down with diaspora wars

hey lovely people, sisterwoman here!

i have a slightly longer read for you this week as i delve into one of my least favourite topics - “diaspora wars”. the endless online debates where people from different parts of the african diaspora argue about who’s more "authentically" black, whose culture is better, or whose ancestors suffered more. as a self confessed child of the diaspora (who happens to love baked beans AND grits—not together don’t be silly), i consider myself well positioned to add some well needed nuance to the debate. everybody is loud and wrong, let’s start there!

i am so incredibly grateful to have been born and raised in london in the 90s and 2000s by parents with a pan-africanist mindset. not only do i have a unique positionality by way of my own ancestry, i also grew up in what some may call the golden age of multiculturalism. my primary school regularly celebrated “culture days”, inviting parents to bring in food, music and cultural items to share with the students. it was in these sessions i learned about the history of indo-caribbean people while delighting in roti, or that somali’s eat lots of pasta because of italian colonialism. my understanding of “blackness” has been shaped and developed by my community: my black american mother, my jamaican and english father, my ethiopian godmother, my ghanaian teacher, my friends who hail from south africa, nigeria, grenada, somalia, brazil, martinique and more. not to mention the number of people i have come across from europe: portuguese by way of são tomé, italian by way of congo etc. 

it’s easy to get caught in the internalised narratives of division, each of us fiercely defending our own identity, our own heritage. but in doing so, we risk falling prey to the same forces that have historically sought to divide us, separating us from our collective power. these cross-cultural conversations have the potential to bring us together, but too often they’re used as a platform to push anti-black narratives and divide us even further.

in truth, our histories are interconnected. the pain of displacement, the longing for home, and the shared resilience in the face of colonialism and enslavement are all part of a collective narrative that binds us together. but in the age of online disinformation and social media echo chambers, these connections can be obscured by stereotypes, generalisations, and the perpetuation of false narratives. diaspora wars have become the battleground where these falsehoods thrive.

these divisions within the diaspora are often exacerbated by the miseducation that continues to shape our understanding of blackness and african heritage. as a result, many of us are left with narrow, incomplete ideas about ethnicity, nationality, and cultural identity. these views reinforce stereotypes and perpetuate false narratives of "tribalism" and "inferiority," which then fuel diaspora wars and cross-cultural conflict. black americans, by choice and design by way of american exceptionalism, seem to be extremely ignorant about other black experiences across the diaspora, and many ostensibly view theirs as the only authentic black experience. in turn black brits, no doubt motivated by unimpeded access to black american media, have an inflated belief of superior cross-cultural understanding, failing to realise that their over-familiarity severely lacks nuance and has also been influenced by white western stereotypes of blackness and the black american experience. 

colonialism, enslavement, and institutionalised racism have not only robbed some of us of the ability to trace our ancestral lines with clarity but have also imposed distorted views of ourselves and our global kin. internalised anti-blackness manifests as division and mistrust. it is this kind of conditioning that keeps us focused on what sets us apart rather than on the things that bind us together. we must break free from this destructive cycle. EYE AM TIYYAAAD!

as a chef i may be biased, but i truly believe one powerful way to do this is by embracing food as a lens into ourselves, our stories, and our histories. food has long been central to black identity and culture across the globe, not just as sustenance but as a medium of resistance, survival, and expression. it’s through food that many of us maintain deep, visceral connections to our ancestral roots, and it’s through food that we can begin to better understand and appreciate the complexities of the black diaspora experience.

through food, i see the ways in which different parts of my heritage—my mother’s black american roots, my father’s jamaican lineage, my experiences growing up in england—intersect. i see how okro soup from nigeria can transform into gumbo in louisiana, how the flavours of the african diaspora meld and evolve across generations and continents. in those moments of cooking, i find a deep sense of connection, not only to my own roots but to a wider, global family of black people. just as food is passed down from generation to generation, so too must our understanding of each other’s histories and cultures be transmitted with care and respect.

the question, then, is not just where is home? but how can we redefine home together? how do we move from division to unity, from war to understanding?

the colonial legacy that once sought to separate and categorise us along arbitrary lines continues to play out in these "diaspora wars," a battleground where we fight over crumbs while the empire continues to thrive.

this brings us to a question of priorities: why are we debating which surviving food culture holds the most authenticity or value, when we are still enslaved and colonial subjects on imperial lands? the real question is about the systemic forces that continue to control, exploit, and destroy our lands, resources, and very lives.

food is the way we reconnect to the past, to our ancestors, to the lands we were stolen or displaced from. but in an era of global ecological collapse, the conversation about food needs to shift beyond cultural purity or “authenticity.” we must ask ourselves: how are the ecological injustices of today, rooted in colonialism, continuing to shape the very food systems we rely on? from the way our ancestral lands are exploited for monoculture farming, to the devastating impacts of industrial agriculture on the environment, to the destruction of food sovereignty in the global south, the colonial structures that shaped our displacement are still shaping our diets.

in a world where the climate crisis is rapidly escalating and where global ecosystems are collapsing, it’s clear that food sovereignty (the ability to grow and sustain our own food systems without corporate control) is central to our survival as a people. it’s not just about what we eat, but how we eat, who controls our food, and how that food impacts the health of our communities and the planet.

we must stop letting the forces of imperialism and colonialism dictate the way we think about food and culture. rather than fighting over food’s "authenticity," we should be asking how we can rebuild our food systems in ways that honour both our histories and the ecological health of our lands. this means investing in sustainable farming practices, preserving indigenous food knowledge, and reclaiming our right to control the food systems that nourish us. this is a conversation that must expand beyond cultural wars and toward a fight for ecological justice.

the deeper question is not which food culture is more authentic, but how do we recognise our interconnectedness across the diaspora and use that unity to address the larger forces at play? from africa to the americas, from the caribbean to the uk, our food systems are being attacked by global corporations, climate change, and continued exploitation. if we are to truly honour our ancestors, we must build a food system that is regenerative, sustainable, and rooted in solidarity, not division. the same forces that continue to exploit and oppress us are the ones that are destroying the planet. therefore, ecological justice is not just an environmental issue - it is a human rights issue, a black issue, a diasporic issue. food can still be a symbol of pride and survival, but it must also become a symbol of resistance. when we shift the conversation from division to action, from “authenticity”  to justice, we can truly begin to heal the wounds of the diaspora and work toward a world where our cultures, and our planet, can thrive.

LISTEN NOW: COMMUNITY CARE, MUTUAL AID AND FOOD JUSTICE WITH DEE WOODS AND ESHE KIAMA ZURI