South Africa’s periodic xenophobic eruptions are not merely spontaneous acts of violence or criminality; they are expressions of a deeper philosophical and historical tension around identity, belonging and power. In a society still grappling with the afterlives of apartheid, the boundaries between “insider” and “outsider” remain unstable and contested. The targeting of African migrants in particular reveals a paradox at the heart of the post-apartheid project: a nation born out of resistance to exclusion now risks reproducing its logic in new forms. To understand these dynamics, one must turn to a theoretical framework that interrogates how identities are constructed through difference – what it means to “other the other” – and how this process operates simultaneously from within communities and through external forces shaping them.
The idea of “othering the others” sits at the intersection of several philosophical traditions concerned with identity, difference and power. It is not a single doctrine but a layered concept that draws from continental philosophy, postcolonial theory and African thought. To grasp its origins – and what “inside-out” and “outside-in” signify – you have to trace how the “self” has historically been defined against an “other.”
One important lineage begins with Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, whose dialectic of recognition suggests that the self comes into being through its relation to another consciousness. In this framework, identity is never isolated; it is formed through struggle, acknowledgement and sometimes domination. Later thinkers radicalised this insight. Frantz Fanon showed how colonialism weaponised “othering”, constructing the colonised subject as inferior in order to stabilise the coloniser’s identity. For Fanon, the “other” is not just different; they are actively produced through systems of power.
This thread is extended by Edward Said in his analysis of Orientalism, where the West defines itself by inventing an exotic, backward “East”. Similarly, Simone de Beauvoir famously argued that woman is constructed as “the Other” in relation to man, revealing how hierarchies are embedded in everyday identity formation. Across these thinkers, “othering” is not incidental; it is foundational to how societies organise meaning and authority.
The phrase “othering the others” adds a second layer. It points to a recursive process: those who have themselves been constituted as “others” go on to reproduce the same logic. This resonates strongly with postcolonial critiques, particularly in the work of Achille Mbembe, who explores how postcolonial societies internalise and redeploy inherited structures of exclusion. It also echoes Steve Biko’s insistence that psychological liberation must accompany political freedom; without it, the categories imposed by oppression persist in new forms.
Parallel to this, let’s de/construct another theoretical dimension – the “inside-out” versus “outside-in” which describes two directions of this process outlined above. “Inside-out” refers to the internal constitution of identity: how individuals and communities define themselves by projecting difference outward. Philosophically, this aligns with existential and phenomenological traditions, where the self is understood as emerging through differentiation. In practical terms, it means that insecurity, fear or a fragile sense of belonging can drive a community to construct an external “other” as a way of stabilising itself.
“Outside-in”, by contrast, refers to how external structures impose identities onto subjects. This includes colonial classifications, racial hierarchies, economic systems and geopolitical forces that define who counts as insider or outsider. Here, the emphasis is on power operating from the outside, shaping how people see themselves and others. Fanon’s analysis of colonial racism and Said’s critique of cultural representation are classic examples of this direction.
Taken together, these two movements reveal that “othering” is both produced internally and imposed externally. It is a feedback loop: external systems create categories of difference, and internal actors absorb, reinterpret, and sometimes reproduce them. In the context of “othering the others”, the concept highlights how those once positioned as marginal can, under certain conditions, become agents of exclusion themselves – not because they are uniquely predisposed to it, but because the underlying logic of identity formation remains intact.
At its core, then, the phrase names a philosophical tension. Identity requires distinction, but distinction easily slides into hierarchy. The challenge posed by this tradition – from Hegel through Fanon to Mbembe – is whether it is possible to form identities that recognise difference without turning it into exclusion.
South Africa – A brand under siege
For brand South Africa, this is not an abstract philosophical problem – it is a strategic and existential one. Nations, like corporations, trade not only in goods and services but in narratives, values and trust. South Africa’s brand equity has long been anchored in its moral authority: the legacy of reconciliation, constitutionalism and a commitment to human rights. Xenophobic violence undermines this narrative, introducing dissonance between what the country proclaims and what it practices. In a global environment where perception shapes investment, tourism and diplomatic influence, such dissonance carries tangible costs.
South Africa boils not only socially but symbolically. Each eruption fractures the coherence of its national story, raising difficult questions for both domestic audiences and the international community. Is South Africa still the standard-bearer of African solidarity, a custodian of the African Renaissance, or is it retreating into a narrower nationalism? Can it reconcile its internal contradictions while sustaining its external credibility?
These tensions must be understood holistically. Internally, xenophobia is fuelled by material deprivation and uneven development. Where the state struggles to deliver, citizenship becomes a contested resource rather than a shared commitment. Externally, South Africa’s position as a regional economic hub draws migrants shaped by the same historical and structural forces that shaped its own liberation. The “other” is thus both neighbour and mirror.
These recurring eruptions of xenophobic violence are not random outbursts; they are fractures in the country’s post-apartheid moral imagination. They expose a deeper contradiction between the ideals that animated the national liberation struggle and the realities of a society still marked by inequality, racial and class exclusion, and insecurity. To speak of “othering the others” is to confront a troubling irony: a nation once defined by its resistance to being dehumanised now finds itself reproducing similar logics against fellow Africans.
This rupture must be understood from both an inside-out and outside-in perspective. From within, xenophobia feeds on economic precarity, spatial inequality and a fragile sense of belonging. In communities where unemployment is entrenched and the state’s presence is uneven, citizenship becomes a defensive identity. Being South African is asserted not as a shared civic project but as a boundary – one that distinguishes insiders from outsiders, the deserving from the dispensable. Migrants become the most visible targets of frustration, standing in for deeper structural failures that remain unaddressed.
Yet this inward dynamic cannot be separated from the external forces shaping it. South Africa occupies a complex position within the continent: a destination for migrants seeking opportunity, and a node within global systems that produce and sustain inequality. Migration itself is not an aberration but a predictable outcome of uneven development, regional instability and the enduring legacies of colonial borders. The “other” who arrives at South Africa’s doorstep is not simply foreign; they are also a product of the same historical and economic currents that shape South African society.
What makes this moment particularly unsettling is the distance between lived reality and the ideals of pan-Africanism. Thinkers such as Kwame Nkrumah, Julius Nyerere and Thabo Mbeki envisioned an Africa bound by solidarity, mutual recognition, and shared destiny. South Africa’s own liberation was sustained, in no small measure, by the support of other African nations. Yet today, that history feels increasingly distant, its lessons insufficiently woven into the fabric of public consciousness. Pan-Africanism risks becoming rhetorical ornamentation rather than a lived ethic.
To deconstruct xenophobic ruptures, then, is to expose the scaffolding that holds them in place. It is to recognise how economic anxiety is redirected into scapegoating, how nationalism hardens under conditions of scarcity, and how historical memory fades in the face of immediate survival. It is also to confront the ambivalence of the state, which speaks the language of continental unity while often governing through the logic of securitisation and exclusion.
But critique alone is not enough. Reconstruction demands a reimagining of both identity and belonging. From the inside out, South Africa must rebuild social solidarity by addressing the material conditions that make xenophobia seem plausible. This means tackling inequality with urgency and ensuring that citizenship is not experienced as a zero-sum game. From the outside in, it requires a renewed commitment to continental integration that treats migration as a normal and necessary feature of African life, rather than a threat to be contained. If I may ask: why are African countries reluctant to ratify the African Union’s protocol on free movement of people?
The challenge for our country is to move from rupture to relation. As long as identity is constructed defensively, the temptation to “other the other” will persist. A pan-Africanist sensibility offers a different possibility – one that sees the stranger not as an intruder, but as part of a shared historical and political continuum. This does not erase the real pressures around jobs, housing and services. It does, however, demand a more honest accounting of where those pressures originate.
Questions to ponder
For me, the question is not simply how South Africans treat other Africans, but how the country understands itself. Whether it continues to draw lines of exclusion or begins to rebuild a broader, more inclusive sense of belonging will determine whether these ruptures deepen – or finally begin to heal.
Do I think South Africa will succeed in containing this rupture? The honest answer is both yes and no. Yes – because three generations in the country still draws from a deep reservoir of political culture forged in the national liberation struggle, a culture anchored in the vision of the Freedom Charter. That tradition affirms a non-racial, inclusive society in which belonging is not defined by exclusion. It offers a moral and ideological compass capable of countering xenophobic impulses. But such an inheritance is not self-executing. The state must deliberately build the institutional and administrative capacity required to translate constitutional ideals into lived realities. Without tangible delivery – jobs, housing, safety and dignity – the ethical vision of the Constitution risks becoming abstract, and therefore vulnerable.
Yet there is also a compelling “no”. The outcomes of the 2024 provincial and national elections reveal a shifting political terrain in which narrow nationalism and ethno-identitarian appeals are gaining traction. Parties that mobilise around exclusionary notions of belonging have not only secured a decent electoral support but, in some cases, now form part of the Government of National Unity (GNU). This signals a deeper anxiety within the electorate – one that can easily be channelled into “othering” as a political strategy. When scarcity and frustration converge, the temptation to define the nation in restrictive terms intensifies.
Does this make me a pessimist? Not quite. If anything, it sharpens a cautious optimism. My hope rests in the capacity of historic liberation movements to reassert a unifying political imagination – to re/claim their hegemony not through nostalgia, but through renewal. If they can reconnect with the electorate in ways that are materially grounded and ethically persuasive, they may yet re/anchor South Africa’s trajectory in the inclusive ideals that once inspired both the nation and the continent.
Tujenge Afrika Pamoja! Let’s Build Africa Together!
Enjoy your weekend.
Saul Molobi (FCIM)
PUBLISHER: JAMBO AFRICA ONLINE
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Group Chief Executive Officer and Chairman
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