Years ago, I hopped on a flight to Johannesburg, South Africa, excited for what promised to be the trip of a lifetime. I had been invited by an NBA agent to attend the NBA All-Star Game held in the heart of the motherland. Of course, I brought a friend, packed my bags, and prepared to soak in the beauty, culture, and, frankly, the perks of a favorable dollar exchange rate.
And for a moment, it was everything I dreamed of. Four-course meals at five-star restaurants ran us under $80—even with a bottle of South Africa’s exceptional wine. As a wine lover, I was already eyeing a visit to Cape Town’s renowned vineyards.
While in Johannesburg, the NBA treated us like royalty. We had a guide—shoutout to Stoney—who took us beyond the glamor. We toured Soweto and visited the Hector Pieterson Museum, named after the 12-year-old boy killed during the 1976 student protests known as the Soweto Uprising. These protests began when Black students took to the streets against being forced to learn in Afrikaans, the language of the oppressor. The government responded with deadly force, killing over 170 people, many of them children.
Walking through the museum was jarring. It reminded me of the Civil Rights Movement in the U.S., but with an even darker twist. Our guide didn’t sugarcoat the truth. We learned about apartheid, the brutal system of institutionalized racial segregation and white minority rule that governed South Africa from 1948 until it officially ended in 1994. Like Jim Crow on steroids, apartheid left scars that are still healing—or, in some cases, still festering.
One moment stuck with me. We told Stoney we’d be heading to Cape Town the next day, and her response was sobering: “The laws have changed, but their hearts are still the same.”
Cape Town welcomed us with luxury at the One&Only Hotel, but her words haunted us quickly. Our first trip was to wine country in a private car. After a day of wine tasting, we stopped at a restaurant recommended by the hotel. We were seated, stared at, ignored—and eventually, a Black server approached us with hesitation. When we asked what the delay was, he said plainly, “We couldn’t find anyone to serve you.”
In that moment, all the elegance in the world couldn’t cover up the raw, racial tension in the air. We were two Black Americans, sitting in a five-star restaurant, treated like intruders in a space our dollars helped fund. The meal, ironically, cost less than sixty bucks. And still, we weren’t worth the service.
Later that night, I told the concierge at the hotel not to recommend that restaurant to any more Black American guests. She asked if we told the staff we were staying at the One&Only. I said, “Should I wear the room key on my forehead?” Why should I have to prove I’m worthy of respect?
The next night, we dined at Nobu, which is conveniently in the hotel. When we chatted with some Black South African waitstaff and mentioned we were guests at the One&Only, they were shocked. That disbelief spoke volumes. Even though apartheid ended officially three decades ago, the psychological conditioning of racial hierarchy still grips the country. Many Black South Africans still step aside for white patrons, still internalize inferiority. It’s heartbreaking.
The apartheid government may have been dismantled in 1994, but those systems don’t disappear overnight. And that became even clearer when we got to the airport and saw white South Africans cutting to the front of the line, saying, “Excuse me, I’m South African,” as if that alone gave them VIP access. No one stopped them.
When Elon Musk started making headlines for his problematic, racially-tinged statements, I wasn’t surprised. He was raised in that environment—born in Pretoria during apartheid. His family reportedly benefited from the system, including ties to emerald mining during a time when Black labor was exploited to enrich white South Africans. So when people ask why he behaves the way he does, I say look at where he came from.
And when Trump started pushing the narrative that white farmers in South Africa were being “genocided,” I knew that too was fiction. The truth is more complex and rooted in a country still reckoning with a violently unequal past.
Background: South Africa’s Land Reform and White Migration
Since apartheid ended in 1994, South Africa has worked to address the historic injustice of land dispossession. Under apartheid, nearly 87% of land was allocated to white citizens. As of 2025, the government claims that 25% of arable land has been transferred to Black ownership, but the real number is likely lower.
Attempts to amend the Constitution to allow for expropriation without compensation (EWC) failed in 2021. However, in 2024, the government passed the Expropriation Act, which allows for land seizure in specific cases—like unused or speculative land—without monetary compensation, as long as it’s deemed just and equitable by a court.
Despite fears, there’s been no mass land grab. White farmers still own the majority of agricultural land. However, this policy shift caused a surge in white South Africans applying for asylum or resettlement abroad—especially in countries like the U.S., Canada, and Australia—citing fears of reverse discrimination. These fears have been amplified by right-wing media, but there’s little evidence to support claims of persecution. South Africa’s government insists that the law is legal, measured, and not racially targeted.
Conclusion:
My trip was filled with highs—NBA energy, Cape Town’s wine, top-tier accommodations. But it was also a painful reminder that racism doesn’t disappear with a law or a date on a calendar. You can change the system on paper, but healing hearts and minds takes generations. South Africa’s struggle is far from over but don’t let Trump and Elon Musk gaslight you, it is not genocide against the colonizers in South Africa..
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