Who Do We Still Leave Out? The Unfinished Struggle for Belonging in South Africa

South Africa is once again grappling with the weight of its past and the complexities of the present. The recent assassination of Imam Muhsin Hendricks, a Muslim cleric who dedicated his life to fostering inclusivity within the faith, is not just a tragic loss; it is a reminder of how fragile inclusion and belonging remain in societies resistant to change. As an openly gay imam, Hendricks challenged entrenched theological interpretations and sought to create a space where LGBTQ+ Muslims could exist within their faith communities. While perspectives on his mission may vary, the reality remains that a human life was taken because of his identity a stark demonstration of how intolerance still manifests in violent ways.

Meanwhile, on another front, the political discourse surrounding South Africa’s white minority, particularly the Afrikaners, has resurfaced in global discussions. When former U.S. President Donald Trump extended an invitation for Afrikaners to seek asylum in the United States, it reignited the long-standing narrative of perceived displacement and exclusion. The portrayal of South Africa’s land reform policies as a racially motivated purge has fueled international controversy, yet this framing often oversimplifies a deeply historical and legal process.

The Realities of Land Reform

South Africa’s land reform efforts have always been embedded in the country’s constitutional framework, aiming to redress the dispossession of Black South Africans while ensuring economic stability. The Expropriation Act has sought to balance restitution with national cohesion, guided by constitutional safeguards. While concerns about land expropriation are valid, the policy remains a structured legal mechanism rather than an indiscriminate tool for dispossession. While the most recent version of the act does include provisions for expropriation with nil compensation, it would only be under specific circumstances such as abandoned land, land posing health risks, or land acquired for speculative purposes. These measures aim to correct historical injustices without undermining overall property rights or investor confidence.

While some voices have expressed alarm, it is important to understand that land reform in South Africa is not about exclusion but about ensuring equitable access to resources. The political narratives framing it as a racial purge ignore the broader legal and historical complexities at play. If anything, this should not divide us it should unite us in the pursuit of long-overdue economic justice and national healing.

The Complexity of Exclusion

Beyond politics, there is a deeper reality: many Afrikaners feel unheard, just as many historically marginalized groups have for generations. The complexity of exclusion is that it operates in multiple forms, shaped by history, power dynamics, and shifting societal structures. It is rarely as simple as the headlines make it out to be.

These two seemingly unrelated events one, the brutal silencing of a man who sought to build bridges within his faith, and the other, the global rallying behind a group feeling marginalized in a changing political landscape point to a common thread. South Africa remains a nation where the past is never quite the past, where people still struggle to claim space, where identity is contested, and where the fear of erasure lingers in different ways across communities.

What the Thinkers Teach Us

Paulo Freire, in Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1970), reminds us that oppression is cyclical. Those who have been excluded, if not deeply aware of the structures that created their marginalization, may later replicate exclusion when power shifts. South Africa’s history offers a living example of this dynamic. The country, built on the violent exclusion of the Black majority, now faces a different challenge ensuring justice for those historically dispossessed without creating new forms of disenfranchisement. Freire warns that true liberation does not come from merely reversing roles but from dismantling the systems that enable oppression in the first place.

W.E.B. Du Bois’ concept of double consciousness speaks to the fractured identity of marginalized groups, who must navigate how they see themselves versus how they are seen by dominant societal forces. Imam Hendricks embodied this struggle. His very existence as Muslim, queer, and South African challenged rigid categories of belonging. His murder serves as a chilling reminder that those who live at the intersections of multiple identities often bear the heaviest burdens in their fight for recognition.

Frantz Fanon, in The Wretched of the Earth (1961), takes this even further, exploring the psychological toll of oppression and the violence that emerges when exclusion festers. The tensions in South Africa whether in the murder of a cleric advocating for inclusive faith communities or in the fears of white minority groups who feel displaced are manifestations of what Fanon warned against. When societies fail to fully confront their histories of inequality, when the pain of past injustices is neither acknowledged nor addressed in a meaningful way, the result is ongoing cycles of resentment, resistance, and, ultimately, violence.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) are not just corporate buzzwords; they are necessary frameworks for addressing the fractures that stories like these expose. The lesson here is not about choosing sides, but about understanding that exclusion whether historical or contemporary breeds fear, resentment, and, at its worst, destruction. Inclusion must be intentional. It requires listening, not only to those we already agree with but to those whose fears and histories we may not fully understand. It demands that we challenge the systems that make some people feel invisible while making others feel threatened.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy is not just the loss of a courageous voice like Imam Hendricks or the continued polarization of South Africa’s political discourse. The real tragedy is if we fail to see the echoes between these stories if we fail to recognize how exclusion, no matter whom it affects, has a way of repeating itself when left unchecked. Never forget it might be your turn to be on the receiving end.

If South Africa, and indeed the world, is to move forward, it will require more than policies and political debates. It will require a collective reckoning with the question: Who do we still leave out? And at what cost?