On Nguni Chauvinism and The Current Wave of Afrophobic Violence in South Africa by Lindokuhle Mponco

We're watching something incredibly disturbing begin to rear its head in South Africa. A kind of politics that I and many others believed had been buried with apartheid. This is a politics of collective punishment, group suspicion and mob justice. What started out as anti-immigrant concerns around the country has transformed into a terrifying phenomenon, a vehicle for the expression of ethnic chauvinism, particularly Nguni chauvinism, politically.

The tragic and violent death of Nhlamulo Sambo and everything that transpired surrounding it should, frankly, tell us some uncomfortable things about where a part of our society is heading. What occurred in Mossel Bay was not simply an act of isolated violence; it was a product of a broader context of anti-foreigner violence and dispossession. Over fifty shacks were destroyed in the uprising, more than fifty homes reduced to rubble. Mozambican nationals had to be forcibly evacuated and repatriated; displaced and dispossessed Tsonga-speaking South Africans as well as migrant families alike remain in temporary shelters today, having lost everything they had.

These were not the actions of peaceful community protestors. These were the actions of a pogrom. A pogrom is not simply a mob outburst of anger, rather, it is the "attack on a group in an organized or semi-organized way for religious or ethnic reasons." When homes are burned down and families are forced to flee as a result of their identity and place of origin, we have no choice but to describe it precisely for what it is.

The circumstances surrounding Nhlamulo Sambo's death illuminate what has gone unspoken until now: while first claiming not to be related to the migrant crisis, subsequent accounts given by suspects in interviews have muddled the issue significantly and are at variance with each other. One version claims that Nhlamulo had been pursued by a mob through a shanty, the houses belonging to both Mozambicans and Tsonga-speaking persons being simultaneously destroyed and torched, before the deceased eventually succumbed to injuries. According to the suspect who was released due to a lack of evidence, he provided the dying Nhlamulo with a stick and that is how the scene transpired before death ensued.

Whether the courts of public opinion believe this story is secondary to the reality: Nhlamulo died amidst anti-foreigner violence and dispossession and this cannot be divorced from that larger reality. The central question then is not who administered the lethal blow. It is more critically about the nature of the society which allows a Tsonga-speaking man to be chased and beaten amidst an anti-foreign and ethnic cleansing violence.

And herein lies the importance of the Nguni chauvinism critique: When I speak of Nguni chauvinism it is not to implicate every single Nguni speaker, nor to denigrate the vibrant cultures of Zulu, Xhosa, Ndebele, Swati and other Nguni speakers; it is instead to highlight a particular mode of political expression, one that positions Nguni identity as the natural yardstick of who belongs in South Africa, one that sees the experiences of Nguni speakers as South African, while simultaneously viewing African identities outside of that group as subordinate, suspicious, foreign and even threatening.

It is this mode of thinking that places migrant workers at the center of our fear, today Mozambicans, tomorrow Tsonga-speakers, and the day after, possibly Venda-speakers, Basotho, or any other ethnic group that falls outside the definition of the present ethnic nationalist rhetoric. History tells us chauvinism cannot exist on a single object of hate, it always craves another to fuel itself. All the talk of and incitement to June 30 further exacerbated these concerns. The stated objective of stopping undocumented migration has morph into ethnic entitlement. Communities are pushed to 'identify enemies,' not by their criminal acts, but by their language, their accent, their features, and where they hail from, blurring the lines between illegality and identity such that entire groups of people become inherently suspect. It is in this manner that xenophobia gives birth to Afrophobia and thereafter Afrophobia gives birth to ethnic persecution.

Compounding these concerns is the unnerving silence or equivocating statements from institutions that hold significant moral authority, the traditional leaders, politicians, and cultural custodians of South Africa. While abstaining from strongly condemning the politicisation of identity and ethnic mobilization has often been taken to signal tacit consent, non-condemnation often serves to legitimize the actions taken, especially at times of socio-political flux.

Our struggle for liberation in South Africa was predicated on the need to unite, as oppressed people, regardless of ethnic background, language and nationality. The Johannesburg workers did not bother to ask each other if they were Zulu, Tsonga, Sotho or Shangaan before uniting in the workplace; the exiles that fled from across Africa were afforded sanctuary without being questioned about their nationality. Pan-Africanism itself is predicated on a political principle: the arbitrary borders imposed by colonialists must not dictate how humans express solidarity. Yet here we stand, being made to witness these same divides resurface.

These dozens of burnt houses, these thousands of displaced people, these terrorized immigrants pushed back to countries of origin, and the murder of Nhlamulo Sambo should all serve as a wake-up call: These are not merely individual incidents. These are manifestations of a much deeper malaise. This is a political malaise that says that some Africans, belong more than other Africans. This is chauvinism. And without confrontation, this politics of exclusion will continue to victimize untold numbers of people long after it leaves the front pages.

People don't eat ideology? Then why are you eating xenophobia?

"People don't eat ideology." You hear it all the time from certain corners, don't you? It's the kind of phrase that gets tossed around by politicians who've run out of ideas, by social media commentators looking for a quick hit, or by opportunists who haven't really thought through society's problems, let alone found solutions.

It sounds like common sense, and that's exactly what makes it so dangerous. After all, who can actually eat a political theory? Can a philosophy book feed your family? Will an ideological pamphlet pay the rent? It sounds smart, right? But only because no one ever really stops to think about it. Because while people might not physically eat ideology, they certainly starve because of it.

Think about it: the way our economy is structured, who owns what, how the labour market works, how land is distributed, these aren't just random facts. They're all deeply ideological. The very organization of global capitalism is ideological. The reasons millions remain unemployed? Ideological. The conditions under which a tiny elite hoards obscene wealth? Also, ideological. So, to claim that ideology doesn't matter isn't actually rejecting ideology. It's an attempt to keep people from understanding the ideological roots of their own suffering.

We're facing a crisis in South Africa, one that many are reluctant to name. It's not just an economic crisis, and it's not just about governance. It's a deeper crisis of consciousness. The liberation movement that once gave us intellectual giants now seems to produce mostly political consumers. A nation that used to fiercely debate colonialism, capitalism, race, class, and liberation now spends its days sifting through social media rumours and WhatsApp conspiracy theories.

Political education has been pushed aside for outrage. Careful analysis has given way to raw emotional reaction. Theory has been swapped for 'vibes.' The result? A political culture where the loudest voice often gets mistaken for the most informed one. This anti-intellectual shift isn't accidental. It serves a very specific purpose. When people truly understand systems, they start questioning those systems. But when they stop questioning systems, they start blaming victims. There's a clear reason why Afrophobia thrives wherever political education collapses. Someone with a scientific mindset, for instance, would ask: Why do we have such massive unemployment in South Africa? Why does poverty persist despite democratic rule? Why is wealth still so concentrated? Why is economic power still so detached from political power? These kinds of questions naturally lead us into discussions about colonialism, apartheid, capitalism, how classes formed, and global economic structures.

But the Afrophobe asks something completely different: "How many foreigners need to leave before my life gets better?" One question digs into systems. The other just looks for scapegoats. One leads to political understanding. The other fuels mob politics. The casual dismissal of ideology, this anti-intellectual stance, creates perfect conditions for Afrophobia. It discourages any real structural analysis. When people stop asking why poverty exists, they very quickly start asking who they can blame for it. The easiest target is always someone who seems poorer, weaker, or more vulnerable than themselves.

So, suddenly, the unemployed South African is pointing fingers at the unemployed Zimbabwean. The struggling worker turns on the struggling migrant. The township entrepreneur blames the street trader. All the while, the actual structures generating poverty remain completely untouched. Capitalists celebrate. The poor end up fighting amongst themselves. This is exactly where Haniism-Bikoism comes into the conversation. What you could call Scientific Socialism with Afrocentric Characteristics starts from a simple, clear observation: You can't fully grasp contemporary South Africa with just class analysis or just Black Consciousness on their own.

Steve Biko was spot on when he said the oppressor's most powerful weapon is the mind of the oppressed. Chris Hani understood that political liberation without real economic transformation would just recreate inequality under a new flag. So, a Haniist-Bikoist approach says we need both. Black Consciousness alone, without actual economic change, can easily become just symbolism, without any real power. And economic transformation without consciousness? That just means new managers, but the same old domination. The struggle, then, is simultaneously psychological, political, cultural, and economic. Freeing the African mind and freeing the African worker are two sides of the same coin.

This Scientific Socialism, with its Afrocentric lens, rejects three dominant trends we see in South African politics today. First, it says no to neoliberalism. The market simply can not solve the very problems that market domination created. Second, it rejects narrow racial chauvinism. An African revolutionary can't talk about African unity on Monday and then hunt fellow Africans on Tuesday. Third, it rejects anti-intellectual populism. The people deserve genuine political education, not manipulation.

This framework is built on six key ideas:

1. Political education isn't just a good idea; it's a revolutionary necessity.

2. Pan-African solidarity is the only real cure for Afrophobia.

3. You can't have true political democracy without economic democracy.

4. Black consciousness is still vital in a society where colonial ways of thinking persist.

5. The class struggle remains necessary in a society still built on economic exploitation.

6. Revolutionary action needs to come from clear, scientific analysis, not just emotion, prejudice, or populist noise.

That slogan, "people don't eat ideology," actually tells us something important. Its popularity reflects a society that's become increasingly suspicious of thinking itself. The anti-intellectual wants quick fixes but refuses to investigate the causes. They demand outcomes but skip the analysis. They want answers without asking questions and transformation without any underlying theory. But that's simply impossible. No engineer builds without a blueprint. No doctor treats without a diagnosis. No revolutionary can transform society without first understanding it. Refusing to think isn't pragmatism; it's surrender.

South Africa is truly at a crossroads. One path leads toward deeper political education, Pan-African solidarity, and revolutionary consciousness. The other takes us down a road of anti-intellectualism, scapegoating, and permanent social fragmentation. One path asks difficult questions. The other just offers easy enemies. One creates citizens. The other creates mobs.

The task for our generation isn't just about winning elections. It's about rebuilding consciousness. Because people who stop thinking critically about their own conditions become incredibly vulnerable to every charlatan, every demagogue, and every merchant of hate. No, people don't eat ideology. But without it, they might just end up consuming something far more dangerous: their own future.