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In this blog post, ISS PhD researcher Xander Creed offers a book review on Nadira Omarjee’s “We Belong to the Earth: Towards a Decolonial Feminist Pedagogy Rooted in Uhuru and Ubuntu”, drawing out the relevance for educators interested in emancipatory pedagogies. Engaging with the auto-ethnography of Nadira Omarjee, which outlines African philosophies of Ubuntu and Uhuru and colonial logics of hierarchization, this blog highlights the need for mutual recognition to be included on the syllabus, particularly for migration studies, in order to tackle oppression in and from the classroom.
To put the end first, “We belong to the Earth and we belong to each other.” (Omarjee 2023: 149). Nadira Omarjee’s book We Belong to the Earth: Towards a Decolonial Feminist Pedagogy Rooted in Uhuru and Ubuntu offers an exciting approach towards the classroom, bridging the tension between self and other. Reflecting on the work of ISS’s very own Prof. Dr. Rosalba Icaza in discussing the diological format of auto-ethnography centering on lived/felt experience-knowledge, Omarjee conducts an attentive psychoanalysis of her own existence under structures of domination (for instance, gender and race as a Black womxn), as well as teaching in the neo-liberal university. Here, Icaza raises the conversational or dialogue dimensions of the auto-ethnographic format, particularly as it emerges “from the embodied experience of the vulnerability that carries the un-learning and/or refusal to reproduce epistemic privileges of a ‘subject’ that interprets and represents reality”. Omarjee argues that from this view – her view -we can begin to see “the ways in which coloniality together with patriarchy have designed the academy, serves the system and further marginalizes and affects the mental health of vulnerable communities through othering” (Omarjee 2023: 104).
The diagnosis? The narcissism of coloniality and skewed recognition; a worldview so entangled in itself that it is unable to recognize any others. The treatment? Jouissance; the reaffirmation, actualization of and coming into self (uhuru) in tandem with the mutual recognition of the other through collective (ubuntu). This treatment plan applies for both narcissists and those entangled with them – jouissance allows for us to lose ourselves in the pleasure of being together as equals, without hierarchy or domination. Indeed, this applies within the classroom, but far beyond the confines of the academy, as it relates to interactions with nature and the more-than-human, encompassing “all sentient beings, challenging notions of supremacy of being by displacing the hu/man without losing the ‘hu/man being’ in the notion of being” (Omarjee 2023: 94).
In this way, the narcissism of coloniality comes to signify the “the perception of superiority, entitlement and privilege” (8), but like perceptions, it can be broken. More centrally, it can be broken together. The classroom offers an opportunity for this transformation, wherein all present might be empowered to come into themselves (uhuru), liberating themselves and their peers (ubuntu). This entails the conscientization of students across the spectrum of (dis)advantage– becoming aware of their own situations as well as that of their peers. All can participate in their own liberation (uhuru) and look beyond their blindspots (privilege) through solidarity (ubuntu). While both uhuru and ubuntu originate from African philosophy, Omarjee identifies these two concepts within the basic psychoanalytical drives of “self-enhancement” and “contact and union with the other” (2023: 1). “[W]e need uhuru and ubuntu – a profound respect for life, implying a profound respect for ourselves and for others” (Omarjee 2023: 3).
Through putting her own wounds and healing journey on full display, the work calls back to the message of Audre Lorde, in The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action: “Perhaps for some of you here today, I am the face of one of your fears. Because I am a woman, because I am black, because I am myself, a black woman warrior poet doing my work, come to ask you, are you doing yours?”.
Perhaps, for some, the intra-psychic and psychoanalytical approach (reflecting on her own mental health and cognition) included alongside a vulnerable auto-ethnography might not be ‘the work’ they imagine doing in the academy or their classrooms. This includes (re)visiting deep psychic wounds within intimate relationships, as well as personal failures, admitting her own inability and shortcomings as an educator. It very well might scare them, those who have built empires in the academy and would hate to see their privilege challenged (or worse, have to challenge it themselves!), and that might very well be their narcissistic right.
However, for those who can bask in this radical presence in-text, it is less off-putting – those who can give into jouissance, la petite mort, to walk the path – who took the advice of Hélène Cixous more than 40 years ago to imagine what a feminine language could be outside of phallologocentrism (privileging masculinity in cognition and meaning making) – “You only have to look at the Medusa straight on to see her. And she’s not deadly. She’s beautiful and she’s laughing”. To reinterpret this advice – face your fears as an instructor, looking at Medusa will make you into a real (vulnerable) human in the classroom rather than turning to a stoic statue behind the podium. Regardless of whether you have looked at Medusa or not, “The system traps us all: therefore, we all reproduce the system” (Omarjee 2023: 146). Neutrality is not an option, especially not in the classroom, and we might be teaching things that are not included in the lesson plan.
Exemplary of this potential, Omarjee shares the perspective of participants in her decolonial feminist pedagogy, one scholar reflecting that, “As opposed to feeling like merely students in a classroom, we felt like human beings in conversation with mutual recognition at its core” (111), and another sharing that “Personally, I have never been in an academic environment where I could speak a little bit more about my life and experiences. It felt a little unusual but only because I had been so used to the more Draconian (‘repeat after me’) sort of approach. But this class made me realize how traumatic that approach had actually been. However, while this class became a way for me to unpack and heal from it, I felt I also had to be reflexive and see where I could be reinforcing that traumatic approach around me (i.e. other peers)” (110-111). Through these reflections, Omarjee affirms the potential for the classroom to be a space-and-time for radical transformation. “Group projects further explored ubuntu as praxis, extending care to the other in the form of holding space, encouraging safety and healing” (Omarjee 2023: 115), while processes of conscientization allow for students to come into themselves and their experience (uhuru).
Returning to my own experience in the classroom, as a migration studies scholar and instructor, as well as a student, who attended the Decolonizing Scholarship CERES Research School course, the book reminded me of my learned/lived experiences of the violent regime of citizenship and integration. I remember sitting in classrooms as a student learning about migration and feeling an unease or misalignment with my own experience. In this way, Omarjee’s book has allowed me to revisit that memory, and think about who’s knowledge was being shared/suppressed. Likewise, her work has helped me reframe as an instructor, when moderating a heated discussion about the possibility of a global institution or its employees to be racist or not. I have been able to approach the discussion in terms of supporting students coming to themselves (uhuru) as well as coming together (ubuntu), even if they disagree. This is certainly a different classroom than one where students seek to ‘be right’. Certainly, a decolonial feminist pedagogy offers opportunities to transform the classroom while exploring topics within migration studies such as identity, challenging the divide between migrant/citizen:
(B)earth-right Citizenship
We belong to the earth, not to borders, to each other
to the earth we will return
from the earth we will rise
Birth, life and death are matters of both
blood and soil
jus sanguinis and jus soli
matters of which
I / you becomes we
where citizen and non-citizen meet
For we cannot live nor die
without us-you-me;
without earth
(Xander Creed, July 2023 in response to Nadira Omarjee).
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.About the author:
Xander Creed is a PhD researcher at the ISS. Their work explores migration and asylum governance with a particular focus on the human dimension of (im)mobility, for instance through the lens of human security and feminisms.
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