Siphiwe Tshabalala: fROMAFRICA.
One of my tutors, when discussing the ways in which petty ‘Africanist’ misconceptions endure in Europe, will often refer to the idea that “Africa is like a country.” I’m glad that she isn’t a football fan because, if she were, there would be a good few pundits eating through straws right now.
Indeed, the idea that South Africa 2010 is “Africa’s World Cup” has never been far to seek over the past few weeks. Of course, in one sense, this claim is trivially true: this tournament is the first to be held in Africa. And I have no doubt that there are plenty of Africans from, or residing in, nations other than South Africa who are pleased to see the competition reach shores proximate to theirs.
But discussion during the World Cup about “Africa” as a continent (its desires, hopes, emotions, etc.) has been common (pervasive?) in a way that is uncommon. Siphiwe Tshabalala’s opener in the very first game was greeted by Peter Dury as “a goal for all Africa!” Likewise, pundits commenting about Ghana’s match with the USA on Saturday were keen to impress upon us a continental narrative: Ghana’s term were (still are) Africa’s Last Hope. At various times, a team’s “record against African opposition” has been referenced as though it has some kind of explanatory or predictive value. To work out why this should be is left as an exercise for the viewer. It is also interesting to note that perhaps the most frequently heard apologia for the vuvuzela relates to “African tradition”. The instrument is neither “African”[1] nor “traditional” (its introduction dates back to about the 1980s, I believe). One wonders whether there is something about a monotone woodwind instrument that assists its inscription as “an African tradition” irrespective of any empirical basis.
To a degree, this is about Self/Other, I think. People in Europe are happy to ascribe a homogeneity or unity to other continents whilst denying that these exist deeply in their own because the conflicts, differences and disunities of European history and present are, from their perspective, too salient to be obscured.[2] When only Portugal are left remaining as representatives of the Occident, Clive Tyldesley will probably not be averring that Cristiano Ronaldo’s neat stepovers belong to us.
But there does also seem to be something in this presentation which distinctly relates to British perspectives only of Africa. “South America” as a signifier does have some cache in the footballing world, it’s true. South American teams attack with carefree verve and skill (though the Argentines, in English eyes especially, are rather more “pugnacious” than are their Brazilian landmassfolk). “Europe” is not entirely “empty” either; I remember Jim Beglin (I think) talking about Lars Lägerback’s attempts to instil in his Nigerian team “a more ordered, European style.” European sides (the Spaniards excepted, perhaps) are utilitarian; effective, dull, never likely to suffer outright embarrassment.[3] Yet these are totalising ideas which relate specifically to football styles; they don’t assert, though they might imply, specifically political ideas. African homogeneity shades into unity, and follows teams off the pitch and into social life more generally.
Vinny Jones: ordered.
I don’t mean, of course, to impute any malevolent motive to the pundits in question. If anything, in fact, these people are motivated by “progressive” goals (to portray Africa as exhibiting unity and strength, as possessing a cultural life which we should respect, etc.) But I think it is interesting to consider how these images of Africa came to be. I’d like to suggest that, for British commentators (in the broad sense), this idea of Africa is linked to the Empire. Britain’s African empire was largely sub-Saharan (after Egypt’s independence in 1922, Sudan was the only British North African territory, and this was held in condominium). For the British, “Africa” was black and either Christian or pagan. Post-war immigration has not changed this conception, since movement directly from Africa to Britain has been extremely small, and migration to Britain from North Africa’s Muslim areas specifically has been almost non-existent. In short, “Africa” in Britain is black and of dubious religious content; “Muslims” are Pakistani or Bangladeshi.
To return here to the World Cup, I noticed during England’s game with Africa that no mobilisation of the Three Lions’ “record against Africa” occurred; nor were the Algerians presented as the valiant representatives of Hausa villagers and Khwe bushmen. Algerians, olive of skin and Muslim of name, are clearly something other than African.
I wonder how France’s pundits deal with this? France, owing to its own colonial past, would have a bloody difficult job ignoring the multi-ethnic (to say the least) character of Africa and its culture. But in France, I believe, North African immigrants and their descendants are most often “les Arabes”. What would be required for the popular realisation that, in two senses, the Dark Continent need not be so “dark”?
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[1] That is to say, it is especially South African; it doesn’t belong to the continent holistically.
[2] And here I mean, naturally, “(Some) people in Europe…”
[3] Feel free to make your own jokes about the England back four. Incidentally, the very pinnacle of “outright embarrassment” during a World Cup belongs without doubt to an African player.
