Echoes of Past and Voices of Present: Intergenerational Trauma and Collective Memory in “The Fortune Men”

1 Introduction

“Oh soul, go run to your homeland and look for it where you knew it.”

Ahmed Ismail Hussein

Ahmed Ismail Hussein, a Somali folklorist, expressed his state of exile, memory, and longing for lost origins during his detention in French Somaliland. The restless soul seeks its homeland, recalling where it once belonged. The urgency of returning home from exile, migration, or spiritual displacement echoes the experiences of migrants. Whether spiritual or historical, this evokes a return – pursuit of place, self, and collective memory, as the phrase “you knew it” clearly signifies. This forms the prologue to Nadifa Mohamed’s novel The Fortune Men, which was shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 2021. Similar sentiments were expressed by Mohamed in her description of the longing to return to Somalia. After sharing her own experiences of hardship and the persistent racial prejudices in the UK, she expresses hope that the conditions for migrants will improve as the second and third generations of British Somalis increasingly replace “insularity with curiosity” in the national consciousness (Mohamed, 2021). Mohamed, in an interview with The Guardian titled British Somali Nomads No More, writes, “Farah, the journalist Rageh Omar, and the rapper K’naan contribute to creating a positive image, but young Somalis’ sense of identity seems more powerfully shaped by the persistently negative representations found in the media.” This situation closely mirrors the 1950s, when positive aspects of the migrant community were veiled, and a deliberately derogatory image was constructed to reinforce negative stereotypes. Even more troubling is that the language used to describe them continues to label them as outcasts, deemed unworthy of integration into society. As Mohamed states, “British Somalis, who have been here in significant numbers for over two decades, are still not firmly placed in the national consciousness. And often, when we are written about, it is with the worst connotations: violence, terrorism, gangs.” (Mohamed, 2012).

Contemporary studies in Afropolitanism^[1] redefine what it means to be African by merging the ability to move across borders with ties to one’s ancestors. Modern African literature dismantles barriers and provides the means to address mixed spaces and cultural fluidity. As Irobi (in Diala, 2018) states, “Migration, globalization, and the related phenomena of exile, transnationality, and multilocality have their bearing on the cultural identity, aesthetics, content, and form of literary production of Africans abroad” (p. 259). Authors leverage stories to challenge postcolonial divisions and reconstruct memory and a sense of belonging. Literature becomes a space where fractured histories converge to create new, transnational narratives.

This article begins by examining the cultural landscape of 1950s Cardiff, its representation in media, and as described in the opening account of the novel. This section extracts themes of exile and belonging from Mohamed’s narrative, questioning why characters choose to migrate to a supposedly multi-ethnic society promising harmony, only to find themselves marginalized. Their lived experiences – often shaped by racial stereotyping and discrimination – produce placelessness and inherited trauma that transcend generations. In portraying these dynamics, The Fortune Men reveals the complex nature of displacement, the dissonance between internal identity and external perception, and the longing for belonging in unwelcoming societies (Mohamed, 2022).

Within the broader framework of “transnational memory,” this research presents Mohamed’s novel as a work of “transnational connectedness,” as described in Assmann’s (2014) Transnational Memories, involving migration, entangled pasts between nations linked by empire, and a narrative that transcends national “containers” through the efforts of a transnational actor (the author). The transnational perspective challenges the “hermeneutic pre-eminence of nations,” treating the nation as one phenomenon among others rather than the exclusive frame of study. This is essential because national memories can be “self-serving” and act as “protection shields” against recognizing negative events or guilt (Assmann, 2014).

The article explores the role of memory, specifically collective memory, as a determinant of social identity and how it contributes to the cyclical repetition of trauma. Examining the silent rivalry within the community’s memory highlights how these issues impact the community’s mental well-being and integration. The text illustrates how individuals like Mattan, identified as migrants, experience heightened isolation, leading to a kind of social death, where societal narratives erase their subjectivity. Furthermore, this article will explore how The Fortune Men not only uncovers the origins and representations of intergenerational trauma but also aligns with a long-standing tradition in African diasporic writing – one that seeks purpose, bears witness, and offers tools for healing. Through a framework of recovery and restoration, the novel suggests that storytelling, acknowledgment, and collective memory are central to the lengthy journey of healing from the wounds of exile, facilitating a transmission of trauma (Lawson-Te Aho, 2014; Mohamed, 2022).

2 Methodology

This research uses a qualitative approach, which involves text analysis and thematic analysis of Nadifa Mohamed’s The Fortune Men. Focusing on the concepts of intergenerational trauma, collective memory, as well as social identity, the paper explores the relationship between Mahmood Mattan’s story and the larger socio-political reality. Making a detailed analysis of the text, the main topics connected with such issues as trauma, alienation, and resilience are revealed and discussed in the context of the historical background of the novel. Moreover, the study integrates psychological and sociological theories and concepts, especially the concept of transnational memory and cognitive liberation, to enhance the comprehension of how collective memory influences both personal and group identification. This approach is intended to shed light on the process of trauma transmission and the possibility of recovery, thus promoting the discussion of memory as a crucial factor for understanding social relations and the experiences of people, as well as offering a vision of healing and the possibility of change for the communities affected by trauma.

3 Discussion

Cardiff, as portrayed in Nadifa Mohamed’s The Fortune Men, particularly through its depiction of the dockside area known as Tiger Bay, offers a compelling cultural landscape defined by its transnational character. The construction of Cardiff’s port in 1839 catalysed the city’s transformation into a vital maritime hub. By the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the area became known as a classic “Sailortown” – a liminal urban zone populated by seafarers, marked by impermanence, intercultural contact, and often stereotyped in the public imagination for its association with vice and deviance.

However, beyond these reductive views, Tiger Bay evolved into a site of deep-rooted settlement, where the inhabitants came from Somalia, Trinidad, the West Indies/Jamaica, Cyprus, Russia, Europe (including, for example, Ireland, Malta, Lithuania, Poland, and Germany), China, Nigeria, Yemen, and India. Somalis began arriving in England in the mid-nineteenth century, mainly working as stokers on steamships, while others clandestinely travelled as stowaways aboard cargo ships. These early migrants laid the foundations for Somali communities in cities such as Hull, Cardiff, South Shields, Liverpool, and London’s East End, shaping vibrant enclaves of cultural continuity and adaptation (Mohamed, 2021). The immigrants who came to Cardiff were either from the colonies of the British Empire or people who sought it as a safe refuge from the risks of the Holocaust.

In the 1950s, Tiger Bay was depicted through contrasting lenses. Sensationalist outlets like the Daily Sketch (1953) portrayed it as a violent “Welsh Chicago,” claiming “GUNMEN AT LARGE” and linking Black residents to drugs, daggers, and terror. Novelists also reinforced the myth of a grim yet fascinating place for adventure with “dark faces.” In contrast, Picture Post (1950) highlighted the “quiet sorts” living there, describing it as the “nearest thing we have to a ghetto,” though still finding its multi-ethnicity exotic. Local press increasingly focused on the area’s “squalor” and detailed a decline into drugs and prostitution. According to Cameron (1997), during the port’s economic peak from 1870 to 1914, media coverage expanded rapidly, eventually solidifying Butetown’s reputation for diverse forms of debauchery in the public consciousness.

Mohamed’s novel captures this complexity of popular image in its opening chapter, presenting 1950s Cardiff as a bustling, multi-ethnic port city shaped by global maritime trade and migration. It is not simply a provincial British town but a global crossroads – a space where individuals and histories from across continents converge. It was a notably multi-religious port city; its landscape featured mosques like Noor ul Islam, a Norwegian church, and a kosher abattoir. Diverse communities, including Jewish, Muslim, and Christian residents, coexisted, their lives shaped by shared spaces and even cross-faith participation in events like the Eid procession and funerals. This setting exemplifies Aleida Assmann’s (2014) idea of “transnational memory,” where the movement of people across borders produces layered, interconnected cultural identities.

The presence of the Somali community, central to the novel, reflects Cardiff’s role in a broader global network – a place shaped not only by British national history but by colonial entanglements and postcolonial displacements. The cultural characteristics of Cardiff’s docklands are defined by diversity, coexistence, and tension. In the novel, spaces like Berlin’s milk bar serve as key social hubs where migrant communities gather. These shared spaces facilitate “new forms of belonging and cultural identification,” allowing displaced individuals to build solidarity and circulate what Assmann (2014) describes as “travelling memory.” Through storytelling and communal interaction, the residents of Tiger Bay assert their presence and resist the social erasure imposed by dominant British narratives, pointing out their perspective.

Cardiff’s Sailortown environment also embodies the instability and “contamination” that arises from constant intercultural contact. Far from being a site of seamless integration, the city is marked by social stratification, racial suspicion, and economic exploitation, particularly toward communities of colour. Yet, it is precisely this tension that gives the cultural landscape its dynamic character, one shaped not by static national identities but by the lived realities of displacement, memory, and resistance.

Ultimately, the Cardiff of The Fortune Men emerges as a rich cultural tapestry, woven from the movements and memories of its migrant inhabitants. It challenges the “hermeneutic pre-eminence of nations” (Assmann, 2014) by presenting a microcosm of the transnational world, where identity and belonging are continuously negotiated. Through its focus on Cardiff’s cultural landscape, Mohamed’s novel invites readers to reconsider the city not merely as part of Britain but as a node in a global network of migration, memory, and cultural transformation.

The plot of the novel centres around the real-life case of Mahmood Hussein Mattan, a Somali sailor wrongly accused and executed for murder in Cardiff in the 1950s. The narrative unfolds in Cardiff’s multi-ethnic docklands, often known as Tiger Bay. The protagonist is Mahmood Hussein Mattan, a Somali sailor who frequents places like Berlin’s Milk Bar, a hub for the local migrant community. Mahmood is presented as a man with internal aspirations for a better life for his family, though he is caught in challenging circumstances.

The central event is the brutal murder of Violet Volacki, a shopkeeper in Bute Street. The first chapter establishes the setting and introduces key characters and the atmosphere of the area before the murder occurs later in the narrative. Following the murder, the police quickly focus on the “colour” community in Tiger Bay. Despite a lack of concrete evidence, Mahmood is arrested. The police investigation is depicted as being heavily influenced by racial bias and stereotypes about Somali men, viewing them as potentially “truculent and vicious.” They appear to have decided early on that a “coloured man is believed responsible” and Mahmood is placed at the “top of their list from the very beginning” (Mohamed, 2022).

The novel details Mahmood’s experience through the justice system, culminating in his trial. The prosecution builds a case against him, presenting witness testimony and claiming forensic evidence, such as specks of blood on his boots. However, key witness accounts appear unreliable or potentially coerced. For instance, one witness, Mrs. Gray, is portrayed as possibly exaggerating details and disliking Mahmood, with questions raised about her ability to accurately hear and recount events. There is also contradictory testimony regarding Mahmood’s whereabouts at the time of the murder. The defence attempts to highlight these inconsistencies, questioning the plausibility of the prosecution’s narrative, such as Mahmood wearing white trousers after a bloody murder or carrying two razors.

Despite maintaining his innocence throughout, Mahmood is convicted of murder. He reacts with disbelief and anger at what he perceives as a “donkey court” reliant on lies. His legal representation attempts to appeal the conviction based on inconsistencies and technical points. During his imprisonment, Mahmood continues to assert his innocence. He interacts with prison staff and inmates and grapples with the injustice of his situation and his fate. He attempts to communicate with his family, emphasizing his innocence.

The novel culminates in Mahmood’s execution, despite his and his family’s hopes for a reprieve or pardon. The epilogue reveals the tragic aftermath: Laura Mattan, Mahmood’s wife, is not informed of his execution and learns of it upon trying to visit him. The epilogue then outlines the decades-long fight by Laura and the Tiger Bay Somali community to clear Mahmood’s name. This battle is bolstered in 1969 when a man named Harold Cover is sentenced for a similar razor attack, and his history of violence comes to light. Despite this and the similarities to Violet Volacki’s murder, requests to reopen Mahmood’s case are initially refused. Ultimately, the novel is based on the real events where Mahmood Mattan’s conviction was quashed posthumously in 1998 by the Court of Appeal, finding it was unsafe and unsatisfactory and that he was the victim of a miscarriage of justice. The epilogue concludes by stating that the murder of Lily Volpert (which aligns with Violet Volacki in the narrative) is still unsolved.

4 Home & Exile

Mahmood Mattan’s experience, as explored through The Fortune Men and framed by theories of exile and migration, is essential for setting the context for understanding intergenerational trauma. His narrative reveals how systemic racism, displacement, and exclusion do not end with an individual’s suffering; they are passed on, often silently, to descendants. The internal and external forms of violence that Mahmood endures, including humiliation, suspicion, wrongful imprisonment, and social erasure, are not isolated events but symptoms of broader historical injustices.

The Fortune Men. 2022 depicts Mahmood Mattan’s experience of exile as transcending mere physical displacement to embody a deeply metaphysical dislocation, echoing Diala’s (2018) reading of Esiaba Irobi, where exile is framed as a condition that pierces both body and spirit. Mahmood navigates a world structured by racialized suspicion and colonial aftershocks, where dignity, belonging, and identity are persistently denied. As he moves through Cardiff’s Tiger Bay, he learns to survive through calculated performance, developing the “black man’s walk” to signal strength and mask vulnerability. This mirrors what Irobi (as cited in Diala, 2018) describes as the aesthetic of resistance, where performance becomes both mask and shield in hostile terrain.

Externally, Mahmood is stripped of agency and reduced to a racialized caricature. He is treated “like a slave on an auction block” (Mohamed, 2022, p. 65), humiliated by white colleagues, and seen as a threat regardless of his actions. Women grip their handbags, children stare, and the dominant society reads their Blackness as inherently criminal. This systemic hostility resonates with Moolla’s (2017) interpretation of Farah’s “idea of home” as a psychological space increasingly denied to migrants, where not only are their bodies displaced, but their entire sense of selfhood and security is dismantled. Mahmood’s experience exemplifies this denial; he is not merely exiled geographically but metaphysically dislodged from the world’s symbolic order of inclusion and value.

His imprisonment only deepens this alienation. The institution not only confines him physically but also attempts to overwrite his identity, branding him a criminal and stripping him of dignity. Yet it is in this space of forced isolation that Mahmood asserts internal sovereignty. Like Irobi’s tragic exilic figure (as cited in Diala, 2018), he turns inward, cultivating a rich inner life. He engages in religious atonement, reframing his imprisonment as a “sterile womb” for spiritual rebirth. He invokes his ancestry, declaring, “I count mine for sixteen,” referring to his ability to trace his lineage across sixteen generations, thereby drawing strength from a historically grounded and resistant identity (Mohamed, 2022, p. 331).

Iheka and Taylor (2018) argue that African migration narratives reveal how systemic exclusion and global capitalism deny migrants the right to narrate their own lives, often reducing them to simplified tropes. Mahmood resists this flattening. He memorizes seamen’s stories, collects fragments of communal mythologies, and holds onto his love for Berlin’s milk bar, internal acts that refuse erasure. These practices are akin to what Moolla (2017) calls the preservation of metaphysical “home,” a place not of geography, but of memory, narrative, and spiritual integrity.

Even as he faces execution, Mahmood confronts power through knowledge. In a moment of defiance, he addresses the Queen mentally, positioning his awareness of her as a reversal of surveillance. This subversion illustrates how narrative and internal strength can reconstitute the exiled subject, offering what Irobi (as cited in Diala, 2018) would call a tragic dignity, one forged in suffering but not consumed by it. Mahmood’s story affirms that healing and resistance lie not solely in restitution but in the ability to reframe trauma through internal fortitude, memory, and narrative continuity. His journey illustrates the tragic and enduring search for “home” in a world where belonging is denied, and it validates the power of inner consciousness to resist external annihilation.

The next section explores the role of memory, specifically collective memory, as a determinant of social identity and how it contributes to the cyclical repetition of trauma. Examining the silent rivalry within the community’s memory highlights how these issues impact the community’s mental well-being and integration. It illustrates how individuals like Mattan, identified as migrants, experience heightened isolation, leading to a kind of social death, where societal narratives erase their subjectivity. Furthermore, how The Fortune Men not only uncovers the origins and representations of intergenerational trauma but also aligns with a long-standing tradition in African diasporic writing, one that seeks purpose, bears witness, and offers tools for healing, is explored. Through a framework of recovery and restoration, the novel suggests that storytelling, acknowledgment, and collective memory are central to the lengthy journey of healing from the wounds of exile, facilitating a transmission of trauma.

5 Collective Memory

Collective memories fulfill multiple functions, all of which are related to social identity (Páez et al., 2016a, b). By providing narratives of a national past, collective memories preserve a sense of continuity and define what it means to be a member of the nation (Pennebaker & Banasik, 1997); by representing continuity, collective memories also impact how members of a nation identify with their imagined group members across time and space (Anderson, 1994; Liu & Khan, 2014). The opening account of the novel asserts this attempt to continue the national memory of the colonial empire by announcing the king’s death and quick transition to “long live the queen” (Mohamed, 2022, p. 1), highlighting that people should continue to show their allegiance to the Royal Empire Monarchy.

The scene is set in February 1952, at Berlin’s Milk Bar, where people from the Somali community of Tiger Bay have joined for their evening coffee. The reaction of the migrant community members once employed in the service of the British Empire is to be noted:

‘The King is dead. Long live the Queen.’ The announcer’s voice crackles from the wireless and winds around the rapt patrons of Berlin’s Milk Bar as sinuously as the fog curls around the mournful street lamps, their wan glow barely illuminating the cobblestones. The noise settles as milkshakes and colas clink against Irish coffees, and chairs scrape against the black-and-white tiled floor. Berlin hammers a spoon against the bar and calls out with his lion tamer’s bark, ‘Raise your glasses, ladies and gentlemen, and send off our old King to Davy Jones’s Locker.’ ‘He’ll meet many of our men down there,’ replies Old Ismail, ‘he’d better write his apologies on the way down.’ (Mohamed, 2022, p. 1)

Contrary to radio announcements and the mournful scenery of national mourning in Britain, the environment in the milk bar is of usual hustle. It seems the death of the king does not affect the migrated characters because “collective memories of a national past can also serve as a framework for the interpretation of present-day events and influence members’ present psychological states as well as their motivation to engage in collective action” (Branscombe, 2004; Reicher & Hopkins, 2001). Berlin’s “tossing the glass and sending off the old King to Davy Jones’s Locker” and Old Ismail insisting on “writing down apologies” depict the prevalence of latent conflict in the memory of the King’s reign in the Somali community, which does not find any mention elsewhere. Their suggestion to meet their people with an apology implies that they attribute the deaths of people at sea in the service of the country to the King, who did not care for them.

This has a severe effect on both migrants and indigenous populations. As Pennebaker and Banasik (1997) argue, “by providing narratives of a national past, collective memory preserves a sense of continuity and defines what it means to belong to a nation.” Here, collective memory excludes the migrant context, making it difficult for British society to perceive migrants as fellow members. Meanwhile, the absence of Somali people within this collective memory implies that they can never fully experience a sense of belonging or feel at home. This highlights the framework of transnational connectedness, showing how Somali migrants in Tiger Bay form alternative, cross-border networks of identity and memory that challenge the hegemonic British historical discourse. Their shared experiences and transnational ties reshape notions of belonging, enabling emotional solidarity beyond national boundaries and confronting imperial erasures.

“THERE WILL ALWAYS BE AN ENGLAND,” was a phrase that Diana recalls seeing scrawled in London during the Blitz. The source states it was a “kind of talisman, a prayer” that affirmed national resilience and the belief that “they never entertained the notion that they might lose the war.” This reflects the theoretical concept that, until recently, “coming to terms with the past was largely a national project,” with memory production primarily unfolding “within the bounds of the nation-state.” The phrase encapsulates a collective memory focused intensely on national identity and survival during a period of crisis, viewing the experience and its meaning through a purely English/British lens, serving to unite and bolster the nation internally. This is distinct from transnational memory, which acknowledges how memories “leak or break out of the ‘container of the nation-state’” (Assmann, 2014) due to cross-border connections.

The tension Mohamed sets in the opening scene runs throughout the novel, where she contrasts the hegemonic narration in the author/narrator voice, emphasizing the widely held belief in describing a particular event or dominating perspective, with personal opinions, which are either depicted in flashbacks, interior monologues, or recounting of past events in dialogues.

6 The Interplay Between Collective Memory and Social Identity

On one hand, perceptions of history contribute to the formation of national self-images and events associated with identity (Liu & Hilton, 2005; Reicher & Hopkins, 2001). For example, representations of history can influence the perceptions of the audience regarding who is a legitimate citizen in a given country. Regarding the collective memory of British citizens and how they identify migrants, it is evident from Berlin (the owner of the milk bar)’s statement, which depicts the historical experiences of colonial and minority groups’ hardships, altering the perception of people within the nation:

‘They say [Britishers] we got you by the balls, darkie! We own your land, your trains, your rivers, your schools, the coffee grains at the bottom of your cup. You see what they do to the Mau Mau and all the Kikuyu in Kenya? Lock them up, man and child.’ (Mohamed, 2022, p. 1)

This marginalizes or erases the participation and voices of some groups, such as those from Somali origin, which might cause a section of society to perceive them as less “British.” On the other hand, stories that circulate positive aspects of national history and achievements enhance the culture of nationalism and superiority. However, historical news that reports on the nation’s wrongdoings or injustices may have the reverse effect by demoralizing feelings of nationalism and superiority (Rees et al., 2013b; Salter et al., 2017a). The emphasis on “got you” and “we own” states the implication of dominance, achievement, and authority, leading to national pride. Meanwhile, the story of the “Kikuyu” in Kenya remains outside the main consciousness of citizens, as it may hurt the people. This dynamic shows how historical constructions influence and transform national identity and its associated feelings.

Britain, as articulated here, claims ownership and control over land, resources, and people in colonized territories like Kenya. This goes beyond a national issue, showing nations as “inherently and externally relational, embedded and contextualized” (Assmann, 2014) within larger power structures. The actions described, including controlling land, resources, and imprisoning people, are direct results of this transnational projection of power. The quote, therefore, highlights how the metropole’s actions transcend borders, creating the conditions for dispersed and displaced populations and forcing a rethinking of national boundaries in light of these movements and power dynamics. This perspective treats the nation not as a singular frame but as one element in complex, cross-border systems.

Aside from impacting national identity, memory of past injustice can also influence perception and behavioural tendencies regarding identity (Assmann, 2011; Rees et al., 2013a; Salter et al., 2017b). Such prompts can help determine how prevalent injustices are viewed, affecting people’s stance on redressing past wrongs (Sibley et al., 2008).

“The blacks take our jobs and take our women.” They talk like that in all the papers, and say it to your face if they’re feeling bold. They don’t see you having the right to earn money or marry whoever you want. (Mohamed, 2022, p. 231)

This statement provides powerful evidence for how collective narratives of perceived injustice shape the identity assigned to a group (“The blacks”) and directly influence perceptions and behaviour towards them. This widely held belief functions as a form of collective memory or narrative, justifying discriminatory actions and attitudes. By portraying this group as actively harming the dominant population, this narrative creates an identity of the “other” that warrants exclusion and denial of basic rights, such as working or marrying freely. Consequently, this mindset actively hinders the willingness to redress wrongs committed against individuals from this group, as seen in Mahmood’s unjust conviction, which he explicitly links to this prejudice. It demonstrates how a collective memory of perceived grievance, even if unfounded, can perpetuate current injustices.

Conversely, there are similarities between representations of history and identity issues, such as intergroup conflict. This conflict was presented in a manner that favoured positive image building for natives and further marginalization of migrants. In the context of Wales, historically dominant and hegemonic discourses of the nation’s history tend to focus on the histories of native people. These mainstream narratives also contribute to the making of silences by erasing some historical events, for example, racist events involving Welsh people, where the people of Tiger Bay were “othered” in mainstream social representation.

It’s got even worse in town now, they slam all sorts of doors in a coloured person’s face. Never mind the usual public houses, poor Lou was even told to get out by the dentist. (Mohamed, 2022, p. 314)

The systemic exclusion described here is a form of structural and everyday racism, where Black individuals like Lou are denied basic services, from social spaces like pubs to essential care like dental treatment, solely based on skin colour. These exclusions are not isolated but form a consistent pattern of racial discrimination. The widespread “othering” of individuals based on race shapes not only their experiences but also the dominant group’s behaviour, leading to exclusion and prejudice. It normalizes the notion that migrants do not belong within a transnational framework, one in which individuals move across borders and where their identities are shaped by multiple contexts. Local hostility, in particular, underscores the friction between migrant identities and entrenched national or local biases. The commonplace nature of these events happening “even worse in town now,” even in seemingly neutral spaces like a dentist’s office, illustrates historical events that risk being marginalized or silenced in official or dominant collective memory. While national memory historically focused “within the bounds of the nation-state,” potentially overlooking internal injustices, a transnational perspective reveals how these experiences of “othering” and exclusion are deeply embedded historical realities, potentially creating silences in the broader national narrative about its own internal prejudices Furthermore, these narratives focus more on the negative portrayal of interracial interactions, family formation, and religious diversity as the main cause of disharmony among residents. Thus, collective memories both reflect social identities and impact identity-relevant outcomes.

7 Individual Memory as an Outcome of Collective Memory

In Les cadres sociaux de la mémoire, Halbwachs (1994) explores the nature of personal memory by analysing his own dreams over 4 years to see if they contain complete scenes from his past and whether there is such a thing as purely personal memories. He challenges Sigmund Freud’s view, which suggests that dreams are fragments of past experiences, questioning whether these fragments are true memories. Halbwachs concludes that personal memory is not composed of exact recollections but rather of fragments that are mixed with present experiences. According to him, true memories are not solely preserved within individual minds but are constructed through collective representations. These collective memories serve as tools that individuals use to reconstruct a coherent view of the past, emphasizing that memory is fundamentally a social construct rather than a mere collection of personal recollections.

Halbwachs’ research illustrates that individuals’ behaviours are guided by the meanings they attribute to their own actions and those of others. These meanings are fundamentally shaped by the conventions of the community to which the individual belongs. In the case of The Fortune Men, it is quite evident that the way characters like Mattan, Violet, Diana, and Berlin make sense of their immediate society is characterized by their past experiences in the colonial empire or during World War II. The racial and prejudiced nature of the natives makes them feel alienated, even though they have migrated to a distant country for a safe refuge. The failure of collective memory in accounting for their communal experiences leaves them estranged from the community. A statement such as “he cares nothing for politics” (Mohamed, 2022, p. 2) reflects this. A similar attitude is seen in Violet’s opinion on the Queen’s accession to the throne, where she states, “She [the Queen] can stay in Kenya and declare the end of the monarchy for all I care” (Mohamed, 2022, p.9). This attitude shows that they do not align themselves with the broader national perspective. These instances, according to Halbwachs’ theory, illustrate the phenomenon of building individual memory of characters, isolated but actively constructed through individual recollections and historical consciousness.

The migrant experience, situated within the legacies of colonial rule, produces a memory that is deeply fragmented yet informed by communal frameworks. Mahmood’s and Violet’s estrangement does not originate solely from personal recollections; rather, it is shaped by the failure of collective memory in the host country, which does not acknowledge their displacement, political marginalization, and historical exclusion. Their perspectives exemplify how the communal transmission of memory, through shared narratives, informs the construction of individual identity.

In this way, their detachment from political engagement is not merely an act of personal disinterest but an outcome of the broader historical forces that have dictated the terms of colonial subjectivity. Collective memory serves as the structuring force through which individual memory is reconstructed, shaping not only the ways in which migrant communities relate to historical events but also the emotional and intellectual distancing that accompanies their estrangement from imposed national identities. When collective memory is fragmented or deliberately erased, marginalized communities are denied recognition of their historical experiences, leading to systemic exclusion and continued injustice.

Thus, it is appropriate to say that memory, cognition, and identity are constructed through a process of social learning within a group context. Consequently, the origins of individual mental disorders should be examined in relation to the individuals’ engagement or estrangement from their social group, rather than resorting to speculative theories about the physiological state of the brain. As Émile Durkheim (cited in Alexander, 2006) anticipated, sociology offers a novel perspective on human nature, aimed at enriching psychological understanding by surpassing traditional neurobiological and psychiatric approaches. In this way, personal memory and identity are defined by collective memory, which in turn represents a more general social perspective. Hence, personal memory is not a list of separate memories but a reassembly of past experiences in light of social relations and common paradigms. The same can be said of identity, which is established through this dynamic between personal and collective memory. The understanding of who one is and where one belongs in society is a constant process of being shaped by the historical and cultural stories that exist. Hence, as personal memory constitutes individual memories, it is strongly influenced by collective memory that supplies the framework and the material for these memories.

8 Unresolved Conflicts in Collective Memory and Intergenerational Trauma

The interplay among individual memory, social identity, and collective memory can give rise to intergenerational trauma, where the effects of traumatic events extend beyond the immediate victims to affect subsequent generations. This concept, derived from Halbwachs’s theory, extends into trauma studies, where the notion of trauma as a “crisis of representation” underscores how historical traumas, such as the Holocaust, Hiroshima, and Vietnam, challenge our ability to fully articulate and represent these experiences (Caruth, 1996). The “failure of language” to adequately capture these traumas contributes to an epistemological crisis that impacts how traumatic experiences are transmitted across generations.

In this context, intergenerational trauma emerges when the unresolved and often unarticulated experiences of one generation are transmitted to subsequent generations. The inability to fully articulate trauma in language, as highlighted by Caruth (1996) and critically examined by Leys (2000), means that trauma is often expressed indirectly or symbolically. For instance, the children and grandchildren of trauma survivors may inherit not only the psychological impact of the original trauma but also the cultural and social narratives shaped by their ancestors’ experiences.

The impact of intergenerational trauma is evident in various contexts, such as communities affected by genocide, colonialism, or systemic oppression. In these cases, the collective memory of trauma influences individual and group identities, perpetuating cycles of trauma and affecting how subsequent generations process and understand their experiences. This ongoing transmission underscores the significance of collective memory in shaping personal identity and highlights the need for addressing both historical injustices and their enduring legacies (Caruth, 1996; Leys, 2000). The transmission can occur through various means, including familial narratives, socialization practices, and cultural representations.

9 Dealing with Intergenerational Trauma

Historiographic revision is an essential component of the process of analysing historical trauma discourse. E. Duran and Aggie Yellow Horse, in their work Historical trauma and learning: The role of education in the prevention of intergenerational transmission of trauma, assert that “Historical trauma is complex and cumulative, and it affects individuals and groups in a progressive manner across generations. This is the gradual build-up of multiple injuries that have happened at different times and which have led to the formation of a structure of emotional and psychological injuries. This trauma is referred to as incomplete mourning and depression that is innate and transmitted to the next generations for their lifetime” (Duran & Yellow Horse, 1998). Therefore, there is a need to re-discourse history from other perspectives and with other narratives. Disruption of traditional governance and community cohesion under colonial rule gave rise to the conflict between the Haji and Mahmood’s father in British Somaliland over the British imposition of their legal system instead of the traditional diya payment. This demonstrates the colonial disruption of kinship systems. The text states that this “fractured the relationship between the Haji and Mahmood’s father” (Mohamed, 2022, p. 171). This conflict originated in the father’s generation, stemming from resistance to colonial authority over internal clan matters. The intergenerational aspect of this harm is seen in its impact on Mahmood’s sense of belonging and trust within his community. Growing up in the shadow of this division, Mahmood later expresses a feeling of abandonment by his community while in prison, suggesting that the historical fracture related to colonial interference and kinship governance continued to affect his relationship with his own people, a subtle but deeply felt harm to his connection within the wider kinship network. These adverse impacts of colonization are intergenerational and continue to affect the kinship systems and cause harm in ways that are not easily recognizable to the present generation, states Maria Yellow Horse Brave Heart in The historical trauma response among natives and its relationship with substance abuse: A Lakota illustration (Brave Heart, 2002).

The novel brings instances of this through Mahmood’s internal reflection on the pervasive impact of racial prejudice on his life and his inability to achieve a life of dignity and justice:

“He sits in the small bath – his body white apart from some flashes of his real skin – and asks himself what life would have been like if he had been born with skin this white. He would have earned a quarter more as a sailor, for a start, and wouldn’t have been limited to finding work in the merchant navy either. He might have become an educated man, able to turn his skills to whatever job he desired, would have been able to buy a decent home for Laura and the children and have old white women commenting on what a lovely family they made. He would know justice too.” (Mohamed, 2022, 355)

This passage, reflecting Mahmood’s poignant contemplation of a life unburdened by racial discrimination, directly supports the argument about the adverse and cumulative impacts of colonization (Alfred & Moeke-Pickering, 2015). His reflection details specific “injuries”: economic disadvantage, limited opportunities, inability to provide adequately for his family (“buy a decent home”), social marginalization and, crucially, the absence of justice. These are not isolated incidents but systemic disadvantages rooted in the historical context of racial hierarchy imposed by colonial powers. The text reveals how this historical context translates into profound personal suffering and injustice in Mahmood’s present, embodying the “gradual build-up of multiple injuries” that forms a “structure of emotional and psychological injuries” (Duran & Yellow Horse, 1998). By giving voice to Mahmood’s perspective and demonstrating how his identity, shaped by colonial history, dictates his access to opportunity and justice, the novel necessitates a “re-discoursing history from other perspectives and with other narratives,” one that acknowledges the lived reality of those most harmed by the historical structures of prejudice and colonization. This personal experience of systemic injustice is the source of the historical trauma that, as the theoretical framework suggests, can be transmitted intergenerationally, affecting kinship systems in ways “not easily recognizable to the present generation” (Brave Heart, 2002).

According to Alfred and Moeke-Pickering in the article Cultural revitalization and the role of traditional knowledge, this reality is a call for decolonization, a psychological process of bringing the effects of colonization into the present day, where it is processed through awareness and understanding (Alfred & Moeke-Pickering, 2015). A similar kind of voice, stating the prevention of intergenerational trauma and the adverse impact of colonization, is echoed by Mohamed, in an interview with The New York Times where she stated that The Fortune Men was “cathartic,” an opportunity to return to her father’s world as well as a way of processing the death of one of her uncles, who was killed outside his shop in Hargeisa. By revisiting her father’s world, understanding the experiences of sailors and her uncle’s death through Mattan’s narrative, she transforms personal grief into collective memory. This act fosters acknowledgement, awareness, and understanding of loss and injustice, allowing suppressed trauma to be meaningfully integrated into identity and transgenerational healing.

10 Through Mnemohistory

Within the last few years, several works have been published that attempt to debunk and redefine the correlation between the past and the present, marking a shift toward presentism in the writing of history. Unlike the postmodernist approach, where the past is seen as something that has already occurred and is now gone, these works centre on the notion of the “haunting past,” seeing the past not as something that has ended but as something that continues to unfold (Runia, 2006). Berber Bevernage claims that a “persisting past” not only denaturalizes absence and distance but also offers a critique of the very temporal categories of past and present (Bevernage, 2011). This new perspective allows for seeing temporal distance as an advantage since it is easier to see layers of meaning and the effects of certain events on the present. Whereas in the past, anachronism was catastrophic in history, today it is used as a method of understanding history, it is no longer seen as a chronological sequence from past to present and the present from the past (Olsen, 2010a, b).

This shift in historiographical approach, known as “mnemohistory” or Gedächtnisgeschichte, as defined by Assmann in Moses (1997), goes beyond past practices and events and emphasizes their continued relevance. The Fortune Men powerfully embodies this shift towards mnemohistory. This approach emphasizes the enduring relevance of past events beyond their original occurrence. The novel demonstrates how historical experiences, particularly those of trauma and displacement, are not simply relegated to a chronological past but remain vital, shaping identities, relationships, and the very fabric of life in Tiger Bay.

The characters in the novel live with the palpable weight of past events, both personal and collective. Stories told and retold, objects imbued with historical significance, and the physical landscape itself serve as conduits for this “persisting past.” Berlin’s accounts of the human zoo, Mahmood’s internalization of his mother’s narratives of hardship, Violet and Diana’s experience of the Holocaust’s shadow, and the community’s collective memory of violence and injustice within Tiger Bay all highlight how historical trauma and experience are continuously present. This aligns with Assmann’s framework of transnational memory, which acknowledges the lingering impact of “traumatic and entangled pasts” in a world marked by migration.

The novel illustrates how trauma, particularly when rooted in transnational experiences like displacement, colonial history, and racial prejudice, is not confined to the individual or the moment it occurred. Instead, it is transmitted and perpetuated through memory and narrative, creating a “haunting” presence. A powerful example of this “persisting past” and its connection to mnemohistory and the acknowledgment of transnational memory is seen in Omar Mattan’s reflection on his father’s fate:

“Until I was eight, I was told my father had died at sea. Then one day, the Salvation Army band was playing near our house, and I went out to sing with them. One of the leaders said, ‘We don’t need the sons of hanged men.’ That knowledge felt like a cancerous growth in my head.” (Mohamed, 2022, p. 370)

This illustrates the concept of a “persisting past.” Mahmood’s wrongful execution is a historical event that occurred decades earlier, yet for his son Omar, this knowledge is not merely a past fact; it is described as a tangible, malignant presence, a “cancerous growth” in his head. This metaphor conveys the active, damaging nature of this past event on Omar’s present well-being and identity. It is a past that has not ended but continues to unfold and inflict harm.

Using mnemohistory as a tool allows us to understand the significance of Mahmood’s execution not just as a judicial error, but as a historical trauma embedded within the collective memory of the Somali community in Tiger Bay and, by extension, within the broader transnational history of migration and racial injustice faced by Black seamen in Britain. The statement from the Salvation Army leader highlights how the historical event (the execution) is distilled into a stigmatizing narrative, “sons of hanged men” and transferred across generations, functioning as a form of collective memory that defines and constrains the descendants. This transmission of trauma through collective memory is a key aspect of mnemohistory.

Furthermore, this implicitly relates to the acknowledgment of transnational memory. Mahmood’s story is part of the entangled histories of migration, empire, and prejudice that connect Somaliland and Britain. His unjust fate is a specific node in this transnational web of experience. Omar’s quote shows the personal impact of this historical injustice being passed down. For any form of healing or restoration to occur as eventually sought through the appeal process, this traumatic past, embedded in transnational dynamics and personal memory, needs public acknowledgment. The quote shows the painful private reality caused by the lack of timely acknowledgment and justice. It underscores how the “persisting past” of state violence and prejudice shapes the lives of those who inherit its legacy, highlighting the critical need for dialogic memory and acknowledgment of shared, difficult histories, particularly in a transnational context.

This passage is profoundly resonant regarding recovery and restoration because it portrays the destructive power of an unacknowledged or distorted past. The “cancerous growth” metaphor for the knowledge of his father’s hanging vividly illustrates how historical trauma, when buried or misrepresented, does not disappear but festers, actively harming the present self. Mnemohistory highlights that the past continues to unfold, and Omar’s experience demonstrates its painful persistence. Recovery and restoration necessitate bringing this painful history into the light, acknowledging the truth of the injustice. For healing to occur, the “lingering impact of traumatic and entangled pasts” must be confronted. This acknowledgment, often through acts of collective memory and justice such as the family’s eventual fight to clear Mahmood’s name, allows the burden of a “persisting past” to be processed, contributing to individual and collective healing. It underscores how ignoring painful histories, particularly in transnational contexts, perpetuates harm, making honest remembrance a crucial step towards resolution.

11 Cognitive Liberation Through Cultural Revival

“The healing is in the pain: Revisiting and Re-narrating Trauma histories as a starting point for healing” by Keri Lawson-Te Aho reveals the necessity of examining cultural narratives to facilitate the healing of historical trauma. It emphasizes that reclaiming and reconstructing these narratives can pave the way for self-determination. Although the process of healing from trauma rooted in history is complex, it is achievable through the testimonies of legacy bearers, who demonstrate the transformative power of revisiting these narratives (Lawson-Te Aho, 2014). Cultural memory, as Halbwachs notes, can sustain a structure that supports healing, even amid present challenges (Halbwachs, 1950). The term cognitive liberation refers to the process by which members of some aggrieved group fashion the specific combination of shared understandings that are thought to undergird emergent collective action. In particular, McAdam (1982, p. 51) argues that “before collective [action] …can get underway, people must collectively define their situations as unjust and subject to change through group action.” It means that positive narratives of trauma and history must be possible. Freedom to choose is psychological and spiritual at the same time. Recovery begins with the choice of people to free themselves from suffering and the oppression of their souls once they recognize their situation by acknowledging the hegemonic aspects of forced collective narration (Anzaldúa, 2002). This process entails the re-interpretation of dominant discourses that are scrutinized, rejected, and challenged. This means that it is not enough to simply dismiss hegemonic cultural narratives and their associated myths; new stories must be written that present other options. This new approach is based on the fact that it is important to combine the findings of the spiritual practices of the past with the understanding of present science.

The concept of “cognitive liberation through cultural revival,” which involves examining, reclaiming, and re-narrating cultural trauma histories to challenge dominant discourses and create new possibilities for self-determination and spiritual/psychological freedom, finds significant resonance within the narrative, particularly in the testimony of legacy bearers. This ties directly into the acknowledgement of transnational memory facilitated by a mnemohistorical approach, which emphasizes the enduring relevance of past events.

A key example demonstrating this path to recovery and restoration through challenging dominant narratives within a transnational framework is Berlin’s account of his experience in the Hamburg human zoo. This reveals how an imposed, dehumanizing narrative is confronted by the lived truth, initiating a process akin to cognitive liberation. This passage is where Berlin recounts his recruitment and arrival in Hamburg:

We’ll have to go right back to nineteen-oh-five. To Hamburg, Deutschland. Me and a hundred others crossing sea and land because we were told there was good work in Europe. Recruited by a Somali dalaal who scouted across the Habr Awal territory and the Garhajis and Warsangeli for people like us willing to go with him. I was a boy with no father, and when I heard so many of my clanspeople were going away, there was no way my old mother could hold me back. Our cattle had died, we couldn’t go near our old wells because of the dervishes so the camels had only a couple of weeks in them, there was nothing she could give me. There we were: the decrepit, the just born, the wadaads and the weavers, the suldaan and his servants, the potter and the poets, all on a dhow to Aden. The dalaal gave us all this sweet talk, that the Deutsch were so impressed when they heard about the brave Somalis that they demanded to see us in the flesh, all we had to do was show them our way of life and they would pad our pockets with gold. Beneath us in the dhow, we had everything – our saddles, spears, prayer mats, headrests, cooking pots, all that we had! The minute we arrive in Hamburg there is a photographer waiting for us on the docks. His flash exploded and making the babies cry. We met the big boss, Hagenbeck, and he takes us back to his mansion and tells us to make up our camp in his long green garden. I fell asleep on the grass while watching the women tie the wooden frames together and when I woke up small white faces were peering through the fence, giggling and whispering to each other. I took a fright at these white-haired little jinns and ran into one of the completed aqals and stayed there while more and more gaallo arrived to stare at us. (Mohamed, 2022, p. 33)

This powerful testimony serves as a profound example of the process towards cognitive liberation and potential healing through cultural revival within a transnational context. Berlin recounts a traumatic historical event, being exhibited in a human zoo in Germany after travelling from British Somaliland, which is a clear instance of transnational trauma. The initial narrative they were sold was one of respect and reward^[2], presenting the experience as a positive cultural exchange where they would “show them our way of life.” This was the dominant, deceptive discourse imposed upon them.

However, Berlin’s narration exposes and challenges this lie. He reveals the stark and humiliating reality of being treated “little different to the elephants and zebras on parade,” subjected to invasive measurements and castings, and reduced to mere objects for whom “gaallo ^[3] arrived to stare at us.” This act of articulating the truth, years later to Mahmood, is the essence of re-interpreting and rejecting the dominant discourse. It is a crucial step in cognitive liberation, freeing oneself from the psychological oppression of having been subjected to such a degrading experience and having that experience misrepresented. The freedom to choose to speak this difficult truth is psychological and spiritual.

Furthermore, it highlights elements of cultural revival, albeit in a painful context. The participants came from specific clans and brought their cultural artefacts (saddles, spears, prayer mats), intending to demonstrate their way of life. The trauma was intrinsically linked to their cultural identity being put on display and objectified. By recounting this, Berlin is not just stating facts; he is engaging with a specific, painful episode in his cultural and clan history. Reclaiming the truth of this experience, however uncomfortable, is a form of re-engaging with and re-interpreting that cultural narrative, preventing its complete erasure or distortion by the perpetrators’ narrative. The memory, and its retelling, keep this piece of cultural history alive.

This act of sharing the memory with Mahmood is also an example of the testimony of legacy bearers, demonstrating the transformative power of revisiting these narratives. While the immediate effect on Berlin isn’t explicitly described as complete healing, the act of bearing witness and passing on the accurate account is fundamental to recovery and restoration. It prevents the trauma from remaining a hidden, festering wound (“cancerous growth” as Omar describes his inherited trauma). It allows for the possibility of integrating the painful past into one’s understanding, rather than letting it continue to “haunt” destructively or leaving it silenced.

This entire episode is a powerful manifestation of transnational memory, showing how historical events rooted in colonial encounters and migration create “traumatic and entangled pasts” that persist across borders and generations. Berlin, now in Wales, carries this memory of Germany. Using mnemohistory as a tool here allows us to see how this specific historical trauma, the human zoo exhibition, is not confined to Hamburg in 1905 but endures through memory, shaping Berlin’s perspective of “a worldly acceptance of even the greatest tragedies” and being passed on, thus influencing the present reality and relationships in Tiger Bay. The act of narrating and hearing this story is how this transnational past continues to “unfold,” demonstrating how temporal distance can offer perspective to “see the layers of meaning and the effects of certain events on the present.” The pain of the past is acknowledged, which, according to the concept of cognitive liberation, is a starting point for moving towards healing and self-determination.

12 Conclusion

The Fortune Men uses the lives of its characters to explore the complex interplay between individual and collective memory in the face of exile and trauma. It suggests that healing is not a linear process but one deeply embedded in the ability to tell stories, to receive acknowledgment (especially from within supportive communities when the state fails to provide it), and to build a collective understanding of shared historical trajectories. However, the novel also starkly reveals how trauma, too, is carried and transmitted through memory, shaping the lives of individuals and communities across generations. The pursuit of justice, often spurred by collective memory of past wrongs, becomes a crucial part of the long and arduous journey towards recovery and restoration, highlighting the need for a more “sensitive transnational memory” that acknowledges entangled histories and upholds human rights.

Mohamed calls for making transnational memory, and the vivid description through the novel helps contemporary migrants by offering interpretive frameworks and spaces of belonging that go beyond the nation-state. This can foster potential solidarity, challenging exclusive national narratives, and providing examples of how cross-border connections can be leveraged to address historical and potentially contemporary injustices by challenging “methodological nationalism,” which is the traditional approach that assumes the nation-state is the most important, or even the only, relevant unit for understanding social, cultural, or historical phenomena. Rather than viewing the nation as a fixed, autonomous, and insular “container” or the ultimate frame of reference, the transnational perspective treats the nation as just one factor among many. It understands the nation as “fragile, constructed, imagined” by shifting the analytical focus to “units that spill over and seep through national borders, units both greater and smaller than the nation-state.” This includes looking at flows, connections, and phenomena that operate across national lines. The nation is not an isolated island of study, but part of wider networks, movements, and historical trajectories. The cyclicality of trauma underscores the importance of tackling wars that are interwoven into the collective memory of societies, and when left unresolved, they trap victims in a recurring cycle of victimhood, obstructing pathways toward societal recovery and the possibility of forgiveness. In order to foster a culture that is more tolerant and empathetic, one has to address the previous historical mistreatment and create hope for the future. This is why it is critical to develop the practice of mnemohistory, to free cognitive and emotional processing, and support cultural reclamation as it leads to improved emotional health and societal preparedness for constructing a more equitable future that can reconcile historical injustices and look towards a better tomorrow.