The Intersection Of Horror And Afropunk: Afrofuturism’s Take On Fear

For the minds who crave stories from expansive worlds, afrofuturism is the answer. In light of its origins, we normally describe the genre with its basic pillars; Black identity, science-fiction, and a sprinkle of African ancestry, culture, or folklore. Wrap those aspects up to tell a story of liberation, survival or healing, and we’ve arrived at the finish line.

Afrofuturism is still a relatively new concept, coined in 1993 as the community asked “why is darker toned skin so absent in sci-fi?”. What I’m presenting to the table, is the fact that the same question was being asked across the aisle in the horror department. A couple of decades later, the two genre concepts have merged beautifully, giving us our best instances of Black horror to date.

On the intersection between afrofuturism and horror, Tananarive Due is the voice to look into. Due is an award winning author of horror in many modes, and a scholar too- she holds lectures on both Black horror and Afrofuturism at UCLA. I first learned how fear fits into this equation from her episode on Horror Noire: Uncut Podcast episode.

“Black horror is an offshoot of Afrofuturism” was her hook. Take a step back, and yeah, it definitely is. Just as stories of Afrofuturism point to Black speculative arts that illustrate fantastical activism or spirituality to ensure our advanced future, Black horror gives us the immediate present, showing us speculative examples of what Black folk will do in order to secure our future, especially when faced with fear.

So, how does the addition of fear fit? Not all Black horror is afrofuturist horror– let’s make that clear. The most important key element that makes the draw, is the placement and position of fear within the story. Afrofuturism as a whole gives us contemporary critique on the socio-economic issues that affect us, but if horror is in discussion, pay close attention to where exactly the greater problem lies. Let me give you an example-

If we wanted to watch Jordan Peele’s Get Out at the most shallow level imaginable, we could say that the source of fear is the Armitage family, for kidnapping and trafficking Black people. Really, the source of distress is the market that makes the Armitage family’s human auction service so successful. Give it up for the main villain- the fetishization of Black bodies and commercial kidnappings of our culture for a fat profit. With a sci-fi baseline, Peele shows us how (theoretically, of course) we can wash our hands of ‘the sunken place’.

For the horror community of color, the blending of fear into Afrofuturism (and the other way around) has been an important advancement, and the Black horror renaissance has given us some of the best instances of new school Black horror. The genre has always been an ally of marginalized people, but when we compare what we have now against the Black horror decades before, sometimes things don’t sit right. I believe with the trust of Afrofuturist writers, directors, and other creative minds, the “well, we almost had it” aftertaste of the greater horror industry’s stories could possibly cease to exist.

Don’t gaslight yourself into thinking that looking sideways at Candyman (1992) for wreaking havoc on community project housing while doing the most to protect a white woman was wrong. Tap in Nia DaCosta for the 2021 franchise addition, and we now have an expansive, afrofuturist story featuring new lore to tie our beloved Candyman to his ancestors. Those on the mortal ground are faced to confront (through the supernatural) the idea of abandoning Black values in exchange for white commercial success.

I’d argue as far to say that the involvement of Afrofuturist ideas in the horror genre helps protect fans of color from the ever present ‘trauma porn’. To quote Professor Due, “Black history is Black horror”, but man, listen- nowhere in our consent and dedication to the genre did we confirm that Black horror should accurately mirror the traumas of the African diaspora- especially under the direction and influence of white filmmakers, writers, and storytellers. The majority of us do not appreciate those products, even if Janelle Monae or Brandy are involved. Those stories fade quickly, and leave little to no legacy outside of white audiences.

For the safety of the culture and a stronger shot at meaningful storytelling, we can look to stories from Black Afrofuturist thinkers like Remi Weekes’ His House (2020) and Nikyatu Jusu’s Nanny (2022). Both blend African folklore with the paranormal to discuss issues of rebuilding identity as minorities, and the dynamics of classism in predominantly white countries. Kindred author Octavia Butler’s final novel Fledging is my preferred piece of vampire literature, which uses a new brand of vampirism to play with racial power dynamics and fluid identities. If gothic romance won’t do it, give a spiritual ‘f*** you’ to one of the true kings of literary racism, and try The Ballad of Black Tom, or the Lovecraft Country TV series. Both of these stories are Afrofururist retellings of popular H.P. Lovecraft stories, only FUBU through afrofuturism.

Halloween is over, but fandom escapism is year round. Protect your peace and our collective culture by supporting Black horror all year round.

For the minds who crave stories from expansive worlds, afrofuturism is the answer. In light of its origins, we normally describe the genre with its basic pillars; Black identity, science-fiction, and a sprinkle of African ancestry, culture, or folklore. Wrap those aspects up to tell a story of liberation, survival or healing, and we’ve arrived at the finish line.

Afrofuturism is still a relatively new concept, coined in 1993 as the community asked “why is darker toned skin so absent in sci-fi?”. What I’m presenting to the table, is the fact that the same question was being asked across the aisle in the horror department. A couple of decades later, the two genre concepts have merged beautifully, giving us our best instances of Black horror to date.

On the intersection between afrofuturism and horror, Tananarive Due is the voice to look into. Due is an award winning author of horror in many modes, and a scholar too- she holds lectures on both Black horror and Afrofuturism at UCLA. I first learned how fear fits into this equation from her episode on Horror Noire: Uncut Podcast episode.

“Black horror is an offshoot of Afrofuturism” was her hook. Take a step back, and yeah, it definitely is. Just as stories of Afrofuturism point to Black speculative arts that illustrate fantastical activism or spirituality to ensure our advanced future, Black horror gives us the immediate present, showing us speculative examples of what Black folk will do in order to secure our future, especially when faced with fear.

So, how does the addition of fear fit? Not all Black horror is afrofuturist horror- let’s make that clear. The most important key element that makes the draw, is the placement and position of fear within the story. Afrofuturism as a whole gives us contemporary critique on the socio-economic issues that affect us, but if horror is in discussion, pay close attention to where exactly the greater problem lies. Let me give you an example

If we wanted to watch Jordan Peele’s Get Out at the most shallow level imaginable, we could say that the source of fear is the Armitage family, for kidnapping and trafficking Black people. Really, the source of distress is the market that makes the Armitage family’s human auction service so successful. Give it up for the main villain- the fetishization of Black bodies and commercial kidnappings of our culture for a fat profit. With a sci-fi baseline, Peele shows us how (theoretically, of course) we can wash our hands of ‘the sunken place’.

For the horror community of color, the blending of fear into Afrofuturism (and the other way around) has been an important advancement, and the Black horror renaissance has given us some of the best instances of new school Black horror. The genre has always been an ally of marginalized people, but when we compare what we have now against the Black horror decades before, sometimes things don’t sit right. I believe with the trust of Afrofuturist writers, directors, and other creative minds, the “well, we almost had it” aftertaste of the greater horror industry’s stories could possibly cease to exist.

Don’t gaslight yourself into thinking that looking sideways at Candyman (1992) for wreaking havoc on community project housing while doing the most to protect a white woman was wrong. Tap in Nia DaCosta for the 2021 franchise addition, and we now have an expansive, afrofuturist story featuring new lore to tie our beloved Candyman to his ancestors. Those on the mortal ground are faced to confront (through the supernatural) the idea of abandoning Black values in exchange for white commercial success.

I’d argue as far to say that the involvement of Afrofuturist ideas in the horror genre helps protect fans of color from the ever present ‘trauma porn’. To quote Professor Due, “Black history is Black horror”, but man, listen- nowhere in our consent and dedication to the genre did we confirm that Black horror should accurately mirror the traumas of the African diaspora- especially under the direction and influence of white filmmakers, writers, and storytellers. The majority of us do not appreciate those products, even if Janelle Monae or Brandy are involved. Those stories fade quickly, and leave little to no legacy outside of white audiences.

For the safety of the culture and a stronger shot at meaningful storytelling, we can look to stories from Black Afrofuturist thinkers like Remi Weekes’ His House (2020) and Nikyatu Jusu’s Nanny (2022). Both blend African folklore with the paranormal to discuss issues of rebuilding identity as minorities, and the dynamics of classism in predominantly white countries. Kindred author Octavia Butler’s final novel Fledging is my preferred piece of vampire literature, which uses a new brand of vampirism to play with racial power dynamics and fluid identities. If gothic romance won’t do it, give a spiritual ‘f*** you’ to one of the true kings of literary racism, and try The Ballad of Black Tom, or the Lovecraft Country TV series. Both of these stories are Afrofururist retellings of popular H.P. Lovecraft stories, only FUBU through afrofuturism.

Halloween is over, but fandom escapism is year round. Protect your peace and our collective culture by supporting Black horror all year round.