When fear becomes a weapon by Aimee Ingram

South Africa likes to present itself as the rainbow nation, a country that emerged from the darkness of apartheid with a promise of tolerance, dignity and shared humanity. Yet every time foreigners are hunted, attacked or driven from their homes, that promise looks increasingly fragile.

The killing of at least two Mozambicans this week and the torching of dozens of shacks in Mossel Bay should not be dismissed as isolated incidents. They are part of a recurring pattern that has stained South Africa’s democratic story for years. Hundreds of Mozambicans reportedly fled in fear, while others waited to be repatriated. The images are disturbingly familiar: frightened families carrying what little they own, homes reduced to ashes and communities shattered by mobs convinced that outsiders are to blame for their struggles.

The uncomfortable truth is that xenophobia in South Africa is no longer merely a social problem. When people are targeted because of where they come from, when violence is directed at a group based on nationality, and when communities are terrorized simply for being foreign, the line into hate crime territory has already been crossed.

What makes these attacks especially troubling is that they are often fueled by grievances that are real but misdirected. South Africa faces staggering unemployment, deep inequality and persistent poverty. Many citizens feel abandoned by political leaders who have promised economic progress but failed to deliver it. Frustration is understandable. Violence against immigrants is not.

Foreign workers did not create South Africa’s economic challenges. Mozambican labourers did not design policies that left millions unemployed. Migrants did not build the corruption networks that siphoned away public resources. Yet they become convenient targets because they are visible, vulnerable and often unable to defend themselves politically.

This is the oldest trick in politics and society, when solutions are difficult, find a scapegoat. The danger extends beyond the immediate victims. Xenophobic violence poisons the entire region. Southern African nations are linked by history, trade, labour migration and family ties. Many South Africans once found refuge and solidarity in neighbouring countries during the anti-apartheid struggle. To now see citizens of those same countries chased from their homes represents a tragic reversal of that spirit.

There is also a practical cost. Countries cannot build prosperity while tolerating lawlessness. Investors notice instability. Tourists notice hostility. Regional partners notice when their citizens are attacked. Every act of mob violence weakens South Africa’s standing and undermines confidence in its future.

Political leaders must resist the temptation to flirt with anti-immigrant rhetoric for short-term popularity. Words matter. When migrants are routinely portrayed as invaders, criminals or economic parasites, violence becomes easier to justify in the minds of angry citizens. Responsible leadership requires confronting myths rather than exploiting them.

The deeper challenge is moral. A society reveals itself not by how it treats the powerful but by how it treats the vulnerable. Foreign workers living in informal settlements are among the least protected people in South Africa. If they can be burned out of their homes and driven across borders by fear, then the principles of equality and human dignity become little more than slogans.

The tragedy in Mossel Bay should be a wake-up call. Economic hardship may explain public anger, but it can never excuse persecution. When fear becomes a weapon and nationality becomes a target, everyone loses. South Africa deserves better than that, and so do its neighbours.