IT is easy to laugh at the proverbial “black friend” invoked to neutralize charges of racism. However, the humor sours when you realize that this comical ploy is also a strategy the Republican Party uses in its outreach to black and moderate white voters.

Despite the whiteness of the G.O.P. in general — about 90 percent of voters in the Republican primaries this year have been white — a number of black Republicans hold prominent positions in the party, and are often held up as evidence of its commitment to diversity. Last year, for example, when the presidential candidate Ben Carson was doing well in the polls, his presence on the campaign trail helped prompt the chairman of the Republican National Committee, Reince Priebus, to claim that the G.O.P. was “likely to have the most diverse presidential primary field in history — of either party.”

Promoting black Republicans in this fashion may or may not succeed in convincing white voters that the party is not as racially divisive as it can seem. But less appreciated is the effect that this approach has on black voters. As recent research of mine suggests, the image of black Republicans that the G.O.P. disseminates may actually dampen enthusiasm for the party — not only among the black electorate in general, but also among black Republicans themselves.

A common thread that links high-profile black Republicans like Mr. Carson is their commitment to “colorblind” politics. You can also see this with recently elected politicians like Representative Mia Love of Utah and Senator Tim Scott of South Carolina. They acknowledge that being black is part of their life experience but reject the idea that racial identity should orient their political decision making. They often decry efforts, like affirmative action, to address racial inequality explicitly, claiming that such policies undermine black success.