May your love for South Africa deepen your compassion rather than narrow it. May you always remember that nations are built not only by governments but by citizens willing to defend their country’s soul. And may history record that when South Africa faced one of its defining moral tests, her sons and daughters, scattered across the nations of the world, chose courage over comfort, memory over fear, hope over resentment, and humanity over silence. For there are times when speaking is not merely an option. It is a duty. May you fulfil that duty with wisdom
Dear South Africans across the world, grace and peace to you and your cherished ones.
SOME of you left South Africa in search of education. Others departed to pursue careers, establish businesses, reunite with family, or simply seek new opportunities. Some left willingly; others reluctantly. Whatever your journey, wherever you now live, whatever you feel and however you act, you remain children of South Africa, and history has not released you from your responsibility to her.
There are moments in every nation’s life when history pauses to quietly ask a simple yet profound question: Where were you when your country needed its conscience? I believe South Africa has reached such a moment.
This is not merely another political season. It is not simply another public debate about immigration, borders or economics. It is a test of the nation’s character. It is a moment that will determine not only how the world judges South Africa, but also how future generations of South Africans will judge themselves.
History teaches us that nations rarely lose their greatness in a single dramatic moment. They lose it gradually, each time fear supplants confidence, suspicion overcomes generosity, and silence triumphs over courage.
Today, South Africa stands at such a crossroads. The issue before us is larger than immigration. It is larger than nationality. It is even larger than politics. The question is this: What kind of nation does South Africa wish to become? This is why I write to you.
I write to you not merely because you live abroad, but because living abroad has given you something extraordinarily rare: perspective.
Amongst all South Africans, you occupy one of the rarest moral positions in modern history: you have lived as strangers. You know what it means to arrive in a country where your accent announces your foreignness before you have even introduced yourself. You know the uncertainty of visa applications, residence permits, immigration interviews, and official decisions that determine whether you may stay or must leave. You know the anxiety of wondering whether your qualifications will be recognised. You know the relief of finding neighbours who welcome you. You know the discomfort of being seen first as an outsider and only later as a fellow human being.
Whether your status was permanent or temporary, whether your migration was voluntary or born of necessity, you have experienced a truth that cannot be learned from books. You know that before anyone is called an immigrant, they are first a human being. Before anyone crosses a border, they carry hopes. They have dreams, responsibilities, families, and dignity. This knowledge is more than experience. It is a privilege: the privilege of understanding. And every privilege carries responsibility.
Permit me to remind you of something that those of you in my generation know well and that no generation should ever forget: There was a time when countless South Africans depended upon the kindness of strangers.
During apartheid’s long night, South Africans crossed borders in search of refuge, education, employment, dignity and freedom. They arrived in neighbouring African countries, in Europe, North America, Australia and elsewhere, not merely as travellers but as people seeking the chance to live, to learn and to continue the struggle for justice.
They were welcomed into universities that offered scholarships, into churches that offered sanctuary, into homes that offered friendship, into workplaces that offered opportunity, and into communities that chose compassion over indifference.
Governments opened their doors. Institutions extended their hands. Ordinary men and women, who owed South Africans nothing, shared what they had because they recognised a simple truth: humanity precedes nationality.
South Africa did not walk alone on its long journey to freedom. It was sustained by the solidarity of nations, the generosity of institutions and the kindness of countless individuals whose names history may never record, yet whose humanity helped shape the destiny of a nation.
Every people, like every individual, eventually reaches the moment when gratitude must become action. That moment cannot be postponed forever. It comes when those who once sought understanding are called upon to show understanding; when those who once depended on welcome are asked to be welcoming; when those who once knocked on others’ doors must decide how to respond to those who now knock on theirs. Allow me to point out that such a moment has arrived for South Africa.
South Africa gave the world many gifts. Among the greatest were not gold, nor diamonds, nor platinum. It was an idea: Ubuntu. “I am because we are.” A commitment to humanity. The world admired South Africa because it reminded humanity that reconciliation is stronger than revenge and that our common humanity outweighs our differences.
Today, however, the question before us is no longer whether the world still believes in Ubuntu. The question is whether South Africans still do. Ubuntu is not tested when it is easy to welcome those who look, sound and live like us. Ubuntu is tested when fear whispers that another human being is less deserving of dignity because they were born elsewhere. A philosophy becomes real only when it endures inconvenience.
Much has been written about Nelson Mandela: his courage, his sacrifice, his forgiveness. Yet perhaps his greatest achievement is often overlooked. Mandela did not merely defeat an unjust system. He refused to become like it. He understood that liberation without generosity merely changes who holds power.
True freedom enhances the dignity of everyone. The greatness of South Africa has never been that it overcame oppression. Its greatness has been that it chose humanity after oppression. That is the inheritance now placed in your hands.
Every sovereign nation has the right and responsibility to regulate its borders. Every government must uphold the law. Order matters. Security matters. Responsible migration policy matters. These are legitimate responsibilities of every state. Yet there is a profound difference between governing migration and governing by fear. There is a difference between enforcing the law and encouraging hostility. There is a difference between protecting borders and diminishing human dignity.
Allow me to point out something history has taught us many times. Fear has an unfortunate habit. It never stays confined to its original target. A nation that repeatedly learns to fear foreigners will eventually fear its neighbours. A society that fears its neighbours soon begins to fear fellow citizens. Fear always expands. Luckily, confidence expands too. The future of South Africa will depend on which it chooses to cultivate.
My dear compatriots, your silence is not neutral. This is why I ask something of you.
Do not imagine that living abroad has excused you from responsibility; if anything, distance often provides clarity. You have seen societies grappling with diversity. You have observed nations balancing security with compassion. You have experienced both welcome and exclusion. You possess insights that South Africa needs. Do not keep them to yourselves.
There are moments when silence seems wise; let us be careful. History often remembers it as surrender. It is not enough to be good while remaining silent. Goodness protects one’s conscience. Courage protects one’s country. You need to speak, write, teach, and organise conversations. You need to challenge prejudice, expose ignorance and mischief, defend truth, encourage civility, and correct falsehoods. You need to become ambassadors of memory.
You have a historical duty to remind South Africans what exile felt like; you have a moral duty to remind them what solidarity achieved. You need to find the clarity of mind and the courage of voice to show others that nations lose their greatness long before they lose their wealth.
You need to find clarity of mind and the courage of voice to speak not with anger but with conviction. You have to speak not to condemn South Africa but to strengthen her. Speak not because you despise your country, but because you love it too much to watch it diminish.
History has entrusted you with an uncommon vocation. You have been citizens of the Rainbow Nation. You have been beneficiaries of global solidarity. You have lived as immigrants. You have experienced the generosity of strangers. You have seen how other nations succeed and where they fail. Most of your compatriots have not had all these experiences at once. That gives you not merely an opinion. It gives you a calling. You must become the conscience of South Africa abroad.
You have the duty to help your nation remember what made it extraordinary. You have the duty to help younger generations understand that patriotism is not measured by how loudly we celebrate our country, but by how faithfully we defend the values that make it worthy of celebration.
The world does not need a merely prosperous South Africa. It needs a South Africa that remains generous. It needs a South Africa that continues to inspire. It needs a South Africa that proves that courage is stronger than fear and that humanity is stronger than division.
And as you begin your journey as a diplomat of conscience, I leave you with some words of prayer. I write them in English, but I think in Yoruba. May your words be firm without turning bitter. May your patriotism never require the rejection of another human being.
May your love for South Africa deepen your compassion rather than narrow it. May you always remember that nations are built not only by governments but by citizens willing to defend their country’s soul. And may history record that when South Africa faced one of its defining moral tests, her sons and daughters, scattered across the nations of the world, chose courage over comfort, memory over fear, hope over resentment, and humanity over silence. For there are times when speaking is not merely an option. It is a duty. May you fulfil that duty with wisdom. May you fulfil it with grace. And may you fulfil it for the prosperity of South Africa and the dignity of all humanity.
- Anthony Kila, author of “Crucial Cs Around D: The Disciplines of Decision-Making and Leadership,” is a Jean Monnet Professor of Strategy and Development at the Commonwealth Institute of Advanced and Professional Studies (CIAPS). He also serves as Pro-Chancellor and Chairman of the Governing Council of the Michael and Cecilia Ibru University (MCIU).
