The 2026 World Cup has begun, and so far, one of the tournament’s most intriguing stories has little to do with tactics, formations, or footballing ability. It raises a question many observers may struggle to answer: why are so many Africans cheering against South Africa?
Following South Africa’s opening Group A defeat to Mexico, social media platforms across Africa lit up with reactions that surprised many. In Nigeria, Kenya, Zimbabwe, Ghana, Uganda, and elsewhere, significant numbers of Africans openly celebrated South Africa’s loss. Others declared support for whichever team was playing against South Africa. Some did so humorously, others passionately, and still others with unmistakable bitterness.
At first glance, such behaviour seems odd. Why would Africans oppose an African representative on the world’s biggest sporting stage? Why would citizens of countries that routinely call for African unity suddenly abandon continental solidarity when South Africa takes the field?
Technically, the immediate answer is simple: football allows people to support whoever they choose. In football, there is no moral obligation to support any particular team. Brothers support different clubs. Husbands and wives cheer for opposing sides. Friends become rivals for ninety minutes, then remain friends. Sport has always accommodated competing loyalties.
Anyone who thinks the reactions to South Africa are only about football is overlooking the bigger picture. What is happening isn’t just a sports story—football is merely the backdrop. The true drama centres on nationalism, Pan-Africanism, memory, ethics, reputation, and governance. The goals scored against South Africa have become symbols in a debate that began long before the first whistle.
We are in a time when Africa’s cause has become Africa’s question. Once, South Africa held a special place in the African consciousness. For many years, apartheid made South Africa a symbol beyond a nation, a cause for the entire continent. The fight for liberation in South Africa was supported by Africans from countries that had never visited Johannesburg or Cape Town. Students rallied in solidarity, governments devoted diplomatic effort, activists gathered support, and ordinary citizens followed the events as if the struggle were their own. Indeed, in many respects, it was.
The victory over apartheid was celebrated as a triumph for Africa. South Africa came to symbolise resistance, justice, bravery, and hope. Yet history can sometimes serve up harsh ironies. The very nation that once embodied Africa’s shared hopes now faces tough questions from other Africans. This irony is stark. For decades, South Africa was at the forefront of the African cause. Now, in many ways, it has become the subject of Africa’s questions. The issue isn’t whether South Africa still matters to Africa; it certainly does. The real question is whether South Africa has remained true to the ideals that initially united Africans.
The goals cheered against in the 2026 World Cup reveal the sore beneath the football games.
The resentment directed at South Africa during the World Cup did not emerge overnight. It is rooted in years of reports of xenophobic violence against fellow Africans living in South Africa. Nigerians, Zimbabweans, Mozambicans, Somalis, Ethiopians, Congolese, and others have watched disturbing images circulate across the continent. They have seen African migrants attacked, businesses looted, communities threatened, and foreigners scapegoated for social and economic problems.
Whether these incidents reflect the beliefs of all South Africans is beside the point. Most Africans recognise that millions reject xenophobia and embrace fellow Africans. The core issue is perception, which has real consequences. Outside observers seldom see a country’s full complexity; instead, they base their views on recurring images, memorable stories, and repeated encounters. Over time, these impressions shape perceptions, which then influence reputations. Ultimately, reputations can become realities. This makes the South African example especially noteworthy.
Many Africans increasingly associate South Africa not only with Nelson Mandela and democratic achievements but also with hostility towards other Africans. Whether this perception is fair no longer matters as much as the fact that it exists. The World Cup episode highlights a contradiction Africa has yet to fully resolve. Africans speak passionately about Pan-Africanism, celebrating unity across the continent and recalling the visions of leaders such as Nkrumah, Nyerere, Azikiwe, and Kaunda, who envisioned an Africa beyond traditional borders. They speak of brotherhood, shared destiny, and common futures. Yet despite these ideals, nationalism remains a dominant political force across Africa.
The average African might support the idea of unity across the continent, but they also identify strongly with their nation, community, and personal experiences.
When they perceive another country as having unfairly treated their compatriots, abstract ideals are often replaced by emotional responses. The Pan-African instinct urges support for South Africa because it is African, while the nationalist instinct asks: “Why should I support a country that hasn’t always supported people like me?” This tension lies at the heart of the current debate.
What we’re seeing isn’t the end of Pan-Africanism but a test of its resilience. Disappointment arises only when expectations are unmet. No one feels betrayed by a stranger; many Africans are disappointed because they had different expectations of South Africa. Their frustration stems from the belief that Pan-African ideals have been compromised, not from their absence.
There is, however, another aspect to this discussion: ethics.
Let us assume the grievances are legitimate and that South Africa has indeed fallen short of expectations. Many Africans may have genuine reasons for their disappointment. In such a scenario, how should they respond? Should hostility be met with hostility? Should rejection be returned with rejection? Should insults be answered with insults?
Humans naturally tend to reciprocate; when mistreated, we often feel justified in returning the same. However, civilisation is founded on the capacity to transcend such instinctive reactions.
The challenge for Africans transcends politics, let alone football; it is fundamentally moral. If xenophobia is wrong when directed at fellow Africans in South Africa, then hostility towards South Africans in other contexts may also be unjustified. Conversely, if collective blame is unacceptable in one situation, why would it be acceptable in another? These difficult questions are unavoidable and must be confronted.
A mature Africa cannot shape its future on cycles of resentment. Conversely, forgiveness should not be an excuse to overlook consequences. Justice divorced from reconciliation risks becoming vengeance, while reconciliation without accountability can lead to sentimentality. My view is that wisdom lies in balancing both aspects.
Let us now call what I call the “Magnito Principle” in my classes.
One of the key lessons from this debate isn’t political but cultural. When Nigerian artist Magnito released his hit song “Canada,” it resonated with young Africans. The reason was straightforward: Canada had become a symbol.
For many young Africans, Canada signified opportunity, acceptance, possibility, and hospitality. Even if every immigrant’s experience didn’t align with this image, the perception was what truly mattered. People embraced the idea because of its reputation. This offers a significant lesson in statecraft: nations compete not only through military, economic, or political power.
They also compete on reputation. How people perceive a country matters. The narratives surrounding a country matter. Countries that symbolise opportunity attract talent, while those seen as symbols of dignity garner admiration. Conversely, countries associated with exclusion incur costs. The reaction to South Africa during the 2026 World Cup is one expression of that cost.
One key lesson here is about the significance of national reputation.
Governments at different levels often overlook the importance of reputation, concentrating instead on infrastructure, diplomacy, trade deals, and attracting investment. While these are crucial, reputation remains one of a country’s most valuable assets. It impacts tourism, investment, migration, diplomatic ties, and—as shown by this World Cup—it can even sway football loyalties.
Ultimately, a nation’s reputation is the result of its behaviour. It’s impossible to be perceived positively without aligning actions with that perception. In the end, conduct will inevitably lead to certain consequences.
South Africa is not alone in this; the principle holds true for every country, including Nigeria, Ghana, and Kenya. Like individuals, nations ultimately face the repercussions of their reputations.
Like all beginnings, the 2026 World Cup will also come to an end.
South Africa could bounce back from its loss to Mexico and move forward, or it may not. Over time, the scores will fade from memory, and the standings will be preserved only as historical records. Eventually, the tournament will become a memory.
However, larger questions will persist: Can Pan-Africanism withstand repeated disappointments? Is solidarity and accountability compatible? Can nations restore their damaged reputations? Will Africa be able to forge a future rooted in mutual respect rather than mutual suspicion? These profound issues lie beneath the surface of the cheers and jeers directed at South Africa.
That is why this story is not really about football. Football simply served as the backdrop. The true story lies in how nations are perceived, how relationships are built or broken, and how actions shape reputation. The goals scored against South Africa in the 2026 World Cup were football goals, but the cheers that followed signalled something far greater. They were about memory, expectations, and consequences.
Most importantly, they reminded us that nations, like individuals, ultimately live with the reputations they build.
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Anthony Kila is a Jean Monnet professor of Strategy and Development. He is currently Institute Director at the Commonwealth Institute of Advanced and Professional Studies, CIAPS, Lagos, Nigeria. He is a regular commentator on the BBC and he works with various organisations on International Development projects across Europe, Africa and the USA. He tweets @anthonykila, and can be reached at anthonykila@ciaps.org
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