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| Yes, I’m black. But an ethnic minority? Forget it | Yes, I’m black. But an ethnic minority? Forget it |
| (7 months later) | |
| I confess to mixed feelings on learning that the Guardian and 4th Estate are launching a prize for black, Asian and minority ethnic (BAME) writers. On one hand, it is fantastic news, particularly when one considers the many reports highlighting the perennial truth that the publishing industry is overwhelmingly white. Last year there was an outcry when all the books selected for World Book Night (an event that sees thousands of volunteers across the UK and Ireland giving away around 200,000 copies of 15 books) were revealed to have been written by white authors. “A sadly wasted opportunity to be truly diverse,” lamented the author Nikesh Shukla. In the UK, 96% of the authors who take part in the big literary festivals are white, and white writers are more likely to have literary agents than those of any other race. These statistics don’t lie. Something has to be done to give the publishing industry in the UK a tan. See the BAME prize as part of the new melanin drive. | I confess to mixed feelings on learning that the Guardian and 4th Estate are launching a prize for black, Asian and minority ethnic (BAME) writers. On one hand, it is fantastic news, particularly when one considers the many reports highlighting the perennial truth that the publishing industry is overwhelmingly white. Last year there was an outcry when all the books selected for World Book Night (an event that sees thousands of volunteers across the UK and Ireland giving away around 200,000 copies of 15 books) were revealed to have been written by white authors. “A sadly wasted opportunity to be truly diverse,” lamented the author Nikesh Shukla. In the UK, 96% of the authors who take part in the big literary festivals are white, and white writers are more likely to have literary agents than those of any other race. These statistics don’t lie. Something has to be done to give the publishing industry in the UK a tan. See the BAME prize as part of the new melanin drive. |
| Yet on the other hand, as a black writer eligible to enter this prize, do I consider myself to be a member of the BAME community? | Yet on the other hand, as a black writer eligible to enter this prize, do I consider myself to be a member of the BAME community? |
| That’s more complicated. I discovered I was black when I moved to Britain 10 years ago. Before that, I was happily Nigerian when it came to my nationality, happily Igbo and Yoruba when it came to my ethnicity, and happily Lagosian when it came to my urban affiliation. Black meant nothing until I moved to Winchester, and was suddenly expected to be an expert on rap. | That’s more complicated. I discovered I was black when I moved to Britain 10 years ago. Before that, I was happily Nigerian when it came to my nationality, happily Igbo and Yoruba when it came to my ethnicity, and happily Lagosian when it came to my urban affiliation. Black meant nothing until I moved to Winchester, and was suddenly expected to be an expert on rap. |
| What does 'black' mean, when you grew up in Kinshasa, or Nairobi, where you look outside and almost everyone is black | What does 'black' mean, when you grew up in Kinshasa, or Nairobi, where you look outside and almost everyone is black |
| Many Africans I know don’t like being called black. They feel the word homogenises, strips us of our particularities, simplifies our distinct cultures, lumps an Igbo with an Afro-Cuban with a Wolof with a Jamaican, and expects us to all act and think the same. | Many Africans I know don’t like being called black. They feel the word homogenises, strips us of our particularities, simplifies our distinct cultures, lumps an Igbo with an Afro-Cuban with a Wolof with a Jamaican, and expects us to all act and think the same. |
| And anyway, what does the word black mean, when you grew up in Kinshasa, or Nairobi or Port Harcourt, where you look outside your window and almost everyone is black? Only an outsider with a foreign gaze could hear the click of the Xhosa or see the leap of a Masai and think “black”, squashing a three-dimensional world into two. | And anyway, what does the word black mean, when you grew up in Kinshasa, or Nairobi or Port Harcourt, where you look outside your window and almost everyone is black? Only an outsider with a foreign gaze could hear the click of the Xhosa or see the leap of a Masai and think “black”, squashing a three-dimensional world into two. |
| But for me, the term black opened up the globe to me. I was a parochial Nigerian, concerned only with my beloved country, at best curious about Anglophone west Africa, ignorant about the rest of the continent and clueless about the world. Then I moved to England and was told I was black by the official forms, by the little square boxes I had to put my tick in. I was told I was black by a media that said crime was black, poverty was black and hoodies, Nike trainers and drugs were black. | But for me, the term black opened up the globe to me. I was a parochial Nigerian, concerned only with my beloved country, at best curious about Anglophone west Africa, ignorant about the rest of the continent and clueless about the world. Then I moved to England and was told I was black by the official forms, by the little square boxes I had to put my tick in. I was told I was black by a media that said crime was black, poverty was black and hoodies, Nike trainers and drugs were black. |
| Then I was told I was black in a wholly different manner, by Marcus Garvey and Edward Blyden and Kwame Nkrumah and Nina Simone and Thomas Sankara. We had histories, and kingdoms and riches. We were more than slavery and European colonial conquest. I was part of a global force that spread across the continents. | Then I was told I was black in a wholly different manner, by Marcus Garvey and Edward Blyden and Kwame Nkrumah and Nina Simone and Thomas Sankara. We had histories, and kingdoms and riches. We were more than slavery and European colonial conquest. I was part of a global force that spread across the continents. |
| Yes, we were different and distinct, but there was a solidarity that bound us. I sat up when I heard of a shooting in Charleston, or of a statue of Cecil Rhodes falling in Cape Town, or of Usain Bolt’s sprinting into the record books. Because I was this curious, encompassing, powerful, thing called black. | Yes, we were different and distinct, but there was a solidarity that bound us. I sat up when I heard of a shooting in Charleston, or of a statue of Cecil Rhodes falling in Cape Town, or of Usain Bolt’s sprinting into the record books. Because I was this curious, encompassing, powerful, thing called black. |
| So I am very proud of the black part of the BAME abbreviation. But what of minority ethnic? Personally, I prefer the term “member of the African diaspora”. To be black on this planet is not to be in the minority. There are about a billion black people living in Africa, not to mention the African diaspora in the Caribbean, South America, North America and Europe. And how can anyone of Asian origin be termed “minority” anything? Asians make up 60% of the world population. | So I am very proud of the black part of the BAME abbreviation. But what of minority ethnic? Personally, I prefer the term “member of the African diaspora”. To be black on this planet is not to be in the minority. There are about a billion black people living in Africa, not to mention the African diaspora in the Caribbean, South America, North America and Europe. And how can anyone of Asian origin be termed “minority” anything? Asians make up 60% of the world population. |
| In short, I am not a minority: never have been, never will be. I refuse the label when I hear it on the news, when I hear it in the mouths of Westminster politicians, and even when I read it in the names of wonderful, literary awards that I wholeheartedly support. | In short, I am not a minority: never have been, never will be. I refuse the label when I hear it on the news, when I hear it in the mouths of Westminster politicians, and even when I read it in the names of wonderful, literary awards that I wholeheartedly support. |
| I salute the organisers of the BAME prize. They are addressing a serious need that others, such as Cassava Republic (a Nigerian publisher opening in London this April), are also tackling in their own way. So will I be entering? I don’t know yet. A thousand pounds in prize money is not to be sniffed at in these austere times for writers, when libraries are being shut down and literary festivals refuse to pay their speakers fees. But if I do submit, I’ll black out the “minority ethnic” with a felt-tip pen, and hope that Marcus Garvey will understand. | I salute the organisers of the BAME prize. They are addressing a serious need that others, such as Cassava Republic (a Nigerian publisher opening in London this April), are also tackling in their own way. So will I be entering? I don’t know yet. A thousand pounds in prize money is not to be sniffed at in these austere times for writers, when libraries are being shut down and literary festivals refuse to pay their speakers fees. But if I do submit, I’ll black out the “minority ethnic” with a felt-tip pen, and hope that Marcus Garvey will understand. |