Christopher Tounsel, chair of the African Studies program, has recently published the book “Bounds of Blackness: African Americans, Sudan, and the Politics of Solidarity.” Through his writing, Tounsel highlights a rich tapestry of diplomatic engagements, cultural exchanges, and shared struggles for identity, shedding light on how Africa’s past continues to shape its present — and ours.
Below, he shares insights into his research process, the significance of his findings, and the enduring relevance of Sudanese history in shaping global perspectives on Black identity today.
Your work on Sudan and South Sudan spans over 10 years, what drew (and continues to draw) you to this particular region?
My interest in Sudan/South Sudan is rooted in my broader passion in the relationship between race, religion, and state-sponsored violence. Following the 9/11 attacks, I never forgot the “Axis of Evil” terminology deployed by President George W. Bush when describing Iraq, Iran, and North Korea. As I began my deep dive into episodes of religious violence in the British Empire, I landed upon the Sudan — a region which arguably had Victorian England’s version of Osama bin Laden, Muhammad Ahmad. As I began learning more about the country and its unique history of Christianity, Islam, Arabs, Africans, colonialism and postcolonialism, my passion for Sudanese history was cemented.
What inspired your work on “Bounds of Blackness?”
As an African American scholar of modern Sudan, my inspiration for “Bounds of Blackness” is rooted in professional and personal interests. From a scholarly standpoint, I was already familiar with the fact that ancient Sudan — with its pyramids, royals, and civilization — has long inspired African Americans facing the realities of American racism. And yet, as an historian of modern Sudan, I was eager to expand the contours of this narrative by exploring Black America’s relationship with modern Sudanese history. On a personal note, my identity as an African American historian of Sudan also fueled my interest in this project. While African Americans are drastically underrepresented in the academic study of Sudan, I knew I couldn’t be the first person in my community who had traveled to and/or had an interest in that particular African country. In this way, I was eager to learn more about and uncover the history of other Black men and women like myself who interacted with Sudan during the transformative periods of the 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries.
A key point in your book is the divide between Sudan as “Arab Africa” vs. “Black Africa;” can you explain more about that and its implications in today’s world?
Absolutely — there is an established but problematic tendency for people to divide the continent of Africa into two parts: North Africa and sub-Saharan Africa. Race — and in this case, Arabness and Blackness — is often used as one of the principal indicators used to divide these regions. However, given both regions’ shared histories of European colonization, the marginalization of Black and Arab countries in the global world order, and the interconnectedness wrought by globalization, the insistence to divide these regions comes with serious political implications. Given Sudan’s mixed racial and cultural heritage, African American cultural and political engagements with modern Sudan provide key insights into its relationship with Africa and the Arab world. What factors have determined when African Americans framed Sudanese as Black, Arab, or both?
What was your process like when it came to selecting the Black intellectuals, diplomats, organizations, and media outlets featured in your book? (It was interesting to see a Seattle native and UW alum, Horace R. Cayton Jr., featured in the second chapter!)
I cast a very wide net in searching for Black America’s engagement with Sudan — this included diplomatic records, personal narratives and interviews, visits to several archives with memoranda focused on Black history, and of course a deep dive into the scholarly literature on African American global history. However — and I know my wife Timeka would love this as a Communications professor — the richest source base that I examined for the book was the Black press. It was through Black newspapers, magazines, and websites that I was able to include a diverse cadre of figures including journalists, foreign service workers, civil rights activists, clergy (both Christian and Muslim), and a host of other individuals and organizations.
And yes, about the Seattle and UW connections that I discovered! Leigh Hunt (founder of the Post-Intelligencer) invested in Sudan in the early 20th century; Horace Cayton Jr. (Seattleite and UW student) writes about Sudan during its colonial period; Andrew Brimmer (UW alum) works as an economist in early independent Sudan — each of their appearances in my study were purely organic, testifying to Seattle’s centrality not only in this particular Diasporic relationship but in Black history broadly speaking.
Before coming to the Jackson School you published your first book, “Chosen Peoples: Christianity and Political Imagination in South Sudan” (2021); with one book already under your belt, how was the writing process for “Bounds of Blackness?”
Thankfully, the writing process for “Bounds of Blackness” built upon my previous research for “Chosen Peoples.” While performing archival research for that project, I was fascinated by those moments when references to African Americans appeared in the documentary record. In one English archive, I found a document in which Sudanese Governor-General Reginald Wingate lamented the reality of American lynching, while in one American archive I found correspondence concerning Black missionaries.
That being said, in conducting my research for this project I enjoyed immersing myself in archives I hadn’t previously accessed. This included, for example, the Moorland-Spingarn Research Center at Howard University, the Amistad Research Center at Tulane University, and the Baker Library at Harvard Business School. During the earliest days of COVID hit and it became increasingly difficult to travel to archives, I lamented the fact that I hadn’t been able to access a particular collection at the Hoover Institution Library & Archives at Stanford. Thankfully, an archivist was gracious enough to scan and send me the files — a huge help!
In terms of the writing itself, I owe special thanks to the Institute for Citizens & Scholars (then known as the Woodrow Wilson National Fellowship Foundation) for providing me with funding to spend several months researching and writing the book without teaching obligations. One of my mentors, Professor Robert Vinson (University of Virginia), mentored me during that time, and I’m thankful for the fact that our friendship has outlived the writing process for “Bounds of Blackness.”
How long did it take you to write “Bounds of Blackness,” and do you have any memorable moments from the writing period?
Research, writing, and re-writing “Bounds of Blackness” was a multi-year process. I’d have to say that my most memorable moment in the research process occurred in Cambridge, MA when I had the opportunity to dive into the Andrew Brimmer papers (housed at Harvard University). Brimmer was a UW alum who spent time in Sudan and became one of America’s foremost economists. It was one of those incredible moments as an historian when you hope that it will be useful and then voilà, an incredible personal diary filled with a nuanced, first-hand account of their time in Sudan when it emerged onto the world stage as an independent nation. Being able to correspond with his daughter Esther and send her a copy of the book meant the world to me.
What is the biggest message you’d like readers to take away from the book?
I’d like readers to walk away from “Bounds of Blackness” with a sharper understanding of how crucial modern Africa is to understanding what Blackness means globally today. As I mention in the Conclusion, I am convinced that we as African Americans do ourselves a disservice if our focus on the glorious Nilotic past is not paired with conscious attention to realities facing contemporary Africa. We as Black people don’t need to be restricted to African regions like Sudan as historical “proof” that we have dignity today because we come from royal African bloodlines. Africa is our ancestral homeland, and we should always honor that; however, Africa is as much a part of our present as it is our past. By highlighting Sudan’s role in contemporary African American history, I hope that my book helps to illuminate this reality.