Trump’s white South African refugees: A racially selective humanitarianism

In a political landscape where immigration is often framed through the lens of national security and economic burden, U.S. President Donald Trump’s decision to grant refugee status to 8,000 White South Africans stands out as both curious and revealing. It is a decision layered with racial undertones, ideological motivations, and strategic political maneuvering. At face value, offering refugee protection to any group appears humanitarian. However, in this context, it brings into focus a confluence of racial dynamics and the broader global rise of right-wing populism.
Historical and social context: The white South African minority

To understand the implications of Trump’s decision, one must begin with the socio-political context in South Africa. White South Africans—descendants of Dutch, British, and other European settlers—comprise roughly 8 per cent of the population.

Since the end of apartheid in 1994, they have maintained disproportionate control over wealth, land, and corporate capital despite legislative attempts to redress inequality. However, in recent years, there has been growing discourse—both within South Africa and globally—around “White genocide”, a controversial narrative alleging that White farmers are being systematically targeted and murdered in post-apartheid South Africa. South African police statistics indicate that farmers (both White and Black) face a high risk of violence due to rural isolation, there is no credible evidence to support the claim that White South Africans are being deliberately ethnically cleansed.

Nevertheless, this narrative has gained traction in far-right circles in the United States and Europe, becoming a cause célèbre among white nationalists who see White South Africans as victims of “reverse racism” and demographic decline—issues that resonate deeply with the ethnonationalist worldview.

Trump’s racially charged immigration policy
Throughout his last presidency, Donald Trump pursued one of the most racially charged immigration policies in recent U.S. history. From the Muslim travel ban and family separations at the U.S.-Mexico border to efforts to eliminate Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for people from Haiti, El Salvador, and Sudan, Trump consistently sought to curtail immigration from non-white and non-European populations.

His now-infamous statement about preferring immigrants from “countries like Norway” over those from “shithole countries” like Haiti and African nations crystallised a worldview where immigration policy was thinly veiled in racial and cultural preference. Against this backdrop, the decision to grant refugee status to 8,000 White South Africans fits into a broader pattern of favoring white, European-descended immigrants. Unlike his administration’s reluctance to accept refugees from war-torn Middle Eastern countries or violence-ridden Central America, Trump embraced a group that ideologically aligned with his base: white, Christian, and culturally Western.

Political calculus and the right-wing echo chamber
Trump’s move cannot be understood in isolation from the media ecosystem that feeds and sustains right-wing populism. The myth of White South African persecution has been amplified by figures like Tucker Carlson, Lauren Southern, and other conservative commentators, who portray the ANC government as Marxist and anti-White. These narratives dovetail with broader right-wing anxieties about demographic change, affirmative action, and cultural “replacement.” By embracing the cause of White South Africans, Trump played to a specific audience—his predominantly white, rural, and evangelical base, many of whom view multiculturalism, immigration, and globalism as threats to a perceived traditional American identity.

Granting refugee status to White South Africans became a way to affirm white grievance politics while cloaking it in the moral language of humanitarian concern. It also serves as a form of political theatre. In a moment when Trump faced criticism for his treatment of Black and Brown immigrants, this decision provided a convenient opportunity to pivot the conversation—to suggest that his immigration policy was not racist, but merely selective. It allowed him to argue, in coded terms, that not all refugees are undesirable—only those from non-white countries.

A racially selective humanitarianism
Humanitarianism, in theory, should be race-neutral. Refugee status is supposed to be granted based on a “well-founded fear of persecution” on grounds of race, religion, nationality, political opinion, or membership in a particular social group. However, the Trump administration’s preferential treatment of White South Africans stands in stark contrast to its hostility toward asylum seekers from Central America, West Africa, and the Middle East—many of whom demonstrably met the criteria for refugee protection. 

The implication here is that not all suffering is equal. Trump’s selective humanitarianism centers whiteness and diminishes the legitimacy of non-white suffering. This creates a hierarchy of victimhood where race determines who is worthy of empathy and state protection. It feeds into the alt-right narrative of “white displacement” and reinforces dangerous myths of white victimisation in an increasingly multiethnic world.

Symbolism and global whiteness
Beyond the borders of the United States, Trump’s gesture resonated with a transnational ideology of white solidarity. It sent a signal to global white nationalist movements that their concerns were valid and that their worldview had a powerful champion in the White House. South Africa, in this context, becomes more than a country—it becomes a symbol of what the white right fears most: loss of racial hegemony, multicultural governance, and redistribution of wealth and power. 

By positioning White South Africans as “refugees,” Trump flips the traditional narrative of colonial injustice. Rather than acknowledging the lingering effects of apartheid and colonialism, this framing recasts the descendants of colonisers as the new victims of postcolonial excess. It inverts history and weaponises empathy to serve a political ideology that is, at its core, about racial preservation.

Policy implications and backlash
The decision has not gone unchallenged. Critics argue that it sets a dangerous precedent—one where immigration policy is dictated not by objective criteria of need, but by political affinity and racial bias. Human rights organisations have pointed out the stark contrast between the generous offer to White South Africans and the deportation of Haitian refugees and the caging of Central American children.

It exposes the fragility of the U.S. asylum system when subjected to ideological manipulation. In South Africa, the move was met with skepticism and disapproval. The South African government rejected the idea that White South Africans face persecution, pointing instead to the country’s complex challenges with crime, economic disparity, and social transformation. Many South Africans, particularly Black citizens, saw the decision as a continuation of Western paternalism and an insult to the country’s ongoing efforts to heal from the scars of apartheid.

Race as the driving force 
At its core, Trump’s decision to grant refugee status to 8,000 White South Africans is not primarily about humanitarianism—it is about race, politics, and identity. It reflects a worldview in which whiteness is under siege, and where immigration policy becomes a battleground for preserving racial hierarchies. It reveals how refugee protection, a cornerstone of international human rights, can be co-opted by nationalist politics to serve a racially exclusive vision of society.

This episode illustrates the broader danger of ethnonationalist politics: the weaponisation of policy to promote division, the selective application of empathy, and the reframing of privilege as victimhood. By elevating the narrative of White South African persecution while ignoring the plight of millions of non-white refugees worldwide, Trump reaffirmed a deeply racialised hierarchy of human worth—one that continues to shape politics in the United States and beyond.
Udenka is a social and political analyst and CEO, Igbo Renaissance Awakening. He can be reached via: #AfricaVisionAdvancementTrust
 

Join Our Channels