Performing Belonging: The Diasporic Paradox of Cultural Diversity Week
Flags, dances, food stalls—Cultural Diversity Week paints a vibrant portrait of ‘community.’ But for those of us in the diaspora, the performance of belonging leaves cracks no one discusses.
by Aileen · Perspective 007
When I sat down to write this one, I promised it would be light and airy. Like a veritable soufflé of human expression. Yet, that’s not how this works – much to my begrudging admiration.
Life is not simple. Nor is it airy. It can be delicate – of course – but its delicacy invites a closer look, rather than protective disengagement.
I’d love to say that this is why I’m incredibly critical, but I have my anxieties to thank for this instead. Alas, it is this delicacy I am engaging with when I talk about a ritual among institutions of the Global North. A ritual oriented towards the supposed effort to understand what it means to be from and part of a diaspora: Cultural Diversity Week.
This is the one week we devote to ‘celebrating’ the diverse cultures that call our institution home, and that – literally – colour our student body. A week where flags from different nations decorate the ceilings of student hubs, heralding cultural dance showcases, stalls with representatives from various cultural societies, and exploration of literary works through culturally-themed book clubs.
This week isn’t just about the spectacle of difference, but embracing the sense of community that navigating those differences gifts us.
I've been on all sides of this ritual over the years. I've helped plan and contribute through stalls, finances, and time; not to mention, I've watched others perform and stopped by their stalls in support. A couple of weeks ago, it was our turn at my new institution to engage in this celebration of cultures, and as a member of the diaspora, I have a lot of complicated feelings.
My first reaction was excitement. I get to learn something new about the world and with whom we share a planet. It was a cultural diversity week a decade ago that I learned about Garba and Bharatanatyam. At last years festival, I learned about Tinikling – a traditional Pinoy dance where dancers move between (in, out, all around) sticks rhythmically hit against the ground. Had these events not taken place, I’m not entirely sure I would have found out about things that have come to enrich my understanding of the world and myself. More importantly, at every cultural festival I realise, as a member of the international student body, I am not as alone as I sometimes feel. We exist! Thus, as a member of the diaspora, cultural festivals are moments of visibility. Not only do we get to show the world who we are, but we also get to show each other. It is a moment where diaspora – feeling displaced and seeking belonging by recreating home elements in a new country – is produced through performances.
Performance provides a useful lens for diaspora for two reasons. Defined very briefly, performativity, in academic circles, refers to how specific identities (gender, ethnicity, nationality, sexuality, class) are produced through a series of repetitive actions. So, for example, when I say that diaspora is a performance, I am looking to the series of repetitive actions that distinguish me as a “diasporan” and make this distinction feel “natural.” Performance is a useful lens because, first, it acts as a means of remembering home – like participating in cultural festivals, celebrating independence days and national holidays in your new home; furnishing your home with familiar decorations – all in an effort to create a stand in for the thing we are lacking – a familiar feeling of home. Second, becoming aware that you are, or in this instance have been, invited to share your home in specific ways, allows us to consider the difference between representation and lived experience. This suggests that our identity as diasporans is not merely biological, ancestral, linguistic or political but also socially constructed and activated.
This is why in certain contexts at home—spaces designed for the economically or politically influential—where there is value in acting like a Kenyan living abroad, my identity as a diasporan is activated. In a Nairobi country club where the prevailing script is "wealth," highlighting my experience abroad becomes a signifier of belonging. These performances aren't voluntary but follow unwritten scripts that predetermine how we must act.
We have to color within specific lines—pun intended.
And so vibes gave way to scepticism; aided, of course, by a heavy helping of the academic theory drilled into me by way of the last two years. I questioned why diaspora was linked primarily to nationality and nation-states. Is this truly the best framework for how communities identify themselves? I noticed most events focused on Indian, Ukrainian, Arabic, Gaelic, and African cultures. What about French folk dances, Italian traditions, or Scottish poetry? Are they not considered "diverse," or does diversity carry a very specific meaning? This celebration simultaneously highlights difference while reminding me of underlying homogeneity and its particular direction. Is this the best way to capture the many ways communities think of themselves? And if they are diverse, then, you’ve also reminded me of how incredibly homogenous everything is and the very specific direction of this sameness.
Yet despite these contradictions, you've provided a space where I can exist differently—a person who embraces being different. While I may not appreciate the conceptual furniture you've provided—like a student moving into a poorly furnished house—I can transform it.
I will take this space created for my "activated" diasporan identity, like I’m an anime character, and turn it into something vastly more expansive—a galaxy of my own making.
Aileen is a passionate storyteller focused on epistemic justice. She has written for the Office of the President of Kenya, Democracy In Africa, and contributed to Presidential Campaigns. She enjoys island life, moral philosophy, comic books, and Swahili food.