IS THERE ANY USE
FOR THE TERM
"AFROPOLITAN"?
There are moments where I feel totally at home. Living in the UK, with a Kenyan passport and a visa with an expiry date, that doesn't happen all that often. But it happened on Friday night, at the Victoria & Albert Museum no less. TheAfropolitans Friday Late saw this world-renowned museum transformed into a celebration of contemporary African art and culture. The content, the ambience and the crowd made for the kind of beautiful, vibrant and uplifting experience that warms the soul as much as being or feeling at home.
As part of the festivities, I shared a panel with four great proponents of the Afri-love spirit: journalist, poet and writer, Tolu Ogunlesi; writer and blogger, Minna Salami, aka MsAfropolitan; journalist and author, Hannah Pool and; record label executive and founder of Afro-Pop Live, Yemi Alade-Lawal. Our topic of discussion – "what is an Afropolitan?" We explored this term, coined by Taiye Tuakli-Wosornu in 2005, and all that it has come to embody ever since.
There were some great questions from the audience (similar to these from Asé Fountain), challenging the panel as to:
- Whether there is a political dimension to being an Afropolitan or whether it's just simply about style.
- Whether Afropolitanism is inclusive or just another way to create divisions within our community (in the Diaspora as well as between Diaspora and the continent of Africa).
- Whether the Afropolitan idea is attainable for, and indeed even desirable to, all.
I won't attempt to recapture exactly what our responses were on the night but, I will share my thoughts:
1. Politics starts with you
Politics is not something that is separate from us – something that is solely conducted by designated officials far removed from the experience of our daily lives. As individuals, as citizens, we are constantly making political decisions through what we say and what we do. If subscribing to a certain identity, e.g. identifying as an Afropolitan, gives you the pride and confidence to take a stand for yourself and your rights – that's a political action right there. If seeing yourself in a positive light means that you are less likely to accept being treated without respect – that's politics right there. The so-called Arab Spring was a result of people realising that they didn't have to take what they were dealt and of organising themselves in order to get that assertion acknowledged and acted upon. Identifying with an idea and building an active community around it is inevitably going to be about more than fashion and entertainment.2. It's what you make it
Labels are contentious. They can be especially destructive when rigid and/or imposed. "Afropolitan" however, by its very nature, is flexible. It's about drawing influence, experience, knowledge and inspiration from several sources. Therefore it's impossible to restrict the conditions that make someone an Afropolitan. What the term means is at once elusive (as panel chair Tolu concluded) and obvious (in one of those I-feel-it-but-can't-quite-put-into-words kind of ways). And perhaps that's it right there: that it's more of a feeling than something to be dissected rationally.3. Something for everyone?
Which brings me nicely to the third question. I sometimes observe that Africans in the Diaspora can get overly comfortable speaking for Africans on the continent. Yes, we share origins, fore-fathers and mothers, many values and even languages. But one thing we do not share is present experience. Being in the Diaspora does not necessarily make us more privileged, learned, talented etc. and it definitely doesn't make us more superior! Sometimes we have to step back and beware that we do not fall into the thinking of those who don't know better and those who would rather see the continent as a forsaken place in need of enlightenment from outside.The Afropolitan term originated from Diaspora experiences and as such, it has gained tremendous traction within the Diaspora. That is not to assume that it is viewed as desirable, or even relevant, to Africans everywhere (perhaps readers in Africa can share their thoughts on this?).
Going back to the "meaning" of the word, "African" + "cosmopolitan" = "Afropolitan." Nowhere in that make-up is a specification about just where those cosmopolitan locations are. In this globalised and tech-savvy day and age, Africans on the continent can be as connected as anybody else in terms of knowledge and exposure. As Minna suggested, there are probably more Afropolitans, by this simple definition, on the continent than outside!
What do you think of the Afropolitan idea? Do you identify with it? How or why not?
Check out photos from the event here.
*******************
__________________________Afropolitan
I went to the Afropolitans event last night at the V&A in London. Been having lots of discussions about what the term means.
The term “Afropolitan” was coined by Taiye Tuakli-Wosornu in her 2005 article ‘Bye-Bye Babar’. She uses it to describe the new generation of global Africans:
You’ll know us by our funny blend of London fashion,
New York jargon, African ethics, and academic successes. Some of us are
ethnic mixes, e.g. Ghanaian and Canadian, Nigerian and Swiss; others
merely cultural mutts: American accent, European affect, African ethos.
Most of us are multilingual: in addition to English and a Romantic or
two, we understand some indigenous tongue and speak a few urban
vernaculars. There is at least one place on The African Continent to
which we tie our sense of self: be it a nation-state (Ethiopia), a city
(Ibadan), or an auntie’s kitchen. Then there’s the G8 city or two (or
three) that we know like the backs of our hands, and the various
institutions that know us for our famed focus. We are Afropolitans: not
citizens, but Africans of the world.It seems to me that, as defined above, ‘Afropolitan’ is a fitting and needed term to describe a specific, privileged generational group. Who wouldn’t want to be an Afropolitan? Educated, travelled, multilingual, connected, superfly and stylish as fuck, it’s a desirable club to belong to.
I would argue, however, that unless it is expanded to include those of us in the ‘Up from Slavery’ Diaspora and unless it connects to an historical and political sense of mission and purpose it risks being merely an elitist, nu-school version of that awful, self-serving 80’s brand ‘Buppies’ (Black Yuppies - Young Urban Professionals).
That there is a globalised, connected African cultural renaissance happening right now is self-evident. All over the world there are people of African descent re-envisioning what it means to be black, what it means to be African, rediscovering the past, reinventing the future. It’s a beautiful thing.
But we need to be more than just fashion. It’s not enough to just be ‘the coolest people on the planet’. The current generation of ‘narrow’ Afropolitans (ie. only those with African-born parents who have spent time on the continent and abroad) have found themselves and their identity in relation to the ‘Up from Slavery’ Diaspora. Show me one Afropolitan who hasn’t been influenced by Hip-Hop, Jazz, Reggae, African American and Black British urban fashion, the films of Spike Lee, the image and ideas of Malcolm X or Muhammad Ali.
The Global African Family has always been culturally, politically and historically intertwined. Every great African and Diaspora thinker has ended up being a Pan-Africanist: WEB Du Bois, CLR James, Kwame Nkrumah, Thomas Sankara, Patrice Lumumba, Franz Fanon etc. Even Martin Luther King, whose image has been sanitised by history, began to see the struggles of African-Americans as being inextricably-linked to the wider, global post-colonial struggles in Africa and the Caribbean towards the end of his life.
In short, if the term “Afropolitan” is to mean anything beyond popping some - let’s face it - head-turning styles and superfly swag that incorporates 40s/50s jazz age cool with flashes of traditional fabrics, 80s day-glo colours, skinny jeans and nerdy glasses, then firstly it needs to include ALL OF US of African descent and secondly it needs to be connected to some sense of political, cultural and social change.
It should offer us an idea of being black that, instead of being restricted to the played-out stereotypes of victimhood, thug-life, dancing, rappin etc is rather about being educated, committed, travelled and motivated. If it doesn’t connect with enacting cultural and political change and developing economic and social power then it is just a bunch of privileged black kids dressing up and thinking they’re oh-so-cool. The established power structures of white privilege ain’t gonna lose any sleep over you, no matter how many white kids you get to make feel lame cos their swag can’t match yours.
I want Afropolitan to be an identity that means you not only look drop dead fabulous but that you have found a way to connect yourself to the current of Pan-African thought in history, that you honour the incredible struggles and gains of the 20th century and use your privilege to contribute - in whatever way works for you - to the noble vision of the future that inspired our parents and grandparents to build a world in which we could exist at all.
In Ifa we say, one tree alone does not make a forest. Likewise, the identity ‘Afropolitan’ needs to be made flexible enough include all of the Diaspora, and also all those who aren’t fortunate enough to have opportunity, education, travel, money and swag. It should be a club without gatekeepers and about embracing something forward-thinking and inclusive, something that offers a dynamic, new, self-authored identity for people of African descent worldwide. In that sense I am happy to call myself Afropolitan.
I’d love to hear peoples’ thoughts and comments. What do you think?
3:05pm 25/6/2011
What exactly is an
"Afropolitan"?
Taiye Tuakli-Wosornu's piece, pretty much inspired the very creation of this blog.
Bye-Bye Babar
It's moments to midnight on Thursday night at Medicine Bar in London. Zak, boy-genius DJ, is spinning a Fela Kuti remix. The little downstairs dancefloor swells with smiling, sweating men and women fusing hip-hop dance moves with a funky sort of djembe. The women show off enormous afros, tiny t-shirts, gaps in teeth; the men those incredible torsos unique to and common on African coastlines. The whole scene speaks of the Cultural Hybrid: kente cloth worn over low-waisted jeans; ‘African Lady’ over Ludacris bass lines; London meets Lagos meets Durban meets Dakar. Even the DJ is an ethnic fusion: Nigerian and Romanian; fair, fearless leader; bobbing his head as the crowd reacts to a sample of ‘Sweet Mother’.
Were you to ask any of these beautiful, brown-skinned people that basic question – ‘where are you from?’ – you’d get no single answer from a single smiling dancer. This one lives in London but was raised in Toronto and born in Accra; that one works in Lagos but grew up in Houston, Texas. ‘Home’ for this lot is many things: where their parents are from; where they go for vacation; where they went to school; where
they see old friends; where they live (or live this year). Like so many African young people working and living in cities around the globe, they belong to no single geography, but feel at home in many.
They (read: we) are Afropolitans – the newest generation of African emigrants, coming soon or collected already at a law firm/chem lab/jazz lounge near you. You’ll know us by our funny blend of London fashion, New York jargon, African ethics, and academic successes. Some of us are ethnic mixes, e.g. Ghanaian and Canadian, Nigerian and Swiss; others merely cultural mutts: American accent, European affect, African ethos. Most of us are multilingual: in addition to English and a Romantic or two, we understand some indigenous tongue and speak a few urban vernaculars. There is at least one place on The African Continent to which we tie our sense of self: be it a nation-state (Ethiopia), a city (Ibadan), or an auntie’s kitchen. Then there’s the G8 city or two (or three) that we know like the backs of our hands, and the various institutions that know us for our famed focus. We are Afropolitans: not citizens, but Africans of the world.
It isn’t hard to trace our genealogy. Starting in the 60’s, the young, gifted and broke left Africa in pursuit of higher education and happiness abroad. A study conducted in 1999 estimated that between 1960 and 1975 around 27,000 highly skilled Africans left the Continent for the West. Between 1975 and 1984, the number shot to 40,000 and then doubled again by 1987, representing about 30% of Africa’s highly skilled manpower. Unsurprisingly, the most popular destinations for these emigrants included Canada, Britain, and the United States; but Cold War politics produced unlikely scholarship opportunities in Eastern Bloc countries like Poland, as well.
Some three decades later this scattered tribe of pharmacists, physicists, physicians (and the odd polygamist) has set up camp around the globe. The caricatures are familiar. The Nigerian physics professor with faux-Coogi sweater; the Kenyan marathonist with long legs and rolled r’s; the heavyset Gambian braiding hair in a house that smells of burnt Kanekalon. Even those unacquainted with synthetic extensions can conjure an image of the African immigrant with only the slightest of pop culture promptings: Eddie Murphy’s ‘Hello, Barbar.’ But somewhere between the 1988 release of Coming to America and the 2001 crowning of a Nigerian Miss World, the general image of young Africans in the West transmorphed from goofy to gorgeous. Leaving off the painful question of cultural condescenscion in that beloved film, one wonders what happened in the years between Prince Akeem and Queen Agbani?
One answer is: adolescence. The Africans that left Africa between 1960 and 1975 had children, and most overseas. Some of us were bred on African shores then shipped to the West for higher education; others
born in much colder climates and sent home for cultural re-indoctrination. Either way, we spent the 80’s chasing after accolades, eating fufu at family parties, and listening to adults argue politics. By the turn of the century (the recent one), we were matching our parents in number of degrees, and/or achieving things our ‘people’ in the grand sense only dreamed of. This new demographic – dispersed across Brixton, Bethesda, Boston, Berlin – has come of age in the 21st century, redefining what it means to be African. Where our parents sought safety in traditional professions like doctoring, lawyering, banking, engineering, we are branching into fields like media, politics, music, venture capital, design. Nor are we shy about expressing our African influences (such as they are) in our work. Artists such as Keziah Jones, Trace founder and editor Claude Gruzintsky, architect David Adjaye, novelist Chimamanda Achidie – all
exemplify what Gruzintsky calls the ‘21st century African.’
most typifies the Afropolitan consciousness is the refusal to oversimplify; the effort to understand what is ailing in Africa alongside the desire to honor what is wonderful, unique. Rather than essentialising the geographical entity, we seek to comprehend the cultural complexity; to honor the intellectual and spiritual legacy; and to sustain our parents’ cultures.
For us, being African must mean something. The media’s portrayals (war, hunger) won’t do. Neither will the New World trope of bumbling, blue-black doctor. Most of us grew up aware of ‘being from’ a blighted place, of having last names from to countries which are linked to lack, corruption. Few of us escaped those nasty ‘booty-scratcher’ epithets, and fewer still that sense of shame when visting paternal villages. Whether we were ashamed of ourselves for not knowing more about our parents’ culture, or ashamed of that culture for not being more ‘advanced’ can be unclear. What is manifest is the extent to which the modern adolescent African is tasked to forge a sense of self from wildly disparate sources. You’d never know it looking at those dapper lawyers in global firms, but most were once supremely self-conscious of being so ‘in between’. Brown-skinned without a bedrock sense of ‘blackness,’ on the one hand; and often teased by African family members for ‘acting white’ on the other – the baby-Afropolitan can get what I call ‘lost in transnation’.
Ultimately, the Afropolitan must form an identity along at least three dimensions: national, racial, cultural – with subtle tensions in between. While our parents can claim one country as home, we must define our relationship to the places we live; how British or American we are (or act) is in part a matter of affect. Often unconsciously, and over time, we choose which bits of a national identity (from passport to pronunciation) we internalize as central to our personalities. So, too, the way we see our race – whether black or biracial or none of the above – is a question of politics, rather than pigment; not all of us claim to be black. Often this relates to the way we were raised, whether proximate to other brown people (e.g. black Americans) or
removed. Finally, how we conceive of race will accord with where we locate ourselves in the history that produced ‘blackness’ and the political processes that continue to shape it.
Then there is that deep abyss of Culture, ill-defined at best. One must decide what comprises ‘African culture’ beyond pepper soup and filial piety. The project can be utterly baffling – whether one lives in an African country or not. But the process is enriching, in that it expands one’s basic perspective on nation and selfhood. If nothing else, the Afropolitan knows that nothing is neatly black or white; that to ‘be’ anything is a matter of being sure of who you are uniquely. To ‘be’ Nigerian is to belong to a passionate nation; to be Yoruba, to be heir to a spiritual depth; to be American, to ascribe to a cultural breadth; to be British, to pass customs quickly. That is, this is what it means for me – and that is the Afropolitan privilege. The acceptance of complexity common to most African cultures is not lost on her prodigals. Without that intrinsically multi-dimensional thinking, we could not make sense of ourselves.
And if it all sounds a little self-congratulatory, a little ‘aren’t-we-the-coolest-damn-people-on-earth?’ – I say: yes it is, necessarily. It is high time the African stood up. There is nothing perfect in this formulation; for all our Adjayes and Achidies, there is a brain drain back home. Most Afropolitans could serve Africa better in Africa than at Medicine Bar on Thursdays. To be fair, a fair number of African professionals are returning; and there is consciousness among the ones who remain, an acute awareness among this brood of too-cool-for-schools that there’s work to be done. There are those among us who wonder to the point of weeping: where next, Africa? When will the scattered tribes return? When will the talent repatriate? What lifestyles await young professionals at home? How to invest in Africa’s future? The prospects can seem grim at times. The answers aren’t forthcoming. But if there was ever a group who could figure it out, it is this one, unafraid of the questions.