Forecasting An Ancient Future
Part Two of The Drinking Gourd’s Afrofuturism roundtable series.
“Before the term Afrofuturism was even coined…I could create these imagined worlds where a person who looked like me, who lived like me, who had a history like me, was not abnormal.”
We are in the middle of a global pandemic and we are dreaming.
Across social media, I see conversations about what the world will be “after”. I see mutual aid projects raising thousands in donations. I see people handing out fliers to their neighbors and organizing rent strikes in buildings where organizing may not have been before. I see Black Muslims putting together national coalitions in days. I see theory made practice.
This isn’t to say people weren’t organizing before. Black people been using social media for mutual aid and been getting into our neighborhoods. It also isn’t to say that everyone kept theory from the life they lived and nobody considered the “after”. Hell, I’ve known the after, intimately; the after occupations, the after arrests, the after that signifies your break from the World, even though it carries on. But, what I see reminds me of a conversation I am thrilled to share today.
In January, The Drinking Gourd published the first part of our Afrofuturism series. Now, I am proud to bring you the second and final piece, where I am joined by Angelica Lindsey-Ali, who some of you may better know as The Village Auntie, and Rabiyatu, an educator and poet. Here, we dive into ancient futures, revenge, and how to bring Afrofuturism into our daily lives.
Vanessa: We’ll start this conversation by seeing how everyone approaches Afrofuturism. The term itself can conjure a variety of definitions, emotions, aesthetics, and etc. What does Afrofuturism mean to you?
Rabiyatu: I think of science fiction, like where we imagine a Black future that is liberatory. I think of it as a movement. I know there are a lot of Black artists like Sun Ra and Black To The Future integrating space and the future. So, that’s what I think about when I hear the term Afrofuturism.
Angelica: Afrofuturism has been a way to bridge our ancient reality with our future possibilities. It’s a space of imagination; imagining what it would be like had we not faced the multitudes of traumas that we have, but also, re-imagining those traumas. And, creating a world that is more liberating and focused on our inherent creative abilities as Black people.
For me, Afrofuturism was a safe space before I even knew that it was a thing. Before the term Afrofuturism was even coined, I remember being able to find solace and spaces where I could create these imagined worlds where a person who looked like me, who lived like me, who had a history like me, was not abnormal.
Vanessa: Whenever I read Afrofuturist work, I find myself thinking about who is not present, and how it can reaffirm troubling shit or what the absence means for the future. We’re looking at Christian hegemony specifically and, so, in what ways have you seen Christian hegemony play out in Afrofuturism?
Angelica: Everybody Christian.
Rabiyatu: Yeah, I was going to say the same thing as well. Everybody’s Christian and Christianity is in everything.
Angelica: I think a lot of the prominent Afrofuturists — who may or may not consider themselves to be Afrofuturists — are people like Cheryl Sanders and Mos Def. I mean, these people are Muslim. Even the way we dress, the way that we move about the world, the way that we pray, it definitely has a futuristic element to it. It’s just interesting that there would be, for example, Sudanese motifs in a novel, but then everybody’s Christian. There’s this disconnect that I find to be both disconcerting and interesting at the same time.
Rabiyatu: Yeah, I also think that since Afrofuturism is a very Black American phenomenon, that’s another reason why Christian hegemony is so present in the conversation of Afrofuturism.
Angelica: I think Afrofuturism as a coined term is very African American but Afrofuturism is definitely a lived reality in a lot of contemporary African societies. When I was in college, I had a professor who was from Ghana, and his ethnic group was Ashanti. He said, amongst the Ashanti, we don’t have a word for art in the way that Europeans or people in the West consider art. Art should be functional.
He was talking about how we put things on our walls. He’s like no, these are things that have a functional element. They’re structurally beautiful, but they are functional and they are a part of society. So I think Afrofuturism as a lived reality is very true for people who live on the continent or who are in first-generation households. I think African Americans compartmentalize Afrofuturism which is why I think that the Christian stamp is just put on top of it. It’s this new, fun fusion of culture, but it’s not necessarily part of a lived reality.
Rabiyatu: I understand that and I don’t say that to alienate other cultures of the African diaspora. Maybe I’m saying the Afrofuturism that I’ve been exposed to really centers a lot of Black American struggles in the world.
Angelica: No, I was agreeing with you. I was just expanding on what you said. But, I absolutely think that’s true. Afrofuturism can be very myopic. It’s very one sided and not as expansive as it should or could be.
“By leaving Black Muslims out of the narrative, it robs Afrofuturism of the ability to be as expansive as it could be.”
Vanessa: Rather than moving on to the next question, I want to continue this conversation. Because I feel that when we look at a lot of Afrofuturist work, it’s not necessarily explicitly religious. So, I want to ask what are the consequences of leaving Black Muslims out of Afrofuturism? Why is this relevant to talk about?
Angelica: By leaving Black Muslims out of the narrative, it robs Afrofuturism of the ability to be as expansive as it could be. Afrofuturism in a lot of ways is an ancient future. It bridges a lot of very ancient ideas, landscapes, and themes into the work. When you leave Black Muslims out of that, you’re erasing a huge part of the legacy of Black people and the forecasting of what is possible for us. Muslims have always been involved in the literary arts and the cultural arts in general. When you leave out our contributions by masking or deleting our presence from the narrative, it robs Afrofuturism of its ability to be richer, more expansive, and more truthful.
Rabiyatu: To give you a bit more background about me, I was born and raised Muslim. Very much ingrained into the masjid and all of that. You know how people go to church all days of the week? That was me in the masjid. When I thought of this question, I started thinking about the Day of Judgement and how traditional Islamic doctrine kind of paints this, like, we have no future. You’re here to serve Allah, you die, you wait in your grave, and then on the Day of Judgement you’ll be judged for your sins. I feel like that’s something we need to reconcile with.
As someone who was very indoctrinated in that, it would feel like it goes against Islamic principles for me to imagine this different type of future of liberation. Obviously how I am now, I’m rethinking everything I’ve been taught about Islam. But, I think that might be a barrier for some Muslims into Afrofuturism because the religion has already told us what’s going to happen and how the world is going to end. I don’t think that the lack of Black Muslim visibility in Afrofuturism is a result of those teachings. I just think it’s one reason why some Muslims don’t go into that territory. You’re not really supposed to because God has already told us.
Angelica: It’s interesting you brought that up because we could extend it beyond Afrofuturism, right? Depending on the setting, the way Islam is taught sort of takes you away from any creative circle. My husband was very good with art as a child. He went to the madrasa and they were like, “No, astaghfirullah!” And me, I played classical concert violin. When I became Muslim, they were like, “Astaghfirullah,” because it has strings. If you have a misunderstanding of religion, traditional Islam really stunts our creativity.
Rabiyatu: And the same thing for me. I’m a poet now. When I was learning about the Quran’s revelation, they were like the Quran is better than poetry. The Quran is better than that. Like, people who do poetry are trying to imitate God’s language.
Angelica: But Islam was taught through poetry! I don’t understand — and I don’t agree with it — but I can see how people would say that. But when they do, they are negating a whole mode of education where poetry was used. Nana Asma’u — that’s one of the ways she taught women who couldn’t speak Arabic, who didn’t have access to formal education. This is a woman they would’ve astaghfirullah’ed to death. She’s using poetry and song to teach Islam in all of these spaces. I just think about all the creative genius that gets lost in misinterpretations of religion.
Vanessa: I can see how people would say, “The future is written, it is what it is.” And these conversations would be haram, bid’ah, or whatever they want to say. But then, I also think the whole point of knowing that there is a Day of Judgement isn’t so you can sit and be complacent. We’re told to help each other and part of helping is not letting the oppressors be oppressors. Part of what a lot of Afrofuturistic work is wrestling with are the layers of oppression that exists. That’s how I see Afrofuturism as relevant to Islam. Because Islam doesn’t forbid you from looking at your future on this earth, right? Like something is written for me but I don’t know what that is.
Rabiyatu: I agree with that. One of the things I’ve been reconciling with is trying to unlearn the way Islam was presented to me. Your view of what you just explained, Vanessa, is what I’m trying to move towards, if that makes sense.
Angelica: It’s something I think more people who were born and raised in Islam have to stop and think about. You know, how have the ways I was raised up in this religion harmed me? How have they harmed my psychic ability to be more expansive and imaginative? I think that’s one of the reasons why we don’t have as much artistic output as maybe previous generations. We’ve allowed Islam to become like a weapon rather than using it as something to make us more expansive.
“This might be bad of me, but I would like to see revenge.”
Vanessa: I’d like to move into the next question. Technology and Black communities’ efforts to reclaim or subvert it are not limited to the digital. But, I do think this era is interesting. We have real-time facial recognition rolling out in Black cities like Detroit and Chicago; Black Muslim youth are monitored on social media; all of the big tech companies suck. Given all of this, what do you think needs to happen with Afrofuturism in the coming years?
Rabiyatu: I don’t know why but I’m thinking about Black Mirror and the Black Museum episode about a man who does neurotechnology [Rolo Haynes]. The main part of the episode is there’s a Black man who was accused of killing a weather woman. He ends up on death row. When he is set to be executed, Haynes offers him the opportunity to sign over the rights to his digital soul.
After that, Haynes ends up having a museum, and the main exhibit is this Black man’s digital copy being electrocuted over and over and over and over again. The man can feel the physical pain, sensations, and all of that. I say all of this to say, it’s like a conversation about punishment and cruelty. At the end of the episode, the man’s daughter takes revenge and sets her dad free from this digital prison.
This might be bad of me, but I would like to see revenge. Like, imagining a world where we are not the losers or people who have the short end of the stick. I liked that episode because she showed up for her father. She set him free while also putting that man in the same situation as her father. That’s where Afrofuturism should be heading towards.
Vanessa: Yeah, I think there is a point and purpose to those stories. There’s definitely an aspect of subverting technology in some way. That Black Mirror episode is a great example because the guy who made that technology never intended for himself to become this digital figure that’s tortured for all of eternity. And I remember, she had him on a key chain because that’s what he was doing. She put him up on her rearview mirror.
Rabiyatu: Yes, absolutely. It connects to your question about facial recognition and all of that. Like, we don’t fully know the side effects of digital technology. For example, I think of how 23andMe came out and all these people are getting DNA tests to figure out their ancestral lineage. Now, that genetic information is being used for something else. I think of Henrietta Lacks and how her cells were used in cancer technology. They just stole it. But like just that example, we don’t know where it’s headed. So a good direction that I see us going is Black people overcoming the ways that technology is used to further surveil us.
Vanessa: What you’re saying reminds me of the process of how people are turning around the ways in which technology is being used. Whether it’s the currently fictional examples, like Black Mirror, or organizations like Data for Black Lives, which looks at how data can be used to benefit Black people because it’s not often being used that way.
Next, though, I wanted to see if either of you have any Black Muslim Afrofuturists that you would recommend people start to look into?
Angelica: Bobby Rogers would definitely be a person who I think exemplifies Afrofuturism. There’s a sister on Instagram, Hodan Yousuf, who does amazing things re-imagining what modest apparel looks like. Layla Amatullah Barryan, who’s a photographer. I don’t know if any of these people consider themselves Afrofuturists but they are who I think fits the narrative.
Also, Pharoah Sanders ’cause I’m an old head and he’s one of those people who exemplified a sonic approach to Afrofuturism. I don’t even know if he still considers himself Muslim but those are the first people that come to mind. And then of course you when it comes to writing. You’re the only one I can think of when it comes to writing who embodies this idea of Afrofuturism.
“…I hope we give ourselves the space and imagination to incorporate Afrofuturism into our daily lives. Not just keep it compartmentalized and focused on books and artwork.”
Vanessa: Thank you, I try. But, those are all of my questions. Do either of you have any closing thoughts or comments you wanted to share?
Rabiyatu: I just appreciate the work that you’re doing to center Black Muslims. Because Arabs be anti-Black, and I don’t wanna be with them no more. And I don’t have to because people like you create spaces for these types of conversations. It’s nice to be following people whose views, ideals, and conceptions around Islam are not so punitive or punishment based. It’s been helping me in my journey towards defining Islam for myself.
Angelica: The last thing I want to add is I hope we give ourselves the space and imagination to incorporate Afrofuturism into our daily lives — not just keep it compartmentalized and focused on books and artwork. One thing I’ve been doing lately is incorporating more of a cosplay type of element in my approach to Islamic dress. You know, just being imaginative in how we cover our bodies, and unlearning old patterns of being and looking forward to how we can embody more of an imagined individuality.
Rabiyatu: Can you expand on that a little more?
Angelica: I’m heavy into cosplay. I have been for a very long time. It’s not dressing as like an anime character but I create characters — and all of them are Muslim. I slowly started dressing like that on a daily basis and realized how a lot of the traditional Islamic attire that we have can be re-imagined for a more futuristic style of dress. And I’m finding comfort in that individuality.
A lot of it has to do with the fact that I’m older now so I don’t care what people say when they see me walking around. Just…using those elements of being an eight, nine year old child trying to be like Princess Leia. But now, being a 44-year-old Muslim woman walking around in abayas, and being very careful in how I select clothing that I wear. Having it reflect my reality not only as a Muslim woman but as someone who considers herself a diehard Afrofuturist.
Vanessa Taylor is a writer based in Philadelphia, although Minnesota will always be home. Through articles, essays, fiction, and more, she focuses on Black Muslim womanhood and technology. She is a 2019 Echoing Ida cohort member, 2020 Bitch Media Technology Writing Fellow, and the Editor-in-Chief of The Drinking Gourd, a Black Muslim literary magazine. You can find her work at taylorvanessa.com.
