It was a scene both ordinary and extraordinary: a group of white South Africans, clutching U.S. flags, stepped into the arrivals hall at Dulles International Airport on a spring day in May 2025. Their journey, though, was anything but routine. They were among the first recipients of refugee status under a controversial new program championed by U.S. President Donald Trump, designed specifically for white Afrikaners from South Africa who, according to the Trump administration, are victims of “unjust racial discrimination.”
The program, launched in February 2025, marks a dramatic shift in American refugee policy and has ignited fierce debate both in the United States and abroad. At the heart of the initiative is a partnership with a South African group called Amerikaners, an organization founded by white South Africans seeking relocation opportunities. The group is led by Sam Busa, a 60-year-old woman of British descent, who established Amerikaners soon after Trump signed the executive order setting the wheels in motion.
According to a statement posted on the U.S. Embassy’s website in Pretoria on September 8, 2025, Amerikaners has now been formally designated as a referral partner for the U.S. Department of State. This gives the group significant authority: they are responsible for gathering information from potential applicants, assessing eligibility, and referring qualified cases for consideration under the U.S. Refugee Admissions Program. As Reuters reported, the embassy described the move as a way to streamline applications for those seeking resettlement.
The Amerikaners group wasted little time in making its presence felt. One of its first acts was to draft a memorandum addressed directly to President Trump, enthusiastically welcoming his offer and outlining the community’s values. The document, which remains accessible on the group’s website, describes Afrikaners as “Christian, conservative, and English-speaking.” It insists, “We are not seeking charity, but rather an opportunity to serve America.”
Sam Busa’s organization now plays a pivotal role in the process, screening applicants and determining which cases are forwarded to U.S. authorities. While Busa herself declined to comment further, the group’s mission is clear: to ensure that those they represent are given the best chance to start anew in the United States.
But the program has not been without its critics. Human rights organizations, refugee advocates, and officials within the South African government have all raised concerns about the initiative’s fairness and broader implications. According to Creamer Media and Reuters, South Africa’s government has strongly rejected allegations of systemic discrimination against white minorities. Officials in Pretoria argue that Afrikaners remain the most economically privileged group in the country and therefore do not meet international definitions of refugees. “Allegations of discrimination are unfounded,” South African authorities have stated, warning that the U.S. program could inflame racial tensions at a particularly sensitive time. The country continues to grapple with the legacy of apartheid, persistent inequality, and ongoing debates over land reform.
Despite these objections, the Trump administration has pressed forward, framing the program as a necessary response to what it describes as targeted marginalization of Afrikaners. The White House has discussed the possibility of resettling as many as 30,000 white South Africans over the coming year—a number that would require a substantial ramp-up in processing and resources. Yet, as of early August 2025, fewer than 100 had actually arrived in the U.S., highlighting both the logistical and political challenges facing the initiative.
For President Trump, the program fits squarely within his broader immigration agenda, which has consistently emphasized selective resettlement based on cultural and ideological affinity with the United States. Analysts see the decision as a symbolic gesture to conservative supporters who have long advocated for the relocation of Afrikaners, as well as a tangible shift away from more traditional, needs-based refugee policies. The administration’s approach has drawn sharp criticism from those who argue that privileging one community on the basis of race or ideology undermines the principle of equal treatment in refugee admissions and risks sidelining other, more urgent humanitarian crises across Africa and beyond.
Opponents also question the wisdom of outsourcing key elements of the refugee vetting process to a community organization with a clear partisan stake in the outcome. As one human rights group warned, “Outsourcing refugee vetting to a partisan community organization risks undermining U.S. credibility and could complicate Washington’s broader commitments under international refugee law.” The State Department, for its part, has declined to comment on specific implementing partners but issued a general statement expressing gratitude “for the many South African citizens who have expressed their support for this refugee program.”
The controversy has exposed deep divisions not only between the United States and South Africa, but also within the global refugee and humanitarian community. While supporters of the program argue that Afrikaners face real and pressing dangers in South Africa, critics maintain that the evidence for systemic persecution is lacking and that the initiative sets a troubling precedent. The debate touches on fundamental questions about the purpose and scope of refugee protection, the responsibilities of host countries, and the dangers of politicizing humanitarian programs.
Meanwhile, the Amerikaners group continues its work, fielding applications and making the case for its members’ resettlement. Their memorandum to President Trump remains a testament to their aspirations: “We are not seeking charity, but rather an opportunity to serve America.” For those who have already made the journey, the promise of a new life in the United States is both a relief and a challenge—a chance to start over, but also to navigate the complexities of a policy that has thrust them into the global spotlight.
As the program unfolds, it remains to be seen whether the Trump administration’s gamble will pay off, or whether the backlash—both at home and abroad—will force a reassessment. For now, the arrival of the first groups of Afrikaners on American soil stands as a vivid illustration of how refugee policy, politics, and identity can collide in unexpected and deeply consequential ways.
