I spent my first 10 days in the Americas, in New York City in November 2008, just after the election and right around the time the financial crisis was just starting to bear its rotten molars.

Walking around a deserted Lower Manhattan on a Saturday afternoon—along Gall Street, past the New York Doom Exchange and up around the Ground Zero mausoleum—as the sky promptly went black around 3.30pm, and the wind came howling in off the Hudson, it crossed my mind that perhaps ‘Ghostbusters’ had been intended as more of a tourist information film than I’d first thought.

It wouldn’t have surprised me if the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man had come bounding around the corner.

The whole of Manhattan smelled fusty and decaying—like wet dollars mouldering somewhere below ground. The imposing historicist architecture and the rickety, clockwork subway clogged with the dust of ages made the experience feel like a voyage back into the dark days of the last century, in the company of Thomas Pynchon. The skyscrapers stood like pristine simulare; shining statues of the gods lining the entrance to a dead Roman city.

Like many Europeans, I get most of my cultural information about the modern United States from hip hop, and hip hop of a specifically New York bent, due to the surfeit of esoteric folklore exported by the Wu Tang Clan.

I felt like I’d been to Staten Island even before I (almost) went there.

Before, during and after my visit to New York city, I kept on encountering these frothing panegyrics to the advent of a ‘post-racial United States’, as if somehow decades of segregation and mutual hate had suddenly been magically eradicated from the record. So these ideas were clanging around my brainpan throughout my time in the country and for a long time after I got back…

I must explain what a completely alien universe I come from: I grew up in a small village in the Lancashire countryside which shares a postcode with the town of Blackpool—a place so right wing that it hosted the annual Conservative Party conference all the way through the Thatcher era. It was the venue for her infamous 1999 speech on “the callous and unjust … judicial kidnap … of Senator Pinochet” (sic).

The smoke only cleared in the bar of the local I used to drink in during my time at university in Leeds when someone leaned over to me in the last week of my course to inform me, in suitably hushed tones, that the place was “a BNP pub” – as in the jack-boot, Union Jack, shaved-head-and-a-pitbull, send-the-buggers-back, Jack British Nationalist Party.

I had absolutely no idea.

For four years.

I have to make it clear that in the entirety of my closeted Northern-English upbringing and early adulthood, before travelling to New York, the only person of African descent I’d ever really got(ten) the chance to have a proper conversation with was a Jamaican feller my auntie was going out with.

In the mid-1980s.

Unfortunately, as a great-grandchild of another empire built on slavery, and one which is perhaps still more overtly class-ridden than any other, I feel that I live and work in a white, middle-class Never Never Land most of the time.

And I’m sure I’m not the only one.

Within a couple of hours of arriving in New York, I’d already bumped fists with and been christened ‘Big Andy’ by a purportedly-rising hip hop star in Times Square, and I’d been given a free guide to the Top of the Rockefeller Centre by the most cheerful lady I’ve ever encountered in the service industry.

Still mulling over those reports of the triumph of American ethnic integration, I saw the joyous chap dancing freely and screaming out the lyrics of ‘I Wanna Go Bang’ by Arthur Russell to the broad, freezing daylight air of a Sunday afternoon flea market in Brooklyn, as the harbinger of some ethnological Arcadia.

I’d heard apocryphal tales of people dancing in the streets following the election, but I did not expect that this would actually be the case.

It was all I could do to stop myself joining in…

“I wanna see. All of my friends at once!”

(So do I, mate, so do I!)

With all of those odes to the new, improved, supra-racist US of A ringing in my ears, I felt like the lead in a solarised version of ‘Coming to America’.

(That programme was worth ten freaking clams, dude!)

Standing on a train platform in Jamaica, Queens at the end of the trip and choosing to take the demographics in evidence as basis for a violent kneejerk reaction, however, I was struck by the fallacy of the notion of a ‘post-racial America’.

I do acknowledge that people dress this up as ‘more about poverty than race’, and I recognise how far towards this ‘new’ America things have progressed since the days of wholesale jiggerypokery by the Federal Housing Authority and full on white flight, but the smörgåsbord of cock cheese served up about the ethnic melting pot must be based on the diversity of Manhattan alone, am I right?

To the ignorant bystander: to someone like me, growing up in the politically correct climate of the United Kingdom of the 1970s and 80s, poorer areas where at-a-glance it appears there could be an African-American majority tend to engender the following kind of reaction:

“Post-racial America? Gimme a break, wieners! Where the Jim Crow did you get that idea!?”

Then the friend I’m visiting informs me they are off to something called a ‘Huxtable Party’ and all of this rarefied and constipated white guilt; all of that politically correct dogma and the full force of my inherent gormlessness about these things floods my psyche in such a torrent that I’m left spluttering and tongue-tied and utterly dumbfounded.

Despite what the media might say (even in the Guardian newspaper in March 2009), I can assure you, most of England is still pre-medieval in these matters.

In a not dissimilar fashion to Prince Henry of Wales, I just do not get it.

“A Huxtable Party?”


“What? as in loads of white people dressing up as people from ‘The Cosby Show’!?”

“Well… Yeah. You should come”

“Thanks but I don’t think I’d fit in…”

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Andy is a freelance magazine writer and editor from the North of England. He has rapidly divested himself of his life and reassembled it so many times in so many different countries over the last several years that he feels like his hair is on fire. He is at work on a novel ostensibly about the British Empire.

One response to “I (Aint) Afraid of No Ghostface Killah”

  1. 2009-04-02 13:01:13
    Comment by tammy allen
    disturbing. yes?

    2009-04-03 13:00:07
    Comment by Simon Smithson

    As an Australian who recently went to the States, yes. It’s strange and disturbing to see these points of familiarity that come from movies and TV and music (I spent my first week in San Francisco saying ‘Oh my God! Those newspaper boxes on the street do exist!’

    As for the still-salient racial divides… yeah. I heard a couple of things that left me, frankly, shocked.

    2009-04-05 14:33:35
    Comment by Erika Rae

    I thoroughly enjoyed your perspective on all of this.

    On a sidenote: Where do you live in HK? I used to live on Lamma Island…

    2009-04-06 19:33:57
    Comment by <a href=”http://commitunistmanifesto.wordpress.com” target=”_blank” Andrew Johnson

    Thanks to all of the above for reading and commenting. I was profoundly disturbed by NY on many unexpected levels.

    Due to a few ‘off air’ misunderstandings, I feel I have to clarify things a bit more. Some people have missed the point, like Michael Bay when he made ‘Pearl Harbour’…

    At the risk of (over) stating the blindingly obvious:

    On the one hand all I’m really saying, apart from pointing out my own ignorance – and the ignorance of people with the same kind of background as me, is that it’s not as simple as there being poorer areas where there appears to be an African-American majority. I think that the US is comfortable with satire of an order of complexity much higher than that of the UK. Due to political correctness, we lose our minds in the UK when someone dresses up in a Nazi uniform for fun – no matter what they might be saying (or failing to say) by doing so.

    In the States, discourse about race has reached such a level that it’s perfectly acceptable to go to a ‘Huxtable Party’ as a white person. The fact that the objects of gentle ridicule in this practice are black is of absolutely no relevance whatsoever. The ’satire’ is of the order something altogether apart and it has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with racism. It genuinely transcends race. It’s (almost) post-racial.

    The reason for writing this was to point out this curious difference between the UK and the US, on the one hand.

    On the other hand, I’m saying that the self-congratulatory tone of article such as the one cited from the Guardian that say, ‘everything’s allright now, kids!’; ‘we’ve gone past racism’ are offensive to me because this certainly isn’t the case where I come from.

    Prince Harry will have to answer for himself.

    (Oh and yes, I live on Lamma Island)

    Read all the pamphlets and watch the links.


    2009-04-11 08:11:12
    Comment by kiptobin

    Some clever, punched-up prose here Mr. Johnson.

    Gormless and panegyric are two words that I’ve never heard, the former which I hope to use at some point and the latter which I doubt I’ll be able to.

    Racism and America, a long love affair that will not go quietly, especially when white people engage in Huxtable parties. (Not sure if you saw Robert Downey Jr. in Tropic Thunder but he was a white dude playing a black dude. Hilarious.)

    Very simply, as long as there is the other, I doubt we’ll ever be without racism. History has repeated itself without pause since there was the other, be it poor and rich, one color or another, etc. My dad, in his infinite blue-collar wisdom, once said that once we all mix together enough, (err, when generations and generations of cross-breeding) racism will finally end. I think there’s some logic to that: we must all be the same color in order to see each other equally. It sucks but there’s some truth to that. (And even at that, I still think we always need the alien to scapegoat. Maybe if we all became the same color, we would soon find some other way to find the other in others.)

    Anyway, enough midwestern babbling.

    Good first post. Keep up the good word.

    “We do what we’re programmed to do.”


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