On community and agency

I think one of the more subtle topics we battle with internally as growing adults is the balance we tread between who we are and who society and community dictate we should be. Essentially, figuring out whether our behaviours and desires are truly a reflection of ourselves, or a jumble of societal expectations we never thought to question.

The millennial constantly finds themselves asking: “Who am I?”

To what extent must the personality I possess be watered down to be accepted by society? Watered down for my friends. Watered down to gain public approval.

And when all of this is watered down, to what extent are the remnants still truly representative of me?

Because I is a combination of ever-changing variables. I is the news one consumes. I is the friends one surrounds themselves with. I is self and being. I is a unique equation constantly reacting to a shifting set of inputs. Ultimately, I is uniquely me. I is who I was, who I am, and who I may become, depending on what I encounter.

I has never been a singular definition. Yet with all these variables combined, I is still expected to fit into some predetermined mould. A mould which, to enter, I must cut off parts of myself and stifle the need for self-expression, the need to speak authentically. A mould that forces I to shrink and so, I can never truly be me.

The African concept of community centres on Ubuntu. “I am because we are.” This idea, echoed in many communal societies, may have grown out of an era where communal subsistence was necessary. An era when larger, tightly-knit communities meant greater chances of survival. In that context, wealth was tied to the family, and worth was tied to the family name. The individual could not exist without the community. Approval from one’s family wasn’t optional. It was survival. The family was the primary building block of society.

In the 21st century, the rise of technology has ushered in an age of self-dependence. We’ve shifted toward a world where the individual is the foundational unit of society. In pre-technological eras, identity often rested on lineage. An individual could be identfied by the question “Who are your people?” Today, the dominant question has become: “Who are you?”

This shift in language and sentiment marks a broader transformation in our understanding of the self. Traditional society affirmed “I am because we are.” Modern society counters with “I am because I am.”

In traditional African societies, sustenance was a domestic affair. The essentials of life such as food, shelter, protection were primarily a a communal activity. The family, not the individual, stood at the centre. And from that collective effort emerged a worldview where community wasn’t just important, it was everything.

Ubuntu reflects this worldview. “I am because we are.” The phrase doesn’t just express moral solidarity. It is a material truth born of lived experience. One exists because others existed first. Because others created the conditions for life to flourish. And with that comes an obligation: I owe my being to the group, and my highest purpose is to give back to the community that made me.

This idea is not unique to Africa. Many Asian cultures place similar emphasis on the family as the centre of meaning, duty, and identity. In both traditions, strength isn’t just found in shared celebration, but in shared grief. The ability to carry sorrow together, to hold each other in loss. Community, in this sense, is not just a group of people. It is a vessel of emotion. A living entity that holds joy and pain alike. An entity which gives the indicidual a home and an identity.

But as modern life has taken shape, that sacred bond has started to unravel. Urbanisation, technological advancement, and global capitalism have restructured the self. What once centred on “us” now centres on “me”. The individual is now the architect of their own identity. And the questions we ask have shifted more from “Who do you belong to?” to “Who are you?”

It’s a philosophical transformation. The ancient affirmation “I am because we are” has given way to the modern mantra “I am because I am.” The self is now viewed as an isolated project, one that must be defined, refined, and performed outside the influence of family, culture, or community.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the West, where individualism is a celebrated virtue. This creates a quiet tension. For instance, many African parents recoil at the idea of their children placing them in retirement homes. To them, such an act feels like abandonment. A denial of the sacred duty families owe one another. A spit on the existence that they have spent their very life force contributing to. A spit on family. In westen societies however, we find that this practce is less frowned upon. Whether this view is fair or not, it underscores a cultural divergence: Western individualism versus African interdependence.

In many Western societies, it’s not only accepted but expected that you cut the cord and stand on your own. The dominant narrative goes something like this: “I am the sum of my own efforts. My identity is mine to create, and mine to own.” And in many ways, that’s empowering.

But to the African mind, this severing of ties is not just foreign. It is heartbreaking. To exist in total isolation is to lose part of what makes you whole. Because the self is never just self-made. It’s sculpted by the hands that raised you, the voices that echoed in your home, the community that called your name before you even knew how to speak.

So we now find ourselves in a world of contradictions. Especially as modern day Nigerians. A generation with a considerable number forced to migrate in search of opportunity. One view says “I am because I am.” Another says “I am because we are.” And both continue to shape us. For those of us who’ve lived between these worlds who’ve grown up in one and been educated in another the challenge is no longer choosing between the two. It’s learning how to hold both. How to grow into our full selves without losing the parts of us that belong to others.

Both ideals carry wisdom. And both have their flaws. “I am because we are” can diminish personal agency. It suggests you don’t own your life. Your community does. And while that offers protection, it can silence your inner voice.

“I am because I am” champions freedom. It says your essence is yours to define. Modern technology has made this more possible than ever as you can live alone, build alone, think alone. But can you really thrive alone? Can you replace the bonds of kinship, the need for closeness? In the pursuit of independence, are you prepared for the weight of solitude?

I think modern society is attempting a synthesis. It whispers a new phrase:

“I am because we are.”

One of my recent reads was Osho’s Love, Freedom, and Aloneness, where he speaks about the self and how before you can love anyone or belong to any group, you must first know yourself. This resonated deeply. Ubuntu, when seen through this lens, is not a call to dissolve the self into the group, but to offer your truest self to the group. And you can only do that if you’ve first come to terms with who you are . One can only do this when stripped of noise, stripped of pressure, and stripped of expectation.

Without that inner clarity, society’s signals will always be fuzzy. Community will surround you, but never speak to you. You will never truly belong because you never truly arrived.

And so, the conclusion writes itself:

I am because I am. And I thrive because we are.

More simply and more truthfully:

I am because we are, but only after I know who I am.