Xenophobia in South Africa: Anger at the Wrong Target -by Tobi Ononye
For many Nigerians, the mere mention of xenophobia immediately brings South Africa to mind. It is an association shaped by years of disturbing images—burning shops, looted businesses, and, too often, the loss of innocent lives.
A few days ago, two Nigerian nationals were reportedly killed in yet another wave of attacks. These incidents are not isolated. They are part of a pattern that stretches back to the early 1990s, when armed youth gangs in places like Alexandra began targeting foreign nationals.
This raises a difficult but necessary question: when does it stop?
To understand the persistence of xenophobia, we must first define it. The term refers to an irrational fear, distrust, or hatred of foreigners—often expressed through discrimination or violence against those perceived as outsiders. In South Africa, however, xenophobia is not just about fear of the “foreign.” It is deeply entangled with history, economics, and identity.
The roots of this hostility can be traced to apartheid, a system that institutionalised exclusion and division for decades. Apartheid was built on rigid ideas of belonging—who had rights, who did not, and who counted as part of the nation. Black South Africans themselves were treated as outsiders within their own country, confined to “homelands” and subjected to strict movement controls. This system normalised the idea that some people simply do not belong.
Although apartheid formally ended in 1994, its economic legacy did not disappear. Inequality remains stark, and for many South Africans, the promise of a better life has not been fully realised. Jobs are scarce, housing is limited, and basic services are often inadequate. In such an environment, frustration is inevitable. But rather than being directed at structural failures or government shortcomings, that frustration is frequently redirected toward migrants.
This is where xenophobia becomes most dangerous: in the everyday spaces where people compete for survival. Migrants and low-income South Africans often live side by side in informal settlements, working in the same informal sectors and relying on the same limited resources.
Proximity turns economic hardship into personal tension. The result is a perception—often unsupported by evidence—that foreigners are “taking jobs” or “bringing crime.”
Yet available data suggests otherwise. Migrants make up a relatively small percentage of the population, and there is no clear evidence that they are responsible for a disproportionate share of crime. In fact, crime in South Africa is more closely linked to poverty, inequality, and systemic failure than to the presence of foreign nationals. Despite this, the narrative persists, fueled by misinformation and, at times, political rhetoric.
It is also important to avoid sweeping generalisations. Not all South Africans support xenophobic violence. Many have condemned attacks, protected their neighbours, and called for unity. However, the persistence of these incidents points to deeper structural problems—weak governance, lack of accountability, and a history in which violence has too often been normalised as a means of resolving conflict.
Groups that position themselves as defenders of local communities have also played a role in escalating tensions, framing their actions as a form of “community policing.” In reality, such movements often blur the line between activism and vigilantism, targeting vulnerable populations under the guise of restoring order.
So what, then, is the real problem?
At its core, xenophobia in South Africa is less about foreigners and more about unmet expectations. It is about a society still grappling with the unfinished business of its past—where economic liberation has lagged behind political freedom. It is about anger that has been misdirected, not because it is unjustified, but because it has been channelled toward the wrong targets.
Foreign nationals did not create South Africa’s inequality. They did not design its economic system, nor did they inherit the structures that continue to shape opportunity and access. Attacking them does not solve unemployment, fix housing shortages, or address corruption. It only deepens division and perpetuates cycles of violence.
If xenophobia is to end, the focus must shift. Governments must be held accountable for delivering economic opportunities and basic services. Institutions must function effectively and fairly. Public discourse must move away from scapegoating and toward solutions that address root causes.
Anger, in itself, is not the problem. In many ways, it is justified. But anger without direction becomes destructive. And when it is aimed at the most vulnerable, it ultimately undermines the very society it seeks to defend.
South Africa’s challenge is not simply to end xenophobia, but to confront the conditions that allow it to thrive. Until then, the cycle will continue—and the question of “when does it stop?” will remain painfully unanswered.
Views expressed in this piece are strictly the author’s and not of Neusroom
