No one is the savior of Black people except Black people. And even then, only a few of us are dedicated to the upliftment and liberation of Black people. This is why we shouldn’t count on other people to rescue or even respect us. This is why, when I see ADOS and FBA fighting other Black folks over imaginary money that we may never get, I shake my head.
Reparations, although owed, will not help us. Black capitalism will not help us collectively. Begging White people will never grant us respect, liberation, and self-determination. What is needed is for Black people to unite. Black people need education (and not just in a few subjects) to become engineers, computer programmers, architects, medical doctors, and much more. Our aspirations cannot all be about being an entrepreneur, getting “the bag,” and living a “soft life.” Ultramaterialism and vulgar displays of wealth do nothing for our people as a whole.
The point is that we have to roll up our own sleeves. We have to clean up our own streets. We have to build and support our own schools. We have to build our own business hubs. We have to discipline our own. We need our own media. This is not about exclusion. This is about empowering ourselves.
This was the message of people like Malcolm X. The same people who love to quote-mine Malcolm X to attack Black liberals, progressives, and leftists conveniently ignore Malcolm X’s overarching message of Black self-determination and liberation.
I hate the so-called “Diaspora wars.” I really do.
The more I watch these online battles between Black Americans, Africans, Afro-Caribbeans, and other members of the African diaspora, the more convinced I become that they serve almost no productive purpose. At best, they are fueled by grifters within our own communities who care more about clicks, engagement, and money than they do about Black liberation or Black self-reliance. At worst, they function as a psychological operation that keeps Black people divided while distracting us from the systems that continue to harm all of us.
The tragedy is that these conflicts are built on the words and actions of a relatively small number of people. Social media algorithms take the most outrageous opinions from a handful of Black Americans and immigrants, amplify them to millions, and convince us that these fringe voices represent entire communities. Existing mistrust, jealousy, and stereotypes (many of which were created and reinforced by white supremacist systems) do the rest.
The supposed barrage of negative comments and feelings haven’t been my experience. I’ve spent time in the Dominican Republic, and I found most people to be warm and welcoming. I’ve traveled throughout Africa without experiencing the hostility that social media would have you expect. I’ve visited the Caribbean, and while many people understandably assume Americans have endless amounts of money, my interactions have overwhelmingly been positive. More importantly, I don’t stay isolated in luxury resorts. I spend time among everyday people.
Even here in the United States, many of my friends are immigrants. They respect me, and many have expressed that they want to be accepted by Black Americans just as much as Black Americans want to be accepted by them.
That’s a reality you don’t often see reflected online.
Unfortunately, every Black community has people who have internalized anti-Black beliefs. Coons exist in every nationality and every ethnicity. That shouldn’t surprise anyone. After centuries of slavery, colonialism, segregation, imperialism, and the constant message that Black people are somehow inferior, many of us have absorbed those ideas in one form or another. When you’ve been taught for generations that your people contributed nothing to civilization except labor or criminality, some people eventually begin to believe it.
Internalized oppression doesn’t stop at national borders.
If we are serious about Black liberation, I believe the only path forward is Pan-Africanism.
That doesn’t mean pretending our experiences are identical. Black Americans have a unique history rooted in slavery, Jim Crow, and the ongoing struggle for civil rights. Africans have their own histories shaped by colonialism, independence movements, and modern political challenges. Afro-Caribbeans, Afro-Latinos, and other members of the diaspora have their own distinct experiences as well.
Recognizing those differences shouldn’t prevent us from recognizing our shared humanity and our shared struggle.
We are connected not only through ancestry but through centuries of resistance against systems built on white supremacy and the ideology of Black inferiority. Those systems have always benefited when Black people distrust one another more than they distrust the institutions that marginalize all of us.
We shouldn’t allow a handful of loud voices on social media to define our relationships.
Ignore the people whose entire online presence depends on attacking other Black people. Be skeptical of pseudo-intellectuals who use selective history to create division rather than understanding. And let’s stop demonizing foreign-born Black people over hypothetical reparations that have neither been promised nor seriously pursued by either major political party.
I wholeheartedly support the idea and the pursuit of reparations. They can help address historical injustices and repair some of the damage caused by centuries of oppression. But no amount of money can guarantee genuine Black liberation if we remain divided and lack a shared vision for our future.
Liberation requires more than compensation.
It requires education, unity, and a unwavering love and trust of our people as a collective.
One lesson I think we should seriously consider comes from communities that invest heavily in teaching their children history, identity, culture, and collective responsibility outside of traditional public education. One such community are Jewish people. Academic subjects are important, but so is learning who you are, where you come from, and what obligations you have to your community.
We need Afrocentric educational spaces that strengthen our understanding of African civilizations, the global African diaspora, and the interconnected histories of Black people everywhere. Those spaces should include Black Americans, Africans, Afro-Caribbeans, Afro-Latinos, and every other branch of the African family.
The encouraging news is that this work is already happening.
I’ve seen Africans sharing the history of Black Americans with wider audiences. I’ve seen members of the diaspora eager to learn from one another, exchange culture, build businesses together, and strengthen Black institutions. There are far more people interested in unity than social media would have us believe.
Those people deserve more attention than the influencers profiting from division.
Our goal should never be isolation or xenophobia. Black Americans should not view other Black people as competitors or outsiders simply because they were born elsewhere. Likewise, members of the diaspora should recognize the unique history and contributions of Black Americans without relying on stereotypes.
History gives us a better example.
The Civil Rights Movement did not exist in isolation. Black American leaders built relationships with African independence movements, Caribbean intellectuals, and freedom struggles across the globe. Ideas, strategies, and inspiration flowed in both directions because they understood something that many people online seem to have forgotten:
Our liberation has always been connected.
Instead of fighting one another over social media narratives, we should be building institutions, exchanging knowledge, strengthening our communities, and creating the kind of global Black solidarity that those who came before us envisioned.
The diaspora wars may generate clicks but pan-African unity can generate freedom.
One of the trends I have become increasingly frustrated with in recent years is the rise of diaspora conflicts among people of African descent, particularly the rhetoric coming from the Foundational Black American (FBA) movement and the American Descendants of Slavery (ADOS) movement.
My criticism is not about recognizing the unique historical experience of Black Americans whose ancestors endured slavery and segregation in the United States. That history is real and deserves to be studied and acknowledged.
Nor is my disagreement with these groups over the fight for reparations and the hypothetical distribution of any amount of personal funds that is a direct result of said fight.
The problem arises when that recognition turns into hostility toward other Black communities, such as Africans, Caribbeans, Afro-Latinos, and others within the broader African diaspora (the sixth region of Africa).
Movements that frame liberation as a zero-sum competition between groups of Black people misunderstand the history of Black struggle.
Black liberation movements have always been global.
Pan-African thinkers, such as Marcus Garvey, W.E.B. Du Bois, Kwame Nkrumah, Malcolm X, Kwame Ture, and many others, understood that the struggle against racism and colonialism was not confined to a single country. Activists, intellectuals, and artists from across the African diaspora have participated in and led movements for civil rights, cultural expression, and political freedom.
This global exchange of ideas and customs had always shaped Black American culture.
Music, political ideas, literature, and social movements have flowed back and forth between the United States, Europe, Canada, the Caribbean, Africa, and Latin America. That cross-pollination helped create many of the cultural forms and political traditions that people celebrate today.
For that reason, turning these relationships into ideological battlegrounds does not strengthen Black communities. Instead, it weakens them.
Diaspora conflicts often distract from the structural issues that affect people of African descent globally: economic inequality, systemic discrimination, political marginalization, and the long historical legacy of colonialism and racial hierarchy.
Even debates about policies such as reparations often become framed in ways that pit Black communities against one another. Yet those discussions are largely hypothetical at the moment, given that meaningful reparations programs in the United States remain politically distant.
Arguing among ourselves over potential future policies does little to advance the broader goals of empowerment, economic development, and collective liberation.
If the goal is Black power, Black wealth, and meaningful progress, then building solidarity across the African diaspora is far more productive than deepening internal divisions.
That does not mean ignoring real disagreements or historical differences.
But it does mean recognizing that the struggles of people of African descent have always been interconnected, and that fragmentation ultimately benefits those who would prefer those struggles to remain divided.
For those who may not know me from my Facebook page or are unfamiliar with my writing, I want to briefly explain the kinds of topics I discuss and the perspective I bring to those conversations.
In everyday life, I’m generally a relaxed and humorous person, but my writing tends to focus on serious issues, many of which people consider controversial. I often discuss topics that many people avoid in polite conversation: race, politics, religion, history, and social inequality. These conversations can generate strong reactions, and I understand that not everyone will agree with the positions I take.
With that in mind, there are a few things readers should know about me.
First, I consider myself pro-Black. My views are influenced by traditions of Black liberation thought, Pan-Africanism, and Afrocentric scholarship. That does not mean I am hostile toward other racial groups. However, I do believe that many of the modern racial hierarchies we see today have their roots in European colonial systems that imposed rigid racial classifications across much of the world. Because of that history, I have very little patience for openly anti-Black rhetoric, regardless of who expresses it.
Second, I am an atheist. My atheism is not the result of ignorance or rebellion but the result of years of reading, research, and reflection. I respect the fact that religion is deeply personal for many people, and I generally avoid debating religion with many people out of courtesy. Religious beliefs are extrememly personal and I strongly believe that one’s spiritual walk is their own. I simply ask for the same respect in return. Expressions of faith are one thing; persistent attempts to proselytize to me, whether through private messages, unsoliticed phone calls, or “forced” debates, are another.
Third, my politics areleft-leaning, and I generally describe myself as a democratic socialist, and a leftist. While I try to understand perspectives across the political spectrum, I strongly disagree with many positions associated with contemporary conservative politics, particularly those that dismiss the struggles of low-wage workers or celebrate economic systems that leave large numbers of people behind.
I believe conversations about these issues are necessary, even when they are uncomfortable. My goal is not to provoke hostility but to engage with difficult topics honestly and critically.
If these subjects are not something you’re interested in seeing, I completely understand. I will post some lighter subject matter in the future. Everyone curates their online space differently.
But if you are willing to engage thoughtfully, even when we disagree, then you are welcome here. Just try to be somewhat mature and respectful.
Every so often in public conversations about race, someone will attempt to discredit a person’s arguments by accusing them of hatred or extremism that they never expressed. This tactic usually relies on exaggeration, misrepresentation, or outright fabrication.
Recently, someone repeatedly accused me of calling for genocide against white people. This is an accusation that is not only false but absurd.
Let me be clear about something.
I will never apologize for being pro-Black. I will never apologize for identifying as a Pan-Africanist, and I will never apologize for calling out anti-Black racism wherever I see it. Advocating for the dignity, safety, and advancement of Black people does not require hostility toward anyone else.
But I do care about being truthful about what I believe.
I do not hate white people. What I oppose, firmly and unapologetically, is the ideology and practice of white supremacy. Those two things are not the same.
White supremacy is a political and social system that places one racial group above others. It has shaped laws, institutions, and cultural narratives throughout much of modern history. Criticizing that system is not an attack on individual white people; it is a critique of a structure of power and inequality.
In fact, many of the people who helped shape my life in positive ways have been white.
Throughout my life, white friends, mentors, and supporters have offered encouragement, assistance, and opportunities when I needed them most. Some believed in me when I did not believe in myself. Others provided support during moments when I was struggling personally and emotionally.
Those experiences are part of my life story, and they make it impossible to honestly claim that I hate white people.
At the same time, acknowledging those personal relationships does not mean ignoring the reality of racism. Structural racism and discriminatory narratives continue to shape how people of color, especially Black Americans, are perceived and treated in many areas of society.
Recognizing that reality is not hatred. It is an observation.
Just as individuals and communities should be willing to confront sexism, homophobia, ableism, or other forms of discrimination, societies must also be willing to confront racism honestly. Criticism of injustice is not the same as prejudice against a group of people.
Too often, accusations of “reverse racism” or extreme hostility are used as rhetorical shields to avoid confronting difficult conversations about race and inequality.
But refusing to acknowledge racism does not make it disappear.
Advocating for justice, dignity, and equality for Black people does not require hostility toward other groups. It simply requires honesty about history, power, and the realities that many people still experience.
Being pro-Black is not about hatred. It is about refusing to remain silent in the face of injustice.
