Trump's Afrikaner refugee program faces rejections amid vetting concerns

In February 2025, Donald Trump signed an executive order that seemed to answer a prayer for thousands of white South Africans who believed themselves persecuted in their own country. The United States would accept Afrikaners as refugees, the president announced, citing what he called a "white genocide"—a claim that South Africa's government has repeatedly and forcefully denied, and that independent crime data does not support. By May, the first 68 arrived. The program expanded to include members of any "racial minority," and the US simultaneously closed its refugee admissions to everyone else fleeing war and persecution elsewhere. Within months, more than 13,000 white South Africans had been admitted, with the pace accelerating sharply: 2,600 arrived in August alone.

Then, on June 30, the rejections began. Across Facebook groups and WhatsApp chats, applicants started receiving letters from US Citizenship and Immigration Services. The message was terse and final: their applications had been found ineligible for continued processing. No appeal was permitted. No reason was given. Many had already sold their homes, their cars, their possessions. Many had believed they were approved. Some had children born in the US, waiting for them.

The scale of the rejections remains unclear. USCIS has not released data on how many applications have been denied or how many remain pending. A WhatsApp support group for rejected applicants, called Hope beyond the Letter, had grown to 311 members by mid-September, though administrators noted the number fluctuated as people joined and left. Those who filed Freedom of Information Act requests began to piece together why they had been turned away, and the reasons revealed a program operating under criteria that many applicants say they were never told about or that seem to contradict the original promise.

A 64-year-old freelance television professional, who requested anonymity, had completed his screening in November and received a recommendation for approval. His application was reversed because his ex-girlfriend, with whom he had applied, had a marijuana conviction. He learned this only after requesting his file. "I cried like a baby," he said of the day he received his rejection letter. "It was something I actually believed was attainable. I believed the hype." Pieter and Liesl—not their real names—had been told in November that they were conditionally approved. Both are Afrikaners who had lost a grandparent to violence on a farm and were working as farm managers when they applied. Pieter had a 2014 trespassing conviction, for which he paid a fine and never appeared in court; he had been granted multiple temporary work visas to labor on American farms between 2011 and 2024. When they received their rejection on July 24, they discovered that USCIS had recorded their youngest daughter—born in the United States and a US citizen—as a South African national and claimed she would be left behind if they relocated. They had already sold their house and most of their possessions. "We have to start all over again," Pieter said.

Another applicant, 67 years old, attributed his rejection to language barriers during his interview. He and his wife were denied on grounds of "crime involving moral turpitude" and "commission of acts of torture or extra judicial killing." He acknowledged shooting at least one Black person while working as a security guard in 1995, which he characterized as self-defense during a mass break-in at an alcohol shop. He was not charged at the time. "I was thoroughly investigated by the authorities," he said. "I was not charged, because I did not break the law." The vetting process that had seemed to move swiftly for thousands had apparently shifted, or the standards applied retroactively to those already approved.

The context for the program itself rests on a contested premise. Afrikaners are descended from Dutch and French settlers who ruled South Africa during apartheid, a system that enriched and protected white citizens while systematically repressing the Black majority. More than thirty years after apartheid ended, affirmative action and Black economic empowerment policies have created a Black elite and middle class. Yet unemployment among Black South Africans stands at roughly 38 percent, compared with 9 percent among white South Africans, according to official statistics. Some white South Africans have come to see these policies as discrimination against them. Far-right groups have amplified cases of brutal murders of white farmers as evidence of racial targeting, despite official crime data showing no higher victimization rates for farmers or white people generally. Trump has repeatedly amplified these claims, dismissing South Africa's government's objections.

When asked about the rejections, USCIS spokesperson Zach Kahler issued a statement that did not address specific cases. "The Department of Homeland Security is committed to resettling Afrikaner refugees who are being persecuted by the South African government," he said, adding that each application is reviewed individually and that those found ineligible due to "public safety concerns or criminal histories" are notified and cannot appeal. "This administration will always prioritize the safety and welfare of the American people." The statement offered no explanation for why thousands had been approved and then rejected, or what had changed in the vetting process. For applicants who had reorganized their lives around the promise of resettlement, the silence was its own answer.