Sean Jacobs's Blog, page 229
March 4, 2019
Abantu Book Festival as an archive of the future
Zuko. Image via Abantu Book Festival Facebook page.
For anyone wishing to understand contemporary South Africa, there is no better place to start than to become informed about��Abantu��Book Festival, an annual celebration of Black-centered reading cultures.��Abantu��centers��and takes seriously Black intellectual��labor, resisting the tropes of newness and emergence that often diminish and marginalize Blackness.
The��archive of��photographs, videos and blogs about the��gathering around books allows��one��to try to insert��yourself��imaginatively and affectively into this community, and to confront the ethics of attempting to do so. If viewing this Black-centered archive makes some viewers feel excluded or disoriented, so much the better���the ethics of engaging with��Abantu,��and the��nature of the��relationship one might have to the community gathered there,��is part of what��Abantu��has to teach.
On the opening night of the first��Abantu��Book Festival��in the Soweto Theatre, on 8 December 2016, South African poet Lebo��Mashile��was more exuberant than usual. She welcomed the audience, marking the importance of the occasion: ���It has been a gap in our hearts for a long time,��� she said, to murmurs of assent. Her comments about a ���gap��� referred to the absence of spaces like��Abantu, where Black South Africans can gather to discuss books and ideas. The nature of this�����gap��� did not need to be��explained to��the audience,��who understood the significance of��Abantu: it is��a radical alternative��to the ways in which the publishing industry and literary culture in South Africa have worked to marginalize Blackness and Black reading audiences. Indeed,��the��impetus for��Abantu��was precisely��to counter the extraordinary claim,��often made in the media,��that Black South Africans do not read��or buy books.
The project is the brain child of��Thando��Mgqolozana, who announced his exit from the white-centered��South African��literary festival scene in a series of hard-hitting tweets in 2015. Addressing a nearly all-white audience at the��Franschhoek��Literary Festival, he famously said: ���Look at yourselves! It is not normal!��� and then proceeded to outline his transformative��and inspirational��agenda on Twitter.
Mgqolozana��is an internationally celebrated author, whose��acclaimed��debut novel��A Man Who is Not a Man��(2009),��was followed by��Hear Me Not Alone��(2011)��and��Un/Importance��(2014). He is widely read��and��a��highly-respected figure,��whose��work is��frequently included (inside as well as outside South Africa) in courses about South African literature.��Beyond the Black-centered spaces of��Abantu��and its publics,��however,��his��work is often described��as ���emergent��� and he is��frequently��heralded as a ���new voice,��� even ten years after his debut novel was published.
Such descriptors entrench ways of reading his work��(and the work of other Black��South African��writers)��as always and timelessly young,��unchangingly��new, and always emergent. This ignores the deep literary and intellectual precursors��in the great Black thought traditions of South Africa,��and entrenches a sense that Black intellectual and writing traditions are��surprisingly��new. This��stress on the newness and freshness of the work, and descriptions of Black South African voices as��ahistorically�����emergent��� (akin to the near universally rejected descriptor ���born-free���) deletes the contextual and historical bloodlines��that have sustained and shaped��contemporary Black intellectual traditions.
In my monograph,��Written under the Skin: Blood and Intergenerational Memory in South Africa, I argue (in the chapter, ���Who can see this bleeding? Women���s blood and men���s blood in these #Fallist��times���) that South African scholars, creators and academics like��Mgqolozana��are taking up the hard and demanding labour of ���reading��� the bloods under the skin���of our own times, and also of the past���and making evident their��intellectual��histories and affective��bloodlines. In their thinking, their creative practices and their scholarly work, we see a recalibration of how we��are to��understand the South African present, as well as our shared, divided, multidirectional and oppositional pasts. These thinkers��are disputing and debating the terms through which to understand contemporary South Africa, and��they��frequently do so through reference to intergenerational forms of memory.
Abantu��is one of the spaces where such contextual and historical��intellectual��bloodlines are made evident, through an emphasis on the dynamic inter-connectedness between reading and the continuous and activist work of bringing a��networked��Black��self into being. ���Abantu��Book Festival: Imagining Ourselves into Existence,��� is the slogan of the project. The location (Soweto), the name (abantu, the plural of the Nguni noun��umntu��which means a (Black) person as part of a��community��of other persons) and the emphasis on ���ourselves��� are all distinguishing marks of the activist vision behind this literary festival.
There have been��complaints that��Abantu��excludes or is unwelcoming to white people,��but��there are many ways to pay attention to��Abantu��even if one��does not��actually attend the festival.��Abantu��has become much more than a physical gathering; it is also a living and evolving archive of images of Black people reading and talking about books, the web site and social media presence cataloging a proliferation of book clubs and communities centered around books, and a vibrant reading culture which places the Black self as part of a networked community of others.
The third edition of the��Abantu��Book Festival took place in Soweto in December 2018, and the��growing��collection of images, videos, blog��posts, Facebook��(Abantu��Book Festival) and Twitter updates (@abantu) continues to convene its publics and to make clear the impact of the extraordinary phenomenon that is��Abantu. This collection��of images and memories��constitutes a rich historical and affective resource. It��creates��and preserves��beyond the physical gathering what��Litheko��Modisane��in his 2013 book on cinema audiences has called so memorably ���Black-centred publics.����� The ongoing documentation of the project emphasizes, if the title of the festival does not already do so, the significance of��Abantu��in laying claim to a vibrant and��already existent��literary culture with long histories; and crucially as Black and Black-centered.
As a teaching and learning resource, the value of what is becoming an archive of the future is immense. In years to come, it will (and should) be impossible to understand and to think about the South African literary��and cultural��scene without paying serious attention to this festival, and even centering it. The availability of the online traces of the��embodied��offline community creates a��proliferating and vibrant��time capsule: this is now, we are here.
Abantu Book Festival is archive of the future
[image error]
Image credit Abantu��Book Festival.
For anyone wishing to understand contemporary South Africa, there is no better place to start than to become informed about��Abantu��Book Festival, an annual celebration of Black-centered reading cultures.��Abantu��centers��and takes seriously Black intellectual��labor, resisting the tropes of newness and emergence that often diminish and marginalize Blackness.
The��archive of��photographs, videos and blogs about the��gathering around books allows��one��to try to insert��yourself��imaginatively and affectively into this community, and to confront the ethics of attempting to do so. If viewing this Black-centered archive makes some viewers feel excluded or disoriented, so much the better���the ethics of engaging with��Abantu,��and the��nature of the��relationship one might have to the community gathered there,��is part of what��Abantu��has to teach.
On the opening night of the first��Abantu��Book Festival��in the Soweto Theatre, on 8 December 2016, South African poet Lebo��Mashile��was more exuberant than usual. She welcomed the audience, marking the importance of the occasion: ���It has been a gap in our hearts for a long time,��� she said, to murmurs of assent. Her comments about a ���gap��� referred to the absence of spaces like��Abantu, where Black South Africans can gather to discuss books and ideas. The nature of this�����gap��� did not need to be��explained to��the audience,��who understood the significance of��Abantu: it is��a radical alternative��to the ways in which the publishing industry and literary culture in South Africa have worked to marginalize Blackness and Black reading audiences. Indeed,��the��impetus for��Abantu��was precisely��to counter the extraordinary claim,��often made in the media,��that Black South Africans do not read��or buy books.
The project is the brain child of��Thando��Mgqolozana, who announced his exit from the white-centered��South African��literary festival scene in a series of hard-hitting tweets in 2015. Addressing a nearly all-white audience at the��Franschhoek��Literary Festival, he famously said: ���Look at yourselves! It is not normal!��� and then proceeded to outline his transformative��and inspirational��agenda on Twitter.
Mgqolozana��is an internationally celebrated author, whose��acclaimed��debut novel��A Man Who is Not a Man��(2009),��was followed by��Hear Me Not Alone��(2011)��and��Un/Importance��(2014). He is widely read��and��a��highly-respected figure,��whose��work is��frequently included (inside as well as outside South Africa) in courses about South African literature.��Beyond the Black-centered spaces of��Abantu��and its publics,��however,��his��work is often described��as ���emergent��� and he is��frequently��heralded as a ���new voice,��� even ten years after his debut novel was published.
Such descriptors entrench ways of reading his work��(and the work of other Black��South African��writers)��as always and timelessly young,��unchangingly��new, and always emergent. This ignores the deep literary and intellectual precursors��in the great Black thought traditions of South Africa,��and entrenches a sense that Black intellectual and writing traditions are��surprisingly��new. This��stress on the newness and freshness of the work, and descriptions of Black South African voices as��ahistorically�����emergent��� (akin to the near universally rejected descriptor ���born-free���) deletes the contextual and historical bloodlines��that have sustained and shaped��contemporary Black intellectual traditions.
In my monograph,��Written under the Skin: Blood and Intergenerational Memory in South Africa, I argue (in the chapter, ���Who can see this bleeding? Women���s blood and men���s blood in these #Fallist��times���) that South African scholars, creators and academics like��Mgqolozana��are taking up the hard and demanding labour of ���reading��� the bloods under the skin���of our own times, and also of the past���and making evident their��intellectual��histories and affective��bloodlines. In their thinking, their creative practices and their scholarly work, we see a recalibration of how we��are to��understand the South African present, as well as our shared, divided, multidirectional and oppositional pasts. These thinkers��are disputing and debating the terms through which to understand contemporary South Africa, and��they��frequently do so through reference to intergenerational forms of memory.
Abantu��is one of the spaces where such contextual and historical��intellectual��bloodlines are made evident, through an emphasis on the dynamic inter-connectedness between reading and the continuous and activist work of bringing a��networked��Black��self into being. ���Abantu��Book Festival: Imagining Ourselves into Existence,��� is the slogan of the project. The location (Soweto), the name (abantu, the plural of the Nguni noun��umntu��which means a (Black) person as part of a��community��of other persons) and the emphasis on ���ourselves��� are all distinguishing marks of the activist vision behind this literary festival.
There have been��complaints that��Abantu��excludes or is unwelcoming to white people,��but��there are many ways to pay attention to��Abantu��even if one��does not��actually attend the festival.��Abantu��has become much more than a physical gathering; it is also a living and evolving archive of images of Black people reading and talking about books, the web site and social media presence cataloging a proliferation of book clubs and communities centered around books, and a vibrant reading culture which places the Black self as part of a networked community of others.
The third edition of the��Abantu��Book Festival took place in Soweto in December 2018, and the��growing��collection of images, videos, blog��posts, Facebook��(Abantu��Book Festival) and Twitter updates (@abantu) continues to convene its publics and to make clear the impact of the extraordinary phenomenon that is��Abantu. This collection��of images and memories��constitutes a rich historical and affective resource. It��creates��and preserves��beyond the physical gathering what��Litheko��Modisane��in his 2013 book on cinema audiences has called so memorably ���Black-centred publics.����� The ongoing documentation of the project emphasizes, if the title of the festival does not already do so, the significance of��Abantu��in laying claim to a vibrant and��already existent��literary culture with long histories; and crucially as Black and Black-centered.
As a teaching and learning resource, the value of what is becoming an archive of the future is immense. In years to come, it will (and should) be impossible to understand and to think about the South African literary��and cultural��scene without paying serious attention to this festival, and even centering it. The availability of the online traces of the��embodied��offline community creates a��proliferating and vibrant��time capsule: this is now, we are here.
Indignity and solidarity are being televised in Algeria
Image credit Farah Souames.
���Algeria��is an epic, huge, black hole. No��one knows��anything about.�����A��very good friend of mine told me��this,��not long ago.��Both of us have covered Egypt��post-Hosni Mubarak��and been to��hundreds of��demonstrations. Back then,��I asked myself��countless��times��about the day something similar��happens in��Algeria.
That day��came. Things are still��unclear��about who organized��these��demonstrations.��When I went to protest on February��22nd, I was��a bit��afraid.��I��had��never protested in my own country.��Because of a combination of a��1991 law that��puts restrictions��on demonstrations��and to��a 2001 government decree��that bans protests in the capital for ���security concerns,�����anti-government protests��are��rare in Algeria.
I was pleasantly surprised.��Algeria���s streets were flooded with��hundreds of��thousands of��protesters��two Fridays in a row;��lawyers, students, and journalists��took��the streets��peacefully��to express��frustration��with��the current��ailing��president Abdelaziz Bouteflika seeking re-election for a fifth term.
The country���s economy had been stagnating and suffering from general dissatisfactions from the population. Inflation rates have gone up, foreign reserves down, the currency���s exchange value tanked making it very difficult for many families to sustain a living. Even more, the delusion with the President has become a delusion with the FLN and with the regime more generally.
Bouteflika, who came to power in 1999,��has��rarely��been��seen in public since suffering a stroke in 2013. He is reportedly��still in Switzerland��after undergoing medical checks��there over a week ago.��Despite health challenges and public outcry,��Bouteflika��will still be running for a fifth term and in a letter attributed to him, promises major reforms to the constitution and the political system.
But the protesters demand��radical change.
Solidarity in the air
Some of the many��chants resounding in the center��of Algiers, included:�����There will be no fifth term,��Bouteflika���(����������������������������������������������������),�����peaceful, peaceful���(���������� ����������)��and ���the people reject��Bouteflika��and��Sa��d���(���������� ���� �������� ���� ���������������� ���� ������������)���in reference to the President���s brother,�����The people want the fall of the regime,���(���������� �������� ���������� ������������).��Then��tear gas��dispersed��the huge crowds. Moments later protesters who��do not��know each other were��sharing vinegar bottles. Women were sending them water and towels from their balconies��at��Audin��Avenue.
Political pundits and media outlets have long labeled Algerians as politically passive or unable to protest without violence. These recent demonstrations have shown otherwise. Protests were spontaneous, yet extraordinarily organized. Protestors have been avoiding clashes with the police and have been even cleaning streets after protesting. Still, the majority of international media outlets have dismissed the extraordinary feelings of solidarity and fraternity Algerians have shown, and choosing instead to feature the clich��d images of people and police clashing.
Image credit Farah Souames.Friday���s protests were mostly peaceful but scuffles between police and protesters��did��beak��out in the evening near the presidential place in the capital Algiers.The clashes were the only events that the state-owned media filmed and aired, creating the perception that they were a central feature of the protests. But protestors were quick to react on social media despite��the��ruptures in internet services.
But people were quick to react to the events on social media.
Many accused the government of being��behind the evening clashes to discredit the movement. The clashes were the only events that were filmed and aired on time, while internet access services were down after Friday prayers; as a result,��many protesters who are active on social media were unable to share photos or videos.
The Algerian caustic sense of��humor��in the spotlight
One of the biggest highlights of these recent protests that��were��unfortunately��dismissed in many news reports,��was��the massive presence of placards and signs brandishing hilarious slogans that��reflected on��Algerians�����legendary hilarity.
Algeria��has��been��through a lot, particularly in the last three decades. The country hasn���t��grieved��or healed yet from the��trauma of the��1990s, which was triggered by the army cancelling the electoral process in 1992 and led to a brutal civil war,��yet��Algerians��kept��developed a keen sense of humor to��laugh at themselves��and their situation.
Algeria���s most influential cartoonists are one of the best platforms to showcase the national humor, but the��marching crowds brought that humor��to the public space. Every single time I stopped to ask demonstrators: ���Can I take a picture of your slogans if you don���t mind,�����the responses were unanimous: ���Only the slogan? We want to be in the picture as well! Post it on social media for the world to see.���
Same old intimidating policies
Not everyone is excited by the protests.��Earlier��last��week,��Prime��Minister Ahmed Ouyahia responded to the mass protests��with��an��old-fashioned��paternalist oppressive discourse of either ���us��� or the ���chaos���.��Referring to��the flowers protestors brought to the police,��Ouyahia��warned��that ���the uprisings in Syria started with exchanges of roses.���
Image credit Farah Souames.Another political figure, F.L.N. party leader��Mouad��Bouchareb, addressed the protestors��with disdain: ���To all those calling for change: I say dream on, and sleep well!�����The FLN was the dominant movement in the independence struggle against French��occupation��and has governed Algeria since.
Politicians in Algeria seem to live in��a completely different reality or a parallel world. They are rejecting��a spontaneous grassroots movement, answering it with conspiracy theories rather than real consideration.��Noureddine, a retired journalist, argues�����that��[dismissing protests as conspiracy theorists) is��not working anymore. They cannot carry on insulting people���s intelligence. The new generation is not stupid. People are not afraid of their intimidating tone.
Journalism�����Activism�����blurred lines
Many veteran journalists��and��media experts were in the streets as protesters, but now isn���t the right time to question the invisible lines between journalism and activism, not in a country were media crackdowns��are��a daily practice. ���Make no mistake,��Algeria is not Iran��for instance,��� a colleague��told me��one day. I am afraid it���s worse now, just underreported.
The media reality is pretty alarming. Freelancers are having a hard time getting accredited.��Those who report for foreign outlets��are��generally��accused��of being troublemakers or spreading harmful reports about the country.��Impartial news outlets are a dire need, and they struggle in this climate.
(������ �������� ��������������, ������ �������� ��������������)�����Where is the��press?��Where is the press?�����This��is��a slogan that came back countless times these last two weeks after the humiliating dismissal of protests coverage. People lost their trust in the��media;��they often��seeit as complicit or a government mouthpiece.
Image credit Farah Souames.Last Thursday,��police briefly detained at least 15 journalists���at a protest in Algiers.��They��were detained��in various police stations before being gradually released hours later. State media only started covering the protests on Tuesday after journalists publicly complained they were being prevented from doing so.
It maybe time to stop speculating
Algerians have just started to get a taste of taking back the public space. It��is��tiresome to��see��linkages��of��these��events to��theArab Spring��and too early to connect them to��October 1988.��It is hard to predict, but the future does not have to reproduce the��violence��of the past. Still, the government���s insistence on forcing Bouteflika���s candidacy is��evidence��that the current regime��is unprepared for a change, but they are not challenged by a strong��opposition. I strongly believe that what comes next will be��guided��by��the strength of solidarity of the��people who are leading this extraordinary movement, their solidarity��against��this ridiculous status quo.
March 3, 2019
The politics of a coup d’etat
[image error]
This statue of ex-President Kwame Nkrumah, outside the museum of Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park in Accra, Ghana, was beheaded during a 1966 coup. Image credit David Stanley via Flickr (CC).
Fifty-three years ago, on February 24th, 1966, President Kwame Nkrumah,��the first leader of independent Ghana��and��champion of pan-African unity,��was overthrown in a coup��d’etat��led by senior Ghanaian military and police officers supported by British and American diplomats and intelligence officers who provided long-term planning, financing, and logistical aid.��This anniversary is a chance to reflect on how a��new black nation���s sovereignty��was��racialized and��denied in the name of protecting economic investment and geopolitical position.
US ambassador Franklin Williams���one of the first African Americans to be an Ambassador���had only presented his credentials as ambassador on��January��17th.��The coup in Nigeria��happened just��two days before that.��Before taking up his position, he exchanged private correspondences with friends bragging that he would soon be running the country. Just after the coup, Williams was reportedly seen driving his Cadillac to the Chinese embassy and gloating as the Chinese were forced to evacuate. Williams had worked with Thurgood Marshall in the NAACP. He called Nkrumah a friend; they were both alums of Lincoln University in Pennsylvania. He replaced William Mahoney who had had ongoing concerns about Nkrumah’s anti-American, leftist leanings. Mahoney and other diplomats and intelligence officers had been supporting and encouraging pro-American military and police officers to remove Nkrumah for years. But Williams’s associations with US intelligence and the coup were a more disturbing brand of betrayal considering Nkrumah’s pan-Africanism and his call for Ghana to be a haven for black artists, thinkers, and leaders. On��January��22nd, he accompanied Nkrumah and Edgar Kaiser, President of Kaiser Industries Corporation, as they opened the Volta River Project, the crowning achievement of years of political and financial negotiation between Nkrumah���s government and US state and corporate interests that would provide the young nation electricity and an aluminum industry.
On January 28th an editorial in��The Spark, a newspaper founded by Nkrumah, asked why the US would send an ���Afro-American��� ambassador to Ghana when they did not support racial equality in their own country and would surely not send a black ambassador to a European nation. There was speculation that Nkrumah saw his appointment as a sign of disrespect and��felt��that the US was sending a black ambassador to do their dirty work.��Later,��Williams denied having foreknowledge of the coup despite years of correspondence between officials in Washington��and��the US embassy in Ghana tracking the coup plotters actions. While Williams had praised Nkrumah upon his arrival, in the days following the latter���s removal, the former wrote to political and corporate interests around the world assuring them of Ghana���s stability and pro-American stance. Ambassador Williams vilified his former friend for his cult of personality, instability, and authoritarian leftist views. Propaganda spearheaded by Williams and the US��Embassy promoted the false idea that the coup was bloodless and assured outsiders that the jubilations in the streets at Nkrumah���s removal were not staged. His descriptions of Nkrumah���s authoritarianism helped solidify this image in the global popular imagination.
The coup was supported, in the last instance,��because Nkrumah was seen as a threat to Western economic interests as they feared he would nationalize resources. The Americans had invested a lot in the Volta��Dam and felt that if this project did not succeed, they would lose money and international credibility.��They wanted the project completed while minimizing Nkrumah���s power.��US foreign affairs officials��interpreted Nkrumah���s actions in the context of Egypt���s nationalization of the Suez Canal, the subsequent Soviet funding of the Aswan dam and the more recent 1964 Panama Canal crisis��that threatened American control of the waterway. Nkrumah���s sponsorship of anti-imperial causes around Africa was understood by Western powers as destabilizing rather than supporting freedom, that purportedly American value. Nkrumah’s role as a key member of the non-Aligned Movement���which aimed to chart a viable third way���could only be��seen��by��binary-thinking��Cold War politicians as anti-Western.��America���s self-image��was fixated on��itself��as global heroic savior.��So,��officials were outraged when��the��Ghanaian��press began printing stories critical of American policy in Africa and anti-American rallies were held in Ghana in 1964 and 1965.��The final straw was Nkrumah’s publication of��Neo-Colonialism, The Last Stage of Imperialism��which declassified documents show US operatives carefully reviewed as if they were nervous first-year literature grad students. They judged that it revealed Nkrumah���s irredeemable hostility to US interests and penchant for Marxism-Leninism.
The British and Americans did not seem particularly concerned with the issue that preoccupied many Ghanaians namely the Preventive Detention Act (PDA) which gave Nkrumah the power to imprison people suspected of plotting against him without due process. Nkrumah was convinced the CIA��was trying to remove him and that they were behind some of the violence and multiple assassination attempts against his life, which he used to justify his implementation of the PDA. US officials categorically denied��clandestine��CIA involvement��when Nkrumah pleaded with them to support��African peoples�����sovereignty and��self-determination. Issues of rights and freedom seemed to be of little concern to these foreign powers except when they affected public perception or their self-interests.
US foreign policy in Africa was primarily driven by anxiety about the threat of Soviet and Chinese interests;��Africans became��cyphers,��illegible��except in how they could help unravel communism. US foreign affairs and intelligence officials discussed using psychological warfare to isolate Nkrumah and turn public support away from him. It is striking that mid-level US and British agents felt they had the moral and political right to assess a Ghanaian regime���s right to exist. US and British agents were monitoring and in constant conversation with and about various coup plotters for several years before the actual overthrow. Indeed, the US and the British were competing with each other to have the upper hand with any potential new regime. The lives and interests of people���particularly black people���in a purportedly sovereign country��were��insignificant. In the brief conversations US President Johnson had with his advisors on foreign policy in Africa, Ghana almost doesn���t come up, instead Johnson talks about “Africa” writ large and fighting in Congo is discussed in the same breath. Words like ���threat��� and ���instability��� pervade conversations. He does not seem to mention the specific names of places or people. Western leaders often left the details to mid-level diplomats and��intelligence officers who they trusted to take actions that directly affected the sovereignty of other nations. After years of cynical observation built on racist assumptions of black leadership, it seems US leaders made the decision to support the overthrow of Nkrumah with a few indirect statements; it was not a deliberate and public declaration of hostility but an off-hand gesture made by a President with his advisors given��tacit support��for actions��that shattered the lives of millions. Johnson seemed to believe his advisors that Nkrumah was a threat despite Nkrumah���s bi-weekly meetings with Ambassador Mahoney, his explicit support for foreign investment, his completion of the Volta Dam with American investments ahead of schedule, and nuanced descriptions of African Socialism as something unique from authoritarian models. The US state empowered a few dissident soldiers to overthrow a leader of a sovereign nation struggling to carve a new path out of the rubble of the British Empire, in the midst of a violent ongoing Cold War being fought on other people’s land.
Statue of Kwame Nkrumah defaced in the 1966 coup now in the forecourt of the National Museum of Ghana. Paa Kwesi Holdbrook-Smith stands at its base shouting J’Accuse at the statue of Lt. Gen. Kotoka one of the coup leaders. Image credit Jesse Weaver Shipley.The planning of a coup to overthrow the leader of a new, sovereign nation in the name of protecting a relatively small investment is terrible. But��in��some measure what is more horrific is the off-handedness with which this violence was perpetrated. This casual disregard for other people, is why we must counter representations that dehumanize black peoples. Popular, historical, and social analytic frameworks are built on and naturalize��structures of��racial hierarchies in which non-Western lives, black and brown citizens, become commodities, material vessels for enhancing the power and wealth of a few, mostly white global elites. Racial hierarchies are legitimized such that they justify dismissing peoples and their histories rather than seeing them as humans and citizens with strengths, vulnerabilities, hopes and desires.
In the post-independence era, there were numerous coups��d���etat��around the world from Latin American to Asia to Africa. To investors, political observers, and the popular press, coups have been seen as signs of the instability and internal failures of recently independent post-colonial states. In fact, the roles��of Western powers���as well as communist bloc countries���in fostering coups such as the February 24th, 1966 overthrow of Nkrumah show��how��racialized ideas of sovereignty and political agency destabilize new regimes. Western involvement in coups��has��not just��been��in military actions but rather��has��entailed��a whole series of ongoing interventions that destabilize countries. The very language that UK and US foreign affairs, state department, and intelligence officers use for assessing stability and loyalist is profoundly racialized in assuming non-Western peoples as incapable of managing their own affairs. In purportedly keeping track of independent states, Western powers assumed the moral right to surveillance and judgement. This ongoing espionage and diplomatic work were done by mid-level operatives who reported back to higher officials��in��London and Washington��with little knowledge��of��or interest in Africa or Africans except as strategic pieces in a Cold War. It established secretive conditions that underlay supposedly open diplomatic ones;��long-term policies��create the conditions of possibility for coups.
Coups are seen as internal struggles,��manifestations of��a��people��who��desire regime change. But often they are fostered��by��and legitimized from the outside and,��then,��attributed��local instability. People think coups are sudden sharp actions,��but��they are actually built on long term processes of destabilization and the doubts established by the political and economic pressure placed on nations like Ghana��that are��caught in the desire of Cold War adversaries to control geopolitical orders, financial networks, and natural resources.
March 1, 2019
Sudan’s doctors treating the political ailments of the nation
Solidarity protest with Sudanese uprising in Berlin, February 16, 2019. By Hossam el-Hamalawy.
Since the December 2018 demonstrations against the 30-year rule of President Omar al Bashir, began, Sudanese doctors have been on the frontlines of the public movement that has shaken the regime. Its unmistakable to anyone following the demonstrations, which started in Atbara, Central Sudan, on December 19th that this time is different; it is a continuation of an ongoing protest movement fighting for freedom, which has escalated in recent years, most prominently in 2013 when over 200 peaceful protestors were shot down in three days. It has been more than 60 days since the Sudanese people took to the streets and the death toll has exceeded 50 as a result of the government using excessive force and live ammunition at protestors.
Hundreds remain in political detention and dozens are injured and disabled. Professionals have been one of the largest constituencies of this movement as the entity calling and guiding the protests is the Sudanese Professionals Association (SPA), a group reportedly formed after the September 2013 protests, but formally introduced in August 2018 with a goal to campaign for raising the minimum wages.
Doctors who are trying to save lives with the scarce medical supplies they are afforded, continue to be targeted. Dr. Mohamed Al-Asam who is one of two Sudan-based speakers for the SPA was arrested by the security agencies just 24 hours after his first appearance on a live video on SPA���s social media accounts on the 2nd of January 2018. The 28-year-old remains detained and his whereabouts are unknown. At least 27 other doctors remain in detention.
On January 15th, 2019, Dr. Babiker Abdelhamid was shot dead by security forces while treating wounded demonstrators in Burri, a neighborhood in Eastern Khartoum.
A number of doctors were also shot or wounded on the job as security agents raided and tear-gassed a number of hospitals in Khartoum and North Kordofan states. ��On January 9th, security forces stormed into Omdurman Teaching hospital where some injured (and routine patients) were receiving care and fired tear gas canisters and live ammunition rounds. They then went on to beat and arrest doctors, protesters and their families and bystanders indiscriminately. Commenting on this incident, the World Health Organization stated that they are
extremely concerned about attack on a hospital in #Sudan. While patients might be not injured, they are traumatized. This is in direct violation of medical neutrality and human rights principles. Health facilities, staff and patients are #NotATarget.
Other accounts have circulated through social and mainstream media, where doctors in the demonstrations have reported that they feel targeted and were in fear of severe punishment or even execution in detention. Such fears were materialized, since Dr. Alfatih Omer Elsid (Manager of Tuga private hospital) was arrested after his announcement that the hospital will provide free medical care to injured protesters.
Medical students have also been on the receiving end of some of the most vicious government crackdowns on protests. This occurred on several occasions in different university campuses in the capital Khartoum. Among the universities attacked were Sudan International University (SIU) and the University of Medical Sciences and Technology (UMST). Security forces entered the UMST campus on Sunday February 24, fired tear gas into classrooms, beat up the peacefully protesting medical students and arrested dozens of them. This attack came only two days after President Omar al Bashir declared a national state of emergency.
All these intimidating actions by the government led the Sudan Doctors Committee (a parallel popular union to the government-controlled doctor���s union) to immediately issue a statement, which stated that if the government does not stop its unlawful and unethical acts and abide to a list of five demands within a 48-hour-period, it would announce a nationwide strike from non-emergency cases in all hospitals. These demands included; the formation of an investigation committee for the abuses; incrementation of the acts carried out by the security forces against doctors and other hospital staff in the line of duty; the immediate release of all detained doctors; that doctors on strike should not negotiate with hospital administration without the presence of head of police or locality; and the protection of hospitals and staff by military police and the armed forces.
This continuous aggression against doctors has not deterred their resolve to stand up for their rights and to support the uprising, while continuing to fulfill their Hippocratic oath and provide medical care. This balance, despite being difficult, has been carefully executed as doctors are still providing emergency care services in government hospitals and private institutions not linked to the regime or financed by its supporters. They have however taken a specific stance against hospitals running under the leadership and management of the security and defense forces. Since January 18, they called on all the doctors to stop working in these hospitals, and instead volunteer to work in other government and private facilities. Some doctors have since faced countless threats of discontinuation of training and even legal action due to ���failure to provide care.���
Sudanese doctors in the diaspora have also played a major role in the protests, since the beginning of the uprising, they quickly began (and contributed to) fundraising initiatives through several social platforms including Facebook and PayPal. These initiatives were made possible by the Sudanese American Physicians Association (SAPA) in the US and the Sudan Doctor���s Union in the UK and Ireland (SDU-UK&I), amongst other diaspora associations. These funds have helped in the delivery of care on the ground, where the money was used to finance health care service needs to the injured protesters (and sometimes the immediate families of those who were martyred in the revolution). These included two cases to date, both of which lost one of their eyes due to contact with shrapnel or a tear gas canister. Both were sent abroad for surgery and further rehabilitation. Another initiative was called for by SAPA to fund the payment of salaries for the doctors on strike, since their salaries and benefits had ceased.
One of the pivotal roles the Sudanese Doctor���s Central Committee (SDCC) and Sudan Doctor���s Syndicate has been playing in this uprising is the documentation of injuries and deaths that occur during the demonstrations. The reports given by the official media outlet, the Sudan News Agency (SUNA) have been misleading and the committee has countered this by providing ground-verified reports. While the last report given by government agencies puts the casualties at 29 deaths, the Sudan Doctors��� Syndicate have reported 57 deaths as of February 8th 2019. The SDCC continues to report casualties and fatalities related to the protests regularly on their social media accounts.
The aforementioned patriotic acts of doctors towards the injured in the protests, and their defiance against the government and its atrocious acts have led the demonstrators to refer to them as the ���White Army��� (in reference to their white coats). To date, the Sudanese Armed Forces have sworn to protect the regime and its leader, something the protesters see as a betrayal to the peaceful demonstrations and rightful call for freedom. They feel however that the strong role doctors are playing is akin to what a military would do, which is to side with the people against a dictatorship. With the absence of the Sudanese Armed Forces, the poor coverage of the December 2018 uprising by the media, and the weak denouncement of the oppression of the government by world leaders and heads of states, protesters see doctors as their only protectors. Doctors have taken it upon themselves to���both physically and metaphorically���treat the wounds of the nation.
Doctors in Sudan have historically played a significant role in the country���s uprisings; in October 1964 and April 1985, they did their part and doing so now, even in the of face bullets, financial hardships and detentions.
As the people continue to chant ���Just fall, that is all���, doctors continue to pay a hefty price for standing with the people and they need the international community to protect them.
Sudan’s Doctors Treating the Political Ailments of the Nation
Solidarity protest with Sudanese uprising in Berlin, February 16, 2019. By Hossam el-Hamalawy.
Since the December 2018 demonstrations against the 30-year rule of President Omar al Bashir, began, Sudanese doctors have been on the frontlines of the public movement that has shaken the regime. Its unmistakable to anyone following the demonstrations, which started in Atbara, Central Sudan, on December 19th that this time is different; it is a continuation of an ongoing protest movement fighting for freedom, which has escalated in recent years, most prominently in 2013 when over 200 peaceful protestors were shot down in three days. It has been more than 60 days since the Sudanese people took to the streets and the death toll has exceeded 50 as a result of the government using excessive force and live ammunition at protestors.
Hundreds remain in political detention and dozens are injured and disabled. Professionals have been one of the largest constituencies of this movement as the entity calling and guiding the protests is the Sudanese Professionals Association (SPA), a group reportedly formed after the September 2013 protests, but formally introduced in August 2018 with a goal to campaign for raising the minimum wages.
Doctors who are trying to save lives with the scarce medical supplies they are afforded, continue to be targeted. Dr. Mohamed Al-Asam who is one of two Sudan-based speakers for the SPA was arrested by the security agencies just 24 hours after his first appearance on a live video on SPA���s social media accounts on the 2nd of January 2018. The 28-year-old remains detained and his whereabouts are unknown. At least 27 other doctors remain in detention.
On January 15th, 2019, Dr. Babiker Abdelhamid was shot dead by security forces while treating wounded demonstrators in Burri, a neighborhood in Eastern Khartoum.
A number of doctors were also shot or wounded on the job as security agents raided and tear-gassed a number of hospitals in Khartoum and North Kordofan states. ��On January 9th, security forces stormed into Omdurman Teaching hospital where some injured (and routine patients) were receiving care and fired tear gas canisters and live ammunition rounds. They then went on to beat and arrest doctors, protesters and their families and bystanders indiscriminately. Commenting on this incident, the World Health Organization stated that they are
extremely concerned about attack on a hospital in #Sudan. While patients might be not injured, they are traumatized. This is in direct violation of medical neutrality and human rights principles. Health facilities, staff and patients are #NotATarget/
Other accounts have circulated through social and mainstream media, where doctors in the demonstrations have reported that they feel targeted and were in fear of severe punishment or even execution in detention. Such fears were materialized, since Dr. Alfatih Omer Elsid (Manager of Tuga private hospital) was arrested after his announcement that the hospital will provide free medical care to injured protesters.
Medical students have also been on the receiving end of some of the most vicious government crackdowns on protests. This occurred on several occasions in different university campuses in the capital Khartoum. Among the universities attacked were Sudan International University (SIU) and the University of Medical Sciences and Technology (UMST). Security forces entered the UMST campus on Sunday February 24, fired tear gas into classrooms, beat up the peacefully protesting medical students and arrested dozens of them. This attack came only two days after President Omar al Bashir declared a national state of emergency.
All these intimidating actions by the government led the Sudan Doctors Committee (a parallel popular union to the government-controlled doctor���s union) to immediately issue a statement, which stated that if the government does not stop its unlawful and unethical acts and abide to a list of five demands within a 48-hour-period, it would announce a nationwide strike from non-emergency cases in all hospitals. These demands included; the formation of an investigation committee for the abuses; incrementation of the acts carried out by the security forces against doctors and other hospital staff in the line of duty; the immediate release of all detained doctors; that doctors on strike should not negotiate with hospital administration without the presence of head of police or locality; and the protection of hospitals and staff by military police and the armed forces.
This continuous aggression against doctors has not deterred their resolve to stand up for their rights and to support the uprising, while continuing to fulfil their Hippocratic oath and provide medical care. This balance, despite being difficult, has been carefully executed as doctors are still providing emergency care services in government hospitals and private institutions not linked to the regime or financed by its supporters. They have however taken a specific stance against hospitals running under the leadership and management of the security and defense forces. Since January 18, they called on all the doctors to stop working in these hospitals, and instead volunteer to work in other government and private facilities. Some doctors have since faced countless threats of discontinuation of training and even legal action due to ���failure to provide care.���
Sudanese doctors in the diaspora have also played a major role in the protests, since the beginning of the uprising, they quickly began (and contributed to) fundraising initiatives through several social platforms including Facebook and PayPal. These initiatives were made possible by the Sudanese American Physicians Association (SAPA) in the US and the Sudan Doctor���s Union in the UK and Ireland (SDU-UK&I), amongst other diaspora associations. These funds have helped in the delivery of care on the ground, where the money was used to finance health care service needs to the injured protesters (and sometimes the immediate families of those who were martyred in the revolution). These included two cases to date, both of which lost one of their eyes due to contact with shrapnel or a tear gas canister. Both were sent abroad for surgery and further rehabilitation. Another initiative was called for by SAPA to fund the payment of salaries for the doctors on strike, since their salaries and benefits had ceased.
One of the pivotal roles the Sudanese Doctor���s Central Committee (SDCC) and Sudan Doctor���s Syndicate has been playing in this uprising is the documentation of injuries and deaths that occur during the demonstrations. The reports given by the official media outlet, the Sudan News Agency (SUNA) have been misleading and the committee has countered this by providing ground-verified reports. While the last report given by government agencies puts the casualties at 29 deaths, the Sudan Doctors��� Syndicate have reported 57 deaths as of February 8th 2019. The SDCC continues to report casualties and fatalities related to the protests regularly on their social media accounts.
The aforementioned patriotic acts of doctors towards the injured in the protests, and their defiance against the government and its atrocious acts have led the demonstrators to refer to them as the ���White Army��� (in reference to their white coats). To date, the Sudanese Armed Forces have sworn to protect the regime and its leader, something the protesters see as a betrayal to the peaceful demonstrations and rightful call for freedom. They feel however that the strong role doctors are playing is akin to what a military would do, which is to side with the people against a dictatorship. With the absence of the Sudanese Armed Forces, the poor coverage of the December 2018 uprising by the media, and the weak denouncement of the oppression of the government by world leaders and heads of states, protesters see doctors as their only protectors. Doctors have taken it upon themselves to ��� both physically and metaphorically ��� treat the wounds of the nation.
Doctors in Sudan have historically played a significant role in the country���s uprisings; in October 1964 and April 1985, they did their part and doing so now, even in the of face bullets, financial hardships and detentions.
As the people continue to chant ���Just fall, that is all���, doctors continue to pay a hefty price for standing with the people and they need the international community to protect them.
February 28, 2019
The power of telling our own stories
Ma��mouna Jallow's The Door of No Return. Image credit Mohammed Gure.
In November 2018, the South African fast food chain Chicken��Licken��launched a new ad campaign.�����A long long time ago, when leather was still in fashion, a young man left his home to satisfy his hunger for adventure����������begins the��opening��line of the ���Legend of Big John.�����It��tells��the��story of��an African man who in the 17th��century discovers a foreign land and names it Europe. A��month��after its release, the ad��was��banned by��the South African Advertising��Regulatory Board��who��ruled that colonization is ���not open for humorous exploitation��� and that the ad ���trivializes��an issue that is triggering and upsetting for many South African people.��� If you haven���t seen the ad,��watch it now before continuing.
I find it not only hilarious, but also subversive.��I especially like the��part where the white woman at the end gives��Big��Mjohnana, the young man of the legend,��the eye.��Perhaps that is what did it for the regulators.��We all know that white men have always been sensitive about�����the black��mandingo.���
I fully agree with commentator��Zama��Mdoda��when he writes:
The ad didn���t seek to make light of colonization or the trauma it inflicted (and still inflicts). If anything, it depicts an unrepresented version of the African, one with agency and adventure compared to the unwilling victims of a colossal system of exploitation. It���s also tea-worthy commentary on the absurdity found in the notion that a person can discover a land with people already living there, which I consider a hearty fuck you to Christopher Columbus.
When we as Africans��tell our own stories, we��re-write the stories in the history books that our children are still taught in schools. We��do what Edward Said wrote��about decades ago in his seminal work,��Orientalism, and move from being��objects��to becoming��subjects��of our stories.��And��when it comes in the form of “reimagined” legends, folktales and myths, as this ad has done,��we reclaim some��of that history.
Last year, I edited an anthology of Re-Imagined��Folktales from Africa��entitled��Story Story, Story Come. The collection of 12 tales by writers from eight African countries seeks to do what��Grant de Sousa,��the director of the Chicken��Licken��ad,��has done��with the Legend of Big John���tell stories from an African perspective.��Speaking at the launch of the ad,��De Sousa��said,�����The beginning of my treatment was this painting which we had all seen in textbooks here. It was this insane depiction of these glorified��Europeans, namely the Dutch, rocking up on the shores of South Africa, and ‘rescuing’ these poor African villagers.���
Kids with Ma��mouna. Image credit Mohammed Gure.In��Story Story, Story Come, one author uses the site of��real archeological carvings of giraffes in Niger as the inspiration for her story in which a little girl imagines how they got there and whether they will still be there for generations to come as we continue to destroy our planet. In another tale from Zambia, a young blind girl called��Ikete��i��restores the blind King���s eyesight through her bravery, subverting the idea that young girls and people living with disability cannot be heroes in stories��and in real life. One of my��favorite��characters is��Ma���Dlovu, who��saves her community from starvation with the help of a talking mushroom (which��also��happens to be a reincarnation of Thomas��Sankara), and in the��process��leaves her useless drunkard of a husband who hangs��out��with people who�����buy him drinks but do��nothing to help him succeed.�����We all know people like that!
Some of the stories tackle themes recurrent in traditional folktales, such as greed. For example, we find out��Why Chickens Cannot Fly. It is because Chicken,��after being named King of the Skies because his comb resembles a crown, squanders all the birds��� wealth on gold and��many wives, and is condemned to a lifetime on the ground. Others, notably��The Big��Nest��from South Sudan is a��powerful tale about how war destroys families and the very��glue that keeps communities together.��What they all have in common is that they speak to issues that��we face today as Africans.��Without censorship.
John Titi and Nguz in The Door of No Return. Image credit Mohammed Gure.The ban of the Chicken��Licken��ad is testament to the fact that we need to control our��means��of production and distribution.��The publishers of the anthology,��Zukiswa��Wanner��and Lola��Shoneyin��are African women. The illustrator, lay-out designer, and I, the editor, are all African women.��Who is telling the story, who is editing it, who is turning words into images, and who is publishing it matters just as much as the��story��itself. And I am proud to say that the��Story Story, Story Come��anthology is��truly ours.
To buy a copy of��Story Story, Story Come: For more information about the Re-Imagined Folktales Project, click��here.
Ruffling feathers and the power of telling our own stories
Ma��mouna Jallow's The Door of No Return. Image credit Mohammed Gure.
In November 2018, the South African fast food chain Chicken��Licken��launched a new ad campaign.�����A long long time ago, when leather was still in fashion, a young man left his home to satisfy his hunger for adventure����������begins the��opening��line of the ���Legend of Big John.�����It��tells��the��story of��an African man who in the 17th��century discovers a foreign land and names it Europe. A��month��after its release, the ad��was��banned by��the South African Advertising��Regulatory Board��who��ruled that colonization is ���not open for humorous exploitation��� and that the ad ���trivializes��an issue that is triggering and upsetting for many South African people.��� If you haven���t seen the ad,��watch it now before continuing.
I find it not only hilarious, but also subversive.��I especially like the��part where the white woman at the end gives��Big��Mjohnana, the young man of the legend,��the eye.��Perhaps that is what did it for the regulators.��We all know that white men have always been sensitive about�����the black��mandingo.���
I fully agree with commentator��Zama��Mdoda��when he writes:
The ad didn���t seek to make light of colonization or the trauma it inflicted (and still inflicts). If anything, it depicts an unrepresented version of the African, one with agency and adventure compared to the unwilling victims of a colossal system of exploitation. It���s also tea-worthy commentary on the absurdity found in the notion that a person can discover a land with people already living there, which I consider a hearty fuck you to Christopher Columbus.
When we as Africans��tell our own stories, we��re-write the stories in the history books that our children are still taught in schools. We��do what Edward Said wrote��about decades ago in his seminal work,��Orientalism, and move from being��objects��to becoming��subjects��of our stories.��And��when it comes in the form of “reimagined” legends, folktales and myths, as this ad has done,��we reclaim some��of that history.
Last year, I edited an anthology of Re-Imagined��Folktales from Africa��entitled��Story Story, Story Come. The collection of 12 tales by writers from eight African countries seeks to do what��Grant de Sousa,��the director of the Chicken��Licken��ad,��has done��with the Legend of Big John���tell stories from an African perspective.��Speaking at the launch of the ad,��De Sousa��said,�����The beginning of my treatment was this painting which we had all seen in textbooks here. It was this insane depiction of these glorified��Europeans, namely the Dutch, rocking up on the shores of South Africa, and ‘rescuing’ these poor African villagers.���
Kids with Ma��mouna. Image credit Mohammed Gure.In��Story Story, Story Come, one author uses the site of��real archeological carvings of giraffes in Niger as the inspiration for her story in which a little girl imagines how they got there and whether they will still be there for generations to come as we continue to destroy our planet. In another tale from Zambia, a young blind girl called��Ikete��i��restores the blind King���s eyesight through her bravery, subverting the idea that young girls and people living with disability cannot be heroes in stories��and in real life. One of my��favorite��characters is��Ma���Dlovu, who��saves her community from starvation with the help of a talking mushroom (which��also��happens to be a reincarnation of Thomas��Sankara), and in the��process��leaves her useless drunkard of a husband who hangs��out��with people who�����buy him drinks but do��nothing to help him succeed.�����We all know people like that!
Some of the stories tackle themes recurrent in traditional folktales, such as greed. For example, we find out��Why Chickens Cannot Fly. It is because Chicken,��after being named King of the Skies because his comb resembles a crown, squanders all the birds��� wealth on gold and��many wives, and is condemned to a lifetime on the ground. Others, notably��The Big��Nest��from South Sudan is a��powerful tale about how war destroys families and the very��glue that keeps communities together.��What they all have in common is that they speak to issues that��we face today as Africans.��Without censorship.
John Titi and Nguz in The Door of No Return. Image credit Mohammed Gure.The ban of the Chicken��Licken��ad is testament to the fact that we need to control our��means��of production and distribution.��The publishers of the anthology,��Zukiswa��Wanner��and Lola��Shoneyin��are African women. The illustrator, lay-out designer, and I, the editor, are all African women.��Who is telling the story, who is editing it, who is turning words into images, and who is publishing it matters just as much as the��story��itself. And I am proud to say that the��Story Story, Story Come��anthology is��truly ours.
To buy a copy of��Story Story, Story Come: For more information about the Re-Imagined Folktales Project, click��here.
February 27, 2019
Bisi Silva: time remembered
Nomaduma Rosa Masilela, Bisi (center) and Moses (right). Image credit Serubiri Moses.
According to a report by��PM News Nigeria,��Bisi��Silva��(born��Olabisi��Obafunke��Silva, 1962), curator, critic, and art educator, died on the afternoon of February 12, 2019��in the presence of family���elder sister Joke Silva���in Lagos, Nigeria.��The report continues to say in recent months, following medical procedures, she struggled to alleviate cancer. Yet she was loved and continued to be surrounded by kindness until her final days. This is important considering novelist and essayist��Edwidge��Danticat’s statement that “saying someone has died alone is like stating that the person received an even graver sentence than usual.���
African-American artist Simone Leigh,��who Silva worked with repeatedly, has noted that��Silva��moved mountains��to bring the contemporary and conceptual arts of African practitioners to new transnational and regional audiences. One of the ways that she did this was through the Center of Contemporary Art in Lagos, which she founded in 2007.
After pursuing an MA��in Visual Arts Administration: Curating and Commissioning Contemporary Art at the Royal College of Art, London, from which she graduated in 1996, Silva visited Lagos in 1999 with the idea to do a project there. This began her journey of unlearning, as she��would fondly recall in a 2017 essay.
I spoke with Silva for the first time in 2013 during Tackling Texts, a reading group organized at 32 Degrees East in Kampala, featuring Silva���s review of��africa95���a festival of African arts in London���published in��Nka��Journal of Contemporary African Art. She Skyped in from��Sacatar in Salvador, Brazil, where she was on a curatorial residency, and generously explained the notion of political correctness as it was used in London during the nineties.
Her dignified, sharp, and informative criticism illuminated the state of African and Afro-Diasporic practitioners in London and proved pivotal at a time when European art museums were being held accountable for their colonial past, in renewed calls for the restitution of cultural artifacts.
Silva���s understanding of the contemporary and conceptual practices in Africa was��particularly exceptional. Driven by a peripatetic energy to experience multiple African cities and temporalities, Silva���s scholarship was rooted in strategies of a shifting local. Her curatorial work consisted of making and developing a vast network of artists, organizers, and art managers across the continent, as well as beyond it. In the nascent cultural economy between China and Nigeria, as well as other African states, Silva had curated the 2nd biennial of photography and video��art in��Chongqing, China.
In a way, Silva���s constant movement was a form of unlearning, seen in her awareness of artists and cultural production in a vast majority of the continent. She once��said that she���d traveled to more than fifty countries in Africa. It seems like Silva was always running, from place to place. The words of Gil Scott-Heron aptly describe her movements: ���Because I always feel like running/not away because there’s no such place.���
Silva���s vast travels on the continent, as well as in countries like Brazil and Haiti, was exceptional because of how she managed to connect various artists and cultural practitioners from various locations. She brought together artists from Brazil and Senegal, and helped usher relationships between curators and art educators in Northern and Southern hemispheres. It was through Silva���s professional network that I was commissioned to research connections between Kiev, Ukraine, and Dakar, Senegal.
She also traveled to Bamako, Johannesburg, Dakar, Addis��Abeba, Bujumbura, and Maputo among other places where she developed professional networks with artists and arts organizers. For the cities she loved, like Accra, where she returned again and again, such as in 2017 for the Arts Council of African Studies Association triennial symposium, Silva held long term relationships and appreciation for both veteran artists and young artists, often praising the work of the radical art department at Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology.
In a recent interview with Houghton Kinsman in��Frieze, Silva said:
What has been understood as contemporary African art has been articulated from a Western as well as a��diasporean��perspective and at its worst it has had a tenuous engagement with the local context. My work takes me to several countries across Africa and gives me the opportunity to embed myself in the diverse local cultural, artistic and social contexts for extended and at times repeated visits.
In 2007, Silva curated Democrazy,��the three-part inaugural exhibition of CCA, Lagos. “Fela,��Ghariokwu��Lemi, and the Art of the Album Cover” was the first part, a solo exhibition of graphic design works by the Nigerian illustrator��Ghariokwu��Lemi, who worked closely with Nigeria���s world famous musician��Fela��Kuti, debuted��at��the Center for Contemporary Art in��Yaba, Lagos. Later, the musician���s critique of Nigeria���s post-Independence leadership guided Silva���s own articulation of a critique of art education in Nigeria. She rallied against what she deemed were “outdated” and “moribund” structures of art education, culminating into the formation of��Asiko��in 2010, her roaming Pan-African art school, with the ���aims of filling a gap in the educational system in Nigeria and many African countries, which tend to ignore the critical methodologies and histories that underpin artistic practice.���
Time was a recurring theme of Silva���s exhibitions.��Telling Time��for example, was the title of her curated edition of the��10th��Rencontres��Africaine��des la��Photographie, the African Biennial of Photography (2015) in Mali. She conceived of an exhibition called��Moments of��Beauty��(2011) of notable Nigerian photographer J. D.��Okhai��Ojeikere��(1930-2014) in Helsinki, Finland. She later worked on J.D.��Okhai��Ojeikere���s��304 page art historical��monograph (Lagos, Nigeria, Center for Contemporary Art Lagos: 2014), which has since ushered him into the canon of African and contemporary art photography.
In 2013,��Bisi��curated,��Asiko: Evoking Personal Narratives and Collective History��a show of works by��Kelani��Abass, engaging time and memory, which set the thematic tone for the roaming��art school,��Asiko, also the Yoruba word for “time.”��The Progress of Love��was another exhibition in which Silva��asked, ���What then might a critical engagement with the subject of love offer us as an intervention?��� with works by artists��Temitayo��Ogunbiyi��and��Wura-Natasha��Ogunji, among others.
While time was arguably the dominant thematic and indeed, subject, of her��curatorial endeavors, I see a link between this theme and the drive of peripatetic anxiety in pacing, rushing, and running. That time could be elastic, bendable, expansive, and nonlinear. This had the stubborn effect of breaking up the neat ordering of “African history.” That Silva���s curatorial thinking collapsed time, only to re-assembled it, is both remarkable, and rebellious to the construction of a totalitarian perspective of “Africa.”
Art historian Tamar Garb, who collaborated with Silva as a curatorial faculty on��Asiko, said, ���For Silva the richness of local knowledge, and the specificity of lived, embodied, personal experience, provided the precious storehouse from which an African-based practice can emerge.���
The notion of lived, embodied, personal experience implied an intimacy that challenged the perspective of contemporary practitioners with whom she worked. Garb added that:
The location and locality provide the necessary counter-points to the anodyne, theory-driven generalities of a��globalized��art-world that circulates in a stratosphere of metropolises, market-forces and so much hot air.
This emphasis on the local, is not coincidental, and was something to which Silva returned to, even stubbornly. She is cited in numerous interviews challenging the assumptions of perceiving��African artists from a Western perspective, or in the North. She fiercely defended the right of Africa���s cultural practitioners to practice and be content with working at home, on the continent.
For��the roaming��Asiko��art school, organized under CCA, Lagos, participants were often challenged on the basis and configuration of the local. South African photographer��Thabiso��Sekgala��(1981-2014) who attended one of the first editions of��Asiko, discussed his experience in Lagos, Nigeria, by saying:
The whole discussion on��History/Matter��did help me look at how my practice critically and change how I think about my work. My work is influenced by history, both personal, family, and political. Being from South Africa one always deals with the fact that our Independence is 18 years old. I explore on how things are changing and also what history people forget, but the challenge is on how one takes the issue that is personal, or��where one is coming from and locates to the broader context.
Like��Thabiso, participants often found themselves overcoming conceptual obstacles that enabled them to reposition themselves in relation to local histories.
Reflecting on my experiences as a��curatorial participant in��Asiko, Dakar, 2014, which was titled,��A History of Contemporary Art in Dakar in Five Weeks��I wrote:
Perhaps, this (final) project��Dear Dakar,��also engages history. I recall thinking about the historical frameworks in conversation with (Malian founder of��Galerie��Medina)��Igo��Diarra. Perhaps there is something about rewriting history in��Dear Dakar. Perhaps in this action of transcribing or recording a collective memory, the group efficiently constructed their own history of Dakar.
This coalescing of personal and collective experiences was seen in the coming together of artists and curators brainstorming how to engage the local through a conceptual project after the five weeks program. The “collective” nature of this task is evident in artist and��Njelele��art space founder Dana��Whabira���s��voiceover on the��Dear Dakar��recording: ���I am existing in two places at once, opposing states existing in the same place, in the same moment.���
Perhaps one of the other central aims of CCA, Lagos, was the founding of a library, which holds about 7000 titles, papers, and special collections. Through some of the materials collected, such��as�� the complete volume of New Culture Magazine, published by Nigerian artist and architect Demas��Nwoko, a new path for the curator was opened. According to a statement she made in��Manifesta��Journal, Silva wrote that she had been inspired to work on a history of women artists in Nigeria, after finding, in the magazine pages, an exhibition review of Theresa��Akinwale, a pioneer Nigerian female modernist.
Bisi��Silva will be remembered fondly by many artists and curators across the continent, as a guiding figure of intelligence, and��her legacy with be long felt in this subtle but meaningful re-reading of time, history, and place��in contemporary African art.
Bisi Silva, time remembered
Bisi center and Moses right. Image credit Serubiri Moses.
According to a report by��PM News Nigeria,��Bisi��Silva��(born��Olabisi��Obafunke��Silva, 1962), curator, critic, and art educator, died on the afternoon of February 12, 2019��in the presence of family���elder sister Joke Silva���in Lagos, Nigeria.��The report continues to say in recent months, following medical procedures, she struggled to alleviate cancer. Yet she was loved and continued to be surrounded by kindness until her final days. This is important considering novelist and essayist��Edwidge��Danticat’s statement that “saying someone has died alone is like stating that the person received an even graver sentence than usual.���
African-American artist Simone Leigh,��who Silva worked with repeatedly, has noted that��Silva��moved mountains��to bring the contemporary and conceptual arts of African practitioners to new transnational and regional audiences. One of the ways that she did this was through the Center of Contemporary Art in Lagos, which she founded in 2007.
After pursuing an MA��in Visual Arts Administration: Curating and Commissioning Contemporary Art at the Royal College of Art, London, from which she graduated in 1996, Silva visited Lagos in 1999 with the idea to do a project there. This began her journey of unlearning, as she��would fondly recall in a 2017 essay.
I spoke with Silva for the first time in 2013 during Tackling Texts, a reading group organized at 32 Degrees East in Kampala, featuring Silva���s review of��africa95���a festival of African arts in London���published in��Nka��Journal of Contemporary African Art. She Skyped in from��Sacatar in Salvador, Brazil, where she was on a curatorial residency, and generously explained the notion of political correctness as it was used in London during the nineties.
Her dignified, sharp, and informative criticism illuminated the state of African and Afro-Diasporic practitioners in London and proved pivotal at a time when European art museums were being held accountable for their colonial past, in renewed calls for the restitution of cultural artifacts.
Silva���s understanding of the contemporary and conceptual practices in Africa was��particularly exceptional. Driven by a peripatetic energy to experience multiple African cities and temporalities, Silva���s scholarship was rooted in strategies of a shifting local. Her curatorial work consisted of making and developing a vast network of artists, organizers, and art managers across the continent, as well as beyond it. In the nascent cultural economy between China and Nigeria, as well as other African states, Silva had curated the 2nd biennial of photography and video��art in��Chongqing, China.
In a way, Silva���s constant movement was a form of unlearning, seen in her awareness of artists and cultural production in a vast majority of the continent. She once��said that she���d traveled to more than fifty countries in Africa. It seems like Silva was always running, from place to place. The words of Gil Scott-Heron aptly describe her movements: ���Because I always feel like running/not away because there’s no such place.���
Silva���s vast travels on the continent, as well as in countries like Brazil and Haiti, was exceptional because of how she managed to connect various artists and cultural practitioners from various locations. She brought together artists from Brazil and Senegal, and helped usher relationships between curators and art educators in Northern and Southern hemispheres. It was through Silva���s professional network that I was commissioned to research connections between Kiev, Ukraine, and Dakar, Senegal.
She also traveled to Bamako, Johannesburg, Dakar, Addis��Abeba, Bujumbura, and Maputo among other places where she developed professional networks with artists and arts organizers. For the cities she loved, like Accra, where she returned again and again, such as in 2017 for the Arts Council of African Studies Association triennial symposium, Silva held long term relationships and appreciation for both veteran artists and young artists, often praising the work of the radical art department at Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology.
In a recent interview with Houghton Kinsman in��Frieze, Silva said:
What has been understood as contemporary African art has been articulated from a Western as well as a��diasporean��perspective and at its worst it has had a tenuous engagement with the local context. My work takes me to several countries across Africa and gives me the opportunity to embed myself in the diverse local cultural, artistic and social contexts for extended and at times repeated visits.
In 2007, Silva curated Democrazy,��the three-part inaugural exhibition of CCA, Lagos. “Fela,��Ghariokwu��Lemi, and the Art of the Album Cover” was the first part, a solo exhibition of graphic design works by the Nigerian illustrator��Ghariokwu��Lemi, who worked closely with Nigeria���s world famous musician��Fela��Kuti, debuted��at��the Center for Contemporary Art in��Yaba, Lagos. Later, the musician���s critique of Nigeria���s post-Independence leadership guided Silva���s own articulation of a critique of art education in Nigeria. She rallied against what she deemed were “outdated” and “moribund” structures of art education, culminating into the formation of��Asiko��in 2010, her roaming Pan-African art school, with the ���aims of filling a gap in the educational system in Nigeria and many African countries, which tend to ignore the critical methodologies and histories that underpin artistic practice.���
Time was a recurring theme of Silva���s exhibitions.��Telling Time��for example, was the title of her curated edition of the��10th��Rencontres��Africaine��des la��Photographie, the African Biennial of Photography (2015) in Mali. She conceived of an exhibition called��Moments of��Beauty��(2011) of notable Nigerian photographer J. D.��Okhai��Ojeikere��(1930-2014) in Helsinki, Finland. She later worked on J.D.��Okhai��Ojeikere���s��304 page art historical��monograph (Lagos, Nigeria, Center for Contemporary Art Lagos: 2014), which has since ushered him into the canon of African and contemporary art photography.
In 2013,��Bisi��curated,��Asiko: Evoking Personal Narratives and Collective History��a show of works by��Kelani��Abass, engaging time and memory, which set the thematic tone for the roaming��art school,��Asiko, also the Yoruba word for “time.”��The Progress of Love��was another exhibition in which Silva��asked, ���What then might a critical engagement with the subject of love offer us as an intervention?��� with works by artists��Temitayo��Ogunbiyi��and��Wura-Natasha��Ogunji, among others.
While time was arguably the dominant thematic and indeed, subject, of her��curatorial endeavors, I see a link between this theme and the drive of peripatetic anxiety in pacing, rushing, and running. That time could be elastic, bendable, expansive, and nonlinear. This had the stubborn effect of breaking up the neat ordering of “African history.” That Silva���s curatorial thinking collapsed time, only to re-assembled it, is both remarkable, and rebellious to the construction of a totalitarian perspective of “Africa.”
Art historian Tamar Garb, who collaborated with Silva as a curatorial faculty on��Asiko, said, ���For Silva the richness of local knowledge, and the specificity of lived, embodied, personal experience, provided the precious storehouse from which an African-based practice can emerge.���
The notion of lived, embodied, personal experience implied an intimacy that challenged the perspective of contemporary practitioners with whom she worked. Garb added that:
The location and locality provide the necessary counter-points to the anodyne, theory-driven generalities of a��globalized��art-world that circulates in a stratosphere of metropolises, market-forces and so much hot air.
This emphasis on the local, is not coincidental, and was something to which Silva returned to, even stubbornly. She is cited in numerous interviews challenging the assumptions of perceiving��African artists from a Western perspective, or in the North. She fiercely defended the right of Africa���s cultural practitioners to practice and be content with working at home, on the continent.
For��the roaming��Asiko��art school, organized under CCA, Lagos, participants were often challenged on the basis and configuration of the local. South African photographer��Thabiso��Sekgala��(1981-2014) who attended one of the first editions of��Asiko, discussed his experience in Lagos, Nigeria, by saying:
The whole discussion on��History/Matter��did help me look at how my practice critically and change how I think about my work. My work is influenced by history, both personal, family, and political. Being from South Africa one always deals with the fact that our Independence is 18 years old. I explore on how things are changing and also what history people forget, but the challenge is on how one takes the issue that is personal, or��where one is coming from and locates to the broader context.
Like��Thabiso, participants often found themselves overcoming conceptual obstacles that enabled them to reposition themselves in relation to local histories.
Reflecting on my experiences as a��curatorial participant in��Asiko, Dakar, 2014, which was titled,��A History of Contemporary Art in Dakar in Five Weeks��I wrote:
Perhaps, this (final) project��Dear Dakar,��also engages history. I recall thinking about the historical frameworks in conversation with (Malian founder of��Galerie��Medina)��Igo��Diarra. Perhaps there is something about rewriting history in��Dear Dakar. Perhaps in this action of transcribing or recording a collective memory, the group efficiently constructed their own history of Dakar.
This coalescing of personal and collective experiences was seen in the coming together of artists and curators brainstorming how to engage the local through a conceptual project after the five weeks program. The “collective” nature of this task is evident in artist and��Njelele��art space founder Dana��Whabira���s��voiceover on the��Dear Dakar��recording: ���I am existing in two places at once, opposing states existing in the same place, in the same moment.���
Perhaps one of the other central aims of CCA, Lagos, was the founding of a library, which holds about 7000 titles, papers, and special collections. Through some of the materials collected, such��as�� the complete volume of New Culture Magazine, published by Nigerian artist and architect Demas��Nwoko, a new path for the curator was opened. According to a statement she made in��Manifesta��Journal, Silva wrote that she had been inspired to work on a history of women artists in Nigeria, after finding, in the magazine pages, an exhibition review of Theresa��Akinwale, a pioneer Nigerian female modernist.
Bisi��Silva will be remembered fondly by many artists and curators across the continent, as a guiding figure of intelligence, and��her legacy with be long felt in this subtle but meaningful re-reading of time, history, and place��in contemporary African art.
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