Be wary of a president armed with visual aids. All it took was a simple command to dim the lights.
Before that dramatic shift, South African President Cyril Ramaphosa’s Oval Office meeting with Donald Trump had been proceeding smoothly for about 20 minutes.
Like many before him visiting the Trump White House, Ramaphosa came prepared—with a thoughtful gift and respectful language.
He complimented Trump on the Oval Office renovations, expressed appreciation for the opportunity to visit, and welcomed the start of bilateral trade discussions. He even praised Trump’s international peace efforts.
The optics were good. Trump the builder, Trump the dealmaker, Trump the global peacemaker.
Things were unfolding nicely.
Following a tense, high-profile exchange in February between Trump and Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, foreign leaders had grown cautious about how they approached the unpredictable atmosphere of Trump’s White House.
Ramaphosa’s visit was progressing well. Trump beamed when Ramaphosa presented him with a book showcasing South Africa’s top golf courses. The hefty volume—“a really fantastic book,” Ramaphosa said—was a 14-kilogram tribute, perfectly tailored for a president known for his love of golf, especially on his own courses.
Then, the tone shifted abruptly after a journalist asked Trump what it would take to convince him that a genocide was not occurring in South Africa.
A risky, unconventional move
Before Trump could respond, Ramaphosa jumped in and answered on his behalf—a bold and unconventional choice.
Anyone familiar with Trump knows he dislikes others speaking for him. He’s not short on opinions or confidence.
Trump seemed momentarily stunned—was he impressed by Ramaphosa’s daring or about to unleash a Zelenskyy-style takedown?
It was a dangerous path to tread, particularly given how heavily the Trump administration had leaned into claims that South Africa was experiencing a white genocide—alleging state complicity or neglect.
Just a week earlier, the U.S. had granted refugee status to 59 white South Africans under this very narrative—despite Trump’s broader restrictions on asylum seekers.
Ramaphosa responded: “It will take President Trump listening to the voices of South Africans.”
Trump frowns
Donald Trump had previously said that white farmers in South Africa feared for their lives. (Reuters: Kevin Lamarque)
Ramaphosa was challenging Trump’s central claim. That alone wasn’t the issue—the problem was how he did it.
A more cautious move would have been to acknowledge some level of national concern (while rejecting the term “genocide”) and suggest discussing the matter privately—once the cameras were off, as is typical in these photo ops.
But instead, Trump escalated.
“Turn the lights down,” he ordered. “And just put this on.”
An uncomfortable spectacle unfolds
When the U.S. president gives such a command, things move fast. Lights dimmed, and a screen—prepared in advance—lit up, all while the press remained in the room.
What followed was a 20-minute video montage of provocative content. Trump narrated sections himself.
It included a controversial apartheid-era song, Kill the Boer, and scenes Trump said showed white farmer graves. “These are burial sites right here,” he remarked.
It was deeply uncomfortable. Ramaphosa and his delegation were forced to watch footage filled with inflammatory messages. Ramaphosa largely avoided eye contact with the screen and, at times, questioned the content’s origin.
“Have they told you where that is, Mr. President? I’d like to know—because I’ve never seen this before,” Ramaphosa asked.
Trump replied, “I mean, it’s in South Africa, that’s where.”
Ramaphosa tried to push back, clarifying that the individuals shown did not represent government positions.
“We are a multi-party democracy in South Africa. People are allowed to express themselves,” he said.
The video featured firebrand speakers unconnected to the government.
Ramaphosa acknowledged crime was a serious issue, but insisted that Black South Africans were more frequently victims than whites.
The ambush intensifies
Next, one of Trump’s staffers handed him a thick stack of printed news stories—about 30—allegedly documenting attacks on white farmers. Trump held them up one by one for the cameras.
“Death. Death. Death. Horrible death. Death,” he repeated.
In the room stood Elon Musk, the South African-born tech mogul and Trump adviser, who has publicly accused Ramaphosa’s administration of maintaining “openly racist ownership laws.”
Trump doubled down, claiming the South African government was seizing land from white farmers without compensation and failing to curb violence against them. (Though land expropriation legislation exists, it has not yet been enacted in that form.)
Realizing the gravity of the moment, Ramaphosa tried to reset the mood. He addressed Trump’s accusations directly and introduced his white agriculture minister as proof of inclusive governance.
He also brought two white South African golfers and a white billionaire businessman. Trump, notably, listened more attentively to their remarks—without interrupting.
South African golfers also spoke with Trump during the meeting
(Reuters: Kevin Lamarque)
Ramaphosa’s team emphasized that the issue at hand wasn’t racial persecution, but widespread crime affecting all communities.
Eventually, Trump appeared to walk back his earlier stance.
Asked by a journalist if he was convinced a genocide was happening, he responded: “I haven’t made up my mind. I hate to see it, from the standpoint of South Africa, but also, you know, I’m trying to save lives.”
He added: “We have thousands of people that want to come into our country. They’re also going to Australia in a smaller number.”
That statement was accurate—Australia has indeed seen an increase in South African immigration.
“But we have thousands of people that want to come into our country,” Trump repeated. “And they’re white farmers, and they feel that they’re going to die in South Africa.”
Unlike Zelenskyy, Ramaphosa wasn’t hastily dismissed or skipped lunch at the White House.
But after both the Zelenskyy and Ramaphosa episodes, the message to visiting leaders is unmistakable: bring gifts if you must—but beware a president who dims the lights.
