As a Black immigrant in the UK, being asked, “Where are you originally from?” by a random person in a shop, gym, café, or at work is an experience all too familiar. This seemingly simple question carries a complex array of meanings, emotions, and implications. While it might appear as a casual or polite inquiry, perhaps an attempt to make small talk or show interest in your background, for many Black immigrants, it feels loaded with assumptions and expectations about identity, belonging, and difference.
To be a Black immigrant in the UK is to live in a space where one’s identity is often scrutinised. The question, “Where are you originally from?” comes across as a way for others to categorise or place you within a framework that makes sense to them. It reflects a perception of foreignness, where the assumption is that someone who looks or talks like you must not truly be “from here.” Despite living in the UK, or possibly having spent much of your life here, you are still seen as an outsider, someone whose identity needs explanation or justification.
This question taps into a broader narrative about race and belonging in the UK. British society, like many Western societies, has been shaped by a history of colonialism, migration, and racial stratification. For centuries, the UK was a colonial power, ruling over vast territories in Africa, the Caribbean, and Asia. The legacies of this colonial history continue to shape how race and identity are perceived and discussed. Black and brown people, especially immigrants or descendants of immigrants, are often viewed through a lens of difference and otherness, no matter how long they have been part of British society.
When someone asks, “Where are you originally from?” it often implies that you do not fully belong in the UK and that your presence must be explained or tied to another place. The assumption underlying this question is that being British — or part of the UK — means being white or at least not Black. It suggests that British identity is still largely associated with whiteness and that anyone who does not fit into that category must be from elsewhere. This expectation that you have to account for your presence in the UK can feel alienating and dehumanising, reducing your identity to a stereotype and stripping away the richness of your lived experience.
As a Black immigrant, you might respond to this question by giving the name of a random country, perhaps one that has nothing to do with your actual background. This response can serve multiple purposes. It might deflect the question to avoid getting into a lengthy or invasive conversation about your personal history with a stranger. It can also be a form of resistance, a subtle but powerful way of challenging the assumptions behind the question. By doing so, you turn the question on its head, forcing the person to confront their assumptions about race and identity.
In doing this, you assert that your identity should not be reduced to a geographic label or racial category. You are more than just your skin colour or immigrant status. Why should someone, particularly a stranger in a casual setting, feel entitled to ask about your country of origin? Why should your racial appearance lead them to assume that you are not truly from the UK or that your identity must be tied to a foreign land? These questions often go unaddressed in everyday interactions, but they are central to understanding the dynamics at play when someone asks, “Where are you from?”
This question also touches on broader issues of power and privilege. The reality is that this question is rarely asked of white people in the same way it is asked of Black and other non-white individuals. A white person with Irish, Italian, or Polish heritage, for example, is far less likely to be asked where they are “really” from, even if their family background includes immigration or connections to other countries. This is because whiteness is often seen as the default identity in British society. White people, regardless of their actual heritage, are afforded the assumption of belonging, while Black and brown people are more frequently subjected to questions about their origins.
This double standard reveals the racial biases that underlie many of these interactions. Being Black in the UK often means that you are automatically assumed to be an outsider, regardless of your personal history, contributions, or place of birth. It is a constant reminder that your belonging is conditional and that you will always be seen through the lens of race first and foremost. This can be exhausting and demoralising, particularly when it happens repeatedly in different contexts, whether at work, in social settings, or public spaces.
When someone asks, “Where are you from?” they may not intend to cause harm or discomfort. In many cases, the question might be rooted in genuine curiosity or an attempt to make conversation. However, intentions matter less than impact. For many Black immigrants, the impact of this question is one of alienation and frustration. It reinforces the feeling that no matter how long you’ve lived in the UK, no matter how integrated you are into British society, you will always be seen as different, as someone whose identity needs to be explained.
It is also important to recognise that questions about identity are not inherently problematic. In the right context, they can lead to meaningful conversations and deeper understanding. However, the problem arises when these questions are asked in a way that assumes difference, seeking to categorise or ‘otherise’ someone based on their appearance. In the case of Black immigrants, the question “Where are you from?” is often less about genuine curiosity and more about the need to confirm a pre-existing narrative of foreignness and racial difference.
Ultimately, the question “Where are you from?” reflects the ongoing challenges of living in a society still grappling with issues of race, migration, and belonging. For Black immigrants in the UK, it is a reminder that their identity is constantly under scrutiny and that they are often seen as outsiders, even in spaces where they should feel at home. It underscores that identity is complex, multifaceted, and deeply personal—and that no one is entitled to demand an explanation of who you are or where you come from, especially not a stranger.
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