South Africa is invoked as evidence that the language of terrorism is applied unevenly: the book describes devastating violence carried out with Western support while contrasting it with Washington’s designation of the African National Congress as a terrorist organization. Its role is less that of a standalone subject than a test case in Chomsky’s critique of power, official labels, and the human consequences of selective condemnation.

Violence and the Reagan-era record

In discussing the history invoked to justify the later “war against terror,” Chomsky points to violence in southern Africa supported by South Africa and Western powers. He attributes to that violence 1.5 million deaths and $60 billion in damage during the Reagan years alone. The scale matters to his argument: while official rhetoric presented international terrorism as a threat to be eradicated, the United States and its allies were, in his account, among the leading forces spreading the very “cancer” they denounced.

This example is part of a broader challenge to claims that policy changed decisively after September 11. Chomsky argues that established institutions and political objectives largely persisted, with tactical adjustments responding to circumstances. South Africa’s record therefore sits within a historical comparison: the language of counterterrorism does not by itself distinguish violence by adversaries from violence supported by powerful states.

Terrorist labels and political distinctions

The book also recalls that Washington regarded the African National Congress as a terrorist organization, while South Africa itself was not classified alongside Cuba and other states as a “terrorist nation.” In the same passage, the United States and Israel are described as rejecting a United Nations resolution’s affirmation that peoples deprived of self-determination may struggle for freedom and independence and seek support in doing so. Chomsky argues that Washington’s interpretation of terrorism prevailed in practice, with heavy human consequences.

The contrast exposes the political work performed by a label. The African National Congress could be placed in the terrorist category, while the South African state was not assigned the corresponding state designation. Chomsky uses this asymmetry to argue that international efforts to establish a comprehensive terrorism convention are obstructed when powerful states will not accept definitions that could apply to them or their allies. Agreement, he contends, becomes possible only if the definition exempts the powerful and their clients.

Strategic power and the limits of condemnation

South Africa’s place in the argument also sharpens a distinction between public justification and the distribution of power. Chomsky describes the United States as pursuing access to markets, energy supplies, and strategic resources, while reserving the option to act unilaterally when it deems necessary. He presents coalition-building as unlikely to alter that policy: allies are expected to support Washington, not to share in deciding its actions. Against this account, the South African example illustrates how the standards used to condemn violence can depend on political alignment.

The case thus connects two sides of the same critique: the immense consequences of violence backed by powerful states, and the selective naming of violence as terrorism. It does not stand as a full history of South Africa, but as a pointed comparison through which the book asks whether the same moral and political standards are applied to states, their allies, and their opponents.