Negro. Colored. Afro-American. African-American. Black. Black-American. The name of preference for Black people has undergone so many changes throughout our history that it is often difficult to know exactly what we want to be called.
Of course, this is nothing exclusive to us (Latino or Hispanic? Native American or Indian?), but Black people have had the most title changes through the course of our time here. But make no mistake — Black people in America aren’t suffering from “cultural diva-ism,” constantly changing our name like a runway model changes clothes; rather, we’re still dealing with having little-to-no access to our African heritage and background.
It’s harder and more complex for us to come to terms with who we are and how we collectively address ourselves when we don’t know our native culture or identity (centuries of enslavement will do that to you).Thus, we go back and forth on how we define ourselves, usually disagreeing within our own race.
But, if you ask me what I call myself, as a person of African decent whose ancestors were American slaves, I’d say, “Black” — and I’d capitalize the “B” because Black is a cultural and political identity, not merely an adjective (and because I find any way to stick it to the AP Style Guide when I can). I don’t say Black-American, and I certainly don’t say African-American because, well, I just don’t feel very African, or American.
The Black cultural experience in America stems from two things: 1) the extraction and denial of African roots and African cultural identity and 2) the extraction and denial of basic American liberties and American cultural identity.
When slaves were brought to America, they were forced to speak in English, whipped for making music, forced to lose their religions and believe in Christianity, separated from their families and even given new names. Three hundred-plus years of this, and you have a culture of Blacks who are completely removed from their Africanness. Most Black people who are descendants of slavery know nothing about their African heritage.
Once slavery was over and Black people began having some sort of semblance of equality via Reconstruction, Black Laws and Jim Crow were introduced, forcing Black people to undergo decades of oppression and alienation from the American experience. It wasn’t until the late ’60s that Black people had potential access to American equality.
Though dehumanizing, those centuries of hardship weren’t cultureless — anything but. Through our trials and tribulations, we provided the foundations for most forms of popular American music, took table scraps from slave owners and made soul food, had an artistic renaissance in Harlem, fought for freedom on buses and raised cultural icons (MLK, Malcom X, etc.). Through it all, we developed a powerful identity. But it was in response to alienation from everything we were supposed to be: African, and American.
Much like slaves made soul food from nothing, we took cultural table scraps and made Black: a testament to the fact we are people of African decent, who live in America. That we have, over centuries, created our own identity (for better or for worse) and have a unique experience that is not African or American.
This is the debate that will never stop because everyone has a right to call themselves what they please. Just because I feel alienated from the African experience, doesn’t mean every Black person does. Just because someone else hates the idea of submitting their African roots and American values to the powers that worked so hard to remove them, doesn’t make me wrong for believing that our Africanness and Americanness were killed the moment we were shackled. It’s all open to interpretation.
I can’t speak for the entire race, or even the person standing next to me. I just know that when I hear African-American, I hear an attempt to reclaim something our people have never really had — the honor of knowing our motherland and the privilege of knowing the entire freedoms of our current home.
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Tyree Harris is a fifth-year journalism major finishing up his degree in preparation for a life of glorified poverty. He served as the 2011-2012 Oregon Daily Emerald editor-in-chief.