Not Everything African Is Sacred: Unpacking the Fear of Critique

We’ve wrapped our cultural expressions in such protective armor that honest conversation becomes impossible. But what happens when reverence becomes a cage, and when protecting “African authenticity” actually stifles the very creativity and growth our cultures have always embodied?

When Reverence Becomes a Cage

The first time I questioned a revered African cultural practice in public, the backlash was swift and merciless.

“You’ve been colonized,” they said.
“You’re washing our dirty laundry in front of strangers.”

The irony wasn’t lost on me. In trying to silence critique, we were doing exactly what our oppressors once did: demanding unquestioning compliance. I was twenty-three, fresh out of university and foolishly optimistic about the possibility of nuanced conversation. At a cultural festival in Lagos, I raised concerns about certain traditional marriage customs that seemed to diminish women’s agency.

The response? A masterclass in defensive deflection.

How dare I question traditions that had survived colonialism? Didn’t I know that criticism was just another form of cultural imperialism?

But here’s what I’ve learned since: not everything African is sacred—and treating it as such might be the most un-African thing we can do.

The Sacred Cow Complex

African cultures have always been dynamic, adaptive, and beautifully argumentative. Our oral traditions are filled with trickster tales that question authority, praise songs that both celebrate and satirize, and proverbs that encode centuries of critical thinking.

We are the descendants of people who debated around fires, who built kingdoms through discourse, who created art that challenged and provoked.

And yet, somewhere along the way, we developed what I call the Sacred Cow Complex—the belief that anything labeled “African” must be protected from scrutiny, preserved in amber, and defended at all costs.

This instinct is understandable. It’s a response to centuries of erasure, caricature, and commodification. But the shield we’ve built to protect our cultures is now shielding them from growth.

We’ve forgotten that critique is not cancellation—it’s cultivation.

Afrobeats and the Fear of Losing Face

Take the recent uproar over critiques of Afrobeats’ lyrical content. When scholars and cultural commentators noted the genre’s often troubling representations of women and materialism, the response was predictably defensive:

“You’re trying to destroy our global success.”
“This is our moment—why are you sabotaging it?”

But this defensiveness misses the point. Our “moment” is strong enough to survive interrogation. In fact, it requires it. A culture that cannot endure critique is not a strong culture—it’s a brittle one.

Afrobeats, Nollywood, fashion, literature—our most powerful cultural exports are not endangered by questions. They’re endangered by refusal to evolve.

The Colonialism Shield

One of the most potent tools for silencing critique is the weaponized use of colonialism. The moment you challenge any aspect of African culture, someone reaches for the colonialism card:
“You’ve been brainwashed.”
“You’re playing into Western narratives.”
“You hate your people.”

This rhetorical move is lazy. And dangerous.

It suggests that the only way to be truly African is to accept everything without question. That to analyze is to betray. That independent thought is foreign.

When Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie writes about the limitations of traditional gender roles in Igbo society, she’s not being colonized—she’s being Igbo. The Igbo philosophical tradition of igwe bu ike (collective strength) has always made space for dissent. When Wole Soyinka critiques Yoruba authority structures, he does so from within a culture that reveres Esu, the trickster deity who thrives on disruption and duality.

The colonialism shield doesn’t protect our culture—it impoverishes it.

The Innovation Paradox

Here’s the bitter irony: African cultures have survived because they were never sacred.

We evolved. We adapted. We borrowed and reimagined.

That kente cloth we now treat as timeless? It was shaped by centuries of trade, including Islamic weaving techniques and European dye threads. Our “traditional” musical instruments carry echoes of Arabic, Portuguese, and American jazz influences. Our architecture changed with materials, climate, and colonial displacement.

Stagnation was never our tradition—transformation was.

But today, we panic at the idea of evolving. We mistake preservation for paralysis, and authenticity for inflexibility. We treat culture like a fossil, not a living, breathing force.

Beyond the Binary: Love Is Not Worship

The fear of critique often arises from a false binary: you either accept everything African or you hate yourself. But that binary is a trap. It’s possible—necessary, even—to love African cultures deeply while acknowledging their contradictions, their flaws, and their outdated relics.

I can honor African spirituality while questioning gender exclusions in some rituals.
I can devour African literature while critiquing its occasional blind spots on queerness or disability.
I can vibe to Afrobeats while wishing for more lyrical substance.

Love without critique isn’t love—it’s worship.
And cultures aren’t gods.

The most profound act of cultural love is engagement. Wrestling with contradictions. Asking uncomfortable questions. Trusting that our traditions are resilient enough to survive the scrutiny.

What Cultural Growth Could Look Like

What would it mean to embrace a more mature, more generous relationship with our cultures?

It would mean creating space for difficult conversations—without equating critique with betrayal.
It would mean distinguishing between harmful caricatures and honest reflection.
It would mean empowering our artists, writers, and thinkers to challenge norms without being labeled traitors.
It would mean trusting that African identity is strong enough to hold complexity.

The young African questioning bride price isn’t attacking the culture—she’s trying to expand it.
The visual artist reinterpreting ancestral symbols isn’t erasing tradition—they’re evolving it.
The scholar analyzing cultural contradictions isn’t washing dirty laundry—they’re doing essential intellectual labor.

We are not museum pieces. We are not hashtags. We are not the sum total of UNESCO-protected artifacts. We are living, thinking, ever-evolving people whose cultures deserve serious engagement.

From Silence to Dialogue

The fear of critique has made us smaller than we are.

It has reduced rich, layered traditions to defensive soundbites.
It has turned us into cultural bodyguards instead of active participants.
It has forced many into silence, afraid that honest reflection will be mistaken for betrayal.

But here’s the truth: our ancestors didn’t protect culture by avoiding critique. They preserved it through rigorous debate, experimentation, reinvention.

They understood that culture isn’t fragile—it’s a baobab tree with roots deep enough to weather any storm.

So let’s stop treating our cultures as relics behind glass, too precious to touch. Let’s return to what has always made African cultures strong: our ability to engage, to evolve, to question, and to imagine boldly.

Not everything African is sacred.
And that’s exactly what makes it divine.

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✅ SEO Meta Excerpt (2–3 sentences):
Not everything African is sacred—and treating it as such might be the most un-African thing we do. This provocative essay challenges the fear of cultural critique, arguing that honest engagement is essential to preserving the dynamism, strength, and soul of African traditions.

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A split-screen design:

Left: traditional African masks, statues, or fabric in muted, museum lighting (symbolizing preservation/frozen time)
Right: vibrant modern African scenes—dancers, young artists, street murals (symbolizing evolution and engagement)
Overlay text: “Sacred or Stagnant?”
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Explore: [Letters to Africa | Voices from the Continent]

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What’s your take? Have you ever felt caught between celebrating and questioning aspects of African culture? Share your thoughts in the comments below—let’s have the conversation our cultures deserve. And if this resonated with you, share it with someone who needs to read it.