We explore how this demographic is evolving through second and third-generation Caribbean and African children and how they balance their “dual” identity and interactions with their native country.
“I’ve never been back home,” echoes throughout many conversations between second and third-generation African and Caribbean people, also known as “Black British”
How can they say “home”, if they have never been there? What seems like an illusion of nationalism is actually an acute awareness of their ancestral history and their celebration of heritage.
With cultural hubs in Brixton, Woolwich, Peckham and Croydon as well as the popularity of Caribbean and African culture within the British vernacular, music and lifestyle, it’s easier more than ever for second and third-generation children to interact with their family’s heritage.
However, confusion arises on whether second and third-generation persons, those who are born in Britain, but whose parents or grandparents are born in African and Caribbean countries, should use the label “Black-British” or use the label of their native countries such as “Jamaican”, “Ghanaian” or “Congolese”.
Within these internal conflicts as well as pushback from their native countries, these children are left in limbo of not feeling a sense of belonging in their heritage country or in their birth country.
As described by Tiktoker Damizain, “we are here by circumstance … This is where the feeling of not belonging anywhere comes from because in the UK we’re not really from there and then when you go back to Nigeria, they make it very clear to you that you’re not one of them.”
History of the Phrase “Black British”
This sentiment rings true for many second and third-generation people on their quest to find their identity.
The term “Black-British” did not always exist, with its rise cited as being developed after World War Two and the emerging settlement of Caribbean persons in Britain.
Subsequently, the term ‘Black British’ was used as part of the process of self-definition by being used to distinguish the experience of living in Britain from ethnic and national categories imposed by colonial rulers.
So what distinguishes someone as “Black British”?
While a precise definition of “Black-British” is hard to find, Refworld characterises the term as “made up predominantly of descendants of immigrants from the West Indies and Africa”
However, this term was not recognised by the British government. The UK census in the 1960s grouped citizens based on their place of birth within the “Old Commonwealth”, “New Commonwealth” and “African Commonwealth”, thus leaving many people confused and grouping various ethnicities into one.
This gave an inaccurate depiction of the diverse demographic in Britain, as many Africans migrated to Britain in the 1940s while the Windrush passenger ship arrived from the Caribbean in 1948, so the creation of the first “Black British” population was already booming by the start of the 1960s.
By 1991, the UK first introduced the ethnicity question including “nine boxes, seven labelled with pre-coded categories and two allowing people to write in their ethnicity.”
Nevertheless, there was no sign of “Black British” as an ethnic group or labelling; the UK Government website notes that there was a “big increase” in the minor ethnic group population. This ‘boom’ could be connected with the misrepresentation in the 1960s census.
It would not be until 2001 that the term “Black-British” was first seen on the census, as well as a ‘Mixed’ category.
With a growing biracial population in the UK as well as recognising the legitimacy of “Black-British” as a label, this opened doors on whether to identify as “Black-British” or your family’s heritage.
Denouncing “Black British”
Many second and third-generation children denounce the term “Black-British”, largely due to them not wanting to recognise the influence and, more importantly, the abuse that Britain inflicted on their family’s heritage. For them, it feels like a betrayal to their ancestors.
Adrienne and Kyra Tye, writing on Substack, encapsulate these sentiments by saying: “The rejection of Britishness is not a disposition that is incomprehensible. In fact, for many who carry the weight of colonial violence and subsequent epigenetic trauma, British citizenship stands as a marker of shame.”
Especially witnessing Britain using its colonial powers to exploit their former colonies such as Ghana and Dominica by requiring them to pay hundreds of dollars for a visa to travel to the UK, as well as reparations requested by former colonies seemingly going ignored, there is little to be proud about.
Paul Gilroy in The Black Atlantic attributes the negative connotation of being referred to as “black” to racism. “British racism has generated turbulent economic, ideological, and political forces that have seemed to act upon the people they oppressed by concentrating their cultural identities into a single powerful configuration.
“Whether these people of African, Caribbean, or Asian descent, their commonality was often defined by its reference to the central, irreducible sign of their common racial subordination-the colour black”
The Black British Voices research project in 2023 reported that “Around half (49%) of Black Britons consider themselves at least somewhat “proud to be British”, while almost half (45%) take little to no pride in Britishness.”
Even within the “Black British” demographic, there are tensions between Caribbean and African people, especially with regard to superiority. An anonymous source told me about the bullying she endured in school as a second-generation Ghanaian girl. She said that particularly the Jamaicans within her class would call her “pigeon”, due to her being Ghanaian.
Racism has not always been a case of black vs white, but our own views can inflict the same pain towards one another.
However, collectively Africans and Caribbeans in Britain share their culture amongst each other, especially as a lot of Caribbean culture was derived from their African ancestors before the Transatlantic Slave Trade.
Second and third-generation children
In understanding the varying opinions and personal convictions of being labelled “Black British”, I spoke to four second and third-generation African and Caribbean children.
Marl’Ene Edwin, Deputy Director of the Centre for Caribbean and Diaspora Studies at Goldsmiths, University of London, was born in the UK to Jamaican parents, making her a second-generation Jamaican.
Her parents arrived in Britain between 1963 and 1964 on the cusp of Jamaica’s first year as an independent country and became naturalized British citizens.
Marl’Ene describes that she never saw herself as having Black British culture, although she was born and raised in Britain. Rather, “I thought I had the culture that my parents had and they were from Jamaica.”.
In terms of Britain’s standard applications, she states “So in that respect, yes, I see myself as Black British of Caribbean heritage.”
Like many of the people in Marl’Ene’s age group, they descend from Jamaican parents so Jamaican culture is all they know. Within Jamaican culture, there is a strong sentiment to preserve the culture so there’s no risk of it “dying out”, as a response to colonial rule.
Jamaican culture and subsequently Caribbean culture is a prominent and “loud” aspect of the diaspora, one which dominates in Britain.
“You take in everything that your parents teach you and you think that is your culture, that’s your identity. In terms of the language of the Caribbean, I think about how our parents would speak in Jamaican Patois, but our parents didn’t want us to speak it because it was a language for the adults and as kids you’re not supposed to know,” Marl’Ene said.
“I feel that if we had actually been allowed to speak it, we would then be ‘bilingual’. I know when I go to Jamaica there are things I don’t understand and people think that you would understand it but having not lived in it, I don’t understand it. “
Marl’Ene raises a point on the classification of the”Windrush generation” although Windrush refers to the HMT Empire Windrush, the ship that carried over 1,000 people from Jamaica to the UK.
“That’s a label that the government here gave to people who arrived. I mean, what does the Windrush generation mean? Is it the group of people who came to Tilbury Docks in 1948 on the Empire Windrush? Or is it referring to a period when those people were born? I don’t know. I just know that right now in the media, that’s what they talk about, Windrush generation but who is that?”
Although Marl’Ene’s parents came to the UK after the Windrush, they were ultimately thrown into this classification and widely the media has had a hard time differentiating what truly is the “Windrush Generation”.
Generalisations such as this create harm for those being placed in them, not because they have a negative connotation, but rather because they perpetuate a misinformed idea of the migration patterns between the 1940s and 1970s.
Marl’Ene’s son, Quba Edwin, is a third-generation Jamaican and St Lucian who is a Systems and Data Analyst at Goldsmiths, University of London.
Quba differs from his mother’s sentiment, as he describes himself as “Black British” because “in my case, it was my grandparents on both sides that migrated to this country, and both of my parents were born here, and then I was also born here. So, I obviously still have that connection to the Caribbean on both sides of my family.
“I still relate to those cultures, but definitely not as much as somebody who’s either directly from those countries who are born there and lived there the majority of their life or even somebody whose parents were born in those countries, because I’m even one additional step removed,” Quba said.
“So, as much as my life is influenced by my parents’ culture that I like to interact and engage with, I wouldn’t say that they have more of an impact on my life than Black British culture in particular.”
Quba highlights a clear struggle of truly connecting with his heritage within Britain. Much like “home sickness”, being in Britain, where you know your ancestors were not from, brings a sense of uneasiness, even if you were born and bred in the country.
Settlement and community seem to be the keys to staying rooted in African and Caribbean culture, as pinpointed by Quba and Marl’Ene, who live in Lewisham.
“When people first arrived in Britain, they settled in various areas, such as Brixton, Notting Hill and Hackney and if we knew what we know now, would we have sold those houses that we used to live in. five families in one massive house and now none of us could even go and buy it now,” Marl’Ene told us.
“Deptford is another area where communities settled and brought a piece of home with them and ultimately set up where you can get your local produce, where it’s not the same as going out into your garden and digging up your own yam, but we were able to get our traditional food. The Longest Journey, History of Black Lewisham speaks on the settlement and adaption here in Britain.”
“I think the easiest way to be connected to Caribbean and African culture is if your local community is made up of those people. So, if you live in an area in which there are loads of Africans or Caribbeans and those are people you interact with all the time, I think you can live pretty close to an authentic cultural experience in those communities due to the fact that everyone there is also living that experience,” Quba said.
“Those are the people that you can talk to about your problems and you’re going to be having probably similar lifestyles and outlooks on life. I’m from Lewisham so if I want to go and buy Jamaican food, I can just kind of step out of my house and go down the road.”
These cultural hubs, serve as a safe space for Caribbean and Africans alike, allowing them to buy their traditional produce, hear their traditional music and eat their authentic spices.
Walking through Peckham, you will hear strong Jamaican accents, infused with African aunties asking you “Do you want your hair braided”. This outward expression of culture, one which can even mimic life back in the native country like “Little Jamaica” being Brixton and “Little Lagos” being Peckham, although it can be debated it’s also the Borough of Greenwich.
Zeshyia Moss, a student at UAL, is a second-generation Dominican and Jamaican, who describes herself as “Black British” because “although assimilating is difficult because there’s a gatekeeping of British culture from white people. I think Black British itself is its own culture.”
She said she struggles to connect with her culture in an area that does not reflect her heritage: “The last time I was in Dominica, I was one. I think when I was younger, I found it difficult because I was around white people so I didn’t have anybody to connect with when it came to my culture especially my Dominican side as it wasn’t as potent as my Jamaican side.
“Now, I feel really connected to it, in a way that it’s almost like a proudness. So I think if I were to go back to Dominica or Jamaica, it would be the same, it’d be the same authenticity. In fact, probably even more.”
Zeshyia’s infused proudness for her heritage stems from a sense of maturity and her embracing what she classifies as “Black British” culture.
“The culture itself, the food, the music, the language is different from British culture. It’s like a hybrid of Caribbean, African and British culture essentially. The style itself like the streetwear made in the UK was made by Black British people, that’s a culture in itself.”
Zeshyia’s experiences living in Nottingham led her to experience scrutiny and racism from her white counterparts. According to Varbles, Nottingham has a 65.9% white population based on the 2021 census.
“I remember being in year seven, I was with my white friend Ellie, we were going down like the golf course somewhere, and this white guy, he must have been like peeing in the corner at like 3:00 pm or midday and he was like ‘Oh don’t stand, don’t be with her, she’s a nigga, she’s a nigga’.”
The Notting Hill Carnival, first held in 1966, was a response to the murder of Antiguan-born carpenter and aspiring lawyer, Kelso Cochrane at age 32.
“He died after a racially motivated attack on Southam Street, Notting Hill on May 17th 1959.”, according to NHCarnival. In response to his murder, a slew of indoor carnivals emerged between 1959 and 1964 organised by Claudia Jones and Edric and Pearl Connor respectively until Rhaune Laslett and Andre Shervington hosted a street festival to “entertain young children and ease tension”.
The combination of the steel pans from Trinidadian musician Russell Henderson and the road created the atmosphere for the first-ever Notting Hill Carnival.
Nowadays, African and Caribbean youth strive for more integration of their heritage in their personal lives as they feel they cannot relate to mainstream British culture and thus have created “Black British” culture for themselves.
This is shown in accumulating culture and vernacular from African and Caribbean countries but with an English flair. from Jungle music, a popular subgenre of electronic music that incorporates EDM, reggae and hip-hop and has drawn inspiration from Jamaica’s sound system culture.
Hosting of bashment parties where solely dancehall music is played, as well as Nigerian Independence Day parties, drive this testament of making do with what you have.
These celebrations serve as a reminder of the role their ancestors played in their being in Britain and how they wish to be authentic and spread their culture for many more generations to come. In a way, these safe spaces are an element of emulation, especially if they are unable to go back to their native country.
Emulations of life in African and Caribbean countries bring a sense of unity and facade of “being back home”, thus almost deterring persons from wanting to explore their native country. In response, persons living within African and Caribbean countries show great annoyance to “Black British” subtle “ignorance”.
Roni Ajai-Thomas, a PhD student working in sociology and host of the “Black British Hall Party”, a party dedicated to Black British music, describes her negative experiences interacting with “native” Nigerians as a third-generation Nigerian.
“I was interacting with some guys who are recent arrivals from Nigeria and when I said to them I’m Nigerian and I’m excited I’m gonna wear an Asọ-Ẹbí , a Nigerian trad print outfit for my birthday they were ‘Oh you’re not Nigerian’ and I was like ‘Well I’m British Nigerian like okay they’re still Nigerian. I dont think I’m you, I don’t need to be you to be Nigerian but I don’t need you to take that away from me I’m still Nigerian, just a different way of doing it’.”
The contention with “native” people in Africa and the Caribbean and their British counterparts can be traced to a lack of education as well as a hint of jealousy. For many natives, it feels as though persons in Britain are not fully educated and immersed in the culture, and their struggles are not being spoken about or supported by them.
The attempts made to immerse themselves in the culture can seem facetious, focusing on Amapiano and Wray and Nephews, seemingly minor attributes in a vast African and Caribbean culture, especially with a long rich history.
Even superficially, the use of the word “Bashment” in Britain to describe Jamaican dancehall music, although it is just referred to as Dancehall in Jamaica seems to get on a native’s nerves.
Many Nigerians spoke out against the Nigerian diaspora, calling for them to not celebrate Nigerian Independence Day due to the continuous political unrest and corruption in the country.
Despite the lies, the Nigerian diaspora continued to celebrate the day, with parties and social media posts, not to mock them but rather to celebrate the rich culture that Nigeria gave to them.
Roni divulges her slight hesitation in attending a Nigerian Independence Day party, expressing her desire to be around other Nigerians while simultaneously addressing Nigeria’s failures.
“Maybe that’s just me speaking from a place of privilege but I think people should be allowed to celebrate the culture coming out of Nigeria and the success with that. I think criticism is totally reasonable for people posting ‘Happy Independence Day’ because what are we celebrating? I don’t think you should be posting that without at least addressing that so much has gone wrong post-independence.”
For those native to African and Caribbean countries, “Black British” brings the barrier of difference that they can clearly see and feel. For them, with many of the countries in both of these regions being less economically developed, is difficult to see the diaspora “thrive” in Britain, where they are born and given vast opportunities that they could only dream of in the Caribbean and Africa.
“For me, my options are basically to say either I’m Black British or I’m Caribbean. It feels more untrue for me to say that I’m Caribbean than for me to say that I’m Black British. Even the way that I speak, like, if I say to someone I’m Caribbean, they’re going to look at me like, you’re not, you’re not Caribbean, do you see what I mean?” Quba states.
“It’s much easier to associate yourself with being Black British, with Black Caribbean heritage, than it is to say I’m a Caribbean person who lives in Britain, like, maybe as my parents’ generation and their parents’ generation, it might be a bit easier to say that, but for me, it’s at the point now where it feels like a lie to say I’m just Caribbean because that’s not my lived experience.”
In his book Cultural Identity and Diaspora, Stuart Hall suggests that: “Perhaps instead of thinking of identity as an already accomplished fact, which the new cultural practices then represent, we should think, instead, of identity as a ‘production’, which is never complete, always in process, and always constituted within, not outside, representation.”
Quba highlights the idea of it not being his lived experience begs the question, can education and assimilation fill this void? For second and third-generation African and Caribbean persons to feel close enough calling themselves by their family heritage, it is mostly how exposed they are to their heritage and how educated they are in history which can change over time. People’s fluidity changes in how they perceive their identity as they are made aware of what they do not know and take the initiative to learn about it.
Programmes to repatriate the African and Caribbean diaspora have popped up more frequently lately, as frustrations grow with the uncomfortable realities of being black in Britain.
Repatriation to Ghana has been providing “comprehensive repatriation services to Black people of the diaspora” since 2018. In finding their identity and how they fit into the mould of “Black British”, many people have realised Britain can never truly be their home because home is somewhere that you feel accepted, and because Britain does not provide that, why would they call themselves “Black British”?
As “Black British” identity evolves and moulds over time, its definition and who should be labelled as such is very dependent on the individual’s desire to be either “Black British” or to be solely a reflection of their family’s heritage.
Marl’Ene contributes to the growing interest and education of the Caribbean, as she teaches “Caribbean Woman Writers” and “Literature of the Caribbean” at Goldsmiths, University of London.
The university also offers an MA course in Black British History, encompassing the exploration of African origins and their African descent in Britain.
“I did a PhD looking at the way in which the oral language is archived within the text because that’s one way of preserving it and then through that research, I found that the New Testament has been published in Jamaican Creole and also in Saint Lucian Creole, so I’ve got both versions of the New Testament. I was just like, ‘Wow, the fact that they say unless there’s a version of the Bible published, the language isn’t recognised’.”
Featured image by Savannah Robinson.