How leadership fuels Xenophobia in South Africa
As 2026 attacks intensify, political rhetoric and media amplification have normalizing violence and threatening regional stability and Africa’s integration agenda.
By John Onyeukwu| Policy and Reform Column, Business a.m. | Mon May 04- Sun May 10, 2026 |
There is a point at which violence stops being spontaneous and begins to look structured, not necessarily organised, but enabled. South Africa’s latest wave of xenophobic attacks in 2026 appears to be approaching that threshold. What distinguishes this moment from previous eruptions is not only the persistence of the violence, but the growing body of evidence, and public perception, that elements of political leadership and the media ecosystem have helped to legitimise it.
For over a decade, xenophobic violence in South Africa has followed a familiar cycle: eruption, condemnation, containment, and amnesia. From the 2008 attacks that left more than 60 people dead and displaced tens of thousands, to renewed violence in 2015 and the diplomatically consequential unrest of 2019, the state has largely treated each episode as an isolated breakdown of order. The official framing has often leaned toward “criminality” rather than xenophobia, allowing the deeper drivers to remain insufficiently addressed.
But 2026 presents a more troubling escalation. The issue is no longer just state incapacity; it is the risk of state-adjacent complicity.
At the heart of this crisis lies a political economy paradox. South Africa remains one of Africa’s most industrialised economies, yet it is also among the most unequal societies globally. According to the World Bank, its Gini coefficient remains above 0.60; placing it among the highest in the world. Unemployment hovers around 30 percent, with youth unemployment exceeding 50 percent in some estimates. These are not just statistics; they define a generation’s lived experience.
In such a context, economic frustration demands an outlet. Foreign nationals, particularly Africans from Nigeria, Zimbabwe, Somalia, and the Democratic Republic of Congo, have become that outlet. Concentrated in the informal economy, migrants often operate small businesses in townships and peri-urban areas, where state presence is weakest and competition is most intense. Their relative resilience in these spaces, driven by networks, adaptability, and risk tolerance, can provoke both admiration and resentment.
Yet economic competition alone does not produce sustained violence. It requires a narrative framework.
This is where the current moment becomes especially significant. Increasingly, that framework is being shaped, and in some cases amplified, by political actors and media influencers. Statements that frame migrants as “illegal,” “criminal,” or responsible for social decline may resonate with frustrated constituencies, but they also shift the boundaries of acceptable discourse. When such framing is repeated across political platforms and amplified through digital media channels, it acquires legitimacy.
The political scientist Mahmood Mamdani once warned that when states fail to manage difference, they risk institutionalising it. South Africa’s challenge today is not formal institutionalisation, but something more diffuse and arguably more dangerous: the normalisation of hostility.
In practical terms, this means that acts of violence are no longer perceived by perpetrators as deviant, but as corrective. Shops are looted not simply for economic gain, but as expressions of grievance. Communities mobilise not just in anger, but in perceived defence of entitlement. The line between protest and persecution becomes dangerously thin.
For the South African government, this represents a critical inflection point. Condemnation after the fact is no longer sufficient. The credibility of the state now depends on its willingness to confront not only perpetrators, but enablers. This includes scrutinising the rhetoric of public officials, enforcing accountability where incitement occurs, and addressing the role of media ecosystems, both traditional and digital, in spreading misinformation and hate.
There are precedents globally for this kind of reckoning. In other jurisdictions, political leaders and media actors have faced sanctions, regulatory scrutiny, or legal consequences for incitement. South Africa’s constitutional framework, with its strong protections for dignity and equality, provides a basis for similar action, if there is political will to use it.
The stakes extend far beyond domestic stability. South Africa’s position as a continental economic anchor means that its internal dynamics have regional consequences. The African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) often described as the cornerstone of Africa’s economic future, depends not only on policy alignment but on social acceptance of mobility. Where migrants are unsafe, supply chains are disrupted, informal trade contracts, and investment confidence weakens.
Nigeria’s experience illustrates the diplomatic dimension of this crisis. Home to one of the largest African diasporas in South Africa, Nigeria has repeatedly found itself responding to attacks on its citizens. The 2019 episode marked a turning point, with the Nigerian government recalling its ambassador, boycotting high-level engagements, and signalling a more assertive posture. Since then, public pressure within Nigeria has made it increasingly difficult for policymakers to adopt a purely conciliatory approach.
Yet Nigeria’s position is also paradoxical. As a country with its own governance and economic challenges, it must balance external assertiveness with internal reform. Its ability to protect its citizens abroad is ultimately linked to its domestic strength, economic, institutional, and diplomatic.
Other African countries are similarly recalibrating. Recent protests and diplomatic engagements, including formal objections from states such as Ghana, suggest a growing unwillingness to treat xenophobic violence in South Africa as an internal matter. This is a notable shift. It signals the emergence of a continental norm, still fragile, but increasingly visible, that violence against African migrants carries collective implications.
The broader question, however, is structural. Can Africa sustain an integration agenda in the absence of inclusive national political economies?
South Africa’s experience suggests that it cannot. Where inequality is entrenched, where youth unemployment is pervasive, and where political incentives reward populist narratives, the conditions for xenophobia are not incidental, they are embedded. Left unaddressed, they will continue to generate periodic crises, each one more complex and more consequential than the last. What begins as localised violence in townships quickly escalates into diplomatic tension, economic disruption, and reputational damage that affect the entire continent.
This is the contradiction at the heart of Africa’s integration project. Frameworks such as the African Continental Free Trade Area promise a borderless economic future, yet the political economies of key states remain deeply exclusionary. Trade may be liberalised, but labour markets remain rigid; capital may move, but people are resisted. The result is a fragmented integration model, one that advances on paper but stalls in practice.
South Africa illustrates this tension vividly. Its relatively advanced infrastructure and industrial base position it as a gateway economy, attracting migrants seeking opportunity. Yet its domestic labour market cannot absorb its own population, let alone newcomers. In such a setting, migration becomes politically combustible. Without deliberate policy intervention, the presence of migrants is reframed not as an economic asset, but as an existential threat.
Comparatively, countries like Nigeria present a different but related challenge. Nigeria’s highly informal economy allows for a degree of absorption of migrants without the same level of visible conflict. However, this is less a sign of successful integration than of diffuse economic pressure. Underemployment, rather than open unemployment, masks the strain. The absence of large-scale xenophobic violence does not indicate resilience; it reflects a different configuration of economic fragility.
What both cases reveal is that integration cannot outpace inclusion. Where citizens feel excluded from economic opportunity, they are less likely to support openness, whether to trade, investment, or migration. In this sense, xenophobia is not merely a social pathology; it is a political signal that the underlying development model is failing to distribute gains equitably.
Addressing this requires a layered response. At the domestic level, South Africa must prioritise labour market inclusion, particularly for young people, while developing a migration framework that is clear, enforceable, and socially legitimate. This includes better data on migration flows, more efficient documentation systems, and targeted support for local economies where competition is most acute. It must also invest in rebuilding norms, through education, public communication, and leadership example that reinforce the constitutional values of dignity and equality. Crucially, accountability must extend to those who shape public discourse; rhetoric that incites or legitimises violence cannot remain politically cost-free.
At the continental level, African states must move beyond rhetorical commitments to integration and develop practical mechanisms for managing migration, protecting citizens, and responding collectively to crises. This includes strengthening the African Union’s role in early warning and mediation, as well as aligning national policies with regional objectives. It also requires a more honest conversation about burden-sharing, how countries that attract migrants can be supported, and how sending countries can create conditions that reduce forced economic migration.
Ultimately, xenophobia in South Africa is not just a test of one country’s governance. It is a test of Africa’s political imagination. Can the continent design an integration model that is not only efficient, but equitable? Can it align economic ambition with social cohesion?
If leadership continues to legitimise grievance rather than resolve it, the costs will not be confined within national borders. They will manifest in weakened trade regimes, strained diplomatic relations, and a gradual erosion of the trust required for collective progress.
They will, in the end, be borne by the continent as a whole.
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http://www.policy.hu/onyeukwu/
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-- James D. Wolfensohn
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