Nadeesha Uyangoda, writer: “Racialized people are seen as a homogeneous block.”

In 2021, the voice of writer and journalist Nadeesha Uyangoda (Sri Lanka, 32 years old) burst onto the Italian literary scene with The Only Black Person in the Room , a work that has just been published in Spanish by Los Libros de la Mujer Rota and Esto No Es Berlín and which narrates with lucidity and firmness what it means to grow up, inhabit and resist as a racialized woman in a society that still does not accept itself as diverse.

Although Uyangoda is of Asian descent, she uses the word “black” throughout the text and in the title because, in her own words, as recorded in a note to the edition at the beginning of the book: “ The only black person in the room , in Italy, is meant to represent everything that comes with being a minority. And it’s no use trying to explain that a black Italian of African origin is different from one of Indian, South American, or Chinese origin… A non-white, in a group of Caucasians, is simply a black person.”

In this book, somewhere between autobiographical testimony and essay, Uyangoda, who was born in Sri Lanka and arrived in the Italian province of Monza-Brianza at the age of 6, doesn't simply tell her story: she constructs a cartography of exclusions and resistances, of affections and fractures, that resonates throughout Europe. By recounting what it means to be seen as "the foreigner" even when one has a local accent, or explaining how tokenism [introducing minority groups into a context, but only superficially] masquerades as inclusion, she denounces the false neutrality of a system that reproduces racial hierarchies with silent but relentless effectiveness.

In addition to her literary career, Uyangoda is the author of the podcast Sulla Razza , a pioneering project in Italy that addresses racism from an intersectional and decolonial perspective. There, alongside other racialized voices, she reflects on media discourses, migration policies, institutional language, and cultural representations that perpetuate exclusion. “In Italy, people still think that if there is no slavery, there is no racism. The absence of chains is confused with the absence of discrimination,” she explains in an interview with this newspaper in June during her visit to Madrid for the Book Fair.

Ask . The book began as an article. What was the process of transforming it into an essay like?

Answer : The article was published in a literary magazine and caught the attention of the person who later became my editor. He told me that my writing was already a potential book, although to be honest, I was hesitant at first. For me, it wasn't just about sharing my experience, but about opening a conversation with society. I wanted to find a way that wasn't just testimonial, but also analytical. I wanted to balance how much of myself to reveal, how much to leave to research, and how much to invoke the collective. I think we achieved a balance.

In Italy, it is still believed that if there is no slavery, there is no racism. The absence of chains is confused with the absence of discrimination.

Nadeesha Uyangoda, writer and journalist

P . You say you don't consider yourself an activist, but rather a writer. Why is it important to make that distinction?

R . I deeply respect activism, but my work is a different path. I research, I read, I write. I don't organize mobilizations or go out on the streets. However, if you're a Black woman who writes about racism, that label is imposed on you. In Italy, when a person of color writes, they're expected to talk only about that. You can't write a novel without being asked if it's based on your life. That reduction is another form of exclusion.

P . The book introduces, among others, concepts such as intersectionality and colorism. Are these terms part of everyday social debate in Italy?

R . No. During the two years I presented the book in Italy, I met people who had never heard of this. Some even avoided saying the word "race," as if it were a vestige of the past, buried with fascism. But race continues to operate as a living structure of exclusion. In Italy, it is still thought that if there is no slavery, there is no racism. The absence of chains is confused with the absence of discrimination. It is repeated that "we are all equal," but the glances, the silences, the absences continue to mark our lives. And it is there that we move, constantly, between two extremes: legal invisibility and racial hypervisibility. What we are almost never granted is a clear, full view that recognizes us as full citizens.

P . In this sense, you also speak of "political blackness." What does this concept mean to you?

A. It involves recognizing that, in contrast to white normativity, racialized people are seen as a homogeneous bloc. In Italy, for example, there aren't many words to describe our experiences. In a white context, your background or accent doesn't matter: you are "the other." Political Blackness doesn't negate ethnic specificities, but it underscores that we share a common experience of marginalization. And as long as we remain fragmented by labels, we weaken our collective strength.

Without citizenship, there are no rights. You can't vote, you can't transform institutions.

P . Now your book has arrived in Spain: Do you think what you write could resonate here as well?

R . Yes, because there's a plurality of voices here that interests and challenges me. I was introduced to the work of migrant writers like Gabriela Wiener, who build community through literature. Spain is a multilingual, multinational, diverse space. It was the ideal place for this book to continue its journey. It's also true that when I wrote The Only Black Person in the Room , I was worried it would be too local. But I soon realized that it addresses global themes like belonging, citizenship, power, and love intersected by racial or class hierarchies. All of that also happens here: it's a book that originates in Italy, but engages with a transnational European experience.

P . One of the central themes of your work is citizenship. Why?

R . Because without citizenship, there are no rights. You can't vote, you can't transform institutions. And this directly affects the new generations. I was born in Sri Lanka, but grew up in Italy from the age of 6. My mother raised me alone, working as a live-in caregiver. I lived with the families she worked for. We had no contact with Sri Lanka. I grew up in a foster home, in a conservative context, with the Northern League on the rise. I was the only Black girl in school. Today, classrooms are more diverse, but the citizenship law hasn't changed, and even today, many children are still not recognized as Italian.

P . Your next book will be a novel. What does this shift mean for you?

R . It's a gesture of freedom. Corpi che contano , my second essay, was already a step toward other languages, focusing on social class, from an intersectional perspective that questions race and gender. But with the novel, I want to reclaim something that is often denied to us: the ability to imagine. Black people also write fiction, we also create worlds.

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