vendors and transnational African immigrant traders from Niger, Senegal, and the Gambia working in the informal sector (also see MacGaffey 2000). This study seeks to add to anthropology’s very early efforts to understand the lives of African immigrants in America and to examine more closely how identity is being defined and expressed. It elaborates these efforts by expanding upon their primary focus on conflict and competition among various African diasporan groups (for example, African refugees or immigrants versus U.S. born Black Americans) by also examining explicit efforts to promote cooperation and build more inclusive identities between these communities.
Instead of dismissing the CWC’s work as Afrocentric and, therefore, not worthy of serious academic analysis, as a scholar of cultural dynamics I proceed from the assumption that any act of human cultural creativity is a legitimate area of academic study. I reject the notion sometimes proposed in the study of African American culture that diasporan variants of culture which are self-consciously or deliberately created are somehow less authentic than other types of putatively more spontaneous types of cultural production (Herskovits 1937, 1941, 1966, 1971; Herskovits and Herskovits 1934; Herskovits and Herskovits 1936; Apter 1991).8 The unintended and outmoded implication of such approaches is that African Americans, unlike any other grouping of people on the planet, somehow do not have culture per se but instead have surrogates such as race or style (see Hebdige 1979). The CWC and groups like them are engaged in the type of culture-making activity that numerous recent studies over the past twenty years or so (see Bourdieu 1977; Giddens 1979; Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983; Gupta and Ferguson 1997a) now recognize as implicit in all societies, not just diasporan variants (see also Brandon 1993; Mudimbe 1994; and Barnes 1997 for other examples of African diasporan “culture-making”). There is no reason that African Americans or any other group should be seen as exceptions to what is increasingly recognized as a universal human practice. Following Gupta and Ferguson (1997b:4), instead of taking the notion “African” as a given, I start from the position that all “associations of place, people, and culture are social and historical creations, not natural facts…. Whatever associations of place and culture may exist must be taken as problems for anthropological research rather than the given ground that one takes as a point of departure.” I accept the CWC’s notions of African identity and culture as “true” for its adherents even though their ideas may seem unconventional or misplaced in some academic circles or differ from my own personal views. The study’s essential question is this: How do the people at the CWC who call themselves “African” create, define, express, experience, and promulgate this cultural category?
2
Ethnographic Grounding
As noted by Lamphere (1992:7), there are some important differences between earlier phases of immigration to the United States (before 1924) and current immigration. A 1965 amendment to the Immigration and Nationality Act abolished country-by-country quotas that made it difficult for anyone but North Europeans to emigrate to the United States. Subsequent changes in immigration law, intensifying global economic restructuring, and political strife in their countries of origin have increased dramatically the numbers of immigrants and refugees from non-European countries, mostly Asian and Latin American, with smaller numbers of Black Caribbeans and Africans (Lamphere 1992:7). Furthermore, the class composition of immigrants has substantially changed. Earlier in the twentieth century, immigrants were mostly of peasant or working-class backgrounds. Since 1965, immigrants have included substantial numbers of middle- and even upper-class people with professional or entrepreneurial backgrounds, as well as those from rural and working classes (Portes and Rumbaut 1990). With these changes, anti-immigrant sentiments have also increased (Lamphere 1992:14).
For example, in 1986 the Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) was passed to control and contain illegal immigration, primarily through employer sanctions against hiring undocumented workers (Bean et al. 1989:25). Another indication of anti-immigration and anti-immigrant attitudes includes the passage of “English-only” legislation in states with large Spanish-speaking populations, including Arizona, Florida, California, and Colorado (see Castro 1989). The post-September 11 restrictions on immigration and civil liberty while ostensibly designed to prevent terrorism, also seem to be having the effect of exacerbating this preexisting xenophobic trend. While these sentiments are certainly not new in American history, current trends provide an important part of the context for the present analysis of African/African American identity formation.
The diversity of America’s contemporary African diaspora even further complicates what it means to be both American and of African heritage, providing the context for intense debate and innovative production of new identities among newcomers and native-born groups in Minnesota. The state is now home to the highest concentration of Somalis in the United States and to sizeable and growing Ethiopian, Liberian, Nigerian, and Sudanese communities, as well as other African immigrant groups.1 The number of African immigrants living in the Twin Cities is expected to grow. According to the U.S. Committee for Refugees, because limits on the numbers of African immigrants allowed to enter the country have been raised, there will be dramatic increases in the number of African immigrants to the United States when already established newcomers attempt to reunite their families. An estimated 12,000 were projected to arrive in 1999 alone and more than 25,000 were expected in 2003. However, government restrictions on emigration to the United States in the post-September 11 period may curtail the number of African immigrants. In addition to its growing Somali population, Minnesota also has a sizable Ethiopian and growing Sudanese and Kenyan populations (see Holtzmann and Foner 1999 for an ethnography of Minnesota’s Sudanese immigrants). The numbers of West Africans living in Minnesota is smaller, but significant, with about 750 Liberian families as well as almost 1,000 Yorùbá, Igbo, and Hausa families, mostly from Nigeria. Also attracted by economic opportunities and the comparatively high quality of life in the Twin Cities, the number of African American and other native-born people of color, particularly those living in poverty and migrating from other Midwestern cities such as Chicago and Gary, Indiana, has also increased in the past two decades (Minnesota Advocates for Human Rights 1998). During the 1980s, the “minority” population rose to 21 percent children of color public school enrollment; and students spoke some seventy languages. These demographic changes were a sociocultural shock for an urban area that as recently as 1970 was 93 percent white.
The specific translocality which is the focus of this study is the culturally diverse, largely low-income Powderhorn community of Minneapolis. Powderhorn is a microcosm of the broader demographic patterns now found in Minnesota. The largest of Minneapolis’s eleven planning districts, Powderhorn has eight neighborhoods, six of which have significant poverty rates. Despite its high rate of poverty, Powderhorn retains some economic assets such as vibrant business and nonprofit sectors and relatively high numbers of owner-occupied single-family homes. Incorporated in 1887, Powderhorn has traditionally been a “launching pad” for new immigrant and native-born arrivals to the Twin Cities. As noted in a recent study of Powderhorn’s history and culture (Larson and Azzahir 1995:13), this very diverse community is perceived by many Twin Cities residents as having an activist culture and community institutions and a strong “feminist culture … with wide acceptance of non-western health practices, new age spiritualists, acupuncturists, and homeopaths.”
Defining its mission as “unleashing the power of citizens to heal themselves,” the CWC attempted to use what it called “cultural health practices” to deliberately build a shared sense of identity among the native-born and immigrant groups that comprise Powderhorn’s 51,000 residents, including Whites, Blacks, Native Americans, Asians, and Latinos of diverse backgrounds.
The CWC’s mission operated simultaneously at two levels.2 It attempted to build community among these groups, while providing programs to cultivate shared identity and networks within the various groups that made up its Powderhorn constituent base. The CWC had three core program divisions which provided support groups, health counseling, and classes to develop the body (often called “bodywork” classes) to accomplish its community-building goals: the Health Institute, the Invisible College, and Core Member Activities.3
