I am an Afrikaans-speaking mother of Afrikaans teenagers, and daughter of Afrikaans parents. My family has never been part of any sort of Afrikaner elite; I am in fact the first university graduate among my grandparents’ grandchildren. Despite this, I would consider myself to be a “nasty woman” as President Donald Trump likes to refer to opinionated women who actually want equality, diversity and inclusion in the world their children will grow up in. Earlier this week someone I know and respect added me to a WhatsApp group because a letter of dissent has sparked a movement, and I’m a good organiser.
Let me rewind to about a week ago, when 44 prominent Afrikaners wrote an open letter to condemn the racist way Afrikaner legacy has been abused to persuade the US government to roll out a very ill-advised refugee programme to white Afrikaners. When I read that letter it stirred hope in me. I’m not represented by the organisations who claim to speak on behalf of Afrikaners, and I worked for one such organisation for long enough to know that I could never associate myself with them or their message.
I was a small child when apartheid came to an end. I don’t come from generational wealth but I recognise the privilege that comes with my skin colour. My competence isn’t generally challenged, though I certainly still deal with sexism at times. My bona fides are assumed and I live a safe, suburban life like my parents did and grandparents did before them. Yes, I work hard as a business owner and I often work in hostile environments because of the work I do, but I can’t imagine how much harder it would be if I had a different background.
What would it be like if my parents and grandparents never worked and couldn’t help me understand and navigate how a workplace actually operates and how I need to dress and behave, and I had to learn all of that information on the fly? It’s unthinkable. I acknowledge that I as an Afrikaner didn’t cause what I was born into, just as any other human has no control over their birth and its circumstances. I do however think we need to acknowledge that having more means helping people who have less.
I grew up in a religious, Christian household. The kind where my sisters and I were making sandwiches for other schoolchildren who couldn’t afford lunches, as part of our church’s outreach programmes, from the time we were able to reach the kitchen counter. I did not fully grasp the unfair system that led to those families facing hunger until I was at university myself.
What fascinates me is that this very same religion that I was taught is supposed to be a safe haven for the least of us humans, is now abused by nefarious actors in the US and echoed by the very same organisations in South Africa who claim to speak on behalf of Afrikaners. This can be seen in their visits to the Heritage Foundation, an organisation spreading Christofascist ideology.
I’m almost sure we (Christians) aren’t supposed to lie, so why are you claiming Afrikaners are refugees? My experience of Afrikanerdom is unique to my situation; there are many Afrikaners in different situations and facing hardships I have no idea of. None of that means any of us are refugees.
Refugees are people who have been forced to flee their home country and have crossed an international border to find safety in another country. We live in a free society, in a constitutional democracy. We have serious economic and societal problems that we need to address very quickly; therefore, we need to stop navel-gazing as Afrikaners and get stuck in.
Do I claim to speak on behalf of Afrikaners? Certainly not. In my reading of the original letter, neither did the 44 people who stood up and said enough is enough. We aren’t a special, select group of people who should be treated as different and special and wonderful.
We aren’t supposed to live separately in a volkstaat where we conform with whatever fictional norm the Afrikaner powers-that-be have decided on. Speaking a language and enjoying a culture doesn’t mean we should ignore our past or ignore the fact that our culture is in itself a mishmash of a bunch of cultures. I find it fascinating that Afrikaners are spoken of by certain groups as though we are a homogenous group when we came from many different countries and languages during colonial times, and some of us can’t even properly pinpoint which stowaway we descend from.
I’m not shaming anyone who is proud of their Afrikaner heritage. I think Afrikaans is a beautiful language and I love speaking it on my overseas travels and teaching people words and traditions. That isn’t what this is about.
The reality is that there is no divorcing this US refugee programme from whiteness. This isn’t a programme for Afrikaans-speaking people; it’s a programme for a subset of whites, and I find that mortifying. If your whiteness is the only thing that sets you apart and the thing you would risk your country’s international relations for, that’s a truly sad state of affairs and I can really recommend therapy.
After being added to the WhatsApp group, things have kicked into gear for me. I helped establish a website and online petition, because at the cusp of November 2025 I am absolutely done being drowned out.
I want a better life for my children and I know every mother wants the same for theirs. That future will only happen if we build it, if we use our privilege for good. That means we need to take hands with all South Africans and we need to start getting to work.
If that sounds like something you would like to support, please sign our petition at www.afrikanersvirsa.co.za. It’s free, you won’t be asked for any money but you might be asked to join in initiatives in future if you are able to. Signing is open to everyone who identifies with the message of the 44, not just Afrikaners, though I obviously feel that Afrikaners need to lead this.
If my messaging has offended you, good. Sit with that uncomfortable feeling and ask yourself where you can make a difference and where you can make your voice heard. DM