“We Fought Apartheid Together—Now You Hunt Africans?”: The Ugly Face of Self-Hate in South Africa

Let’s strip this down to its raw truth—what we are seeing in South Africa is not protest, not frustration, not patriotism. It is disgrace. It is cruelty. It is a moral collapse playing out in broad daylight.

Foreign nationals—fellow Africans—are being hunted in the streets, hounded out of workplaces, and humiliated in hospitals. Imagine that. Hospitals. Places meant for healing have been turned into theatres of intimidation, where mobs arrogate to themselves the power to decide who deserves care and who does not. That is not just unlawful—it is inhumane.

And what is the justification?
“They are taking our jobs.”
That tired, lazy, and dangerously misleading excuse.

Let’s confront it head-on.
No economy collapses because of the poor. No labour market is destroyed by migrants hustling for survival. The idea that a Zimbabwean street vendor, a Nigerian trader, or a Ghanaian artisan is the reason for unemployment in Africa’s most industrialised economy is not just flawed—it is intellectually dishonest. It is a convenient lie used to mask deeper failures: failed governance, inequality, corruption, broken economic planning, and systemic exclusion.

Blaming foreigners for job scarcity is the easiest form of cowardice. It requires no thinking, no accountability—just anger and a target.

If jobs were truly the issue, then why are multinational corporations—many foreign-owned—operating freely, extracting wealth, and repatriating profits without this same level of hostility? Why is the anger not directed at structural inequality, policy failure, or economic mismanagement? Why is it always the vulnerable—the ones with the least power—who are hunted?

Because this is not about jobs.
This is about self-hate.
It is the tragic expression of a people turning their frustration inward, against those who look like them, speak like them, and share their history. It is the psychological scar of a continent that has not fully healed from centuries of being told—directly and indirectly—that its own is less valuable.

And that is why the contradiction is so glaring.

Africans across the continent stood behind South Africa during apartheid. They sacrificed resources, political capital, and in many cases, lives. The liberation of South Africa was not an isolated victory—it was a continental triumph. It was Africa saying: “Never again.”

Yet today, some of those same brothers and sisters are saying to fellow Africans: “You are not welcome here.”

What changed?
Or better yet—what was never truly fixed?

We shout about racism in Europe and America—and rightly so. But what moral ground do we stand on when we replicate that same exclusion, that same dehumanisation, against our own? When the African becomes the enemy of the African?

That is not strength. That is not sovereignty. That is not protectionism.

That is self-destruction.
Let’s be honest enough to say it: we have, in moments like this, become worse than what we condemn. Because at least when racism comes from outside, we recognise it as oppression. But when it comes from within, we excuse it, rationalise it, and sometimes even cheer it on.

That is far more dangerous.
There are thousands of South Africans living peacefully across the continent. In Ghana alone, they live, work, build businesses, and are welcomed without hostility. They are not chased out of hospitals. They are not hunted in markets. They are treated as human beings.

So what justifies the opposite treatment?

Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
And let us be clear—this is not an attack on all South Africans. There are many who reject this madness, who stand for unity, who believe in Ubuntu—“I am because we are.” They must rise louder. They must refuse to let their country’s name be dragged through the mud by acts of intolerance.

Because silence is not neutrality—it is permission.

Africa cannot move forward like this. We cannot build unity on paper and practise division in reality. We cannot speak of Pan-Africanism while violently rejecting one another at the border, in the street, or in a hospital ward.

This is a defining moment.
A moment to confront the uncomfortable truth that the enemy is not always external. Sometimes, it is the reflection staring back at us.

Self-hate is not always loud. Sometimes it hides behind excuses like “they are taking our jobs.” But when stripped of its disguise, it is nothing more than fear, misdirection, and a refusal to face real problems.

Africa deserves better than this.
We owe it to our history. We owe it to those who fought for freedom. And we owe it to the generations coming after us.

Enough of the hypocrisy. Enough of the misplaced anger. Enough of turning against ourselves.

Let love lead—not just in words, but in action. Always.