The intersection of Black identity and conservatism raises important questions about how identity gets defined, who gets to decide, and whether certain experiences within a community impose certain political allegiances.

Badenoch, born to Nigerian parents and raised partly in Lagos, has drawn both praise and criticism for her views on issues such as reparations, “culture wars,” and race-conscious policies.

But her experience isn’t just about politics. It speaks to a deeper, perhaps uncomfortable conversation about how we see—and who gets to speak for—the Black experience.

What it means to be Black in Britain

In the United Kingdom, race and class are tightly bound together. To be Black has often meant navigating structural disadvantages, enduring economic hardships, and encountering everyday discrimination.

From housing to education to healthcare, there is a broad acknowledgement that Black communities face inequities deeply rooted in British history, especially from the legacy of the Transatlantic slave trade and British colonial rule.

As a result, Black identity in the U.K. often comes with a deep, inherited sense of resistance and a commitment to uplift those affected by these legacies.

Against this backdrop, progressive policies focused on social welfare, inclusion, and anti-racism efforts have resonated powerfully in Black British communities.

Conservatism, on the other hand, has historically been seen as the domain of White, upper-middle-class Britain, promoting values that appear at odds with this history—self-sufficiency, minimal government intervention, and market-driven policies.

So when a Black individual, especially a high-profile politician, is affiliated with conservatism, it can feel discordant.

For some, it’s seen as a repudiation of shared struggles and values, or even as an alignment with the very systems that have often excluded them.

Yet conservatism is not monolithic, and neither is the Black experience. Badenoch’s story is a case in point: it is a story layered with heritage, individualism, and even an audacious rejection of the unwritten script that many expect her to follow.

The complexity of Black conservatism

Kemi Badenoch’s political career has been shaped by a series of decisions and beliefs that are, depending on one’s perspective, principled or controversial.

She has been open in her critique of what she calls “identity politics” and has spoken out against many of the race-conscious policies championed by Labour and left-leaning activists.

In the House of Commons, she has famously dismissed reparations for slavery, calling them backwards-looking and arguing instead that people need to focus on “moving forward”.

For many Black Britons, this stance feels out of touch, even insensitive.

Reparations, they argue, are not just about settling old scores but addressing systemic inequities that remain unresolved—inequities that stem directly from Britain’s history of slavery and empire.

To deny the need for reparations, they say, is to ignore how these historical injustices still shape the Black British experience today.

So why does Badenoch take such a different stance? Her critics suggest that Badenoch’s Nigerian heritage plays a role here, pointing out that she does not share the same ancestral connection to slavery that Black Britons with Caribbean or African American backgrounds might.

For Badenoch, who spent part of her childhood in Nigeria—a country with its own colonial legacy but a different history of slavery—the idea of looking “forward” rather than “backward” may resonate differently.

But does her background make her less connected to Black British struggles?

This is where her story becomes complex. Badenoch sees herself as a British politician who happens to be Black, rather than a representative of Black Britons.

For her, conservatism is about individual merit and self-determination. She seems to believe that one can succeed without the systemic interventions that so many Black Britons feel are essential to redressing historical imbalances.

To her detractors, however, this stance is at best naive and at worst a form of “selling out,” aligning herself with a white-dominated political establishment that is, arguably, still grappling with institutional racism.

The cultural disconnect and the ‘coconut’ label

For many of her critics, Badenoch is emblematic of a type of conservatism that they believe is “Black on the outside, white on the inside.”

On social media, she’s been called a “coconut,” a term that suggests racial betrayal—Black on the outside but allegedly loyal to White conservative values on the inside.

The term is divisive, even offensive, but it underscores the anger and frustration many feel toward Badenoch’s rejection of what they consider to be essential elements of Black solidarity.

This frustration is not limited to social media; it has entered the political arena as well.

Labour MP Dawn Butler once referred to Badenoch as a “Blackface of white supremacy,” a phrase that sparked significant controversy and further debate about Black identity and political allegiance.

But what’s particularly interesting is that Labour didn’t respond to Butler’s remarks with the same force it has applied to comments from MPs seen as offensive to other racial or ethnic groups.

When Labour MP Diane Abbott, for example, made comments criticized as anti-Semitic, party leader Keir Starmer took swift action.

Butler’s remarks, however, did not prompt such a response, leading some to wonder if Labour’s reaction would have been different if Badenoch’s identity and politics weren’t so polarising.

This inconsistency in response raises questions about double standards in British politics and the implicit biases that might shape them.

Does political alignment dictate how offences are handled? Or does the nature of identity politics create conditions where certain voices—particularly those of Black conservatives—are dismissed or penalised differently?

Identity struggles

At its core, the debate over Badenoch’s place in British politics reflects a broader struggle over who gets to define Black identity. Is it defined by a shared experience of oppression and a collective commitment to racial equity? Or is it, as Badenoch might argue, flexible enough to encompass individualism and a wide spectrum of political beliefs?

Some Black Britons see Badenoch’s conservatism as an individual choice, one that reflects her unique background and her belief in meritocratic ideals.

For others, her views feel like a betrayal, a sign that she has turned her back on the struggles that many Black Britons still face.

The criticism she receives, particularly from those who label her a “coconut” or accuse her of playing a “Blackface” for White interests, can appear deeply personal, even cruel. But it’s also rooted in a real frustration over what many feel is a lack of solidarity from someone in a position of power.

‘The debate over Badenoch’s place in British politics reflects a broader struggle over who gets to define Black identity. Is it defined by a shared experience of oppression and a collective commitment to racial equity? Or is it, as Badenoch might argue, flexible enough to encompass individualism and a wide spectrum of political beliefs?’

What Badenoch’s story ultimately reveals is that the intersection of race and politics is, for many, a deeply charged place.

To some, her political identity feels incongruous with her racial identity, as though she has abandoned the natural alignment of Blackness with progressive politics. But to dismiss her entirely would be to miss an important opportunity to examine the ways Black identity is evolving—and to consider that conservatism and Blackness are not mutually exclusive.

Rethinking the boundaries of identity

Kemi Badenoch’s journey complicates traditional notions of Black identity and raises uncomfortable but necessary questions about the diversity of thought within Black communities.

As difficult as it may be for some to accept, Black identity cannot—and perhaps should not—be tethered to a single political ideology. Just as the Black experience is rich and multifaceted, so too should be the perspectives that represent it.

Perhaps it’s time to accept that identity, even racial identity, is not always a blueprint for political belief. Badenoch’s conservatism challenges us to rethink our assumptions, forcing us to confront uncomfortable realities about race, politics, and what it means to truly belong.

Her story doesn’t give us easy answers, but maybe that’s the point. In challenging our assumptions, she forces us to wrestle with the complexities of identity itself.