A self-proclaimed South African activist known as Jacinta recently broadcast an explosive video, serving as both a furious defense of her national identity and a potent political manifesto demanding the mass deportation of illegal immigrants.

The catalyst for her eleven-minute address was the attempt by online detractors to delegitimize her South African credentials by labeling her “Mozambican,” a tactic she views as a desperate, xenophobic counter-attack mirroring the abuse faced by a fellow activist named Zandi, who is frequently accused of being “Zimbabwean.”

Jacinta launched her defense by establishing her roots, emphasizing her name, Justinta, is a “Roman Catholic name” and a product of a “very staunch Catholic home.”

She attempted to fortify her image as a disciplined moral guardian, detailing her life choices: “I don’t drink alcohol. I’ve never drank alcohol because it was a choice. I don’t smoke because it was a choice. I don’t do drugs because it was a choice. I don’t do clubs. I don’t go partying. I don’t go grooving. I don’t go sleeping around with different men.”

This rigorous self-presentation was a clear attempt to establish a moral high ground against her opponents, whose behavior she implicitly frames as disorderly and corrosive to the nation.

The video quickly addressed the personal slur that her anti-foreigner activism was merely the reaction of a “brokenhearted” woman who “dated a Nigerian who broke my heart.”

She did not deny the past relationship, but instead weaponized the grievance, delivering an ultimatum that has since become a viral flashpoint: “I want you to know that given a chance to choose and in a choice between dying and dating a Nigerian, I’d choose death.”

Despite the profound intensity of this statement, she immediately attempted to insulate her political cause from the personal pain, claiming, “that has nothing to do with the fact that I hate Nigerians or I hate foreigners for that matter. It’s just because it’s a choice.”

She insisted her actions were not driven by men—a view she calls “narrow”—but were for a greater good: “what I’m doing has to do with my future. as a South African has to do with the future of this country that I was born in that I so love the future of our children as a country.”

Her political argument is predicated on a narrative of national siege and decay.

Jacinta maintains that African immigrants are actively “destroy[ing] our country,” claiming they try to “gaslight us by telling us it’s because we’re black.”

She rejects the notion that a shared racial identity with other Africans gives them the right to destabilize the South African state, forcefully stating, “Being black doesn’t mean that everyone must come to South Africa and ruin our country.”

She paints a grim picture of the country’s degradation, directly blaming the influx of foreigners for widespread crime and urban collapse.

“Our cities look like a junk that you come from. Our children are no longer safe because of you. kidnappings on a high things that we didn’t even know growing up,” she asserts, lamenting the loss of innocence and security she experienced in her own childhood.

Jacinta framed the crisis as a zero-sum game, positioning herself at the front lines, rejecting the humanitarian excuse that people are simply “looking for a better life.”

“We also deserve a better life as South Africans and that better life doesn’t mean accommodating everyone to come here and take take those days are gone guys,” she argued, closing the door on the historic African National Congress policy of open, Pan-African solidarity.

The activist swiftly pivoted to a direct demand aimed at the government, specifically addressing the Minister of Home Affairs (referred to as “Mr. Leon Shriber,” despite the incumbent being Aaron Motsoaledi).

Her central point of contention is the government’s perceived inclination to document illegal immigrants.

“I am a South African who I know is representing millions of us and I’m saying no,” she stated with absolute finality.

She vehemently rejected the term “undocumented,” insisting on a far more severe categorization: “They are not undocumented. They are criminals who are in the country breaking our laws.”

According to Jacinta, offering them documents would be an unacceptable “reward for it by being given documents that make them comfortable to stay in the country.”

Her singular, non-negotiable demand is clear: “No, don’t document them, deport them. That’s what we want.”

She then proposed a self-funding mechanism to circumvent the government’s complaint that mass deportation is too expensive for the state.

Her solution is punitive: “For every single person that you find who’s in the country illegally, make them pay. Charge them, find them, make them pay for breaking our laws.”

The money collected from these fines, she argued, should be used for two purposes: to transport them back home and to “build a border because we are tired of being told that there’s no border.”

She insists that a physical barrier is the one thing South Africans want and deserve.

Her critique of the Home Affairs Department extends beyond immigration policy to the very integrity of the state apparatus.

She accused the department of being riddled with “fraud and corruption,” claiming this internal rot has “lost its value” for the South African passport, allowing it to be used by “criminals from all over Africa.”

She calls this betrayal “treason,” demanding that the Minister’s duty must be to protect the country’s borders first, rather than merely “handing out birth certificates, IDs, marriages, and passports.”

This state failure, she argues, is exemplified by high-profile cases like that of “Chidima,” a foreign national who allegedly mocks the authorities online, posting “and making fun of how she’s here and she’s here to stay” despite her documents supposedly being revoked.

Jacinta also fiercely addressed the debate over human rights, arguing that the focus on the rights of illegal immigrants eclipses the fundamental rights of South African citizens.

“Yet every single time we are reminded of their human rights. What about our human rights as South Africans?” she asked, asserting that citizens have the right to a secure nation free from “people who are not South African coming into this country and abusing this country, abusing our resources.”

She concluded with a defiant message to her online adversaries, noting that their “arguing and fighting with us on comments and swearing at us” is ultimately counterproductive.

“That’s just fueling our fire even more. Making us even want to do it every day even more,” she stated.

The video closes on a note of fierce national pride and a final challenge to other African states, scoffing at the name-calling attempts.

She insisted that South Africans are fighting a critical battle on their own soil, a duty she claims other African nationals fail to perform for their own countries: “you there’s no South African who will leave our country and go and fight for you in Zimbabwe.”

Jacinta’s video, a toxic yet politically potent blend of personal grievance and nativist policy demands, is a chilling testament to the profound anxieties that grip South Africa, transforming the challenge of illegal immigration into a defining, existential battle for national sovereignty.