its fucking exhausting, thatâ€s what it is!

It sounds like a lot of words, black African intersectional feminist, but all these words, in this order are necessary. And, yes, I fully recognise how problematic and limiting labels can be, but this is one label I wear with pride. It lets others know that my every day a feminist life recognises that our social, biological, economic and geographical categorisations, such as race, gender, class, ability, and sexual orientation interact on multiple and simultaneous levels and contribute to systematic injustice and social inequality (Side note 3: Here I am relying on definitions provided by a long line of black intersectional feminists but mainly Kimberlé Crenshaw and Patricia Hill Collins). This label is a warning sign to others that my every day a feminist life resists any and all forms of social justice work that seeks only to address a single form of discrimination or oppression. (Side note 4: This is one example of how I would answer, “what does my every day a feminist life mean for others?”) Most importantly, because this is often overlooked, the label black African intersectional feminist is in direct response to all those who seek to label feminism as un-African. As my mother said, feminism “was not imposed on us [Africans] by the United Nations or by Western feminists, but has an independent history.” That is why this label is necessary – long as it is – it is an abbreviation for the theoretical underpinnings of my feminism and if black African intersectional feminist is the theory then every day a feminist is the practice.

I use the term “every day a feminist” to convey the unbroken and consistent existence of my feminism. (Side note 5: I purposely use “every day” as opposed to “everyday” because there is nothing commonplace or normal about the feminism I practice. Its very existence is to challenge the norm.) It is who I am, it is who I have always been, it is what I do, it is what I have always done, it is what I believe, it is what I have always believed. As Lola Okolosie says of her own identity as a black feminist, the naming happened after the fact. Perhaps this is why my initial reaction was to describe it as exhausting, because 30 something years, every day a feminist can get tiring but it is also something I enjoy. I particularly enjoy the interaction, love and support present within intersectional feminists spaces so yes maybe it is nice too. Both of these words, I guess are ok when it comes to describing this every day a feminist life, but I still think they are not enough. Between nice and exhausting (if this was a spectrum – which I donâ€t think it is) there is a whole lot more. “Nice” and “exhausting” speak to moments, instances that occur as part of my every day a feminist journey. In thinking of every day a feminist as a lived experience, that has a past, present and future I much prefer Nyaboe Makiyaâ€s conceptualization of feminism as survival. The label is black African intersectional feminist, every day a feminist is how I live this label and I live every day a feminist as an act of survival.

I first came to live in England in 1982 and as a young child the racism I experienced was so unbearable that I would tell my parents I wanted to go back to Kenya because England didnâ€t like me. Then finally returning to Kenya in 1986 only for my father to be detained without trial by the Kenyan Government. Four years later being back in the UK, this time as asylum seekers/refugees because clearly Kenya didnâ€t like me either. And we all know how the UK feels about immigrants. This time we lived in a council estate and I attended a failing inner city London school. It was the early 1990s, surrounded by people who looked like me, but just like when I was in Kenya I learned that this was not enough. Other black students would “joke” that I came from Africa on an elephant. A careers advisor, a black woman, told me instead of working towards law school I should, at the end of my GCSEs, consider employment at a supermarket. My good grades be damned because apparently something about me rendered a university education unattainable. Finally attending university and realising that race was not a part of the law curriculum; gender however, was and I was encouraged to think about how the law (according to white feminists) affected me as a woman, because this was apparently the only identity that mattered. Later in life, working in development with white men who insist they cannot be racist because they are helping poor people in Africa. While out at a bar in Lancaster with my siblings a random white woman approaches us and without invitation, conversation or approval on our part takes out her camera and starts to take pictures of us. I confronted her, her response “I thought you were famous”. The list goes on. Initially I couldnâ€t articulate how I felt about these instances because I was too young. Later on, while at university I would stumble on the works of Collins, Crenshaw, Audre Lorde, bell hooks, Angela P. Harris (to name a few) and it all made sense. I understood now why my parents had insisted I only play with black dolls and why my at home reading consisted of nothing but writers of colour. I thought that every time they had stood in and stood up for me was simply because they were my parents. I understood now that while it was of course motivated by parental love, it was a love rooted in black African intersectional feminism. How could I as an adult reject the practice that had helped me survive? I didnâ€t know any other way to navigate this world, I still donâ€t know any other way to do so and even if I did I wouldnâ€t choose any other way.

I am an every day a feminist because that is how I am able to survive, but black African intersectional feminism reminds me that it is not enough for me to survive; others have to survive too and my every day a feminist life calls on me to  (1) support others so that they can survive and (2) make sure that I am not complicit in the un-survivability of others. This is perhaps the most important answer to the question “what does my every day a feminist life mean for others?” In recognizing the intersectionality of identities and systems of oppressions, I am also acknowledging that I can be both a victim and beneficiary of these power structures. Being an every day feminist means that I too, as a western living/educated, middle class heterosexual cis-gendered and able-bodied person, must check my privilege. My every day a feminist approach makes me suspicious of forms of feminism that are not intersectional. My every day feminist stance is unforgiving of human rights artivism that relies on misogyny. My every day feminist life has no patience for “wait your turn” anti-oppression work that deems the struggles of LGTBQI people as not important right now.  White tears will never dampen my every day a feminist life. For those that come at me with “not all white people” and/or “not all men” my every day a feminist voice will yell back “Shut up your face!” And by now, people really should know the answer to the question “why is everything about patriarchy?” but for those who wonder, every day a feminist means every thing through feminism. Honestly though, I am too busy living this every day a feminist life to educate those who continually un-hear the voices of other intersectional feminists.

I was before; I am now and always will be a black African intersectional feminist. I live every day a feminist because the alternatives make my life and the lives of so many other people un-liveable. Every day a feminist, unapologetically.

Yasmin Gunaratnamâ€

If I was to chart a chronology of my education on racism, based on my childhood memories, I would say the racists were my first educators.  Sadly this is not a unique experience.  In my case, it was the National Front who brought the message home – literally.  Within a few days of moving in to our apartment in Hounslow,  we found a Union Jack and the words  “Go home P**i” spray-painted on our door . My parents knew it was the National Front because they initialed the message with the letters “NF and for further clarity, their message was uncensored.

This was not an isolated incident. The harassment continued, it intensified and it metamorphosised into more confrontational and dangerous forms of abuse. I had a sense that what was happening was wrong, not least because my parents would often inform the police but being a child I was more pre-occupied with what was happening at school.

I had just become the new girl at school and one of only two black children. Alison. That was her name; the other black girl. I knew that Alison and I were similar because only Alison and I were referred to as “doo-doo face” by the other children.  Alison and I were the only ones who would stand at the very back of the dinner-time queue, a safe distance apart from all the other children who refused to stand next us because they didn’t want the brown dirt on our skin to rub off on to theirs.

I told my parents about the name calling, not because I knew it to be racist. I just knew name calling was bad. I also told my parents about the children not wanting to stand near us, or wanting to play with us. This was a daily occurrence and my motherâ€s visits to the school were almost as frequent. In spite of my motherâ€s involvement the behaviour did not change.

Eventually (though not necessarily because of the racism at home and at school) we moved out of Hounslow, to South London; a new neighbourhood and a new school, both more diverse.

If my telling of all this seems a little disjointed, it is in part to do with my own memory but also a reflection of how, at that young age my mind processed things. I saw no connection between what the National Frontâ€s harassment of my family and the behaviour of my classmate other than that both of these were wrong and that my parents†did everything they could to tackle both problems. What stuck in my mind, especially in relation to the racism I experienced at school was that my parents insisted that I report every incident to them and my teachers. Even after I told my parents that I was now a “doo-doo faced tell-tale” the message remained the same; don’t put up with it, report it. While my teachers did very little, my parents took action every time I told them.

I do sometimes wonder about the other children who were at my school, the ones who were being racist, what did they learn? What conversations were taking place in their households? While I was learning “don’t put up with it” were they learning “don’t do it”?  Why is it that is often people of colour who have to find ways to deal with and prepare for racism?  Iâ€m not sure what the answer these or to Gunaratnamâ€s questions are. I am not a parent, and even if I was, I still donâ€t think I would have an answer.  All I have are the valuable lessons passed on to me from my parents. I should not ignore racism. I do not have to accept racism and even when the act is of resistance is met with further abuse I should not be deterred. Tell someone, challenge it –whatever is in your power to do – but never put up with it.

This means, at least for me, that while the racists may have been my first educators, it is the lessons from my parents that has endured.

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Photocredit: A thumbnail image associated with this post appears on the site’s front page.  The picture is from Dominic Jacques-Bernard‘s  (jacquesy_m) Flickr stream and is published under a Creative Common’s license.

Eduardo Bonilla-Silvaâ€s

“new racism that entails individuals saying and doing things that perpetuate racial stereotypes and inequalities, but they do so in such a way that the offender is able to deny being explicitly racist.”

The definition emphasises the privilege of deniability that coded racism bestows on the offender, however it does not fully articulate the impact coded-racism has on the “victim” of racism.  The ambiguity present in coded-racism that allows an offender to deny their wrong doing is the same ambiguity that makes it difficult for those on the receiving end to actually call out well-disguised racism.  Feeling uncertain about whether something/someone is racist, or if someone is using code words, and if so how to address it, is an uncomfortable and lonely place to be.  Yet that is exactly where I find myself every time I watch another Thug Notes video.

Thug Notes Trailer

On the surface of it, the premise of the channel and its videos is very simple.  Each video features, a male African American literary scholar, Sweet Sparky, PhD who provides a summary and analysis of a popular English literature text; a  Cliff Notes for the digital age. However just like any classic work of literature one cannot ignore Thug Noteâ€s subtext; and it is this subtext that I suspect is the cause of my unease.

Despite Sweet Sparky being the only person you see and hear in each video, Napkin Note Productions, a company that aims to create films that “tickle your brain and warm your heart”, are responsible for Thug Notes.  Sweet Sparky is played by actor-turned-comedian Greg Edwards who is supported behind the scenes by a crew that includes Napkin Note founder Jared Bauer (credited as Show Creator, Writer and Executive Producer). The rationale for the project is that, “if education was funny, more kids would want to learn.”  Through this project Napkin Note want to “deliver intelligent summary and analysis of classical literature” and “… to spread the gospel of literature.”  Clearly a significant amount of thought has gone into the creation and execution of this project and while not wanting to take anything away from this, Iâ€m still left with some lingering questions regarding Thug Notes.

For instance were the creators aware of the on-going debate surrounding the use of the word Thug as a racially coded-word? Whilst I am not 100% certain that “Thug” is the new N Word and thus should be considered off-limits; I am of the opinion that some words cannot be understood without exploring their contextual basis.  In trying to establish context within Thug Notes, both as a project and as a YouTube channel, I was immediately drawn to its tagline; “Classic Literature, Original Gangster”.   The phrase “Original Gangster” often abbreviated to ‘OG†has its roots in late ‘80s, early 90s Hip-Hop.  Thus my inference is that Thug Notes use of the word “thug” is in some way related to hip-hopâ€s use of the word; a word that the late rapper Tupac Shakur passionately defined as:

When I say ‘Thug Life,†I mean that shit. Cause these white folks see us as thugs. I donâ€t care what yâ€all think I donâ€t care if you think you a lawyer, if you a man, if you an ‘African-Americanâ€. If you whatever the f*ck you think you are. We thugs and n*gg@s to these motherf*ckers… (Transcript via Political BlindSpot)

I think one of the reasons I am uncomfortable with “thug” in the context of Thug Notes and its tagline is that one could very easily replace “lawyer” in Tupacâ€s statement with “English literary scholar” and the meaning of Tupacâ€s explanation would remain the same.   At the very least, what is apparent to me is that there is a degree of racist stereotyping that I am certainly not at ease with and none of this is made better by the visuals that accompany Thug Notes.

Sweet Sparky addresses his viewers from what may just as well be Jane Austenâ€s reading room.  Hardback books fill the shelves behind his period drama style armchair, a decanter of some brown, presumably alcoholic, liquid rests on the side table to his right; and then there is the man himself. More specifically his clothing; a do-rag on his head; an oversize gold chain hanging from his neck, a sleeveless shirt exposing muscular arms,  and bare-legs sitting in lace-less high-top  shoes.  Irrespective of the creators†intention the visual presented by Thug Notes creates a juxtaposition that perpetuates racist stereotyping i.e. the modern day black brute in an environment that one does not expect to find him in.   It relies on long-standing falsehoods that have positioned black people as intellectually inferior; forgoing the library in order to live the gangster life.  If this is supposed to elicit some sort of “oh, thatâ€s clever!” reaction from the viewer; it had the opposite effect on me.  I wasnâ€t pleasantly surprised.  I wasnâ€t surprised.  I felt the same old “hmm…I donâ€t know…” feeling that so often accompanies instances of coded-racism.

As if Sweet Sparkyâ€s appearance is not enough, how he speaks is designed to reinforce his status as an Original Gangster.  Sentences are punctuated with ‘Naâ€mean?†(You know what I mean?), and the occasional ‘bitch†is thrown in for good measure.  If I were being generous I would say Thug Notes is Rap  Genius†distant cousin; in that Rap-Genius interprets rap music in to English literature style “prose” and Thug Notes interprets English literature into rap style speak.  In this limited definition both do an excellent job. The meaning is not lost and there is knowledge to be gained.  However, I cannot watch Thug Notes without being reminded of the example bell hooks gave in her book, ‘We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity‘ of a

“middle-class black who had never spoken broken English or a black patois was being forced to assume a “ghetto rap” that signified to his co-workers that he was really black.”

I donâ€t know Sweet Sparkyâ€s back story but what I do know is that the Napkin Note team decided that best way to make learning funny was through the performance of blackness that relies on stereotypes of black male intellect and masculinity.  Thug Notes explicit purpose may be beneficial and Napkin Notes ‘explicit intentions may be benign and from a social media numbers game perspective, with over 130,600 YouTube subscribers, 10,000 Facebook fans and 3,900+ Twitter followers, it is a success.  However, for me, I still cannot shake away that feeling of unease and discomfort that I get whenever I find myself confronted with coded-racism.

I do try and be critical when I read yet another story by Western media that attempts to barbarise African behaviour but upon reading about South African thieves forcefully cutting off peopleâ€s dreadlocks I must confess that my critical analysis took a back seat to my more basic instinct of mild outrage.

As someone who has been locked since 2000, this violent violation struck me on a personal level.  Lest, this mild outrage be misconstrued as vanity (“It is only hair”; “It will grow back” etc) I feel the need to point out why cutting of someoneâ€s locks constitutes such a personal violation.  Of course there is the most obvious reason – an individual (or individuals) performing an action on your person without your consent; but there are other reasons and these may apply to theft of hair in general but at this point in time I speak specifically from a black female locked person perspective.

Anyone with locks will understand, if only at the subconscious level, how much of a commitment it is.  Locks on one level may just be a hairstyle but on another they are constructed as a political statement. Lock nomenclature is problematic; with some preferring to refer to them as locks over what they perceive as the negative term “dreadlocks”. I interchangeably refer to my hair as locks, dreads, dreadlocks with no particular preference for any and for this post Iâ€m using locks out of convenience – I am not taking stand either way in relation to labelling my (or anyone elseâ€s) hair.

The process of locking hair is equally divisive. Differing views on  how one starts their locks; the method of maintaining locks or non maintenance; who can lock their hair  creates all manner of tensions.  There is of course the wider politics of “black hair”.  When we commit to locking our hair we acknowledge we are (often unwillingly) being thrown into and judged by the standards of a highly politicised, gendered and racialised space.

In some spheres, so great is the misunderstanding of locks that a number of stereotypes and misconceptions have emerged; resulting in people with locks facing some odd questions and statements.  Linked to this is the fetishisation of locks which can lead to some very uncomfortable situations for those with locks.  Perhaps the biggest commitment is giving in to the unknown.  Beyond the general styling and maintenance you commit to just letting your hair grow; however it chooses to.  It is a gamble and for some people it pays off and their locks grow without problems; for others it may take years of trial and error (including starting over a few times) before they get the locks they want.  What makes this even more of a risk is that there is no end point.  Of course there are stages to the lock growth process; but your locks keep growing and changing and the problem locks can start at any time in process – you just never know.

This is what we commit to.  So to have that ripped off you in what is being termed as a ‘cut and run†can cause distress on so many levels.

I donâ€t spend a lot of time thinking about the issues I have just mentioned.  In fact my day-to-day lock concerns sit in the first world problems domain (“will the hot water run out mid shampoo?” do I have to sit through hours of Top Gun as my husband retwists my hair?”).   That is of course until Iâ€m confronted with these issues that I just mentioned; which is exactly what these crimes and more specifically the recent reporting does.

Apparently, “Johannesberg police said they had only one case of dreadlock theft officially reported last year, but anecdotal evidence indicates the crime is on the rise. Women are said to be the most vulnerable“.  That not withstanding the news has been reported by quite a few outlets of varying size, reach and credibility and nearly all give the impression that this some sort epidemic. So now not only do people with locks have to deal with the tension, politics, stereotypes and just general drama; they have to contend with feelings of fear and panic possibly brought on by sensationalised reporting of an already misunderstood hairstyle.

The hair thieves are supposedly responding to more people wanting dreadlocks and wanting them now; and salons are being said to pay a lot for locks that they can then weave into their clients’ hair.  The images of, dodgy salons and their supposedly desperate clientele  add to existing stereotypes of deviant black behaviour and all of it is enough to leave a locked sister mildly outraged.

I am halfway through my MSc in Practising Sustainable Development (ICT4D specialism) and while as part-time student I still have quite a bit of time before I have to start my dissertation; it is hard not to start the thinking process.  For a long time now I have been interested in Critical Race Theory (CRT)  and one of the things I am keen to research is how  CRT can be used as a theoretical approach to Development studies and practice, particularly ICT4D.  I am also interested in the construction of race in the digital age and how technology is challenging and reshaping views on racial identity.

One of my biggest hurdles at the moment is how little research there is on race and development, particularly outside the conventional binaries of racial haves and have-nots.  So I decided to start a stand-alone blog; Race and ICT4D, which at this stage is simple link dumping site, where I post links that cover race, technology and development.  I have for the moment, steered clear of any analysis and commentary though I imagine, that as I develop my own ideas, I will start  to write more critically.   It is quite a struggle because so often I read something – and I immediately want to comment – but that is what my personal blog is for.

The other thing I am struggling with is how to link to restricted access academic papers.  As a student I have full access to these journals but I am well aware that is not the case for everyone else. I find it a bit limiting to reference an article in a blog post knowing that some readers may not be able to access the article.

It is still very much an evolving project and I am sure as I progress I will find solutions to some of the above (and hopefully many other) issues.  What I really hope is that by providing a public space I can, firstly keep track of my sources but most importantly I can begin to engage with others on similar topics.

Please feel free to send me any links, book titles, articles etc.  that you think may be of interest.

It has been a long while since I considered myself a blogger.  So long in fact that even the claim to being a ‘sometimes blogger†has started to wear thin.  So, forgive me if I am a little rusty.  A lot has happened in the time between my regular blogging and now. To name a few big changes: I got married, co-founded an ICT4D social enterprise and more recently I have returned to study.

These changes undoubtedly affect a personâ€s perception and opinions and oneâ€s articulation of the same.  And to add to this, I firmly believe that being a blogger is not just defined by what you write but by your interaction with other blogs and bloggers.  To be a true blogger, one, I believe, has to be both a reader of and a writer of blogs. And boy hasnâ€t blogging come a long way since those early days?

As I read through old posts, they sound slightly different and I question if that voice, way back in 2005 was “really me” and as I began to formulate new posts I was conscious that perhaps my new posts which reflect the changes I have  been through, when read alongside my old posts may not sound “like me”.  I also thought about the changing blogsphere in particular the Kenyan blogsphere and wondered if I my voice would fit in to this new place.

Then I was reminded of an article by Professor Angela P. Harris on race and gender essentialism that I read as an undergraduate; an article which is, for good reason, one of the most cited law review articles of all time.   Harris challenges the idea that individuals speak with one unified voice; instead she suggests, that we all speak with a “welter of partial, sometimes contradictory, or even antithetical” voices.  She refers to this as “multiple consciousness” and states that this consciousness is not a “final outcome…but a process”.  So as I begin my return to blogging I am comforted by the fact that all my posts, both old and new are still a reflection of who I am; an insight into my  “multiple consciousness”.  My blog is “home to both the  first  and  the  second voices,  and  all  the  voices  in  between.”

So this is it…a brief sound check …as I get ready for my return to blogging…

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Image Source:  p_a_h via Flickr – reproduced under Creative Commons license

In case you missed it; the first story is about Mary Bale or “Evil Cat Woman” as she is known all over the Internet. She gained this name due to CCTV footage that records her placing a cat in a wheelie bin. It is an act of senseless cruelty that deserves condemnation. Mary Bale received more than condemnation and ended up being placed in protective custody.

The second story involves musician Morrissey, who in response to Chinaâ€s mistreatment of animals stated,

Absolutely horrific. You can’t help but feel that the Chinese are a subspecies (source: The Guardian)

There is some furore in the papers regarding this racist statement but Morrissey is not in protective custody.

The message that seems to be coming out of these stories is that any violent, malicious, or offensive action is justified if the intended victim has violated the rights of an animal.

This really does not sit well with me but I think at the root of all of this is the fact that we live in a society that seems comfortable with the idea of assigning personhood to animals even it results in our dehumanisation; and I witnessed this first hand last weekend.

Background

It is no secret that I am not a fan of dogs. I donâ€t hate dogs. I do however have a healthy fear of dogs, especially big dogs. I am not scared of all dogs; in fact once I spend time in the company of a particular dog I find that I can get on quite well with that dog. This makes sense to me because all animals are different; some are friendly, some are not. I have had a hard time explaining this distinction to certain dog lovers and dog owners who seem aghast that I will not join them in their public display of affection for a dog whose ownerâ€s name they do not know.

“Oh but he looks so cute”; they say, as they proceed to ruffle the fur of this stranger†pet. This is often followed by many questions about why I do not like dogs. I must have had some traumatic experience to explain my irrational fear of an animal that has the capability to maul a person to death.

Disclosure:
Yes as a young child in Kenya, while walking home from school, I was chased by a pack of dogs and the owner stood there and watched. But…even before the dogs chased me, I remember seeing them, feeling very scared and then running for my life. So it wasnâ€t the dog chasing incident that made me scared of dogs, all it did was prove me right that some dogs are vicious and it is far easier to avoid them all then to risk life or limb trying to work out which ones are not.

Last Weekend
I was at a pub that is a favourite for dog owners and I endured my regular grilling on why I am not a dog lover. I then asked a few questions of my own such as why would anyone take a dog to a bar? The discussion went on for a while until we reached the point that I always dread. The part where someone will argue that owning a dog is no different to being a parent and that children and pets are not only the same thing but interchangeable.

A parent is NOT the same as a pet owner.
I cannot understand how anyone can argue that dog and baby equals the same thing. In my mind babies and by extension human beings are not the same as animals and I often use a simple test.

If I had one plate of food before me and I had a hungry dog and a hungry child I would feed the child. If I had to save a drowning man or a drowning dog, I would save the drowning man.

Why? Because human beings are not comparable to animals.

I am not condoning the abuse of animals. I am also not arguing that every person who cares for an animal will take to attacking the likes of Mary Bale. What I do recognise however is a connection between how easy it is for Morrissey to dehumanise an entire nation and how easy it is for an individual to dehumanise a baby all in the name of animal personhood.

reconnect peopleâ€s everyday lives with politics through collecting and sharing stories of when people first became aware of the bigger world around them.

I grew up in a very political household so trying to identify my first memory is complicated. When I look back to my “politically formative years”, which I place somewhere between the ages of 4 and 7 all I see is a kaleidoscope of memories.

Is my first political memory to be found in the pages of my book collection that included titles such as “Nelson Mandela for Kids”, “Harriet Tubman for Kids”?

Or did it start with the curtain call that preceeded my role in the Wazelendo Players’ production of Ngugi Wa Thiongo’s The Trial of Dedan Kimathi?

Perhaps it is in the tune of Bandiera Rossa; a song I learned to sing without so much as knowing what language it was in!

Maybe it lies within the pixels that made up the was the framed poster of Malcolm X in our living room?.

I was about six years old at the time and I was used to going on both leisure and protest walks with my parents, which often ended with me eating an Orange ice lolly (if the weather was nice) or a pack of Opal Fruits and/or Jaffa Cakes. For the most part there was nothing special about this particular walk until we got to Number 10. The crowed stopped and in unison began a call and response chant that went like this:

Caller: Maggie, Maggie, Maggie!!
Crowd: Out, out, out!
Caller: Botha, Botha, Botha!!
Crowd: Out, out, out!!

At the age of six, to be part of the 15,000 people who chanted in unison was an amazing experience. At the time I must admit that I thought we were calling for them to open the door and step outside. It was only as I grew older, as I started to learn more about Apartheid and Thatcherism, that I was able to connect the dots. It was this demonstration that helped me understand that Apartheid as an ideology and as a regime did not exist in isolation. In 2010, as the Conservative Party rolls out its “I’ve never voted Tory before” campaign, I can respond and say,

I’ve never voted Tory because they supported Apartheid

What is your first political memory? Get sharing!
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With thanks Mark Pack for his LDV post – ‘cos that’s how I learned about this!

Sometimes, you can just hop in the back of someone’s cab and tell them what they’re supposed to do. Other times, you have to let him look out at the ocean for a while.

– Jacob, Lost Season 6

Zuqka’s feature on MamaJunkYard is the literal equivalent of hopping into my cab and telling me I need to get back to blogging. This is what Kamau Mutunga wrote:

Her relationship status is “not on the market.” Unless youâ€re Thierry Henry. She likes Tia Maria, coffee, purple, travel, family and God, though not necessarily in that order. She hates balloons, pumpkins and prejudices. Her interests are race, gender, sexuality and critical legal theories. Her first pets were rabbits, and she has two tattoos and six body piercings. Bloggers rarely describe themselves with much detail, but there you have a bio peek at Kui, Mrs Cooper or to her blog fans, Mama Junk Yard.

Indeed, Mama Junk Yardâ€s rants about anything under and over the sun. Kui has lived abroad, but works in Nigeria. From how foreigners talk and silly questions about oneâ€s country. So, her entries are observations of a footloose, uprooted Kenyan. You will learn that “Kubwa” might be Kiswahili for “big” and “Nyanya” is grandmother, but why does it also mean tomato? Well those two are names of places in Naija too. And “well done” doesnâ€t connote congratulations. It is a greeting. When feeling unwell donâ€t be shocked when asked “how you body de?” “How far” is not about distance, but “how is it going.” And when someone flashes your phone, donâ€t call back. They were “just de greet you O!” Mrs Cooper hasnâ€t been blogging actively, and her archives might give a better impression of Mama JunkYard.

There are few things there that need updating, e.g. I am no longer in Nigeria….but that’s even more reason for me to get back to blogging!

The North West win has not come as a surprise. In the run up to the election nearly every other party tried to convince the electorate that a vote for them would count as an anti-BNP vote. The threat of a BNP win was real. What is unreal is this seeming unwillingness to accept that there are racist people in the UK (at least 132,094 live in the North West) and that on June 4th these racist people exercised their democratic right and duly sent not one but two -Nazis to represent the rest of us in Brussels.

Apparently all this is the fault of the mainstream political parties. It was they who alienated and excluded “regular voters” from the political and democratic process. That the BNP win is a direct result of the frustration that “regular voters” feel and have felt for a long time – they have expressed this frustration by way of a protest vote.

Rubbish. Utter rubbish.

Firstly, if Labour, Conservatives and Liberal Democrats are deemed mainstream political parties, the remaining eight options on the North West ballot paper should have provided sufficient choice for those seeking an alternative view. Failing that, the right to invalidate oneâ€s ballot paper is the ultimate protest vote but it comes as no surprise that BNP voters did not take this course of action. Those who voted in favour of Griffinâ€s party were not protesting; they were endorsing a hate group that has unfortunately been allowed to masquerade as a political party.

Secondly, to assume that a sense of disillusionment and disenfranchisement is reason enough for a “regular voter” to lend his or her support to a hate group is a leap in a logic that I am unwilling to take. Unless of course regular voters” is code name for “racist, homophobic and xenophobic white voters.”

If the BNPâ€s relative success in the European Parliamentary Election shall be discussed along the lines of finding fault and apportioning blame then I have no problem in placing all the blame on the BNP voters around the UK but in particular those in the North West and York and Humber region.

Whatever forms the discussion will take; there is no room for those who argue that the BNP supporters are unaware of the partyâ€s racist, homophobic and xenophobic beliefs, or that BNP voter is well meaning but ill educated person who has been duped. If condemnation for the BNP party is (almost) universal then the same should be true of its supporters.

We certainly should not attempt to portray them as victims; they seem to be doing a good job of it themselves. Listening to Nick Griffin citing the Race Relations Act as the basis of potential law suits against employers who sack BNP supporters is reason enough for us to raise the level of the debate surrounding the BNP and its existence as a political party.

One reason why I detest the BNP so much is because I, like so many others, can see through the name change that transformed the National Front into its present form. Comparisons have been made between the BNP and the Ku Klux Klan and I could not agree more with these comparisons. Yet unlike the KKK, the BNP has been granted political party status, which has resulted in what Mshairi describes as a schizophrenic relationship between the rest of the nation and the party and its supporters.

That is why on the one hand the BNP can appear on a ballot paper yet its members are denied the right to openly associate with their party of choice. It is the same flawed logic that saw the other North West MEPs refuse to share a stage with Nick Griffin as he gave his victory speech despite the fact that they will be sharing a forum in Brussels.

I think our leaders and law makers need to decide where they stand on the issue of the BNP and should that day ever come, I hope they are bold enough to place BNP in the same category as all other hate groups and revoke their political party status. Until that time our discussion of the BNP and its increasing support be limited by this rather bizarre cycle of misplaced blame and unwarranted empathy.