In a much debated OpEd last week by former conservative MP, Louise Mensch, Mensch defiantly declares that intersectionality is bollocks and that she for one, has “no intention of checking her privilege”. Mensch went on to hold this intersectional bollocks culpable for “the modern feminist movement […] wasting most of its time in frenzied internal debate about absolutely nothing and in the process, solving absolutely nothing.”

However, mind you, feminists in America were excluded from Mensch’s critique because they, after all, practice “power feminism” that “is about running for office, founding a company, becoming COO of Facebook or Yahoo.”

First of all let me just say that American feminists are no less grappling with intersectionality than any others are, or did it escape Mensch that the term intersectionality was coined in the US? As for power feminism, sure, I agree that American feminists are worthy of the praise in many aspects, but their impact is not due to an absence of intersectional feminism but rather it owes much thanks to it. Secondly, intersectional feminism is real feminism, the term describes real experiences, if not Mensch’s.

Nevertheless, I welcomed Mensch’s OpEd for two reasons.

First and foremost because no good idea is left uncontested, especially not by those who fear the change it may usher. If no one’s arguing about an idea, it means it isn’t saying something new. Ideas thrive on public discussion.
Therefore, as intersectionality has entered the mainstream, it is splendid that it is meeting criticism. It is brilliant that it is creating heated debate. As a black feminist I welcome all that because it implies that intersectionality is pushing all the right buttons.
Of course, there’s been a buzz about intersectionality in scholarship for a long time, not only within feminist studies but many faculties now incorporate it in their curriculums. Hell, even the official gender institute in Norway has adopted an interesectional approach.

The other good thing about Mensch’s article is that it raises critique of the “check your privilege” meme, one which I too find problematic. Not because I wish people wouldn’t (check their privilege) but because it doesn’t encourage less classism, racism, sexism, homophobia or other discriminations. Most people with privilege, which is most of us in some capacity, have, like Mensch, no intention of “checking” it on a genuine basis. It is much more useful to tell a person that their views are disregarding or offensive. Why? Because it’s more difficult, and valuable, to acknowledge that you have behaved in a racist or sexist way, for instance, than to declare that ouch, checking your privilege, really hurts. It also forces the accuser to be more elaborate, and again, valuable, in formulating their criticism.

When Kimberlé Crenshaw coined the term intersectionality, her aim was not to tell folks to “check their privilege” but rather to elucidate the experiences of black women in order to create stronger movements.
She highlighted that black women experience discrimination in ways that are both similar to and different from those experienced by black men or by white women. Sometimes our experiences bear more similarity to those of black men and sometimes they are similar to white women’s experiences and so black men and white women who are serious about anti-racism and feminism respectively, must acknowledge the ways that oppression works within the movements themselves.

I think that the debate intersectionality has stirred proves that Crenshaw’s sentiments are still relevant.

What do you think? Any thoughts on intersectionality; love it, loathe it, don’t know much about it? What do you think of the CYP meme?

For more about intersectionality, read my three part blog series about it

1. Why you need to know about intersectionality

2. A cultural history of intersectionality, and it dates back to Sojourner Truth

3. The multiple jeopardy of being an African woman

This post is an extract from a Q&A by sixty7 Architecture Road, a Canadian site devoted to the built environment, which asked four individuals, from various professional backgrounds, and from different parts of the globe, to give answers to the question

What role can women play in helping to shape their built environment?

Read my contribution below and check out the other responses here.

A survey was once conducted to find out what teenagers, girls and boys, feel about their built environment. Predictably, it found that many teenagers dislike schools, corporate and hospital buildings. However, surprisingly, it also revealed that neither are they fond of places like museums, theatres and art galleries. They find them boring and associate them with stale, restrained and hierarchical traditions.

I refer to this example as the results of the survey reveal a problem we have with much of our contemporary environment, namely that it reinforces dated traditional values rather than fosters modern, exciting ones. And many of the traditions that our environment strengthens are patriarchal ones. In other words, male dominance has not only shaped architecture but architecture has also supplemented male dominance.

This is why much of our built environment today does not cater to the needs of women. Take for instance, the comparatively long queues that women often meet when visiting a public space’s restroom. Or more gravely, consider maternity wards, where women are crammed into formal and emotionless spaces in which they must experience one of the most intimate, humbling and frightening experiences that a woman may go through.

Like all technology and development, architecture needs to be more inclusive and modern in the 21st century. Architecture must work for women not against them. As professors, architects, community leaders, politicians and other professionals, women have to get more involved in the act of creating space. We can exercise our power by choosing environments that cater to female sensibilities. Whether it’s buying and decorating homes, choosing universities, hospitals, grocery stores or making mundane lifestyle choices like which restaurant to visit; wherever possible we should go for environments that cooperate with our visual and practical comfort as well as with our safety and we should articulate why we make these choices. The more voice we give the issue, the more the market will respond accordingly.

What do you think? Do you notice ways in which the environment meets/neglects the needs of women and how can women continue to shape the environment?

In the lead up to the short list announcement for the Nobel Prize in Literature on 30 May, headlines this week brought to the fore the problematic obsession that some people have with the Nobel Prize in Literature being awarded to the late Chinua Achebe. For years, the pre-announcement period has seen speculations demands as to whether the Nigerian author would be nominated and now after his death, admirers continue to lobby for posthumous recognition.
In a candid interview with Sahara Reporters this week, Wole Soyinka laments that he has received pleas that he, as a former recipient of the award, use his nomination qualification to put Achebe forward. One of the “pontificators”, as Soyinka refers to them, writes him saying:

“I told these people, leave it to Wole Soyinka – he will do what is right. We hear Ben Okri, Nuruddin Farah, even Chimamanda Adichie are being nominated. This is mind-boggling. Who are they? Chinua can still be awarded the prize, even posthumously. We know you will intervene to put those upstarts in their place. I’ve assured people you will do what is right.”

This is troubling because while Achebe certainly is deserving of the prize, his not receiving it takes nothing away from his contributions to world literature. The insinuation that his ouevre is incomplete without the accolade is a distressing reminder of how “bigmanism” can cripple minds. To these people, the Nobel-laureate title rings synonymous to “Chief” or “Oga” or “President”.

On the other hand commentators remain utterly speechless on what, or rather who, really is neglected at the delightful smorgasbord that is the canon of literary Nobel laureates, namely women. Out of the 105 Nobel Prizes in Literature that have been awarded only twelve have been awarded to women, and, out of those twelve only one, Nadine Gordimer, is African. Furthermore, a black African woman is yet to be acknowledged in this category despite that there is enough writing by black African women which meets the requirements of the Academy. Where is the outrage over the absence of an Ama Ata Aidoo, Bessie Head, Yvonne Vera, Nawal El Saadawi or a Buchi Emecheta in the Nobel Prize archive? Instead all the voices continue to fuel fire to the tired plea that Achebe, however meriting, receive the award.

I firmly believe that great literature has no gender, race, class or sexual preference, but there are nevertheless tendencies to categorize authors and their works by traits that have little to do with their achievements. Men’s centrality in the Nobel Prize in Literature award is an expression of how male dominance is systemically and culturally reinforced.
Of course, women’s absence from the award cannot be blamed on the jury panel alone. In fact their exclusion indicates gender discrimination in the nomination process as much as, if not more, than in the selection process. In either case, it has discouraging consequences, reinforcing notions that men’s writing is serious and important while women’s writing is of a less critical nature.

Given the increased sales and prestige that is afforded Nobel laureates, the disproportion of women writers and absence of black African women writers is conspicuous.  Alas, this fails to generate collective outrage.

Who would you wish to see on the candidate short list?

I am glad to share that I have won the ”Blogger of the Year” award at the Women4Africa Awards. The awards, which took place on 18 May 2013, was described as “the most honourable event for African’s by Africans ever in the UK”. Another attendee said “No organisation in Europe has ever created a platform to celebrate African Women, so Women4Africa is the first of its kind”

Nominations came in from 34 African countries and shortlisted finalists from 20 countries.

I was honoured to be nominated alongside fabulous African bloggers and to win this award is an encouragement and a great source of motivation. As mentioned when receiving the ADA award earlier this month, I remain dedicated to bringing to the forefront the voices – ideas, concerns, triumphs, icons, politics, trends – of women of African heritage.

Thanks for your continued support.

To find out more about the Women4Awards visit www.women4africa.com

I was fourteen the first time that I was molested. It was an incident that (in hindsight) ushered me into the awareness that womanhood was in many ways going to be quite the challenge. I was walking home after school, this was in Malmo, Sweden, where I lived at the time. As I approached the last turn before reaching my street, I had the sense that someone was following me. I turned back to see a man observing me, walking at a similar pace to mine.
As I got to the front door and paused to pull out my keys, the man also stopped. He smiled at me saying that he was newly moved into the apartment complex.
For some reason, I felt a slight suspicion but I nevertheless proceeded to enter the compound, and into the lift, with the man following behind me.
As we entered the lift, he pressed the first floor button and I the fourth. No sooner had the lift ascended than did he begin to firmly grope me. Then, as we came to the first floor, he kicked the door open and ran out and down the stairs before I could react.

Many years after this incident, I was date – and gang – raped.

When I compare the two events, it strikes me how differently I reacted in each instance. When the man molested me in the lift, I rushed to immediately tell my mum who then attempted to run after the man in a white t-shirt and blue jeans that I hurriedly described to her. Of course, he was long gone by then but I spoke about it with her, with friends and with my boyfriend at the time.
In contrast, when I was raped, I told no one. For years, I kept it to myself. Partly, because I felt ashamed about it and too sensitive to deal with what would inevitably follow but most of all I did not want to be pitied. I did – and do – not see myself as a victim.
Rather I felt that being raped was a probable, if nonetheless unimaginable, reality of being a woman. But it saddens me to think that although the world had by then taught me to anticipate, if not expect, to be sexually assaulted, it had also taught me to remain silent about sexual crime.

The good news – if we may call a result of something burdensome, good – is that I today feel stronger than ever as it comes to sexual crime and harassment.
In a sense, something about my 14 year old self was reawakened, that young woman who knew – and unapologetically vocalised – that she had been violated, is much similar to the woman I am today who is quick and unhesitant to call out potential molesters.

Which brings me to why I write this post. I write this post firstly to contribute to creating a culture where we encourage women who have been raped or in any way molested to ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS report the crime if only they can. Not reporting rape is like not reporting a robbery (or any other crime, for that matter). And often worse. I truly regret not going to the police. Especially as I knew exactly where I could have pointed the police to in order to find the men who raped me.
If I had reported the case, those men would forever have to live with a rape accusation, if not a conviction, on their records. They may for legal, or other reasons have needed to share this with their wives and children in the future. It is this act – of when rapists have to come to terms with their violence, anger and misogyny – that ultimately has the power to change rape culture.

Emotions do not always work in a rational fashion and I know that for many, it is too painful and risky to report rape so most of all, I write this post to share with women (and men) who have experienced similar situations, to know that they are not alone. And, that, while it may sound like a cliche, the utmost triumph comes from making a large space in your life for love. My experiences led to dig deep into the meaning of healing and I believe that is the most important thing we must find ways to do.

If you choose to leave a comment, I encourage you to share any thoughts on the silence around rape. As I was writing this post I searched for named first person narrative about rape experiences and did not find much at all.

The world has never been as patriarchal as it is today. I’m not claiming that individual societies don’t treat their women better than they did previously, but in the globalised, interconnected world we live in, we can no longer consider issues in an isolated fashion. So as we now consider the situation of women everywhere, from FGM in African and Arab society to sexual exploitation of women in the west to sexism on wikipedia to the modern day witch hunt, the full scope of women’s oppression is more visible, and daunting, than ever.

Seen from a global perspective, where oppressions intertwine and augment, there is a pressing need to expand female consciousness. One of the ways to raise consciousness is by documenting and discussing a broad range of women’s stories online through blogging. Blogging’s ability to impact mainstream discourse has “never been greater” according to the Harvard Business Review, which also reports that if you want to have an impact, you should be setting the agenda by blogging your ideas.

For African women, whose stories are obscure from mainstream media, these advantages are especially important. We need to boost intellectual discussions, especially those that tackle sexism, repressive traditions and racist stereotypes and that empower us to make sense of our diverse journeys.

African women need to be encouraged to write, and to perceive that our ideas matter. It is up to us to end the tyranny of patriarchy, no one else will do it for us. It is up to us to challenge negative stereotypes about Africans, nobody else will do this for us. Blogging is one way to contribute to thought leadership by documenting our stories and ideas, in so doing slowly reinstating the stories that continue to be erased, censored and/or distorted.

There’s a lot of advice about how to start a blog but I’d suggest aspiring bloggers forget about most of it and focus on getting into the habit of writing regularly. Regularly could be once a day or week or maybe, maybe month, but don’t put in the effort of setting up a blog if you cant maintain a certain pace. It’s your regular presence that makes an impact. Only skip your pattern if you really must, or if you are Lauryn Hill.

Your blog does not need to be a feminist one (although I could not encourage this more) but please don’t be put off by the idea that women’s issues are “soft” issues. If that was the case major publications would not keep slapping them on their covers. Be confident that your writing has all the gravitas necessary to those who seek insights in your words.

If that doesn’t encourage you, think about this; to author a blog is to own a space, however humble or significant, in the most revolutionary medium since the printing press was established.
Furthermore, it is to continue a legacy of female writing, an écriture féminine of sorts, championed by Audre Lorde, Anne Frank, Mary McLeod, Adelaide Casely-Hayford, Virginia Woolf, Nuha al-Radi, Anaïs Nin and other women who could be seen as some of the first “bloggers”.

It’s worth mentioning that blogging about African society can be a risk, there is a lot of sexism in the “afrosphere” like everywhere else. But the more African women blog, the more we motivate each other, the more our presence makes an impact.

As Nawal El Saadawi says, “I do not separate between writing and fighting”.

What do you think? Do you write a blog? What do you see as most challenging or rewarding about blogging?

I offer workshops and consultations on blogging, if you or your organisation would like to hire me please drop me a line.

I am happy to announce that I have won the ”Outstanding Achievement in Media” award at the African Diaspora Awards which took place on 2 May 2013. The African Diaspora Awards (ADA) ceremony is an event which pays tribute to African success across all walks of life; emphasising achievement and highlighting inspirational role models in the fields of business, sport, entertainment, philanthropy and popular arts and culture.

I am grateful to have been a nominee in outstanding company and to win this award is truly encouraging. I remain dedicated to bringing to the forefront the voices – ideas, concerns, triumphs, icons, politics, trends – of women of African heritage. Thanks for your continued support.

To find out more about the African Diaspora Awards visit www.africadiaspora-awards.com

Protesters in South Africa, 2012

If the government passes a proposal that bans miniskirts, Uganda may soon join the list of countries to restrict women from making independent choices about what they wear. If the bill, which has been proposed by (insert drumroll) the minister of ethics, Simon Lokodo, is passed, women who fail to abide may be sentenced to a fifteen year jail term.

Lokodo himself believes that “Women should support me here, because it is in their favour that I’m doing this.”
Oh, really? Surely, if exposing parts of a woman’s body tempts a man to sexual pleasure to the point that he must rape and assault her (as is Lokodo’s argument), then the problem of an ethics minister should be how to “ban” male brains from being wired that way.The truth of the matter is that the proposal is nothing other than an indication of how incredulously intimidating women’s sexual independence is to men like Lokodo.

However, this is also why the proposal is good news. If there is no counteraction to women’s independence, it means that women are not demanding equality as determinedly as they ought to be. Here’s the formula: The more women demand sexual independence, the bigger the backlash against them. This is a global fact. It is therefore no surprise that in Uganda, a country where the feminist movement has an impressive record on demanding equality, there is antagonism towards a sartorial item that is traditionally linked with sexual liberation.

As long as Ugandan feminists continue to push for their rights – sexual, political and cultural, we can expect a situation where even more structural sexism is exposed as well as even more whining coming from those that are adamant to uphold it.

The Ugandan state is far from alone in attempts to prevent miniskirts from appearing on women’s bodies. In 2012, young men wandered the streets of Lusaka in Zambia attacking women wearing mini-skirts. When physically lowering their hemlines was not enough, women were brutally violated; one woman was found dead with both hands tied behind her using her mini-skirt. Last year, women in Johannesburg protested against increasing numbers of assaults on women wearing mini-skirts.  In Ghana, a derogatory term that entered local parlance through a Hip-Life song in 2003 – Apuskeleke – has changed from describing young women associated with “Sugar Daddies” to young women who wear mini skirts. In fact across the world, from South Korea to Mexico to Italy, women’s bared legs are seen as the demise of morality and traditional femininity. Go figure.

What links all “anti-miniskirt campaigns” is that they are deeply rooted in Victorian values and have nothing to do with protecting women.

#SaveTheMiniSkirt

Precious Williams, image used with permission of interviewee

Conversations with women who empower is a quarterly interview series where women of African heritage share their views on work and life.
The series highlights women whose work empowers and inspires in its skilfulness, ethos, creativity and impact and who also are women that I can picture myself having a tête-à-tête with.

I’m delighted to feature Precious Williams, an author, journalist and writing teacher. Her first book, the memoir Precious (Bloomsbury, 2010) was described by USA Today as “a startlingly powerful memoir that upends every expectation about race, class, gender and ambition.” A former Contributing Editor at Elle, Precious’s essays, feature articles and celebrity interviews have also appeared in the Financial Times, Glamour, Marie Claire, New York magazine, the New York Post, Wallpaper, the Guardian and the Daily Telegraph.  Her essay about hip-hop journalism, Two Dollars A Word, was anthologised in the book Sex and Sensibility (Simon & Schuster, 2004).  Precious read English Language & Literature at Oxford University and also holds a Postgraduate Diploma in Journalism from the London College of Printing. She is at work on her next book, a novel, and she is an Ambassador for the charity Africans Unite Against Child Abuse.

Precious, who is also a real life friend, and I catch up on writing, life and the intersection of the two in a great conversation.

ME

Hi Precious, let’s jump right in. How would you describe your approach to life, what motivates you and what qualities do you strive to maintain in your life?

PRECIOUS

Hi Minna, thank you so much for inviting me to this virtual interview ☺. I am a big fan of the MsAfropolitan blog and the woman behind it.
There are three elements that are vitally important to me and which dominate and guide the course of my life: love, authenticity and communication. For me, the three are intertwined. The very second I learn something new (or new to me) that I feel is useful, necessary and/or profound in some way, I absolutely have to share it. It’s a compulsion I’ve had since I was at primary school, which is when I first began writing. At least once a week I have to jump out of the bathtub mid-shower to write down a fragment of truth or a new realization or thought that has dripped into my head. That’s why I write. I’m not only speaking of essays, articles, books and so on but also the many emails and text messages exchanged between me and my daughter, and other people I love, every day, sometimes long into the night.

ME

And how do your life views and your work views merge? Apart from your journalism, research and novels, I’m thinking especially of you as a memoirist. Your self-titled memoir, “Precious”, is among other things, a raw and honest account of your experiences in foster care. Does writing about yourself openly blur the lines between your professional and personal aspirations or does it make it easier to distinguish the two?

PRECIOUS

My life views and work views are as one. I spend the majority of my time reading, writing and communicating, whether I am at work or at play. Over the years I’ve had conversations with artists who’ve sometimes spoken about the moment they ‘became’ a writer or the day they finally dared call themselves a singer or dancer or painter. But I feel that writers (and other artists) are born not made. Obviously we can – and must – seek to polish our craft. Eventually becoming published (or produced, exhibited, etc) is a great accomplishment. But I do not believe it is external validation or the ability to make a living at it that makes one a writer (or painter, or singer, or dancer). I believe we are who we are at birth and that we know who we are if we dare to look.
As for writing about oneself in a very overt way (as opposed to simply drawing on one’s experiences and turning them into fiction)– I have found the process messy, terrifying, liberating and, most of all, necessary. As Chinua Achebe (may he rest in peace) said, “Until the lion tells his side of the story, the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” I grew up feeling I didn’t even have the right to tell my own story. Happily, to even write that line, ‘I didn’t have the right to tell my own story’ feels absurd to me now, but as a girl, and as a younger woman, I felt silenced. To tell your story –or indeed any story – through your own specific lens, in your voice, suggests that you truly deserve to exist and to be heard. That feels gorgeously unapologetic. Growing up and growing into womanhood, I was fed so many erroneous, negative stories about women, about black women in particular, even about me as an individual. I had a voice and a story to tell but I felt choked by the condescending attitudes so many people I encountered had towards women and girls, towards people of colour, towards Africans, towards immigrants. I was raised to believe that 1) as an African, female, foster-child, daughter of immigrants, I didn’t have the right to voice my own story (instead I should shut up, keep my head down, and feel grateful I had a roof over my head and – unlike the children depicted in the Live Aid video – food in my stomach). And that 2) nobody had any interest in what I – and others like me – might have to say anyway.

ME

The Ghanaian writer, Ama Ata Aidoo once said, “The heart has a way of going on its own way without listening to the head”. What does this quote bring to mind? Has your writing career been heart, head or both?

PRECIOUS

You simply won’t seriously pursue a career as a writer for all that long unless it’s your heart – not your logic – guiding you. Anyone ruled by their head would surely jump ship and go and get a so-called proper job with a pension, regular paycheck and the possibility of promotion and pay rises. Writing can feel unhealthily solitary – even for an introvert like me. There’s relatively little feedback (I suppose getting published at all is feedback in itself that you’re doing something right). It’s a career that calls for a logic-defying amount of self-belief. Probably, you will start to question whether you are writing for a living, or simply writing for a pittance. And yet for me, writing for a living (or for a pittance) is the most liberating, audacious, fulfilling act imaginable. It definitely fills my heart. And I am cheering on my daughter (aged 22) who always said she wanted a ‘sensible’ job but is now following her heart and pursuing a career as a writer herself, and excelling at it…

ME

What qualities would you encourage young African women aspiring to be writers to acquire and what has been your biggest challenge as a writer?

PRECIOUS

I’ve already touched on one of the most essential qualities a writer needs, in my experience, and that is intact self-belief in the face of indifference. Many/most (all?) writers are skilled observers, moving through life with their antennae up, soaking up snippets of conversation, trying to tune into the emotions and motivations and situations and thoughts of others, constantly. And yet to sustain a career as a writer you need to remain indifferent to the occasional (or frequent) indifference of publishing professionals and even readers, towards your work. How do you remain immune to rejection and indifference if you’re thin-skinned by nature? I’ll tell you when I find out J

My hope is that every African woman writer will enjoy the freedom of being judged by the quality of her work. The reality may be different and it’s possible that you will feel ‘othered’ in an industry (publishing) that tends to be quite monolithic in terms of class (middle-class) and race (white). It is up to you to decide who you are, as a writer and as a human being. If you let anybody else decide for you, you may feel frustrated, even suffocated.

So, I think the bottom line is to accept that a writing career can, and quite probably will, feel painful at times. To have the heart to continue with it, writing must simply be crucial to your existence. And lastly, but perhaps most importantly, be a passionate, prolific reader.

ME

Who are the people that inspire you in your field and what have you learnt from their work? Can you share one of your favorite books of all time and what makes it that?

PRECIOUS

There are so, so many writers to whom I am so grateful and whose words have enriched my life in so many ways. A few of them are Buchi Emecheta, Chester Himes, Alice Walker, Zora Neale Hurston, Hanif Kureishi, Martin Amis, Maya Angelou, Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Some people have a particular song or album that captures certain life moments or relationships or challenges. I tend to equate particular life transitions and notable moments with certain books. One such book is ‘The Buddha of Suburbia’ (Hanif Kureishi). The first time I read it was in 1990 and I’d just dropped out of my A Level course and become a teenage single mother. I do not remember how I came to acquire my copy of Kureish’s book, but when I read it, initially I could barely believe that such a book had come into existence. I felt it was the most audacious, satisfying text I had ever read. I believe it must have been the first book I’d read about the life experiences of a British-born young person of colour growing up in England, nursing ‘unrealistic’ dreams and ambitions, experiencing the same racist ignorance I’d experienced. ‘The Buddha of Suburbia’ opened so many doors – literally, in the sense that so many British writers of colour, including Zadie Smith, credit Kureishi with paving the way for them as writers. But the book also opened doors for me on an emotional level. It showed me that the trials of adolescence can morph into something powerful and creative and it taught me that I have every right to exist, to speak up, and to write. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that within little more than a year of reading ‘The Buddha of Suburbia,’ I’d had my first article published, landed an internship at Vogue magazine and won a place at Oxford University.

ME

I have a feeling you would have landed there regardless. Thanks for a great interview and for your inspiring work

To find out more about Precious, visit her site or ask a question below.

On 24 June 2011, over 5,000 people showed up for an event at the V&A Museum in London titled “Friday Late: Afropolitans”. Now, packing the world famous museum is usually the function of western art and high fashion, but on this night the crowd came to listen to artists like Spoek Mathambo, taste palm wine mojitos, learn about African textiles with Emamoke Ukeleghe, view screenings of African documentaries and watch a fashion show that I put together. I’d also arranged a panel titled “What is an Afropolitan?” where we discussed such things as whether Afropolitanism is a new description of an African (it is not), a pan-African (it is not that either), elitist (depends on the Afropolitan in question), apolitical (hardly), urban (mostly) or a sub-culture or lifestyle (absolutely!).

Inspired by African and global politics, art, literature, fashion, activism, history and modernity, the term Afropolitan, which was popularised by Taiye Selasi in this article in the late noughties, has become an increasingly relevant term. It features in conferences, photo exhibitions, blogs, panels and online shops thanks to its depiction of some of the cultural sensibilities of an emerging generation. The influence of Afropolitanism can be seen in a wide range of cultural expression from D’banj’s “Oliver Twist” to ARISE Live to the launch of the Guardian Africa Network. Let’s put it this way, an Afropolitan sentience imbues many global and local African influences today. It is linked to a flourishing interest in African culture on an international scale and it has shaped public debate about African society.

Despite this (or perhaps because of it), Stephanie Bosch Santana in an article on Africa in Words reckons that the Afropolitan should be exorcised (metaphorically speaking, I hope) for what she mistakenly sees as its attempt to replace pan-Africanism. Referring to a speech given by Binyawanga Wainana at ASAUK titled,”I am a Pan-Africanist, not an Afropolitan”, she argues – in a nutshell – that Afroplitanism is shallow.

What is most bothering about the piece is not this unfair interpretation of Afropolitanism but rather its reluctance for African society to contribute to shaping modern times, which, whether we like it or not are largely influenced by digital technologies and their subsequent immediacy.

Bosch Santana writes, for instance, that Afropolitanism encourages, “pan-African literature that moves via twitter and sms rather than by printing press and shipping container”. She laments – with Wainana as her muse – to what he refers to as “digital pulp” or “texts that are product, rather than process focused”. Shops which feature “kente-accented laptop bags amongst a host of other products from African designers” are portrayed in Bosch Santana’s article as markers of the unworthy Afropolitan “ghost”.

At its core, Bosch Santana’s article seems to take issue with modern-day Africans taking steps to ensure that we, if anyone, are at the forefront of selling African cultures. In fact, reading about her dislike of Afropolitanism makes me wonder which part of the contraction African + cosmopolitan she wishes to “exorcise”.The unspoken subtext of the piece is namely – how dare Africans not simply be victims, but also shapers of globalisation and all its inherent contestations? How dare we market our cultures as well as our political transformations?

Don’t get me wrong, the delivery of Afropolitanism should certainly be up for discussion, scrutiny and critique. I’ve attempted such dialogues a few times myself. In the same way that, say, hip hop is not always politically conscious, neither is Afropolitanism. What rocks one Afropolitan’s boat, capsizes another’s. However, like every other continent, Africa is entitled to have multiple subcultural movements and we should reject all attempts to relegate African culture to a monolith. In a short period of time Afropolitanism has helped to nurture more positive views of Africa, also among Africans ourselves, with its no-nonsense obligation to correcting decades of Africa being misrepresented as a “dark, failing continent.” Does it sometimes go overboard in commodifying African culture? Possibly. Does that mean it needs exorcising? No, thank you.

Pan-Africanism symbolises an idea calling for unity in the political context of post-colonial Africa. Like Afropolitanism, it unsurprisingly has links to the African diaspora. Unsurprising, because, guess what, Africans outside of the continent are Africans too! Consequently, Afropolitanism symbolises an idea which derives from pan-Africanism, albeit with its own fresh energy. Whether it’s to do with design or thought leadership or political transformation, Afropolitanism is a complement – not a rival – to pan-Africanism. As Pulitzer Prize winning critic Holland Cotter wrote in the NY Times:

At the same time they understand, it would seem, that their choices have weight. Postcolonial African art, wherever it is produced, is all but inseparable from politics. In Africa art has always played a social role, assumed moral status, a status that even physical distance …can’t erase.

And so Afropolitanism, young and cool, comes with responsibilities.