Being Black (and) British
Part 1: How and When We Got Here
This isn’t a history lesson as such, but the first thing one has to recognise when comparing the Black diaspora is the pattern of immigration. Or in the case of the US and the Caribbean, the pattern of enforced migration through enslavement.
Of course, we know that period of history occurred between the 16th and 19th Centuries. After this, we had indentured servitude that still forced migration around the colonies. This isn’t when Britain received the majority of its Black population, though. That came later, mostly after World War 2. Especially when we consider the average person rather than the wealthier people from around the Commonwealth who could travel here by choice for education and business.
Those Black people, as well as the few Black people who were here because they or their parents were enslaved at some point, likely married white people. By the 20th Century, their descendants would likely be white, for all intents and purposes. So, we didn’t have populations of Black people here who married other Black people throughout generations, and then by the 20th Century, we have this population of Black people who are Black British with no direct connection to a Black country. There’s no real established equivalent to African-American people in that sense.
I was born in the mid-80s as an Other, according to the Census. When I was born, the vast majority of my generation’s Black parent(s) came from a different country. A sizable number of the Black parents who were born in the UK were sent to live in the Caribbean or Africa with grandparents for all or part of their childhood while their parents worked and sent money home. This meant we were raised in a home with at least one parent who didn’t have an English accent or even spoke (an) other language(s). It might affect what religion you are and how you practise that religion.
This contact with an immigrant parent often meant you have a direct link with a Black country and culture. The formation of cultural and ethnic communities as well as the long-established commercial trade between the UK and the rest of the world means that you have produced from those home countries. And this is all on the backdrop of immigration being relatively recent in comparison to when slaves were taken to America — people had first-hand knowledge of their culture, cuisine, and customs. Plus, this is an age when the average person being able to save to take their family to this home country at least once in their childhood is feasible. Or was.
There’s a huge difference between a Jamaican and a Trinidadian despite their shared Caribbean origin. And the cultural differences between a Nigerian and a Jamaican are massive. In practical terms, it means that I can have the same complexion as a fellow "Black British" school friend but a totally different culture, religion, and diet to them because we are from different Black backgrounds.
Can you see how the idea of being ethnically Black British didn’t really occur to us? Couple this with the fact that Black Caribbeans and Black Africans have slightly different health risks, so the question about where you’re really from kind of has some medical basis for us.
I don’t want to make out this was always an easy existence to navigate. It was certainly easier in London compared to the rest of the UK. Especially by my generation. But even those who grew up in very overtly racist, predominately white environments tended to have that same direct link with a Black country.
I also don't want to appear ignorant of the fact that America has plenty of Black immigrants too. I know they do, most of my family are immigrants to America. I'll speak about them more extensively in Part 2, but for now, I'll say that the times I have felt Black British are when I am with my American or Jamaican family. That’s when I notice that despite us all having that connection with our Jamaican roots, the Americans have assimilated to America in ways I can see my few Jamaican-born relatives have assimilated to England.
It’s changing now. You see, those of us from the 70s and 80s grew up and had kids with each other. Some of our kids only have parents and grandparents with English accents. Our partners don’t speak our native language, and so our kids don’t learn it as we did. They don’t hear it enough. Those who are my age and came here themselves as immigrants have been in the UK longer than they were in their country of origin.
My son’s paternal family are from the Caribbean, but his grandparents are from different islands. His extended Caribbean family has visited here every year and he’s visited there, too. He has similar direct links to the Caribbean as my own generation. Maybe more because of social media. He identifies as Black Caribbean by ethnicity and of course British by nationality. Never Black British.
As you see above, even now, identifying as Black British is something you'd have to specify in writing. You can't just tick a default box. An American said this is the systemic way of distancing Black and British in a way that African Americans reject. Maybe it is. I'd be too close to tell. However, I think we generally take pride in identifying as Caribbean or African. It's a preference. We don't feel identifying that way negates our Britishness in any way that we don't want it to.
Many of my friends from a Caribbean background had kids with African people who may or may not have grown up here. Their kids have more affinity with this idea of being “Black British” as they are further removed from a Black country. This could change if they’re given the option to express their Black identity is split between African and the Caribbean. The few people of my generation who are of that specific mixed heritage would certainly want to say that. That could be reflected in the larger group of young people identifying as Black Other in the latest Census. Their parents likely filled out the form and wanted to reflect that their child is a mix of two or more Black identities, but is not Black British.
The “British” part of our identity is probably not a priority because many of my generation aren’t in immediate fear of their immigration status. The people I mostly saw identifying strongly as Black British were immigrants with British nationality. It’s probably an indication of our privilege in that we weren’t in fear of our right to be here being questioned. Well, not until the recent Windrush scandal when the status of our grandparents and parents came into question.
In Part 2, I’ll talk about why it’s important to remember these differences when we try to parse out Black racial issues on a global level. But you can’t really do that without a solid understanding of how we are different.
