The Illusion of Solidarity

 The Illusion of Solidarity: San Jose's Group Chat and the Cracks in the "Black and Brown Coalition"

Get your popcorn and your notepad, because it's time for a little history, a whole lot of receipts, and a wakeup call for anybody still believing in that black and brown coalition myth. The recent scandal involving two California city councilmen, Peter Ortiz and Domingo Candelas, who were caught with their hands all the way up in the racist group chat cookie jar, has shattered the veneer of solidarity, particularly in one of America's most diverse cities. This isn't just about private chatter; it's a profound reflection of how power dynamics and underlying biases seep into policy and governance.

The headline is stark and undeniable: Elected officials in San Jose were caught in a secret group chat, reportedly called "Tam Hall" (a reference to a political machine notorious for corruption and exploitation), full of slurs about Black folks and Mexicans.¹ These men, entrusted to make decisions for an entire city, were swapping derogatory language like it was happy hour. The group chat, discovered on the confiscated phone of former councilman Omar Torres—who recently faced a felony child molestation charge—highlights the disturbing company being kept and the rot at the core of this political circle. Words matter, especially when they come from people who hold the keys to the city. When city officials are laughing it up about racist slurs, talking greasy about neighborhoods, and clowning low-income schools, that's not just private malice; it’s a blueprint for policy in action. It reflects how they see the communities they govern and how they run things when they think nobody is looking.

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The Myth of Mutual Support

This scandal brings into sharp focus the flawed narrative of the so-called black and brown coalition. The idea—that Black and Latino communities, united by shared experiences of oppression, should naturally and unconditionally stand together—sounds beautiful. But for many, the reality of this coalition is often a one-way street. History has repeatedly shown that when anti-Blackness pops off—whether through police violence, voter suppression, or racist city policies—a significant number of these so-called allies often disappear, get silent, or, worse, hop on the bandwagon of the oppressors.

The expectation for Foundational Black Americans (FBAs) to constantly show up, turn out, and go all in for other groups’ issues is massive. When it’s about immigration, housing rights, or police reform, the Black community is often expected to bring their bodies, their voices, and their history of resistance. But when a Black woman is brutalized by the police or a Black man is railroaded by the courts, where are the masses of coalition partners? Where are the Spanish-language signs saying "Black Lives Matter"? The silence is deafening, leading to the undeniable conclusion: If it ain't mutual, it ain't a coalition—it’s a hustle.

The language used in the chat, where the N-word was used and Mexicans were called "scraps" (a slur used for Southern California gang members), reveals not just anti-Blackness, but anti-Latino sentiment as well.² It’s a toxic atmosphere where everyone becomes fair game to those who hold power. These are the very people who decide where city money goes, who gets a seat at the table, and who gets crumbs on the floor.

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The Policy of Private Prejudice

The street-level truth is that words don't exist in a vacuum. When officials trade in stereotypes, their policies will reflect that bias. A person who spends their day laughing at jokes about Black neighborhoods is not sitting up in city hall genuinely fighting for real equity or the future of Black children. What goes down in those private conversations leaks into how budgets are written, how laws are enforced, and how resources are distributed. Racist jokes become racist policy. Slurs behind closed doors become budget cuts for Black neighborhoods, police funding hikes, and tough-on-crime laws that magically only hit Black and poor folks.

Furthermore, this chat wasn't limited to just Ortiz and Candelas; it included their chiefs of staff, transportation policy leaders, and a community relations manager—folks with real influence. When racism is normalized among decision-makers, it becomes the city's blueprint. And when it all hits the fan, the predictable public apology tour begins: "I'm sorry if anyone was offended." "This doesn't reflect my values." Miss me with that. An apology for getting caught, instead of for what one genuinely believes, is not remorse; it is merely an expression of regret for being exposed.

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Demanding Reciprocity and Accountability

The lesson here is simple and overdue: Reciprocity is mandatory. If the so-called coalition won't show up when the Black community is being disrespected, why should the Black community put its neck on the line when their turn comes? Respect is not a one-way street. You don't get to demand Black bodies at your rallies and then clown us behind closed doors. That's not partnership; that's exploitation.

Accountability must be expensive. Apologies are cheap. The mayor has called for the full release of the texts, and the NAACP is demanding consequences, but there has been no resignation, no forfeiture of position, no relinquishing of influence. In the minds of the councilmen, this is a PR problem, not a moral one. The community must demand full transparency and real consequences for folks who trade in hate speech while pretending to lead with integrity.

For FBAs, the mandate is to stop being the backbone of movements that refuse to support you when it counts. Invest time, money, and energy in Black-led organizations and coalitions that practice what they preach—not just diversity in name, but equity in practice. Solidarity is earned, not owed. Coalition without reciprocity is just charity. The group chat mess in San Jose proves that the "black and brown coalition" is not about solidarity; it’s about convenience. It’s about numbers when they need your vote, but silence when you need their voice. This isn't bitterness; this is clarity, and it's long overdue.

Brown people are: