Who can forget the image of the “burning man” which was beamed all over the world in 2008? Simply recalling the image of the burning Mozambican man during the 2008 deadly xenophobic violence and the carnage it unleashed still sends cold shivers down my spine.

Not only was this man set alight as he begged for mercy and help, but he was kicked and taunted by a highly agitated mob. Others in the mob were laughing at the unfolding “spectacle”.

What was equally disturbing about this scene was that a large number of young people were at the forefront of the murderous mob. Usually, media images pertaining to xenophobia seem to depict people on the fringes of South African society. These individuals are supposedly the main perpetrators of xenophobic violent attacks in South Africa.

However, there is another side to xenophobia which is gaining ground in South Africa’s more “polished” and “sophisticated” sections, for example at universities. I want to particularly highlight the scourge of xenophobia in academic spaces which has been gaining ground for a while. Anecdotal evidence points to both black and white academics, and students being the purveyors of this type of xenophobia against academics of African origin.

The recent debacle at the University of Cape Town (UCT), where the selection of a Dean of Humanities was reduced to a shambolic affair, is symptomatic of a deep undercurrent of resentment mounting against academics of African origin, not only at UCT, but other universities in South Africa. This is what I would term “academic xenophobia”.

It is gaining currency in academic spaces where a growing number of black (African) South African academics are popularising a narrative that African academics, especially those from sub-Saharan Africa, “do not understand the struggles of black (African) South Africans” and are equally oblivious to where South Africa, as a country, “has come from”. This “thinking” then seems to authenticate the lopsided and misguided notion that African scholars should not be appointed to higher academic positions because “they do not understand the suffering of our people”, the argument goes.

Feeding off this narrative is a group of students who “test” African scholars in classes through infantile quizzes about their general understanding or knowledge of South Africa and its history as well as political economy.

Being a Zambian by birth, I feel compelled to speak out against this dangerous trend. I came to South Africa in 1997 during the post-democracy euphoria and with “Madiba magic” ubiquitous in the country. Before that, I lived with exiled South Africans in my country, practically from birth.

In South Africa I never came close to meeting Nelson Mandela or Walter Sisulu, I just saw them on television or at public rallies. But I had the rare occasion of shaking the hand of Sisulu and was within centimetres of Mandela, Winnie Mandela and their two daughters in Zambia on 27 February 1990. This was during Mandela’s maiden trip outside South Africa after he was released from prison.

Curiously, this trip is never highly publicised in South Africa, probably because Zambia is not deemed a “fancy” destination. However, this country was home to the African National Congress (ANC) for more than two decades. Mandela’s first stop from Lusaka International Airport was the University of Zambia (Unza) Great East Road campus. Being part of the student movement fighting Kenneth Kaunda’s one-party-state dictatorship, we found ourselves in the rare and privileged position of being at the forefront of the mass of students and academics who had assembled to welcome Mandela and his comrades and also in close proximity to these revolutionaries.

It is noteworthy that Zambians and other Africans, especially those from southern Africa, and particularly those from the frontline states, sacrificed immensely and contributed a lot to liberate South Africa from colonialism and apartheid. In fact, more southern Africans, including Zambians, died for South Africa’s freedom than local South Africans.

Hence, it is time that this truth is illuminated in the public discourse. It was not easy for Zambia to support the ANC. Growing up in Lusaka in the 1970s and 1980s was perilous. In their pursuit of ANC combatants, South African death squads killed South Africans and many Zambians in the process. There were military incursions into Zambia, letter bombs and assassination plots against the ANC leadership. There were also bombing sorties.

I recall vividly the last raid by the South African Air Force in 1986, in broad daylight, which I witnessed and which led to the deaths of many South Africans and Zambians.

Therefore, black (African) South Africans should not think that we do not know where this country comes from. Equally, they are preaching to the converted. Zambia and other African countries supported black (African) South Africans for generations – long before it became fashionable to do so.

Being a Lozi, I am also acutely aware that my forebears, led by King Lewanika, ruler of the Kingdom of Barotseland, were present at the formation of the South African Native National Congress (SANNC) in Mangaung, Bloemfontein on 8 January 1912. That is why Nelson Mandela, being the astute politician and statesman that he was, named his son Makgatho Lewanika Mandela, to honour the Lozi ruler.

It is high time that some black (African) South African academics and students stop asking sub-Saharan academics “what they are doing in South Africa”, but rather ask them what their countries did for South Africa’s liberation struggle. DM