“All My Skinfolk Ain’t Kinfolk”: The Complexities of Unifying Black and Brown Communities
A personal reflection on creating changes for the advancement of a people
Zora Neale Hurston’s poignant statement, “All my skinfolk ain’t kinfolk,” has resonated for decades as a critique of racial solidarity that assumes shared identity equates to shared interests. Hurston’s words reflect the complexities of intra-racial dynamics and suggest that cultural or ethnic affiliation alone does not guarantee alignment in values or a shared commitment to community advancement.
Historically, the notion of shared identity within racial groups has been fraught with tensions.
During the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s, there were individuals within Black communities who aligned with oppressive systems, sometimes for personal gain. While many Black Americans and their allies fought for justice, others chose to collaborate with the U.S. government, law enforcement agencies, or other oppressive structures. The role of informants and infiltrators in civil rights organizations such as the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) and the Black Panther Party (BPP) highlights the complexity of loyalty, resistance, and survival within a racially stratified society.
These internal betrayals and the involvement of informants within movements like the Black Panther Party exemplify the tension between individual survival or gain and the pursuit of collective liberation. One of the most notorious examples of internal betrayal involved the FBI’s COINTELPRO (Counter Intelligence Program), which sought to diminish civil rights organizations. The FBI targeted prominent Black leaders such as Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, and members of the Black Panther Party. They often used informants, many of whom were members of the organizations they infiltrated, to feed information to the government and law enforcement. Some individuals within the movement were compromised by threats, bribes, or ideological differences and chose to collaborate, at the expense of the collective goals of racial justice.
The Black Panther Party, founded in 1966 by Huey Newton and Bobby Seale, was targeted by law enforcement not just for its militancy, but also for its welfare programs and its message of Black self-defense. Some individuals within the BPP were reportedly coerced or incentivized to act as informants. William O’Neal, a key informant who infiltrated the Black Panther Party and was responsible for betraying Fred Hampton, the leader of the Chicago chapter, is a stark example. O’Neal’s actions, which led to Hampton's assassination by the FBI in 1969, demonstrate how proximity to oppressive power could lead to undermining efforts for shared liberation.
Hurston’s quote also challenges the assumption that representation alone is a solution. [Read my previous article on Why Representation is Still Not Enough]
Hurston’s quote, often interpreted as a critique of empty or superficial representation, challenges the assumption that simply increasing the visibility of marginalized groups automatically leads to meaningful societal change. Her perspective highlights a significant distinction: while representation is crucial for ensuring diverse voices are heard, it does not guarantee justice or equitable outcomes. The idea that "representation alone is a solution" oversimplifies the complexities of addressing structural inequalities, as mere presence in power does not inherently lead to actions that dismantle the systems of oppression that continue to harm those marginalized communities.
A powerful example of this can be seen in the period following the American Civil War, particularly during Reconstruction (1865-1877). This was a time when Black Americans gained substantial political representation for the first time in U.S. history.
The era was to a great extent defined by their quest for autonomy and equal rights under the law, both as individuals and for the Black community as a whole. During Reconstruction, some 2,000 Blacks held public office, from the local level all the way up to the U.S. Senate, including Hiram Revels and Blanche K. Bruce, who became U.S. Senators, though they never achieved representation in government proportionate to their numbers.
Despite these gains, many of the Black politicians elected during this era prioritized the goal of assimilation into the existing white-dominated political system over advocating for sweeping, transformative changes that could disrupt the status quo.
Historically, the divergence between identity and true advocacy for systemic change can be seen in the post-Reconstruction era, particularly in the case of Frederick Douglass. While Douglass was a passionate advocate for Black American rights and a prominent figure in the abolitionist movement, his post-Reconstruction political approach evolved in ways that some critics argue aligned with the prevailing norms of white-dominated political structures. After the Civil War, Douglass remained a strong voice for civil rights, voting rights, and education for Black Americans. However, he navigated the political landscape by emphasizing cooperation and integration into the existing American system, rather than advocating for a radical restructuring or challenging the entrenched social order. Douglass’s willingness to engage within white-dominated political structures exemplifies the complex relationship between identity and solidarity. His focus on integration rather than radical change mirrors Hurston’s caution against assuming shared interests based solely on racial identity.
Douglass’s belief in integration as the way forward for Black Americans often led him to prioritize national unity over the demands for Black autonomy voiced by more radical activists. He aligned himself with the Republican Party, which supported Reconstruction, and endorsed policies that promoted the integration of Black Americans into the political system, such as voting rights and public office positions. However, he did so without confronting the deeper economic and social inequities upheld by white-controlled power structures. Douglass’s ideal of achieving racial equality through personal achievement and hard work—what some have called the "American Dream" approach—reflected a more assimilationist viewpoint. While he advocated for equality, his emphasis on Black people proving their worth within existing institutions stood in contrast to figures like W.E.B. Du Bois and Ida B. Wells, who called for a more confrontational challenge to white supremacy.
"The best way to end discrimination is to prove that Black people can be just as successful as white people."
[Personal Reflection: Frederick Douglass was a man who fought hard for the Black community through the enhancement of education, voting rights and equality models. This article is not to smear his work, as I am a believer of Douglass’ authentic desire to create a better society for Black Americans. However, this article is to point out that to do so, it forced Black Americans to assimilate to a culture that was not created or intended for them. Too often, this is the only measure our communities have to advance our people.]
In modern times, there are still leaders who, despite shared racial identity, have supported policies that undermine the very communities they claim to serve. One of the most significant examples in the United States is the tenure of Ben Carson, who served as Secretary of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) under President Donald Trump from 2017 to 2021. Carson, a highly regarded neurosurgeon and a prominent African American figure, was initially lauded for his success and his ability to break barriers within the political establishment. However, his time at HUD was marked by controversial policies that critics argued undermined protections for Black and Brown communities, especially in housing.
One of Carson’s most contentious actions was the reversal of the Affirmatively Furthering Fair Housing (AFFH) rule in 2020, which was established under the Obama administration. The AFFH rule required local governments to address housing segregation and proactively take steps to reduce discrimination in housing practices. Carson argued that the rule was overly burdensome to local governments and undermined local control, but critics pointed out that eliminating the rule effectively allowed racial discrimination in housing to continue unchecked. According to The Center for American Progress, this move disproportionately impacted Black and Latino communities, especially those living in urban areas where housing discrimination has been a persistent issue.
Similarly, in Latin America, some politicians of indigenous or Afro-descendant heritage have supported neoliberal economic policies that perpetuate poverty and environmental degradation in their own communities. The issue of leadership from marginalized communities supporting neoliberal economic policies that worsen poverty and inequality has also been a recurring challenge. Neoliberalism, a set of economic policies advocating for free markets, deregulation, and austerity, has been widely criticized for increasing inequality, undermining social safety nets, and contributing to environmental degradation in many countries, particularly in regions inhabited by Indigenous and Afro-descendant communities.
One of the most prominent examples in Puerto Rican politics is Luis Fortuño, who served as Governor of Puerto Rico from 2009 to 2013. Fortuño, a member of the New Progressive Party (PNP), is often cited for his implementation of neoliberal economic policies that critics argue worsened the economic crisis in Puerto Rico and disproportionately harmed the island’s low-income and working-class communities, which are predominantly Black and Latino.
Fortuño’s administration enacted sweeping austerity measures, which included cutting government spending, reducing the public sector workforce, and slashing social programs like healthcare and education. His administration laid off thousands of public workers, which had a significant negative impact on communities reliant on public services. These cuts disproportionately affected Black, Latino, and working-class Puerto Ricans, many of whom depended on these services for economic stability.
Fortuño's government also moved to privatize public assets, including the Puerto Rico Telephone Company (PRTC) and the Puerto Rico Electric Power Authority (PREPA). While these privatizations were intended to attract private investment and streamline services, critics argue they led to a decline in service quality and increased costs for consumers, particularly affecting low-income families. Many Puerto Ricans believed that these privatizations benefited the wealthy elite, while hurting the most vulnerable populations.
In addition, his tax reform plan, which aimed to lower taxes and attract foreign investment, has also been criticized for favoring corporate interests at the expense of low-income Puerto Ricans. His policies worsened economic inequality on the island and did little to address the structural problems facing Puerto Rican communities, such as poverty, unemployment, and the lack of access to quality healthcare.
Conversely, there are leaders who embody the spirit of kinfolk through their commitment to equity and community empowerment. Figures like Stacey Abrams in the U.S. and Francia Márquez, Colombia’s first Afro-descendant vice president, represent leadership grounded in accountability to their communities. Their work illustrates how shared identity, when combined with shared values, can drive transformative change.
Abrams, a former Minority Leader of the Georgia State House of Representatives, has become a leading advocate for voting rights and racial justice in the United States. Her work through Fair Fight Action, an organization she founded to combat voter suppression, was pivotal in securing a high voter turnout in Georgia during the 2020 presidential election and 2021 Senate runoffs, helping to flip the state to Democratic control. Abrams has long advocated for policies that address economic inequality, health disparities, and education access, particularly in Black and Brown communities. Her leadership is a testament to the power of grassroots organizing and the impact of centering marginalized voices in the political process.
Similarly, Francia Márquez, Colombia’s first Afro-descendant vice president, exemplifies leadership that is both rooted in her community and committed to confronting racial and economic injustice. Márquez, an environmental activist and community organizer, has long fought for the rights of Afro-Colombian and Indigenous communities, particularly in the face of mining and oil exploitation that has harmed local ecosystems and displaced rural populations. Before her election as vice president in 2022, Márquez led efforts to defend Afro-Colombian land rights and to combat illegal mining. As vice president, she has continued to prioritize policies that advance racial equity, environmental justice, and economic empowerment for Afro-descendant communities. Her leadership highlights the importance of having representatives who are directly accountable to those most affected by systemic injustice and environmental degradation.
Both Abrams and Márquez embody the spirit of kinfolk leadership, where shared identity—whether through race, gender, or class—serves as a foundation for advocating justice and equality. Their work illustrates that when leaders are deeply accountable to their communities and rooted in shared values of social justice and solidarity, they can challenge entrenched power structures and drive transformative change. Whether through expanding voter rights in Georgia or advocating for Afro-Colombian land and environmental rights in Colombia, both women show how identity, when coupled with a commitment to community empowerment, can fuel meaningful progress. Their leadership is a powerful reminder that true change comes from those who are both of and for the people they represent, and who work to dismantle the systems that perpetuate inequality.
The current landscape of Black and Brown advancement requires a nuanced understanding of Hurston’s critique.
Representation matters, but it must be coupled with a commitment to systemic change.
This is particularly true in sectors like corporate America, where diversity initiatives often elevate individuals to high-ranking positions without addressing the structural inequalities that hinder broader advancement. Leaders who prioritize personal success over community well-being risk perpetuating the very systems they were chosen to disrupt.
Hurston’s insight also challenges individuals within Black and Brown communities to interrogate their own roles in perpetuating or dismantling oppression. It invites a reevaluation of allyship, solidarity, and accountability, particularly in spaces where power dynamics are complex and multifaceted. It is a call to action for those in positions of power to align their actions with the needs of the communities they represent. Ultimately, Hurston’s words remind us that the pursuit of justice requires more than just representation—it demands leaders who are truly accountable to the communities they represent. The work of figures like Abrams and Márquez shows that true progress is not achieved by assimilation into existing structures, but through the courageous act of challenging those structures in service of the collective good.
Ultimately, “All my skinfolk ain’t kinfolk” serves as both a cautionary reminder and an aspirational call. It warns against blind allegiance based on identity alone while encouraging vigilance in the pursuit of justice. As Black and Brown communities continue to navigate the complexities of representation and power, Hurston’s words remain a vital framework for assessing who truly advances the collective good.
Personal Reflection:
In my community, the saying "All my skinfolk ain't kinfolk" feels like an apt description of the current reality. As the community shifts toward a more progressive, inclusive, and diverse future, I find that too many leaders who look like me are entrenched in maintaining the status quo. Their personal ambitions often take center stage, overshadowing the needs and struggles of the people they claim to represent. It’s disheartening to witness how much energy is spent on securing higher salaries, personal accolades, or positions of power, rather than focusing on the collective needs of our community. These leaders gatekeep vital information, making it harder for everyday people to access the resources and political representation that could lead to tangible change. Far too often, the very people who should be championing systemic reform are instead undermining it.
The language they use—phrases like "I’m shocked," "I had no idea," and "This is not the appropriate place to voice your thoughts"—only deepens the divide. These statements are sprinkled into almost every conversation about change, as if to absolve them of responsibility or to protect their own positions of power. These leaders often hide behind excuses of personal ignorance or miscommunication, but in reality, their unwillingness to stand in solidarity with the people they represent is what perpetuates the system of oppression. It's as if the discomfort of confronting the truth is more unsettling than the daily struggles faced by those who are most affected. The result is a cycle where meaningful change remains out of reach, and those in power continue to benefit while the community suffers.
As I watch these dynamics unfold, I can’t help but feel a sense of isolation. It’s hard to interact with those who share my background and not feel a growing distance. The system of assimilation has had a profound impact on the way some of us see ourselves and each other. It's as though these leaders have internalized the very ideologies that oppress us and have convinced themselves that they are different from the people they came from. For them, there is a clear line separating “us” from “them.” The irony, of course, is that they are often the same people who claim to represent us, yet their actions speak to a different truth: that in striving for acceptance in a system that marginalizes us, they have distanced themselves from the very people they claim to serve.
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