The South African story we tell ourselves now is just as bad as the last one. The latest controversy surrounding EFF leader Julius Malema and his chant of “Kill the Boer” (an incredibly controversial chant) underscores this perfectly.
On social media, debate has raged over Malema once again leading the chant at an EFF rally in Sharpeville on Human Rights Day, 21 March 2025. Some argue it is part of the anti-apartheid movement’s history, while others find it irresponsible for someone of Malema’s stature.
Legally, the matter has been settled: the chant is not considered hate speech. But socially, it remains deeply contested. The law may permit something, but that does not mean it is ethically unproblematic. That being said, there are some glaring ways in which the argument is framed that merit consideration.
False equivalences and Rainbow Nation delusions
The argument that resurfaces whenever this controversy arises is that Malema and AfriForum’s Kallie Kriel are two sides of the same coin, and so we should “fight against white domination and black domination”, so to speak. This is disingenuous and fundamentally misunderstands black South Africans, their relationship to white South Africans and, more broadly, to South Africa as a concept.
Those who believe in the Rainbow Nation as the foundation of post-apartheid South Africa often assume that racism “cuts both ways”. This assumption is central to the shared, sanitised mythologies of Nelson Mandela and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, two figures sometimes framed as believing oppression to be abstract and universal rather than historically and materially specific. The logic follows that anyone, when given power, can oppress another.
Within this framework, it is easy to see how Malema’s chant can be viewed as racial provocation: “race-baiting” at best, outright racism at worst. But that is not how black South Africans who support Malema perceive it. And while nation-building is important, it cannot happen without grappling with why Malema has a captive audience.
The weight of history
In theory, oppression has no race. White people can oppress black people, and black people can oppress white people. That logic holds in an abstract sense. But South Africa is not an abstraction. It is a country with a specific set of oppressions that make up its DNA.
Apartheid was a system designed to advantage white South Africans in every sphere of society while disadvantaging black South Africans. It followed colonialism, which did the same, just with the explicit blessing of the British Empire. These dual systems of oppression left black South Africans impoverished, traumatised, and structurally excluded by 1994.
They were denied land, resources, and dignity. They were relegated to Bantustans where the standard of living was abysmal. They were not even seen as citizens of the country in which they were the majority. When they protested peacefully, they were shot and killed.
One such massacre happened in Sharpeville in 1960. That is why 21 March is a public holiday in South Africa. Officially, Human Rights Day is framed as a time for national reflection on past injustices and to strive to affirm each other's humanity. For many black South Africans, though, “Sharpeville Remembrance Day” is a painful reminder that even peaceful protest was met with state-sanctioned murder.
Malema and the politics of pain
In this context, Sharpeville on 21 March takes on profound meaning. And for all Malema’s many flaws (and there are many), he understands symbolism. He understands the power of holding a rally there. He understands that black people need to commemorate their fallen compatriots as a way of still processing the pain of apartheid, especially when in 2025 many black South Africans remain unemployed and go to bed hungry.
Leading the chant was probably a publicity stunt, yes. Malema has never shied away from attention. He is a narcissist who has a stranglehold on the EFF leadership even to the possible detriment of his movement.
But two things are true at once: it can also be a way for black people to affirm their history; to assert that their Struggle did not end with a negotiated settlement.
Malema will never be mistaken for Statesman of the Year. But he understands black pain — yes, even as a wealthy politician in designer suits and who sends his children to private schools. He understands it because he has lived it and still sees it.
Every black South African knows someone who cannot find work, whether or not they have matric, whether or not they have a degree. Many of those people have dependants who go to sleep hungry. For them, the Rainbow Nation is not an inspiring ideal. It is a cruel joke.
They expected more than cosmetic diversity and symbolic representation. They wanted structural change. That's something the ANC failed to deliver. And while some of their anger is (rightfully) directed at the ANC, much of it is also (just as rightfully) aimed at the system that made such radical change necessary in the first place.
The convenient myth of swart gevaar
It should be obvious (except to disingenuous right-wing propaganda groups and their sympathisers) that black pain and trauma do not translate into mass violence against white people. “Kill the Boer” is clearly not a directive or an incitement. It is a historical chant that, for many, strengthens their resolve to stand tall against ongoing injustice. Lawfully.
Reducing this moment to “Malema led that dangerous chant again” is not just simplistic. It is an active misreading of the black South Africans who resonate with it. And to the extent that it matters, I am not necessarily among them. I am not an EFF supporter, voter, or member.
But I am a black South African.
Either way, one does not need to completely agree with the EFF or its leader’s rhetoric to acknowledge black pain. It takes a willingness to say: “I might not do what you did, but I understand why you feel this way.” That willingness — to empathise, to see from perspectives other than one’s own — is a prerequisite for real social cohesion. And it is a willingness black South Africans have rarely been afforded.
A one-sided compromise
The sanitised Mandela/Tutu mythology persists in part because it contains some truth. Mandela’s inaugural presidential speech in 1994 included the iconic line: “Never, never and never again shall it be that this beautiful land will again experience the oppression of one by another.”
It is a powerful statement. It was declaring South Africa as a country committed to eradicating all forms of discrimination. Divorced from context, it is a soundbite that further solidified Mandela's stature as a man worthy of praise and admiration.
But it cannot be divorced from context. Mandela was not just declaring the end of apartheid: he was reassuring white South Africans that the ANC government would not pursue vengeance. Successive administrations have upheld this principle.
Meanwhile, white supremacist enclaves still exist in South Africa. Fringe groups openly campaign to separate Cape Town from the rest of the country. AfriForum has actively lobbied American white nationalist groups and even sought intervention from the current US president to influence South African policy.
And yet, successive ANC governments only condemn these forces when their racism is undeniable. Otherwise, they remain hesitant — fearful of alienating white business interests, wary of capital flight. The result is a tacit, unspoken rule: racism will not be forcefully challenged if it might jeopardise the economy.
That is an indictment of the ANC, certainly. But more than that, once again, it is an indictment of the system that created an economy where structural racism remains profitable.
That is the political landscape in which Malema operates. And it is why he continues to have an audience.
Kallie Kriel’s organisation, AfriForum, enjoys financial backing from roughly 300,000 people every month. He is regularly featured in mainstream media. His group has influenced key court cases. He even managed to successfully lobby US President Donald Trump. Despite not being a politician, Kriel is a powerful political actor in South Africa.
And yet, when Malema leads a chant — at an event with deep historical significance — suddenly we hear about responsibility, social cohesion, and his alleged recklessness.
The appeal to responsibility towards Malema is fair and just. But it is telling that Kriel and his ilk are seldom held to the same standard.
Co-existence, on whose terms?
This is Rainbow Nation politics in action — black leaders are expected to exercise restraint, while white leaders (no matter how inflammatory) are rarely treated as a national threat. The message is clear: black pain, anger, and mistrust must always be tempered, lest they unsettle white comfort.
And so, in the Rainbow Nation paradigm, “social cohesion” is not about genuine interracial solidarity. It is about appeasement. It is about trade-offs: endure systemic — and sometimes interpersonal — inequality in exchange for the symbolic progress of a few more black CEOs.
We coexist by wearing Springbok jerseys together during Rugby World Cup games, and by Siya Kolisi being called a quota hire when the Boks lose a single game.
We coexist by wanting a “diversity of opinions”, and by purposefully overlooking the person who'll call out the systemic inequalities present.
We coexist by having a formerly whites-only school accept more black learners, and by being squeamish at the very prospect of the school being composed of predominantly black learners, for fear it’ll diminish the “reputation” of the school.
If there is a single South African story, that is it.
And so the question is not whether Kallie Kriel validates Julius Malema. It is to what extent someone like Kallie Kriel is responsible for someone like Julius Malema. DM