
In "Brit(ish)," Afua Hirsch confronts Britain's racial amnesia through her own journey of belonging. This Sunday Times bestseller, hailed as "the book for our divided times" by David Olusoga, asks: can we truly belong in a nation that denies its imperial past?
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Growing up in Wimbledon, surrounded by tennis championships and Edwardian houses, there was one problem: my brown skin and African name marked me as perpetually foreign. While my white classmates blended seamlessly into the landscape of plane trees and privilege, I faced The Question constantly: "Where are you from?" Not the casual "What's your background?" asked among friends swapping heritage stories, but an upfront demand for explanation-a daily ritual that reminded me I required justification for existing in my own country. This wasn't unique to my leafy suburb. My boyfriend Sam grew up in diverse Tottenham among Caribbean and African immigrants, yet he too confronted Britain's inability to see him as fully British. The difference? His neighborhood created influential Black British subculture while mine pretended difference didn't exist. At fourteen, a well-meaning friend tried to comfort me: "Don't worry, we don't see you as black." She thought she was being kind, but the message was clear-blackness was something shameful, something to overlook rather than celebrate. So I tried erasing myself, briefly changing my name to Caroline, hoping to shed my alienness like an uncomfortable coat.