The Lies We Tell for the Belonging We Crave

I want to start with a confession: I, a Black U.S. wartime veteran, have never voted for a president. Hell, I’ve never voted for much of anything outside of some pop culture nonsense. But don’t confuse my detachment for indifference. I served under both Bush and Obama. I built bombs for the Navy during Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom.

I didn’t join because I felt patriotic. Honestly, I didn’t know what else to do. My life at the time was full of uncertainty, and the Navy seemed like the next step. I’d originally planned to join the Army, but a friend chose the Navy, so I followed. That’s how I ended up thousands of miles away, loading bombs onto F-18s.

One day, I heard about a bomb we’d loaded being dropped on a wedding. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see the destruction or the aftermath, but I felt the impact when the news reached my shop. People around me—my coworkers, my team—reacted with what I can only describe as racist joy. They said the people at the wedding deserved it.

I didn’t agree, but I didn’t say anything either. No one did. Maybe others were uncomfortable too, but silence has a way of drowning out discomfort. Looking back, that silence speaks louder than anything else from that moment.

The Power of a Good Lie

The thing about misinformation is that it doesn’t need to be convincing—it just needs to make you feel something. Fear, anger, righteous indignation. The lie that Iraq had WMDs wasn’t just a story; it was a rallying cry. It gave us an enemy and a purpose. It gave us belonging.

When I look back, it’s clear how much that belonging mattered. Being part of a group—especially in the military—is about more than doing a job. It’s about identity. We become part of something bigger than ourselves, and that’s intoxicating. But that same sense of belonging can keep us quiet when the group is wrong. It can stop us from questioning, from thinking critically, because the cost of dissent feels too high.

I see this same dynamic playing out everywhere today. In the polarized world we live in, belonging is currency. It’s not just about what we believe; it’s about who we are aligned with. Are you on the "right" side? Do you share the "correct" opinions? Because if you don’t, the cost isn’t just disagreement—it’s exile.

Belonging at All Costs

I’ve seen this need for belonging play out in youth and adults alike. In my work with young people, I watched kids join cliques and gangs—not because they wanted to, but because they couldn’t risk being alone. They’d do things they didn’t like, things they knew were wrong, just to stay in the group.

And adults? We’re not so different. I know people working inside the government who are fed up with the waste, the outdated systems, and the incompetence they see around them. But they won’t speak out. They can’t. To say “the government needs an overhaul” risks going against the liberal orthodoxy that dominates their circles. And in their minds, that’s a risk too great to take.

We all want to belong, and that’s not inherently bad. The problem is what we’re willing to trade for it—our voice, our values, our ability to think for ourselves.

The Echo Chamber Effect

This need to belong, paired with the relentless stream of misinformation and disinformation we’re exposed to, has turned us into tribes. We build our bubbles, curate our echo chambers, and shut out anything that doesn’t fit.

Take the ACAB (“All Cops Are Bastards”) slogan. It’s catchy, it’s provocative, and it resonates for a lot of people who feel betrayed by the policing system. But it also shuts down dialogue. It’s a sweeping statement that doesn’t leave room for nuance, for the complexity of human beings and systems. And the moment you question it? You risk being seen as siding with "the enemy."

The same thing happens on the other side. Law enforcement circles rally around their own slogans and narratives, ignoring the systemic issues that breed distrust and injustice. Both sides dig in, leaving no room for the gray areas where solutions might actually live.

Where Do We Go From Here?

The hardest part about all of this is that it feels like a self-perpetuating loop. Misinformation creates fear, fear drives division, division makes us cling to our tribes, and our tribes feed us more misinformation. Breaking that cycle feels impossible sometimes.

But maybe the answer starts small. Maybe it starts with a willingness to step outside the bubble, to listen, to ask questions—even when it’s uncomfortable. It starts with recognizing that belonging built on lies isn’t belonging at all.

I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know if I have any. But I know that silence isn’t working. I know that being part of the group can’t come at the expense of our humanity. And I know that as long as we keep trading critical thinking for comfort, we’re going to keep dropping bombs on weddings, whether literally or figuratively.

So the next time you feel the pull to stay quiet, to go along with the crowd, ask yourself: What are you trading for that belonging? And is it worth it?

This is the question I keep asking myself. Maybe it’s time we all start asking it together.