The ongoing, often ferocious, debate concerning immigration, economic strain, and xenophobic sentiment in South Africa has been powerfully encapsulated in a recent public defense of Operation Dudula leader Zandile Dabula by a content creator known as Mjomane.

This defense was a direct, pointed counter-attack against Zimbabwean critics who had derided Dabula for her demonstrable lack of knowledge regarding the historical term “Frontline States” during a prominent media interview.

Mjomane’s argument forcefully pivots the conversation away from historical knowledge and toward the immediate, pressing issues of political accountability and domestic stability within Zimbabwe, effectively arguing that Zimbabweans’ focus on Dabula’s historical literacy is a misplaced distraction from their own national crises.

The entire discourse is a high-stakes collision between historical solidarity and contemporary economic realities, played out against a backdrop of deep regional tension.

Mjomane opened his defence with a blunt, strategic challenge, positioning Zimbabwe’s internal political struggle as the priority that its citizens should address, rather than the actions of a South African movement.

He stated unequivocally: “You know if ours is Zimbabwe I would worry about the constitution that [Emmerson] Mnangagwa is amending so that he can stay longer in power.”

“That is what I would be worried about rather than Zandile Dabula of Operation Dudula did not know the term front line states referred to states that were in the front line for during apartheid.”

This tactic immediately shifts the blame and the focus, painting Zimbabwean critics as hypocritical for addressing historical slights while ignoring current, fundamental threats to their own democracy—a political manoeuvre by President Mnangagwa and the ruling ZANU-PF to extend his tenure beyond the constitutional two-term limit, potentially until 2030, a move widely condemned as an entrenchment of authoritarian power.

Mjomane’s argument is that the amendment of term limits by a sitting Black president in a neighbouring state is the genuine fight for freedom, one that should galvanise “1 million Zimbabweans to go and fight against oppression of Zanupf.”

The core of the defense then transitions into a critical, albeit historically contentious, rebuttal of Zimbabwe’s status as a Frontline State, leveraging selective historical claims to diminish the moral authority of the critics.

The Frontline States—a formal grouping including Angola, Botswana, Mozambique, Tanzania, Zambia, and Zimbabwe (upon its independence in 1980)—were universally recognised for their collective, crucial role in supporting the liberation movements, including the ANC and PAC, against white minority rule in South Africa, often at great economic and military cost to themselves.

However, Mjomane disputes this foundational history, claiming: “As a matter of fact, Zimbabwe Zimbabwe was never a frontline state because [former] President [Robert] Mugabe when he was interview[ed] President Mugabe mention it clearly.”

“He said that no we are not going to house and help the struggle of of of South Africans that is for South Africans to fight. We can help in diplomatic terms.”

He further asserted that even the late anti-apartheid hero, Chris Hani, “alludes to that fact in one of his interviews before he was assassinated.”

While it is true that countries like Zimbabwe balanced diplomatic support with caution regarding military basing to avoid direct South African attacks, and while specific historical debates exist, Mjomane’s sweeping dismissal of Zimbabwe’s involvement as a Frontline State serves a clear rhetorical purpose: to dismantle the ethical high ground from which Zimbabwean critics are judging Dabula’s historical ignorance.

The debate is further anchored in pressing socio-economic issues, with Mjomane using a recent accident—which reportedly exposed the theft of state-funded, taxpayer-funded medication intended for poor South Africans—to underscore a perception of systemic abuse by non-nationals.

He argued that such internal corruption, allegedly involving foreign nationals, directly impacts the “poor South Africans, unemployed South Africans” that Operation Dudula claims to champion.

“Your people are being caught with stealing armor medication,” he accused.

“Medication that is meant for South Africans, our poor South Africans… was discovered through an accident by chance and it’s not the only incident. It has been happening.”

Mjomane used this potent, emotionally charged issue to contrast the urgency of economic survival with the perceived triviality of a historical term.

“You are focused on the wrong things… You’re going to make your people are stealing medication and you’re going to make noise about frontline states. Frontline state say food.”

The core of Mjomane’s defense of Zandile Dabula rests not on her intellect or knowledge of history, but on her action and willingness to confront what she and the Operation Dudula movement perceive as the current crisis.

He suggests that those who possess historical knowledge but fail to act—the critics and the political elite—are ultimately useless to the suffering South African populace.

He lauded Dabula as a young woman who “is standing up for her country, for her homeland,” adding, “Her struggle resonates with South Africans.”

Mjomane then took a jab at the economic and social disconnect of Dabula’s political opponents, referencing a politically charged question once posed to a figure known as “Mma”—who he suggests is one of her critics—about the price of a basic necessity: bread.

He mocked the lack of basic knowledge of the struggles of the poor, claiming, “You can’t not claim to be fighting for the poor and yet you do not know what they’re consuming.”

This is a classic political tactic of weaponizing perceived elitism against an opponent, using the “price of bread” as a symbol of detachment from the common person’s reality.

The conclusion of Mjomane’s argument firmly reinstates Dabula and Operation Dudula as the authentic “Frontline” against perceived foreign incursion, regardless of their historical understanding.

“She’s definitely in the front lines of your lips and tongues… of the tongues of Zilm, of the tongues of South African human rights. She’s in the front line.”

“Operation Dutulla gives you sleepless nights. They are in the front line of your sleepless nights. They are in the front line of your strategy to how to bring them down because they are standing against your your your your constituents.”

This final, powerful rhetorical move redefines the term “front line” from a historical, geographical concept to a contemporary, ideological and political battlefield, with Dabula and her movement cast as the current-day defenders.

Mjomane’s argument is clear: the operational struggle for immediate service delivery and resource allocation outweighs the academic understanding of historical solidarity.

He argues that the focus on South Africa’s “literacy rate” and “basic history” is a distraction from the fundamental crises facing the country, concluding with the powerful, defiant stance: “us South Africans that don’t know what is it that had to Google what is what what are the South African front or what are the front line estate… we are here in our country trying to fight for our country and they are here trying to fight us.”

This defense, therefore, is not merely a retort but a deliberate re-framing of the national debate, seeking to validate a controversial anti-migrant movement by prioritizing current economic and political grievances over the historical narrative of Pan-African unity.