The Meaning and Influence of Diaspora in Global Era: Understanding Coexistence in a Multicultural Society
By
Muyiwa Falaiye, Ph,D, FNAL
Professor of African Philosophy and African Diaspora Studies
University of Lagos, Nigeria
ofalaiye@unilag.edu.ng
Introduction: Diaspora and the Deepening of Souls
Many years ago, in my early scholarly efforts to engage with the question of the African diaspora or more accurately put, the intimacy between Africa and its thick Diasporas, Langston Hughes was a fruitful companion. The bold writer of the Harlem Renaissance, known primarily for his people-facing poetry, Langston Hughes grappled with the problem of black identity, ancestry, and collective belonging in the face of the deracination engendered by the history of transatlantic slave trade. “The Negro Speaks of Rivers,” his old familiar poem, tells the story of the tenuous ebbs of black movement so poignantly:
I have bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young,
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep
I looked upon the Nile and raised pyramids above it
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to NewOrleans,
and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset
From Euphrates to the Congo to the Nile and Mississippi, Hughes paints an early picture of the reach of the black soul – the journeys, forced and otherwise, across the worid and the “unending flows” from African homelands to the new world. These flows between Africa and the new world were constituted, in a major way, through rupture and removal. The harrowing history of the Transatlantic Slave Trade is by now familiar to most, but restating some of its consequences offers a useful starting point for some of the issues I will raise in my presentation.
In Alex Hayley’s Roots, we are offered a vivid representation of the physical and psychological journey of slavery, the loss of home – a concrete material space but also an emotional, spiritual, and sociolinguistic space. A major consequence of slavery, as I have shown in my own work, was then a fragmentation of kinship, an unsettling of the nurturing intimacy that was ensconced in the African family.
Against the tides of these journeys, what Hughes work emphasizes is the buoyancy that the black soul reveals through histories of movements across rivers. The repeated line “my soul has grown deep like the rivers” is heavy with symbolism. The black soul, as opposed to the fragile body beaten down by the weight of slavery and its cognate sensibility, racism, suggests a sphere of black being that endures against the tides. The black soul was uprooted from the “hut near the Congo” yet survived to witness “the singing of the Mississippi.” Rather than focus on the privation of slavery, Hughes’ vision suggests that black life has remained resilient against all the efforts to diminish and enslave the black body and identity. This emphasis on the deepening black soul has been a central preoccupation for me: What does it mean that the black soul deepens in the ebbs and flows of the fluid movement that is diaspora? How does the deepened black soul rectify the loss engendered by being uprooted from home? What new possibilities of kinship and belonging emerge from the process of the collective deepening of souls in the multiple passages of migration?” To these concerns, I will add a final one for the purpose of the lecture: what might the world learn from the black Atlantic and the deep black soul?
Paul Gilroy has offered a useful starting point for the last question. His famous book, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness, explores how cultural studies has been in tension over what we can call the paradox of the slave ship. On the one hand, the ship – as an instrument of modernity – represented “racial terror, commerce” and entrenched hierarchies of difference. Yet, on the other hand, “by being the living means by which points in the Atlantic world were joined,” ships were “the mobile elements that stood for the shifting spaces between the fixed spaces that they connected” (Gilroy, 1993:16). The ship, by Gilroy’s account then, becomes a metaphor for the voyages, encounters, and the architectures of interaction that enable the fixed geographical spaces in the world to be connected. Gilroy’s position comes really close to Hughes’ poetic pronouncement about the deepening of the black soul. A crucial difference in both accounts is that Hughes’ black soul appears to have an ontological character, to suggest an innate resilience in the African identity to wade through the literal and figurative waters. Gilroy, on the other hand, was more interested in the Black Atlantic as a praxis of transnational and transcultural production that challenges the fixity of the modern nation state.
My earlier work (Falaiye, 2004) has addressed the ontological position. I suggest there that “the deepening of the soul is an essential part of the African spirit,” yet I was and am still reluctant to commit to the idea that there is anything innate about this characteristic. What I will focus on for the rest of my presentation is the second position championed by Gilroy’s concept of the black Atlantic. If as Hughes suggests, the black soul grows deep like rivers, Gilroy’s Black Atlantic offers a compelling analytical model for how this deepening happens through the tides of movement. Because of Africa’s unique history in the new world, I believe that Africans and descendants of Africans can offer the contemporary world a great model for what is possible through movements across borders (physical and sociocultural) and how we might understand the questions of identity, multiculturalism and nationalism in our present times.
For the rest of this presentation, I will explore the meanings and makings of diaspora and how diaspora complicates fixed notions of citizenship. Then, drawing on black popular music starting from hip-hop, I will examine the significance of diaspora for cultural production. Next, I will raise questions about the tenuous conditions that sustain diaspora and how we might engage and, perhaps, repair them. Finally, I will close with reflections about African models of sustaining the connections between home and diaspora drawing on my directorial work for many years at the Institute of African and Diaspora Studies in the University of Lagos.
The Makings and Meanings of Diaspora
Diaspora often emerges in relation to homeland, often particularly from crises in the homeland - slavery, war, economic instability, natural disaster. As Paul Gilroy defines it, diaspora “identifies a relational network, characteristically produced by forced dispersal and reluctant scattering” (Gilroy, 1994). Even though the first conceptual use of diaspora was applied to Jews after WWII, the black diaspora is possibly the oldest and most prominent in world history since the Middle Passage through which over 10 million Africans were forced to travel in slave ships. In more recent analytical inquiries into the phenomenon, diaspora has been defined more loosely and expansively as “groups of people living outside their respective homelands.” (Brettell, 2006:328). Even in this less conservative definition, the removal from homeland is still the central characteristic of diaspora. While the more expansive definition rightfully incorporates the question of agency by showing that diasporas are also constituted through voluntary movements, it is still useful to consider the constraints that lead people to “willfully” migrate. Statistics show that since the 1990s, more Africans have voluntarily moved to Western countries than were forced throughout the slave trade era. Yet there is a direct causal link between the economic downturn of the 1990s across the continent and the drive to seek greener pastures elsewhere (Okpewho & Nzegwu, 2009).
Through histories of migration, forced or (often) highly motivated by political economic conditions, removals from homeland have become an undeniable part of our collective existence. Yet diaspora is not simply a matter of the fact of mass dispersal but about its political, ideological, and cultural effects – the processes by which homeland is remembered, transformed, and reconstituted through such movements. It is that spatiotemporal back and forth of departure and return through which new possibilities of identity and belonging emerge.
Some scholars have focused on the emergence of a “diasporic cultural consciousness” (Appadurai and Breckenridge, Brettell, 2006:328 1989; Falzon, 2003). The Harlem Renaissance tradition, from which Langston Hughes comes, is a rather poignant example of how diaspora becomes a rallying force for cultural consciousness. If the point of slavery was the dehumanization of the black other, the Harlem Renaissance was a pioneer collective of African Americans who were concerned with reclaiming black value, and reconnecting with an ancestry from which they had been deracinated. This is the significance that underlines Hughes’ pronouncement of the “(black) soul (that) has grown deep like the rivers.” Through the Harlem Renaissance, the diaspora is not simply a matter of the reaffirming discourses of the scholars and writers that constituted the collective but also about the praxis of solidarity and belonging that emerged amidst a people trying to rewrite their destinies in a hostile environment. It is crucial to note that what connected this diaspora was not necessarily the shared origins of the people. The writers of the Harlem Renaissance, descendants of slaves but largely citizens (by birth) of America, might have had no concretized connection to or memory of their ancestral homes. While they shared ancestry in the vast geography of Africa, the specifiable reality of a homeland, bounded in space, sutured by language, values, and practices simply did not exist for them. Yet, through collective cultural production, they were able to reconstruct a sense of identity and positive imaginaries of African ancestry. Recall, Hughes’ line: “I built my hut near the Congo, and it lulled me to sleep,” through which he echoes an Africa he never directly knew. In effect, imaginaries of homeland are sometimes born out of the fluid experience of diaspora rather than a fixed location or memorable past.
The relationship between diaspora and homeland is therefore a complicated one. The fact of diaspora itself often evokes the sense of a past life in the homeland, but it is never clear what the relationship between a new place and the former place is or ought to be. With the example of the Harlem Renaissance, because of the unique conditions of black strife and racial segregation, there was a psychological need to hold on to almost-romantic visions of homeland, a place where blackness belonged without judgment and abjection. W.E.B Du Bois’ notion of “double consciousness” (2015) has been quite fundamental in diaspora studies as a way to understand the convergence and clashing of past and present identities in the diasporic experience. Du Bois and other writers of the Harlem tradition never used the term, “diaspora,” yet the scholarship and cultural production was quite useful for framing that in-between experience of homeland and voyage.
A “new African Diaspora” as Isidore Okpewho and Nkiru Nzegwu (2009) describe it has emerged and since they moved under different conditions than the Middle Passage, they often have a more direct yet less romanticized affinity with their respective homelands. No longer thinking through the frame of their treasured huts (of the Congo) lulling them to sleep, subsequent generations of “voluntary” migrants often saw firsthand the fallout of economic and political instability in postcolonial African states. While the conditions of slavery and racial segregation are not as openly gruesome today, migrants still struggle with prohibitive immigration laws and continuing economic and social barriers on the basis of racial and geopolitical difference. Under these conditions, the diasporic consciousness that emerges often still straddles the multiple intersecting identities that are actuated in the process of migration. Rather than reflect what is lost at home or encountered in the new space, diaspora designates the process in-between, what Keguro Macharia describes as “the active and dynamic ways blackness is produced and contested and celebrated and lamented as a shared object.” But what is shared should not be mistaken for what is common. In essence, migrants who come from or are descendants of Africans do not share the same characteristics or experiences but make and remake solidarities and discourses about blackness from the frame of their new experiences and with the technologies afforded to them by the times.
The ‘black diaspora’ as understood here complicates Du Bois’ notion of double consciousness, tied to a particular experience of racial difference in the United States. “It may be more apt,” Paul Zeleza (2009:33) reminds us, “to refer to the multiple consciousnesses – in its ‘racial,’ ‘national’ and ‘transnational’ intersections – as emblematic of a diaspora consciousness.” What we have then, is not a single nationality or a single destination but a multiplicity of connections through movement. Unlike the single-nation-bound citizen, the migrant of the diaspora straddles spaces and times.
In closing this segment, I would like to recall Zeleza’s comprehensive definition of diaspora “as a mode of naming, remembering, living, and feeling group identity molded out of experiences, positionings, struggles, and imaginings of the past and the present, and at times the unfolding and unpredictable future, which are shared or seen to be shared across boundaries of time and space that frame “indigenous” identities in the contested and constructed locations of “there” and “here” and the passages and points in between.”
Diaspora and Cultural Production
The emphasis on moulding, making, and producing that enlivened all the definitions of diaspora I have offered here, presents a useful segue into the question of multiculturalism as it is emergent in diaspora. To return briefly to Gilroy, he criticized what to him was the absolutist tendency of nationalist culture advocates who fixated on the essentialist ideals of African culture. Granted that these ideological moves, and in particular, the search for an African cultural essence, were important for black scholars and artists in an epoch of racial inequality and colonialism in the West and Africa respectively, an epoch that was, according to Fanon (1967:210), marked by “cultural estrangement,” it was by this moral imperative – to recover what was lost in the wake of the most grueling episodes of western domination from slavery to colonialism – that cultural projects such as Negritude were born. Incidentally, many of the actors responsible for this framing of culture were of the diaspora since they saw by contrast, how the western world had represented African culture.
Fanon’s rejoinder to the African culturalists whose arguments suggested that there was a common African culture was to highlight the significance of national consciousness in the making of culture. For Fanon (1967:216), “the problems which kept Richard Wright and Langston Hughes on the alert were fundamentally different from those which might confront Leopold Senghor and Jomo Kenyatta.” Therefore, according to his argument, the more realistic account of culture was the one that considered the present struggles of the people in the context of the nation state. The diasporic condition, however, regulates the Fanonian position because the connections made possible by the flows of migration creates a new space beyond a single or fixed national territory. Ironically, returning African scholars and writers from the diaspora, those who Fanon described as “native intellectuals,” were primarily responsible for promoting the idea of an essential African culture. Fanon himself quite persuasively critiqued this static approach to culture, noting that “it is not enough to the people in that past out of which they have already emerged; rather we must join them in that fluctuating movement which they are just giving shape to” (Fanon, 1967). A central limitation of Fanon’s culture critique was that, while he understood the non-temporal fixity of culture, he did not extend such an understanding of non-fixity to the spatial conditions that shape culture.
One of the major and enduring artefacts of diasporic cultural production is popular black music, which offers a different perspective on what forms of cultural production are possible in the diaspora. While the black elite of the diaspora in the era of African independence were trying to come up with a territory-bound ideal of culture that had, in many ways, been ironically overdetermined by Euro-western modernity, hip-hop and related genres of black popular music emerged as a “counterculture of modernity” (Gilroy, 1993:36). Hip-hop started in New York in the 1970s as a genre of music for downtrodden black youth in the city who faced racial discrimination and economic precarity. While it started as underground music, without acquiring artistic legitimacy even amongst the black elite, the culture soon spread internationally to connect the plight of the young, black, and restless in urban centers across the world. As Morgan and Bennett (2011) argue, “while hip-hop may have emerged in New York in the 1970s, many of its diverse global and multicultural beginnings can be tied to African diasporic cultural forms and communities” from African to Caribbean to American and Latin American influences.
Drawing on the rap form and registers of style tied a youthful urban experience, hip-hop is a pointed example of a culture that defied the territoriality expected of cultural forms. It drew on multi-spatial cues and spread back and forth between locations of blackness across the world. A number of scholars have pointed to the emergence of a hip-hop nation as a form of imagined community not joined together by territory but by shared affinity with the circumstances (urban, young), language, and aesthetics of hip-hop. The spread of hip-hop has extended to even Asian environments with genres like Korean hip-hop reaching a status of considerable global recognition and importance (Song, 2019). As a site of global encounter, hip-hop speaks to the idea that cultures often emerge from interactions between experiences across time and space. The first promoters of the culture were the young people who had lived in the urban where they encountered people from different migrant contexts who shared the precarious conditions of urban life. By the 1990s, when new digital technologies gained traction in the production of music, there was a new spatial reality of circulation that allowed hip-hop to circumvent national border controls and oscillate between communities of urban youth across the world.
It is essential to note that the transcultural production of hip-hop is not mutually exclusive with its territorial leanings. While hip-hop speaks a global language, each iteration of it has local concerns. This is why such a framing as “Korean Hip-hop” is possible because it specifies the encounter between a global music form with African American origins and a distinctly Korean experience. Hip-hop cultures across the world speak of territory and authenticity but as a way to specify their contextual experiences with the tools of popular music. In Nigeria, for instance, the appropriation of African American rap styles would soon give way to the emergence of homegrown popular music practices, now generally dubbed as Afrobeats. Afrobeats draws on sonic and textual reference points from African cultures – indigenous languages, urban slangs, traditional music, etc., while also using digital mixing tools and sampling sounds from hip-hop cultures around the world. Apart from the sonic and the textual, the political specificities of popular music in Africa also demonstrate the continuing importance of locality in music. In 2011, for instance, from the Arab Spring to Senegal’s Presidential elections, young people used hip-hop in protests as a medium of “free speech and political resistance” (Morgan and Bennett, 2011).
Taken together, these processes of multicultural production instantiated by diasporic encounters in the hip-hop example show the ongoing tension between home and diaspora.
Multiculturalism and the Tension between Home and Diaspora
Diaspora often complicates ideas of fixed origin and shows, instead, how identities and cultural practices are made and re-made over time. Francis Nyamnjoh has in recent times drawn on the concept of conviviality to underscore the ways Africans recognize that elements of the universe are marked by incompleteness and as such are encouraged to “reach out and encounter” to enhance sociality (Nyamnjoh, 2017:10). Rather than remain stuck in the assumption that citizenship is an immutable measure of belonging, he implores us to: “appreciate the enriching potentialities of new encounters – made possible by the reality of our dynamism as people and the dynamic world in which we seek to live, and hopefully, let live.” Elegantly put as his submission is, this open and mutually convivial world that Nyamnjoh imagines is far from being the reality. What is more evident is a world of fractured co-existence where citizens and migrants are in constant tension over belonging, where the conditions that instantiate movements (particularly, mass movements) from homeland are reflective of underlying global inequalities – neocolonialism, unequal matrices of development between the global North and South, misrepresentations of the significance of cultural difference, and so on.
In this era of global movements where flows are often directionally skewed in favour of richer (largely, western) countries, the question of homeland remains pertinent. The homeland I speak of here is not to suggest that migrants must be bound to a single origin, but to suggest, instead, that we pay close attention to the consequences of divesting particular locations of their resources in service of enriching others. If diaspora facilitates multicultural production, it is often also the case that this multiculturalism often has to acquire recognition or endorsement from rich countries. In her critique of liberal multiculturalism in Australia, Elizabeth Povinelli (2002) explores how the legal requirement to prove multiculturalism actually led indigenous people to perform specific models of “authentic culture” that was required by the settler state even if these practices were antiquated and removed from their current realities. In a different context, George Paul Meiu ( 2017) shows how Maasai cultural performance becomes a commodity in service of (white) tourist demand. The point connecting these examples is that many processes and projects of multiculturalism, while sometimes well-intentioned, often end up reifying models of cultural production that pander to markets, liberal legalities, and sensibilities of the West. A concrete example in contemporary popular culture is Afrobeats, which has offered a frame for collaborative music production across the globe while highlighting sounds and cultural forms from African centers. Notwithstanding its enduring connection with “African” sounds, Afrobeats continues primarily to rely on external (in this case, western) infrastructures of recognition. With the involvement of global streaming platforms like Spotify, award institutions like the Grammys, and recording companies like Empire music, what song types, artists, and genres emerge as popular depends increasingly on how these western infrastructures manage, market, and sell the music. What is more, the “African sounds” that have become the hallmark of these productions, are sometimes demanded by these (western) powers that be, in line with their taste for the exotic. The multicultural, in effect, becomes largely a product of the higher powers of globalization.
It is evident to me that the question of diaspora must always be understood dialectically with that homeland. But this dialectical reckoning is not to be done by simply noting that the former is the destination and the latter is the source. Rather, it is important to ask, what happens to homeland in the wake of diasporic formations? Research has shown that mass movements away from a place often elicit losses for said place – economic, intellectual, creative/artistic, affective. As Senayon Olaoluwa notes in his compelling rejoinder to the idea of nostalgia in traditional diaspora studies, there is also a parallel reality of loss faced by those left behind. He uses the concept of “extalgia” to drive home the point that “the dispersal from homeland provokes suffering and creativity in the left-behind.” (Olaoluwa, 2023:1). Yet, because of power imbalances in the global order, this suffering is unheard and this creativity, unrecognized.
A Model of Conviviality
So where do we go from here? At the heart of my submission is the idea that understanding the full potential for multicultural production and global co-existence on a level playing field cannot suffice if we only privilege what happens at the centers of power of our world. An important approach, I believe, is to highlight multiple centres across the world (especially those in homelands that are increasingly depleted by mass migration), their centrality to multiculturalism, and their potential for being core sites for the production of multicultural encounters and not simply the source from which they always emerge in search of other terrains where they can settle.
Beyond the neat dichotomy of losses and gains when it comes to migration in which one nation loses and another gains, Achille Mbembe has argued for considering our contemporary global era one of multidirectional circulations that we may leverage on to facilitate thoughtful cultural and intellectual encounters among multiple centers. He notes that African universities can become decolonized “if we manage to build new diasporic networks and if we take seriously these new spaces of transnational engagement and harness the floating resources freed by the process of globalized talent mobility.” (Mbembe, 2015:42). I would like to stress the word “harness” in his submission and suggest that diaspora is merely the existential outcome of migration if it is not harnessed to address global inequalities, if the flows are not mobilized to recirculate into the economies of homeland.
Over the last decade I have worked as director of the Institute of African and Diaspora Studies at the University of Lagos. From its humble beginnings, the Institute has grown and expanded through many strategic and fruitful collaborations, notably with the African Multiple Cluster of Excellence in the University of Bayreuth as part of the Excellence Strategy of the German Government. While it was out of the provisioning of the German government, the approach of establishing different centers – in Lagos, Ouagadougou, Eldoret, Makhanda, and Bayreuth – has ensured that the directionality of scholarly movement is not simply outwards of African centers into western ones but an ongoing process of circulation between points. This offers a vibrant example of the kind of multicultural circulation that diaspora can offer if we effectively tap into its flows.
Our centre at the University of Lagos has achieved a tremendous lot in the last few years. We have had a series of events, including an annual Graduate Student Conference and a Black History Month that have enabled us to highlight early career scholars and teenage creatives in Nigeria respectively. In 2024, we invited the executive director of Animate Africa to give a keynote lecture focused on the convergence of digital technologies and African storytelling. The lecture examined the importance of giving international voicing to African storytelling through animation technologies in a world so oversaturated by western animation cultures. It demonstrated how these circulations of stories were necessary even for African audiences, to sensitize African children to the importance of their own narrative voice. This was a timely intervention since the Institute too had recently done a project recreating some of the most treasured folktales of children in the Southwest of Nigeria into animations. Its growing cohort of doctoral students have also been at the forefront of thinking through the ways in which African centers can be sustained as key sites for transdisciplinary knowledge production and multicultural encounter in their own right.
Additionally, the Institute has been a hub for international visiting scholars. First, through its postdoctoral and senior fellow programs, the Institute has been able to facilitate and fund visitors from in and out of Nigeria who come to Lagos to do exciting research and have the opportunity to teach. These positions have allowed Lagos to benefit greatly from sister institutions on the continent, reconfiguring the typical trajectory of migration (South – North, Africa – West) towards a network of intra-continental exchange. Beyond the Institute-funded visitors, there are also a number of others, international scholars and students, who, doing research in Nigeria, have made the Institute their base from which to do a significant part of their work.
The role of visitors remains an important one – it nudges diaspora to the possibility of temporary return. When people leave for what they consider greener pastures, maybe it is too much to ask that they fully return and maybe such a return can be counterproductive recalling Fanon’s critique of the tendency of the returnee (or the native intellectual) to remain stuck in her people’s past. What we may need to emphasize, instead, is the potential for what Achille Mbembe has described as “moving ideas” through corridors of virtual collaboration and temporary return – a visit here, a visit there. It is only through a thoughtful, creative, and collaborative enlivening of multidirectional corridors that we can sustain multiple centres from the Congo to the Nile to the Mississippi.
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