When my partner and I moved from South Africa to Canada, we did so in search of a different lived experience. We wanted to live in a society where we could feel safe, contribute meaningfully and encounter a broader diversity of perspectives. We did not come as refugees, nor did we claim persecution. Our move was enabled by privilege — economic, racial and educational. We had a choice, and we were able to act on it.
Still, our hearts remain closely connected to those we’ve left behind. Our families and friends in South Africa continue to live with very real and daily fears. Crime is a constant concern. The rhetoric of political figures — like that of Julius Malema and others — often exacerbates the sense of vulnerability, particularly among minorities. This fear is not imagined. It is lived. And the trauma that stems from such daily uncertainty can run deep.
I recognize that even within our own partnership, our experiences of South Africa are not the same. I was raised in a largely protected environment; my partner, on the other hand, has been held up at gunpoint before. We carry different memories, and different wounds.
It is from that space of complexity that I have watched with growing concern the recent decision by the US administration to offer refugee status to some white, Afrikaans-speaking South Africans. These individuals are being fast-tracked for resettlement under claims of racial persecution — a narrative widely disputed by South African authorities, human rights observers and the United Nations, which did not vet any South Africans of any race or ethnicity for refugee status in 2024.
Truth be told, the treatment white South Africans have received from US immigration authorities stands in stark contrast to how refugees from other parts of the world are processed and treated, if they can even get asylum.
The decision has raised troubling questions about how refugee systems are being politicized. The Episcopal Church in the US has responded by refusing to participate in the resettlement of white South Africans under this policy. Presiding Bishop Sean Rowe stated clearly that the church would not be complicit in what appears to be a distortion of the refugee framework.
Archbishop Thabo Makgoba of Cape Town expressed his support for The Episcopal Church, noting that South Africa’s equity-focused policies aim to address historical injustices, not to enact new forms of discrimination. As he rightly pointed out, white South Africans continue to benefit from the privileges of the past, even amid the country’s ongoing struggles. There is truth in the statement, “When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.”
This is not a time for us to harden our hearts — but neither is it a time to be naïve. We can and should reject the misuse of refugee systems. But in doing so, we must not lose sight of the human complexity at the heart of the matter. Some of those now seeking resettlement may be genuinely afraid. Their fears, however misplaced or amplified, are still real to them. But fear alone does not constitute persecution.
As people of faith, we are called to live truthfully. That means acknowledging the complexity of fear and trauma, especially in South Africa. But it also means resisting the temptation to hijack language meant for the truly vulnerable. We are called to stand with the displaced, not impersonate them. To welcome the stranger, not compete with them. To speak the truth, even when it challenges those who look and sound like us.
