by Mohammed Bello Doka
9 July, 2026.
The tears flowing from Nigerian mouths over South Africa are genuine. The anger is real. The outrage is justified. No Nigerian deserves to be attacked, killed, or have their business looted simply because they are Nigerian. The government's efforts to evacuate stranded citizens and the widespread condemnation of the attacks are understandable.
But there is an uncomfortable truth many Nigerians refuse to confront: we are condemning in South Africa what we tolerate—and sometimes encourage—at home.
Across Nigeria, ethnic hostility has become increasingly normalized. Yorubas openly tell Igbos to leave Lagos. Igbos tell Hausa-Fulani settlers to return to the North. Communities across the Middle Belt demand that Fulani herders leave Plateau, Benue, and Taraba. These attitudes rarely remain mere political slogans. They often degenerate into violence, mob attacks, destruction of businesses, forced displacement and killings, frequently accompanied by sweeping stereotypes that paint entire ethnic groups as criminals, invaders or terrorists. Even more disturbing is that such actions are often applauded, justified or quietly tolerated by sections of the very communities in whose name they are committed.
That is the same mentality driving xenophobic attacks in South Africa.
Lagos, Nigeria's commercial capital, has increasingly become a battleground for ethnic politics. Yoruba nationalists portray Igbos as outsiders seeking to dominate the economy and politics. During periods of political tension, Igbo traders have faced threats, intimidation and calls to "go back home." Businesses have been attacked and ordinary people judged solely by their ethnicity rather than their conduct. Whenever such incidents occur, many voices defend them as a necessary response to perceived political or economic domination instead of condemning them outright.
The contradiction continues in the Southeast. Many Igbos who rightly reject being treated as strangers in Lagos often extend similar treatment to Hausa-Fulani communities living in cities such as Enugu, Onitsha and Aba. Northerners are frequently viewed through the lens of insecurity, with criminal acts committed by individuals attributed to an entire ethnic group. When tensions rise, innocent traders and residents become targets simply because of who they are.
The Middle Belt presents an even more painful example. Years of violent farmer-herder conflicts have devastated communities across Plateau, Benue and Taraba. Thousands have been killed, millions displaced and entire villages destroyed. Justice must be pursued for every victim.
Yet alongside legitimate security concerns, the conflict has also fuelled indiscriminate ethnic profiling. Criminal acts committed by armed groups are increasingly used to stigmatize all Fulani people, regardless of whether they are herders, professionals, students or long-time residents. Entire communities are blamed for crimes committed by a few, creating an atmosphere where collective punishment becomes socially acceptable.
South African attackers rely on precisely the same reasoning. They accuse Nigerians of crime, unemployment and refusing to integrate. Rather than punishing offenders, they target every Nigerian they can find. This is exactly what happens when Nigerians attack fellow Nigerians because they happen to be Igbo, Hausa, Fulani or Yoruba. Innocent people pay for crimes they never committed simply because they share an ethnic identity with someone else.
Nigeria's political class has done little to confront this contradiction.
President Bola Tinubu has rightly condemned attacks on Nigerians in South Africa and pledged government support for affected citizens. But where is that same urgency for Nigerians displaced by ethnic violence at home? Thousands remain in camps after fleeing attacks in Benue, Plateau, Nasarawa and other states. Entire communities have been uprooted, yet national attention often fades once the headlines disappear.
Some lawmakers have demanded strong diplomatic action against South Africa. Yet many of these same voices remain comparatively muted when Nigerians are murdered by fellow Nigerians because of ethnicity.
The killing of sixteen Hausa hunters in Uromi, Edo State, illustrated this painful contradiction. The victims were lynched by a mob after being collectively profiled as kidnappers. Their guilt was assumed because of who they were, not because of any proven crime. Such incidents reveal how easily ethnic stereotypes can transform into mob justice when entire communities validate prejudice instead of insisting on the rule of law.
Professional bodies have spoken strongly against the South African attacks, describing them as grave violations of human rights. Such condemnation is necessary. But human rights cannot depend on geography. Nigerians deserve equal protection whether they are in Johannesburg or Jos, Durban or Benue.
This is ultimately Nigeria's greatest contradiction. We denounce xenophobia abroad while normalising ethnic exclusion at home. We celebrate national unity while questioning whether fellow Nigerians belong in cities where they have lived for generations.
The labels may differ—indigene versus settler, native versus stranger, farmer versus herder—but the underlying belief is identical: some people are presumed dangerous because of their ethnicity and therefore deserve exclusion. Once that belief is accepted, violence soon follows.
None of this excuses the attacks in South Africa. Those attacks remain criminal, unjustifiable and deserving of international condemnation.
But moral credibility requires consistency.
If we expect South Africans to reject collective blame against Nigerians, we must reject collective blame against ethnic groups within Nigeria. If we insist that no Nigerian should be attacked because of nationality abroad, we must also insist that no Nigerian should be attacked, profiled, displaced or killed because of ethnicity at home.
The fight against xenophobia begins not at our embassies but in our communities. Condemn South Africa. Demand justice for Nigerian victims. But also confront the ethnic hatred that too often finds acceptance within Nigeria itself.
Until Nigeria applies at home the standards it demands abroad, its outrage will remain incomplete. South Africa has a xenophobia problem. Nigeria has an ethnic exclusion problem sustained not only by extremists but, too often, by the silence, sympathy or approval of ordinary people. Until we confront that reality, our moral outrage abroad will continue to ring hollow.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
Abuja Network News
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