On November 1, 2025, the South African government issued a sharp rebuke to the United States, criticizing President Donald Trump’s decision to prioritize asylum applications from Afrikaners, the country’s white minority descended primarily from Dutch settlers. This move, announced by the White House just two days earlier, has set the maximum number of refugees to be admitted to the U.S. in fiscal year 2026 at 7,500—a dramatic reduction from previous years and the lowest cap in American history. Of those slots, as many as 6,000 could be allocated to Afrikaners, a group that Trump has repeatedly described as facing “unjust” racial discrimination in their homeland, a claim South African officials insist is unfounded.
The new policy represents a seismic shift in American refugee admissions. According to TIME, the 7,500 cap marks a 94% decrease from the 125,000 refugees allowed under President Joe Biden in fiscal year 2025. In fiscal year 2024, the U.S. admitted 100,000 refugees, making the current limit not just a reduction, but a near-closure of the country’s doors to those seeking safety abroad. The White House justified the new ceiling by citing “humanitarian concerns” and the “national interest,” though as TIME notes, it offered little further explanation for the drastic cut.
What has sparked even more controversy, however, is the administration’s explicit prioritization of Afrikaners. In a notice published in the Federal Register, the White House stated that admissions would “primarily be allocated among Afrikaners from South Africa,” as well as other victims of “illegal or unjust discrimination in their respective homelands.” This follows an Executive Order issued by President Trump in February 2025, in which he condemned South Africa for what he described as “countless” policies restricting the opportunities of Afrikaners and fueling “disproportionate violence against racially disfavored landowners.”
Trump’s rhetoric has been forceful and persistent. In May 2025, during a meeting in the Oval Office with South African President Cyril Ramaphosa, Trump claimed that white farmers in South Africa were being “killed and persecuted.” He even presented a photograph purportedly showing body bags containing the remains of white South Africans. However, according to Reuters, the image was later identified as an archive photo taken thousands of miles away in the Democratic Republic of Congo. The White House also circulated a video it said depicted burial sites of murdered white farmers, but it was soon revealed to be footage of a 2020 protest, with symbolic crosses representing farmers killed over several years, not evidence of a targeted campaign.
South African officials have responded with strong words. The Ministry of International Relations and Cooperation, as reported by TIME, stated, “There are sufficient structures available within South Africa to address concerns of discrimination. Moreover, even if there are allegations of discrimination, it is our view that these do not meet the threshold of persecution required under domestic and international refugee law.” The Ministry further contended that the U.S. efforts to resettle Afrikaners appeared “entirely politically motivated and designed to question South Africa’s constitutional democracy.”
President Ramaphosa’s government has repeatedly emphasized that the limited number of Afrikaners seeking to move to the United States is itself evidence that there is no widespread persecution. According to the latest South African crime statistics, whites are not victims of violent crime at a rate higher than other racial groups. Still, Trump has continued to assert, without evidence, that Afrikaners are being racially discriminated against by the South African government.
The diplomatic fallout has been swift. Earlier this year, South Africa’s ambassador to Washington, Ebrahim Rasool, was expelled after accusing Trump of “mobilizing white supremacy” and attempting to “project white victimhood as a rallying cry.” The policy shift has only deepened tensions between the two countries, with the South African government warning that such actions undermine the credibility of both American and South African democratic institutions.
The history behind these tensions is complex. Afrikaners, who governed South Africa from 1948 to 1994, were the architects of apartheid, the system of racial separation and white minority rule that left deep scars on the nation. Since the end of apartheid, South Africa has struggled to address land ownership disparities: white South Africans, who now make up just over 7% of the population, still own most private farmland. Earlier in 2025, President Ramaphosa signed a law allowing the government to confiscate land without compensation in rare cases—an act that Trump seized upon as evidence of anti-white discrimination, though South African officials argue it is a necessary step toward correcting historical injustices.
The new U.S. refugee policy has also upended established international procedures. In May 2025, a chartered plane carrying 50 Afrikaners landed at Dulles International Airport in Virginia, marking the first group to arrive under the new guidelines. Unlike most refugees, who are vetted by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees before resettlement in the U.S., these Afrikaners were admitted without such vetting—a break from longstanding protocol that has drawn criticism from immigration advocates and international observers alike.
On the first day of his second term, Trump suspended all refugee admissions, saying in his Executive Order that the U.S. “lacks the ability to absorb large numbers of migrants, and in particular, refugees, into its communities in a manner that does not compromise the availability of resources for Americans, that protects their safety and security, and that ensures the appropriate assimilation of refugees.” Yet, just over two weeks later, he made a notable exception for white South Africans, citing their alleged persecution as justification.
The policy has sparked debate across the American political spectrum. Some supporters of the administration argue that the U.S. has a right to determine its own refugee priorities and that the focus on Afrikaners is a response to humanitarian concerns. Critics, however, see the move as racially motivated, pointing to the lack of evidence for widespread persecution of Afrikaners and the exclusion of other groups facing well-documented threats and violence in their home countries.
As the world watches, the fate of thousands of would-be refugees hangs in the balance. The Trump administration’s decision to drastically reduce admissions—and to prioritize one group over others—has raised fundamental questions about the purpose of refugee policy, the role of evidence in shaping international decisions, and the enduring legacy of race and power in both South Africa and the United States. For now, the diplomatic rift between Pretoria and Washington seems certain to persist, as both nations grapple with the implications of a policy that has made headlines—and stirred controversy—across the globe.
