Nigeria’s Forgotten Sacrifice and the Tragedy of Xenophobia in South Africa
As George Santayana famously warned, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” The unfolding xenophobic tensions in South Africa reflect more than economic strain; they reveal a deeper crisis of memory and meaning. When history fades, gratitude dissolves, and fear replaces solidarity. The violence directed at fellow Africans is not merely social unrest; it is a philosophical failure to reconcile past sacrifice with present identity, reminding us that nations, like individuals, must remember to remain whole.
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I recall that when I was in college in Nigeria, all Southern African students, present in substantial numbers, were on full federal government scholarships and received an additional income called a bursary. They lived better than many Nigerians; some even drove cars. Many adopted Nigerian names, assimilated seamlessly, and secured opportunities with ease, while Nigerian graduates faced rising unemployment. It was a quiet but powerful demonstration of solidarity, Nigeria investing in the future of a region still shackled by apartheid.
Today, that history feels almost erased.
For years now, waves of xenophobic attacks in South Africa, often targeting Nigerians, and more recently Ghanaians and other African nationals, have revealed a troubling pattern: violence fueled by economic frustration, misinformation, and historical amnesia. Shops are looted, homes burned, and lives disrupted under the recurring claim that “foreigners are taking jobs.” Yet this narrative collapses under even the most basic scrutiny of history.
Nigeria was not a bystander in South Africa’s liberation; it was a central force.
Under the military leadership of Olusegun Obasanjo, Nigeria became the first country in history to boycott the Commonwealth Games in protest against apartheid. That decision was not symbolic; it was costly, bold, and globally consequential. Obasanjo went further, advocating a continental defense posture and proposing what he termed a “Black bomb,” a radical idea reflecting the urgency of protecting African sovereignty against external aggression.
Nigeria’s commitment extended beyond rhetoric. During the Ibrahim Babangida regime, South Africa sought to exert strategic influence in Equatorial Guinea, offering infrastructure support before the discovery of oil. Nigeria recognized the geopolitical implications and decisively intervened, severing ties and offering its own support. The situation escalated to the point where Equatorial Guinea petitioned Nigeria at the United Nations for intervention. Nigeria did not retreat. This was not interference; it was protection. It was foresight. It was leadership.
Nigeria funded liberation movements, provided education, opened its economy, and bore economic sacrifices, including the nationalization of British Petroleum assets, to pressure the apartheid regime. These were not acts of charity; they were acts of conviction rooted in a vision of a free and united Africa.
And yet, decades later, Nigerians are hunted in the very land their country helped liberate.
The tragedy of xenophobia in South Africa is not merely about violence—it is about the collapse of historical consciousness. A generation disconnected from its past becomes vulnerable to manipulation, scapegoating, and misplaced anger. Economic hardship is real, but it does not justify the erasure of truth or the targeting of fellow Africans.
If history were remembered accurately, perhaps the conversation would be different. Perhaps the anger would be redirected toward structural inequalities rather than neighboring nationals. Perhaps the bonds of Pan-African solidarity would still hold.
But memory has faded, and in its absence, resentment has grown. Africa cannot afford selective memory. Nations that forget who stood with them in their darkest hours risk losing their moral compass in moments of crisis. Nigeria’s role in the liberation of South Africa is not a footnote—it is a foundation. To ignore it is to misunderstand both the past and the present.
Equally troubling is the persistent failure of successive South African governments to decisively confront and eradicate xenophobic violence. Such inaction, whether intentional or not, signals a dangerous tolerance, if not tacit endorsement, of these attacks, allowing them to recur with impunity. If brotherhood is to mean anything, it must be anchored in truth and reinforced by responsible leadership. And if Africa is to move forward, it must first remember and act.
♦ Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
