President Cyril Ramaphosa’s 2025 “reset” visit to the United States comes at a moment of unprecedented diplomatic volatility between Pretoria and Washington.
Following Donald J. Trump’s return to the US presidency and the rapid deterioration of bilateral ties—marked by punitive tariffs, the expulsion of South African diplomats, and the invocation of an executive refugee order—Ramaphosa’s decision to seek direct engagement signals a high-stakes gamble to restore fractured relations.
Officially framed as a “working visit” aimed at revitalising economic and commercial ties, the visit in reality unfolds within a deeply asymmetrical power dynamic. The term “reset” suggests more than just technical recalibration; it evokes political concession, strategic repositioning, and a potentially damaging tilt away from South Africa’s once-principled global stance. This article interrogates the realpolitik underpinning Ramaphosa’s overture and the broader implications for South Africa’s sovereignty, moral authority, and foreign policy posture in an era of increasingly transactional diplomacy.
South African President Cyril Ramaphosa is currently in the United States on a working visit to meet with US President Donald J. Trump. This visit follows the recent return of Donald Trump to office as the 47th President of the United States, having been inaugurated on Monday, 20 January 2025. The beginning of Trump’s second term reignited global anxieties over a renewed wave of trade protectionism, with many anticipating the onset of a trade war. Almost immediately, the USA administration introduced fresh tariffs on a range of countries engaged in commercial dealings with the US, most notably targeting China and Canada. Yet, in a surprising and distinctly pointed development, South Africa emerged as a particular target of the new administration’s punitive measures.
In quick succession, the bilateral relationship between South Africa and the United States entered a state of diplomatic turbulence. South Africa’s ambassador to Washington, Ebrahim Rasool, was declared persona non grata, prompting his expulsion. This was soon followed by the removal of South Africa’s military attaché based in Washington, as well as the expulsion of the Consul General stationed in Los Angeles. These actions were accompanied by the abrupt withdrawal of all U.S. aid to South Africa—a dramatic escalation signalling the deteriorating state of relations.
Compounding this diplomatic crisis was the disinformation campaign spearheaded by organisations such as AfriForum and Solidarity. Exploiting the politically sensitive subject of land reform—an issue embedded within South Africa’s constitutional and democratic framework—these groups disseminated narratives linking land redistribution to so-called “white genocide” and racial dispossession. Though demonstrably false, these narratives proved politically expedient, gaining traction within certain circles in the United States and finding a receptive audience in the Trump administration. The result was the invocation of a special U.S. refugee resettlement intervention, based on an executive order, 14204, Addressing Egregious Actions of the Republic of South Africa, under the United States Refugee Admissions Program (USRAP). Just last week, this process culminated in the arrival of 49 white South Africans, self-identifying as Afrikaners, on a chartered flight into the U.S., ostensibly under humanitarian grounds.
It was against this increasingly dysfunctional, SA-haemorrhaging and decidedly hostile backdrop that President Trump announced last Monday that he would receive a South African delegation. Shortly thereafter, President Ramaphosa informed South African citizens that he would be travelling to the United States with a small delegation of ministers to meet with President Trump.
Ramaphosa’s ‘Reset‘ Delegation…
The delegation of Ramaphosa, among others, includes the Minister of International Relations and Cooperation, Ronald Lamola; the Minister in the Presidency, Khumbudzo Ntshavheni; the Minister of Trade, Industry and Competition, Parks Tau; and the Minister of Agriculture, John Steenhuisen.
One might question the weight—or lack thereof—of the delegation accompanying President Ramaphosa. Unfortunately, the delegation is not without controversy. The current Minister of International Relations and Cooperation (DIRCO), who previously served as Minister of Justice, played a central role in leading South Africa’s case against Israel at the International Court of Justice (ICJ). For her part, the Minister in the Presidency, Khumbudzo Ntshavheni, has been linked to allegations of corruption during her days in local government, casting a shadow over the credibility of the team. Meanwhile, the Minister of Trade, Industry and Competition, Parks Tau, arguably holds one of the most strategic portfolios, and is a key figure in this meeting given his past associations with individuals such as billionaire and former New York mayor, Michael Bloomberg.
One must hope that a side meeting with Bloomberg is not on the agenda, as this could send an unfavourable signal to President Trump. Finally, the inclusion of the Minister of Agriculture, John Steenhuisen, appears to be a purely political gesture—clearly intended to convey, and physically embody, the message that white South Africans, particularly those of Afrikaner descent, are neither marginalised nor persecuted, contrary to the narrative promoted by certain lobby groups.
A Working Visit…
The visit has been formally classified as a working visit. In US diplomatic protocol, this is the least ceremonious of the three principal categories of state engagements. By contrast, a State Visit represents the highest form of diplomatic engagement, extended by the US President to a foreign Head of State. Such visits are rich in pageantry and tradition, typically featuring a grand welcome ceremony on the South Lawn of the White House, a 21-gun salute, bilateral meetings, a formal State Dinner, and in some cases, an address to a joint session of Congress. They are reserved for longstanding allies and symbolise enduring strategic and cultural bonds.
An Official Visit, while still a formal occasion, is typically extended to a Head of Government, such as a prime minister. Though more modest in its ceremonial elements, it still includes bilateral meetings and a structured programme. It reflects a mature relationship, though not necessarily one marked by strategic intimacy.
A Working Visit, by contrast, is a pragmatic and policy-driven engagement. Such visits are usually brief, prioritising substantive discussion over diplomatic rituals. President Ramaphosa’s current visit, therefore, signals an attempt at urgent dialogue rather than a celebration of bilateral goodwill. Importantly, such a format typically entails the visitor being received upon arrival by his nation’s ambassador stationed in the host country, and reciprocally, by the US ambassador based in the visiting president’s capital. In this instance, however, the protocol has been broken. There are currently no ambassadors representing either country in the other’s capital, rendering the diplomatic environment unusually strained and procedurally unorthodox.
This absence of high-level diplomatic representation underscores the depth of the current rupture in US–South African relations. It raises significant questions about the seriousness with which both parties regard the strategic partnership and whether Ramaphosa’s visit will mark the beginning of a substantive recalibration—or merely a tactical appeasement in the face of mounting pressure.
According to Ramaphosa, the Purpose of the Visit is to reset USA and SA Relations
President Cyril Ramaphosa and his spokesperson have on several occasions described his current visit to the United States as a moment in the “reset” of diplomatic relations between South Africa and the United States. According to a statement issued by the South African Presidency, “The purpose of the visit is to reset and revitalise bilateral relations between South Africa and the United States (US). In this regard, the visit will focus specifically on reframing bilateral, economic and commercial relations.”
Notorious for his political obfuscation, Ramaphosa’s characterisation of the visit as a “reset” invites closer scrutiny. It is widely accepted that the initiative for the meeting originated from the South African side. This is not to be overlooked, especially in light of the unconventional methods reportedly employed by Ramaphosa to secure an audience with former President Donald Trump.
The term “reset”, in its dictionary usage, typically denotes a return to an original state or a fresh start, whether in technical systems, processes, or relationships. It implies that something has gone awry and requires recalibration. Over the past decade, various actors—including policymakers, academics, and commentators—have employed the language of a “Great Reset”, often referring to a fundamental reordering of global economic systems. The World Economic Forum’s post-COVID-19 “Great Reset” in 2022, for instance, promoted a “stakeholder capitalism” model aimed at resilient, equitable, and sustainable reforms.
Against this backdrop, Ramaphosa’s invocation of a “reset” in 2025 must be interrogated. To declare a reset assumes several things. First, it presumes that the initiator acknowledges a degree of culpability or ownership over the breakdown of relations. Second, it implies a willingness to remedy the relationship, often on the terms of the aggrieved party. Third, it implicitly concedes an imbalance in power, suggesting that the party seeking the reset does not meet its counterpart as an equal, but as a petitioner.
Culpability and Ownership of Diplomatic Deterioration
To declare a “reset” in diplomatic relations presupposes an implicit acknowledgement of responsibility—if not explicit culpability—for the deterioration of those relations. In international affairs, language is never neutral; it signals intentions, strategies, and concessions. By initiating a reset, the party concedes that the status quo has become untenable and that corrective action must be taken. While this acknowledgement falls short of accepting full blame, it nonetheless concedes that an error occurred—one that was at least partially within the individual’s domain of responsibility.
In the context of South Africa’s current posture toward the United States, this admission is politically sensitive, as it invites critical domestic scrutiny. It opens the door to questions about foreign policy coherence, strategic alignment, and the long-term ramifications of bold international legal actions such as taking Israel to the ICJ. Furthermore, it underscores a rupture of trust, where previous channels of communication and mutual understanding have broken down to such a degree that the relationship cannot be amended incrementally but must be re-established from a fundamentally new baseline. This places the initiator of the reset—South Africa—at the centre of self-reflection, forced to reckon with the implications of its foreign policy decisions and the realignment they now necessitate.
Willingness to Remedy Relations on the Other’s Terms
A declaration of reset also implies a readiness to redress the broken relationship, often according to the preferences, expectations, or conditions set by the more aggrieved party. This willingness is not benign—it is laden with strategic compromise and tacit submission. In high-stakes diplomacy, when one side seeks to mend ties, it is rarely in a position to dictate the terms of reconciliation. Instead, it must navigate the contours of the other party’s grievances, demonstrating flexibility, contrition, and often, concessions. In South Africa’s case, this willingness might entail scaling down its international legal posture, particularly concerning Israel, or recalibrating its multilateral alignments in favour of preserving bilateral access to key economic and security arrangements.
The US, particularly under a Trump administration, is unlikely to entertain vague overtures of goodwill without concrete policy shifts. As such, South Africa’s overture for a reset is not a mere expression of diplomatic optimism but a strategic repositioning that may necessitate the surrender of deeply held convictions or retraction of actions already lauded by global justice communities. It poses an existential question: Can a nation retain its moral voice in international law while remaining tethered to the geopolitical demands of dominant global actors?
Power Asymmetry and the Position of Petitioning
Perhaps most critically, the notion of a reset inherently reveals the asymmetry of power between the negotiating parties. The one who calls for a reset is, by default, not in control; they approach from a position of need, not dominance. The language of resetting relations—especially when driven by the weaker actor—conveys a posture of petition rather than parity. It is a diplomatic gesture that recognises the hierarchy of influence and signals a readiness to be received, judged, and possibly forgiven. For South Africa, this presents a disconcerting reversal of the liberation-era pride that once imbued its international presence with principled defiance and moral authority. Some will contend, now, that it finds itself in a posture of supplication before a global hegemon whose interests are unapologetically transactional.
The “reset” becomes a coded appeal for restoration of privileges—access to trade regimes like AGOA, security cooperation, diplomatic recognition, which the more powerful party can withhold or bestow at will. This reveals the enduring architecture of postcolonial global order, where former liberation movements, now ruling parties, must navigate a diplomatic terrain still shaped by imperial logics of dominance, compliance, and conditional partnership. The language of reset, then, is not merely technical or conciliatory—it is politically charged, emblematic of the broader structural imbalance that defines relations between the Global North and Global South.
Any notion that this meeting represented an encounter of equals is, frankly, illusory. The balance of power is unmistakably skewed. As early as February, the United States, under Trump’s renewed influence, had already taken decisive action: the imposition of tariffs of at least 10%; the expulsion of South African diplomatic personnel including the ambassador, military attaché, and consul general; the revocation of foreign aid and the tangible threat of exclusion of SA from the African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA); the executive order mandating the deportation of 49 white South Africans; and a refusal to attend the G20 summit to be hosted by South Africa later this year. While lower-level delegations may still engage, Trump himself is unlikely to participate unless there is a significant shift in relations. The diplomatic freeze is palpable, exacerbated by the absence of standard diplomatic infrastructure or goodwill.
Neither Is This A Meeting Between Two Business People
To further assume that this meeting is purely transactional—a convergence of two business-savvy leaders negotiating deals—is equally misguided. While Ramaphosa has been marketed domestically as a seasoned negotiator, the prevailing dynamics suggest otherwise. Trump, despite his unpredictability, remains the dominant force in this engagement. Ramaphosa is not merely seeking economic deals—however alluring or illusory those may appear—but is entangled in geopolitical dynamics that far outweigh any mining contract or Starlink agreement. It is already evident that Ramaphosa will facilitate the approval of operational rights for Starlink within the country.
ICJ Case: The Elephant in the Room
The most significant fault line in this relationship lies in South Africa’s stance on Israel. Since the dawn of its democratic era, South Africa has maintained a principled—if not always activist—support for the Palestinian cause, a stance inaugurated under President Nelson Mandela and sustained under Presidents Mbeki and Zuma. However, since 2023, Ramaphosa’s administration has moved beyond symbolic support. South Africa initiated legal proceedings against Israel at the International Criminal Court (ICC) and later the International Court of Justice (ICJ), accusing Israel of genocide—a bold diplomatic manoeuvre that marks a fundamental departure from previous administrations’ cautious diplomacy.
This is the central issue—the proverbial elephant in the room. No volume of commercial engagement, not even a high-profile deal with Elon Musk, can dilute the geopolitical repercussions of South Africa’s action. The United States’ unwavering support for Israel is a bipartisan reality, transcending Republican and Democratic administrations. South Africa’s decision to pursue a genocide case against Israel, regardless of its moral or legal justification, directly confronts this entrenched U.S. position.
In this light, the Trump administration’s sudden interest in the alleged “genocide” of white Afrikaners in South Africa—amplified by groups such as AfriForum and Solidarity—can be read as a strategic countermove. While these claims lack serious legal or empirical grounding, they function effectively as political retaliation. By accusing South Africa of the very crime it has levelled against Israel, the US undermines Pretoria’s moral high ground. This tit-for-tat tactic is not grounded in fact but in realpolitik—hitting South Africa where it is most vulnerable: its international image and diplomatic standing.
It would be a gross misjudgment to assume that the two parties seated across the negotiating table are equals. Beyond the evident disparity in territorial size, with the United States being approximately eight times larger than South Africa, the asymmetry lies far more significantly in areas such as economic capacity, population size, geopolitical influence, and military power. These structural imbalances underscore that South Africa does not approach this meeting as an equal partner in any substantive sense, despite President Ramaphosa’s attempt to frame it as a moment of diplomatic “reset.”
In reality, the interests and demands of the dominant actor—the United States—inevitably carry greater weight than those of the comparatively minor party. This imbalance is further magnified by the perception, particularly within U.S. foreign policy circles, that South Africa’s recent actions against Israel at the International Court of Justice precipitated the current rupture in bilateral relations. As such, the meeting is shaped less by mutual engagement than by the terms and expectations set by the more powerful state.
Thus, if Ramaphosa is serious about his idea of a “reset”, he must reckon with the geopolitical weight of the South Africa-initiated ICC and ICJ cases. He may already be compelled to suspend or dilute South Africa’s legal pursuit if he hopes to restore relations with Washington. This reality presents an uncomfortable truth: that South Africa’s principled stance on Israel may be sacrificed on the altar of restored bilateral ties and commercial expediency.
If President Ramaphosa invokes the notion of a “reset” while being fully aware of the central issue shaping the United States’ posture towards South Africa under a Trump administration, is he already conceding that the continuation of the ICJ genocide case against Israel presents a significant obstacle? This singular issue outweighs any prospective economic agreements Ramaphosa may seek to secure at a personal or strategic level with figures such as Elon Musk or Donald Trump. Consequently, the proposed reset implies—though remains publicly unspoken—that, in order to restore diplomatic relations with the United States, South Africa may be compelled to suspend its legal proceedings against Israel. Such a move would represent a profound political compromise, particularly in light of the international acclaim South Africa has garnered for its principled stance. It would also necessitate a level of domestic and global dishonesty, as the pursuit of restored bilateral ties would come at the cost of moral clarity and legal consistency on the matter of genocide and international justice.
It would not be the first time that President Ramaphosa, in a departure from the diplomatic posture of his predecessors, is accused of acting reactively and impulsively. One recalls vividly his divergence from the measured responses of Presidents Mbeki and Zuma regarding allegations of xenophobia. Both Mbeki and Zuma consistently refrained from acknowledging xenophobia as the core issue, instead interpreting the violence as the actions of criminal elements. At the time, several commentators, including myself, argued that the sporadic outbreaks of violence—beginning in earnest in 2008—ought to be understood within the framework of contested socio-economic space among the most marginalised sectors of society, rather than as manifestations of xenophobia in its original conceptual form.
In contrast, Ramaphosa, while attending the funeral of the late Robert G. Mugabe and visibly unsettled by the crowd’s hostile reaction, seized the moment to apologise for xenophobic attacks committed by South Africans. This apology, delivered under pressure and without prior consultation, represented a significant diplomatic departure. Upon his return, rather than taking full personal responsibility, he declared that he had apologised “on behalf of South Africa.” The question, then, is whether South Africans should anticipate a similar impulsive and unilateral approach in their forthcoming diplomatic engagements. Judging by precedent, one might reasonably expect such a recurrence.
In entering this meeting with Trump, Ramaphosa is likely confronting, perhaps for the first time, a moment in which the African National Congress (ANC) in SA leadership is being held accountable, not for corruption or governance failures, but for its international legal posture on Israel. The United States’ response, under Trump, is clear and unyielding. Any true reset will therefore require not just diplomatic niceties, but a fundamental concession—one that may erode the very basis of South Africa’s international moral leadership.
Ultimately, Ramaphosa’s so-called “reset” visit cannot be divorced from the broader geopolitical tensions that have placed South Africa at odds with an emboldened Trump administration. While cloaked in the rhetoric of economic revitalisation, the meeting exposes deep fractures in the bilateral relationship and raises serious questions about the cost of diplomatic re-entry into Washington’s favour.
The absence of formal diplomatic infrastructure, the retaliatory framing of white Afrikaner resettlement, and the fallout from South Africa’s principled stance on Palestine collectively reduce the visit to a high-stakes act of political supplication. If this visit is indeed a reset, it is one initiated from a position of relative weakness and growing international isolation. It forces South Africa to confront a difficult truth: in an increasingly polarised and power-skewed global order, asserting a moral foreign policy may come at the cost of strategic partnerships, unless it is undergirded by internal political coherence, regional solidarity, and long-term vision. Whether Ramaphosa’s gambit leads to genuine recalibration or further entrenchment of dependency remains to be seen—but the balance of power, for now, is unmistakably tilted.
* Clyde N.S. Ramalaine is a theologian, political analyst, lifelong social and economic justice activist, published author, poet, and freelance writer.
** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of or Independent Media.
