“This Ain’t It”—Logging Off the Diaspora Wars
Scroll through Black TikTok, Twitter, or the comment section of any Instagram post that even hints at Black identity, and you will feel it: a palpable, collective exhaustion. It is a weariness born from a seemingly endless and increasingly toxic debate that has been dubbed the “diaspora wars.” One viral post put it bluntly and perfectly: “the diaspora wars are getting very tired now guys”. This sentiment is not just a fleeting mood; it is a generational verdict. For many young Black people, this online civil war—pitting U.S.-born Black folks against those of recent immigrant origin—is a confusing, draining, and ultimately counterproductive experience. This ain’t it.
At the heart of these digital skirmishes are real people and complex identities. On one side are U.S.-born Black Americans, particularly those who identify with the Foundational Black Americans (FBA) and American Descendants of Slavery (ADOS) movements. Their arguments are rooted in a specific, generational claim to justice for the unique horrors of U.S. chattel slavery and its enduring legacy. On the other side are Black people of immigrant origin—from the Caribbean, from the African continent, from Europe—who are navigating their own distinct but overlapping experiences with racism, displacement, and the search for opportunity in America. The resulting “cross-cultural conflicts” have created deep fissures, sowing disunity in online spaces that often spills into real-world interactions.
While these divisions are fueled by legitimate historical trauma and contemporary anxieties about resources, recognition, and respect, they are being dangerously amplified. Social media algorithms that reward outrage, coupled with deliberate misinformation campaigns, have turned nuanced conversations into viral battles, distracting us from our shared struggle against a common enemy: systemic white supremacy. But a powerful counter-movement is rising, led by a generation that is digitally native, politically pragmatic, and deeply unimpressed with the performance of online division. Young Black people are choosing collaboration over conflict, unity over infighting.
Nowhere is this shift more tangible than in New Jersey. The Garden State, a demographic mosaic of the global Black diaspora, serves as a living, breathing blueprint for what this unity looks like. Here, the timeline arguments meet the block party, the campus quad, and the festival grounds, and they often dissolve in the face of shared experience. This report will deconstruct the ideological and historical roots of the diaspora wars, using the vibrant, multicultural landscape of New Jersey as a case study to amplify the Gen Z voices who are logging off the drama and linking up in real life. They are tired of the static. They are ready to build.
The Roots of the Static: Deconstructing the Divide
To understand why so many young people are rejecting the diaspora wars, it is crucial to first understand the arguments that fuel them. The conflict is not born from nothing; it taps into deep wells of pain, history, and a legitimate demand for justice. However, this righteous anger has, in some influential circles, been redirected inward, weaponized against other members of the global Black family. This section deconstructs the ideological framework of the FBA/ADOS movements, examines the economic anxieties and misinformation campaigns that give their arguments potency, and reveals how this internal conflict ultimately serves the very systems of power it claims to oppose.
Understanding the ADOS/FBA Framework
The American Descendants of Slavery (ADOS) and Foundational Black Americans (FBA) movements are, at their core, political projects centered on a specific and exclusive claim for reparations. Founded by figures like Yvette Carnell and Antonio Moore, ADOS advocates for a federal reparations package—including direct cash payments and land restitution—that is explicitly limited to Black Americans who can trace their lineage to the institution of U.S. chattel slavery. This is not merely a policy position; it is a fundamental re-framing of Black identity in the United States.
The central tenet of this framework is the rejection of a monolithic, or “flat,” Blackness. Proponents argue that lumping all Black people in America into a single category erases the unique, foundational claim that descendants of the enslaved have on the U.S. government. Their ancestors, they argue, built the nation’s wealth through centuries of unpaid labor and endured the unbroken horrors of slavery, Jim Crow segregation, and modern systemic racism. Therefore, Black immigrants who arrived voluntarily in the post-1965 era, while still facing racism, do not share this specific historical grievance and are not entitled to the same reparations. To solidify this distinction, the ADOS movement has formally proposed that the U.S. government disaggregate census data, creating a separate ethno-racial category for American Descendants of Slavery to ensure that any future restorative policies are precisely targeted. This emphasis on lineage is a direct challenge to the Pan-Africanist ideal of a unified global Black identity, which ADOS co-founder Yvette Carnell has dismissed as “opium for the Black people”.
The Anti-Immigrant Pivot
Where this lineage-based framework curdles into open hostility is in its pivot toward a staunchly anti-immigrant and nativist stance. ADOS/FBA ideology posits that the U.S. power structure gives preference to all immigrants, but especially Black immigrants, over native-born Black Americans. This rhetoric often mirrors conservative and right-wing talking points, suggesting that Black immigrants do not experience the same systemic racism, benefit from the struggles of the Civil Rights Movement without contributing, and “steal” jobs and opportunities from foundational Black Americans.
This resentment is articulated through a specific and often derogatory lexicon. The children of immigrants are sometimes referred to as “tethers,” a term implying they are used as a strategic tool for their parents to gain a foothold in the country.Furthermore, some ADOS/FBA adherents have embraced a version of the white supremacist “great replacement theory,” recasting it to argue that the Democratic Party and the federal government are intentionally using Black immigrants to dilute the political power and numerical majority of FBA communities, thereby ignoring their long-standing claims for justice.
This exclusionary worldview logically extends to a rejection of Black leaders with immigrant heritage. Marcus Garvey, the foundational Pan-Africanist thinker, is dismissed as an illegitimate voice because he was a Jamaican immigrant. Even Malcolm X, a towering figure in Black American thought, is viewed with suspicion because his Grenadian-born mother gave him a connection to the diaspora that ADOS/FBA ideology seeks to sever. The movement’s focus is narrowly American, and it aligns its identity with the very nation that orchestrated the oppression of its ancestors, often remaining silent on or even supportive of U.S. imperialist actions abroad.
The Fuel for the Fire: Competition and Misinformation
This divisive rhetoric does not operate in a vacuum; it thrives because it speaks to real and painful economic anxieties. In a society constrained by systemic racism and a precarious labor market, the perception of a zero-sum competition for resources is a powerful mobilizing force. ADOS/FBA narratives frame this as a direct conflict where immigrant workers take jobs that rightfully belong to native-born Black Americans.
However, this simplistic narrative collapses under scrutiny. The economic reality is far more complex. While there is competition in low-wage sectors, it is largely driven by corporate demand for the cheapest and most easily exploitable labor, a dynamic that harms all marginalized workers, regardless of origin. Furthermore, the idea that Black immigrants are a coddled and privileged class is directly contradicted by data. Black immigrants face profound economic challenges, with 44% living in low-income households and half reporting trouble paying for basic necessities like rent, food, and healthcare—a rate nearly double that of White and Asian immigrants. A majority (56%) of employed Black immigrants report facing discrimination at work, including being paid less and passed over for promotions in favor of U.S.-born workers. Their struggle is not one of privilege but a parallel battle against the same forces of systemic racism and economic exploitation that harm foundational Black Americans. The true conflict is not between these two groups; it is a shared struggle against a system that manufactures scarcity and then encourages the marginalized to fight over the scraps.
This manufactured conflict is then supercharged by the modern engine of disinformation. The diaspora wars are a prime example of what happens when historical tensions are fed into social media algorithms designed to amplify conflict for engagement. These are not entirely organic debates. Research suggests that a significant portion of disinformation campaigns are sponsored by foreign and domestic actors whose goal is to “divide and conquer” by sowing discord within Black communities and weakening their collective political power. Activist Chaka Bars has argued that these online wars are largely “mythological,” fueled by bots, agents, and viral narratives that are disconnected from the reality of on-the-ground relationships. In this digital battlefield, fringe, xenophobic ideologies can be made to look like a mass movement, turning the diaspora wars into a form of “world war online” that serves only to weaken Black solidarity from within.
The Jersey Connect: A Blueprint for Unity in the Garden State
While the digital world is ablaze with algorithm-fueled division, a different story is unfolding on the ground in New Jersey. Here, the abstract and often absurd arguments of the diaspora wars collide with the lived reality of a state that is one of the most concentrated and diverse hubs of the global Black diaspora in the nation. In the Garden State, physical proximity and shared public spaces—from the grassy quads of its university campuses to the vibrant energy of its city parks—create a powerful antidote to online toxicity. This is not a story about ignoring differences, but about building a “lived unity” where collaboration is the norm, cultural exchange is constant, and the idea of fighting over who is “truly Black” seems utterly irrelevant.
Setting the Scene: The Black Mosaic of New Jersey
New Jersey’s Black population is a rich and complex tapestry, a demographic reality that makes it a unique laboratory for diasporic relations. The state is home to a large and deeply rooted foundational Black American community, whose presence traces back to the colonial era and whose numbers are estimated between 1.2 and 1.5 million people, concentrated in historic urban centers like Newark, Camden, Trenton, and Jersey City.
Layered onto this foundation is one of the most significant Caribbean populations in the country. Over 312,000 New Jerseyans are of Caribbean immigrant origin, with the largest communities hailing from the Dominican Republic (approximately 151,000), Haiti (approximately 43,500), and Jamaica (approximately 45,500). This is complemented by a rapidly expanding African immigrant population of over 122,000, with particularly strong and growing communities from Nigeria and Ghana settling in cities like Newark. This dense, multicultural reality is best visualized to be fully appreciated.
| Category | Estimated Population (NJ) | Key Communities/Countries of Origin |
| Foundational Black Americans | ~1.2 to 1.5 Million | Primarily in urban centers like Newark, Camden, Trenton, Jersey City |
| Caribbean Immigrants | ~312,836+ | Dominican Republic (~151k), Cuba (~45k), Jamaica (~45k), Haiti (~43k) |
| African Immigrants | ~122,485+ | Nigeria, Ghana (especially in Newark), Egypt, Ethiopia |
This demographic density means that daily, face-to-face interaction between different segments of the Black diaspora is not an abstract concept; it is an unavoidable fact of life. It is in the schools, neighborhoods, and workplaces of New Jersey that the theories of online division are tested and, more often than not, found wanting.
On The Yard: Forging Bonds on Campus
The universities of New Jersey have become crucial incubators for a new model of Pan-African solidarity, where student-led organizations are intentionally building bridges across diasporic lines.
At Rutgers University, which has campuses in the diverse hubs of New Brunswick, Newark, and Camden, this collaborative ecosystem is formalized through the United Black Council (UBC). The UBC functions as an umbrella organization with an explicit mission to “strengthen and unite” all student groups representing African, African-American, and Afro-Caribbean communities. Under its purview, organizations like the
Haitian Association at Rutgers University (HARU), TWESE (The Organization for African Students and Friends of Africa), and the West Indian Student Organization do not just coexist with the traditional Black Student Union (BSU); they actively collaborate, share resources, and present a unified front to the university administration. The UBC even produces a “Black Rutgers Greenbook,” a comprehensive guide to all the resources available for Black students on campus, consciously creating a network of support that transcends national origin.
This spirit of intentional inclusion is echoed across the state. At Montclair State University, the BSU’s stated mission is to create a “safe-haven” and a sense of family for all Black students navigating a predominantly white institution (PWI).Their events, like the annual “Welcome to the Block Party,” are celebrations of a multifaceted Black culture, featuring a mix of R&B, reggae, and hip-hop that reflects the diverse backgrounds of their members. Further cementing this ethos is the
Black Alumni Advisory Council (BAAC), an organization that brings together Montclair graduates who identify as being of “African descent in the Diaspora” to mentor current students and advocate for social justice. Similarly, at The College of New Jersey (TCNJ), the BSU makes a point to collaborate with groups like the
Association of Students for Africa, demonstrating a statewide trend where the default mode on campus is partnership, not conflict.
These organizational structures are enriched by academic and cultural projects that encourage students to explore the complexities of their identities. Rutgers, for instance, is home to the “Black Voices at Rutgers” oral history project, which documents the diverse experiences of Black life in New Jersey, and the “Azucar TV” web series, a project by a Rutgers-Newark professor celebrating Afro-Latine culture and emphasizing the interconnected struggles for liberation within Black and Brown communities. At Montclair, student journalism projects have focused on telling immigration stories, allowing students—many of whom are children of immigrants—to connect their personal histories to broader political narratives. These initiatives provide the intellectual and emotional framework for students to understand their own identities as both unique and interconnected, laying the groundwork for a more nuanced and resilient solidarity.
Vibes in the Park: Celebrating the Whole Family
Beyond the campus gates, New Jersey’s public spaces come alive with large-scale cultural festivals that serve as powerful demonstrations of diasporic unity. These events are not niche affairs; they are massive, city-supported celebrations that draw tens of thousands of people from every corner of the Black community.
The AfroBeat Fest in Newark is perhaps the most prominent example. Billed as New Jersey’s largest celebration of African culture, the free, family-friendly festival draws over 10,000 attendees to Military Park each year. Co-founded by Newark’s First Lady, Linda Baraka, its mission is explicitly Pan-African: to unite communities and celebrate the entire African diaspora. The festival is a full sensory experience—the global sounds of Afrobeats artists like King Promise and Bad Boy Timz, the taste of jollof rice and suya from local food vendors, the sight of vibrant African fabrics and art at the marketplace, and the collective energy of a diverse crowd celebrating a shared heritage.
Complementing this is the Newark Caribbean Festival, which transforms Harriet Tubman Square into a celebration of island culture. Co-produced with TEMPO Networks, a media company dedicated to Caribbean culture, the festival features a soundscape of soca, dancehall, reggae, and kompa, showcasing the rich musical diversity of the region.Together, these two flagship Newark events—one focused on the continent, the other on the islands—create a summer-long celebration of the global Black family, often attended by the same people, reinforcing a sense of shared community rather than separate identities.
This is not limited to Newark. The Atlantic City Caribbean Carnival brings a “street parade” to the shore, while the South Jersey Caribbean Festival takes over the Camden waterfront. These festivals are physical manifestations of unity. They are spaces where a foundational Black American from Trenton can dance to soca next to a Jamaican immigrant from Paterson, where a Ghanaian family from Newark can share a meal with a Haitian family from East Orange. In these moments of shared joy and cultural appreciation, the divisive logic of the diaspora wars simply cannot survive. The lived experience of the cookout is far more powerful than the manufactured conflict of the comment section.
The Message: Gen Z Has Entered the Chat
The shift away from the diaspora wars is not a passive trend; it is a conscious, strategic, and generationally-driven choice. Gen Z, having grown up in the chaotic ecosystem of social media, possesses a unique literacy in identifying manufactured outrage and a deep-seated pragmatism about where to direct their energy. They are not simply ignoring the conflict; they are actively rejecting its premise. Their message is clear: internal division is a tactical blunder in the larger fight for collective liberation.
“We’re Tired”: The Social Media Groundswell
The most direct evidence of this generational shift comes from the very platforms where the diaspora wars rage. On Reddit forums like r/blackladies, young users describe the debates as “exhausting,” “circular arguments,” and “rage bait” that serve no purpose other than to keep the community in a state of perpetual conflict. On TikTok, the sentiment is even more pronounced. A wave of videos features young Black creators calling for a boycott of the divisive content, correctly identifying it as a phenomenon that is “not real life” and exists primarily to sow discord online.
Crucially, this exhaustion is paired with a sophisticated analysis of the forces at play. There is a growing awareness among Gen Z that this infighting is not organic. They see it for what it is: a “socially engineered weapon designed to divide the global Black family”. They recognize the historical echoes of “divide and conquer” tactics and understand how modern social media algorithms and bad-faith actors can manipulate legitimate grievances to turn Black people against each other.This digital literacy allows them to see past the surface-level arguments about accents and passports and identify the underlying strategy of distraction. They see the trap and are refusing to walk into it.
Voices from the Ground in New Jersey
This online sentiment is mirrored by the real-world priorities of young Black leaders and activists in New Jersey. Rather than getting bogged down in internal debates about identity, they are focused on tackling the systemic issues that affect all Black communities. Organizations like Gen Z for New Jersey, a political action committee founded by young leaders like Ben Dziobek and Shayla Nunn, are working to empower a new generation of political candidates who can bring fresh perspectives to state and local government. Their focus is on building tangible political power, not on litigating cultural authenticity.
Similarly, young activists are at the forefront of intersectional movements that connect racial justice with other critical issues. In South Jersey, Gen Z organizers are leading the fight against a housing development that threatens the Black Run Preserve, a nature area with deep cultural significance, including a cemetery for those who escaped slavery. They are linking environmental protection, the right to clean water, and housing affordability to the preservation of Black history, demonstrating a holistic and strategic approach to activism. Young Black activists in the state, like Anya Dillard, founder of The Next Gen Come Up, are using art and content creation to mobilize youth around a broad range of social justice issues, from racial inequality to human rights.
This focus on the larger structural battles is a throughline that connects Gen Z’s work to a long tradition of Black activism in New Jersey. It echoes the words of veteran organizer Zayid Muhammad, who speaks of the interconnectedness of struggles for reproductive rights, voting rights, housing justice, and police reform as “cornerstones for a very different kind of society”. Gen Z’s activism is a modern expression of this same understanding: the real enemy is systemic oppression, and any energy spent fighting each other is energy diverted from the primary struggle. They are reclaiming the narrative, not by arguing about who has the most authentic claim to Blackness, but by demonstrating through their actions what a unified and forward-looking Black politics can achieve.
The Stakes and the Vision: Long-Term Impact and Key Takeaways
The choice between division and unity is not merely a matter of social media aesthetics; it carries profound and lasting consequences for the political, economic, and psychological well-being of Black people globally. The diaspora wars, if allowed to fester, represent a strategic dead end that only serves to weaken our collective power. Conversely, the vision of unity being championed by Gen Z offers a pathway to a more powerful, prosperous, and healed future. Understanding the stakes makes the choice clear.
The High Cost of Division (Short & Long-Term Impact)
The most immediate and damaging consequence of the diaspora wars is the fracturing of our political power. When Black communities are seen as internally divided, it gives political actors—both allies and adversaries—an excuse to ignore our collective needs. A community at war with itself cannot effectively advocate for transformative policies like meaningful reparations, comprehensive criminal justice reform, or systemic solutions to the racial wealth gap. The infighting creates noise and confusion, drowning out a clear, unified demand for justice and allowing the status quo of neglect to continue.
Beyond the political realm, the conflict exacts a heavy psychological toll. The constant recycling of stereotypes, colorism, and xenophobic rhetoric is not a victimless act. It forces individuals to defend their identity, creates anxiety about belonging, and perpetuates the very same colonial logic of hierarchy and division that was designed to control and weaken Black people in the first place. This internal conflict undermines what scholars call “human security”—the fundamental right to dignity, survival, and a sense of belonging—creating fragmentation and trauma within the very communities that should serve as a source of strength and resilience.
Ultimately, the diaspora wars are a massive distraction from real, existential threats. While we argue online about who is “more Black,” corporations continue to exploit our labor, governments continue to disinvest in our neighborhoods, and crises continue to unfold across the diaspora—from the displacement of millions in the Congo to the ongoing political and humanitarian catastrophe in Haiti. As Malcolm X famously warned, “There can be no Black-white unity until there is first some Black unity”. The energy we expend fighting each other is energy that is desperately needed to fight for our collective survival.
The Power of Unity (The Vision)
The alternative vision, modeled by young people in places like New Jersey, is one of immense power and potential. A unified front for justice is our greatest strategic asset. History has proven this time and again. The American Civil Rights Movement was powered by Black people from all walks of life coming together, and the global anti-apartheid movement succeeded because of the solidarity shown by Black communities in the U.S., the U.K., and across the world. A united global Black diaspora can exert immense political and economic pressure, forcing systems to bend toward justice.
This unity also unlocks the potential for a cultural and economic renaissance. When we share our cultures instead of siloing them, we spark innovation. The fusion of Afrobeats, reggae, hip-hop, and R&B is already dominating global music charts. The blending of diasporic fashion, art, and storytelling creates a powerful and marketable global brand. By collaborating as entrepreneurs, creators, and consumers, we can build a self-sustaining economic ecosystem that enriches our communities and shifts global culture.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, unity is a pathway to resilience and healing. The diaspora is, by its nature, a product of trauma—the trauma of enslavement, colonialism, and displacement. By coming together to confront the inherited lies of white supremacy, to acknowledge our different but connected histories of struggle, and to build a new collective identity, we can begin to heal those generational wounds. This process builds a stronger, more inclusive, and more resilient global Black family, capable of weathering the challenges of the future.
Key Takeaways
- The “diaspora wars” are mostly an online phenomenon, amplified by algorithms and bad-faith actors to divide us.
- The arguments are a trap, rooted in the old colonial strategy of “divide and conquer.”
- Gen Z gets it. They’re choosing strategic unity over self-defeating conflict because they see the bigger picture.
- Real-world spaces of connection, like those in New Jersey, prove that when we actually get together, we see family, not enemies.
- Our shared enemy is systemic racism, not each other. Unity is our most powerful weapon.
The Path Forward: How We All Win
Analysis is essential, but action is what creates change. Moving beyond the diaspora wars requires a conscious and collective effort to build the world we want to see. The blueprint for this future is already being drafted by young people in communities across the country. The path forward involves intentional choices—about how we spend our time, where we direct our resources, and what narratives we choose to amplify. This is a call to action for everyone who is tired of the static and ready to build a future rooted in solidarity.
For Young People (The Digital Natives)
As the generation that grew up online, you have a unique power to reshape the digital landscape and translate online energy into real-world connection.
- Log Off and Link Up: The most powerful antidote to online division is offline connection. Prioritize real-world engagement. Join the Black Student Union, the African Students Association, or the Caribbean club on your campus. Show up to the cultural festivals in your city, like Newark’s AfroBeat Fest or Caribbean Festival. The relationships you build in person will inoculate you against the poison of online hate.
- Curate Your Timeline with Intention: You are not a passive consumer of content; you are a curator. Actively combat the algorithms that feed on division. Follow creators who are building bridges and telling stories of unity. Use and amplify hashtags like #NoDiasporaWars and #BlackUnity to boost the signal of solidarity. Mute, block, and report the accounts that thrive on rage-bait and xenophobia. Starve the trolls of the attention they crave.
- Create the Content You Want to See: You are the most creative and media-savvy generation in history. Use your skills to tell the stories that are being ignored. Start the podcast, create the TikTok series, write the blog post that explores the nuances of diasporic identity and celebrates collaboration. Be the voice that challenges the divisive narratives and offers a more compelling vision of the future.
For Community Leaders and Organizers
Your role is to create and sustain the infrastructure that makes unity possible. You have the power to turn sentiment into structure.
- Fund the Vibe: Direct resources toward intentionally cross-diasporic events and organizations. Support the festivals that have a proven track record of bringing diverse Black communities together in celebration. Provide funding for university initiatives like Rutgers’ United Black Council, which are explicitly designed to foster collaboration among different student groups. Where these structures don’t exist, help create them.
- Create More Spaces for Dialogue: While celebration is crucial, so is honest conversation. Host town halls, workshops, and healing circles that allow for a structured and respectful dialogue about the real tensions and misunderstandings that exist within our communities. These spaces, guided by principles of restorative justice, can help transform pain and grievance into mutual understanding and collective action.
For Everyone (A Universal Call)
This work belongs to all of us. Every individual has a role to play in dismantling the logic of division and building a culture of solidarity.
- Challenge Stereotypes in Your Own Circles: The work begins at home, with friends, and in the family group chat. When you hear anti-immigrant rhetoric, dismissive comments about different cultures, or jokes rooted in stereotypes, speak up. Gently but firmly remind people that these are inherited colonial lies designed to keep us fighting amongst ourselves.
- Learn Each Other’s Histories: Unity does not require erasing our differences; it requires understanding them. Take the time to learn about the distinct but connected struggles of Black people across the diaspora. Understand that the history of chattel slavery in the U.S. is different from the history of colonialism in Nigeria, which is different from the history of revolution in Haiti. All of these stories are essential parts of the global Black experience, and all stem from the same root of white supremacy.
- Embrace a Dynamic Identity: Reject the idea that there is only one way to be Black. Our identity is not a monolith; it is global, evolving, expansive, and endlessly creative. Our future depends on our ability to build a collective identity that is strong enough to hold all of our complexities, big enough to cross all borders, and powerful enough to win our collective liberation.
The timeline is temporary. The cookout is forever. The diaspora wars are tired. It’s time to come home to each other.
