While reading David Lloyd’s “Black Irish, Irish Whiteness, and Atlantic State Formation”, I noticed that he described a policy that was put into place in Ireland that sounded quite familiar. Lloyd recounts that the problem that British abolitionists had with their Caribbean colonies was how to retain the work force that they were accustomed to having under control while at the same time freeing the black slaves that they kept. In short, they were all for freedom – so long as the work that they were dependent on still got done by the “inferior” race. The Irish problem was similar, though not as drastic: How were the British to turn the Irish from subsistence farmers to laborers without causing a revolt or mass migration? How could they profit off the Irish? One idea, proposed by John Stuart Mill, was that in order to have a self-motivated working labor class, the government should provide “tenure” to the farmers. In other words, promise the settlers that they would have ownership of the land, as long as they worked it. This idea is remarkably similar to what was proposed for free slaves in the U.S. : 40 acres and a mule. This was the proposal to give every freedman and his family 40 acres of land, and a mule to work the land with. The idea was to keep a working class, even though slavery was no longer legal. Unfortunately, though 40 acres and a mule was a government initiative that passed into law, it was never honored. People promised 40 acres and a mule never received anything, which often forced them into being cheap labor for the very people who enslaved them. Again, we see a parallel, as “tenured” land in Ireland was never given to farmers, either. In both times, it was only a beautiful-looking promise that turned out to be a lie in order to keep the social hierarchy in place.
Being “Black”
In Paul Gilroy’s “The Black Atlantic”, he examines what the term “Black” has traditionally meant in the past; and then, he redefines it. Gilroy argues that anytime one uses the term “Black”, they are usually referring to the diaspora in the United States – whether referring to Black studies, Black literature, or the Black experience. He is especially concerned with the fact that discussions about Black literature almost exclusively privileges African American writings, rather than taking from a variety of diasporas. Gilroy rejects this definition of Black. Rather, he expands the definition to include more diasporas than the one in the United States. He explains this with a reference to what it means to be “British”. Being British is almost exclusively privileging those who are white and British at the same time. However, being British is not an exclusionary identity and should not be treated as such. Gilroy says that the same case is true of being Black. There is no one single way of being Black, just as there is no single way of being British. By the end of this piece, Gilroy rejects the use of such divisive terms as “British” or “Black” even as he has rewritten them, and uses a more inclusive term instead: the Atlantic world.
Reflections on Race and Identity
Of the many topics covered in our discussions of Gilroy’s “The Black Atlantic as a Counterculture of Modernity,” I found the relations of nations, citizens, and ethnicities to race and our ideas of cultural identity to be the most fascinating, especially how concepts which seem very similar can have greatly different definitions. As we discussed in class, I was really interested in how people, especially those transplanted in the Atlantic slave trade define themselves and their personal history. For example, I would argue it is impossible to truly change one’s nation, because the idea of nation is essentially the same as one’s homeland, so even if a person were to move abroad for any reason, they could not change the fact of their nation of origin, which is tied to their cultural identity forever. However, the issue also arises in terms of ancestral homeland, contrasted with each person’s country of origin. Going forward in the course, I am interested in seeing how black writers and artists reckon with their split heritage, as both ancestors of Africa but also residents of modern America.
Furthermore, the ideas of citizenship and to a lesser extent ethnicity are more flexible and susceptible to change than nationality because they have to do more with self-representation and choice than the pre-determined nature of nationality. For example, if I were go to Ireland, I would maintain my American nationality, but I could choose to become a citizen and more broadly adopt its distinct “ethnicity” and cultural identity. Gilroy asserts in his piece that this sort of fluctuating citizenship and and cultural representation is very much a possibility, which also ties into the cultural notions of memory and performance from the Roach article. I believe this mixture of chosen and unchangeable facets of our cultural identity gets to the core of Gilroy’s article, as he believes race is a fiction which we actualize in cultural practices and interactions. Again, I am very interested as the semester goes on to learn more about the representation of one’s own culture and identity, as well as accepting and using those facets of personality, such as natioinality and homeland, which cannot truly be changed in order to somehow change or alter our ethnic identities as a whole.
Comparing Black and Green
Paul Gilroy asserts that, for African-Americans, the memory of slavery, a lived crisis, supersedes labor, a systemic crisis. However, one way in which black people and the Irish are connected to each other is through labor. Thus, Gilroy’s assertion that labor is secondary to the living memory of slavery threatens our investigation of the relationship between these two peoples. Yet, I believe that, rather than dismantling this relationship, the prominence of the living memory of slavery provides an important nuance to our study. While the Irish and people of African descent may have spoken to one another, their oppression was not the same. While it is silly to compare the oppression of different groups of people, we must recognize that, despite their horrible treatment at the hands of the British, the Irish were never slaves. Though Thomas Carlyle calls the Irish “white negroes” and the Irish occasionally call themselves “slaves,” the word “Irish” never takes on such a close definition to slavery as the word “Negro.” Blacks aren’t derogatorily called “Irish” in the manner that the Irish are called “black.” This fact leads to an important distinction elaborated on by David Lloyd: the Irish and the people of African descent are not the same. While the British considered both West Indian Blacks and the Irish “not yet ready” to rule themselves, the Irish, through the nature of their whiteness, still had hope for future self-determination after some “civilizing” effort. Yet the blacks were never going to be ready to run their own lives on the basis of their racial difference. The Irish did not become white; they were always white, but America provided them an opportunity to mobilize their whiteness for the perpetuation of racial dominance. Black people were never afforded an opportunity to utilize the benefits of their racial background in the New World.
I do not craft this nuance to say that the Irish and people of African descent should not be compared. In fact, from the theory we have read, the comparison often comes from the oppressors, which makes it an intriguing subject of inquiry. Yet we must also always make the distinction that the Irish and people of African descent, despite both undergoing oppression and suffering, were never considered the same.
Essentialism and the Black Diaspora
Paul Gilroy’s “The Black Atlantic” calls into question the legitimacy of some of the terms we use to divide and identify our world. He rejects the notion of an antagonistic relationship between his personal identifiers of black and English, noting that, while popular culture may perceive the English identity to be a white person, in fact, there is nothing essential about being English (p. 1). Gilroy attacks ethnic absolutism as impossible in light of the Atlantic slave trade, where European, American, and African cultures influenced each other in ways that made each of these places more “hybrid.” Gilroy’s examination, then, requires drawing out the connections between these cultures. Fortunately, people of African descent have drawn out these connections for generations. Gilroy notes that some African-Americans waived off their feelings of exceptionalism “in favor of a global, coalitional politics in which anti-imperialism and anti-racism might be seen to interact if not to fuse (p. 4).” Similarly oppressed black people have transcended national barriers to work for a common cause. While Gilroy’s point about the breakdown of rigid nationalities through pan-Africanism is correct, this point must also call into question the black diaspora. As Gilroy asserts and science affirms, there are no phenotypical differences between different races and race is only real through society’s affirmation of it. Thus, the idea of the black diaspora buys into the social construct of race just as nations buy into ethnic absolutism. Though the black diaspora rejects the idea of national division, it does connote that there is something essential about being part of the black diaspora. Yet that essential mark cannot be blackness since race does not exist. For members of the Black Atlantic Diaspora, the defining characteristic could be a history of oppression, though that may not be a specific enough division. Though I do not currently know the solution to the issue of legitimizing the black diaspora, I think this is an important lens to work with throughout the semester. When we read black authors, we must continuously ponder whether there is anything essential about being black.
Questioning “Proximity” and Legitimacy in the Atlantic
In Gilroy’s “The Black Atlantic as a Counterculture of Modernity,” he explores Martin Robinson Delany and his views and impacts on the Black community. He starts off by introducing Delany and claims that he is viewed as being more relevant or legitimate as he has a closer “proximity” to Africa than people such as Frederick Douglass. I am not sure, however, whether this added sense of legitimacy is justified, especially when the content of what Delany speaks about is considered. Delany proposes an idea that he and the Black community should ultimately seek to go back to Africa, or what he calls the “fatherland.” Delany’s notions of belonging and returning “home” are troubling, however, as he sees Africa from a viewpoint very similar to that of colonizers. He does not truly see Africa as home and would require multiple things to change before he would find it to be a suitable place to live. He thinks that simply going back to the place of his ancestors is not enough; one must bring that place up to speed with today’s world and craft it in order to make it a better fit. What’s most disturbing about this perspective is that it is similar to those same colonizers that ripped his ancestors from their home. Looking back on Delany’s viewpoints from today’s society, one can easily see how Delany’s ideas are problematic. His condescending views towards the African people and the inherent sexism that he feels the need to detail in his efforts should cause one to question whether he truly deserves to be privileged because of the proximity of his heritage.