Who Am I?
Thesis Statement: The centuries-long struggle for identity and connection to a "Homeland" for the enslaved Negro, has created an identity crisis for the modern-day African American. While the identifier "African American," suggests a link to Africa, many African Americans do not have a real connection to a particular African country or tribe. This paper will show that no matter what the enslaved endured to gain the recognition and respect all Americans deserve, they are yet a people without a true ethnic identity without a real connection to their ancestral roots. Hence, more African American families should use Deoxyribonucleic Acid (DNA) advanced technology to bridge this identity gap and claim their true heritage.
As a young child, I struggled with my identity. While in elementary school, I would have to participate in family tree projects. These projects aimed to show the class where we come from. I would always start with my Mom and Dad, then my siblings. When asked about my grand or great-grandparents, I would reply, "they're down south." I never knew my grandparents, and my parents could not tell me who their grandparents were. So, when asked where I came from, I would say "30th and Scovill" (without the e), which was the street my parents lived on when I was born. Consequently, my lack of an ancestral identity was the casualty of stripping the enslaved Africans' language, culture, traditions, and records back to my grandparents, great-grandparents, and ancestors back to a country and tribe in Africa.
They tried but failed.
From the American Revolution to the Civil War, enslaved Africans sought to maintain their African identity and heritage, but to no avail. Having a common bond among enslaved Africans was difficult, given that many were from different regions, belonging to other tribes, and speaking different languages. Deemed less than human, bought and sold like cattle, controlling the enslaved Africans was the main priority for the enslavers. After years of dehumanizing treatment, the enslaved Americans received some of the most welcomed news from President Abraham Lincoln. After the emancipation proclamation, the most critical status for the enslaved was whether they were "free" or "slave," but what they most called themselves were Africans. (Smitherman 118) Having been culturalized into the means and ways of their captor's way of life, learning the language, religion, and the limitations and valuations placed upon them, the freed Africans began to seek out what "freedom" meant for them after being emancipated.
They began to lay claim to the one thing they knew they all had in common, being African: though from different regions in Africa. An attempt was made to preserve their African heritage, culture, and identity by having "African" as the first name in the names of their organizations, churches, schools, and institutions. (Smitherman 118). However, with the enactment of "black codes" in America and the "slave for life" status that made permanent slaves of the Africans, and their offspring, the term African began to get supplanted by Colored. (Smitherman 118, 119) When I got older, I researched my parents' birth certificates to find some answers to my identity. What I discovered further confused me. Their racial identity was noted as "Colored." My original birth certificate indicates my racial identity as "Negro." However, on my father's death certificate, it is noted that he was "Black." After this discovery, I was curious about how these labels came and decided further investigation was warranted.
A name they called themselves.
The loss of heritage and personal identity for the enslaved Africans sent them on an arduous journey to redefine themselves. But in the eyes of White America, it did not matter what the enslaved were called, as long as it was something that would suggest White supremacy over them. Stripped of their native tongue, tribal affiliation, and culture, the labeling of the enslaved was used primarily to control them and promote White Supremacy. (Smith 496). Even with the emancipation proclamation, slavery persisted, and the African's struggle for relevance continued. By the late nineteenth century, the terms "negro" or "nigger," had become a derogatory racial epithet. Not wanting to be identified by either of these, "Colored" was the chosen name that freed enslaved people decided to call themselves in an attempt to put distance between the terms associated with the brutality of slavery.
However, the attempt to redefine themselves was met with debate and dissent among the enslaved, as they tried to give meaning to their person and culture. (Smith 497 and 498) Thought leaders such as W.E.B. DuBois, Booker T. Washington, and Fredrick Douglas were instrumental in raising the questions that challenged the label Colored. The term was too broad, as it encompassed the Africans and anyone who was not white. So, in an attempt to distinguish the African from other "people of color," the label "black" became the preferred name for the emancipated Negro. But even this would become a name that would prove burdensome for the freed African with the enactment of the "black code."
The black code were state laws that varied from state to state to ensure that white supremacy, particularly in the southern Confederate states, was restored after the American Civil War. (britannica.com "black-code"). The doctrine of white supremacy would trump any attempt for inclusion into American society by the enslaved Africans and their descendants. As time progressed, so did the fight to be recognized and accepted as a human with full citizenship. Yet the battle for who or what they would be called continued. It would come down to whether they would be identified by the color of their skin or the humanity of their person. Capitalizing the "b" in black would determine whether the enslaved were recognized as a who or a what.
Am I a thing or a person?
Eligon writes in a New York Times article, "The debate over racial vocabulary is unfolding amid growing recognition across society of the need to tackle racism after several high-profile police killings of black people incited mass protests nationwide." (2020). This growing recognition has to do with whether journalists and news organizations were going to start using the proper noun "Black" in their writings, denoting an ethnic group, not a color. However, civil rights leader, Jesse L. Jackson, is quoted saying, "...Any term that emphasizes the color and not the heritage separates us from our heritage." (Eligon 2020).
The void of an authentic ethnic identity drove people like Jackson, who wanted to be more than just a color, to seek a name that would connect them to their original homeland in Africa. But at this time, the "Black Power" movement was in full swing.
The term "black," once a word deemed derogatory, had become the essence and symbol of Black pride. In the 1960s, there were the Black Panthers, Black Nationalists, and James Brown's song, "Say it Loud, I'm Black and I'm Proud" (YouTube). Surly, a term that had become the people's national identity had to be capitalized. Yet, Eligon states the move to capitalize the "b" in black was, "Far more than a typographical change, the move is part of a generations-old struggle over how best to refer to those who trace their ancestry to Africa." Nonetheless, Negro was still the white man's lexicon preferred term. In his civil rights legislation address to Congress in 1965, President Lyndon B. Johnson stated, "The issue of equal rights for American Negroes is such an issue." (Johnson 1965).
But "Black" was the preferred way the "Negro" wanted to be identified. What was ironic about this debate is that some of the same journalists and news organizations that decided it was appropriate to capitalize the "b" in black had an issue with capitalizing the "w" in white. They argued that it is an identifier of skin color, not a shared experience as if all Blacks shared the same incident of discrimination the same way. (Eligon 2020). On the contrary, some biracial people who had, or believed to have had some African heritage, would find it hard to be accepted by any racial group. Those who looked White but were labeled Black endured a level of racism from both the White and the Black sides of the identity question.
Am I Black or White?
While the search for a national and global identity continued for Black people, a group of "Blacks" wondered whether they were Black or White. The savagery of slavery imposed a burdensome toll on those born out of the raping of the Black enslaved women by their White owners. These people were forced to identify with only one side of their parental lineage. And because of the "one-drop rule" of White supremacy, they had to identify as Black. To this day, multiracial people still fight a different battle for relevance than those who identify with being Black. Many "mix-race" individuals struggled to be accepted by Blacks or Whites because they were not Black or White enough.
Since you could not determine a person's race simply by looking at them, many multiracial people born to enslaved Africans use a social strategy called "passing." Some would skirt the "Jim Crow-black-code" laws by passing as white. They would attend white-only social events and drink from white-only water fountains. Khanna and Johnson write, "One sociologist estimated that approximately 10,000 to 20,000 people with black ancestry disappeared into the white population each year from 1900 to 1920, while some put that number into the 100,000s (Williamson 1980)." (382). Though many multiracial individuals have accepted the racial status quo for being Black, many have resisted being forced to identify with only one side of their heritage. (Khanna and Johnson 380). Moreover, the dilemma the one-drop rule put biracial people in was frustrating.
The one-drop rule created confusion and uncertainty in the minds and lives of multiracial persons with African heritage. It is easy to see how choosing to reject one part of their heritage while embracing the other could cause an identity crisis for them. The 2000 Census added an "all that apply" choice to their report after being lobbied by multiracial activists. (Khanna and Johnson 383). The challenge that biracial people with African heritage faced was "getting in where they fit in." In some cases, that means that they not only have to pass for being White but Black as well.
To avoid stigmas coming from either the White or Black communities, they would employ various identity strategies. They would change the way they talked or dressed, cosmetically change their facial features, reject customs, or refuse to listen to certain kinds of music that would identify them as one heritage or the other. (Khanna and Johnson 383). However, when the popularity of the term "African American" began to gain broad acceptance in the Black communities, the question of being African American for many biracial people merely added another layer of uncertainty and confusion to their already complex social identity. However, biracial African Americans are not the only ones with a problem identifying as American. As I considered if I were an American, I realized it was not if I were an American but if Americans saw me as an American. Or, in other words, did White America see me as an American or an African?
Am I African, American, or both?
When it comes to the label "African American," many identified by it question whether they have any real connection to Africa. Most African Americans have never been to Africa. They do not know their African roots. Based on what they see through the media about the conditions in Africa, there is no desire to go there or be associated with it. Without personal knowledge of their lineage to Africa, most African Americans are forced to identify with a country primarily non-Black. (Smitherman 117). Because the records of many enslaved people brought to the Americas were either lost or destroyed, tracing their ancestry is impossible. For the enslaved, to be born in America did not mean you were an American. On the contrary, it only told you were no longer African but property by another name. (Smitherman 119)
Therefore, the only heritage most African Americans know is what they have experienced growing up in America. So, it is understandable why the fight for relevance and acceptance is so important. To be born an American, and have others question whether you are an American, has been the source of much emotional, psychological, and societal pain and suffering. Nevertheless, the term African American has allowed the descendants of the enslaved Africans to be distinguished as an ethnic group like Asian American, Irish American, Italian American, etc. It once again enables them to name their organizations, schools, churches, and institutions using African as the name's first name. But it still does not connect them to their African roots.
A longing for many African Americans to connect with the "Mother Land" is a continuing quest to complete the ancestral cycle. Fortunately, the social construct of racial inferiority and superiority in America could not stop the advancements in the technology that has been able to map the human genome and finally link descendants of enslaved Africans back to their origins.
Deoxyribonucleic Acid (DNA) technology, known for being used as evidence to solve a crime, has now allowed African Americans to determine if they are genuinely African, or at least to what extent. The social use of DNA technology has shown helpful in solving or overturning some landmark criminal cases. (Robert and Dufresne 71). And now, it can reunite African Americans to their true roots. Famous names like Oprah Winfrey, Chris Tucker, and Bishop TD Jakes have traced their African roots back to the actual country and tribe, to a greater or lesser degree of African lineage. (Documentary Traces Roots of Black Celebrities).
Using a DNA test to find their African roots can be a sobering experience for some African Americans wanting to connect with their homeland. Take, for instance, Sigrid Johnson featured in an article by Ruth Padawer, a writer for The New York Times. At the age of 62, Sigrid took a DNA test at the request of her friend, who was doing research. She had "lived Black" all her life and knew in her mind what the results were going to be, half African and half Italian. But when the test came back, it upended her sense of identity. The results were "45.306 percent Hispanic, 32.321 percent Middle Eastern, 13.714 percent European and 8.659 percent "other," which included a mere 2.978 percent African." She then thought, "Who am I then?" (Sigrid Johnson was black. A DNA test said she wasn't.) She grew up living the Black experience all her life; how could she not be black, she thought.
Others had had the opposite results, which provided them with a new sense of pride and belonging they had never felt before the DNA results came back. Some reactions to finding their African roots were, "My life has been turned upside down" after finding out their mother's lineage came from the Mende people of Sierra Leone. Another remarked, "I finally feel some of the separation between myself as an African American and other Africans beginning to fall away." (africanancestry.com)
Many African Americans have turned to the DNA testing company called African Ancestry. Africanancestry.com is a company providing DNA tests that tell African Americans what region of Africa they share DNA lineage with and the country and tribal origin living in Africa today. (africanancestry.com) The importance of heritage in the lives of people who have for centuries, void of knowledge of their ancestors, gives them a sense of pride and belonging that merely being born in America cannot. The heritage that most African Americans claim has been forced upon them by the social construct of race and race relations that regulated them to second-class citizenship in a country they helped build for free.
Conclusion
Heritage is inherited from the past; it gives meaning to our present and allows us to pass it on to future generations. Everyone must learn where they come from to know where they are going. The importance of heritage is its ability to shape a person's identity. For many African Americans, that importance cannot be overstated. (Heritage Council). When I look in the mirror before leaving my house, I have to ask myself who is looking back at me, a Black Man or a Man? If I say a Black Man, I must accept all that comes with being Black in America. My mindset would think the odds are against me and I'm not going to get a fair shake in life. However, if I say a Man, then in my mind, I am on the same footing with every other man I meet, with whatever opportunities are before me.
Now don't get me wrong, I am under no illusions concerning how other people would describe me if they saw me walking down the street. The first descriptor would be, "he's a Black Man, so tall, etc.." But it's not how other people describe me; it's how I describe myself that is important.
The Mississippi sanitation workers Dr. King was going to march with held signs that didn't say, "I am an African" or "I am an American." They said, "I Am a Man." I am convinced the civil rights movement had more to do with being treated as humans than what we would be labeled. I believe that if I am seen and treated as a human being first, what people call me would be as respectful as what they would call other humans. Conflicts between people would still exist, but not because one thought the other was less than human.
I'm a 66-year-old descendant of enslaved Africans who have tried to track down my ancestry to no avail when it comes to my origin. Am I supposed to claim to be a "Black man in America" as my heritage? All the labels, Negro, Colored, Black, Afro American, African American, fall short of giving me the sense of belonging someone with the knowledge of their heritage would have. I acknowledge that not all people in America labeled Black or African American can identify with those socially and politically constructed terms. Nevertheless, it is part of being born in America, void of where in history you come from.
Thanks to DNA technology, I've found my roots back in Africa. I now know that I am 100% of African descent! I am American grown, with maternal Malian and paternal Gabonese roots. I now have a starting point to continue the journey of discovering my ancestral lineage. I believe that DNA testing has opened doors to my family history. I am a descendant of the Tuareg people living in Mali and the Tsogo, Ateke, and Kota people living in the country of Gabon today. I now can start from the west coast of Africa to trace how my DNA's journey from the coast of Gabon and Mali came to the Americas in hopes of discovering the lost lineage of our family's history.
I believe there need to be identifiers that help scientists determine how people from certain parts of the world may be predisposed to various biological strengths and weaknesses in hopes of better coping with or eradicating diseases previous generations died from. However, if those identifiers are used to make one person feel less-than-human, I submit it is not the identifier but the person who uses it to degrade another that is the problem.
The spirit of the enslaved Africans to maintain their names, culture, and traditions continues today in the lives of their descendants. What could not be done by simply changing what name the enslaved would be called has been made possible through the development of DNA technology. I urge that someone in every American family identified as Black or African American take the African Ancestry DNA test to dispel the myths about who they are by finding their roots. So, they, too, can answer the question, "Who am I?"