postcolonial and post colonial

Ever tried explainin’ the diff’rence between postcolonial and post colonial to your mate over a pint at the local—only to realise halfway through that *you* ain’t entirely sure yerself? Yeah, welcome to the club, mate. We’ve all been there—squintin’ at footnotes, scratchin’ heads, wonderin’ if the hyphen’s just bein’ stubborn or if it’s actually carryin’ political weight. Turns out, this lil’ typographical tiff isn’t just grammar pedantry; it’s a full-blown scholarly ruckus, like a pub brawl over who’s *really* the rightful heir to the Empire’s teapot. The term postcolonial and post colonial, though often tossed about interchangeably, split hairs (and sometimes tempers) over nuance, chronology, and decolonial intent. In the Brit lit circles, “postcolonial” (one word) tends to wear a tweed jacket and quote Said; “post colonial” (two words) sometimes slips in with a more historical, period-based label—like the “post-war” era—less loaded, more… calendar-ish. But don’t get too comfy: that distinction’s more like a London bus timetable—*theoretically* clear, often late, and subject to sudden cancellations.

Ah, the hyphen—tiny line, massive identity crisis. Does post-colonial deserve its hyphen? Well, *technically*, style guides wobble on this like a wobbly table in a Camden café. The OED? It lists *both* “postcolonial” and “post-colonial” as acceptable, bless ‘em, but leans toward *postcolonial* (no hyphen) as the dominant form in contemporary scholarly usage. Why? Because linguists reckon that once a compound settles in like a long-term tenant, it drops the hyphen—same way “email” kicked “e-mail” to the curb. Still, older texts—especially those pre-2000s—*love* that hyphen like it’s 1999. And truth be told? Some journals still insist on it, mostly outta habit or because their editorial board’s stuck in the Thatcher era. Bottom line: if yer writin’ for *Postcolonial Studies* (the journal), go hyphen-free. If yer citin’ an old Said footnote, keep the hyphen like it’s vintage vinyl. Either way, the debate around postcolonial and post colonial hyphenation reveals more about academic fashion than hard-and-fast rules—which, ironically, feels very… postcolonial.

Let’s rewind the tape a bit—before the redcoats, before the surveyors, before the “civilisin’ missions” that somehow always involved takin’ yer land and callin’ it progress. The pre-colonial period ain’t just “before colonisation”—it’s a world of *complex* polities, trade networks wider than the M25, and cosmologies that didn’t need a European chap with a theodolite to make sense of the stars. Think Great Zimbabwe’s stone citadels, the Swahili Coast’s dhow-rigged diplomacy, or the Kanem-Bornu Empire’s centuries-long reign across the Sahel. These weren’t “primitive” societies waitin’ for rescue—they were *thrivin’*. And that’s why contrastin’ pre-colonial with postcolonial and post colonial matters: it smashes the myth of colonialism as some kind of historical *starting gun*. Nope. Colonisation was a violent *interruption*—a smash cut in the middle of a long film. The real trauma? Not just the occupation itself, but the erasure of what came *before*, rewritten as “darkness” so the colonial “light” could look brighter. Classic PR stunt, innit?

So—when *exactly* does the “post” kick in? Independence Day? The last troop ship sailin’ outta harbour? The return of the Rosetta Stone? (We can dream.) Sadly, history ain’t that neat. For India, 1947’s the textbook marker—but Partition’s bloodshed and the lingering grip of the Commonwealth mean the “post” bleeds *into* the “colonial” like cheap ink on a damp tea towel. Algeria? 1962—but the war left psychic scars deeper than the Paris Métro. And let’s not even start on settler colonies like Australia or Canada, where sovereignty’s still, y’know, *pending*—like a council application stuck in bureaucracy since 1788. The post colonial period, then, isn’t a clean break; it’s a messy, uneven *unravelling*. Power doesn’t vanish with a flag-raising—it mutates. IMF loans replace gunboats. English departments replace missionary schools. The empire files for rebranding, not bankruptcy. That’s why scholars now talk less about *chronological* “post-colonial” and more about *structural* postcolonial and post colonial conditions—where the “post” is less *after* and more *amidst the ruins of*.

If postcolonial and post colonial thought had a patron saint, it’d be Edward Said—pipe smoke, sharp wit, and a copy of *Orientalism* that’s practically worn through at the spine. Published in 1978, *Orientalism* didn’t just critique Western scholarship; it *exposed* it as a machine—producing knowledge that justified domination by painting the “Orient” as irrational, sensual, and in need of firm (white) governance. Said showed how culture *is* power: novels, maps, museum displays, even grammar textbooks—all quietly servin’ Empire’s PR. After him, the floodgates opened: Spivak asked, *Can the Subaltern Speak?* (Spoiler: not if the mic’s held by Oxford dons). Bhabha introduced *hybridity*—the idea that colonised folks weren’t just passive victims but cheeky remixers, subvertin’ the master’s tools *with* the master’s tools. Fanon? He brought the fire—literally and philosophically—on internalised racism and the psychic violence of colonialism. These thinkers didn’t just *study* the postcolonial and post colonial world; they *armed* it with theory. And honestly? We’re still unpackin’ their rucksacks.

Ever noticed how some accents sound like they’re doin’ an impression of the Queen while simultaneously rollin’ their eyes at her? That’s *mimicry*—Bhabha’s term for the uncanny, almost-parody way colonised subjects adopt colonial language and mannerisms… *just* off-kilter enough to unsettle the coloniser. Not quite obedient, not quite rebellious—more like a satnav sayin’, *“Recalculating…”* while leadin’ you into a ditch. And outta that slippage rises *hybridity*: new cultures, new literatures, new identities—half Shakespeare, half oral epic; half cricket, half stick-fightin’; half BBC, half pirate radio. Think Salman Rushdie’s *Midnight’s Children*, where history’s told through a telepathic, pickle-nosed narrator born at India’s exact moment of independence—a *deliberate* mess, a glorious contradiction. That’s the spirit of postcolonial and post colonial expression: not purity, but *pollination*. Not “returning” to some mythic pre-colonial Eden, but plantin’ defiant gardens in the cracks of the colonial pavement.

Aye, here’s the sticky bit: if yer tellin’ the story of colonisation in the *coloniser’s* language, ain’t ye just servin’ tea in the same chipped cup? Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o famously ditched English for Gĩkũyũ after *Petals of Blood*, callin’ colonial language a “cultural bomb” that annihilates memory. Fair point. But others—like Achebe—argued English could be *reclaimed*, bent, spiced up with proverbs, syntax, and rhythm till it *groans* with new meaning. (“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold”—but now the centre’s *Nigeria*, and it’s holdin’ just fine, thanks.) So the debate rages: purism vs pragmatism. Do we write in Wolof, Tamil, or Quechua and risk global obscurity? Or do we hijack English, French, or Portuguese and turn ‘em inside out like a pair o’ well-worn jeans? Either way, the tension in postcolonial and post colonial writing ain’t just *what* we say—it’s *how*, and *in whose ear* we’re whisperin’. (Or shoutin’. More often shoutin’.)

Let’s be real: independence certificates don’t auto-delete centuries of extraction. Enter *neocolonialism*—the Empire’s LinkedIn rebrand. Same old power, new corporate livery. Multinationals buy land cheaper than a Tesco meal deal. Structural Adjustment Programmes (SAPs) from the IMF demand privatisation *and* austerity—like tellin’ a patient with a broken leg to jog for therapy. Even *aid* gets a side-eye: why’s the UK sendin’ £1.2bn in “development assistance” while its pension funds quietly own chunks of African mining ops? Suspicious, innit? The postcolonial and post colonial condition often means formal freedom—but economic chains polished to a high shine. As Fanon warned: “The settler never believes the native can do anything by himself.” Swap “settler” for “CEO”, “native” for “Global South minister”, and… well. Déjà vu, *mon ami*.

Hold up—while the chaps were debatin’ hybridity and hegemony, who was fetchin’ the tea *and* keepin’ oral histories alive *and* leadin’ resistance movements with toddlers on their hips? Right. Early postcolonial and post colonial theory got rightly called out for its *blokeish* blind spots. Enter Chandra Talpade Mohanty’s *Under Western Eyes*, which skewered Western feminism for treatin’ “Third World women” as one monolithic, oppressed, sari-clad mass—ignoring class, caste, sexuality, you name it. Then came writers like Tsitsi Dangarembga (*Nervous Conditions*), whose Tambu doesn’t just fight patriarchy *or* colonialism—she fights the *intersection*, where her brother gets the school fees and she gets the kitchen. Or Jamaica Kincaid, whose *A Small Place* tears Antigua’s tourism industry a new one—“Have you ever wondered to yourself why, since we are so small and have so little to offer, we get so many tourists?” Brutal. Necessary. Postcolonial feminism reminds us: liberation ain’t a buffet—you don’t get to pick *just* anti-racism *or* gender equality. It’s the full plate or nothin’.

So—what’s next for postcolonial and post colonial studies? Is it past its sell-by date? Some say yes: that the field’s become too academic, too jargon-heavy, too detached from on-the-ground struggles. Others argue it’s *more* vital than ever—especially as museums finally sweat over looted bronzes, as Caribbean nations demand slavery reparations (£7.5bn? More like the *entire* national budget, cheers), and as climate justice movements highlight how the Global South pays the price for the North’s industrial binge. The real shift? From *critique* to *reconstruction*. Not just “decolonising the curriculum”, but *rebuilding* knowledge systems—Indigenous epistemologies, Afrofuturism, Dalit thought—all refusin’ to play by colonial rules. And hey—if yer feelin’ lost in all this theory, start simple: follow The Great War Archive, dive into our History section, or geek out with Foucault and Biopolitics: Power and Control. ‘Cause understanding power? That’s always in season.

References

• https://www.britannica.com/topic/postcolonialism
• https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/postcolonialism/
• https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/09502380802210506
• https://muse.jhu.edu/article/262038