Bryan Mukandi

For Steve Biko, ‘Black Consciousness’ has to do with remedying the ‘lack’ and ‘failure’ which emanate from the colonial encounter. It describes the existential and ontological shift whereby the black moves towards the assumption of her humanity. Beginning on the margins of Continental European philosophy with Jacques Derrida and Frantz Fanon, I examine the pathogenesis of the situation of the black, and point to a road to recovery. In the process, I centre the lived experience of black folk: our yearning to dance with the past; our need for air; our struggle to keep madness at bay.

This paper provides a phenomenological analysis of the navigation of academia as experienced by two Black scholars, situated in dissimilar disciplinary and cultural traditions and origins. What is shared is an interest in the academic space that exists within which Black scholars may freely roam, and the structure and function of the boundaries that are present. The policing of Black thought and Black emotion within those boundaries, the violence with which the boundaries are enforced, and the strategies and rationales employed by Black academics in expanding, resisting, subverting, and acquiescing to said boundaries is explored by way of the authors’ testimonies. Drawing on our lived experience of academia, we suggest that the academy functions as a frontier of racist violence, where the thinking that grounds state-based racist violence is taught, legitimated and fostered. Through a dialogue which brings to the fore the tensions and contradictions of the outlooks and strategies employed by Black academics, we testify to the emancipatory potential of Black pain, Black rage and Black thought.

In this article, I read Chester Himes' Blind Man With a Pistol as the work of an African- American writer who takes Harlem to be a colonial space, and who attempts to think through the ways that are available for him to contribute to some degree of liberation for its black residents. I suggest that there are strong parallels between Himes' position and that of African philosophers, and that Himes' self critique is instructive. I read this against Derrida's thoughts on monolingualism and philosophy as a community of the question, asking what learning the language that is not one's own and what induction into the community of the question entail for the marginal, those who I describe as being from neither Athens nor Jerusalem. I conclude by offering my response to what I take to be our inescapable colonial lot: poetry and laughter.

The following pages sketch the outlines of “a Canaanite reading” of the health system. Beginning with the Black person—African, Afro-diasporic, Aboriginal, and Torres Strait Islander—who is seen by a health professional, the functions and effects of the racializing gaze are examined. I wrestle with Al Saji’s understanding of “colonial disregard,” Whittaker’s insights into the extractive disposition of settler institutions vis-à-vis Indigenous peoples, and Saidiya Hartman and Fred Moten’s struggle with the spectacular. This leads me to conclude that the situation of the Black within the health system is a tragic one. The prescription for the path out of this tragedy that I settle on, responding to Okiji’s opening call, is found in Vernon Ah Kee’s “Unwritten” series.

This article examines the Australian ‘Continental Philosophy’ community through the lens of the Azanian philosophical tradition. Specifically, it interrogates the series of conversations around race and methodology that arose from the 2017 Australasian Society for Continental Philosophy conference. At the heart of these were questions of place, race, Indigeneity, and the very meaning of ‘Continental Philosophy’ in Australia. The pages that follow pursue those questions, grappling with the relationship between the articulation of disciplinary bounds and the exercise of colonial power. Having struggled with the political and existential cost of participation in the epistemic community that is the ASCP, I argue for disengagement and the exploration of alternative intellectual communities. This is ultimately a call to intellectual work grounded on ethical relations rather than on the furtherance of the status quo. It is a call to take seriously the claim, ‘the land is ours’.

Fiston Mujila’s Tram 83 provides a helpful point of departure for this philosophical treatment of pan-African subjectivity. His meditations on music resonate with continental and diasporic accounts of the musicality of African social organization. This in turn provides an opening into a discussion around the tension between conceptions of African identity tied to heritage and continuity on one hand, and considerations of the rupture brought about by the Middle Passage and colonialism on the other. Drawing on African philosophy and Black Studies more broadly, this article argues for a conception of African identity that, while taking seriously heritage and origins, ultimately emerges intersubjectively as a result of the movements and reverberations across the constellation of African worlds. Not only are these pan-African reverberations constitutive, the author argues that they are also key to our survival.

The following pages engage a hermeneutic approach to African philosophy, focusing on the work of Tsenay Serequeberhan. At the heart of the discussion is the question of where to locate such an approach in the existing philosophical literature. Does this way of working render African philosophy a European enterprise? Giving an affirmative response, the writings of Paulin Hountondji, which draw upon Husserlian phenomenology, are taken up as an alternative response to questions raised here about the meaning and methods of hermeneutics. Ultimately, however, this perspective is also set aside. Instead, suggestions are put forward for the markers around which a contemporary African metaphysics, which is both restorative and creative, might be pursued.

Towards the end of Tsitsi Dangarembga’s Nervous Conditions, Nyasha is taken to a psychiatrist who dismisses her family’s concerns based on his belief that Africans cannot suffer metal illness. Frantz Fanon explores a similar theme in his 1952 essay, ‘The “North African Syndrome”’. In both cases, the veil of sterility behind which the clinical encounter is often presumed to take place is rent, and the clinician and patient are exposed as coloniser and colonised or ‘white’ and ‘raced’ first. Similarly, the pages that follow provide an account of the situation of the racialised at the outset of a psychiatric consultation with a white clinician in a Western clinical setting. Drawing on Fanon’s ‘The “North African Syndrome”’ I attempt to shed light on the gulf that must be traversed in order for the patient to be intelligible to the clinician. I question the process of bridging that divide, particularly the question of which party bears the bulk of the responsibility for traversing the distance between the two. The challenge presented to clinician, and the extent of the turmoil of the patient in this kind of encounter are thus brought to the fore. I conclude by offering a suggestion of what Fanonian ethics demand of the clinician.

This paper is a meditation on the idea of South-South dialogue, beginning with the South-South Dialogues: Situated Perspectives in Decolonial Epistemologies symposium held at the University of Queensland in 2015. I interrogate the concept of South-South dialogue, apposing it to the Cartesian ‘I think’, and then question the plausibility of the concept. On the basis of a Gadamerian conception of understanding, I suggest that what passes for South-South dialogue is in fact more likely to be North-South or even North-North dialogue. This is buttressed by an examination of Valentin Mudimbe's Parables and Fables. I go on to suggest, however, that by staying within the realm of the concept, in what could be called a Cartesian paradigm, Mudimbe misses the important role that South-South dialogue can play. Drawing on the work of Sara Motta, Tsitsi Dangarembga's Nervous Conditions and the concept of hunhu, I claim that the promise of South-South dialogue is the creation of spaces in which humanity is fostered.

The title of this issue, Spinoza Today', takes up a question central to Genevieve Lloyd's substantial oeuvre, whether she is writing about feminist philosophy or historical phi- losophers and movements. That is, how do we draw on past philosophers to address contemporary problems, while also doing justice to the context for which they wrote? More particularly, why be interested today in what Spinoza wrote in the seven teenth century? But also: How do we read so as to be attentive to Spinoza's particular concerns, and without subordinating his insights to neat dichotomies that aid the teaching, if not the thinking, of his philosophy?