Afrikaners reject Trump? Turns out white privilege is comfy

7 mins read
Afrikaners reject Trump? Turns out white privilege is comfy

Afrikaners officially said “no thanks” to President Donald Trump and the offer of refugee status in the US. Of course they did. Because white privilege is cushy.

Predictable? Completely.

Hypocritical? Oh, absolutely.

But let’s unpack that.

The hypocrisy of persecution claims

For years, Afrikaners have been shouting from rooftops, podiums, and Twitter threads about being ‘persecuted’ in South Africa.

Genocide, they call it.

Oppression, they cry.

Yet here they are, rejecting an actual opportunity to flee this so-called ‘hellscape.’

Why? Because they’re not oppressed. They’re comfortable.

Cushy white privilege

Despite their outrage, many Afrikaners still benefit from the privileges woven into the fabric of apartheid’s legacy.

They have land (whether inherited, bought, or stolen).

They exploit cheap Black labour, expecting underpaid workers to scrub their toilets, raise their children, and be grateful for crumbs disguised as “living minimum wages”, if that.

Imagine Afrikaners saying yes to Trump and moving to another country where they would have to pay fair wages and actually treat people with respect.

The horror!

White privilege has its perks

It’s no surprise they’d rather stay put, where they can enjoy the benefits of white privilege, all while crying “persecution” from the comfort of their verandas.

Here’s the thing: life in South Africa, even with its problems, comes with perks for many Afrikaners.

Perks they’d have to give up if they accepted Trump’s offer.

The hypocrisy is staggering.

Afrikaners can’t claim to be victims while simultaneously reaping the benefits of the very system you say is oppressing them.

ALSO READ: ANC slams AfriForum and Trump over ‘land reform misinformation’

Rejecting Trump is such a punchline…

AfriForum’s response to Trump’s offer? Thanks, but no thanks. They claim they owe it to their forebears to stay in Africa.

The irony is rich. These are the same people who painted themselves as victims, begged for international intervention, and even went to the US to spread false genocide narratives.

Yet, when given a lifeline, they choose to stay.

Why?

Because despite their whining, South Africa is still comfortable for them. They can live cushy lives, exploit cheap labour, and cling to the benefits of systemic privilege.

READ: Elon and the Musketeers of misunderstanding confused by metaphors

Let’s talk about land

The land debate sends Afrikaners into a frenzy. Yet, conveniently, they forget how their ancestors stole land in the first place.

The 1913 Natives Land Act was the foundation of South Africa’s land dispossession.

It restricted Black South Africans from owning or renting land in most parts of the country, confining them to less than 10% of the land despite making up the majority of the population.

This forced many into poverty, stripping them of livelihoods and generational wealth.

Then, the 1936 Development Trust and Land Act extended this, pushing more Black communities off their land and deepening segregation.

I urge you to watch this documentary about the Harfield Village in Cape Town, which was declared a ‘White area’ in 1969.

Under the Group Areas Act, residents were forced to sell or leave their homes, often receiving no compensation.

Watch the actual impact and trauma of land possession, and then come talk to me about the unfairness of the 2025 Act.

I was talking to a friend yesterday, laughing about this Trump situation, when she told me about how their family’s land was taken in 1959 under the Group Areas Act.

Her dad, just eight years old, watched as everything was ripped away. Decades later, his descendants were ‘compensated,’ but the money went to a cousin married to a white man.

So, land taken from one family ended up benefiting whiteness anyway.

You know, I can already see the responses to this…

READ: Ramaphosa to Trump: Land bill is not a ‘confiscation instrument’

‘OMG WHITE PRIVILEGE IS MYTH’

Well, first of all… No. Being poor and white in South Africa doesn’t erase white privilege. Growing up, my family struggled financially.

But even if we only had toast and baked beans for dinner, we still had a house with electricity and running water.

I did my homework under a light bulb, not by candlelight in a tin shack, and not with hunger pangs taking up all my brainspace.

That’s privilege. The kind you don’t notice because it feels normal.

White privilege and Black tax

While I occasionally help my parents financially today, it is by no stretch of the imagination comparable to Black South Africans my age supporting entire families because apartheid denied their parents access to education and job opportunities.

This isn’t ancient history; it’s living memory, and it’s still affecting someone’s parents and grandparents. TODAY.

Apartheid didn’t end and magically reset the game.

Some players just had a head start.

‘OMG I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH APARTHEID’

Don’t we as white South Africans just love to deflect responsibility with, “But I was too young during apartheid.” That’s cute.

But apartheid isn’t some distant relic. It shaped the world we grew up in: our schools, our neighbourhoods, our perceptions as Afrikaners.

The system brainwashed us, subtly (and not so subtly) feeding the idea that we were superior.

‘HOW DARE YOU SAY I’M RACIST!’

Because you are. I am.

If you attended a Model C school in the 90s, if you attended school during the 80s and prior, or if you’re a post-1994 baby raised by parents who attended a Model C school, welcome. You’ve been brainwashed.

Think of it as our default setting, and it’s something we have to unlearn.

Microaggressions aren’t random. They’re the echoes of that indoctrination.

Complimenting a colleague with, “Wow, you speak English so well,” or refusing to learn someone’s name because it’s “too hard” (while you know exactly how to pronounce Tchaikovsky) is the residue of systemic racism.

Even “flesh-coloured” band-aids matched only one kind of flesh until recently.

Have you ever said any of the following:

  • You’re so articulate for someone from [insert place].
  • You’re not like the others.
  • I’m not racist, I have a Black friend!
  • Mixed babies are always the cutest!
  • I don’t see colour!

Whiteness has always been the default, and everything else was ‘other.’

Actually, wait. Let’s talk about the “I don’t see colour” a bit more.

‘BUT I DON’T SEE COLOUR!’

One of the most well-meaning yet insidiously racist things people say is, “I don’t see colour.” On the surface, it sounds like a declaration of equality.

But in reality, it’s a way to dismiss the lived experiences of people while allowing you to avoid confronting your own biases.

When someone says they don’t see colour, what they’re really saying is, “I refuse to acknowledge how race shapes people’s identities and experiences.”

It’s a form of erasure. It implies that race (and by extension, racism) doesn’t matter.

But here’s the thing: it does matter. It matters because history, systems, and everyday interactions are shaped by it.

Pretending not to see colour doesn’t eliminate racism; it just makes it easier to ignore.

Seeing colour isn’t the problem. Why would seeing something that is part of a person’s identity be a problem? The problem is treating people differently because of it.

Blah blah ‘ THE GOOD OLD DAYS’

Afrikaners love reminiscing about “the good old days,” don’t we?

Good old days for who? You.

Certainly not the people who were forced into townships, treated as subhuman, and denied basic rights.

Life ‘looked good’ because the apartheid government catered exclusively to white Afrikaners, who made up less than 7% of the population.

Now, with resources shared more equally, they feel deprived. In reality, they’re just experiencing the discomfort of equality.

Oh wow, you’re still reading

If you made it this far and you’re still brimming with indignation, how about taking a deep breath and acknowledging that you, as a white Afrikaner are by default racist.

Not because you’re evil, but because you were raised in a system designed to make you that way.

Unlearning starts with admitting the truth. Listen to people’s stories. Challenge your biases. Stop centring yourself in every narrative.

If equality feels like oppression, it’s probably because you’ve mistaken privilege for your birthright.

Here’s a reading list for you:

On white privilege and whiteness:

On rainbowism and being colourblind:

On microaggressions and white fragility:

On entitlement to your opinion and derailing conversations:

On white genocide:

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Cheryl Kahla Founder and Editor
Cheryl Kahla explores the intersections of tech and society. She covers emerging tech trends, AI, science, and gaming. Outside of writing, Cheryl indulges in martial arts and debating the merits of AI with her cat, Gotham. He is indifferent to the subject.

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