When the victim becomes the persecutor by Sabine Fischer

South Africa has long stood before the world as a symbol of resilience. It defeated one of history's most brutal systems of racial oppression, replacing apartheid with the promise of reconciliation rather than revenge. It taught the world that justice could exist without descending into endless cycles of hatred. That moral authority was hard-earned through unimaginable suffering.

Yet today, that legacy is being stained by something deeply disturbing: xenophobia directed at fellow Africans and other foreign nationals whose only crime is trying to survive.

The arrest of hundreds of people during anti-migrant protests and the killing of one person amid the looting of foreign-owned shops is not merely another outbreak of public disorder. It is a painful reminder that oppression does not automatically inoculate a nation against becoming an oppressor itself.

History has a cruel irony. Those who have suffered injustice sometimes fail to recognize it when they inflict it on others.

South Africa knows better than most what it means to be judged by the colour of one's skin, by birthplace, or by identity. It knows the humiliation of exclusion. It knows what happens when people are declared outsiders in the very place they live. That painful history should have made the country one of the strongest defenders of human dignity regardless of nationality.

Instead, too often, migrants have become convenient scapegoats. Foreign shopkeepers are accused of stealing jobs. Refugees are blamed for rising crime. Economic hardship is redirected toward people who arrived with little more than hope and determination. It is politically easier to point fingers at vulnerable outsiders than to confront unemployment, corruption, inequality, poor governance, and decades of broken promises.

The problem is that blaming migrants solves absolutely nothing. Closing one foreign-owned business does not create sustainable employment. Burning another family's livelihood does not lower food prices. Assaulting street vendors does not fix failing municipalities. Violence merely destroys communities already struggling to survive.

The tragedy runs even deeper because many of those targeted are Africans themselves. People from Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Malawi, Nigeria, Ethiopia, Somalia, and countless other nations came to South Africa believing it represented opportunity and stability. Many fled conflict or economic collapse. Many work long hours, build businesses, and contribute to local economies. Instead of finding safety, some discover fear, intimidation, and violence.

The irony is impossible to ignore. During apartheid, many African countries opened their doors to South African exiles, freedom fighters, and political activists. They provided sanctuary when South Africans needed it most. Today, citizens of some of those same countries are chased through South African streets simply because they speak with different accents or carry different passports.

That should trouble every South African. Patriotism is not measured by how fiercely one rejects foreigners. National pride cannot be built upon the ashes of another person's shop or the blood spilled because someone was born elsewhere.

A nation does not become stronger by narrowing the definition of who deserves humanity. Governments certainly have every right to regulate immigration, secure borders, and enforce immigration laws. No country can function without orderly systems. But there is a profound difference between enforcing the law and unleashing mob justice against innocent people. The rule of law exists precisely to prevent fear from becoming violence.

South Africa remains one of Africa's greatest nations, not because it is perfect, but because it once showed the world that forgiveness could triumph over hatred. That lesson should not be forgotten. The true test of any nation is not how it remembers its own suffering but how it treats those who are vulnerable today.

If South Africa allows xenophobia to become normal, it risks betraying the very principles that made it an inspiration across the globe. The greatest tribute to those who fought apartheid is not simply remembering their struggle. It is refusing to create new victims in its shadow.