Afropean

Afropean Plot Summary

Introduction

When Alexander Pushkin, Russia's greatest poet, stood for his portrait in 19th century Moscow, few observers noted what Claude McKay would later observe at his statue: "I saw the Negro plainly in his face." This overlooked detail reveals a profound historical truth - the African presence in Europe extends far deeper than most historical narratives acknowledge. Across the continent, from Brussels' Matongé district to Stockholm's Rinkeby suburb, from Sheffield's council estates to Lisbon's Cova da Moura neighborhood, black communities have created vibrant cultural spaces while navigating complex questions of identity and belonging. Through examining these Afropean experiences, we uncover how colonial legacies continue to shape contemporary European societies. We witness how racist imagery embedded in children's comics like "Tintin in the Congo" normalized dehumanizing views of Africans, while simultaneously discovering forgotten heroes like Otto and Hermina Huiswoud, who built transnational networks of black resistance. These stories challenge conventional understandings of European identity, revealing how deeply African and European histories are intertwined. This exploration offers essential insights for anyone seeking to understand how Europe's colonial past continues to influence its multicultural present, and how black Europeans have created distinctive identities that are neither fully African nor completely European, but something uniquely Afropean.

Chapter 1: Origins of Afropean Identity: Cultural Fusion in Post-War Europe

The term "Afropean" emerged in the early 1990s, coined by David Byrne and Belgian-Congolese artist Marie Daulne, the frontwoman of music group Zap Mama. This concept offered a liberating framework for many individuals of African descent living in Europe - a way to exist without hyphenation, to be both African and European simultaneously. The genesis of this identity, however, can be traced through the complex history of African presence in Europe, which took on new dimensions in the post-World War II era. Between the 1950s and 1970s, European nations like Britain, France, and Belgium actively recruited workers from former colonies to rebuild war-torn economies. Countries opened their doors to colonial subjects, creating the foundation for today's diverse European landscape. However, these nations rarely prepared for the permanent settlement of these workers, assuming they would return home after serving their economic purpose. This shortsightedness created tensions that continue to shape European societies today, as temporary migration evolved into permanent communities. As these communities established themselves, they developed unique cultural expressions that blended African heritage with European influences. In music, artists like Les Nubians from Chad via France, Neneh Cherry with Swedish and Sierra Leonean roots, and Joy Denalane from South Africa via Germany embodied this cultural fusion. Their art represented more than entertainment - it was cultural resistance against the pressure to choose between identities. This cultural movement provided a framework for understanding blackness as an integral part of European identity, rather than something foreign or temporary. The formation of Afropean identity also emerged as a response to the limitations of existing frameworks. Black British identity, often packaged exclusively as an embodiment of the Windrush Generation, felt increasingly outdated to younger generations. Meanwhile, American models of blackness, while influential, didn't fully capture the specific colonial histories and cultural contexts of black Europeans. Afropean identity offered something more encompassing and nuanced - a way to acknowledge both African roots and European realities without subordinating either. By the early 2000s, this identity had expanded beyond music into literature, visual arts, and political discourse. Writers like Caryl Phillips explored the complexities of being black and European, while organizations formed to advocate for recognition and rights. The concept provided a vocabulary for experiences previously difficult to articulate - the feeling of being simultaneously insider and outsider, of navigating multiple cultural codes, of creating home in the spaces between established categories. The emergence of Afropean identity represents a significant shift in how blackness is understood in Europe. Rather than seeing black Europeans as immigrants or outsiders, it acknowledges their role in shaping European identity itself. This perspective challenges both the exclusionary nationalism that defines Europeanness as white and the assumption that authentic blackness must be connected to elsewhere. Instead, it offers a vision of Europe as inherently multicultural, with blackness woven into its very fabric.

Chapter 2: Navigating Parallel Realities: Black Communities in Northern Cities

The journey from Sheffield to Paris in the 1990s and early 2000s revealed stark contrasts in how blackness was experienced across different European contexts. In Sheffield, a post-industrial city in northern England, black communities formed primarily around economic migration in the mid-20th century. These communities developed in working-class neighborhoods like Firth Park, where cultural diversity became a defining feature amid economic decline. The collapse of Sheffield's steel industry under Thatcher's policies created a landscape of limited opportunity, with young black residents navigating both racial discrimination and class barriers. This northern English experience stood in contrast to the more documented "Brixtonization" of black British identity - the reduction of black British experience to a London-centric narrative. In Sheffield, black culture took on a distinctly working-class, northern character. The city became a European playground for graffiti artists and music-makers in the 1980s, with council estates transformed into concrete canvases and tower blocks broadcasting pirate radio stations. This cultural flowering represented both creative resistance and a response to economic marginalization. Paris presented a different reality altogether. The French capital had historically positioned itself as a haven for black American intellectuals and artists fleeing racism at home. Figures like Josephine Baker, Richard Wright, and James Baldwin found in Paris a space where their blackness wasn't subjected to the same restrictions they faced in America. This narrative of Paris as a racial utopia persisted in the American imagination, despite the very different reality experienced by France's own black population, particularly those from former colonies. The stark divide between central Paris and its banlieues (suburbs) embodied this contradiction. While tourists experienced the romantic vision of Paris with its Haussmann boulevards and cultural landmarks, the banlieues housed marginalized communities, many of African descent, in deteriorating high-rises. These areas, like Clichy-sous-Bois, suffered from high unemployment, poor infrastructure, and tense relationships with police. The 2005 deaths of two teenagers fleeing police in Clichy-sous-Bois sparked nationwide riots, revealing the depth of frustration among France's black and Arab youth. The French Republican model, which officially doesn't recognize race or ethnicity, created a particular challenge for black French citizens. As one activist explained, "France dreams of being a Republic, but it is not. There is only one culture that is considered French and that is white culture." This ideology of colorblindness made racism difficult to address, as it could not be officially measured or acknowledged. Black French citizens found themselves caught in a paradox - taught they were fully French while simultaneously treated as foreigners. Both Sheffield and Paris demonstrated how national contexts shaped black European experiences, creating parallel but distinct realities. In Sheffield, blackness intersected with working-class identity and post-industrial decline, while in Paris, it confronted a Republican ideology that simultaneously denied and reinforced racial difference. These contrasting experiences highlighted the diversity within Afropean identity - not a monolithic experience but a range of negotiations between blackness and Europeanness, shaped by specific national histories and policies.

Chapter 3: Colonial Legacies: Belgium's Brutal History and Modern Amnesia

Brussels, often described as Europe's most boring capital, deliberately cultivated this image to divert attention from Belgium's brutal colonial history in the Congo. This seemingly mundane city housed some of the most damning evidence of European colonial exploitation, particularly in its museums and cultural institutions. The relationship between Brussels and the Congo represented one of the most violent chapters in colonial history, with King Leopold II's personal rule (1885-1908) resulting in the deaths of an estimated 10 million Congolese. The Royal Museum for Central Africa in Tervuren, located on Brussels' outskirts, stood as a physical embodiment of this colonial amnesia. Built for Leopold II's 1897 world fair, the museum long presented a sanitized version of Belgian colonialism. Its collections included stolen artifacts, racist depictions of Africans, and exhibits that glorified Belgium's "civilizing mission" while obscuring the atrocities committed. For decades, the museum made no mention of the 267 Congolese people brought to Belgium for the 1897 exhibition and displayed in a human zoo, with a sign reading "Do not feed the blacks, they have already been fed." This colonial legacy continued to shape Brussels' urban landscape and demographics. The Matongé district, named after a market in Kinshasa, emerged as the cultural heart of the city's Congolese community. This vibrant neighborhood represented a form of "reverse colonization," with African aesthetics, businesses, and cultural practices transforming a section of the former colonial power. Yet even this space existed under the shadow of gentrification, with rising rents threatening to displace the very communities that gave it life. The Belgian-Congolese artist community played a crucial role in confronting this colonial legacy. Artists like Cheri Samba and Marie Daulne used their work to challenge historical narratives and create new visions of Afropean identity. Daulne, whose father was murdered by Simba rebels during the Congo crisis of the early 1960s, coined the term "Afropean" with David Byrne to describe her cultural position. For her, this identity wasn't about forgetting colonial violence but about weaving different cultural threads into something new and empowering. The story of the Congo also revealed how European prosperity was built on colonial exploitation. The wealth extracted from the Congo, particularly ivory and rubber, funded Belgium's industrial development and the grand buildings that tourists admire today. This economic relationship continues in new forms, with resources like coltan (essential for electronics) flowing from the Democratic Republic of Congo to power Europe's digital economy, often under exploitative conditions that echo colonial patterns. For contemporary Afro-Belgians, confronting this history meant challenging Belgium's self-image as a small, innocent nation. The country's reluctance to fully acknowledge its colonial crimes created a disconnect between official narratives and lived experiences. As Belgian-Congolese painter Mufuki Mukuna explained: "Growing up in Brussels, I felt as though I was kind of in my own bubble, a world of silence. I never really felt at ease around black people or white people." This sense of dislocation reflected the unresolved tensions of a colonial past that continues to shape the present.

Chapter 4: Hidden Archives: Recovering Black European Intellectual Traditions

Amsterdam's relationship with its black history revealed a pattern of selective remembering and strategic forgetting during the early 2000s. While the Netherlands projected an image of tolerance and progressivism, it had largely erased the colonial foundations of its wealth and the contributions of black communities to its development. This erasure was challenged by a new generation of Afro-Dutch scholars and activists who began literally and figuratively excavating the hidden archives of black resistance in the Netherlands. The story of Otto and Hermina Huiswoud exemplified this forgotten history. Otto, born in Suriname to a father who had been enslaved, became the first black founding member of the American Communist Party after emigrating to New York. His wife Hermina, born in British Guyana, worked alongside him in political organizing. Together, they were central figures in the Harlem Renaissance, connecting with luminaries like Langston Hughes and Claude McKay. After facing persecution in the United States during the McCarthy era, they relocated to Amsterdam in the late 1940s, where they continued their political work through the Surinamese association Ons Suriname. For decades, their story remained largely unknown, buried in boxes of documents, photographs, and letters stored in the Ons Suriname building. It wasn't until a group of young Afro-Dutch students and professionals, the New Urban Collective, began organizing these materials that the Huiswouds' legacy was rediscovered. This process of recovery led to the establishment of the Black Archives, a collection dedicated to preserving black Dutch history and making it accessible to new generations. The Black Archives represented more than just a historical repository; it was a form of resistance against the Netherlands' colonial amnesia. As Jessica de Abreu, one of the founders, explained: "The archives are about understanding our history in terms of our own religions, cultures and resistance movements." By documenting the intellectual and political traditions of black Dutch communities, the Archives challenged the narrative that black history in Europe begins and ends with slavery, revealing instead a rich tradition of resistance, creativity, and community-building. This work of historical recovery took place against the backdrop of contemporary racism in Dutch society, most visibly embodied in the controversial figure of Zwarte Piet (Black Pete). This blackface character, portrayed as Santa's helper in Dutch Christmas celebrations, had become a flashpoint for debates about racism in the Netherlands. Activists protesting against Zwarte Piet faced violent arrests and public backlash, revealing the limits of Dutch tolerance when its racial assumptions were challenged. The resistance to acknowledging racism in the Netherlands stemmed from what scholar Gloria Wekker called "White Innocence" - "the dominant and cherished Dutch self-image characterized by a series of paradoxes that can be summed up by a general sense of being a small but ethically just nation that has something special to offer the world." This self-image made it difficult for many Dutch people to recognize how colonial patterns continued to shape contemporary society. The work of the Black Archives and similar initiatives represented a crucial intervention in this landscape of denial, recovering stories that provided resources for contemporary struggles against racism and exclusion.

Chapter 5: Spaces of Belonging: Creating Community in Urban Margins

Across European cities, black communities created distinctive spaces of belonging that challenged conventional urban narratives. These neighborhoods - from Brussels' Matongé to Amsterdam's Bijlmermeer - represented both the marginalization of black populations and their creative responses to exclusion. Through cultural practices, economic networks, and community organizations, residents transformed these spaces into vibrant centers of Afropean life during the 1970s through the early 2000s. Matongé, named after a market in Kinshasa, emerged as the cultural heart of Brussels' Congolese community. Walking through its streets revealed a different Brussels than the one presented in tourist brochures: jazz clubs shared boulevards with Afro hair salons, art galleries displayed contemporary African artists, and restaurants served cuisine from across the African continent. This neighborhood embodied what Cheri Samba depicted in his mural "Porte de Namur, Porte de l'amour" - a space where cultural transactions occurred within the European urban fabric. The economic life of Matongé revealed how immigrant communities created alternative systems of exchange. Many businesses served multiple functions - hair salons doubled as community centers, restaurants as meeting spaces, shops as informal galleries. This multifunctionality reflected both economic necessity and cultural values that prioritized community over specialization. As gallery owner Grégoire de Perlinghi explained, these spaces weren't just commercial enterprises but sites of cultural preservation and transmission. Amsterdam's Bijlmermeer presented a different model of black urban space. Originally designed as a modernist utopia for the white middle class, this massive housing project was largely abandoned by its intended residents. As Surinamese independence approached in 1975, immigrants facing housing discrimination elsewhere in Amsterdam began squatting in the empty apartments. Through this process of informal occupation, they transformed an architectural failure into a thriving community. The Bijlmer's history revealed how black communities often had to create space for themselves in the margins of European urban planning. As Jessica de Abreu, who grew up there, explained: "When you google 'Bijlmer' all you see is this idea of black criminality, but it was a thriving community built by a disenfranchised people in an unloved part of the city." This community-building occurred despite, not because of, official policies, demonstrating the agency of marginalized populations in shaping urban environments. These spaces of belonging faced constant threats from gentrification and urban renewal. In Matongé, rising rents displaced long-term residents and businesses, while the Bijlmer was partially demolished and redeveloped following the 1992 plane crash that brought international attention to the area. The construction of the Amsterdam Arena and accompanying commercial development introduced global capital into what was once a self-contained community economy. Despite these pressures, these neighborhoods continued to function as crucial sites of Afropean identity formation. They provided spaces where multiple cultural traditions could coexist and intermingle, where new generations could connect with diasporic histories, and where alternative economic and social models could be imagined. As one resident of the Bijlmer put it: "This is it. This is Afropea." These words captured how these urban spaces, despite their marginalization, represented the lived reality of being both African and European - not as separate identities but as a single, integrated experience.

Chapter 6: Cultural Resistance: From Hip-Hop to Political Organizing

Cultural resistance emerged as a defining feature of black European experience from the 1980s through the 2010s, taking forms ranging from music and visual art to intellectual production and political organizing. These creative expressions served not only as entertainment but as vehicles for preserving history, challenging dominant narratives, and imagining alternative futures. From hip-hop's emergence in post-industrial cities to the establishment of black archives and cultural institutions, these forms of resistance created spaces where Afropean identities could be articulated and celebrated. Hip-hop culture emerged as a powerful form of expression in European cities facing deindustrialization in the 1980s and 1990s. In Sheffield, as the steel industry collapsed under Thatcher's policies, council estates became concrete canvases for graffiti artists, while tower blocks broadcast pirate radio stations playing music that mainstream outlets ignored. This cultural flowering represented both creative resistance and a response to economic marginalization. As one Sheffield artist explained, hip-hop provided a language to critique "big adverts, making money, selling lies... The advertisers try to vandalize our minds with images of a materialistic society." The parallels between American and European hip-hop revealed shared experiences of urban neglect and racial exclusion. In Paris's banlieues, French hip-hop developed as a response to the isolation and police harassment faced by black and Arab youth. The music's emphasis on locality - celebrating specific neighborhoods and housing projects - provided a sense of pride and belonging for communities often portrayed negatively in mainstream media. As in America, European hip-hop turned constraints into creativity, weaving "intricate, multisyllabic rhyme schemes and evocative stories" within the "musical prison" of limited resources. Beyond music, visual artists played crucial roles in challenging colonial representations and creating new visions of black European identity. Belgian-Congolese painter Mufuki Mukuna described his work as "Belgian in style but personal in content," reflecting his position between cultures. For Mukuna and others, art provided a means to explore the complexities of Afropean identity without reducing it to simplistic categories. Their work challenged both the exoticization of Africa in European art and the pressure to produce work that conformed to stereotypical notions of "African art." Political organizing took various forms across different national contexts. In France, movements like the Mouvement des Indigènes de la République challenged the myth of colorblind republicanism by highlighting how colonial histories continued to shape contemporary discrimination. In the Netherlands, activists protesting against the racist caricature Zwarte Piet (Black Pete) faced violent arrests and public backlash, revealing the limits of Dutch tolerance when its racial assumptions were challenged. These movements built coalitions across different ethnic groups, recognizing shared experiences of marginalization. Perhaps the most significant form of cultural resistance was the establishment of independent black institutions and archives. Amsterdam's Black Archives, created by young Afro-Dutch scholars and activists, preserved materials documenting black intellectual and political traditions in the Netherlands. By recovering the stories of figures like Otto and Hermina Huiswoud, the Archives challenged the erasure of black contributions to Dutch history and provided resources for contemporary struggles against racism. The concept of Afropean identity itself represented a form of cultural resistance, challenging both European nationalism that defined Europeanness as white and diaspora politics that located authentic blackness elsewhere. By insisting on the legitimacy of being simultaneously African and European, Afropean cultural production created new possibilities for belonging that transcended established categories. As Marie Daulne of Zap Mama put it: "The work I do brings two cultures together. Neither one dominates, and that's how it should be. I take what I have as a European and what I have as an African."

Chapter 7: Pushkin's Legacy: Black Figures in European Cultural Canon

In the heart of Moscow stands a statue of Alexander Pushkin, widely regarded as the greatest Russian writer and the founder of modern Russian literature. What many visitors fail to notice, however, is what Claude McKay observed when he visited the monument: "I saw the Negro plainly in his face." Pushkin's African heritage, through his great-grandfather Abram Gannibal, represents one of the most significant yet overlooked chapters in European literary history, revealing how blackness has been integrated into European cultural canons while simultaneously being erased from historical narratives. Abram Gannibal's extraordinary journey from Central Africa to the Russian imperial court began with his kidnapping at age seven in the early 18th century. After being taken to Constantinople as a servant for a sultan, he was acquired by a Russian ambassador and gifted to Tsar Peter the Great. Recognizing the boy's intelligence, Peter became his godfather and mentor, providing him with the finest education available in Russia before sending him to Paris to study military science. Despite facing periods of exile and discrimination after Peter's death, Gannibal eventually rose to become a general, governor, and landowner, known to his peers as "the black Lord." Through his granddaughter Nadezhda Osipovna Pushkina, Abram Gannibal became the great-grandfather of Alexander Pushkin, who took pride in this African heritage. Pushkin even began writing a semi-biographical novel about Gannibal titled "The Moor of Peter the Great," which, though unfinished, presented one of the most nuanced portrayals of a black character in European literature of its time. Through this lineage, members of aristocracy across contemporary Europe, including British aristocrats like the Mountbattens and the Duchess of Westminster, can trace their heritage back to this African man who became an important figure in Russian history. Pushkin's significance extends beyond his literary achievements. As a figure who was simultaneously central to Russian national identity yet connected to Africa, he embodies a complex, integrated form of blackness in Europe that defies simple categorization. Unlike many historical black figures who are remembered primarily as slaves or colonial subjects, Pushkin transcended racial categories while never denying his African ancestry. His work was embedded in mainstream Russian culture to such a degree that his mixed heritage became secondary to his status as a national literary icon. This integration offers a powerful counternarrative to simplified versions of European history that present blackness as always external or marginal. Unlike the United States, where civil rights leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. have been incorporated into national mythology, Europe often fails to acknowledge how black figures have shaped its cultural and intellectual traditions. The absence of such figures from standard historical narratives creates a false impression that authentic European identity must be white. Pushkin's legacy also reveals the complex relationship between European nations and their black histories. During the Soviet era, Pushkin's African ancestry was sometimes highlighted as part of the USSR's anti-racist stance and support for decolonization movements. After the fall of communism, however, this aspect of his identity received less attention as Russia embraced a more nationalist self-image. This shifting emphasis demonstrates how black European figures are remembered or forgotten according to changing political needs. For contemporary Afro-Europeans searching for historical anchors, Pushkin represents a complex legacy. His story suggests possibilities for belonging that go beyond the binary of assimilation versus separation. The term "Afropean" itself points toward this kind of hybrid identity - one that refuses to be reduced to stereotypes while also refusing to deny its plurality and complexity. In Pushkin's writing and life, we find a model for telling transgressive stories that cross boundaries and challenge simplified narratives about race, nation, and belonging.

Summary

Throughout this journey across European cities, we've witnessed how African diaspora communities have forged distinctive Afropean identities that challenge conventional understandings of European belonging. These identities emerge from complex histories of migration, colonialism, resistance, and cultural innovation, creating hybrid forms that are neither simply African nor European but something genuinely new. The central tension running through these experiences is between exclusion and belonging – how black Europeans have created spaces of community and cultural expression despite systematic marginalization, and how these creations have transformed Europe itself. The Afropean experience offers crucial insights for our increasingly interconnected world. It demonstrates how cultural hybridity can be a source of creativity and resilience rather than confusion or weakness. It reveals how communities can maintain distinctive identities while participating in broader societies, challenging assimilationist models that demand cultural erasure as the price of belonging. Perhaps most importantly, it shows how Europe's future lies not in a return to mythical cultural purity but in embracing the complex, multicultural reality that already exists in its cities. By recognizing the longstanding presence and contributions of African diaspora communities, we can move toward a more inclusive understanding of European identity – one that acknowledges how deeply European and African histories are intertwined and how this entanglement continues to shape our shared future.

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Johny Pitts

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