President Cyril Ramaphosa Calls White South African Emigrants to the US Cowards, Points Finger at Elon Musk

In a powerful and deeply controversial statement delivered at an agricultural exhibition in South Africa’s Free State province, President Cyril Ramaphosa lashed out at a group of 59 white South Africans who had just arrived in the United States under refugee protection granted by President Donald Trump. Ramaphosa, visibly angered by their departure, described the group—mostly Afrikaners—as “cowards” who were unwilling to face the realities of a changing South Africa.

Among those implicitly included in the president’s rebuke was Elon Musk, the high-profile tech billionaire born in Pretoria, whose political alliances and vocal support for white South Africans abroad have reignited a global debate on race, identity, and post-apartheid justice. “They will be back soon,” Ramaphosa declared defiantly, “because there is no country like South Africa. And when you run away, you are a coward. That’s a real cowardly act.”

The comment triggered immediate backlash, especially on social media, where thousands accused Ramaphosa of belittling legitimate fears held by white South Africans—particularly farmers—who say they have faced increased violence and discrimination since the end of apartheid. Some of the most prominent critics of Ramaphosa’s government include Donald Trump and his long-time associate Elon Musk, who have both amplified claims of a so-called “white genocide” taking place in South Africa.

These claims, largely discredited by international human rights watchdogs and the South African government, have nonetheless gained traction among far-right media outlets in the United States and Europe. Now, with Trump having personally granted refugee status to the Afrikaners, the situation has evolved from a domestic policy debate into a full-blown international political crisis.

The arrival of the white South African group at Washington’s Dulles airport was highly publicized. Deputy Secretary of State Chris Landau met them at the terminal with a ceremonial welcome that included American flags and red, white, and blue balloons. Holding their children and visibly emotional, the Afrikaner families posed for photos and gave interviews describing what they called “a life under the shadow of violence and terror.”

Landau praised the group, saying, “Welcome to the land of the free,” while hinting at further immigration accommodations for South Africans “facing persecution for their heritage.”

But back in South Africa, Ramaphosa rejected these characterizations entirely. Speaking both to local audiences and during a recent Africa CEO Forum in Abidjan, Ivory Coast, the president stated emphatically that “South Africa is not a nation of violence against white people. We are a nation of reconciliation and rebuilding.”

He claimed that he had personally told President Trump in a recent phone call that the White House’s portrayal of South African affairs was “not true,” adding, “We are the only country on this continent where the colonizers came to stay, and we have never driven them out.” Ramaphosa noted that despite frustrations about land reform and economic disparity, the majority of South Africans—black and white—have chosen to remain and contribute to rebuilding the country.

Land redistribution remains one of the most contentious political topics in South Africa, a nation still burdened by the legacy of apartheid that left nearly all fertile land in the hands of white farmers. In January, Ramaphosa signed into law a deeply controversial measure allowing the government to seize land without compensation under conditions deemed equitable and in the public interest.

Although no land has yet been confiscated under the law, the move has provoked fears among white landowners and has drawn the ire of Trump’s administration, which accused Ramaphosa of weaponizing land policy to drive white South Africans out. The U.S. has repeatedly warned that such actions would result in sanctions or diplomatic penalties, including Trump’s recent threat to boycott the upcoming G20 summit in Johannesburg unless the “situation is taken care of.”

Elon Musk, whose personal fortune exceeds $170 billion and whose social media presence has made him a global lightning rod for political commentary, has remained relatively quiet on the current emigration incident. But critics have pointed to his past statements supporting landowners’ rights and his alignment with conservative American policies to claim that his silence amounts to tacit support for Trump’s refugee maneuver.

Musk, now a U.S. citizen, has often referenced his South African roots and has previously shared concerns about the treatment of white farmers in the country. His close friendship with Trump, especially after being appointed to advisory roles during the Trump presidency, has drawn scrutiny from both U.S. liberals and African observers, who argue that Musk is exploiting South Africa’s complicated racial narrative for political capital abroad.

The controversy has reopened old wounds in South Africa. For many black South Africans, the presence of economic inequality tied to land ownership remains a daily reminder of the unfinished work of justice. Nearly 80% of the nation’s arable land remains in the hands of white South Africans, even though they make up less than 10% of the population. Attempts at land redistribution through market-driven processes have been slow and largely ineffective.

Ramaphosa, elected on a platform of addressing these inequalities, has been under mounting pressure from both the international community and domestic political rivals to demonstrate real progress. His comments labeling the fleeing Afrikaners as “cowards” reflect, in part, his frustration with what he sees as sabotage to that national agenda.

However, not all South Africans support the president’s tone. Opposition parties have accused Ramaphosa of stoking racial division rather than promoting unity. “People leave for many reasons,” said one Democratic Alliance spokesperson.

“To brand every emigrant as a coward is an insult to the complexities of the choices families have to make.” Civil rights groups have warned that Ramaphosa’s language could alienate even moderate white South Africans who feel increasingly marginalized by the ANC’s rhetoric.

Trump, for his part, has not minced words. In a televised interview, he accused Ramaphosa of failing his people and engaging in what he called “reverse racism.” He reaffirmed his stance that Afrikaners deserved refuge in the U.S. and hinted that this wave of immigration might just be the beginning.

“We’re going to help people who are in danger,” he said. “Real Americans understand what it means to protect people from tyranny, whether it’s in Venezuela, Ukraine, or South Africa.”

With Ramaphosa preparing to meet with Trump in a closed-door session ahead of the G20, the stakes have rarely been higher. The issue has come to symbolize a broader geopolitical tug-of-war between progressive African nationalism and a global resurgence of right-wing populism.

The clash between Ramaphosa and Trump is no longer about one group of emigrants—it’s about the soul of a nation still wrestling with its past and the narrative that powerful outsiders, including billionaires like Musk, choose to tell about it.

In the end, the question may not be whether the Afrikaners who left are cowards or victims. It may be whether the United States and South Africa are willing to see each other beyond the politics of race and resentment. For now, both nations remain locked in a bitter ideological contest, with white South Africans—once the symbols of colonial power—now portrayed as pawns in a far larger battle for moral supremacy on the world stage.