Recently, 49 South Africans quietly packed their bags, boarded a flight and were granted asylum in the United States. Not because they were stateless, undocumented or fleeing war but because they said they no longer felt safe here. The world noticed, social media stirred and, for a moment, the actions of a few seemed to drown out the quiet resolve of the many.<\/p>\n
Let\u2019s be honest: \u201cThe 49\u201d sounds less like a historical event and more like a failed sequel to District 9<\/em>. It’s the kind of film that opens to empty cinemas and a few polite claps at a film festival in Iowa. And yet, somehow, it captured national headlines as if 49 people could declare the end of the South African dream.<\/p>\n But here\u2019s the thing: South Africa didn\u2019t stop when they left.<\/p>\n While we debated their reasons \u2014 fear, disillusionment, a longing for certainty \u2014 the streets were still swept, classrooms still opened, taxis still hooted and people, millions of them, still chose this place. They chose it not because it\u2019s easy, but because it\u2019s home.<\/p>\n Yes, life in South Africa can be hard. Really hard. We carry the weight of history, the burden of inequality and the daily grind of \u201cmaking a plan\u201d in the face of load-shedding, potholes, and policy limbo. But we also carry something else \u2014 something quietly extraordinary: a kind of stubborn hope; a belief, however battered, that things can be different; that they must be.<\/p>\n And still, despite all of it, people stay. People have stayed. Let\u2019s not forget that when this country was at its worst, many were persecuted, imprisoned, tortured and killed not for what they feared might happen, but for what was happening. And yet they fought to make this place better, not for themselves alone but for generations they might never meet.<\/p>\n Even today, millions live under conditions far worse than those cited by the 49: townships with no running water; the “blokke\u201d without real safety and security; households where hunger is a daily visitor. And yet, they stay. They build. They believe.<\/p>\n Meanwhile, one can only wonder what happens when Donald Trump finally accepts the truth that not all migrants come bearing casseroles and Calvinist charm? What will you, the 49, do when the red caps stop smiling and start asking hard questions about Orania, Afrikaans, and affirmative action \u2014 American style? The first sign that not all Americans are buying the persecution story has already arrived. Even the Episcopal Church, hardly known for turning away the weary, declined to assist. Because heritage doesn\u2019t always come with a visa stamp. It lingers in your name, your accent, your Sunday habits. And it\u2019s hard to explain your love for braai or sishanyama when nobody around you knows how to pronounce it.<\/p>\n I was reminded of this truth and beauty of our country in the back seat of an Uber, driven by a man from Rwanda who had every reason to run from his past. \u201cThis is the land of opportunity,\u201d he said with a quiet conviction, \u201cif you\u2019re willing to see it.\u201d<\/p>\n That stopped me in my tracks.<\/p>\n Because opportunity, like beauty, often lies in the eye of the beholder, and sometimes the privilege of living here blinds us to the very promise it still holds.<\/p>\n To those 49, I genuinely wish you well. Migration is as old as humanity and if your spirit truly finds peace on the other side of the world, I hope you thrive. But, let\u2019s not crown your exit as noble resistance. Let\u2019s not pretend that leaving is the same as leading.<\/p>\n Leadership looks different here. It looks like a teacher who stays behind after school. A nurse who still shows up an hour before her shift. A small business owner who keeps paying wages even when the books don\u2019t balance. Leadership is the domestic worker who helps raise another family\u2019s children while sending her own to school. It is the everyday commitment to stay and build, again and again.<\/p>\n What\u2019s easy to forget especially when we fixate on who left is what they\u2019ve walked away from. Not just the difficulties, but the beauty; the complex, messy, breathtaking beauty of this country. They\u2019ve left behind mountain and mielie field, heartbreak and healing, struggle and song. They\u2019ve left behind the very identity that made their ancestors trek into unknown lands, not to escape, but to create.<\/p>\n There\u2019s a quiet dignity in staying; in staying when it would be easier to go; in choosing to love a country that doesn\u2019t always love you back in the way you hoped. That\u2019s not resignation. That\u2019s courage.<\/p>\n So, to the millions who remain \u2014 black and white alike \u2014 thank you. You are the real story. You are not trending, but you are transforming. You are not fleeing, you are forging.<\/p>\n To the 49? No hard feelings. But just know: while you search for green pastures in someone else\u2019s backyard, the soil here, though stubborn, is still rich with possibility. You just have to be willing to dig.<\/p>\n Dr Armand Bam is head of social impact at Stellenbosch Business School.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Recently, 49 South Africans quietly packed their bags, boarded a flight and were granted asylum in the United States. Not because they were stateless, undocumented or fleeing war but because<\/p>\n