South Africa is quietly fragmenting. Not through secession or revolution, but through something far more ordinary: boom gates, biometric scanners and body corporates.
Across the country, from suburban enclaves to sprawling estates, a quiet retreat from the state is underway. The lines that once marked a shared civic life are being redrawn by private power.
Behind the walls of gated communities, homeowners’ associations now draft rules, enforce fines, manage infrastructure and contract private security. In form, they are residential schemes. In substance, they are mini-municipalities. And in a country grappling with decaying public institutions, they are increasingly viewed not as alternatives to the state – but as replacements.
We’ve seen this story before. In a recent piece, I explored the case of Kleinfontein, an Afrikaner enclave whose encounter with the High Court laid bare the tension between cultural autonomy and constitutional order. But Kleinfontein is no anomaly. It is merely the ideological extreme of what is becoming a structural norm: the rise of privately governed spaces that operate in the shadow of the state. This is the age of the parallel republic – not defined by flags or constitutions, but by access control, conduct rules, and levies. Governance is no longer something we elect. It is something we buy.
THE RISE OF PRIVATE POWER
Gated communities emerged in the late apartheid era, born of fear and segregation. But in the democratic era, they have exploded. Today, they span all provinces and income brackets — from elite estates to middle-class security complexes. The one thing they have in common is their internal logic: a system of rules, rights, and responsibilities that exists apart from public law.
At the centre is the homeowners’ association (HOA) or body corporate. These entities, created by contract, exercise significant power: they impose penalties, regulate behaviour, and restrict freedoms. Want to host religious gatherings, rent out your unit, or paint your house a different shade? That’s not a question of constitutional rights. That’s a clause in your estate’s conduct rules.
The illusion is that this system is voluntary. But when the choice is between functional private governance and dysfunctional public service, is there really a choice? In many parts of the country, buying into a gated estate is not a lifestyle decision. It is a survival strategy.
The state is no longer the default provider of roads, safety, electricity or water. The HOA is. I live in one of these estates. I also come from Mabopane, a township in Pretoria. The contrast is staggering. Inside the gates, roads are smooth, lights are on, and children play freely. Outside, potholes scar the tarmac, spikes wait on dark roads for unsuspecting motorists, and a flat tyre can mean a life-or-death situation. In estates, cameras watch. In townships, communities rely on each other and prayer.
LEGAL GREY ZONES
These communities operate in a strange legal twilight. On paper, they are regulated by laws like the Sectional Titles Schemes Management Act and the Community Schemes Ombud Service Act. In practice, oversight is limited, fragmented, and poorly enforced. Many residents have little idea of their rights, or even where to turn when they are violated.
This raises a deeper question: do constitutional rights stop at the gates? Section 8(2) of the Constitution says they don’t. Even private parties can be bound by the Bill of Rights when their actions affect others. These aren’t abstract legal debates. They speak to the heart of what it means to live in a constitutional democracy. If private associations wield public power – setting rules, enforcing discipline, managing shared resources – then they should be subject to public law standards. Otherwise, we create zones of authority without accountability.
PRIVATE SECURITY AND THE SHRINKING STATE
Nowhere is the retreat of the state more visible than in policing. South Africa has one of the largest private security industries in the world. As of 2022, more than 2.5 million private security officers were registered – dwarfing the South African Police Service and South African National Defence Force combined.
Estates don’t just contract guards. They build militarised ecosystems: electric fences, thermal cameras, patrol vehicles, drone surveillance. Some estates even have their own emergency lines, faster than 10111. But this security comes at a cost – not only in rands, but in equality. The right to safety is a constitutional promise. Yet it is now distributed by income. Those who can pay for protection get it. Those who cannot, wait. In the meantime, neighbourhoods self-police. Vigilantism rises. And a sense of abandonment takes hold.
This is not to blame those who seek security. It is to ask why the state has allowed itself to become irrelevant in this most basic of functions. Security, like justice, must be a public good. Otherwise, we are not citizens. We are customers.
Consider Steyn City in Johannesburg: private schools, fibre networks, restaurants, golf courses, medical facilities – all managed by a private company. Or Waterfall City, with its own water management, road infrastructure, and law enforcement arrangements. These are not suburbs. They are cities. But unlike real cities, they have no elected officials, no municipal oversight, no public participation.
Disputes in these spaces are resolved by trustees or private arbitrators. Fines are imposed for painting your door the wrong colour. Prayer meetings can be restricted by by-law mimicry. Uniformity is enforced in the name of order. These systems of governance are efficient. But they are not democratic. You don’t vote for the rules. You buy into them. And in doing so, you surrender the protections of public law for the promises of private order.
THE CONSTITUTIONAL RECKONING WITH GATED COMMUNITIES
The Constitution does not vanish behind the gates. Section 8(2) ensures that private conduct can be held to constitutional standards, particularly where it affects dignity, freedom, or equality. Yet in practice, there is a hesitancy to extend these protections to HOA governance. Courts often defer to contract. The state often defers entirely. This must change.
If estates perform public functions, then they should meet public obligations. That means transparency, participation, reasonableness, and proportionality. It means recognising that rights cannot be signed away under economic duress. The alternative is dangerous: a society where the rule of law depends on postcode. Where private rules trump public values. Where governance is exercised without constitutional restraint.
THE BIGGER QUESTION
The gated life is not immune from the life outside. Crime does not respect property lines. Nor does inequality. Every day, thousands of workers cross from townships to estates to clean homes, care for children, and guard perimeters. The line between inside and outside is thin, porous, and morally fraught.
I am a lawyer. I live in a secure estate. I also grew up navigating township streets, where a broken streetlight could mean a mugging. I know that fear drives the desire for walls. But I also know that no wall can protect us from the consequences of a divided society.
Gated communities are a symptom. The disease is inequality. And no amount of private governance will cure it. If our Constitution is to mean anything, it must mean something everywhere – in the suburbs and the settlements, in the estates and the townships. Governance cannot be a commodity. It must be a commitment. Not only by the state, but by all of us. In the end, the question is not who runs South Africa’s gated communities. It is who we become when we allow law, service and protection to retreat behind gates.
DO YOU LIVE IN A GATED COMMUNITY?
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