Johannesburg at the Edge: When the State Retreats and Vigilantes Step Forward
Johannesburg is a city of contradictions so stark they feel almost deliberate.

Glass towers scrape the sky, reflecting wealth and ambition, while just below them streets struggle under the weight of deprivation, crime, and despair.

Built on gold, South Africa’s economic heart now trembles under the pressure of failing institutions, stretched policing, and a growing sense of abandonment.

In this fragile environment, a dangerous transformation is unfolding: ordinary citizens, driven by anger and disillusionment, are beginning to enforce their own version of justice.

This is not merely a story about crime.

It is a story about power—who holds it, who has lost it, and who is rushing in to claim it.

At the center of this unfolding crisis is the rise of vigilante-style groups such as Operation Dudula, whose presence in Johannesburg’s neighborhoods has grown steadily over recent months.

They claim to be filling a void left by the state, enforcing bylaws, protecting communities from crime, and confronting undocumented migrants and informal traders.

But beneath these claims lies a more troubling reality: the gradual erosion of the line separating lawful authority from mob justice.

A Vacuum Left by the State
For many residents, the emergence of groups like Operation Dudula did not come as a surprise.

It came as a response.

A response to police who do not arrive when called.

A response to crime that goes unpunished.

A response to neighborhoods that feel abandoned.

The Johannesburg Metropolitan Police Department (JMPD) has now publicly acknowledged what residents have known for years: it is under-resourced and overextended.

This admission followed rising complaints from informal traders who reported being harassed, threatened, and intimidated by members of Operation Dudula.

What began as a nationalist activist movement has since evolved into a political organization, but its methods on the ground remain militant and confrontational.

Despite having no legal authority, Dudula members have been checking vendors, confiscating goods, and occupying properties under the pretense of enforcing municipal bylaws.

In effect, they are acting as an alternative police force—one that answers to no statute, no court, and no democratic oversight.

This is the danger of a vacuum.

When the state retreats, others advance.

The Mayor’s Warning

Johannesburg Mayor Dada Morero addressed this reality bluntly during a recent press briefing.

Law enforcement, he emphasized, is the responsibility of the municipality.

It cannot be outsourced, commercialized, or delegated to political movements or activist groups—no matter how righteous their motives may appear.

“If the city fails to do its job,” Morero warned, “you will have groups becoming agitated, and you will see organizations like Dudula stepping in where government should be.

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His message was clear: vigilantism is not a solution.

It is a symptom.

Yet the mayor’s words also revealed a deeper truth.

Johannesburg has become an urban battlefield of competing authorities.

Metro police, private security firms, community patrols, and political movements now operate in the same contested spaces, all claiming legitimacy over the same streets.

A City Too Large to Police
The scale of the challenge is overwhelming.

The city estimates that between 20,000 and 25,000 informal traders operate across Johannesburg.

This vast informal economy stretches across sidewalks, transport hubs, and residential areas—far beyond what the JMPD has the manpower to regulate.

Compounding the crisis, the city recently announced a new vendor licensing system that triggered widespread panic and misinformation.

Many traders believed they would be charged between 50 and 100 rand to operate in public spaces.

Although the city later clarified that permits would initially be free, the damage was already done.

Confusion bred fear.

Fear bred distrust.

And distrust is fertile ground for groups like Operation Dudula.

They thrive where government communication fails.

They move into spaces where authority appears absent, positioning themselves as defenders of order and protectors of national pride.

But critics warn that these actions dangerously resemble vigilantism—no matter how they are framed.

JMPD Draws a Line
Under growing pressure, the JMPD issued a firm public statement: it does not collaborate with Operation Dudula.

Superintendent Xolani Fihla, the JMPD spokesperson, was unequivocal.

Operation Dudula is a political and community-based organization.

The JMPD’s mandate does not allow it to share or delegate law enforcement authority to non-statutory bodies.

Any attempts by Dudula members to inspect vendors, enforce bylaws, or take over properties are unlawful.

But here lies the contradiction that defines Johannesburg’s crisis.

In the same breath, Fihla admitted that the JMPD is severely understaffed and unable to maintain a consistent presence across a city of Johannesburg’s size.

This absence, he conceded, is a contributing factor to the rise of vigilante actions.

This frank admission exposes a dangerous reality: administrative failure is breeding alternative systems of control.

From Bylaws to Power Struggles
What is unfolding in Johannesburg is no longer about bylaws or informal trading alone.

It is about influence.

Every removal of a vendor, every confrontation on a street corner, every “clean-up” operation becomes a political performance.

Operation Dudula may speak the language of ordinary citizens, but its tactics—and its disregard for legal limits—reveal how fragile the rule of law has become.

And Johannesburg is not alone.

Across South Africa, communities are increasingly taking matters into their own hands.

In townships and informal settlements, street committees act as judge, jury, and sometimes executioner.

In rural provinces, community watch groups have, at times, devolved into violent retribution.

This is not driven by hatred of the law.

It is driven by loss of faith in the law.

When criminals walk free.

When police do not respond.

When homes are invaded and no help arrives—trust evaporates.

And once trust is gone, people turn to anyone who promises action, regardless of legality.

Why Vigilantes Gain Support
For Operation Dudula, public cynicism is fuel.

Their argument is simple and powerful: If the state will not act, we will.

But that argument is also deeply dangerous.

It reframes vigilantism as heroism and portrays lawful authority as weak and irrelevant.

Over time, this erodes the very foundation of democratic governance.

Security analysts are increasingly alarmed.

Professor Witness Malatsi of the University of Limpopo described Operation Dudula as “a small fish in a very big pond.

” The real problem, he argues, is the rise of unregulated groups that are celebrated as community heroes.

Dudula is not the disease.

It is a symptom.

The disease is institutional collapse: a state unable to enforce its own regulations, a police service crippled by poor administration and financial constraints, and a population so desperate for safety that it will accept justice from any source.

The Illusion of Heroism
Groups like Dudula are attractive precisely because they appear decisive.

They do what government agencies hesitate to do.

They act where bureaucracy stalls.

In a country plagued by corruption scandals and inefficiency, that image resonates.

But the cost is immense.

When unauthorized individuals enforce rules, they undermine legitimate authority.

The next time a real police officer arrives, communities no longer know whom to trust.

The line between lawful and unlawful power blurs—and that is how states begin to unravel from within.

History shows this pattern clearly.

It begins with local justice.

It escalates into territorial control.

It breeds corruption.

And eventually, it leads to chaos.

Johannesburg has not reached that point.

But it is closer than many want to admit.

Can the City Pull Back from the Brink?

Mayor Morero’s new bylaw enforcement initiative aims to reassert state control.

It brings together municipal departments, SAPS, and private security to target unlawful trading, illegal businesses, and hijacked properties.

On paper, the plan makes sense.

In practice, it is far more complex.

Thousands of informal traders rely on street economies to survive.

Enforcement campaigns—however justified—often punish the poorest while the true profiteers operate safely in the shadows.

This imbalance fuels resentment and makes vigilante narratives more appealing.

As Professor Malatsi warned, these organizations are often praised for breaking the law in the name of community improvement while portraying police as enemies.

Encouraging cooperation sounds reasonable—but cooperation also legitimizes groups that operate outside the law.

Superintendent Fihla captured the dilemma perfectly: law enforcement is a state function.

Once that function is compromised, instability follows.

A City at a Crossroads
Johannesburg now stands at a critical junction.

One path leads back to order: restoring institutions, rebuilding police capacity, reasserting legitimate authority, and regaining public trust.

The other leads to fragmentation: a city governed by whoever shouts the loudest, mobilizes the largest crowd, or intimidates most effectively.

History is clear about where the second path ends.

For now, city officials are trying to steer Johannesburg away from the edge.

But without real resources, real presence, and real accountability, words alone will not suffice.

Every day of delay allows another group to expand.

Another vendor to lose income.

Another citizen to lose hope.

And when hope collapses, even the strongest laws cannot hold society together.

So the question remains:
Who truly controls Johannesburg?
The Metro Police, with shrinking ranks and formal authority?
Or the streets, where fear and frustration are forging a new, unregulated form of governance?
This is the battle now confronting the Golden City—not just for safety, but for legitimacy itself.

Because while the law may still belong to the state, the narrative on the ground is rapidly slipping away.