My cultural and political engagements continue to be some of the few positive aspects of my mixed (at best) experience so far in Belgium. As usual, there is no shortage of free or cheap cultural events.
I have a heated exchange at Full Circle with a cocky UK-based African-American academic. His address is noticeably androcentric and he carries a strong aroma of misogynoir. He minimises the distinct difficulties Afrodescendant women face at the intersection of race and gender discrimination. He doesn't have much truck with intersectional theories at all. It's thus not a surprise that he apparently has a vendetta for black feminists like Kimberlé Crenshaw, Audre Lorde and in particular, bell hooks. Time doesn’t allow me to go into my frustration with his all-or-nothing, cherry-picking method of argumentation, as well as the lack of intellectual rigour elsewhere in the room. Notwithstanding a few notable exceptions, the mostly white guests are too scared and/or ill-informed to challenge him or add anything constructive to the conversation. Similar for most of the Afrodescendant guests, a number of whom are Americans themselves. Some patriotic loyalty is at play, apparently. One attendee, with whom I’d previously had a cordial exchange, is particularly defensive that evening. Or maybe I've just caught her at a jaded low-point. She accuses me of interrupting (she's not wrong) whilst shamelessly hacking others off herself. She pounces on any comment she doesn’t like, whether or not directed at her. She serves as the academic’s personal bulldog if I so much as ask for a point of clarification. Worst of all, as someone who professes to be interested in the advancement of black women, she takes no issue with the very problematic statements made by the guest speaker. For someone as educated as she claims to be, it’s a disappointing display.
I have a more positive encounter at the celebrated Jazz venue, Archiduc, where I come across a couple I met over five years prior at the 2018 Afropean symposium. I recall a conversation with the fellow, of mixed Afro-Brazilian descent, about his being an advocate for Black Love. At the time, he proudly informs me of his relationship with a darker-skinned Afrodescendant woman. I am glad to observe he's kept his word.
I have long wondered what became of the two. Did they remain in Belgium and if so, why I had not bumped into them sooner, like other guests I met at the same symposium?
That is partially answered by the adorable tot accompanying them at Archiduc that afternoon. They’ve spent almost two years in hibernation, outside of work obligations, looking after the new addition to the family. We exchange numbers and a few text messages. I'm not expecting us to become BFFs. I'm just pleased to have scratched that curiosity itch.
On the political front, I am in charge of booking the entertainment for a special bring-and-share organised by Intal, to raise awareness about the deteriorating situation in Eastern DRC. A live performance and a DJ set are also envisaged, to add some well-needed levity to the event. I ask my mate, B-Sharp from the Afro Jam to help out with the former. He's on another level that evening, the enrapt audience hanging on his every melodious word. He ropes me into an impromptu performance, as I suspected he would.
Campus Intal itself is equal-parts invigorating and exhausting. The team of volunteers is coordinated by Kelly, a boisterously loud New Zealander of Taiwanese origin. I’ve hitherto given her a wide berth, deterred by her presumed attention-seeking and a suspicion that any activism had more to do with her IG profile than The Cause. My attitude does thaw substantially whilst we work together to ensure the weekend runs as smoothly as possible.
I make several great connections that weekend in between the informative and interactive workshops. There’s Italian-Eritrean, Merlat working in the NGO sector. I meet Brian, an easy-on-the-eye Brit of mixed-Madagascan origin. He arrived in Brussels almost a year before I began my (mis)adventure here but is new to political engagement. I have longer conversations with vaguely familiar faces such as half-Egyptian, Yussef and Habiba; a bright, not to mention stunning, Lybian-Italian with Camel-like eyelashes born and raised in Vancouver.
At the end of conference day one, I partake in my first guerilla, flash mob-style protest at the notorious supermarket chain, Carrefour. Heavily invested in Israeli settlements, the franchise is high on the list of companies to Boycott according to the BDS campaign. A sizable group of us descend on one of the largest branches in Brussels. I assume we’ll merely picket the entrance so I am surprised when we enter the megastore's premises themselves. At a strategic moment, Palestinian flags are unwrapped, and one of Intal’s leaders calls for a boycott of Carrefour and an immediate ceasefire in Gaza on a megaphone. The group proceeds through the shop chanting these demands, as bemused customers record the protest on their phones.
Following the supermarket protest, we let our hair down at the conference afterparty. Most of the crowd are baby Millennials or Gen-Zed, far more familiar than I with the Electro-Eastern fusion, Amapiano and commercial Hip-Hop playlist of Intal's very own DJ Mustafa. Despite the absence of any old school R&B, I still get my dance on. It's just as much fun watching the comrades throwing shapes to varying degrees of success. Kerry, intense even when sober, is literally bouncing off the walls after a beer or two. When she volunteers -unsuccessfully - to pole dance around the pillars, I double up in hysterics.
Slipping away to get some rest before the next day of activities, I am stopped en route by none other than B-Sharp’s amiable wife, Luna.
At such moments, I could believe that perhaps I am exactly where I need to be.
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