Beyond Borders, Binaries, and White Hegemonic Narratives of Blackness: An Interview with Radical Queer Nigerian British Feminist, Sokari Ekine
Radical Nigerian British queer feminist, activist, visual scholar, writer, and educator, Sokari Ekine. Photo Credit: Soraya Zaman. Photo courtesy of Sokari Ekine.
By Jaimee A. Swift
For over three decades, Sokari Ekine (SsheHe), has challenged narratives of white hegemonic constructions of Blackness by showcasing the beauty and breadth of Black people through the power of their lens.
A pioneering Nigerian British queer feminist, educator, writer, activist, and visual scholar, Sokari Ekine, 70, is committed to centering and celebrating the beauty of Black humanity. Growing up in Abonnema, Nigeria and with their over 32 years of activism and artistry, Ekine has lived and worked in Africa, Europe, the Caribbean, and the United States. Documenting and writing commentary on and about Black communities that have often been obscured by white supremacist, heteronormative, and patriarchal revisionist history, Ekine’s work has and continues to be pivotal in transforming these narratives.
Their sixteen-year blog, Black Looks, is a powerful digital platform documenting and archiving African LGBTQI+ commentary and reporting. For nine years, Ekine was a weekly columnist and online editor of Pambakzuka News, a Pan-African electronic weekly newsletter for social justice in Africa. They also have been published in various academic journals and international digital platforms. In 2007, Ekine traveled to Haiti, where they were a community organizer, educator, writer, and documentary photographer, capturing the lives and leadership of Haitian grassroots organizers. In 2013, they received a twelve-month International Reporting Project from John Hopkins University, where they focused on grassroots healthcare in Haiti.
Connecting with Haitian activists, organizers, and community members, Ekine’s documentation of Haitian spiritual traditions catalyzed their photo series on Haitian Vodou and the dynamism of African Diasporic religiosities. Moreover, their work is not only personal and political but also spiritual, as Ekine is a practicing Haitian Vodouisant initiate. Not only is Ekine a force in challenging negative stereotypes of African spiritualities, they are also a trailblazer in highlighting the power of African LGBTQI+ communities. Their co-edited book with Hakima Abbas, Queer African Reader (2013), is a literary blueprint about the radical leadership and resistance of LGBTQI+ persons across the African continent. Ekine has also produced journalistic, scholarly, and visual works on women’s activism against gendered state violence in the Niger Delta.
Needless to say, Ekine is unwavering in defying borders, binaries, and boundaries when it comes to showcasing the resiliency of Black people.
I spoke with Ekine about what catalyzed their activism; how organizing in Haiti transformed their visual scholarship; why documenting African LGBTQI+ communities is a critical imperative; advice they would offer to activists; and more.
Jaimee Swift (JS): What was the moment that led you into activism?
Sokari Ekine (SE): “I think when I was in London on holiday, there was a moment when I became more exposed to Black radical writing, which at the time was mainly the Black Panthers––Angela Davis, Huey P. Newton, and Bobby Seale. Those were my introductions to Black radical writing. It wasn’t something I was able to access in Nigeria at the time. The moment I would say that I became an activist was when I was in London in the 80’s. I became involved in a number of organizations located in my borough, mainly the Camden Black Sisters, which was really transformational for me. The Camden Black Parents and Teachers and the Camden Black Workers––those two organizations in my local borough were also transformational during that period of time. It was a period of time in London where there was a really hardcore, radical struggle against anti-Blackness and racism in our daily lives: in school, in working environments, in the health movement, and just all aspects of life. I think if you speak to anyone who was in London in the late 70’s through the late 80’s, they would speak to the radical activism that was taking place among Black people. I came to London sometime in 1983; so I was there during the middle of it. For me, coming from Nigeria to London during that time was a very transformational moment.”
“When I arrived in London, I knew maybe one person––a childhood friend––who had been in England for some years by then and was involved in Black movement there. It was through her that I became involved in all these activist groups. They were all connected as well because there were people in the Camden Black Parents and Teachers, who were also in the Camden Black Sisters and in the Camden Black Workers. One of the interesting things about Blackness that came out of that period was the notion of who is Black? By that I mean, Black became a political descriptor, in a sense, because people who were not necessarily of African descent. For example, people from the Asian continent like India, Bangladesh, and Pakistan, also identified as Black at that time. That was quite important because it was making a political statement to do with anti-colonialism and racism. That was one of the really radical ideas that came out during that time. How that continued, I really cannot say. But definitely during that period, Black became this much broader term.”
JS: How has Haiti transformed and inspired your visual scholarship? Why is it important for you to disrupt whiteness and heteronormativity in your work?
SE: “My first time in Haiti was in 2007, when I was working as an online editor with Pambazuka News. I went there to interview grassroots women organizing with the Fanmi Lavalas, which was the party of Jean-Bertrand Aristide. That is actually what took me to Haiti. It was interesting for me because when I got there, it reminded me so much of Lagos. I felt like I could have been in Lagos at any given time. [Laughs] I met with a lot of amazing women activists in Haiti. In Haiti, women’s organizing comes out of the history of the revolution. They show up. I mean, they really show up. That kind of organizing that came out of a crucial moment of post-earthquake, speaks a lot to the ways they think. They cannot be dependent. They have to create something for themselves. I didn’t go back to Haiti until the earthquake of 2010. I went back in October, and that is when I started to really consolidate my experience in Haiti. I started to go back more frequently because I was working freelance, so I was able to move about. I had just moved to the States at that time, so it was a short flight from Fort Lauderdale to Port-au-Prince. I was doing different things there, like teaching English. After the earthquake, I started working with activists in the camps.”
“In Haiti, women’s organizing comes out of the history of the revolution. They show up. I mean, they really show up. That kind of organizing that came out of a crucial moment of post-earthquake, speaks a lot to the ways they think. They cannot be dependent.”
“In 2013, I received a fellowship, which meant I could be in Haiti for a longer period of time, so I stayed in Haiti for months at a time. That was really when I began to write because one of the fellowships required me to write. At first, I was supposed to be writing about grassroots health but I wrote about what I really wanted to write about, which was essentially a critique of the occupation of Haiti; not just by the United Nations and the U.S., but also by religious missionaries, NGOs, and everyone else looking for disaster capitalism, especially photographers. Photographers really wanted to document Haiti as a spectacle after the earthquake. So I started to write and document at that same time. Because I was traveling in and outside of Port-au-Prince, I was traveling with my translator and interpreter who became a very good friend. We traveled together across the country. When you are traveling like that and you are in a country for a long period of time, you begin to understand certain things and that is where you are living. I began to write and visually document counter-Western narratives. That became my pride and joy––those counter-narratives. I was also holding workshops; working with youth at a pre-school; and working with the people in the camps. I was involved in a lot of activities there, it wasn’t just writing or documenting. I was involved in the day-to-day issues Haitians and myself were facing. That is really how I started.”
JS: How has Vodou transformed your life?
SE: “I was originally introduced to Vodou in 2007. I attended a couple of ceremonies when I first went there. When I started the fellowship, within the second or third day, I was introduced to my interpreter who so happened to be a Vodouisant. We got along very well. One thing led to another, and I began to go with him to ceremonies and to meet with mambos. It was an organic process without any plans. It was such an organic process, I felt the spirits were actually the ones guiding me to places. That was the only way because there was never really a decision. The way I was moving around the country was not something based on decision. Yes, I decided to go somewhere but when I got there, it was not what I was expecting to happen. I didn’t just want to document: I wanted to fully understand what I was documenting. I wanted to be very aware of how you take photographs in certain situations; not to expose people; and to try to present the narrative you want without making it into a spectacle of a human being in suffering. That is why I see myself as a visual scholar. I need to understand the aspects of what I am working with.”
“When you go to Haiti, you encounter this moment where you can see that the Atlantic Ocean is not that distant. It may take you six hours to cross by air, but I hope you are seeing what I mean. It was so close in terms of time. It was like, ‘What time had actually passed?’ 400 years?’ What exists today is a part of that 400 years. It is very present.”
“I felt increasingly the presence of the spirits saying this is where I need to go and just encouraging me to reflect on what I was witnessing. There were times I was so angry at some of the experiences I had, seeing how NGOs and missionaries behaved. I also ended up spending time at lakous in the historic city of Bainet, and the lakous are spiritual compounds. They are spaces where you have time to reflect and you do know the spirits are there. Their presence is everywhere. That very much contributed to my experience and what I wanted to do. I think Haiti took me back to Africa. For some people, it is going to Africa and that is their consolidation. For me, it was coming to Haiti and realizing and being faced with the reality of Africa as this place where millions of people were forced into another place. That encounter was so strong. Of course, there is the Haitian Revolution and understanding Haiti as the first independent Black country. When you go to Haiti, you encounter this moment where you can see that the Atlantic Ocean is not that distant. It may take you six hours to cross by air, but I hope you are seeing what I mean. It was so close in terms of time. It was like, ‘What time had actually passed?’ 400 years?’ What exists today is a part of that 400 years. It is very present. It is not something we have to search for––it is there and it is present. It is very present in Vodou. It is very present in Haitians in Haiti.”
Activist, author, and visual scholar, Sokari Ekine. Photo credit: Alexis De Veaux. Photo courtesy of Sokari Ekine.
JS: What has been the most rewarding moment or moments of your activism? What are you most proud of in regards to your work?
SE: “I think the fact that I have been able to sustain for so long; since the 80’s and in so many different aspects, whether it be writing and actively being in certain spaces like in my home in Nigeria in the Niger Delta, and the work I did there on gender and militarization. Also, writing and offering commentary on queer African issues and the work on writing and documenting on gender, displacement, and Vodou in Haiti. Also, the fact that my blog, Black Looks focuses on a range of issues. I think the longevity and the nature of the work is what I am most proud of.”
JS: You co-wrote the book, Queer African Reader, with Hakima Abbas. What led you to write this work?
SE: “I think it was very much because those specific stories were not being told during that time. Those stories were not being told at all. It was important for me to begin to tell this story and to make my presence known as someone who was willing to write about the African Queer community. I was able to build a community of people and activists from Uganda, Kenya, Nigeria, and South Africa. It was an amazing network of activists, artists, and writers that I was connected to. One of the things I wanted to do as an online editor was to report on what was happening in the African LGBTQI+ world, in terms of activism and art. I also wrote about this on my blog as well. That was the imperative because no one else was writing on these issues. It was kind of stressful as well because you didn’t know what kind of response you were going to get. Every time I went to press ‘publish’, I was going through some anxiety because I didn’t know how I was going to be received and if I was going to receive nasty comments. This was all pre-Twitter and pre-Facebook. I actually started an online discussion group of Black Queer women in 1996, which was called ‘Black Girls Talk.’ It was hard and guess I did lose some sleep.” [Laughs]
“It was important for me to begin to tell this story and to make my presence known as someone who was willing to write about the African Queer community. ”
“At the time, I didn’t document this because it was just something I was doing and I just moved on to something else. I never thought about documenting it and it was before the internet, where there were discussion boards online. That was in 1996, so that was way before where we are today. That is one thing I am quite proud of. It was very much my wanting to make our presence as African LGBTQI+ people known. I wanted to show what we were doing, not just in activism and struggle, but also in art and in literature. Also, I wanted to talk about Blackness in general. It was important to document what was coming out of Uganda, Kenya, and Nigeria. South Africa was slightly different because it was more in terms of the horrific murders of lesbians.”
JS: What advice would you offer to organizers and activists?
SE: “The first thing I would say is to understand there is a history of activism, of the arts, and literature and to keep that in mind and not discard the past and what people did. It is important to learn about the past and build on it. That is quite important to understand. Ageism is still very prominent in how people speak, write, and create their ideas, particularly on social media. I would say the first thing is to look at the past and build on it and respect it, just as I respect what is happening now and what young people are doing. What young people are doing now just blows my mind. I think the next advice I would give is to fuel your imagination. You can’t change anything if you don’t have imagination. It is also important to know that some of the things we are struggling against today, people have been struggling against for years. The words of people like June Jordan and Audre Lorde are still as relevant today––just as they spoke them 40 or 50 years ago. That doesn’t mean we didn’t do the work; it just really speaks to the level of the struggle. I would say fuel your imagination. Also, don’t let the oppressor dictate the narrative. I think we have the tendency to react to the oppressors’ narrative and really we should be dictating our own narrative. That is something I learned: sometimes we focus on them rather than what we ought to change in ourselves. They are there to distract us from what we need to do.”
“There were so many people who were foundational for me. I think of women from the last century like Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti. We are always going to be learning from other people. I, as a 70-year old, have an investment in the future because I have my own descendants and their friends and their schoolmates. I have four grandchildren and I am invested in them––I am invested in all of our children. I am invested in what their life is going to be when they are 30 and when they are 50. People need to understand we are invested in the future and how that future will be. That investment in the future is the future for all of us, and not just certain individuals.”
“Also, don’t let the oppressor dictate the narrative. I think we have the tendency to react to the oppressors’ narrative and really we should be dictating our own narrative. That is something I learned: sometimes we focus on them rather than what we ought to change in ourselves. They are there to distract us from what we need to do.”
Who are Black women who inspire you? What does a Black Woman Radical mean to you?
SE: “I would go back to the sisters I met when I first was in London, the Camden Black Sisters. They certainly inspired me and I learned so much from them. It was through them that I was introduced to Black feminist radical writers like Audre Lorde, June Jordan, and bell hooks. There were so many Black women who I studied and learned from independently. I also think of the women I worked with and met in the Niger Delta: the rural fisherwomen and farming women, who were struggling against oil companies and the Nigerian military in the 80’s and 90’s. They were women who had few resources and a lot to lose but they were really amazing activists and revolutionaries. They put themselves on the line and stood up. They were really the ones who were organizing far more than the men in their communities. I would say those women, as well as the grassroots women in Port-au-Prince, who come out of very impoverished environments but stood at the forefront in demanding their rights. They decided to be independent, as opposed to being dependent and created space for themselves. Those are really the activists who have inspired me because that is the hardest struggle––when you have the least resources and you are in environments where the everyday struggle is amplified.”
“A Black Woman Radical is a constant state of decolonizing oneself. If I think about what my purpose is, I think it is easier for me to think about it in that way. My purpose is to be a decolonized person. My purpose is to be free and to take on the responsibilities of that freedom, in which I think about what Toni Morrison said: ‘The function of freedom is to free someone else’.”
You can visit Sokari Ekine’s website here.
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