Editorial: Anti-Immigrant Xenophobia in South Africa

Africa has long traded not only in goods and borders, but in something more elusive and more valuable: a sense of shared fate. From the liberation struggles of the 20th century to the pan-African rhetoric that followed, the idea however imperfectly realized, was that Africans, wherever they found themselves on the continent, belonged. That compact is now under strain as the brotherhood is fraying.

 

In recent years, South Africa has become the most visible theatre of this erosion. Periodic eruptions of xenophobic violence, directed largely at migrants from Nigeria, Zimbabwe, Mozambique and elsewhere, have turned townships into fault lines. Shops are looted, livelihoods destroyed, and, in the worst cases, lives lost. The justifications are familiar: foreigners are accused of “taking jobs”, “running criminal networks”, or “undercutting local businesses”. These grievances, real or imagined, are then weaponized by opportunistic actors who understand the combustible mix of poverty, inequality and frustration.

 

South Africa is not alone. Across parts of the continent and indeed beyond it, anti-immigrant sentiment is hardening. Economic stagnation, youth unemployment and weak governance have created fertile ground for scapegoating. Migrants, often visible and vulnerable, become convenient targets for structural failures they did not create. It is an old story, but one that Africa, given its history, ought to resist with particular vigor.

 

For the irony is stark. South Africa itself was once the beneficiary of pan-African solidarity. During apartheid, exiled activists found refuge across the continent. Governments and ordinary citizens alike contributed materially and morally to the struggle against racial oppression. That memory is not distant history; it is living testimony. To now turn against fellow Africans in moments of domestic strain is not merely short-sighted. It is a betrayal of that inheritance.

 

The economic arguments advanced in defense of xenophobia are, on closer inspection, threadbare. Migrants do not “steal” jobs in any simple sense; they participate in economies that are already constrained. Many create businesses, employ locals and expand markets. Others take on work that is shunned or underpaid. The real culprits behind unemployment and inequality are structural: sluggish growth, poor policy choices and entrenched corruption. Attacking migrants may offer emotional release, but it does nothing to address these underlying problems.

 

There is also a reputational cost, one that Africa can ill afford. Images of Africans attacking Africans travel quickly, reinforcing external narratives of instability and division. For countries seeking investment, tourism and diplomatic influence, such scenes are not merely embarrassing; they are damaging. They suggest a continent at odds with itself, unable to guarantee the safety of those within its borders.

 

Yet the deeper cost is moral. Pan-Africanism was never just a slogan; it was a recognition of shared vulnerability and shared aspiration. It acknowledged that the arbitrary borders inherited from colonialism could not erase deeper connections of history, culture and struggle. To abandon that principle is to retreat into a narrower, more brittle identity; one defined less by solidarity than by suspicion. What, then, is to be done?

 

First, political leadership must be unambiguous. Too often, responses to xenophobic violence are tepid, couched in language that condemns the acts while implicitly validating the grievances. This equivocation is dangerous. Leaders must state clearly that violence against migrants is unacceptable, full stop; and back that statement with enforcement. Perpetrators should be prosecuted, not placated.

Second, governments must address the economic conditions that fuel resentment. This is easier said than done, but it is essential. Job creation, skills development and inclusive growth are the only durable antidotes to the zero-sum thinking that underpins xenophobia. Where opportunity expands, the perceived threat posed by outsiders diminishes.

 

Third, there is a need for a renewed narrative that reclaims the language of African solidarity from the realm of nostalgia and places it firmly in the present. Regional bodies such as the African Union, along with civil society and the media, have a role to play here. Stories of cooperation, integration and mutual benefit must be amplified to counter the drumbeat of division.

 

Finally, ordinary citizens must resist the temptation to see their neighbors as enemies. This is perhaps the hardest task of all. It requires empathy in conditions that often discourage it, and a willingness to look beyond immediate frustrations to a broader horizon. But it is also the most important. For solidarity, in the end, is not decreed from above; it is practiced on the ground.

 

Africa stands at a crossroads. It can continue down a path where economic hardship and political opportunism erode the bonds that once held it together. Or it can choose to reaffirm those bonds, imperfect though they may be, and adapt them to contemporary realities.

 

The choice is not abstract. It is made, daily, in markets and neighborhoods, in the words of leaders and the actions of citizens. It is made whenever a migrant is treated as a fellow African rather than an intruder. The continent’s history offers guidance. It has, before, found unity in the face of division. It can do so again. But only if it remembers that solidarity is not a relic of the past. It is a necessity of the present, and a prerequisite for the future.