Xenophobic attacks and Africa's new “balance of madness” diplomatic strategy

The killing of Nigerians on the streets of Pretoria, Johannesburg and Durban has become a grimly routine occurrence. In May 2026, however, the tone of the response changed. Senator Adams Oshiomhole, representing Edo North in Nigeria’s National Assembly, told the Senate what many Africans have long felt but rarely heard expressed from an official platform: “When we have this balance of madness, I believe there’ll be sanity.”

His remarks were not intended as mere provocation. They signalled a tougher diplomatic stance that could represent Nigeria’s most significant shift in foreign policy toward South Africa since the end of apartheid. The era of only mourning citizens who suffer abroad is giving way to one of mutual respect enforced by consequences.

To grasp why Oshiomhole’s “balance of madness” resonates, one must confront the long record of violence Nigerians have endured in South Africa—a pattern that has persisted for decades, often tolerated by state inaction.

In August 2000, xenophobic attacks on the Cape Flats left seven Africans dead, including two Nigerians. In 2008, riots turned Johannesburg into what many called a “war zone,” killing at least 62 and displacing some 6,000 people. In April 2015, attacks on Nigerian‑owned property caused damage estimated at 21 million naira. In 2016, roughly 20 Nigerians were reported killed, including Tochukwu Nnamdi, allegedly shot extrajudicially by police.

On 18 February 2017, Nigerians in Pretoria West watched as five buildings, a garage with 28 cars and a church were looted and burned. In September 2019, coordinated attacks across Johannesburg and Pretoria again singled out Nigerian‑owned businesses. A report to Nigeria’s House of Representatives noted that 116 Nigerians had been killed in South Africa in the previous two years. From 1999 to 2018, an estimated 118 Nigerians lost their lives to xenophobic violence.

This figure—118—represents families torn apart: children left without parents; spouses suddenly unprotected, their only “crime” being foreign nationality.

A 2018 Pew Research Centre poll found that 62 percent of South Africans viewed immigrants as burdens and linked them to crime. When a clear majority of citizens see a group as a problem rather than as people, violence becomes a predictable outcome.

The attacks have continued. In January 2025, the Nigerian Union South Africa (NUSA) reported extensive property damage and seizures at the Navy House, Fatima Building, in Pretoria Central following a joint operation by South African authorities. In late April 2026, another wave of xenophobic violence hit major cities, leaving at least two Nigerians dead: Nnaemeka Matthew Andrew Ekpeyong, who died in police custody, and Kelvin Chidiebere Amaramiro, who died from injuries allegedly inflicted by South African National Defence Force personnel.

Local media reported that, in total, five Ethiopians and two Nigerians were killed.

Unlike Ghana’s 1969 state‑led expulsions under the Alien Compliance Order, South Africa’s xenophobic attacks are largely bottom‑up. They are driven by ordinary citizens rather than direct state decree, which makes them more chaotic and harder to control.

Economic desperation, political opportunism and social frustration all play a role. In 2025, South Africa’s unemployment rate was about 32.1 percent, with youth unemployment above 60 percent. In such conditions, migrants—especially Black Africans—are easily cast as competitors for scarce jobs and services.

Political and traditional leaders have often inflamed these resentments rather than calming them. In 2015, the late Zulu King Goodwill Zwelithini told immigrants to “pack their belongings”. His son, King Misuzulu kaZwelithini, later used the slur “kwerekwere” for African migrants and called for their removal. Groups such as Operation Dudula (“to be removed by force”) and March on March grew rapidly in this climate.

Some South African leaders have pushed back. Opposition figure Julius Malema mocked the idea that immigrants “stole” jobs: “Unskilled men, with no skills at all, say someone took their jobs. Their only skill is to drink and act like revolutionaries.” The foreigner is not the thief of opportunity; he is the scapegoat for a state that has failed to deliver.

President Cyril Ramaphosa has repeatedly insisted that “South Africa is not xenophobic” and that “South Africans are not xenophobic”. But in the absence of firm enforcement and accountability, these assurances ring hollow. When killings persist, words without action look like tacit tolerance.

Against this backdrop, Oshiomhole used a Senate debate on xenophobic attacks to advance a new diplomatic doctrine:

“I don’t want this Senate to be shedding tears or sympathizing with those who have died. We didn’t come here to shed tears. If you hit me, I’ll hit you. That’s appropriate in diplomacy. It’s an economic struggle.”

He went beyond rhetoric, urging Nigeria to revoke the operating licences of major South African firms, including MTN Group and MultiChoice (parent company of DSTV). He pointed out that MTN repatriates significant profits from Nigeria—in 2025 alone, it reportedly remitted over N878.7 bn naira in taxes, levies and duties—while Nigerians continue to die on South African soil.

“By the time we withdraw MTN’s licence, revoke DStv licence,” he argued, “those coming from South Africa will have good jobs to do here. When we balance this madness, there will be sanity. We must bite in a manner that they will come begging.”

Critics noted that MTN Nigeria is partly owned by Nigerian pension funds and retail investors, and that sudden nationalisation or licence revocation could spark costly arbitration and scare off foreign capital. These risks are real. Yet to focus only on balance sheets is to miss Oshiomhole’s larger point.

For nearly three decades, conventional diplomacy has yielded little. South Africa has faced no serious penalty for repeated outbreaks of xenophobic violence. Nigeria has summoned ambassadors, signed agreements, issued communiqués and expressed sorrow—without securing lasting safety for its citizens.

Oshiomhole argues that states respond to costs, not condolences. South Africa closely tracks the risks of capital flight, trade disruption and reputational harm.

Only when inaction carries real economic and political consequences will authorities find the will to act decisively against vigilantes. This is less cynicism than realism about how governments behave.

The Senate ultimately stopped short of Oshiomhole’s most drastic proposals. It rejected immediate nationalisation but sent a high‑level delegation to Pretoria and restated demands for justice, reparations and compensation. Senate President Godswill Akpabio emphasised diplomacy while leaving the door open to tougher measures.

Even so, the fact that such punitive steps were seriously debated is itself significant. For years, Nigeria has shown what one analyst called “diplomatic timidity”—a reluctance to confront South Africa, rooted in memories of anti‑apartheid solidarity, even as that solidarity has been repaid with violence.

Nigeria’s new posture extends beyond parliament. Foreign Affairs Minister Bianca Odumegwu‑Ojukwu summoned South Africa’s High Commissioner to protest the treatment of Nigerian citizens. The government has demanded thorough investigations into the deaths of Ekpeyong and