When memory fades, nations lose their moral compass.
They forget not only events but also the people and sacrifices that shaped their freedom and survival.
In a recent article reflecting on my Sunday school Bible lessons as a child, I drew lessons from the story of Noah's Ark and the Great Flood.
Another biblical account that left a lasting impression on me was that of Joseph in Egypt.
Joseph in Egypt
Joseph, one of Jacob's sons, was sold into slavery by his brothers.
Yet through hardship, imprisonment and divine favour, he rose to become one of the most influential administrators in Egypt.
During a devastating famine, his wisdom preserved not only Egypt but neighbouring lands.
Eventually, Jacob and his family migrated to Egypt and were received in safety.
When memory faded
Then came the turning point.
The Bible records: “Now there arose a new king over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.”
That moment marked the fading of memory—and everything changed.
The Israelites who had once been welcomed became feared.
Their contributions were forgotten.
Their sacrifices vanished from national memory. Partners became perceived threats.
And gratitude gave way to fear.
As I observe recent events in South Africa, that biblical moment echoes in my mind: a Pharaoh who did not know Joseph.
Many African countries stood firmly with South Africa during the anti-apartheid struggle. Ghana, Nigeria, Zambia, Tanzania, Malawi and many others did not merely express support—they stood in material solidarity: political backing, diplomatic cover, financial assistance, training grounds and refuge for exiles.
That solidarity reached ordinary Africans as well.
Some of us were young then. Radio options were limited to GBC One and GBC Two. On GBC Two, there was a programme called 'Down South Africa', carrying freedom songs into our homes and our consciousness.
Those songs were not entertainment.
They were memories of struggle, separation, pain, defiance and hope.
Even then, we felt it. We may not have understood apartheid fully, but we understood suffering. It became part of our emotional memory.
In homes, schools and churches, South
Africa’s pain was not distant—it was shared.
For many Africans of my generation, South Africa’s pain became a shared memory, and its freedom became a shared victory. When apartheid ended, we did not simply witness history—we felt part of it.
It was a continent briefly aligned by memory, sacrifice and destiny.
That memory was visible again in 1996, when South Africa hosted and won its only Africa Cup of Nations title. Across the continent, there was goodwill and celebration. I remember friends who even supported South Africa against Ghana, arguing that victory would affirm their new identity and freedom.
It was a rare moment when Africa still felt emotionally connected to South Africa’s rebirth.
Fractures
Yet decades later, the picture has changed.
Reports of assaults, intimidation, looting and killings targeting foreign nationals in South Africa have become disturbingly familiar.
Migrants are accused of taking jobs and opportunities that belong to South Africans, and groups have issued ultimatums demanding that foreigners leave by June 30.
Even more troubling is the perception that law enforcement often looks on while this unfolds. Whether fair or not, that perception deepens a sense of institutional forgetting—memory slipping away from responsibility.
Ghana has been compelled to evacuate its citizens. Julius Malema has argued that the decision was premature. I disagree.
When people are threatened, assaulted and made unsafe, delay becomes risk.
Once credible danger emerges, precaution is not panic—it is prudence.
Warning
Across the continent, frustration is growing.
I have seen videos of Africans cheering Mexico against South Africa during the opening match of this year’s World Cup.
This is not about football. It is about memory.
When shared memory fades, solidarity weakens.
When solidarity weakens, distance grows. And when distance grows, even old bonds begin to dissolve.
It would once have been unthinkable that Africans who prayed for South Africa’s freedom would feel emotionally distant—or even hostile—towards it.
South Africa must see this for what it is: a warning sign.
The goodwill built during the anti-apartheid struggle is not an inheritance to be assumed. It is a trust to be preserved.
The continent is watching.
And while no one desires reprisals against South Africans elsewhere in Africa, history shows how quickly sentiment can shift when people feel forgotten or unsafe.
The cost of forgetting
This is, therefore, a time for urgent action.
South African authorities must make it unmistakably clear that xenophobia has no place in their society.
Those who attack, threaten or kill foreigners must face the full force of the law.
Above all, South Africa must remember.
When memory fades, gratitude dies.
When gratitude dies, direction is lost.
A nation that forgets those who stood with it in its darkest hour begins to forget itself.
And history is never kind to those who forget.
The writer is the Night Editor of Daily Graphic
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