I’ve been reflecting on the recurring tension among some Black Americans who insist they are not Africans. For a while, I wondered what could provoke such a stance. Then it struck me: this division might not be organic but rather a product of deliberate political strategy.
During the Trump administration, one such tactic seems to have been sowing discord between continental Africans and African Americans. By fueling the narrative that African Americans are fundamentally different from Africans, the administration could distract, divide, and weaken solidarity within the Black diaspora.
The larger purpose? To neutralize potential support for African leaders who resisted U.S. influence, particularly figures like Burkina Faso’s Captain Ibrahim Traoré, who openly challenged Western control and sought to reclaim sovereignty for his nation.
If African Americans could be convinced that their identity is separate from Africa, calling themselves “Foundational Black Americans” (FBA), for example, then any U.S. action against Burkina Faso or similar nations could be framed as something that doesn’t directly concern them. In such a scenario, Black Americans might even be deployed in U.S. military efforts against African countries, without feeling the cultural or moral obligation to question it, since Africans had been rhetorically cast as “other.”
Meanwhile, in South Africa, where there is already tension around xenophobia, solidarity with Burkina Faso could be undermined by framing defenders of African sovereignty as simply hostile toward foreigners. In both cases, African Americans distancing themselves from Africa, and South Africans being distracted by internal disputes, the result is the same: fragmentation of a potential global Black solidarity movement.
Seen in this light, the debates around FBA identity are not just about heritage or self-definition. They may also serve as a tool of geopolitical manipulation, dividing communities who might otherwise unite in support of African self-determination and resistance against neocolonial pressures.
As a Nigerian American who has lived in the United States for over 20 years, I cannot imagine separating myself from African Americans. Their pain is my pain. Their struggle is my struggle.
I remember being in my Master’s program and watching a Black woman in my class receive differential treatment. I could not stay silent, I stood up for her. I remember another morning, on my way to church in Barrington, Illinois, when I saw a police officer pull over a Black driver. I parked across the street and stood watching. I wanted the officer to know someone was paying attention. In a predominantly white neighborhood, sometimes the mere presence of another Black person can make all the difference.
These moments shaped me. They reminded me that, though I am Nigerian by birth and American by citizenship, my fate is tied to that of African Americans. To deny solidarity would be to deny myself.
So when I now see African Americans turning inward, some insisting they are “not Africans,” some choosing to divide instead of unite, I can only imagine the tragic consequences. If we begin to see one another as strangers, if African Americans and continental Africans stop recognizing their shared destiny, then the only winners are those who profit from our division.
And history has taught us who those winners are: the same forces that once enslaved us, colonized us, and still exploit us today.
Unity is not a luxury. It is survival.
© By Blessing Bess Otobo
BessJT 