No Daughter of Mine

A poem written by Jacqueline Courtenay

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In this poem, Mother Africa speaks to one of her daughters, who despite having a place in the seat of British power, she uses her place to disregard and frustrate honest efforts to tackle racism. It is a poem borne out of a frustration Jacqueline felt in seeing an unrepresentative representation of Black Britishness in government, particularly from people who seemingly do their utmost to distance themselves from their Blackness. It is a poem that touches on racial denial without ever accusing the subject of such shamefulness. Instead, it takes on the voice of a parent who is scolding their child for failing to show solidarity. In ‘No Daughter of Mine’ Jacqueline unflinchingly calls out this dangerous behaviour which is capable of derailing hard won gains in the struggle for racial equity. There is a reprimanding tone throughout the poem, ironically it seeks more answers than it gives and unlike most reprimand’s this ends with a difficult question.

No Daughter of Mine

O my, my Daughter of Africa

Is it the English Parliament where I see you stand?
Is it within the Party of division where you’ve shown your hand?

Is the pay that good?
Is it mere money that should

See you deny what is right
And defend, so vehemently a blight?

A blight on your own people.

The stain of racism, after centuries, remains,
Yet you are not fighting to wash it away.
No, you are happy to work against siblings of yours dismantling the chains.


It saddens me to say, you are no Daughter of mine


Yes, born of me, of Africa you might be.
But a love for me, for Africa is not what I see.

I see scorn, I see shame, I see an urgent need from you to disengage,
with the work of activists, advocates and appellants for change.


If a love for Africa in you bore a flame
It would see you not denounce the theory of white privilege like its folly or a game.

It would tie you to lifelong efforts to redress, restore and gain retribution.

For all the things, all the people stolen from my shores.


I don’t have to remind you of how your siblings were taken.
Or of how by foreigners, my bones have been broken.
Alas this is just another episode in my story of misfortune that leaves me shaken.

And this isn’t the first time one of my children have been complicit in my demise.
But it hurts no less to constantly hear you defend the wrong from inside,
Inside those hallowed chambers.


From your pulpit you protect the inglorious who arrest innocent black children.
Just because you don’t fear the police, doesn’t mean they won’t kill them.


What is frustrating is where you side in these sensitive situations.
It is not rhetoric to say that enforcers of law should be fair and act without intimidation.


Exactly whose tensions do you fear you’ll inflame, 
if you just say what is right and be part of the change?


-End-

Leave a comment to let me know what you think of this poem.

Thanks for reading,

J