David Olusoga – Black and British: Book Review & Audio Summary

Book Info

• Book name: Black and British: A Forgotten History
• Author: David Olusoga
• Genre: History & Politics
• Pages: 416
• Published Year: 2016
• Publisher: Penguin Books
• Language: English
• Awards: Baillie Gifford Prize for Non-Fiction 2017, Jhalak Prize for Writing by Writers of Colour 2017

Audio Summary

Synopsis

In Black and British: A Forgotten History, historian David Olusoga uncovers nearly two millennia of African presence in Britain, challenging the narrative that black people only arrived after 1945. From Roman soldiers stationed at northern garrisons in the 3rd century to sailors fighting alongside Admiral Nelson at Trafalgar, Olusoga reveals how deeply intertwined African people are with British history. He examines Britain’s central role in the Atlantic slave trade, explores forgotten sites like Bunce Island, and demonstrates how this history has been systematically overlooked. Through meticulous research and compelling storytelling, Olusoga shows that the distinction between “us and them” in British society is fundamentally flawed, making this essential reading for understanding modern Britain.

Key Takeaways

• Black people have been present in Britain since Roman times, with archaeological evidence dating back to the 3rd century CE
• Britain was the premier slave trading nation in the 18th century, transporting half of all enslaved Africans across the Atlantic between 1700-1807
• African people weren’t just victims but active participants in British history, serving as sailors, soldiers, and members of various social classes
• The historical amnesia surrounding black British history reflects a deliberate erasure that has shaped contemporary debates about immigration and national identity
• Understanding this forgotten history is crucial for challenging the false dichotomy between “white Britain” and “black Britain” that persists today

My Summary

Why This Book Matters Now More Than Ever

I picked up David Olusoga’s Black and British: A Forgotten History during a time when conversations about race, identity, and belonging seemed to dominate every news cycle. Brexit had just happened, immigration debates were reaching fever pitch, and I kept hearing people talk about who was “truly British” and who wasn’t. Reading this book felt like having scales fall from my eyes—it completely transformed how I understood British history and, frankly, made me question everything I thought I knew about the country’s past.

What struck me immediately was Olusoga’s central argument: the idea that black people are somehow “new” to Britain is not just wrong, it’s absurdly wrong. We’re talking about a presence that stretches back 1,800 years. That’s not a footnote in history—that’s the main text. Yet somehow, this narrative has been buried, forgotten, or deliberately erased from the national consciousness.

As someone who runs Books4soul.com and has read countless history books, I can tell you that Olusoga’s work stands out not just for what it reveals, but for how it forces us to reckon with why these stories were hidden in the first place. This isn’t just academic history—it’s deeply relevant to understanding the racial tensions and identity politics we’re grappling with today.

Britain’s Forgotten Role as the Premier Slave Trading Nation

Let me be honest: before reading this book, I knew Britain had participated in the slave trade, but I didn’t grasp the sheer scale of it. Olusoga lays it out with devastating clarity—between 1618 and 1807, Britain wasn’t just a player in the Atlantic slave trade, it was the player. During the 18th century alone, half of all enslaved Africans transported across the Atlantic were carried on British ships. Half. Let that sink in.

The book introduces us to Bunce Island, a slave fortress at the mouth of the Sierra Leone River that operated for over a century. Tens of thousands of enslaved Africans passed through this British-run facility on their way to plantations in the Caribbean and Americas. What’s perhaps most shocking is that this site—which historian Joseph O’Pala called “the Pompeii of the Atlantic slave trade”—was completely forgotten until archaeologists rediscovered it in the 1970s.

Olusoga explains why British involvement in slavery feels more distant to many Britons than American slavery does. British plantations were located in far-flung colonies like Jamaica and Barbados, out of sight and out of mind for the British public living in Britain itself. This geographical distance allowed for a kind of willful ignorance that persists to this day. Most British people can describe American plantation slavery but draw a blank when it comes to their own country’s role.

This selective memory isn’t accidental. As Olusoga demonstrates throughout the book, there’s been a systematic erasure of uncomfortable truths from Britain’s national story. The fact that a major slave trading fortress could be forgotten for generations tells you everything you need to know about how history gets written and rewritten.

The Economic Foundation of Empire

What makes Olusoga’s treatment of slavery particularly powerful is how he connects it to Britain’s rise as a global power. The wealth generated from slave labor didn’t just enrich plantation owners—it fueled Britain’s Industrial Revolution, built its cities, and established its financial institutions. When we admire Georgian architecture in Bristol or Liverpool, we’re often looking at buildings constructed with slave trade money.

This isn’t about inducing guilt; it’s about understanding cause and effect. The Britain we know today was built, in part, on the backs of enslaved Africans. Ignoring this fact doesn’t make it less true—it just makes our understanding of history incomplete and our ability to address its legacy limited.

Black Romans: Britain’s Earliest African Residents

One of my favorite revelations in this book involves a bookshop encounter that perfectly encapsulates the ignorance Olusoga is fighting against. In the 1990s, African American historian Gretchen Gerzina visited a London bookshop and was told by the assistant that there were no black people in England before 1945. The audacity of that claim would be funny if it weren’t so tragic—and so widely believed.

Olusoga systematically demolishes this myth by taking us back to the 3rd century CE, when Britain was part of the Roman Empire. The first Africans to settle in Britain were Roman subjects known as Aurelian Moors, who arrived as part of military units serving in the empire’s northern garrison at a fortress called Abalava in what is now Cumbria. These weren’t enslaved people or temporary visitors—they were soldiers and settlers who made Britain their home.

The story of the “Ivory Bangle Lady” particularly moved me. Her remains were discovered in York in 1901, but it wasn’t until 2009 that radioisotope analysis revealed she was of North African descent. She died between ages 18-23 and was buried with luxury goods—glass beads, bronze lockets, perfume bottles—indicating she belonged to the upper social classes. She had traveled from Mediterranean North Africa to England, probably as part of a military family, and lived a life of relative comfort and status.

Then there’s “Beachy Head,” another young woman whose remains were found in southern England. Chemical analysis showed she was of sub-Saharan origin and had been raised in southern England between 125-245 CE. She was a second or third generation Afro-Roman who was well-nourished in her youth, suggesting comfortable social standing.

What These Stories Tell Us

These aren’t just interesting historical tidbits—they fundamentally challenge the narrative of Britain as an exclusively white nation that only recently became “multicultural.” Black people weren’t just present in ancient Britain; they were integrated into society at various social levels. They were soldiers, they were wealthy women, they were families raising children who would never see Africa.

The use of modern scientific techniques like radioisotope analysis to uncover these stories is fascinating. It shows how archaeology and chemistry can reveal truths that written records obscured or ignored. How many other remains sitting in museums might tell similar stories if subjected to modern analysis?

More Than Victims: Black Actors in British History

One of the most important contributions Olusoga makes is refusing to present black people solely as victims of British colonialism and slavery. Yes, that victimization happened and was horrific, but black people were also active participants in shaping British history—as explorers, sailors, soldiers, and citizens.

Take Francis Drake’s famous 1577 circumnavigation of the globe. Four Africans were part of his crew. During another expedition to Panama, Drake formed an alliance with the Cimarrones—mixed-race Africans—to outmaneuver the Spanish in Central America. These weren’t token inclusions; these were strategic partnerships and essential crew members.

Even more striking is the story of Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson’s victory over Napoleon’s navy at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. Among the sailors who served under Nelson that day were 18 men born in Africa and 123 born in the West Indies. Six West Indians and one African served directly on Nelson’s flagship, HMS Victory.

Here’s what really got me: Nelson’s Column in central London, that iconic landmark commemorating his achievements, includes a brass relief showing a black sailor standing near Nelson at the moment of his death. How many thousands of people walk past that monument every day without knowing that story? How many history classes discuss Trafalgar without mentioning the black sailors who fought there?

Reclaiming Agency in Historical Narratives

Olusoga’s insistence on showing black people as historical actors rather than just victims is crucial for several reasons. First, it’s simply more accurate—history is complex, and people occupy multiple roles. Second, it challenges the passive narrative that strips black people of agency. Third, it makes clear that black contributions to British achievements have been systematically written out of the story.

This isn’t about claiming that participation in Drake’s voyages or Nelson’s navy erases the horror of slavery. It’s about recognizing the full complexity of history and understanding that black people have been shaping British history—for better and worse—for centuries.

The Politics of Historical Memory

Reading Black and British in our current political moment feels almost eerie. Olusoga wrote this book around the time of Brexit and Trump’s election, when debates about immigration, borders, and national identity reached a boiling point. The “us versus them” mentality he describes—the insistence on drawing lines between who is “truly British” and who isn’t—hasn’t diminished; if anything, it’s intensified.

What makes this book so powerful is how it exposes the falseness of these distinctions. The idea of a “white Britain” that existed in some pure form before being “invaded” by immigrants is historical fiction. People from diverse backgrounds, particularly people of African descent, have been part of British history since Roman times. The Britain that Brexit supporters wanted to “take back” never actually existed.

This isn’t just an academic point—it has real-world consequences. When politicians and media figures talk about immigration as if it’s a new phenomenon threatening British identity, they’re either ignorant of history or deliberately misrepresenting it. When people claim that multiculturalism is destroying traditional British values, they’re ignoring that Britain has been multicultural for nearly two millennia.

Why Was This History Forgotten?

The question that haunts this book is: how did such a significant part of British history get erased? Olusoga suggests it wasn’t accidental. The forgetting of black British history served a purpose—it allowed Britain to construct a national narrative that downplayed the horrors of slavery and colonialism while presenting itself as racially homogeneous.

This erasure was so thorough that even physical sites like Bunce Island could be forgotten for generations. It was so complete that educated bookshop assistants in London could confidently claim no black people lived in Britain before 1945. It was so effective that Nelson’s Column could stand in central London with its depiction of a black sailor, and virtually no one knew the story.

The implications are staggering. If we can forget something this significant, what else have we forgotten? What other inconvenient truths have been smoothed over in the name of a more comfortable national narrative?

How This Book Changed My Perspective

I’ll be straight with you: this book made me uncomfortable, and that’s exactly why it’s so important. As someone who grew up consuming British history through books, documentaries, and school curricula, I realized how much I’d been taught a sanitized version of events. The Britain I learned about was one where slavery happened “over there” in the colonies, where black people were largely absent until recent immigration, where the empire was about spreading civilization rather than extracting wealth through brutal exploitation.

Olusoga doesn’t let readers off the hook with easy answers or simple moral lessons. He presents history in all its complexity—showing how black people were simultaneously victims of British imperialism and participants in British society, how ordinary British citizens benefited from slavery even if they never owned slaves themselves, how the wealth and power Britain enjoys today has roots in historical injustices.

What I appreciate most is that Olusoga isn’t interested in making contemporary Britons feel guilty about their ancestors’ actions. That’s not the point. The point is understanding how the past shapes the present, how historical amnesia distorts current debates, and how recovering forgotten histories can help us build a more honest and inclusive future.

Practical Applications for Modern Readers

You might be wondering: okay, this is all fascinating history, but what am I supposed to do with this information? How does knowing about the Ivory Bangle Lady or black sailors at Trafalgar change anything about my life today?

Here’s what I’ve taken from this book:

Challenge narratives about national identity: When you hear politicians or pundits talking about who “really” belongs in Britain (or America, or any country), ask yourself what historical assumptions they’re making. Are they ignoring centuries of diversity? Are they constructing a mythical past that never existed?

Look deeper into local history: After reading this book, I started researching the history of my own city with fresh eyes. What stories have been buried or forgotten? What buildings were financed by slave trade money? What contributions did marginalized communities make that aren’t acknowledged?

Question museum exhibits and historical sites: The next time you visit a museum or historical landmark, think about what stories are being told and what stories are being omitted. Who gets to be remembered, and who gets forgotten?

Recognize how history shapes current inequalities: Understanding that Britain’s wealth was built partly on slavery and colonialism helps explain persistent economic inequalities today. It’s not about guilt; it’s about recognizing cause and effect.

Support diverse historical research: Olusoga’s work shows how important it is to have diverse voices in academia and historical research. Different perspectives reveal different truths. Support historians, museums, and institutions doing this work.

Where the Book Could Go Further

As much as I loved Black and British, it’s not without limitations. Some readers have noted that the book’s focus on black people’s experiences, while necessary and valuable, sometimes comes at the expense of exploring intersectionality. The experiences of black women in particular could have received more attention. The Ivory Bangle Lady and Beachy Head are fascinating, but what about black women’s experiences in later periods?

The book also focuses primarily on England, with less attention to Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. While this is understandable given the scope of the project, it does leave gaps in our understanding of black British history across the entire United Kingdom.

Some readers might find Olusoga’s approach too focused on elite or exceptional individuals—the wealthy Roman women, the sailors serving under famous admirals. What about ordinary black people living ordinary lives? Then again, given how much of this history has been erased, perhaps we need to start with the stories that left traces before we can reconstruct the everyday experiences that left fewer records.

Comparing Olusoga’s Approach to Other Works

Having read other works on British imperial history and the Atlantic slave trade, I can say that Olusoga’s book occupies a unique space. It’s more accessible than academic works like Catherine Hall’s Civilising Subjects but more rigorous than popular histories. It shares some DNA with books like The Half Has Never Been Told by Edward Baptist, which examines American slavery’s role in capitalism, but Olusoga’s focus on Britain fills a crucial gap in the literature.

What sets this book apart is its scope—covering nearly 2,000 years—and its integration of multiple disciplines. Olusoga draws on archaeology, chemistry, art history, military records, and personal narratives to build his case. This interdisciplinary approach makes the book feel comprehensive without being overwhelming.

The book also benefits from Olusoga’s skills as a broadcaster and storyteller. He knows how to make historical figures come alive, how to build tension in a narrative, and how to connect past events to present concerns. This isn’t dry academic writing—it’s history that pulses with relevance and urgency.

Questions Worth Pondering

As I finished Black and British, I found myself sitting with several questions that I’m still wrestling with:

If so much history can be forgotten in just a few generations, what are we forgetting right now? What stories being lived today will be erased from tomorrow’s history books? And perhaps more importantly, who decides what gets remembered and what gets forgotten?

How do we balance acknowledging historical injustices with avoiding paralysis or despair? Olusoga shows us centuries of oppression and erasure, but also centuries of resilience and contribution. How do we hold both truths simultaneously?

These aren’t questions with easy answers, but they’re questions worth asking. And that’s part of what makes this book so valuable—it doesn’t just provide information, it provokes thought and demands engagement.

Why You Should Read This Book

Look, I know a 416-page history book isn’t everyone’s idea of a fun read. But Black and British is one of those rare books that genuinely changes how you see the world. It’s the kind of book that makes you stop and say “wait, really?” every few pages. It’s the kind of book that you’ll find yourself quoting in conversations months after you’ve finished it.

If you’re British, this book will challenge everything you thought you knew about your country’s history. If you’re not British, it will provide a case study in how nations construct myths about themselves and what happens when those myths are exposed.

For anyone interested in race, identity, immigration, or how history shapes contemporary politics, this book is essential reading. For anyone who cares about truth and accuracy in historical narratives, this book is a masterclass in rigorous research made accessible.

Olusoga has done something remarkable here—he’s recovered a forgotten history and, in doing so, shown us how much we still have to learn about the past and ourselves. The distinction between “us” and “them,” between white Britain and black Britain, is indeed illusory. We’re all part of the same complicated, messy, fascinating story.

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you’ve read this book or if you pick it up based on this review. Have you encountered similar erasures of history in your own country? How do you think we should balance acknowledging painful histories with moving forward? Drop a comment below or reach out—these conversations are how we learn and grow together.