ENGThe Twilight of an Empire: Racism, Geopolitics, and the American Question
Racism. Racial injustice. Police brutality. Protests. Battlespace.
Black Lives Matter: A specter is haunting America—the specter of centuries-old
pathologies never really addressed. When the crisis currently roiling America
began, following the brutal killing of yet another unarmed black man, it should
have been a decidedly domestic crisis. Instead, the outrage following the
murder, compounded by the scandal-prone leadership of the Trump
administration, has quickly turned what was originally an “American
tragedy” into an international one with major geopolitical
ramifications for years to come.
The massive demonstrations across
the world in solidarity with America’s protestors is just one
example of its international dimension. But a more defining factor in the
internationalization of this particular saga was surely the violent response by
law enforcement officers and the constant attempts to militarize the crisis.
The self-proclaimed ‘leader of the free world’ was now terrorizing
its own citizens, who took to the streets to demand justice and accountability.
For many, especially those watching from countries and regions that have long
been lectured on human rights issues, the whole episode was another indication
of a deep-rooted hegemonic hypocrisy—“do as I say, not as I do.” Unsurprisingly,
America’s geopolitical adversaries, in a characteristically opportunistic
burst, have been quick to jump on the social justice bandwagon to score a few
geopolitical points.
Iran branded
Floyd’s death a ‘cold-blooded’ killing that reveals the true nature of the American
government. Russia opted for what it usually does: flooding the Internet with
divisive messages and seizing the occasion to critique Washington’s
‘repressive’ response to the unrest. Turning the geopolitical dynamics on its
head, the Russian Foreign Ministry called
on American authorities to respect people’s right to peacefully protest. China
was also quick to jump on the fray. Beijing has been heavily reprimanded for
its growing totalitarian repression aided by state-of-the-art surveillance
technology, epitomized by the suppression of the pro-democracy movement in Hong
Kong and the alleged
oppression of its Muslim minority in the Xinjiang autonomous region. But, if in
April America was able to issue harsh and scathing criticisms against China
while Beijing faced a global outcry
over the racial profiling and mistreatment of African nationals, the table
seems to have turned. Hua Chunying, a spokesperson for China’s Foreign Affairs
Ministry, posted
‘I can't breathe’ on Twitter, referring to George Floyd’s last words that have
become a rallying slogan for demonstrators the world over, while China’s
state-media have been actively calling
on America to address racial injustice at home and stop interfering in other
countries’ internal affairs.
But the geopolitical battle between Beijing and Washington
extended to Africa, where the two powers have been engaging in narrative
battles to undermine each other’s broader engagements with and interests in the
continent. Nonetheless, it is crucial not to overstate China’s role in Africa’s
perception of race and racism issues in America—issues one could refer to as
‘the Great American Question’—if only because the dynamics and the relationship
well-outdate China’s modern engagement with the continent.
From a historical vantage point, to talk about America is to
talk about African slavery. And understanding that tragic history, I would
suggest, is critical to understanding the reactions in Africa to the Great
American Question. In July 1964, Malcolm X brought home to his ‘African
brothers and sisters’ at the first summit of the Organization of African Unity
(OAU)—the predecessor of the African Union (AU)—in Cairo, Egypt, the concerns
on the fate of Americans of African descent. Malcolm X’s message to African
leaders at the summit, like most of his speeches, was a poignant pan-African
plea. African-Americans, he said, ‘firmly believe that African problems are our
problems and that our problems are African problems.…’ In part, thanks to
Malcolm X’s moving imploration, the OAU passed a resolution that condemned ‘the
existence of discriminatory practices’ against African-Americans and called on
America ‘to intensify... efforts to ensure the total elimination of all forms
of discrimination based on race, color or ethnic origin.’ This was just an
instance of how America’s foreign policy towards the continent was complicated
by brutal racism at home, a fact J.F. Kennedy’s Secretary of State, Dean Rusk,
once admitted:
‘the conduct of our foreign policy is handicapped by our record in the field of
civil rights and racial discrimination.’
Decades later today, that egregious record still shocks and
disheartens many in Africa. So it was only natural that Floyd’s killing drew
widespread condemnations in the continent. For instance, the president of the
AU Commission, Moussa Faki Mahamat, firmly
condemned ‘the murder of George Floyd, which occurred in the United
States of America, at the hands of law enforcement officers.’ In his statement,
Mahamat recalled the OAU’s historic resolution of 1964 to reaffirm ‘the
rejection by the [AU] of persistent discriminatory practices against black
citizens of the United States of America.’ Likewise, in an open
letter, African writers, ‘who are connected beyond geography,’
denounced the killing and expressed their strongest solidarity with the
protestors. Such an outpouring of outcries across the continent forced American
embassies in Africa to attempt to control the damage by making
an unprecedented move to condemn the murder that took place back home.
But given America’s long history of racial caste system,
enforced and sustained through violence and socio-economic oppression, such
diplomatic efforts are destined to achieve very little. The foundation of the
American promise, an ambitious young African-American senator who would later
become America’s first black president told the 2004 Democratic National
Convention, is ingrained in Americans’ belief that ‘all men are created equal,’
making it the only place on earth where his story could even be possible. The
paradox, however, is that beneath that American exceptionalism also lies the
foundation of the Great American Question. Obama himself knows too well how
America has long denied its black people the inalienable rights to life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—the basis of the quintessentially
American dream. Indeed, America is proud to have fought and won two world wars
to “save” the world from fascism. It is equally proud to have “saved” the world
from the oppression of godless communism.
Yet that same America has also failed to liberate its black people
from perpetual oppression and subjugation at home. As a product of that brutal
reality, Malcolm X warned his audience at the 1964 Cairo summit on how, to
people of color, America could be as repressive and dehumanizing as South
Africa’s Apartheid regime. Indeed, while the Apartheid regime ‘is like a
vicious wolf, openly hostile to black humanity…, America is cunning like a fox,
friendly and smiling on the surface, but even more vicious and deadly than the
wolf.’
In that 1964 African tour, Malcolm X also dismayingly
observed, this time in Ghana, that ‘for the twenty millions of [black people]
in America who are of African descent,’ there is no American dream. There is
only the American nightmare. Today, that nightmare seems to engulf the country
and help further tarnish its global standing. The protest and the quickness
with which it gained steam might be a clear sign of a troubled nation: Think of
the racial injustice, the police brutality, the job losses, and the Covid-19
pandemic, which, instead of being America’s great
equalizer it was deemed to be, turned out to be a black plague for Black
America. Unfortunately, a clear leadership to steer the nation out of these
storms has been wanting. ‘When the looting starts, the shooting starts’ is
usually something one associates with some nameless militaristic state on the
brink of collapse. But this fanning the flame of hatred comes from ‘the leader
of the free world.’ Or perhaps, that too is an idea, just like the American
dream. Little wonder, some see America becoming
a fragile state whose stabilization is off the table in the near
term, while others see a much gloomier
picture.
America’s democracy was built on the denial of basic
humanity to a large portion of its population, while its wealth and power are
rooted in the plunder of its black and native inhabitants. And that could well
be its undoing today. It is the specter that has been haunting America. But all
is not yet lost. If anything, the sustained protests over the past weeks offer
a window of opportunity to genuinely atone
for these historical wrongs and, perhaps, avoid James Baldwin’s apocalyptic
call for “fire next time”.
There is a consensus that racial injustice at home has eroded
America’s international standing. That the country has so far failed to
reconcile the values and ideals it professes to champion with what is actually
happening. Thus, the repeated attempts to give an apparent solidity to pure
wind have been a dramatic failure. In 1964, Malcolm X called on heads of independent
African states to rescue their ‘long-lost brothers and sisters’ by bringing ‘our
problem to the United Nations [Council] on Human Rights.’ Today, Philonise
Floyd, George Floyd's brother, is imploring
the same institution to help ‘black people in America.’ This presents a clear
opportunity for America’s critics to call out its hypocrisy. Surely, Russia and
China are among the last places to turn to for human rights protection. But the
Russian Foreign Ministry spokeswoman was
right: ‘it’s time for the U.S. to drop the mentor’s tone and look in
the mirror.’ Only then might it regain its lost grounds, both at home and
abroad.