South Africa

United States President Donald Trump has made no secret of his hostility towards BRICS.

Last year, he threatened an additional 10 percent tariff on any country aligning itself with what he called the bloc’s “anti-American policies”. Since then, his administration has continued to wield tariffs aggressively against trading partners, including BRICS members such as Brazil, India and China.

The message appears straightforward: Countries that challenge US economic power should expect to pay a price.

But coercion has consequences. And as BRICS leaders meet in New Delhi today, Trump may be strengthening the very incentives that made the bloc attractive in the first place. The more Washington demonstrates its willingness to use access to its markets, its financial system and the dollar as instruments of political leverage, the more reason other countries have to reduce their exposure to them.

This does not mean BRICS is becoming an anti-US alliance. Far from it.

The bloc’s 11 members – Brazil, China, Egypt, Ethiopia, India, Indonesia, Iran, Russia, Saudi Arabia, South Africa and the United Arab Emirates – have enormous political and economic differences. Together, they account for nearly half the world’s population and about 40 percent of global gross domestic product, but they do not share a common ideology, security policy or even geopolitical orientation.

Recent events have made those divisions impossible to ignore. Iran, Saudi Arabia and the UAE find themselves on opposite sides of a growing regional conflict. In May, Iranian and Emirati representatives clashed during a foreign ministers’ meeting in New Delhi. India and China have had a heated border dispute that led to deadly skirmishes in 2020-2021; only in the past two years have their relations gradually stabilised.

So Trump is not producing a united geopolitical front against Washington.

He may, however, be giving countries with otherwise divergent interests a common reason to cooperate economically: Protection against vulnerability to US power.

For countries outside the Western core, dependence on US-centred economic infrastructure carries risks.

The dollar’s centrality gives the US enormous structural advantages. International transactions pass through financial institutions subject to US jurisdiction; access to US markets can be restricted; sanctions can isolate governments and companies from parts of the global financial system.

BRICS’s efforts to diminish dependence on the US financial system do not mean the dollar is about to lose its position as a global reserve currency. This claim is often made around BRICS summits, usually accompanied by breathless predictions of a new BRICS currency. The evidence does not support it.

The dollar remains overwhelmingly dominant. According to the International Monetary Fund, it accounted for 57.1 percent of global foreign-exchange reserves in the first quarter of 2026. The Chinese renminbi accounted for just 2 percent. Indeed, the dollar’s share rose slightly during the quarter.

But replacing the dollar and reducing dependence on it are two very different things.

BRICS countries are already experimenting with the latter. South Africa has connected to China’s Cross-Border Interbank Payment System, allowing transactions with China to be settled directly in renminbi. Brazil and China are increasingly using their own currencies in bilateral trade, while India and the UAE have settled transactions in rupees and dirhams. China and Russia have shifted much of their bilateral trade into their national currencies.

BRICS itself is also moving cautiously towards greater financial connectivity.

Last year, its leaders called for continued work on a cross-border payments initiative and greater interoperability among members’ payment systems. In August, Reserve Bank of India Governor Sanjay Malhotra confirmed that BRICS countries are discussing linking their fast-payment networks and potentially their central bank digital currencies. India itself is also encouraging greater use of the rupee in international trade.

The New Development Bank offers another example. Established by the original BRICS countries as an alternative source of development finance, it has made lending in members’ currencies an explicit strategic objective. Its current strategy targets 30 percent of financing in local currencies, partly to reduce borrowers’ exposure to foreign-exchange risks and costly currency swaps; the number could increase to 40-50 percent for the next cycle, 2027-2031.

None of this amounts to a rival global financial system. Much of it remains experimental, bilateral or limited in scale.

But that is precisely why the fixation on whether BRICS can “replace” the dollar misses what is happening. The more significant development is the gradual construction of options that allow governments and businesses to conduct a number of transactions without relying on the dollar and Western-dominated financial infrastructure.

Trump’s policies give this process additional urgency.

Consider Brazil. Washington imposed a new 25 percent tariff on a range of Brazilian products in July, affecting billions of dollars in exports, despite running a trade surplus with the country. The Trump administration has also scrutinised Brazil’s hugely successful Pix instant-payment system, which competes with established card-payment networks.

Sanctions demonstrate the same vulnerability more dramatically. Russia and Iran have been pushed towards alternative payment and trading arrangements precisely because their access to Western financial networks has been restricted. Washington is now considering further measures that could penalise countries heavily reliant on Russian energy, including China and India.

No BRICS member needs to sympathise with Moscow or Tehran to understand what this implies.

US financial power depends not simply on possessing the world’s largest economy or issuing its dominant currency. It also depends on other countries continuing to regard participation in a US-centred system as more advantageous than the alternatives.

The more frequently Washington turns that system into an instrument of coercion, the stronger the incentive to construct escape routes from it.

That said, most BRICS countries do not appear eager to exchange dependence on Washington for dependence on Beijing.

India maintains extensive relations with the US while buying Russian energy and pursuing closer economic cooperation within BRICS. Brazil has long sought greater autonomy without becoming a Chinese satellite. Saudi Arabia and the UAE remain deeply intertwined with Western economies while expanding their relationships with China.

Their objective is less likely to be replacing one hegemon with another than increasing their ability to manoeuvre between competing centres of power.

That distinction matters. A trade transaction settled in rupees, a loan denominated in renminbi or rand, or a payment made through a system that does not depend on the same Western intermediaries will not overthrow dollar dominance.

But multiply such arrangements across countries and over time, and they begin to reduce the costs of saying no to Washington.

This is why portraying BRICS simply as an anti-US threat risks becoming self-defeating. Punishing countries for seeking alternatives gives them another reason to develop those alternatives.

Trump wants to make challenging US power costly. Instead, he may be making dependence on US power costlier still.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

Nquthu, South Africa – When Zwelibi Jack Ngubane died at the age of 105, he had already made one thing clear to his family: he wanted to be buried as a Muslim.

Hundreds of family and community members gathered for his funeral in Nquthu, a rural part of northern KwaZulu-Natal where Christianity and traditional African beliefs are dominant and Muslims are a tiny minority. Ngubane had converted to Islam late in life after observing the faith of his young grandson.

When he died, his family honoured his wishes. His funeral was conducted according to Muslim burial rites before he was laid to rest in the family burial plot in his village. For a community largely unfamiliar with Islamic burial practices, the funeral was a novelty.

But it wasn’t a controversy. That distinction has become increasingly important in South Africa.

In recent months, anti-Muslim rhetoric has become more visible online, intersecting with a heated national debate about immigration and anti-migrant movements. Posts have accused Muslims of attempting to take over South Africa, questioned their belonging in the country and accused Muslim organisations of using charity and poverty to convert Black South Africans to Islam.

One social media post complained that humanitarian organisation Gift of the Givers had been “getting on our nerves with their insistence on pushing their Muslim beliefs in South Africa”. Another claimed: “Most foreigners in South Africa are Muslim and if you look most countries experiencing war are Muslim countries not Christian ones.” Others have accused Muslims of “targeting poverty-stricken communities and converting them to Islam”.

But in the rolling hills and villages of Nquthu, the picture is different.

For Samukelisiwe Ngubane, her first encounters with Muslims came through Indian shopkeepers in a nearby town. “We have never had a problem. Some people are curious about what they [Muslims] do, but there have been no problems,” she told Al Jazeera.

When her brother, Khethukuthula Dlame, converted to Islam in 2012 as a teenager, it was hardly an issue. Dlame, now 26 and one of only a handful of Muslims known in his village, is familiar enough to his neighbours that his Islamic clothing is a source of teasing rather than hostility. One neighbour jokes that he wears a dress.

“In these communities, there’s harmony and respect. People really respect my religion,” he told Al Jazeera, standing alongside his grandfather’s gravesite.

The contrast raises a question: is South Africa experiencing a rise in Islamophobia, or is social media making a marginal phenomenon appear much larger than it is?

Muslims make up a small minority in South Africa. The country’s 2022 census counted less than one million Muslims, or approximately 1.6 percent of the population. South African Muslim leaders give higher estimates, with some putting the country’s Muslim population at between two million and five million people.

But Islam’s presence in South Africa stretches back centuries. Muslims came to the Cape through several routes, including enslavement and political exile, from parts of Asia and the Indian Ocean world under Dutch colonial rule from the 17th century. Muslims were already present at the Cape before the arrival in 1694 of Shaykh Yusuf of Macassar, a Muslim scholar and political exile.

Today, the community includes descendants of enslaved Muslims brought to the Cape centuries ago, South Africans of Indian ancestry whose families have lived in the country for generations, Black African Muslims, converts and more recent migrants.

Dlame believes attempts to mobilise people against Muslims are not primarily emerging from rural communities.

“The move to orchestrated hate towards Muslims is not at a community level. If you’re looking at people when they’re mobilising, it’s not people from the villages. It is people in cities and in hostels.”

“The people behind this understand the flash points. If you really want to cause divisions, you use tribal rhetoric and the people you mobilise and agitate are in hostels because the living conditions are not good.”

South Africa has repeatedly experienced outbreaks of xenophobic violence since the end of apartheid, with migrants from elsewhere on the African continent often bearing the brunt. The question is whether some of that anti-migrant rhetoric is also being directed at Muslims.

‘No widespread Islamophobia’

Thembisa Fakude, a South African political analyst and journalist who is Muslim, told Al Jazeera that fears of widespread Islamophobia are being overstated.

“I’ll argue that there is no widespread or any orchestrated, well-planned Islamophobia directed towards Muslims. We don’t have that.”

He acknowledges anti-Muslim rhetoric online, but argues that it should not automatically be interpreted as evidence that South African society itself has become Islamophobic.

“It’s true, but it’s not only South Africa. This is global … In South Africa, yes, it’s true. You find that there will always be bigots, you know, and others will be, you know, ultra-Zulu nationalist or ultra-nationalist.”

Fakude also argues that Muslim communities need to confront allegations of racism and exploitative labour practices within their own ranks rather than characterising every criticism as religious prejudice.

“It is a storm in a teacup. And I think what’s concerning me is this othering by Muslims wanting to position themselves as victims and taking this course by themselves. It’s extremely dangerous.”

What starts online does not always stay there

Muslim religious leader Moulana Sulaiman Ravat told Al Jazeera that, while ordinary South Africans are largely not Islamophobic, he is more cautious about what could happen next.

“At the same time, I think on the ground, South Africans in the main are not Islamophobic, and there’s a variety of indicators to substantiate that.”

But Ravat warns that online rhetoric can influence attitudes over time.

“I don’t think we can go to the other extreme. We must understand that there are certain global political realities, and the Islamophobia project aligns with those global agendas. And therefore, if we become complacent or nonchalant about it, what people are exposed to online could start impacting their psyche and how they think.”

Ravat argues that Muslim identity is sometimes being presented as evidence that a person is somehow less South African. For him, the premise is false.

“I would think I would say they are deeply religious and deeply patriotic, and there is no contradiction between the two.”

His own children, he said, are fifth-generation South African Muslims of Indian heritage.

“They don’t speak the language any more. They are as South African as anyone else.”

Two South Africas?

Back in Nquthu, Islam does not arrive through a social media algorithm. It arrives through a neighbour, where Dlame’s mother cooks a halal meal for this reporter and other guests. Earlier, at a community meeting, Dlame explained that Muslims, too, believe that Jesus was a prophet of God. Ordinary villagers listened attentively and joined in Zulu melodies in praise of God.

For now, the distance between the online conversation and life in communities such as Nquthu remains significant. But Ravat says that does not mean the possibility of deeper hostility should be dismissed.

“Better be proactive than reactive. It’s a global reality. It has been for the last 20 years. And the fact that it could increase in South Africa and could have serious consequences, you could argue, is unlikely but not impossible.”