The Distance is by Design

Last Saturday, I attended an AfroSociety event here in Barcelona.
A space that was supposed to be for us—by us. Usually, these events are filled with people from across the diaspora: Afro-Caribbeans, Afro-Latinas, African Americans, Afro-Europeans, Africans—each of us shaped by different languages, passports, and ghosts.

The panel was titled: “How to Support Black People in Barcelona.”

There was a lot of positive energy. A lot of real, necessary conversation—from the panelists and the audience. Then, near the end, a few people lined up to speak.

One of them—a South African man—took the mic.
He spoke about the need for Black-only spaces. He said, especially when we’re talking about African politics, white people don’t need to be in the room.

And chile, the tension.*
It felt like people booed him.* In a Black space. For saying white people didn’t need to be there.

A couple people later, a white girl somehow found her way to the mic. (How she even had the (c)audacity is beyond me… and yet, not.)She said she was Polish and “excited to be around Black people.” She said she struggles to know how to support us, but doesn’t “see color,” and just wants to be included.

At that point? I walked away. I needed a drink. But I also needed to sit with what just happened. Because where I’m from? The moderator would’ve politely let her know this wasn’t the space for that speech.
That this was our space—and if she had thoughts, they could be shared in the corner, not center stage. And yet, she wasn’t booed. She was met with softness. Tolerance. 

That’s when it hit me:
Afro-Europeans are different.

After some much-needed rest, I met up with my girls a couple days later to talk about the night. When the door opened, I was greeted with the smell of nag champa and open arms.

This kind of space is sacred.
Reserved for the few. So as we passed around jerk chicken and plantains, we spilled the tea—

I asked: “Y’all… what is that? I don’t understand why it’s like that here. The attitude toward whiteness...”

My Afro-Latina friend didn’t flinch.“Honestly, I’ve been trying to tell you—it’s different.”

Then she said the thing that unlocked it all: “I think it depends on who your colonizer was.”

And that’s when it hit me. 

White folks got us out here having diaspora wars, judging and misunderstanding each other but the truth is we don’t even know each other. (Credit to my girl Ele for helping me put language to that experience.)

Most Afro cultures only know African Americans through TV and media. And we don’t know them at all—
because our country stayed true to its divisiveness, and made sure we thought Black people only existed in Africa.

But after moving abroad, I see more clearly what’s been taken from us—community, connection, and the knowledge of our shared migrations.

And now, I want to take it back.

Because let’s be real:
This concept of borders?
It’s how they rigged the game.
Keeping us separate.
Making sure we stayed unfamiliar.

So stay tuned.
Because a video series is brewing.
And this time?
We’re sitting at the table together.

* Disclaimer: This sentence has been edited for clarity and accuracy.

Summer in Cadaqués 2024