Arrogance or Self-Preservation? Understanding Those Who Seem to Step Away

 

In this post, I want to explore a delicate subject—what happens when individuals within our community seem to turn away from shared struggles and align themselves with ideas or systems that feel counter to our collective progress. I'm referring to figures like Candace Owens, Ben Carson, and others who are often viewed as being too aligned with white-dominated structures, leaving many of us to wonder: Why would they walk away? Or worse, why do they act as if they are "better" than those they leave behind?

At first glance, their choices can feel like arrogance, a rejection of our shared experiences in favor of personal gain or assimilation into the dominant culture. There’s a palpable sense that these individuals have adopted an attitude of superiority, as if by aligning themselves with the majority, they’ve "made it" and no longer need to worry about the struggles faced by the broader Black community.

But let’s take a moment to pause and consider what might be going on underneath this sense of arrogance. For many who take this path, the decision isn’t necessarily one rooted in superiority but rather in self-preservation and fear. They see a system that is designed to make life exceedingly difficult for Black people, especially those who push back. So, instead of fighting the system, they find a way to live comfortably within it, aligning with power structures that offer them perceived safety and security.

There’s a form of safety in blending in, in not rocking the boat. Many of us have experienced this on a smaller scale—whether it’s laughing off microaggressions at work, staying silent when inappropriate comments are made, or choosing not to challenge deeply ingrained biases for the sake of keeping the peace. Those who seemingly "turn away" from the cause may have simply amplified this strategy, finding that by aligning themselves with the majority, they are offered privileges that would otherwise remain out of reach.

However, the key thing to understand is that this alignment can often come with its own cost. On the surface, these individuals may seem confident and secure in their choice, but they are also isolated—cut off from the community that once nurtured them and sometimes trapped in spaces where they’re still viewed with skepticism or disdain, no matter how much they assimilate.

It’s tempting to label these individuals as "traitors" or "sellouts," but we have to ask ourselves: How much of their decision is rooted in fear, in the belief that our collective fight for equality is a losing battle? They see the immense power wielded by the dominant system and have made a calculated decision to align with it, not out of superiority but because they believe it’s the only way to survive or thrive.

We must also recognize that this apparent arrogance is often a mask for vulnerability. It’s a way of protecting themselves from the realities of being Black in a world that still discriminates and oppresses. By choosing to side with power, they may believe they are protecting themselves from the harsh realities many in the Black community face daily.

Yet, for those who choose this path, there is a disconnect from the community—a sense that they’ve opted out of the struggle for collective progress. The difficulty lies in finding a way back to unity, to a place where we can all push forward together without the weight of division.

Rather than seeing them as the enemy, we might ask ourselves: What does their choice reveal about the state of our world, about the survival mechanisms we’ve all had to develop in one form or another?

Ultimately, the answer lies in creating spaces where we don’t have to choose between fighting for our community and surviving within the larger system. It’s about recognizing that unity and progress are possible, but only if we can find ways to bring everyone into the fold, without judgment or exclusion, even if they’ve strayed.

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