Seeking Belonging
How Social Conditioning Drives Trump Support Among People of Color
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In recent years, a curious yet unsettling trend has emerged as some Black people and other people of color in America have aligned themselves with Donald Trump—a figure often at odds with the interests of marginalized communities. While this support might seem contradictory at first glance, it actually reflects a longstanding legacy of social conditioning and adaptation within white-dominated institutions. Much like how enslaved people were often compelled to adopt the religion and customs of their enslavers to gain their favor and appeasement, this alignment reveals a similar drive for acceptance, safety, and belonging within a society that still centers whiteness as the measure of legitimacy.
Throughout history, people of color in America have had to navigate systems that were created and maintained primarily for white interests. Conservative churches, corporate environments, and even political spaces promise stability, success, and acceptance—but these benefits often come with the expectation that individuals will adopt the dominant group's values and norms. This adaptation is more than an accidental byproduct; it is the result of a social conditioning that, over generations, has subtly but persistently encouraged conformity to white-centered ideals, often at the expense of authentic self-expression and community identity.
The parallel is stark when we consider the role of American churches, particularly within conservative denominations, which have historically shaped values and social norms. These institutions provide community and structure, but they often carry agendas that align with white patriarchal norms rather than the liberation of marginalized groups. In these spaces, support for leaders like Trump isn’t merely political; it’s a quiet way of earning acceptance—a way to show one’s “worthiness” to belong in these deeply influential spaces.
Trump’s image—rooted in wealth, power, and a certain unyielding version of “American” identity—represents for some people of color an aspiration to be seen, to be respected, and to share in the cultural and economic capital long monopolized by white society. Supporting Trump becomes, in part, a symbolic attempt to claim that power and security, reflecting a form of adaptation conditioned over generations. It’s an echo of how enslaved people, faced with immense pressures, were often coerced into adopting the cultural and religious practices of their enslavers to survive. Today, although the stakes are less immediate, the underlying drive to adapt and survive in a society where whiteness often means power endures.
This conditioning exposes the psychological toll that generations of assimilation have had on marginalized communities. It’s a reflection of a society that has continually signaled that acceptance is conditional and always tied to an alignment with dominant, often white-centered, values. For some people of color, this choice isn’t an endorsement of Trump’s specific policies but rather an instinctive response—a survival mechanism crafted from generations of adaptation to a society that has yet to fully embrace their humanity.
At its core, support for Trump among some Black people and other people of color reveals the complex choices that marginalized groups make to navigate an often unwelcoming world. Like the adaptation seen among enslaved people seeking survival within an oppressive system, this modern alignment is less a celebration of Trump’s ideals and more a reflection of a society that remains deeply rooted in the conditioning power of white supremacy. The path toward true acceptance and equality requires more than superficial political alignments; it demands a reckoning with these invisible forces, which continue to shape the identities and choices of people of color in America.
As Donald Trump prepares to assume the presidency once again, his past rhetoric and campaign promises suggest significant shifts in American life, with particular consequences for minority groups and marginalized communities. Trump’s comments about restructuring governmental powers, redefining immigration, and prioritizing a specific vision of “American greatness” foreshadow a period of heightened challenges for people of color, immigrants, LGBTQ+ individuals, and other vulnerable groups. Trump’s approach appears rooted in consolidating a national identity closely aligned with traditionalist, often exclusionary values, which could set back social progress for many.
Trump’s history of rhetoric, particularly around crime, policing, and civil unrest, has often centered on the need for “law and order,” which many view as a euphemism for increased policing in communities of color. Under his leadership, we can expect a continuation, if not an intensification, of policies that favor aggressive law enforcement tactics, which could disproportionately impact Black, Latino, and Indigenous communities. Additionally, Trump’s critiques of “woke culture” suggest an attempt to suppress discussions on systemic racism, effectively discouraging efforts toward racial justice and equity. This could lead to diminished federal support for diversity programs, educational reforms, and social services, deepening the inequities that many communities already face.
Trump has pledged to tighten border security and expand deportation efforts, a continuation of his first-term policies. This would likely translate into more restrictive immigration laws and heightened scrutiny of both documented and undocumented immigrants. Immigrant communities, particularly those from Latin America, Asia, and the Middle East, may face increased deportations, a reduction in pathways to legal status, and intensified surveillance. The climate of fear that many immigrants felt during Trump’s first term could resurface, exacerbating community divides and disrupting families. Furthermore, Trump's stance on immigration could discourage refugee and asylum applications, placing already vulnerable populations in even more precarious situations.
Trump’s recent comments on gender and his opposition to protections for transgender individuals indicate that his administration might roll back legal protections for LGBTQ+ people. Laws or executive orders that safeguard LGBTQ+ rights in workplaces, schools, healthcare, and the military could be weakened or revoked, potentially leading to discrimination. Transgender individuals, in particular, may find themselves facing renewed legal and social barriers, from restrictions on gender-affirming healthcare to limitations on participation in public life. Additionally, Trump’s endorsement of a narrow view of gender could embolden state governments to introduce anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, affecting the lives and well-being of countless individuals across the country.
Trump’s language around “religious freedom” has frequently been interpreted as favoring Christian values, often at the expense of other religious traditions. Under a second Trump presidency, it’s plausible that policies will continue to support Christian-centered initiatives while sidelining protections for religious minorities. For Muslim Americans, in particular, there may be a renewed focus on surveillance and profiling, reminiscent of Trump’s early executive orders banning travel from predominantly Muslim countries. This environment could foster a sense of alienation and hostility toward non-Christian religious groups, threatening religious pluralism in the United States.
Trump has publicly expressed support for restricting abortion access, and with recent conservative appointments to the Supreme Court, this agenda is likely to progress. Women, especially those in marginalized communities, could see limited access to reproductive healthcare and face increased barriers to controlling their own reproductive choices. The broader agenda to curb women’s rights may manifest in diminished federal support for equal pay initiatives and family leave policies, placing additional burdens on women in the workforce, particularly women of color who already experience wage gaps and limited job protections.
Trump’s past approach to environmental regulation prioritized business interests over environmental protections, with serious consequences for communities that rely on natural resources. For Indigenous communities, who are often on the frontlines of climate change and environmental degradation, this could mean continued encroachments on tribal lands and resources, impacting both their traditional ways of life and economic opportunities. Reduced environmental oversight could also lead to pollution and land-use policies that disproportionately affect low-income and minority communities, widening health disparities.
Trump’s renewed emphasis on national pride and traditional values could foster a divisive atmosphere in the U.S., one where minority groups are increasingly viewed with suspicion or hostility. His rhetoric on cultural and political issues, often deriding movements for equality as “un-American,” suggests an attempt to sideline social justice issues and downplay historical injustices. The risk is a shift toward a more exclusionary national identity that leaves minorities feeling isolated and underrepresented, with fewer allies in federal institutions to advocate on their behalf.
In this probable future, a second Trump presidency could amplify an “us vs. them” mentality, shaping policies that disproportionately affect marginalized communities while appealing to a base that views these measures as protective of American values. For minorities, this vision of America suggests a difficult road ahead, one where navigating daily life might mean facing renewed forms of discrimination and battling systemic barriers in an increasingly polarized society. Sadly, the support for Donald Trump people of color have given him, may in fact be the very thing that sets the progress clock back for people of color and all minorities in the United States. Showcasing the manipulating behavior of Trump and the systemic white-oppressive behavior of American society.
The Great Pretender
Christianity's Illusion of Salvation for Black America
For centuries, the Black journey to Christianity has been marked by layers of adaptation, survival, and a deep-seated desire for acceptance. This journey, beginning in pre-colonial Africa and evolving through enslavement and beyond, is a testament to resilience and the complex reality of assimilation. Throughout history, Blacks' turn toward Christianity was often rooted in a drive for acceptance within a society that saw them as outsiders. However, this journey also reflects an ongoing struggle between self-identity and the demands of assimilation. Today, the "Black church" stands as both a symbol of resistance and a marker of the deeply ingrained legacy of assimilation within a white-dominated American society.
Pre-Slavery African Spiritual Identity
Before the Atlantic slave trade, African societies possessed rich and diverse spiritual traditions. African communities practiced religions deeply rooted in animism, ancestor worship, and an understanding of a world infused with spiritual energies. Beliefs varied across the continent, but African spirituality was characterized by rituals, community gatherings, music, and dance—all of which fostered a deep sense of unity, harmony, and respect for diverse ways of life, including various expressions of gender and sexuality. Unlike some segments of the “Black church” today, where division and hostility can arise toward those who differ in belief or identity, pre-slavery African spirituality was inherently inclusive, celebrating diversity rather than condemning it.
This spiritual landscape was essential to African identity and offered a source of moral and communal structure. Religion wasn’t merely a belief system; it was a way of life that upheld cultural norms, community values, and a distinct African identity. Individuals found purpose and connection beyond rigid doctrines, embracing an environment that fostered harmony and collective respect.
The Transatlantic Slave Trade and Forced Conversion
With the onset of the transatlantic slave trade, African captives were forcibly transported to the Americas, where their rich cultural identities were systematically suppressed. European colonizers viewed African religions as “pagan” and “barbaric,” imposing new religious doctrines as tools of control. This shift was more than spiritual—it was ideological, as missionaries and slaveholders introduced Christian and Islamic moral standards that condemned African practices and stigmatized certain expressions of identity, including homosexuality and gender fluidity. In place of inclusive, community-centered African belief systems, colonizers sought to impose a rigid framework that sowed seeds of division and intolerance.
Conversion efforts began on plantations, where enslaved Africans were often compelled to attend Christian services. This forced conversion was not solely about saving souls; it was a means of eroding African cultural identities, instilling obedience, and introducing a hierarchy rooted in European values. Christian teachings were manipulated to justify slavery and enforce submission, with passages like Ephesians 6:5 (“Servants, obey your earthly masters”) twisted to reinforce the authority of slaveholders and erase African autonomy. This intolerance replaced the inclusivity that once defined African spiritual life, introducing stigmas that had previously been foreign.
For many enslaved Africans, adopting Christianity became a complex choice. Some resisted, covertly preserving elements of their traditional beliefs. Others adapted Christianity, blending it with African spiritual practices to create a new, syncretic faith—a subtle act of resistance and reclamation. Over time, however, aligning with Christianity took on an additional purpose: it offered a potential path to societal acceptance. By conforming to the spiritual norms imposed by white society, many Black people hoped to bridge the gap to equality, unwittingly perpetuating a cycle of assimilation and internalized intolerance rooted in colonization.
The Rise of the Black Church
As the Civil War loomed, enslaved Blacks had already begun carving out their own religious spaces. The "invisible institution" of the Black church emerged, often in secrecy, away from the eyes of slaveholders. Enslaved people infused Christianity with African elements—drumming, call-and-response, and spirituals. These gatherings provided a brief respite from oppression, a space for community, and a means of resistance.
Following emancipation, the Black church became one of the few institutions under Black peoples’ control. Denominations like the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) and National Baptist Conventions blossomed, establishing the Black church as a pillar of Black life in America. While the church offered a sanctuary from a hostile society, it also became a space for addressing the pressing issue of acceptance. Many Black people saw the Black church as a means to legitimize themselves in the eyes of white society, hoping that shared Christian values would facilitate social equality.
The Great Migration and the Evolution of the Black Church
The Great Migration, spanning from 1916 to the 1970s, saw millions of African descendants move from the rural South to urban centers in the North. This migration was pivotal for the Black church, as new city congregations began focusing on social justice, civil rights, and economic empowerment.
While many Black churches embraced activism, this period also saw heightened efforts by some to align more closely with mainstream (white) Christian values, hoping this would lead to greater social acceptance. Black churchgoers often adopted stricter moral codes, emphasizing “respectability” to counter racist stereotypes and appeal to white America. Christianity became, in part, a tool to gain legitimacy, yet it continued to reinforce an unspoken demand: conform to white standards for a chance at equality.
Civil Rights and the Church's Role
During the Civil Rights Movement, the Black church became a beacon for justice and freedom. Leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. infused Christian principles with calls for equality, advocating for nonviolent resistance rooted in love and forgiveness. Yet, even in its activism, the Black church’s alignment with Christianity often carried the expectation that Black people and people of color in general, should follow white America’s moral and religious standards.
This approach, while instrumental in achieving civil rights gains, subtly reinforced a form of self-regulation. Black Americans were pressured to present themselves in a way deemed palatable to white society. Christianity became both an instrument of liberation and an expectation of conformity.
The Modern Black Church, and the Black Family Today
Today, the Black church remains a powerful institution in Black communities, deeply tied to cultural and spiritual identity. However, its history is a reminder of the fine line Blacks have walked between faith and assimilation. For many, Christianity remains a tool for coping with oppression, but it also bears the legacy of a religion that was imposed as a means of control.
Christianity has been one of the most detrimental factors in deteriorating Black families today. Where African communities once embraced extended family networks and spiritual diversity, colonial Christianity introduced rigid views on gender roles and sexuality, fostering judgment and exclusion. These values, ingrained over generations, led to divisions within families, particularly through the stigmatization of gay people. Black individuals who identify as LGBTQ+ often face rejection or ostracization from deeply religious family members, creating painful divides and weakening family bonds.
Economic strain has also exacerbated these divisions. The Christian-imposed nuclear family model emphasized men as sole providers, but systemic racial discrimination often limited job opportunities for Black men, making it difficult to fulfill this role. Many men, unable to meet these expectations, left their families, leading to single-parent households and further eroding family unity. Meanwhile, the education system, shaped by Eurocentric Christian values, has historically underfunded and under supported Black communities, limiting economic advancement and reinforcing cycles of poverty.
The cultural and spiritual disconnection resulting from Christianity’s spread has also led to a lasting sense of internalized inferiority. Where African spirituality once offered a strong sense of identity and community cohesion, Christian doctrines often promoted self-surveillance and conformity to white-defined “morality.” This has left many Black individuals feeling pressured to abandon or hide aspects of their heritage, further fracturing family unity and support systems. Together, these forces have reshaped Black families, creating conditions that strain family connections, weaken community bonds, and perpetuate cycles of hardship
What Lies Ahead
For people of color, the journey to Christianity is, at its core, a testament to resilience and adaptation in the face of oppression. Yet it also reveals a cycle of assimilation that has, at times, kept Black Americans striving for acceptance on terms dictated by a white society.
Christianity, introduced as a tool of control, was transformed by the Black community into a source of strength. However, the legacy of assimilation lingers, as many people of color continue to seek equality by embracing values shaped by white America.
To this day, Christianity continues to function as a mechanism that controls people of color, perpetuating values rooted in white superiority to keep marginalized communities—and those deemed "immoral" by certain doctrines—oppressed and subdued. The structures, teachings, and imagery promoted by mainstream Christianity often reinforce racial hierarchies and impose rigid moral standards that serve to maintain social and cultural dominance over people of color. Breaking free from this cycle requires a bold redefinition of self-worth and spirituality that rejects the demand to conform to a faith historically manipulated to enforce racial and social inferiority. Only by shedding this shadow of oppression can Black Americans and other communities of color reclaim their cultural and spiritual identities, free from the constraints of a faith distorted by a legacy of control.
Christian churches, especially those with longstanding influence, fear this awakening, recognizing that a more united and self-empowered community would be much harder to influence or control. This unity would challenge the authority and social power these institutions have carefully maintained, as a community free from the illusion of racial and moral inferiority would demand true equality and justice. Tragically, many people of color may not even recognize the illusion they are trapped in; the doctrines and values reinforcing this control have been so deeply ingrained, passed down from generation to generation, shaping beliefs and identities from birth.
This deeply embedded influence reaches beyond personal faith, affecting broader societal choices. It shapes how we vote, the policies we support, and the social structures we uphold, often leading us to favor church-endorsed objectives even at our own expense. This dynamic continues to funnel power and resources toward the church, supporting agendas that may not align with the actual needs of the communities they influence. In doing so, we perpetuate systems that result in ongoing turmoil and significant costs, reinforcing structures that prioritize institutional power over genuine liberation and well-being for people of color and humanity as a whole.
What Can Be Done?
To break free from cycles of control and division that have held us back for generations, we must unite with courage and a commitment to overcoming obstacles like censorship, biased education, and the silencing of open, honest discussions. Let us reclaim our power by demanding access to factual education, free from bias and distortion, and by challenging the fears that prevent open conversations—whether that fear stems from the grip of institutionalized religion, the weight of racism, or generational traumas. By embracing our diverse cultural and spiritual heritages and supporting leaders who fight for our communities' true interests, we can forge a path to real unity. Through education, economic independence, and an unwavering commitment to empathy and inclusivity, we can uplift each other to create a resilient, empowered community—one that celebrates all of who we are and fearlessly shapes its own future, defined not by imposed values, but by our collective vision of dignity, equality, and freedom.
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