WHEN AFRICA'S RAINBOW TURNS AGAINST ITS OWN: A LETTER TO XENOPHOBIC SOUTH AFRICA. Written by Alex Ter Adum, PhD

There is no tragedy more painful than a people who have forgotten the hands that lifted them when the whole world turned its back.

The ugly resurgence of xenophobic protests against fellow Africans in South Africa is not merely a political mistake; it is a profound moral betrayal of history. It desecrates the memory of those who bled, died, sacrificed, and stood in unwavering solidarity with South Africa during the long night of apartheid.

The greatest irony of our time is this: the sons and daughters of those who were once hunted because they were Black are now hunting fellow Africans because they are foreigners.

History has an unforgiving memory.

When apartheid reduced Black South Africans to strangers in their own land, Africa did not ask whether they were Zulu, Xhosa, Sotho, Tswana, or Venda. Africa saw only brothers and sisters in chains.

Nigeria nationalized British Petroleum and Barclays in protest against Britain's support for apartheid. General Murtala Ramat Mohammed declared with immortal clarity:

"Africa has come of age. We will no longer accept dictates from any power, however powerful."

Those words were not spoken for Nigeria alone. They were spoken for South Africa.

Kwame Nkrumah reminded the continent:

"The independence of Ghana is meaningless unless it is linked up with the total liberation of Africa."

That liberation included South Africa.

Julius Nyerere never tired of insisting:

"Without unity, there is no future for Africa."

Tanzania opened its soil to liberation fighters.

Robert Mugabe consistently maintained that African freedom was indivisible, insisting that no nation could truly claim liberty while another remained under colonial domination.

Across the continent, ordinary Africans donated money, welcomed refugees, trained freedom fighters, and accepted economic hardship because South Africa's freedom was considered Africa's collective responsibility.

Today, some of the beneficiaries of that solidarity repay Africa with stones, petrol bombs, and chants against fellow Africans.

What an extraordinary inversion of history.

When Nelson Mandela walked out of prison after twenty-seven years, he did not preach revenge against Africans. He preached reconciliation.

He reminded the world:

"To be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others."

Mandela also declared:

"We owe our freedom to countless people throughout the world."

Those "countless people" included millions of Africans beyond South Africa's borders.

Oliver Tambo spent decades travelling across Africa mobilizing governments for South Africa's liberation.

Walter Sisulu devoted his life to building solidarity rather than division.

Steve Biko inspired Black consciousness not as a weapon against fellow Africans but against racial oppression.

The victory over apartheid was never a South African victory alone.

It was Africa's victory.

It belonged to every market woman in Lagos who contributed to liberation funds.

It belonged to every Tanzanian village that sheltered exiles.

It belonged to every Ghanaian, Zambian, Zimbabwean, Mozambican, Angolan, Namibian, and countless others who believed South Africa's pain was Africa's pain.

How heartbreaking, then, that today's generation appears determined to rewrite that glorious chapter with the ink of xenophobia.

Hatred is a fire that never remains confined to its first victim.

As recent tensions among some anti-immigrant activists illustrate, movements founded on resentment often consume themselves. Once the outsider has been demonized, suspicion inevitably turns inward. Today's ally becomes tomorrow's enemy. History repeatedly teaches that societies built on exclusion eventually fracture from within.

The apartheid government once thrived on the poisonous doctrine of division.

Must democratic South Africa now imitate the psychology of its former oppressors?

There is a painful irony in recalling former President P. W. Botha, who arrogantly believed that Black South Africans could not responsibly govern themselves. His racist prediction deserved to be defeated—and it was. Yet every act of xenophobic violence against fellow Africans hands fresh ammunition to those old prejudices. The tragedy is not that Botha was right; he was wrong in principle. The tragedy is that such conduct allows the enemies of African liberation to claim vindication they do not deserve.

In this dark moment, one voice has consistently reminded South Africans that African solidarity must not be abandoned. Julius Malema has repeatedly rejected xenophobia and called for unity among Africans. Whether one agrees with all of his politics is beside the point. On this question, he has demonstrated leadership by refusing to turn fellow Africans into enemies.

South Africa must choose.

It can either remain the Rainbow Nation envisioned by Mandela or descend into a republic of suspicion where every foreign accent becomes a crime and every African brother becomes a target.

The liberation struggle was never fought so that Black people could inherit the machinery of exclusion. It was fought so that justice would replace oppression.

Let South Africa remember that the same continent that once marched for its freedom now watches with disbelief as some of its children are hunted on South African streets.

And let this generation remember one final truth:

A nation that forgets those who stood with it in its darkest hour slowly forfeits the moral authority of its brightest victory.

When Africa stood with South Africa, it did not ask for passports. It only saw humanity. South Africa must now decide whether it still sees Africa, or only strangers.

Alex Ter Adum, PhD

Secretary D-37