Chapitre 1
The Search for Belonging in a Britain That Denies Its Past
What does it mean to be British when your very presence in the country seems to require explanation? Afua Hirsch's exploration of this question begins with her own experience as a mixed-race woman in Wimbledon-brown-skinned with an African name in a sea of whiteness. Born to a British father with German Jewish ancestry and a Ghanaian mother, Hirsch's journey reveals how Britain's unresolved relationship with race creates identity crises for those who don't fit the narrow conception of Britishness. This bestselling memoir-cum-social commentary has resonated deeply across racial lines, with readers praising its unflinching examination of how empire's legacy continues to shape contemporary British society. Endorsed by historians like David Olusoga as "the book for our divided and dangerous times," Brit(ish) has become required reading for understanding the complex intersection of race, class, and national identity in modern Britain.
Chapitre 2
Outsiders in Our Own Land: The Persistent Question of Belonging
I cannot pronounce my name. Though it looks simple-Afua, four letters, two syllables-it has always been steeped in mystery and confusion. Each letter has its demons: the 'A' is more like 'E' (as in 'elephant'), the teeth linger on the 'f' too long, and 'ua' sounds like 'wah'. The whole name requires a musical, sing-song delivery I've never mastered.
This struggle with my name symbolizes my larger struggle with identity. Growing up in leafy Wimbledon-a world of plane trees, Edwardian houses, and tennis championships-I was comfortable in every way except one: my brown skin and African name marked me as different from everyone around me. Meanwhile, my boyfriend Sam grew up in diverse Tottenham among first-generation African and Caribbean immigrants, creating influential black British subculture. Our backgrounds couldn't be more different, yet we both experienced Britain's inability to see us as fully British.
The most persistent reminder of this outsider status is The Question: "Where are you from?" Though usually asked out of harmless curiosity, being asked this in your own country creates a daily ritual of unsettling. It's different from casual conversation about heritage; it's an upfront demand for explanation that becomes almost a condition for further interaction. The Question is reserved for people who look different, telling them they are different and requiring explanation, often multiple times daily.
My sense of difference plagued me from childhood. I tried changing my name to Caroline, hoping to erase my alienness. Everywhere I went, I stood out, sensing something inherently shameful about my brown skin-something people hinted they were willing to overlook. At fourteen, sitting under a horse chestnut tree with school friends, one girl said kindly, "Don't worry, Af, we don't see you as black." This well-intentioned comment taught me that blackness was something bad, something to be erased rather than celebrated.
This erasure of identity extends beyond personal interactions to Britain's collective amnesia about its imperial past. My parents created a nurturing home where my sister and I could flourish, but they didn't see through the prism of race; they saw their loving relationship and raised me to be British with high aspirations. So why did I feel to my core that I could never fully belong? Partly because I didn't know Britain's true past, its secrets about race lurking in language, architecture, and social patterns. I didn't understand how Britain and Africa were so closely linked-a connection directly responsible for my existence.
Chapitre 3
The Forgotten History: Britain's Selective Memory of Empire
It bothers me deeply that we avoid and downplay slavery's true legacy and its contribution to modern Britain. During my research, I discovered I'm descended from a Dutchman who was likely a slave trader in 1750s Elmina, Ghana. Of my sixth great-grandmother, I know only that she was a Fante woman. Was she a slave or free? And if free, how free was she to resist a white man whose country controlled the trade?
I knew nothing about slavery until I was thirteen, having learned nothing at school or my local library. I first learned about it when asking my mother where Michael Jackson was from. "They don't know," she told me about African Americans. "They were all slaves. They came from Africa originally, but they have no idea where, or when." I thought I had identity problems reconciling my known heritage; it hadn't occurred to me that some people were "completely cut off from their real heritage."
As a nation, we're desperate to forget. As Steve McQueen noted, while hundreds of films cover the five years of World War II and the Holocaust, fewer than twenty films address slavery's 400-year history. People don't want to engage with this hideous chapter of history. The banks in Liverpool and London and columns at Trafalgar Square contain images of black boys with Afro hair in cuffs, but they're rarely pointed out.
Just as puzzling is how Britain celebrates its role in abolition while forgetting its role in creating the slave trade. Popular history books like "Our Island Story" (1905)-a favorite of former Prime Minister David Cameron-mention nothing about slavery until discussing its abolition under William IV, presenting it as benevolent white people saving "poor, black people."
When Britain abolished the slave trade, the 800,000 slaves in the Caribbean were valued at 47 million. The British taxpayer paid 20 million to compensate slave owners-not the slaves-while the remaining 27 million was paid by the slaves themselves through four more years of unpaid labor. The deprivation characterizing their lives at slavery's end-illiteracy, lack of skills, psychological trauma, and disconnection from African homelands-continues intergenerationally today.
There was no clean break from slavery. Britain's 1807 abolition act merely curtailed the supply of new African slaves, worsening conditions for those already enslaved. Planters began paying overseers bonuses for impregnating female slaves-incentivizing rape to increase numbers through births. Ironically, the greatest returns from slavery came after Britain's abolition. By 1840, more slaves crossed the Atlantic than before, with British investors and businesses profiting.
Chapitre 4
The Burden of Blackness: Beauty Standards and Stereotypes
The association of blackness with criminality, hypersexuality, and ugliness persists in modern Britain. In 2016, I visited "Arousals," a swingers' club hosting the "Black Man's Fan Club" (BMFC)-an event specifically marketed to white women seeking sex with Black men and their white partners who want to watch. The promotional materials featured exaggerated racial stereotypes with flyers showing white women with slogans like "I heart black..." and social media filled with images of exceptionally large Black penises and scenes of racial dominance.
These harmful myths have persisted through literature, journalism and politics-from Uncle Tom's Cabin to Donald Trump's rhetoric about the "Central Park Five." My friend Sarah, a Black woman in the high-end swinging scene, describes experiencing similar fetishization: "They look at me as if they are thinking 'Oh my God, what's she gonna do, backflips?'" Sarah explains how white swingers perceive Black women as "naturally very sensual" and "raw," reinforcing centuries-old stereotypes that described African women as sexual predators.
I recall my own teenage struggles with body image, writing in my diary: "I have had enough of my figure, it is so disgusting. I must have the biggest arse in existence." I felt my appearance was "the opposite of every single image of beauty" I encountered, from my brown skin to my curves to my hair. My hair particularly defined my identity crisis-"too frizzy to be European hair" yet "too flyaway and fine to be Afro." Beauty products and services systematically excluded my needs, from hairdressers refusing service to ineffective hair products, despite Black women outspending other groups on beauty products.
Even today, Google searches for "most beautiful women" return almost exclusively white women, while Black women face "makeup shaming" online, reflecting the persistent view that Black women are "essentially and fundamentally unattractive." Cultural appropriation emerges as another painful dimension of this experience. White-owned businesses and white celebrities embrace Black hairstyles like cornrows and braids as "fashion" while Black people continue to face penalties for wearing these same styles.
The Williams sisters represent a revolutionary challenge to these beauty standards. Unlike my own family who "played by the rules" to fit into white Wimbledon society, the Williams sisters "came from nowhere, played differently, dressed differently, wore their hair differently and, most of all, they won." But their brilliance was met with racist commentary describing their play as "brute force" and "intimidating." American radio personality Sid Rosenberg called them "too muscular" and "boys," saying Venus was an "animal" with more chance of posing for National Geographic than Playboy.
Chapitre 5
Between Two Worlds: The Mixed-Race Experience
The concept of "racial dilution"-the conflicted feelings many mixed-race people with black heritage experience about interracial relationships despite their own mixed background-reveals the complexity of identity. Ron, one interviewee, suggests this stems from internalized negative representations of blackness: "I felt undesirable for being black... I remember wishing I would go to bed at night not being black." Some interpret mixed-race identity claims as attempts to escape black heritage and seek white privilege.
Race discussions are complicated by scientific evidence showing race as a meaningless concept-humanity originated in Africa, genetic differences between racial groups are negligible compared to variations within groups, and racial categories constantly shift. Groups once considered non-white (French, Southern Europeans) became white, while Muslim identities have been "othered" regardless of ethnic background.
Language carries significant weight in these discussions. Many object to the term "mixed race"-Ron argues it implies everyone else is "pure" while mixed people are "mongrels," and lacks historical meaning. However, younger generations embrace "mixed race" as a meaningful identity. With nearly one in sixteen British children under five being mixed race (one in eight in London), this demographic represents the future.
Britain's tendency to celebrate interracial relationships as evidence that race has "gone away" misunderstands that mixed-heritage people aren't less interested in defining their identity but often more so. They should be allowed to define themselves rather than having identities imposed-another form of "identity vandalism."
I met Lola, a Nigerian-British woman who runs a care home for children transitioning out of foster care. Known as "White Lola" among friends because of her cockney accent and cultural conditioning, she admits she "didn't know any black people until age eighteen" and thought "Nigerian food was Nando's." Her white foster parents, though loving, couldn't address her needs as a Black child. She experienced racism-their car was bricked, she was physically attacked by neighborhood children while parents watched, and she developed severe eczema because no one knew how to properly care for her skin or hair.
At age seven, social services noticed Lola was "depressed" and uncomfortable in her own skin. Without warning, she and her brother were moved to a Black African family in Tottenham under new "race-matching" policies. While Lola appreciated having her hair properly styled and eating familiar food (her eczema cleared immediately), the new foster father was abusive and alcoholic. Back in Ware with her original foster parents, Lola felt caught between worlds-safe but culturally isolated, with her skin problems returning. Even now, working in social care where many colleagues are Black, she feels caught between worlds-"black people wouldn't accept me as black... I do speak different. But when I'm around all white people, I gravitate towards black people."
Chapitre 6
Searching for Home: The Journey to Africa
In August 2002, after finishing university at Oxford, I moved to Dakar, Senegal, convinced that finding the right place would make my broken sense of identity whole. Though Ghana was my mother's birthplace and "the epicentre of my belonging," I saw Senegal as a starting point to build an African identity that would allow my other identities-"female, westernised, independent, ambitious, Afrocentric and optimistic"-to flourish.
Working for George Soros's Open Society Foundation, I found meaningful work supporting journalists in war zones, funding legal aid for women in conservative Muslim societies, and creating transparency plans for petrodollar-fueled dictatorships. I befriended young Senegalese professionals who had rejected their parents' Europhile ambitions to build businesses in their homeland. These friends-educated in France but committed to Senegal-took me under their wing.
My attempt to find belonging in Senegal proved more difficult than I'd imagined. While local women were family-oriented and expats lived in privileged bubbles, I found myself caught between worlds. I found myself constantly defending Senegalese culture against subtle stereotypes about Africa as a "dark continent." Yet to locals, I was just another privileged metisse-a soft-spoken British girl with pretensions of being African. Office staff mimicked my airy voice that lacked the authority of their wall-like sounds, and quickly identified me as vulnerable to financial requests.
The harsh realities of Senegalese life became clear when the ferry Le Joola sank, killing nearly two thousand people. "We are not free," a colleague warned me. "We can die at any moment." Then came my own traumatic experience at the Mali Market, where I was attacked by a local man and afterward, rather than receiving help, was asked for money by stallholders to accompany me while shopping. I realized then how deluded I'd been-I wasn't one of them but just another foreigner they saw as a source of income.
In February 2012-exactly fifty years after my grandparents fled in the opposite direction-I fulfilled my promise to return to Ghana, now as the Guardian's West Africa correspondent. But the Ghana I found had transformed dramatically since my first visit in 1995. The magical red earth and candlelit roadside stalls had been replaced by concrete, white lines, and traffic lights. Though high-rise towers glimmered, poverty remained just beneath this veneer of international development.
Living in Ghana forced me to confront my Britishness. Following my grandmother through a market, I realized how much I resembled the expats I'd once disdained. With my baby in a front sling while local women carried theirs on their backs, unable to speak to market women except for basic phrases, I felt like any American tourist with a Lonely Planet guide-perhaps more awkward due to my shame at failing to fit in.
Chapitre 7
The Structural Barriers: Race and Class in British Institutions
After growing up in Wimbledon, attending eleven years of private school and three at Oxford University, I thought nothing about race, class and privilege in the UK could shock me. Then I decided to become a barrister. The legal world revealed itself as a cloistered realm hidden behind Tudor walls-Lincoln's Inn with its Great Lawn, majestic red-brick library, and access to Lincoln's Inn Fields, a hidden gem of a park built during Henry VII's reign. This oasis lacked diversity in every way, even down to the dark suits everyone wore.
As a young black person at the Inn in 2006, I felt like an impostor. I appreciated the institution's rich history and the scholarship that financed my studies, yet felt alienated by its self-importance, rigid Englishness, and function of elite self-congratulation. My experiences as a pupil barrister included being warned about a QC with "a thing for groping black women" and dealing with a forty-year-old colleague who inappropriately fixated on something I'd said as a teenager about not dating white men.
The media world I entered was characterized by what Howard W. French called "persistent typecasting"-where certain topics are seen as "black" and the rest as "white." Despite Greg Dyke famously describing the BBC as "hideously white" in 2001, diversity in creative sectors actually declined from 7.4% to 5.4% between 2006 and 2012. British actors like David Harewood, Chiwetel Ejiofor, David Oyelowo, and Idris Elba typically gain recognition only after success in America. As Elba explained to Parliament: "I was getting lots of work, but I realized I could only play so many 'best friends' or 'gang leaders'... I knew there wasn't enough imagination in the industry for me to be seen as a lead."
Successful black Britons consistently report experiences of being underestimated in education. Akala, despite being academically gifted, was discouraged from pursuing his interests in science and placed in a special needs class with non-English speakers. Baroness Patricia Scotland, who became the first black female QC and attorney general, was advised to work at Sainsbury's rather than pursue law. Space scientist Maggie Aderin-Pocock was steered toward nursing instead of science and also placed in special needs classes.
As a defense lawyer, I witnessed this cycle firsthand with clients like fifteen-year-old Lamar, who stabbed another boy in the playground. His mother had repeatedly sought help from social services for his withdrawal and trauma following his father's death, but was told he didn't meet the threshold for care. The system only intervened after he committed a crime, spending 100,000 per year to incarcerate him-three times the cost of sending a child to Eton. During the trial I discovered that Lamar-who had attended school daily for eight years-could neither read nor write.
Chapitre 8
A New British Identity for a Changing Nation
The Westminster media consistently demonstrates a fundamental inability to grasp the complexity of multiple identities, often forcing public figures like Chuka Umunna and other politicians from diverse backgrounds into rigid, oversimplified categories. This reductionist approach fails to capture the nuanced reality of modern British identity. Umunna's advocacy for a balanced approach to integration represents a sophisticated middle ground - one that celebrates distinct cultural identities while actively fostering meaningful connections between different communities. This vision requires carefully crafted government policies that promote both cultural preservation and social cohesion.
Britain's political discourse remains notably immature regarding identity and integration. Unlike the United States, which underwent a transformative civil rights movement and continues to engage in public dialogue about race and identity, the UK has conspicuously avoided an honest national conversation about its ethnic minority communities. This includes both their historical contributions and the evolving nature of British identity their presence creates. The absence of this dialogue has created a vacuum in understanding modern Britishness.
However, the younger generation is actively reshaping this narrative without waiting for institutional permission. The children and grandchildren of immigrants, whose parents often felt intense pressure to subordinate their cultural identity, are now confidently embracing their multiple heritage identities. This cultural assertion manifests in various forms: Grime artists proudly celebrate their African heritage through movements like "TINA" (This is New Africa), while Multicultural London English has evolved from a local dialect to a nationwide linguistic phenomenon. Social media platforms have become powerful tools for this generation to define and celebrate their identities, from embracing natural hair textures to challenging conventional beauty standards and creating new cultural touchstones.
Young Britons demonstrate markedly different attitudes toward immigration compared to older generations. A 2017 poll revealed that immigration ranked last among their policy concerns, with an overwhelming 70% supporting continued EU membership. This generational divide highlights how the immigration debate reflects Britain's deeper identity crisis - rather than focusing on practical considerations of economics and resources, it often devolves into emotional narratives about cultural threat and national identity. Perhaps most telling is how this defensive mentality has become so deeply embedded that even descendants of previous waves of immigration sometimes adopt similar attitudes toward newer arrivals.
The current discourse risks losing sight of a more inclusive version of Britishness - one capable of embracing millions for whom immigration is an integral part of their identity and family history. The consequences of this failure are already visible: increasing numbers of British-born people of Ghanaian heritage, for example, are relocating to Ghana. While economic opportunities play a role in these decisions, many cite a profound sense of rejection from British society - despite being thoroughly British in their upbringing, education, and cultural references. This represents not just a personal loss for these individuals but a significant drain of talent, energy, and potential from British society, undermining the nation's future prosperity and cultural vitality.
Chapitre 9
Finding Peace in the Space Between
Like the author, my daughter's journey began with her name. When choosing surnames, my partner and I had different perspectives: he worried our daughter might face discrimination with his obviously African surname, while I saw his Ghanaian surname as a precious gift against rootlessness-a connection to her heritage and people who would recognize her as "one of us."
We ultimately gave our daughter Ghanaian names, partly because I won the argument but also because we refused to accept a world as prejudiced as the one we grew up in. I hope for a future where my daughter can be British while bearing a name whose history and culture belong to an African nation.
The author observes that her daughter sees herself as brown without the baggage that makes blackness threatening-simply a color and heritage to be proud of. She draws herself with glittery brown skin and spiraling black curls, distinguishing herself from friends with different hair textures without anxiety or complexes. Her identity shifts contextually-Christian with Muslim friends, firmly a girl with boys, and proudly Ghanaian when meeting white British families.
I can't know how my daughter will craft her own identity. She is British, having spent most of her life in London. She has Jewish and English heritage from my father, the Afro-European Welsing line from my mother, and Ashanti heritage from both the Kumasi refugees and Sam's father, plus a strong dose of Konkonuru inheritance from both sides. I gravitated toward Aburi like my maternal ancestors; she is the manifestation of that journey. But that's my journey, not hers. She will begin where I left off, and her identity will matter to her but won't be what others expect.
Britain's solution of colorblindness-"I don't see race"-fails because blindness isn't a strategy for seeing what exists. Race shapes lived experience and history's most dramatic economic and human shifts. In our globalized world, identities aren't becoming less important but more so, and Britishness currently excludes many who should be its core constituents. The solution requires confronting Britain's convenient ignorance and awkward squeamishness about its past, acknowledging that whiteness isn't the only civilization, abandoning ideas of white superiority, and genuinely embracing meritocracy.
I tried escaping to Ghana but discovered identity can't be created from insecurity-gaps in my Britishness didn't mean equivalent belonging in Ghanaianness. While Ghana remains part of my identity, my purpose lies in Britain, where I understand the texture of wrongs and opportunities. I embrace my black identity despite my parents' confusion, having evolved from feeling "other" to cherishing an identity that enriches my relationship with Britain and helps me see nuances others might miss.
