White Women, Black Men & African Feminists
Occasionally I worry I’ll hurt my mum with some of the stuff that I write about white people, or that my dad will be offended by my criticism of African men. Then I visit them in Lagos and I’m reminded of how, and why, my concerns are completely unnecessary. They expected, and are pleased, with who I’ve become or they would not have had me reading comics like Mafalda at the age of four.
And I need to speak about these things. As an African (black, mixed race, biracial, insert racial label) woman and feminist I experience silencing from multiple angles.
Firstly, from those white feminists who produce general knowledge about womanhood and male oppression without taking into account that gendered racism is part of many women’s lives. We don’t all experience womanhood similarly. I cannot separate race from womanhood the way a white feminist (thinks she) can.
In white feminist scholarship, African feminists are often accused of ‘undertheorising’. And It is true that feminist theory thrives in western academia in a way that it doesn’t in the academies in Africa, but that’s largely because feminists in the west have more resources. African feminists do produce theory like Obioma Nnaemeka’s Nego-Feminism, Molara Ogundipe-Leslie’s Stiwanism, Catherine Acholonu’s Motherism, Wanjira Muthoni’s and Chikwenye Ogunyemi’s African Womanism to name a few. However, with limited access to funding, technology and a huge publishing industry, the kind of theoretical imperialism where white feminist work is considered theory while feminist work in Africa is considered practical is possible.
I cannot simply speak as an African either. This space is occupied by the African (heterosexual) male narrative. Although I share experiences of racial oppression with African men, as the cultural gatekeepers of African history and social theory, African male thinkers generally speaking have not included struggles with sexism into “our” story of African-ness.
Perhaps this well-intended comment from Harvard scholar, Dr Shabazz can help explain my point:
Peace my sister. I think it is a grave error to equate white women’s affiliation with white power with black men’s affiliation with patriarchy. They are hardly analogues. White American men routinely brutalize and incarcerate their black American “brothers.” African Americans make of a majority of the US prison population even though blacks only make up about 12% of the US population. Black American men suffer from obscene suicide rates. Black on black violence is still plaguing our communities. Black men are disappearing from university. These are all functions of ongoing white supremacy.
Yes, men of African heritage around the world are harshly affected by white supremacy and that is not something I take lightly. However, what Dr Shabazz failed to understand as he argued against my stance that feminism is NOT unAfrican is how similarly male supremacy affects women and particularly women of colour.
For example 70% of the world’s poor are women, two-thirds of the world’s illiterate are women, one in three women has been subject to sexual assault, women own 1% of the world’s property, the primary victims of wars are civilian women and their children, not soldiers…
Therefore as Africans and as women affected both by racism and sexism it seems that white female- and African male supremacy in fact are analogous.
I don’t suggest we throw the baby out with the bath water by abandoning dialogues with our white feminists sisters unless they are inefficient (and sometimes they are), or by invalidating the oft-insightful corpus of work by white feminists. However, we mustn’t overlook fabricated perceptions of African womanhood that fails to listen to what African women have to say. Nor should we cease to dialogue with our African brethren of whom many are increasingly beginning to adopt a holistic view on African issues but we must pay attention to not neglecting our stories and concerns in favour of protecting some idea of manhood.
Solidarity shouldn’t blind us in looking at the specific situation/s faced by us as women of African heritage. We must not choose between race and gender, but keep creating spaces where we narrate (and define) the intersection of both.
In the words of Audre Lorde:
The fact that we are here and that I speak these words is an attempt to break that silence and bridge some of those differences between us, for it is not difference which immobilizes us, but silence. And there are so many silences to be broken.
Do you have any thoughts, experiences, concerns?
photo credit: ssoosay_______________________________
MsAfropolitan is the blog of Minna Salami, writer and commentator on Africa, African feminism, race, identity and founder of MsAfropolitan.com.
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Hello,
I am sure you are familiar with the work, books and lectures by Bell Hook, an African-americain black feminist cultural studies scholar; incredibily talented and relevant. Especially as she draws a picture of America being squared (or supported) by capitalism, white supremacy, patriarchy and sexism. She touches upon the point that you made in this article: the difficult existence of a black feminist narrative. And I think it can be extrapolated to the african female/feminist narrative. She’s all over youtube and I must admit that I love working while listenning to her.
Absolutely amazing article, thank you.
Great Article Minna! I love that your writing is so “accessible” and real….I love the way you link and connect theory with our everyday and the way you make me want to interrogate things that remain unsettled in my mind. Thank you.
Thanks for the generous comment. It’s a great compliment to hear my work described as accessible, it’s what I aim for.
Hi Mimi, wonderful article. My issues with white feminists have always made me shy away from the label – much prefer Womanist. The simple fact is that they have a different starting point and continue to deny the fact that they still operate under the protection of white privilege, this denial alone (tantamount to this colourblindness rubbish) in addition to feminist silence on certain topics that affect a black female majority has made me come to believe that every body needs to run their own race and we can all meet up happily at the finishing line. Expecting others to carry the torch for us in naive and lazy and will leave specialist issues unsolved.
Dear Minna,
Your article reminded me of an experience I had in Germany in 2000, attending the Women’s University in Hannover. For three months that Summer amazing women from all over the world gathered to share knowledge and experience. I was thrilled. But very quickly I noticed a watershed, the same one you mention in this piece. Women from the West were mostly entangled in debates on post-modernism and deconstructivism, while those from the South and East were discussing practical solutions.
Coming from an activist background – in the nineties I was in the Dutch squatting movement and used to call myself anarcha-feminist (don’t ask me to explain now, but then I was able to) – I felt lonely. The theoretical approach did not appeal to me. But being a white European, I did not belong to the group of women from India, Sierra Leone and Guatemala talking about their shared problems either. I left disillusioned, wondering what this feminism of mine was worth if there were no sisters to share it with.
Solidarity has become a tainted word. Tainted, because solidarity has often been induced by pity. Pity of the rich for the poor, of the privileged for the underprivileged, of the North for the South et cetera. Anyone who has ever received a look of pity, knows how infuriatingly arrogant pity is. How the beholder of that look places her or himself above the subject of her or his pity. And this superiority makes it impossible to interact on a level of equality. This is how Western feminist discourse about (and yes, I mean to write ‘about’ and not ‘with’) feminists in the South and East often ended up being so embarrassingly condescending.
Solidarity should be a two way street. Or rather, it could come from and go in all possible directions. Real solidarity is based on equality. We can all learn from each other. We are all able to support others if needed. And we are all in need of support once in a while. I needed it badly at that Women’s University in Hannover.
These days I do not worry much anymore about defining my feminism. I stopped saying ‘I am a feminist, but I adore men’, or ‘I am a feminist, but I love to show off my cleavage’ (I actually said that once, because a fellow feminist reprimanded me for dressing too sexily). I am not just a feminist, I am many things. One of them is white, one is a woman. Without wanting to downplay the significance of my race and gender: I am also a journalist, writer, dancer, sister, daughter, person from the Dutch South, moin moin addict and periodical insomniac.
Identity to me is a conjunction of many aspects of one’s life and personality. Being categorised by only one or two of these aspects – even the very important ones – does not only simplify reality, it also restricts your movements. Being labeled can be just as stifling as having someone look down on you in pity. It is also typically Western, especially if the label leads to dividing the world into ‘us’ and ‘them’. Speaking in dichotomies, to use a term from feminist theory, often does because it implies a hierarchy. One of the two (black/white, man/woman, straight/gay) always ends up on top (no pun intended). It is a recipe for exclusion.
African and Asian philosophy are much more inclusive, stressing the community rather than the individual and leaving space for different interpretations of the same reality. I’ve always felt more comfortable with that way of thinking. I think a discourse starting from such a perspective would be helpful to tackle issues like racism or sexism.
So where does that leave me, labeled the white feminist? You tell me. I’m listening.
Thanks so much Femke. Your comment is illustrative of a feminist dialogue that I believe is truly desirable
I like to think that rather than solidarity, there are solidarities. feminisms, rather than feminism…
Identity is multi dimensional, this post did not mean to suggest otherwise but rather to (briefly) analyse the intersecting spaces of race and gender for women of African heritage.But there are many more aspects of one’s persona and before any ideology, sexuality, profession, class, heritage , gender etc, we are human. It sounds simple but all work must begin from that simple assumption if it’s to create change. Like you, I think emphasis on community is key but I take from “western” individualism too in that I think change that happens within, changes communities ultimately.
In response, when we specify the local, we illuminate the global (to borrow from Chandra Mohanty) and I personally appreciate to see more white feminists engaging with whiteness. What is white feminism, its history, its future, its relationship with other feminisms etc.. In trying to create transnational alliances, which I think are important, non-white femminists will repetitively hit the ceiling of western white-defined feminism and yet find it difficult to find material about what this white feminism is and how it operates if it doesn’t see itself as universal? How does it position itself to the intersections of slavery, racism, colonialism, globalisation all very real issues for sisterhood to consider
I think when building alliances the African feminist needs to curb (not neglect) her anger towards the negative images that many white feminists have perpetuated on her and focus on the resourceful work that many white feminists have produced about Africa, and that the white feminist needs to be starkly aware and analytical of her privileged position.
Where we all should be left is seeking what is at the heart of womanhood through sharing as honestly as we can.
Very interesting. I’m going to mull over this today.
Hiya,
My question what is feminism?
Do you seperate feminsm from racism or feminism from lesbianism? I for one just believe in the human race and the idea of men and women treated fairly and equally.
Every individual has his or her own issues for me it’s simply about equality and to be treated fairly.I demand respect and I do not care if you are White or Black.However I must admit that I do demand more respect from my White colleagues call it excess baggage ie colonisation,slavery …
That’s my 2 cent.