To my South African brothers and sisters: A plea for humanity in the face of Afrophobia

Dear Reader, I still remember something I wrote in my master’s degree field notes at the Beitbridge border. Standing there, my hands resting on the fence, I was struck by the flora and the fauna.

The flora, the trees, shrubs and grasses, paid no attention to the border fence. Branches leaned across it without passports or visas. The fauna, the monkeys, baboons and birds, crossed from one country to the other with much love and no fear or hatred.

We often say the animal kingdom is harsh because life is a struggle for survival. Yet, on that day, I saw nothing that resembled hostility based on nationality or place of birth.

Standing there, holding the fence, I wondered whether nature was quietly reminding us that borders may define states, but they should never define our humanity.

That memory came flooding back today as I watched the horrific anti-African immigrant violence unfolding in parts of South Africa.

I write this simply as an ordinary human being, born of an African mother and an African father. I believe that our common humanity is greater than our nationalities, and that our shared humanity must always come before the borders that divide us.

I write not as an Oxford scholar, nor as someone who has had the privilege of teaching and training many South African public officials, but simply as an ordinary fellow African.

The horrific anti-African immigrant violence unfolding in parts of South Africa today should shock the conscience of every African. No grievance can justify dehumanising another person because of their nationality.

These actions are those of misguided elements and should never define the many South Africans I have known who embody kindness, love, generosity and humanity like Sisi Bongi.

To my South African sisters and brothers, please do not assume that today’s realities will last forever. NATIONS RISE AND FALL. Economies change. Political fortunes shift. A day is a very long time.

Those who receive migrants today can become migrants tomorrow.

Zimbabwe is a painful reminder. It was once one of Africa’s most prosperous and admired countries, attracting workers, students and professionals from across the continent. Zambia, Mozambique, Malawi, South Africa and you can name many more.

Few imagined that millions of Zimbabweans would one day be forced to seek life, work, safety and opportunity beyond their borders.

This is also a moment for all Africans to reflect. Across our continent, we have not always treated one another with the dignity that every human being deserves. Zimbabwe is not exempt. That should not diminish today’s outrage.

It should deepen our commitment to ensure that no African is ever reduced to a foreigner to be despised, or an outsider to be hunted, or an enemy simply because they crossed a border.

My loving hope is that South Africans never find themselves as vulnerable migrants in foreign lands.

But if history were ever to take such an unexpected turn, perhaps long after we are gone, I would still hope that South African children and grandchildren would be welcomed with dignity rather than hatred, with compassion rather than violence, with love rather than revenge, and with bread rather than stones across their own continent, Africa.

At the heart of the African idea of Ubuntu is the maxim: I AM BECAUSE WE ARE. Our ancestors taught that no neighbour should go to bed hungry if we have food to share. The Bible teaches us to love our neighbours as ourselves. Nelson Mandela reminded us of our shared humanity.

Reader, whether we say Ubuntu, I am my brother’s keeper, or I am my sister’s keeper, the underlying logic of love is the same.

The humanity we extend to others today is the humanity that will protect us all tomorrow.

Philani Zamchiya
An ordinary fellow African.