Elon Musk seems to be omnipresent these days. It’s hard to miss his fingerprints as he lets go of federal employees, gets access to vital government data, and even makes appearances alongside President Trump on Fox News. Whether he’s dropping by the Oval Office or sitting in on White House cabinet meetings, Musk’s involvement in U.S. political life is becoming a spectacle for some and a sign of the rise of private interests for others. Some see it as a tech industry takeover, while for others, it’s a puzzling bond forming at the helm of power. Regardless of how you perceive Musk’s involvement in the Trump administration, it solidifies his status as one of the most influential figures on the global stage.
Yet, while much is said about Musk in the U.S., there’s often a missing piece: his South African roots. As part of the demographic that held authority during the apartheid era, this history is crucial to understanding him. Though he’s often portrayed as the archetype of the self-made tech wizard or viewed as a dispassionate technocrat, Musk is actually more of an ideological figure molded by South Africa’s apartheid environment. Musk poses a lingering question: What occurs when a colony’s rule is over, but the settlers remain? America is grappling with this very scenario today.
Born in Pretoria in 1971, Musk grew up amidst the privileges afforded to the white elite in South Africa. His family enjoyed an affluent lifestyle, reflective of the economic systems favoring whites, even after his parents’ divorce during his youth. Musk may not hold fond memories of his private education, blotched by stories of bullying and isolation, yet he certainly reaped its benefits. His father, an engineer, at one point supported the anti-apartheid Progressive Party, but Musk doesn’t seem to have inherited these political views. Like many white South Africans, he left prior to the apartheid regime’s end, moving in 1989 to Canada, where his mother was from.
Though he’s never gone back, South Africa’s impact is evident in his actions today. He weighed in on the nation’s land reform debate, suggesting on social media that white South Africans endure unique persecution after a law passed allowing land expropriation without recompense under specific conditions. Ignoring how land restitution is embraced in various post-colonial societies or how eminent domain works similarly in the U.S., the Trump administration seized Musk’s narrative to promote distorted views of racial victimhood, using his claims as a symbolic weapon.
Musk’s involvement shows he might not have moved past apartheid’s ideology but rather absorbed it. His political leanings — favoring deregulated markets, squashing labor organization, and endorsing Trumpist nationalism — seem to echo apartheid’s economic strategies on a wider scale, veiling zones of privilege under “free enterprise” while quashing redistribution initiatives. It is evident in his calls for harder work and his presses for special treatment of his ventures.
Musk is among several reactionary figures hailing from Southern Africa who’ve found a foothold in Silicon Valley, now influencing right-wing perspectives in the U.S. and worldwide. Names like Peter Thiel and David Sacks trace back to a lineage upholding hierarchy for racial and economic dominance, only to be met with a new world order in upheaval. Their politics aim to safeguard elite control under meritocracy and market freedom, while redirecting disdain toward emerging powers perceived as threats to their standing.
For these figures, the memory of Southern Africa lingers. Within the global right, a historical fascination with Rhodesia and Zimbabwe fosters their influence. To them, the dismantled white-minority rule there epitomizes societal decay, illustrated by a “successful” regime plunged into chaos by decolonization. The narrative of “Zimbabwefication” warns against redistributing power. South Africa — labeled by Musk as “openly pushing for genocide of white people” — embodies a scare tactic in line with this ideology, suggesting ousted settler power only breeds disorder.
Adding to this complexity, South Africa’s stance against Israel’s actions in Gaza positions it against the Western powers backing Israel, branding it a renegade in the global right’s eyes. South-African-born Breitbart commentator Joel Pollak, a potential Trump pick for ambassador to South Africa, certainly holds this view. For Musk and his ilk, South Africa’s divergence from Israel solidifies its fall from a “civilized” protector of white dominance to a state floundering in majority rule and decolonization.
This backlash is both ideological and intensely personal. Despite opposing “woke” identity politics vociferously, Musk ironically subscribes to identity politics. He amplifies narratives from far-right South African factions claiming the government is obsessed with race, citing 142 “race laws.” Yet, their criteria for “race laws” are broadly interpretative, counting any law where race influences legality, even those curbing discrimination or rolling back apartheid policies. Musk’s dismantling of diversity and inclusion initiatives makes this focus on one identity group especially ironic.
Musk’s fixation is also risky. It led to Trump halting America’s financial aid to South Africa, a move endangering H.I.V. and AIDS treatment. The country is now viewed as adversarial, with Secretary of State Marco Rubio skipping a G20 summit citing “anti-Americanism.” The administration’s colonialism nostalgia — evident in proposed plans to resettle Gaza with global inhabitants, buy Greenland, and annex the Panama Canal — views South Africa as a dystopian prophecy to reject.
While Musk eagerly acts as the narrative’s provider, South Africa’s story is one of a different legacy — where white dominance didn’t predetermine fate, where settlers couldn’t sustain control, and where an alternate path, however unclear, persists. From his towering influence, Musk may exert efforts to rewrite this narrative. Yet, history, unlike Mars, isn’t his domain to conquer.
