Plantin or Plantain?

For the purpose of this article I am going to define Black as those of African and Caribbean ancestry living in the UK who identify as such, whether on a census or by nature of their own self identification. Of course there are other global territories who defined as such but this article will be largely UK centric.

Too often debates, online and in person, within the Black community, can be polarised because of assumptions around belonging and identity. Often these conversations creep into the wider public discourse when well intentioned and sometimes malicious actors, will take hold of a point to Blacksplain (tic) an issue. Whether that is one on disparity on workplace representation, education, law and order or access to finance, or just the basics of our lived experiences.

I come from a line of conservative (small c) thinking Caribbean folk. They are shaped in the mould of the Protestant ethic of studying hard, working hard and financial stewardship. Traditions borrowed not only from the churches they attended but the colonial throwback of belonging to empire. My parents arrived in the UK with a desire to make life anew in the Queen’s country and maintain that conservative way of life. They raised me and my two brothers in the same vein, but the reality of life as Black adults in the late 60s and 70s meant there were very few places to call home here. Outside of church and the vibrant Caribbean enclaves that were dotted around key areas in London and around the country, politically the only place we even remotely felt welcome was with the Labour party.

To be fair even in church, the dominant narrative of how and where we could worship was shaped by white British leadership and it was only after a significant coralling of Caribbean voices to withhold tithe, a huge threat to the coffers of said denomination, did we finally start to see representatives in leadership who looked like us. A move at the time described as Marxist.

I grew up going to church and weekend schools where a certain Black identity was reinforced. To this day, I still have colleagues outside of the community who don’t understand that I don’t have to know another Black man in order to give him the Nod.

In addition I to this schooling and practices I followed numerous racial equality campaigns and a spent a lot of time in a home library steeped in pan African and liberation theology ideology. The emphasis here was about collaboration. How as community we could fight back against many institutions who wanted to hold back the economic, spiritual and educational needs of the community. We were united not just by faith but by socials, dominoes nights, Carnivals, shoobs, well seasoned food and by combining resources for political (union) and economic (pardna) parity.

At the time the narrative was also dominated by Caribbean voices, largely those of the Windrush generation, and little representation from African diasporans. Over time the second waves of Black migration brought a wider mix of African and Caribbean flavours to the UK which changed the political narratives. The second wave especially not as cognisant of the experiences and platforms built by the first wave. This often brought conflict and lack of understanding in our communities, especially between Caribbean and African communities.

As I expanded out of my home library to other works of socio economic and political writings, as well as socialising a lot more with a burgeoning west African community and school of thought, I also began to be exposed to more conversations and thought pieces from the right. And even though I bristled with the individualism of some of this thinking I respect the fact that in our community we can have differences of opinion. For the record my political leaning is what I would consider centrist but will lean more to the left than right.

My concern has always been however, that too many people see the Black community as a homogenous grouping that will agree on all things partly because of the collective experiences we have had as result of racism, classism and often being made to feel like other. Both within and without the community. This couldn’t be further from the truth.

I have witnessed and continue to witness this in my work. When I first worked in education and was brought into schools to work with Black boys. When educational charities brought me in to help recruit more black teachers. When teachers wanted to navigate how to deal with Black students. When youth charities realised most of their leadership in predominantly Black and brown areas were white. When corporations wanted to be more diverse. I would hasten to add I have no truck with this in the main, but it did make me wonder, why did clients think I was the authoritative voice on this when the Black community is so rich and so varied? 

Largely many of these differences around Black homogeneity lay privately within the walls of the community. We would challenge racism in the public square but we would be very quiet about our political differences internally around generational trauma, crime in our communities, African and Caribbean tensions, family, money and even careers. Then social media came along and turned those conversations on its head. Spaces like Twitter and Facebook unleashed a wave of thoughts and ideas that ripped away any facade of a monolith. 

The death of George Floyd was one of those pivotal moments when that facade was torn apart. The resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement brought to light so many of our differences. Media platforms on the left and right of the spectrum were more than keen to hire combatant points of view. Woke vs Anti Woke. Black Lives v All Lives. Many raised an eyebrow at the right leaning social and mass media spaces who were historically antagonistic to racial equality who were keen to platform Black voices that were right leaning. Conversely many Black voices on the right expressed relief at no longer being silenced by dominant voices to the left. Pushing back at positions they felt didn’t represent their lived experiences.

The Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities Report aka the Sewell Report for many on the right was a watershed moment for said voices. That and the various communiques by the Equalities department in the incumbent government, really showed that there were a number of prominent people in power and influence who felt their voices and positions on the Black experience should be heard too.

Now the thing is we can wax lyrical on the good and bad of those positions. There is room and space to take politicians on the right and left to task on policies and approaches that can harm as well as supporting their positions for good. The notion of shunning or using individual pejoratives ad hominem, doesn’t serve us as individuals or a collective. We can argue the findings of the Sewell report or transphobic comments without referencing someone’s hairline or moisturising regime. People in power are never going to be elected just to represent Black causes and for those of us who have been anywhere near political spaces we know that’s not how it works anyway. 

The very notion of Blackness is complex and nuanced and it is important for those within the community, and those making efforts from outside to be more considerate about our inclusion as functioning members of UK society, to note this. 

Black people are not a monolith. We represent a broad church of opinions in our workplaces and communities. The lazy grouping of opinions as left or right, woke or anti-woke, robs so many of us of enlightened robust and often difficult conversations. We disrespect the journey of those who came before us when it is reduced to these binaries. Our tapestry across the diaspora is rich, diverse and has a history of difference. We can respect each other without having to respect an opinion we don't agree with.

We can argue and laugh all day about the way we pronounce plantain across the diaspora but we don’t ever complain once we are eating. Maybe there is a message in there somewhere.