Imagine this. You are engaged in a conversation with a group of peers. The topic of conversation? Names. Everyone in the room takes turns proudly announcing their first, middle, and last name. However, when all eyes are on you, you become nervous. Is your name unique enough? Does it have any significance? Embarrassed, with your face to the ground, you quietly tell them only your first name and allow the group to move on.
There’s no question that this scenario is absolutely ridiculous. Laughable, really. But unfortunately, it represents the daily existence of many African-Americans, descendants of slaves who cannot trace their exact country of origin. I often find myself in conversations about nationality with beautiful people from beautiful countries—Italy, Ireland, Mexico, Haiti, Nigeria, China, and Vietnam, among many others. But as an African-American woman, someone whose true country of origin was lost with many other parts of her ancestors’ history, I often wonder if my origin is allowed to be beautiful too. Just because I do not have a specific country of origin, does that mean that I have to be “just” black? Absolutely not.
Starting today, I have decided that I will be at peace with the fact that only God knows my country of origin. I will be at peace with the fact that my people’s history and culture was stolen from them and replaced with another. I will be at peace with the fact that any and all memories of Africa were wiped from the minds of my people. I will be at peace with the fact that I am called an American even though my brown skin and coarse hair will always label me as otherwise in the eyes of many. Most importantly, I will be at peace with being not “just black,” but “black and proud.”
Here’s the reality that changed my thinking. We do not have an obligation to say that we are “just black” when conversations about nationality come up. Nor do we have an obligation to give the group (or individual) a history lesson about the 300 years of enslavement of our people. The only obligation we have in these conversations is to be proud of who we are, which is why we should never label ourselves as “just” black. Whether we use the term “black,” “African-American,” or anything else is a matter of opinion, but the problematic word is “just.” This word implies that we are ordinary. Mediocre. Unremarkable. In truth, we are exactly the opposite!
I will never again feel ashamed to say that my true country of origin is unknown. I am a descendant of extremely strong and resilient people. My people have added a flavor to America that can never be denied or taken away. I come from a people of “firsts.” A people who weren’t ashamed to produce America's first black inventors, major league baseball players, jazz musicians, writers, activists, and, most recently, the first black president of the United States. I, and my ancestors, are the irremovable Jenga blocks that make up the foundation of this country. The same blood that ran through their veins runs through mine, and through all others who may be feeling a void in the place where their country of origin should be.
My advice to my black brothers and sisters without a country of origin: let pride fill the void. Pride that your people have done (and are still doing) great things, and pride that you are a loved, treasured child of God no matter what ethnicity or origin you claim. Despite all the obstacles our people have faced, we continue to overcome. We are part of a new generation that is rising above ignorance, discrimination, and hatred and showing the world what perseverance, courage, and love can do. From now on, never be “just black.” Be “black and proud!”
