. Accessed 23 December 2015, http://tanap.net/content/activities/documents/resolutions_Cape_of_Good_Hope/inde x.htm.

221

Lin, N. 1999. Building a Network Theory of Social Capital. Connections. 22(1):28–51.

Lindeque, M. 2017. Residents Accuse JHB Mayor of Inciting Violence in Rosettenville. EWN news. Accessed 20 March 2017, http://ewn.co.za/2017/02/13/residents-accuse- jhb-mayor-of-inciting-violence-in-rosettenville.

Lindstrom, D.P. and López-Ramírez, A.L. 2010. Pioneers and Followers: Migrant Selectivity and the Development of U.S. Migration Streams in Latin America. The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 630(1): 53–77.

Lipton, M. 1986. Capitalism and Apartheid: South Africa, 1910-1986. Cape Town: New Africa Books.

Lonkila, M. 1995. Grounded Theory as an Emerging Paradigm for Computer-assisted Qualitative Data Analysis. In Kelle, U. (editor). Computer-Aided Qualitative Data Analysis: Theory, Methods and Practice. London, California: Sage Publications

Louw-Vaudran, L. 2016. Mozambique’s success story under threat. Accessed 24 February 2016, http://www.issafrica.org/iss-today/mozambiques-success-story-under-threat.

Lubkemann, S.C. 2000. The Transformation of Transnationality among Mozambican Migrants in South Africa. Canadian Journal of African Studies / Revue Canadienne des Études Africaines, 34(1): 41–63.

Lubkemann, S.C. 2005. Migratory Coping in Wartime Mozambique: An Anthropology of Violence and Displacement in “Fragmented Wars”. Journal of Peace Research, 42(4): 493–508.

Lucassen, J. 2004. A Multinational and its Labor Force: The Dutch East Company, 1595–1795. International Labor and Working-Class History, 66: 12–39.

Luhmann, N. 1982. Trust and Power. New York: John Wiley & Sons Inc.

Luhmann, N. 2000. Familiarity, Confidence, Trust: Problems and Alternatives. In Gambetta, D. (editor). Familiarity, Confidence, Trust: Problems and Alternatives. Oxford: University of Oxford

Lupton, D. 1999. Risk and Sociocultural Theory: New Directions and Perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Lupton, D. and Tulloch, J. 1999. Theorizing Fear of Crime: Beyond the Rational/Irrational Opposition. British Journal of Sociology, 50(3): 507–523.

Lupton, D. and Tulloch, J. 2001. Border Crossings: Narratives of Movement, ‘Home’ and Risk. Accessed 18 April 2009 http://www.socresonline.org.uk/5/4/lupton.html.

Lyng, S. 1990. Edgework: A Social Psychological Analysis of Voluntary Risk Taking. American Journal of Sociology, 95(4): 851–886.

Lyng, S. 2008. Edgework, risk and uncertainty. In J. O. Zinn, (editor). Social Theories of Risk and Uncertainty: An Introduction. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell.

222

Mabena, S. 2017. ‘We’re Coming to get You’ Gigaba Warns Businesses Employing Undocumented Foreigners.’ Times Live. Accessed 7 March 2017, http://www.timeslive.co.za/politics/2017/02/23/Were-coming-to-get- you%E2%80%9A-Gigaba-warns-businesses-employing-undocumented-foreigners.

MacDonald, A. 2012. Colonial Trespassers in the Making of South Africa’s International Borders 1900 to c. 1950. PhD thesis, St. John’s College, Cambridge.

MacDonald, A. 2014. Forging the frontiers: Travellers and documents on the South Africa- Mozambique border, 1890s-1940s. Kronos, 40(1): 154–177.

Machado, P. 2003. A Forgotten Corner of the Indian Ocean: Gujarati Merchants, and the Mozambique Slave-Trade, c.1730–1830. Slavery & Abolition, 24(2): 17–32.

Machava, A.J. 2005. The Importance of Social Networks for Sustaining Livelihoods: The Case of Former Mozambican Refugees in Bushbuckridge. MA dissertation. University of the Witwatersrand.

Machava, B.L. 2011. State Discourse on Internal Security and the Politics of Punishment in Post-Independence Mozambique (1975–1983). Journal of Southern African Studies, 37(3): 593–609.

MacLeod, G. 2001. New Regionalism Reconsidered: Globalization and the remaking of political economic space. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 25(4): 804–829.

Madhavan, S. and Landau, L. 2011. Bridges to Nowhere: Hosts, Migrants, and the Chimera of Social Capital in Three African Cities. Population Development Review, 37(3).

Madsen, M.L. 2004. Living for home: policing immorality among undocumented migrants in Johannesburg. African Studies, 63(2).

Magnuson, K. 2007. Maternal Education and Children's Academic Achievement During Middle Childhood. Developmental Psychology, 43(6): 1497–1512.

Maharaj, B. 2004. Immigration to Post-Apartheid South Africa. Geneva: Global Commission on International Migration. Accessed 7 May 2009, http://www.queensu.ca/samp/.

Makina, D. 2013. Financial Access for Migrants and Intermediation of Remittances in South Africa. International Migration, 51: 133–147.

Malan, R. 2017. Why immigrants succeed – IRR. Johannesburg: Institute of Race Relations. Accessed 20 October 2017, http://www.politicsweb.co.za/documents/why- immigrants-succeed--irr.

Malkki, L. 1992. National Geographic: The Rooting of Peoples and the Territorialization of National Identity Among Scholars and Refugees. Cultural Anthropology, 7(1): 24– 44.

Manghezi, N. 2010. The Maputo Connection: ANC Life in the World of Frelimo. Johannesburg: Jacana Media.

223

Marks, S. 1975. Southern Africa and Madagascar. In Gray, R. (editor). The Cambridge History of Africa Vol, 4. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press

Maromo, J. 2015. The Numbers Behind Operation Fiela. The Mail & Guardian Online. Accessed 9 August 2016, http://mg.co.za/article/2015-09-07-the-numbers-behind- operation-fiela.

Martin, P. 2005. Migrants in the Global Labor Market. California: Global Commission on International Migration. Accessed 24 January 2011, http://www.iom.int/.

Marx, K. 1996. Das Kapital. Reprint edition. Washington, D.C. and New York: Gateway Editions.

Mason, M. 2010. Sample Size and Saturation in PhD Studies Using Qualitative Interviews. Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung / Forum: Qualitative Social Research, 11(3). Accessed 23 December 2015, http://www.qualitative- research.net/index.php/fqs/article/view/1428.

Massey, D.S. 1990. Social Structure, Household Strategies, and the Cumulative Causation of Migration. Population Index, 56(1): 3–26.

Massey, D.S. 1999. International Migration at the Dawn of the Twenty-First Century: The Role of the State. Population and Development Review, 25(2): 303–322.

Massey, D.S. and Espinosa, K.E. 1997. What’s Driving Mexico-U.S. Migration? A Theoretical, Empirical, and Policy Analysis. American Journal of Sociology, 102(4): 939–999.

Massey, D.S., Arango, J., Hugo, G., Kouaouci, A., Pellegrino, A. and Taylor, J. E. 1993. Theories of International Migration: A Review and Appraisal. Population and Development Review, 19(3): 431–466.

Mata, M.E. 2007. Interracial Marriage in the Last Portuguese . E-journal of Portuguese History, 5(1). Accessed 3 May 2016, http://www.brown.edu/Departments/Portuguese_Brazilian_Studies/.

Mather, C. 2000. Foreign Migrants in Export Agriculture: Mozambican Labour in the Mpumalanga Lowveld, South Africa. Tijdschrift voor economische en sociale geografie, 91(4): 426–436.

Mather, C. and Mathebula, F. 2000. ‘The Farmers Prefer Us’: Mozambican Farmworkers in the Mpumalanga Lowveld. In Crush, J. (editor). Borderline Farming: Foreign Migrants in South African Commercial Agriculture. SAMP Migration Series 16.

Mattes, R., Taylor, D.M., McDonald, D.A., Toore, A. and Richmond, W. 1999. Still Waiting for the Barbarians: SA Attitudes to Immigrants and Immigration. SAMP Migration Policy Series 14.

Maule, J. 2014. Police clamp down on sex workers. Accessed 27 March 2016, http://southerncourier.co.za/23169/sex-workers-arrested/.

224

McDonald, D. 1999. Who wants to live in South Africa? In Crush, J. and Williams, V. (editors). The New South Africans? Immigration Amnesties and Their Aftermath. Cape Town: Southern African Migration Project.

McGregor, J. 1994. People without Fathers: Mozambicans in Swaziland 1888-1993. Journal of Southern African Studies, 20(4):545.

Mead, G.H. 1981. The Philosophy of the Present. London: The Open Court Company.

Melo, V. 2012. Urbanization Processes in the Expansion Areas of Luanda, Maputo and Johannesburg: Urban Planning and Everyday Practices. Accessed 20 February 2016, http://www.fau.usp.br.

Mhundwa, C. 2015. SA government comes after companies hiring undocumented workers. CNBC Africa. Accessed 7 March 2017, http://www.cnbcafrica.com/news/southern- africa/2015/04/19/south-africa-government-xenophobia-companies/.

Miles, R. 1987. Capitalism and Unfree Labour: Anomaly or Necessity? New York; London: Tavistock.

Miller, J. 2012. Things Fall Apart: South Africa and the Collapse of the , 1973–74. Cold War History, 12(2): 183–204.

Mills, C.W., Senior, C. and Goldsen, R. 1950. The Puerto Rican Journey: America’s Newest Migrants. New York: Harper & Brothers.

Mine, Y. 2011. Migration Regimes and the Politics of Insiders/Outsiders: Japan and South Africa as Distant Mirrors. In T. Truong and D. Gasper (editors). Transnational Migration and Human Security. 287–296.

Minnaar, A., Pretorius, S. and Wentzel, M. (1995). Who goes there? Illegals in South Africa. Indicator South Africa, 12(3): 33–40.

Misago, J.P. 2009. Towards Tolerance, Law, and Dignity: Addressing Violence against Foreign Nationals in South Africa. Accessed 15 March 2009, http://iom.org.za/site/.

Misago, J.P., Grindrey, V., Duponchel, M., Landau, L. and Polzer, T. 2010. Vulnerability, Mobility and Place: Alexandra and Central Johannesburg Pilot Study. Johannesburg: ACMS.

Mogalakwe, M. 2006. How Britain Underdeveloped Bechuanaland Protectorate: A Brief Critique of the Political Economy of Colonial Botswana. Africa Development / Afrique et Développement, 31(1): 66–88.

Moloi, M. and Chetty, M. 2011. Trends in Achievement Levels of Grade 6 Pupils in South Africa. Accessed 8 May 2016, http://www.sacmeq.org/?q=sacmeq-members/south- africa/sacmeq-reports.

Mondlane, E. 1983. Struggle for Mozambique. Baltimore: Zed Books.

225

Moore, D. 2001. Neoliberal Globalisation and the Triple Crisis of ‘Modernisation’ in Africa: Zimbabwe, the Democratic Republic of the Congo and South Africa. Third World Quarterly, 22(6):909–929.

Morgan, G. 1990. Violence in Mozambique: Towards an Understanding of Renamo. Journal of Modern African Studies, 28(4):603–619.

Morris, L. 1997. Globalization, Migration and the Nation-State: The Path to a Post-National Europe? The British Journal of Sociology, 48(2):192.

Moyo, K. and Cossa, E. 2015. ‘Ethnic Enclave of a Special Sort?’ Mozambicans in La Rochelle, Johannesburg. Journal of Southern African Studies, 41(1): 141–158.

MSF. 2009. No Refuge Access Denied: Medical and Humanitarian Needs of Zimbabweans in South Africa. Musina: Médecins Sans Frontières. Accessed 15 February 2016, https://www.msf.org.za/download/file/fid/2703.

Mthembu-Salter, G., Amit, R. and Landau, L.B. 2014. Counting the Cost of Securitising South Africa’s Immigration Regime. Migrating out of Poverty Working Paper 20. Brighton: Migrating out of Poverty.

Muanamoha, R. C., Maharaj, B., and Preston-Whyte, E. 2010. Social networks and undocumented Mozambican migration to South Africa. Geoforum, 41(6): 885–896.

Muanomoha, R.C. 2008. The Dynamics of Undocumented Mozambican Labour Migration to South Africa. PhD thesis. University of Kwazulu-Natal.

Murray, C. 1986. Mozambican refugees: South Africa’s responsibility. South African Journal on Human Rights, 2:154.

Murray, M.J. 1995. ‘Blackbirding’ at Crook’s Corner: Illicit Labour Recruiting in the North- Eastern Transvaal, 1910-1940. Journal of Southern African Studies, 21(3):373–397.

Murray, M.J. 2003. Alien Strangers in Our Midst: The Dreaded Foreign Invasion and “Fortress South Africa”. Canadian Journal of African Studies, 37(2/3): 440–466.

Mythen, G. 2004. Ulrich Beck: A Critical Introduction to the Risk. London: Pluto Press.

Mythen, G. 2007. Reappraising the Risk Society Thesis Telescopic Sight or Myopic Vision? Current Sociology, 55(6), 793–813.

National Treasury, 2016. Budget Review 2016. Pretoria: National Treasury.

Nee, V. and Sanders, J. 2001. Trust in Ethnic Ties: Social Capital and Immigrants. In Trust in Society. Cook, K. (editor). New York: Russell Sage

Nee, V., Sanders, J.M. and Sernau, S. 1994. Job Transitions in an Immigrant Metropolis: Ethnic Boundaries and the Mixed Economy. American Sociological Review, 59(6): 849–872.

226

Neocosmos, M. 2010. From ‘Foreign Natives’ to ‘Native Foreigners’: Explaining Xenophobia in Post-Apartheid South Africa, Citizenship and Nationalism, Identity and Politics. Dakar: CODESRIA.

Neuman, W.L. 2000. Social Research Methods: Qualitative and Quantitative Approaches. Boston: Allyn & Bacon.

Newitt, M. 1994. A . London: C Hurst & Co Publishers Ltd.

Newitt, M. 2001. Formal and Informal Empire in the History of Portuguese Expansion. Portuguese Studies, 17:1–21.

News24. 2015. Judge describes Mido Macia’s killing as ‘barbaric’. Accessed 1 May 2016, http://www.news24.com/SouthAfrica/News/judge-decribes-mido-macias-killing-as- barbaric-20151111.

Ngwenya, J.S. 2015. Zuma welcomes Mozambican president. Independent Online. Accessed 24 October 2015, http://www.iol.co.za/news/politics/zuma-welcomes-mozambican- president-1.1934327.

Nielsen, M. 2010. Mimesis of the State: From Natural Disaster to Urban Citizenship on the Outskirts of Maputo, Mozambique. Social Analysis, 54(3):153–173.

Nkealah, N. 2011. Commodifying the Female Body: Xenophobic Violence in South Africa. Africa Development, 36(2): 123–136.

Noy, C. 2008. Sampling Knowledge: The Hermeneutics of Snowball Sampling in Qualitative Research. International Journal of Social Research Methodology, 11(4): 327–344.

Nyamnjoh, F.B. 2006. Insiders and Outsiders: Citizenship and Xenophobia in Contemporary Southern Africa. Dakar, Senegal: Zed Books.

Nyström, D. 2012. Bonds of Opportunity or Constraint? Understanding the Impact and Use of Social Networks Amongst Urban Migrants in Johannesburg. MA dissertation. University of the Witwatersrand.

O’Brien, P. 1996. Migration and its Risks. International Migration Review, 30(4): 1067– 1077.

O’Reilly, K. 2012. Ethnographic Returning, Qualitative Longitudinal Research and the Reflexive Analysis of Social Practice. The Sociological Review, 60(3): 518–536.

OECD. 2015. OECD Economic Surveys South Africa. Paris: OECD. Accessed 18 August 2016, https://www.oecd.org/eco/surveys/South-Africa-OECD-economic-survey- overview.pdf.

Ostanel, E. 2011. Practice of Citizenship: Mozambican Immigration within the City of Johannesburg. Journal of Intercultural Studies 33(1): 23–38.

Padayachee, V. 2006. The Development Decade? Economic and Social Change in South Africa, 1994-2004. Pretoria: HSRC Press.

227

Pakenham, T. 1992. Scramble for Africa. New edition. London: Abacus.

Palmary, I. 2002. Refugees, Safety and Xenophobia in South African Cities. Johannesburg: Centre for Violence and Reconciliation. Accessed 30 April 2016, http://www.isn.ethz.ch.

Palmary, I. 2004. City policing and forced migrants in Johannesburg. In Landau, L. (editor). Forced Migrants in the New Johannesburg: Towards a Local Government Response. Johannesburg: Foundation for Human Rights.

Parnell, S. 2002. Winning the battles but losing the war: the racial segregation of Johannesburg under the Natives (Urban Areas) Act of 1923. Journal of Historical Geography. 28(2): 258.

Patel, K. 2015. South Africa deports Hundreds of Mozambican Nationals. Accessed 1 August 2016, http://www.aljazeera.com/news/2015/05/africa-deports-hundreds- mozambican-nationals-150517071623385.html.

Peberdy, S. 2000. Mobile Entrepreneurship: Informal Sector Cross-Border Trade and Street Trade in South Africa. Development Southern Africa, 17(2): 201–219.

Peberdy, S. 2009. Selecting Immigrants: Nationalism and National Identity in South Africa’s Immigration Policies, 1910 to 2008. Kingston, Ontario: Queen’s University.

Peberdy, S. 2010. Setting the Scene: Migration and Urbanisation in South Africa. (Synthesis Report). Johannesburg: Gauteng City-Region Observatory. Accessed 3 July 2015, http://www.gcro.ac.za/.

Peberdy, S. and Crush, J. 1998. Rooted in Racism: The origins of the Aliens Control Act. (Migration Policy Series 3). Cape Town: Southern African Migration Project.

Peberdy, S. and Crush, J. 2001. Invisible Trade, Invisible Travellers: The Maputo Corridor Spatial Development Initiative and Informal Cross-Border Trading. South African Geographical Journal, 83(2):115–123.

Peberdy, S. and Majodina, Z. 2000. ‘Just a Roof Over My Head?’ Urban Forum, 11(2): 273– 288.

Pellarin, H. 1993. Global Restructuring in the World Economy and Migration: The Globalization of Migration Dynamics. International Journal, 48(2):240.

Penvenne, J. 1995. African Workers and Colonial Racism: Mozambican Strategies and Struggles in Lourenço Marques, 1877-1962. Johannesburg: Wits University Press.

Pétré-Grenouilleau, O. 2004. From Slave Trade to Empire: European Colonisation of Black Africa 1780s-1880s. New York and London: Routledge.

Pijpers, R. 2006. ‘Help! The Poles Are Coming’: Narrating a Contemporary Moral Panic. Human Geography, 88(1): 91–103.

Pinto, A.C. 2000. The Blue Shirts: Portuguese Fascists and the New State. New York: Columbia University Press.

228

Pirie, G. 1993. Railways and Labour Migration to the Rand Mines: Constraints and Significance. Journal of Southern African Studies, 19(4):713.

Pirie, G.H. 1982. The Decivilizing Rails: Railways and Underdevelopment in Southern Africa. Tijdschrift voor economische en sociale geografie, 73(4):221–228.

Pokroy, J. 2015. Would Home Affairs have ‘passed matric’ in 2014? HR Futures, Feb: 44– 46.

Polzer Ngwato, T. 2012. Negotiating belonging: the integration of Mozambican refugees in South Africa. PhD thesis. The London School of Economics and Political Science (LSE).

Polzer, T. 2004. We Are All South Africans Now: The Integration of Mozambican Refugees in Rural South Africa. Forced Migration Working Paper Series 8. Johannesburg: University of the Witwatersrand.

Polzer, T. 2007a. Adapting to Changing Legal Frameworks: Mozambican Refugees in South Africa. International Journal of Refugee Law, 19(1):22–50.

Polzer, T. 2007b. Education Access for Non-Citizens. Department of Education Briefing Paper. Johannesburg: Forced Migration Studies Programme. Accessed 29 February 2016, http://cormsa.org.za/wp- content/uploads/Research/Access/educationaccessfornoncitizens.pdf.

Portes, A. 1998. Social Capital: Its Origins and Applications in Modern Sociology. Annual Review of Sociology 24(1): 1-24.

Portes, A. 2000. The Two Meanings of Social Capital. Sociological Forum, 15(1):1–12.

Portes, A. and Borocz, J. 1989. Contemporary Immigration: Theoretical Perspectives on its Determinants and Modes of Incorporation. International Migration Review, 23(3):606–630.

Portes, A. and Landolt, P. 1996. Unsolved Mysteries: The Tocqueville Files II. The Downside of Social Capital. The American Prospect 7(26).

Potholm, C.P. 1966. The Protectorates, the O.A.U. and South Africa. International Journal, 22(1):68–72.

Puri, E. 2004. Understanding Participation: Theoretical Foundations and Practical Implications. Economic and Political Weekly, 39(24): 2511–2517.

Putnam, R. 1993. The Prosperous Community: Social Capital and Public Life. The American Prospect, (13):35–42.

Putnam, R.D. 1995. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. Journal of Democracy, 6(1): 65–78.

Putnam, R.D. 2000. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York: Simon and Schuster.

229

PWC, 2016. The South African Construction Industry. Johannesburg: PricewaterhouseCoopers. Accessed 20 March 2017, http://www.pwc.co.za/en/publications/sa-construction.html.

Rabe, M. 2004. Revisiting “Insiders” and “Outsiders” as Social Researchers. African Sociological Review / Revue Africaine de Sociologie, 7(2): 149–161.

Raimundo, F., Ferreira, N.E. and de Carvalho, R.A. 2009. Political decision-making in the Portuguese New State (1933-9): The Dictator, the Council of Ministers and the Inner-circle. In Pinto, A.C. (editor). Ruling Elites and Decision-Making in Fascist- Era Dictatorships. Boulder, CO: East European Monographs

Ratha, D., Mohapatra, S. and Silwal, A. 2011. Migration and Remittances Factbook: Mozambique. Washington: World Bank.

Rauch, J., Shaw, M. and Louw, A. 2001. Municipal Policing in South Africa: Development and Challenges. Institute for Security Studies Monograph 67. Johannesburg: Institute of Security Studies, Accessed 9 March 2016, http://dspace.africaportal.org/.

Republic of South Africa. 1923. Natives (Urban Areas) Act No. 21 of 1923. Accessed 20 October 2017, http://www.sahistory.org.za/archive/natives-%28urban-areas%29- act%2C-act-no-21-of-1923.

Republic of South Africa. 1951. Bantu Authorities Act No. 68 of 1951. Accessed 20 October 2017, http://www.sahistory.org.za/archive/bantu-authorities-act%2C-act-no-68-of- 1951.

Republic of South Africa. 1970. Bantu Homelands Citizenship Act. No. 26 of 1970. Accessed 20 October 2017, http://disa.ukzn.ac.za/leg19700309028020026.

Republic of South Africa. 1991. Aliens Control Act 96 of 1991. Accessed 13 March 2016, https://www.lawsoc.co.za/upload/files/alienscontrolact.

Republic of South Africa. 1995. Aliens Control Amendment Act 76 of 1995. Accessed 14 March 2016, http://www.gov.za/sites/www.gov.za/files/a76-95_0.pdf.

Republic of South Africa. 1996. Constitution of the Republic of South Africa Act No. 108 of 1996. Accessed 28 February 2016, http://www.gov.za/sites/www.gov.za/files/images/a108-96.pdf.

Republic of South Africa. 1998. Refugee Act 130 of 1998. Accessed 28 February 2016, http://www.gov.za/sites/www.gov.za/files/a130-98_0.pdf.

Republic of South Africa. 1999. Rental Housing Act No. 50 of 1999. Accessed 20 March 2017, http://www.gov.za/documents/rental-housing-act.

Republic of South Africa. 2002. Immigration Act No.13 of 2002. Accessed 14 March 2016, http://www.polity.org.za/article/immigration-act-no-13-of-2002-2002-01-01.

Republic of South Africa. 2003. National Health Act. No. 61 of 2003. Accessed 13 March 2016, http://www.chr.up.ac.za/undp/domestic/docs/legislation_55.pdf.

230

Republic of South Africa. 2004. Immigration Amendment Act No.19 of 2004. Accessed 14 March 2016, http://www.polity.org.za/article/immigration-amendment-act-no-19-of- 200416mb-2004-01-01.

Republic of South Africa. 2014a. Immigration Regulations. Accessed, 14 March 2016, http://www.dha.gov.za/images/final_Immigration_Regulations_2014_1.pdf.

Republic of South Africa. 2014b. Labour Relations Amendment Act No. 6 of 2014 https://www.parliament.gov.za/storage/app/media/ProjectsAndEvents/womens_mon th_2015/docs/Act_No_6_of_2014.pdf.

Reynolds, G. 2007. ‘From Red Blanket to ’: Propaganda and Recruitment Films for South Africa’s Gold Mines, 1920–1940. Journal of Southern African Studies, 33(1): 133–152.

Richter, M., Chersich, M.F., Vearey, J., Sartorius, B., Temmerman, M. and Luchters, S. 2012. Migration Status, Work Conditions and Health Utilization of Female Sex Workers in Three South African Cities. Journal of Immigrant and Minority Health, 16(1): 7–17.

Riddell, J.B. 1992. Things Fall Apart Again: Structural Adjustment Programmes in Sub- Saharan Africa. The Journal of Modern African Studies, 30(1): 53–68.

Ritchie, J., Lewis, J. and Elam, G. 2003. Designing and Selecting Samples. In Ritchie J. and Lewis, J. (editors). Qualitative Research Practice: A Guide for Social Science Students and Researchers. California: Sage Publications.

Ritchken, E. 1995. Leadership and Conflict in Bushbuckridge: Struggles to Define Moral Economics with the Context of Rapidly Transforming Political Economies (1978- 1990). PhD thesis, University of the Witwatersrand.

Roberts, A.D. 1986. Portuguese Africa. In Roberts, A.D. (editor). The Cambridge History of Africa. Vol, 7. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Roberts, S. and Van Houten, A. 2009. Revealing Race: An Analysis of the Coverage of Race and Xenophobia in the SA print media. (Unpublished report to the Department of Justice and Constitutional Development). Johannesburg: Media Monitoring Africa.

Rodgers, G.E. 2002. When Refugees Don’t Go Home: Post-War Mozambican Settlement Across the Border with South Africa. PhD thesis, University of the Witwatersrand.

Rogerson, C.M. 1999. Building Skills: Cross-Border Migrants and the South African Construction Industry. Southern African Migration Project Migration Policy Series 11. Cape Town: Southern African Migration Project. Accessed 7 August 2016 http://www.queensu.ca/samp/sampresources/samppublications/policyseries/Acrobat 11.pdf.

Roodt, M. 2007. Borderlands and Spatial Development Initiatives – the Impact of Regional Integration Initiatives in a Southern African Cross-Border Region: The Maputo Development Corridor. Paper presented at the Inaugural Conference of the Institute for Social and Economic Studies, Maputo.

231

Roodt, M.J. 2008. The Impact of Regional Integration Initiatives and Investment in a Southern African Cross-Border Region: The Maputo Development Corridor. African Sociological Review / Revue Africaine de Sociologie, 12(1): 90–104.

Rosaldo, R. 1999. Cultural Citizenship, Inequality, and . In Torres, R.D., Mirón, L.F., and Inda, J.X. (editors). Race, Identity, and Citizenship: A Reader. New York: Blackwell Publishers

Ross, R. 1979. Oppression, Sexuality and Slavery at the Cape of Good Hope. Historical Reflections / Réflexions Historiques, 6(2): 421–433.

Ross, R.J. 1993. Emancipations and the Economy of the Cape Colony. In Twaddle, M. and Turner, M. (editors). The Wages of Slavery: Studies of Labour Conditions in England, the Americas, Africa and the Islands from the Seventeenth to the Early Twentieth Century. Abingdon: Frank Cass & Co.

Rossi, I. 2014. Reflexive Modernization. In Beck, U. (editor). Ulrich Beck: Pioneer in Cosmopolitan Sociology and Risk Society. Cham, Heidelberg, New York, Dordrecht and London: Springer Science & Business Media.

Rua, M.M. 2015. A Grounded Identidad: Making New Lives in Chicago’s Puerto Rican Neighborhoods. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

SA News. 2015. Pres Zuma sends Ministers to KZN Violent Spots. South African Government News Agency, Pretoria, 4 December. Accessed 25 July 2016, http://www.sanews.gov.za/south-africa/pres-zuma-sends-ministers-kzn-violent- spots.

SA News. 2016. Home Affairs reclassified under JCPS cluster. South African Government News Agency, Pretoria. Accessed 25 July 2016, http://www.sanews.gov.za/south- africa/home-affairs-reclassified-under-jcps-cluster.

Sadr, K. 2015. Livestock First Reached Southern Africa in Two Separate Events. PLOS ONE, 10(8).

SAHO. 2011. Johannesburg the Segregated City. Johannesburg: South African History Online. Accessed 10 August 2016, http://www.sahistory.org.za/topic/johannesburg- segregated-city.

SAHRC. 1999. Report into the Arrest and Detention of Suspected Migrants. Johannesburg: South African Human Rights Commission.

SAHRC. 2000. Lindela: At the Crossroads for Detention and Repatriation. Johannesburg: South African Human Rights Commission.

SAHRC. 2015. SAHRC Investigative Report into Conditions of Detention at Lindela Repatriation Centre. Johannesburg: South African Human Rights Commission. Accessed 13 September 2015, http://www.lhr.org.za.

Said-Mohamed, R., Micklesfield, L.K., Pettifor, J.M. and Norris, S.A. 2015. Has the Prevalence of Stunting In South African Children Changed in 40 Years? A systematic review. BMC Public Health, 15: 534.

232

SAPS. 2013. Crime Situation in South Africa. Accessed 30 August 2014, http://www.saps.gov.za/resource_centre/publications/statistics/crimestats/2013/crim e_stats.php.

Sassen, S. 2000. The Global City: Strategic Site/New Frontier. American Studies, 41(2): 79– 95.

Sassen, S. 2002. Globalization or Denationalization? Items & Issues: Social Science Research Council, 4(1).

Sassen, S. 2008. Territory, Authority, Rights: From Medieval to Global Assemblages. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Seekings, J. 2008. The Continuing Salience of Race: Discrimination and Diversity in South Africa. Journal of Contemporary African Studies, 26(1): 1–25.

Segatti, A. 2011. Regional Integration Policy and Migration Reform in SADC countries: Whether to Move Beyond Bilateralism? In Streiff-Fenart, J. and Segatti, A. (editors). The Challenge of the Threshold: Border Closures and Migration Movements in Africa. Plymouth: Lexington Books.

Senior, C.A., Jones, R.G., Lowe, J.A., Durman, C.F. & Hudson, D. 2002. Predictions of Extreme Precipitation and Sea-Level Rise under Climate Change. Philosophical Transactions: Mathematical, Physical and Engineering Sciences, 360(1796): 1301– 1311.

Sennett, R. 2012. Street and Office: Two Sources of Identity. In W. Hutton & A. Giddens, eds. On the Edge: Living with Global Capitalism. London: Vintage.

Sheller, M. 2011. Mobility. Sociopedia ISA. Accessed 26 June 2014, http://www.sagepub.net/isa/resources/pdf/Mobility.pdf.

Sheller, M. and Urry, J. 2006. The New Mobilities Paradigm. Environment and Planning A, 38(2): 207–226.

Shikhani, R. 2012. Mozambique, Post-war Socio-economic and Political Challenges. Pretoria: Institute of Security Studies. Situation report. Accessed 18 April 2015, http://www.issafrica.org/uploads/SitRep2012_24Apr.pdf

Sidaway, J.D. and Simon, D. 1993. Geopolitical Transition and State Formation: The Changing Political Geographies of Angola, Mozambique and Namibia. Journal of Southern African Studies, 19(1): 6–28.

Singh, K. 2017. DA Calls for Probe into Rosettenville police. News24. Accessed 20 March 2017, http://www.news24.com/SouthAfrica/News/da-calls-for-probe-into- rosettenville-police-20170213.

Sklair, L. 2000. The Transnational Capitalist Class and the Discourse of Globalisation. Cambridge Review of International Affairs, 14(1): 67–85.

Smith, A.K. 1974. António Salazar and the Reversal of Portuguese Colonial Policy. The Journal of African History, 15(4): 653–667.

233

Smith, A.K. 1991. The Idea of Mozambique and its Enemies, c. 1890-1930. Journal of Southern African Studies, 17(3): 496.

Smith, J.A. 1994. Towards Reflexive Practice: Engaging Participants as Co‐Researchers or Co‐Analysts in Psychological Inquiry. Journal of Community & Applied Social Psychology, 4(4): 253–260.

Smock, P.J., Manning, W.D. and Gupta, S. 1999. The Effect of Marriage and Divorce on Women’s Economic Well-Being. American Sociological Review, 64(6): 794–812.

Sobel, J. 2002. Can We Trust Social Capital? Journal of Economic Literature, 40(1): 139– 154.

Söderbaum, F. 2004. The Political Economy of Regionalism: The Case of Southern Africa. Hampshire and New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

Söderbaum, F. and Taylor, I. 2003. Regionalism and Uneven Development in Southern Africa: The Case of the Maputo Development Corridor. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, Ltd.

Söderbaum, F. and Taylor, I. 2007. Micro-Regionalism in Africa: Competing Region- Building in the Maputo Development Corridor. UNU-CRIS Working Paper 6. United Nations University.

Söderbaum, F. and Taylor, I. 2008. Afro-regions: The Dynamics of Cross-border Micro- regionalism in Africa. Uppsala: Nordiska Afrikainstitutet.

Solidarity Peace Trust & PASSOP. 2012. Perils and Pitfalls: Migrants and Deportation in South Africa. Accessed 2 August 2016, http://www.solidaritypeacetrust.org/.

South African Tourism Strategic Research Unit. 2016. Tourism Performance Highlights 2015. Annual Report. Accessed 21 November 2016, http://www.southafrica.net/uploads/files/2015_Annual_Report_v10_05082016.pdf.

Spradley, J.L. and McCurdy, D.W. 1979. Conformity and Conflict: Readings in Cultural Anthropology. New Jersey: Pearson.

Staff Reporter. 2005. Corrupt Joburg Cops Caught on Camera. The Mail & Guardian Online. Accessed 26 September 2016, http://mg.co.za/article/2005-09-06-corrupt- joburg-cops-caught-on-camera/.

Stahl, C.W. 1981. Migrant Labour Supplies, Past, Present and Future: With Special Reference to the Gold-mining Industry. In Black Migration to South Africa: A Selection of Policy-oriented Research. International Labour Office: Geneva.

StatsSA. 2012. Census 2011: Statistical Release. Pretoria: Statistics South Africa. Accessed 10 June 2014, http://wazimap.co.za/profiles/ward-79800056/.

StatsSA. 2014. Poverty Trends in South Africa: An examination of absolute poverty between 2006 and 2011. Pretoria: Statistics South Africa.

234

Steenkamp, C. 2009. Xenophobia in South Africa: What Does It Say about Trust? The Round Table, 98(403): 439–447.

Steinberg, J. 2005. Mozambican Refugees in South Africa: A Mixed Reception, Mozambican and Congolese Refugees in South Africa. ISS Monograph. Johannesburg: Institute of Security Studies.

Steinberg, J. 2008a. South Africa’s Xenophobic Eruption. Institute of Security Studies Paper 169. Pretoria: Institute of Security Studies. Accessed 6 November 2016, https://issafrica.s3.amazonaws.com/site/uploads/Paper169.

Steinberg, J. 2008b. Thin Blue: The Unwritten Rules of Policing South Africa. Jeppestown: Jonathan Ball with Open Society Foundation for South Africa.

Steinberg, J. 2012. Security and Disappointment. British Journal of Criminology, 52(2): 345– 360.

Stiglitz, J. 2015. Globalization and Its Discontents. London: Penguin.

Streeten, P. 2002. Reflections on Social and Antisocial Capital. Journal of Human Development, 3(1): 7–22.

Stull, V., Bell, M.M. and Ncwadi, M. 2016. Environmental apartheid: Eco-health and rural marginalization in South Africa. Journal of Rural Studies, 4769–380.

Sutton, R., Vigneswaran, D. and Wels, H. 2011. Waiting in liminal space: Migrants’ queuing for Home Affairs in South Africa. Anthropology Southern Africa, 34(1/2): 30–37.

Szerszynski, B. and Urry, J. 2002. Cultures of Cosmopolitanism. Sociological Review, 50(4): 461–481.

Sztompka, P. 1999. Trust: A Sociological Theory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Tamir, Y. 2004. Class and Nation. In Parijs, P.V. (editor). Cultural Diversity Versus Economic Solidarity: Is There a Tension? How Must it be Resolved? Paris: De Boeck Supérieur.

Tanser, F.C., Sharp, B. and le Sueur, D. 2003. Potential effect of climate change on malaria transmission in Africa. The Lancet, 362(9398): 1792–1798.

Taylor, I. 2000. Public-Private Partnerships: Lessons from the Maputo Development Corridor Toll Road. Cape Town: Development Policy Research Unit. Accessed 17 August 2015, http://www.dpru.uct.ac.za/wp-00044-public-private-partnerships-lessons- maputo-development-corridor-toll-road.

Taylor, I. 2003. Globalization and Regionalization in Africa: Reactions to Attempts at Neo- Liberal Regionalism. Review of International Political Economy, 10(2): 310–330.

Taylor, N. 2007. Equity, efficiency and the development of South African schools. In Townsend, T. (editor). International Handbook of School Effectiveness and Improvement. Dordrecht: Springer Netherlands.

235

Thompson, L. 2001. A History of South Africa. Third edition. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

Tignor, R., Adelman, J., Aron, S., Brown, P., Elman, B., Kotkin, S., Liu, X., Marchand, S., et al. 2010. Worlds Together, Worlds Apart: A History of the World: Beginnings Through the Fifteenth Century. Third edition. New York; London: W. W. Norton & Company.

Tignor, R., Adelman, J., Aron, S., Kotkin, S., Marchand, S., Prakash, G. and Tsin, M. 2013. Worlds Together, Worlds Apart: A History of the World: From 1000 CE to the Present. Fourth edition. W. W. Norton & Company.

Tomlinson, R., Beauregard, R., Bremmer, L. and Mangcu, X. 2014. Emerging Johannesburg. New York and London: Routledge.

Tornimbeni, C. 2005. The State, Labour Migration and the Transnational Discourse: A Historical Perspective from Mozambique. Stichproben - Vienna Journal of African Studies, 5(8).

Trimikliniotis, N., Gordon, S. and Zondo, B. 2008. Globalisation and Migrant Labour in a ‘Rainbow Nation’: a fortress South Africa? Third World Quarterly, 29(7): 1323– 1339.

Tromp, B. 2015. SA’s Xenophobia Shame: ‘Burning Man’ Case Shut. Times Live. Accessed 7 March 2017, http://www.timeslive.co.za/local/2015/02/19/SAs-xenophobia- shame-burning-man-case-shut.

Tulloch, J. and Lupton, D. 2003. Risk and Everyday Life. London: Sage Publications.

UNDP, 2015. Briefing Note for Countries on the 2015 Human Development Report: Mozambique. New York: United Nations Development Program.

UNICEF. 2015. Mozambique Statistics. Accessed 8 May 2016, http://www.unicef.org/infobycountry/mozambique_statistics.html.

Vail, L. 1991. Exclusion, Classification and Internal Colonialism: The Emergence of Ethnicity Among the Tsonga-Speakers of South Africa’. In Vail, L. (editor) The Creation of Tribalism in Southern Africa. University of California Press

Vail, L., White, L. and Penvenne, J. 1979. The Struggle for Mozambique: Capitalist Rivalries, 1900-40. Review, 3(2):243–288.

Vale, P. 2002. Migration, Xenophobia and Security-making in post-apartheid South Africa. Politikon, 29(1):7–29.

Valji, N. 2003. Creating the Nation: The Rise of Violent Xenophobia in the New South Africa. MA dissertation, York University. van der Linden, M. 2011. Unanticipated Consequences of ‘Humanitarian Intervention’: The British Campaign to Abolish the Slave Trade, 1807–1900. Theory and Society, 39 (3/4): 281–298.

236

van der Spuy, P. 1996. What, Then, was the Sexual Outlet for Black Males? A Feminist Critique of Quantitative Representations of Women Slaves at the Cape of Good Hope in the Eighteenth Century. Kronos (23): 43–56.

Vatalidis, A. and Badal, K. 2015. Labour brokers and their clients: who is the employer? Polity.org.za. Accessed 24 March 2017, http://www.polity.org.za/article/labour- brokers-and-their-clients-who-is-the-employer-2015-08-12.

Vearey, J. 2008. Migration, Access to ART, and Survivalist Livelihood Strategies in Johannesburg. African Journal of AIDS Research, 7(3): 361–374.

Vearey, J. 2011. Challenging Urban Health: Towards an Improved Local Government Response to Migration, Informal Settlements, and HIV in Johannesburg, South Africa. Global Health Action, 4:1–9.

Vearey, J. 2012. Learning from HIV: Exploring migration and health in South Africa. Global Public Health, 7(1):58–70.

Vélez, E.M. 2005. The Puerto Rican Journey Revisited: Politics and the Study of Puerto Rican Migration. Centro Journal, 17(2):193–221.

Veriava, F. 2014. Refugee Children Win Right to Learn. Mail & Guardian Online. Accessed 1 May 2016, http://mg.co.za/article/2014-07-04-refugee-children-win-right-to-learn/.

Vernet, T. 2009. Slave Trade and Slavery on the Swahili Coast (1500-1750). In Mirzai, B.A., Montana, I.M. and Lovejoy, P.E. (editors). Slavery, Islam and Diaspora. Trenton: Africa World Press

VFS Global. n.d. DHA Visa Information. Accessed 24 December 2016, http://www.vfsglobal.com/dha/southafrica/.

Vidal, D. 2007. Living in, out of and between two cities: the migrants from Maputo in Johannesburg. Paper presented to Inclusive African Cities Conference: Mapping Challenges and Opportunities in Contemporary Urban Africa, Johannesburg.

Vidal, D. 2009. Vivre sur fond de frontières. Les migrants du Mozambique à Johannesburg. Cultures & Conflits, 72:101–117.

Vidal, D. 2010. Living in, out of, and between Two Cities: Migrants from Maputo in Johannesburg. Urban Forum. 21(1):55–68.

Vidal, D. 2011. The Mozambican Miner and the Aventureiro from Maputo: Figures of Individuation between Southern Mozambique and the Vicinity of Johannesburg. In J. Streiff-Fenart & A. Segatti (editors). The Challenge of the Threshold: Border Closures and Migration Movements in Africa. Plymouth: Lexington Books.

Vidal, D. 2014. Migrants du Mozambique dans le Johannesburg de l’après-apartheid: Travail, frontières, altérité. Paris: Karthala.

Vigneswaran, D. 2007. Free Movement and the Movement’s Forgotten Freedoms: South African Representation of Undocumented Migrants. Refugee Studies Centre Working Paper 41. Oxford: University of Oxford.

237

Vigneswaran, D. 2008a. A Foot in the Door: Access to Asylum in South Africa. Forced Migration Studies Programme Working Paper 40. Johannesburg: University of the Witwatersrand.

Vigneswaran, D. 2008b. Enduring territoriality: South African Immigration Control. Political Geography. 27(7):783–801.

Vigneswaran, D. 2008c.Undocumented Migration: Risks and Myths (1998-2005). In Kabwe- Segatti, A. and Landau, L. (editors). Migration in Post-Apartheid South Africa: Challenges and Questions to Policy-makers. Paris: Agence Française de Développement.

Vigneswaran, D. 2011. Taking Out the Trash? A ‘Garbage Can’ Model of Immigration Policing. In Exorcising the Demons Within: Xenophobia, Violence and Statecraft in Contemporary South Africa., Landau, L. (editor). Johannesburg: Wits University Press.

Vigneswaran, D. 2013. Making mobility a problem: How South African Officials Criminalize Migration. In Aas, K.F. and Bosworth, M. (editors). The Borders of Punishment: Migration, Citizenship, and Social Exclusion. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Viljoen, H.J. 2009. Migration Patterns of Foreign Informal Traders at the Hartebeespoort Dam. MA dissertation, University of South Africa.

Von Lieres, B. 2005. Marginalisation & Citizenship in post-Apartheid South Africa. In Robins, S. (editor) Limits to Liberation after Apartheid. Cape Town: David Phillip.

Wazimap. n.d. Wazi profile: Ward 56 (79800056), City of Johannesburg, Gauteng. Accessed 19 September 2015, http://wazimap.co.za/profiles/ward-79800056/.

Weber, M. 1930. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. London & New York: Routledge.

Webster, E. 2012. Work in Post-Apartheid South Africa: The promise and the Reality. South African Review of Sociology, 43(1):87–91.

Whittles, G. 2017a. Xenophobia, a convenient scapegoat for Rosettenville and Mamelodi. The Mail & Guardian Online Accessed 24 February 2017, http://mg.co.za/article/2017-02-13-00-xenophobia-a-convenient-scapegoat-for- rosettenville-mamelodi/.

WHO. 2013. Mozambique: Maternal and Perinatal Health Profile. Accessed 8 May 2016, http://www.who.int/.

Williams, A.M. and Baláž, V. 2012. Migration, Risk, and Uncertainty: Theoretical Perspectives. Population, Space and Place, 18(2): 167–180.

Williams, A.M. and Baláž, V. 2014. Migration, Risk and Uncertainty. London and New York: Routledge.

Williams, E.E. 1994. Capitalism & Slavery. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.

238

Wilson, F. 1972. Migrant labour in South Africa. Johannesburg: The South African Council of Churches and SPRO-CAS.

Wimmer, A. and Glick Schiller, N. 2002. Methodological Nationalism and Beyond: Nation- state Building, Migration and the Social Sciences. Global Networks, 2(4): 301–334.

Wood, M. 2012. Interconnections: Glass Beads and Trade in Southern and Eastern Africa and the Indian Ocean – 7th to 16th Centuries AD. PhD thesis, Uppsala University.

Woolcock, M. 2001. The Place of Social Capital in Understanding Social and Economic Outcomes. Canadian Journal of Policy Research, 2(1): 1–36.

Worden, N. 2014. Cape Slaves in the Paper Empire of the VOC. Kronos, 40(1): 23–44.

Worden, N.A. 1982. Violence, Crime and Slavery on Cape Farmsteads in the Eighteenth Century. Kronos, 5: 43–60.

World Bank. 2011. GINI index (World Bank estimate). Accessed 20 October 2017, https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/SI.POV.GINI?locations=ZA.

Yajima, H. 1996. Some Problems on the Formation of the Swahili World and the Indian Ocean Maritime World. Senri Ethnological Studies, (43): 319–354.

Yakushko, O. 2009. Xenophobia: Understanding the Roots and Consequences of Negative Attitudes Toward Immigrants. The Counseling Psychologist, 37(1): 36–66.

Yin, R.K. 1994. Case Study Research: Design and Methods. Second edition. California: Sage Publications.

Yin, R.K. 2011. Applications of Case Study Research. California: Sage Publications.

Yudelman, D. and Jeeves, A. 1986. New Labour Frontiers for Old: Black Migrants to the South African Gold Mines, 1920-85. Journal of Southern African Studies, 13(1): 101–124.

Zander, P.G. 2016. The Rise of Fascism: History, Documents, and Key Questions. ABC- CLIO: Santa Barbara, California.

Zinn, J. O. 2004a. Literature Review: Economics and Risk. SCARR Working Paper 2004/2. Canterbury: Social Contexts and Responses to Risk Network.

Zinn, J. O. 2004b. Literature review: Sociology and Risk. SCARR Working Paper 2004/1. Canterbury: Social Contexts and Responses to Risk Network.

Zinn, J. O. 2008. Risk Society and Reflexive Modernization. In Zinn, J. O. (editor), Social Theories of Risk and Uncertainty: An Introduction. First edition. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell.

Zinn, J.O. 2006. Recent Developments in Sociological Risk Theory. Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung / Forum: Qualitative Social Research, 7(1). Accessed 1 January 2014, http://www.qualitative-research.net/index.php/fqs/article/view/68.

239

APPENDIX I: QUESTIONNAIRE This questionnaire was distributed to all participants in both Johannesburg and Maputo, in English or Portuguese according to their language preference. Many of the participants opted to have the researcher or the research assistant fill the questionnaire out for them.

This questionnaire is to help me keep track of details about the people I’ve interviewed. Please take the five minutes you’ll need to complete it. All details are private and confidential, no one can make me give up the details of my research and I won’t share them unless you give me permission to.

1. Sex Female Male

2. Age:

3. Occupation, if any: If you earn no income in South Africa, you can skip questions 4 and 5

4. Income per month: 0 – R500 R501- R1 001 R1 001- R3 000 R3 001 – R5 000 R5 001 – R10 000 R10 001 – R15 000 R15 001 – R20 000 R21 000 and over

5. Do you have other sources of income? yes no

240

If yes, what?

6. How much do they contribute to your household?

7. Do you send any money or goods back to Mozambique? yes no

How much a month?

8. Where in Mozambique do you come from? (province and city)

9. Where do you stay when in South Africa?

10. How long have you been in living in Johannesburg or travelling between Mozambique and Johannesburg? 11. Are you a South African Citizen? yes no

If no, what visa do you have to be in South Africa? Permanent resident Study visa Work visa 30-day visit, no visa required Asylum seekers permit Granted Refugee status None / visa expired

Other

241

APPENDIX II: SELECTED BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION ON

PARTICIPANTS Area in Pseudonym Sex Age Occupation Originating area Johannesburg Zavala, Aida Female 38 Hairdresser Rosettenville then Maputo Engineering Alberto Male 33 Maputo, Maputo Carltonville assistant Ana Female 29 English student Maputo, Maputo Rosettenville Angelica Female 40 Domestic worker Maxaqeene, Maputo Rosettenville Bella Female 39 Retail assistant Maputo, Maputo Rosettenville Qualimane, Owns construction

Carlos. Male 58 Zambezia then Joubert park company Maputo Constância Female 32 English student Maputo, Maputo La Rochelle Housewife/ sells Constantina Female 27 Maputo, Maputo Randburg clothes Cornélio Male 43 Carpenter Matola, Maputo Rosettenville Cristiana Female 55 Vender - vegetables Manhiça, Maputo Natal Spruit Gaza, Xai-Xai then

Ernesto Male 43 Welder Bertrams Maputo Vender - sweets, Fernando Male 25 Maputo, Maputo Eldorado park biscuits Rockville Florincio Male 37 Auto-electrician Maputo, Maputo Soweto Francisca Female 32 Domestic worker Maputo, Maputo Randburg Francisco Male 33 Panel beater Maputo, Maputo Alberton Massinga, Helena Female 23 Hairdresser Inhambane, then Soweto Maputo Jorge Male 34 Mechanic Machava, Maputo Turffontein Jose Male 26 Builder Maputo, Maputo Bertrams Julia Female 34 Hairdresser Maputo, Maputo Rosettenville , Lucia Female 30 English student Rosettenville Zambezia Luís Male 43 Mine drill operator Maputo, Maputo Westonaria Marco Male 22 Welder and builder Maputo, Maputo Natal Spruit English student, bar Maria Female 37 Maputo, Maputo Rosettenville lady Marissa Female 29 Hairdresser Maputo, Maputo Kyasands Nocentia Female 25 Matric student Matola, Maputo Rosettenville Paulo Male 30 Auto mechanic Maputo, Maputo Bertrams Ricardo Male 45 Carpenter Matola, Maputo Rosettenville Rui Male 32 Retail assistant Maputo, Maputo Natal Spruit Sia Female 36 English student Alto- Mare, Maputo Regent's Park

242

APPENDIX III: INTERVIEW SCHEDULE AND FIELDWORK

ACTIVITIES Interviews were semi-structured and carried out in both English and Portuguese depending on preference, and sometimes they swopped between the two. The first questions were a repetition of the questionnaire that they had already filled in and allowed for confirmation and to understand questionnaire responses. Many questions for clarification and exploration were added for participants.

The activity for participants in Rosettenville was to provide new avenues for asking questions about social networks.

1. How long have you been working / living in South Africa?

2. What do you do?

3. Do you like living in South Africa?

4. What things don’t you like?

5. Do you have family living in South Africa? Where are they?

6. How did you come to live in South Africa?

7. Why did you come to South Africa?

8. What are the risks of living in SA, do you think?

9. What made you aware of these risks?

10. How do you deal with these risks?

11. How do you know [person who referred]?

243

12. What kind of housing do you live in? Flat? Shack? House?

13. Who do you trust in South Africa?

14. Why?

15. When you need to get something – money, extension to your visa, a job, where do you go first?

Activity for Mozambicans interviewed in South Africa only: Draw the people you trust most and show in your drawing how much you trust them. Draw the places you go most. How often do you go there?

244

APPENDIX IV: INFORMED CONSENT FORM Study name: Social trust in a risky environment: Mozambicans in Johannesburg Study

Researchers: Sandra Roberts

The research plan for this study has been reviewed by the Higher Degrees Committee of the University of Johannesburg.

Purpose of the Research: I want to understand how Mozambicans trust one another in Johannesburg and understand the risks in Johannesburg. This is for my D. Litt et Phil in Sociology.

What You Will Be Asked to do in the Research: I will ask you to fill in a demographic questionnaire, answer some questions about the topic and suggest some other people I can talk to.

Risks and Discomforts: Some of the questions you will be asked may be quite personal and may be upsetting. I will do everything I can to make it easier for you and will be discrete when setting up and conducting interviews.

If you wish your name to be made public, it is possible that authorities may discover details about you such as a lack of a visa. This means you may be deported.

Benefits of the Research and Benefits to You: There are no direct benefits to you, however, this research will make people aware of the contribution that Mozambicans have made in South Africa and more particularly can be used to help design initiatives to support Mozambicans and other foreigners living in risky situations.

Voluntary Participation: Your participation in the study is completely voluntary and you may choose to stop participating at any time. Your decision not to volunteer will not influence your relationship with me or people who have referred you to me, or the nature of your relationship with the University of Johannesburg either now, or in the future.

245

Withdrawal from the Study: You can stop participating in the study at any time, for any reason, if you so decide. If you decide to stop participating, you will still be eligible to receive the promised transport allowance (if applicable). Your decision to stop participating, or to refuse to answer particular questions, will not affect your relationship with me, the University of Johannesburg, or any other group associated with this research.

Confidentiality: All information you supply during the research will be held in confidence and unless you specifically indicate your consent, your name will not appear in any report or publication of the research. Your data will be safely stored in a locked facility and only I will have access to this information. Confidentiality will be provided to the fullest extent possible by law.

Questions about the Research? If you have questions about the research in general or about your role in the study, please feel free to contact Sandra Roberts either by telephone at 084 9000 344 or by e-mail ([email protected]).

Legal rights and signatures:

I, consent to participate in Social trust in a risky environment conducted by Sandra Roberts. I have understood the nature of this project and wish to participate. I am not waiving any of my legal rights by signing this form. My signature below indicates my consent.

Signature Date Participant

Signature Date Principal Investigator

246