Challenging Africa’s Toxic Image
Despite the 2023 Africa Climate Summit and the Africa Union, a negative perception of Africa persists. This has climate consequences.
I shed a little tear of joy when I learned about the 2023 Africa Climate Summit and the Africa Union’s admittance to the G20 at the Delhi summit: it is about time for Africans to have a seat at the top table in the emerging new world order. For the first time in history, the idea of “African solutions to African problems as they relate to climate change” may finally be seen in action, which makes it particularly significant. It is a positive step that is long overdue. But how often, nay, how frequently, the most earnest ringing declarations and ambitious global goals are forgotten.
The sad truth is that there can be no solution to the ongoing climate crisis or other development-related initiatives unless Africa’s toxic image is first challenged. Why? Because the continuing bitterness in African over colonialism and the poisonous legacy of slavery have conspired to put a fetter on good democratic governance in Africa, which in turn is linked to the continent’s abysmal economic development in the last 60 years. Without an equitable economic programme (something like an African Marshall Plan) on the African continent, there’s no realistic prospect of solving the climate crisis, both on the African continent and the rest of the world.
Let me share with you a personal experience that helped me become painfully aware of this unfortunate and sad reality in order to help you understand why Africa’s toxic image is a big deal, even to this day. While pursuing my MBA in London more than ten years ago as a scholarship student, something strange happened to me. The harsh effects of the 2008–2009 global financial crisis caught up with me, and because the scholarship did not cover my living expenses, I was financially embarrassed.
To cut a long story short, I completed the final leg of my MBA programme while living on the streets. I spent some nights during the week sleeping on the streets of Milton Keynes and others in a hotel because it was cheaper to do so on the weekends. A warm change from the chilly, hard concrete floor that served as my bed for a short while was provided by my weekend hotel stay.
Many of the misconceptions I held for a long time about homeless people in England were dispelled for me as a result of rough sleeping. For the first time in my life, I realised that some of the rough sleepers were like me, in every sense of the word. One of the people I met was an engineer who, just a few months earlier, had been a top designer at a renowned English car manufacturer. His wife, children, home, and work had all been ripped away from him by misfortune in one crushing blow.
The second meeting was with a school teacher who had earned a first-class degree in English from Cambridge University. She was definitely not a drug addict, but I never quite worked out how she ended up on the streets. The last person I met was a former soldier from the British Army. During the second Gulf War, he distinguished himself while serving Queen and Country in Iraq. The situation was horrible. He and his family had suffered losses as a result of the conflict, which led him to turn to alcohol. He would regale me with tales of his wartime experience in Iraq on his good days, when he wasn’t intoxicated. He wasn’t an evil person.
The event that followed, however, had a considerably greater impact on me than the meetings mentioned above. In a sense, my present work is a chance for me to honour a promise I made during that experience. I met people who had survived crossing the English Channel in dinghy boats. The fact that they crossed the Mediterranean Sea, the Sahara Desert, and the English Channel was all the more remarkable. It is one thing to read about them in papers; they’re very much in the news these days; quite another to see them in the flesh. They really are real people, like you or me.
One sunny autumn morning, at around 5 am, I emerged from the public lavatories in one of the department stores, after grooming myself to disguise the fact that I was homeless (my classmates and tutors were none the wiser), to discover a crowd of about 20 people waiting patiently. They were part of the army of cheap cleaners who keep department stores up and down the country spick-and-span. I initially assumed they were waiting for their manager, so I moved quickly to avoid drawing attention to myself. However, as I did so, an elderly African woman reached out and grabbed my hand, speaking in broken English and saying, “We have gathered here to speak with you. We have something important we want to tell you.” I must admit that I was a little bewildered; I couldn’t understand why anyone, much less a gathering of people in the foyer, would want to speak to me.
“We have been observing you for a while,” she said, and “we would like to help you,” which confused me even more, as I could not see how they worked out that I was homeless and in need of help, or so I thought. Not wishing to insult the lady, I let her guide me by the hand to a place where I was motioned to sit down. The lady continued, “We know you are not a rough sleeper. We know a rough sleeper when we see one, and you are definitely not one of them.” She paused and continued, “We believe you are some undercover researcher working for the government. Of all the researchers we have seen, we feel you are the only one we can comfortably talk to without fear of reprisals.”
Stunned at what the woman said and not wishing to gainsay her, I sat down as requested and listened to what they had to say. It was a tale of woe. “We are refugees without papers working in the black economy. Several of us crossed the English Channel in small boats after having travelled across the Mediterranean Sea and, before that, the Sahara through Libya.” She went on to speak on her experience as an asylum seeker: “You simply cannot comprehend what we have gone through. But suffice it to say that, with God’s grace, we have lived to tell the tale.”
Unfortunately, we did not have as long a talk as they would have wished because, just as they were settling down, their supervisor abruptly emerged, and they all scattered in different ways. I never again ran into them. But even though I had no idea how, in the short time I was with them, I vowed to remember them in the future before our meeting was cut short. Now I’m doing just that, as I was once a refugee.
The recent Lampedusa refugee crisis brought back memories of the incident mentioned above, making the sight of Ursula von der Leyen, the president of the European Commission, and Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni visiting Lampedusa on September 17, 2023, all the more poignant. In just one week, more than 11,500 migrants have arrived on the Italian island, and far-right social media is rife with claims of a “invasion.” In 2023, more than 126,000 migrants entered Italy, which is a twofold increase from 2022. This year, at least 2,000 migrants have died trying to cross the Mediterranean.
Dr. Von der Leyen has promised a vague-sounding 10-point European-wide action plan. But Ms. Meloni wants an EU naval blockade of the North African coast. Her government is playing both sides. As the pair visited Lampedusa, Mr. Matteo Salvini, the deputy PM, hosted the far-right French leader, Ms. Marine Le Pen, to discuss how to protect “our peoples against… migratory submersion.” This unprecedented event begs the question: How did we come to this?
The answer is both simple and complex. Simple in the sense that the above situation is by and large the result of a failure in statecraft, policymaking, and imagination. However, it is complicated since the issue is also a byproduct of our shared history, which includes both colonialism and slavery as legacies. Sir Jonathon Porritt’s assertion in his book, Hope in Hell, that social justice and climate justice are two sides of the same coin is clearly validated by this reality. Both social justice and climate justice are human-induced. They both require a human response, hence the title of this article.
The next question we must ask is this: What can we do in the face of this ugly reality? In answer, it is said that when you change the form, you are on the way to changing the substance. This means we must all of us collectively change the way we look at Africa, the African people, and their descendants, with a view to removing the stigma associated with Africa’s toxic image.
I asked Mr. Milton Allimadi, author of Manufacturing Hate, how he would define racism to an Englishman in the county of Buckinghamshire, on my podcast episode, How to decolonise Africa’s toxic image. Here’s how he responded:
“I imagine you [a native Englishman] would… believe that you are somehow better than an African, namely intellectually, morally, and physically. This perception is the result of the historical demonisation of Africa, Africans, and people of African descent. It is atypical for the history of Africa to be taught in a holistic way, with Africans representing the ‘other’ relative to what is considered normal in the Western world. So it is hard to imagine that a European or somebody of European ancestry will go out of his way to learn more beyond what is typically taught in their curriculum, in their media, and in all the narratives that they encounter about Africa”.
The above notion, which is a deeply held conviction by many, has tainted public discourse, particularly with regard to both statecraft and policymaking with special reference to the African continent and her people. It is the reason for the paucity of a coherent immigration policy right across Europe, with the only exception of a policy intended to keep migrants — in particular, Africans — out.
In the paper ‘Rethinking Political Settlement in the Middle East and North Africa’ from Chatham House, it is argued that policymakers “have repeatedly prioritised stability over accountability. The resulting settlements (with special reference to migration) have instead created and perpetuated political systems that benefit those elites at the expense of citizens.” Ordinary citizens, especially those on the African continent, are barely given a second thought, and if they do, it’s only by way of lip service.
Rather than solve a pressing problem, namely, unregulated migration, policies often enacted in haste with local politicians tend to overlook structural forms of violence on the ground. They fail to significantly improve local dynamics but end up making a bad situation worse, corrupting and sabotaging human development. They do not increase accountability as a key part of reaching political settlements. Ordinary citizens are thus cut out completely because they are not considered to share the same values that are held dear in the West.
I think this is what Sir Jonathon Porritt meant when he spoke of social justice. You could be forgiven for thinking, “Come on, where’s the proof ?”. If only we had eyes to see the evidence that is all around us. One cogent proof is the Libyan flood disaster in Derna. But allow me to give you an example that is personal to me: my first country, Uganda. The USAID document ‘Country Development Cooperation Strategy for Uganda 2022–2027’ makes for grim reading. One particular paragraph gave me much pause for thought. It takes place against the backdrop of General Museveni’s dictatorship, which has lasted almost 40 years and is purportedly a dependable ally of the great powers. Uganda is one of the youngest nations on earth, “with 78% of her citizens below the age of 35, and this youthful population is set to double in the next 25 years.” It is worth noting that the population of Uganda now stands in excess of 48 million.
Here is the report’s stinging indictment on Museveni’s Uganda: “The average 17-year-old girl lives in a rural community where she has limited access to high-quality education and health care; she is unlikely to finish primary school and may be unable to read or write, which limits her agency and ability to make informed decisions; she struggles to find reproductive health information targeted to her unique needs; she lives in poverty and her family struggles to cope with shocks and stresses; she is disenfranchised by the political system and is blocked from participating in community-level advocacy, and she is also at high risk to be married young and to become infected with HIV”. It’s this reality, albeit taken out of the context of Western Colonialism and pillage that created it, that led to President Donald Trump referring to African countries like Haiti and El Salvador as “shithole” nations. A racist expression, no doubt, and one I condemn wholeheartedly. But if you believe that all countries were born equal, it might seem like calling a spade a spade.
Clearly, however, not all countries were born equal — and the long shadow of history looms large over the legacy of extreme inequality today. Even if it is a positive step, it is astonishing that the 2023 Africa Climate Summit and the G20’s acceptance of the Africa Union at the Delhi summit took place without the major world powers challenging deeply held prejudices regarding race, particularly as they pertain to the African continent, the African people, and their descendants. If you have run with the footmen (ie. the continuing legacy of slavery and colonialism) and they have worn you out, how can you contend with horses (ie. the climate crisis), to use a phrase from the Bible?
Living in a messy world in which no side has a monopoly on morality, how, we may ask, do we address this pernicious problem of racism? For racism is a root that bears poisonous and bitter fruit, leading, as we have clearly seen above, to futility in statecraft, policymaking, and imagination. Racism towards Africa, the African people, and their descendants is both deep and profound; it affects us all. Without a doubt, racism is the metaphorical sewer that becomes worse when churned up, which is why the wisest among us frequently tell us to “Let it alone.” The hypocritical among us also issue warnings, like “the cesspool has not enough vitality to live by itself; it is only opposition that makes it vital at all.”
It should be remembered that justice — and I am referring explicitly to rights as enshrined in the UN’s 1951 Refugee Convention — is not an exclusive private property belonging only to Western powers to be kept under lock and key, a secure hoard to be applied selectively to poor nations. Whatever we know about justice as it relates to racism, regardless of ethnicity, must be declared without reservation, even from the rooftops. Justice must be carried high like a blazing torch for the benefit of all. Yes, eradicating racism will likely be more difficult and painful than pulling teeth. Because racism is a wound that festers the longer it goes untreated, it is imperative that we all look deeply into the issue rather than just skimming the surface.
It matters because there is little likelihood we will successfully address the climate crisis if we cannot deal with Africa’s toxic image. As Gaia Vince writes in The Guardian, “a great upheaval is coming. Climate-driven movement of people is adding to a massive migration already under way to the world’s cities. The number of migrants has doubled globally over the past decade, and the issue of what to do about rapidly increasing populations of displaced people will only become greater and more urgent. To survive climate breakdown will require a planned and deliberate migration of a kind humanity has never before undertaken.” Large populations will need to migrate not simply to the nearest city, she writes, but across continents.
A racist response to this upheaval is an inhumane response, and a dangerous one. Racial inequality and climate change are inextricably linked. They are the two halves of the same coin.
