Written by Israel Campos
The conversation has to keep happening:
The truth, urgency and real need for this conversation has been so trivialised in recent times. I confess that it even “embarrasses” me, in a way, to give voice to this cry of freedom by so many acclaimed. Still, the aggressiveness that the impact of racism has on all those affected by it, like me, does not allow me to shut up in the frustration of silence. On the contrary, it only encourages me even more to speak out.
I fear that these lines will be immediately directed, right by its title, to the “race card box”. Yes! That ignored complaint box – that no one will ever read; purposely created to perpetuate a system that turns victims into the problem and lovingly normalises the real problem. But the weight of my day-to-day reality does not allow me, however much I try, to do it differently.
The beginning of it:
I remember, exactly, as if it was today. Of that excited young boy, even before turning 18, who flew from his city, Luanda, to set foot in the lands of Her Majesty for the first time. He was bringing a lot of enthusiasm and hope in his suitcase as well as many uncertainties. Of course, I can’t forget the first impression, the one that is recorded forever and ever. Having been held by the airport board force for more than three hours. This was only for one reason: not knowing how to speak English. Even when all the information requested and needed was written in the documents I had with me.
My first days in the UK were painful. From homesickness, to missing the warm weather, but above all for feeling literally like a fish out of water. Even worse in a city like Exeter where seeing a black person walking the streets can be as rare as hens’ teeth.
Prejudices:
However, my problem was never so much and essentially with the lack of racial diversity in the spaces I used to go to – despite its great importance. It is the prejudices that were associated with black people that were there. The way this was reflected in the treatment they received by others. In other words, more than the lack of racial diversity, what worried me the most was the racism itself; despite being aware that one can come from another.
In my first three weeks in this country, I remember finding myself searching on the internet for things like “black idols in the UK” or “books on race in the UK”. There I was, that boy who had no idea what being black could mean in a society like the British. As he came from a society where being black was the norm. Therefore it represented nothing to him. It even reminds me of the writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and her similar experience when she first arrived in the United States of America.
A difference that you need to learn:
After some time, I got used to it. That is, I entered the so-called naturalisation of the oppression system until I “met”, via a friend that loved her, the writer Reni Eddo-Lodge. I read her book “Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race”. This revolutionised my perspectives on certain actions before seen by me as only individuals practices. This book made me understand the bigger picture. I learnt how the benefits associated with systemic racism are fundamental to the perpetuation of the state of affairs.
More than that, it was also possible to understand another reality that is almost nonexistent in the debates about the racist structure within the UK. Reni Eddo-Lodge is a British black writer. That’s why whilst reading her book, I saw fundamentally the narrative of racism in the UK; being told by her experiences point of view, as a black Brit and all those who identify themselves in this way.
Although I found some common denominators between her experience on what it is to be black in the UK and my own; it is very clear for me that I could not find my experience fully represented in the book, under the lens of a black African living in the UK.
Believe it or not, being a black British born and being a black African born in the UK has a completely different meaning.
It may not seem like it, because in the eyes of some we are all black. Therefore, we are all the same but in reality, it does not work like that.
Afrophobia is a problem that has been systematically ignored in the UK. This is despite the visible effects it has on the lives of many Africans in the country; many of whom are not even refugees but legal immigrants or international students.
As an example, I remember all those friends of mine, who went to the same college as me here. They were mostly Nigerians or South Africans, therefore native English speakers, and who were still obliged to take the IELTS test, which is an English language test intended for “non-native speakers”.
Or even of all the times that someone laughed at my accent; for being considered too “aggressive”, or “funny” or “disturbing”.
Why talking about it matters:
Afrophobia is a “burden” present in the daily lives of many Africans in this country. It is being treated as less intelligent as soon as your nationality is discovered. Or perceived as speaking “wrong English” when you want to get information from the NHS desk, for example.
It is to be the “dancing-member” of your group of friends from university. The one that is always told off when don’t wanna do so because “Africans love to dance”, don’t they?
It is beyond having to explain that Africa is not a country but a continent, every time someone calls you African instead of your nationality.
It is above all having to deal daily with the ignorance. This is of those who deliberately feel the right to underestimate the existence, value and sensitivity not of a race but of an all continent to which Europe and its citizens should dedicate everything, just not more hate and disrespect.
Including Afrophobia in the general discussion of racism in the UK is an imperative. So that we can make the fight more inclusive; and to ensure that no one from the oppressed groups is left out.
