First things, first; I would like every person reading this post to copy the word Afromerican. Right click, and “Add to Dictionary.” Done. We have made Afromerican a word, officially. It is no longer defined by the Urban Dictionary. In fact, for all future purposes, scratch the google results you found out of your head! I am not the final word, but I did extensive research and Zach Braff has about as much to do with the word Afromerican as I do with the NCAA March Madness. (That’s absolutely none, in case you missed the glaring sarcasm.) With the lexical tasks completed, I can begin the real purpose for this week’s Strog topic: Why I identify as Afromerican.
When I began my studies at Howard University, I thought black was Black was BLACK. But, I quickly learned that Black in the Caribbean was very different from the Black in Chicago, even though we were all BLACK. Suddenly, I was a minority because I was just plain ole black. Within the first six months I heard and used the term Afromerican. It was jokingly at first; but, by my Senior year it was how I separated Blacks who are descendants of American slaves from the rest of blacks in the African diaspora. (There’s your definition.) In a world with so many afro-based ethnicities and identities, the Black umbrella can be a bit crowded. I am by no means a separatist, but I am a scholar. I knew immediately that I would need a word to define my predicament in the very large plight of the Black community. I mean, truthfully speaking, an African American box on the census wouldn’t suffice in identifying me ethnically; mainly because I am not an African. (Bring in your wandering thoughts; I know who my ancestors are. Just keep reading.) Other than my geographic location, I can’t really claim to be an American either. My lineage alienates me from both of those separate identifications. So, throwing them together could never define who I am ethnically. I know lots of African people. People whose mothers make them delicious dishes and whose fathers wear beautiful garb. I can identify with them only in my whimsical, Black Nationalist state. Soon after I’d get done enjoying my experience with them, I would go back to my home and my mother would stare at me in bewilderment. You see, my mother is the granddaughter of a Louisianan share cropper. Her idea of a feast includes chitterlings soaked in hot sauce. She would smile and grin at the Jollof rice and then whisper and ask me if they had chicken. (See, she would know that the chicken would be safe. All Black folk like chicken.) My mother isn’t the only reason why my African ethnic identification would be a bit tricky. My dad is the grandson of a Black and Irish woman. I honestly have no clue where to begin there. So, if I go back a couple of hundred years, would a tribe in Africa house one of my ancestors? Undoubtedly. But, there is no way that I would exist if slavery hadn’t reared its nappy, dark, and lovely head. (Did I just call slavery lovely? *gasps*) Yes, I called slavery lovely; not for its years of oppressing my ancestors or for its residual effects still eating away at my people today. I used the word lovely because it created the meeting ground for all of the factors necessary to make my Thanksgiving dinners special and my culture resilient. There would be no Daisy Henton, if there was not a slave master who would eventually sell his land to a slave. There would be no Mark Henton, if the ghettos that housed Blacks weren’t so close to the Irish ghettos in Chicago. I would be an uncreated whisper blowing in the wind if ships holding slaves hadn’t anchored on this land which was never made for me. But luckily, those slaves did come. I am not African. I am not American. I ain’t even African American. I am a vessel filled to the top with identities that don’t really define me, but name me all the same. I am the black that smears on white faces in folly. I am the Black that checks the census in pride. I am the BLACK that James Brown screamed in defiance. But, if you would like to be specific, I am Afromerican. I am directly in resistance to the silent, low-lying racism that exists today. I am a remnant of tradition. I have clarity on my space underneath the umbrella term Black. And, quite frankly, I am downright giddy about the fact that words can be joined together to make new definitions from old existences. Last July I wrote this poem. It pretty much sums it up. “I am not and will never be an African. I am not and will never be the description of an American. By sheer existence, I represent the war between each of those identities. I am an Afromerican. I am fried chicken, collard greens, and gumbo. I is sho', ain't, and huh. I am Blues, Jazz, and Hip Hop. I am the personification of resilience and perseverance. There is no antecedent to my Blackness. No island I can claim. Only the solitude of knowing that my culture began in sweat, tears, and oppression. That does not make me lazy, nor marginalized. It makes me positive of my ability to rise".
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I usually try to keep a consistent influx of material for you all, but I was sick last weekend. Excuses, Excuses. I know. The catch-up has been crucial but I will make it up Sunday with exclusives from The GTW! I can't wait to release The GTW Takeover! Be sure to visit everyday for our must hear GTW tracks. =D
I hate to talk about a topic that so many people have spoken on, but after much deliberation, I figured I'd burst your bubble anyway. CAUTION: Scandal lovers may not like this post. Before I begin. I would like to make a disclaimer. I believe that the writer of Scandal, Shonda Rhimes, is brilliant. The plot and story line are interesting and compelling. I also think Kerry Washington is one hell of an actress. I am very proud of Washington's breakthrough role as the first African American star on Prime Time television. Now that my niceties are out of the way, let me give you my full opinion. As a Black woman with hopes of being successful and having a family, I have many problems with the character Olivia Pope. Though she is a hard working, educated woman, she still is reduced to being a sex symbol. Why is that? Why is it that the only time we can have a Black female star on prime time television, she is reduced to having intercourse with a married man? Olivia Pope's character would have been just as compelling, maybe even more so, if she were to have a family of her own. I know I sound like i'm beating a dead horse, but I posit that there is more wrong with Olivia Pope than just her role as a sex symbol. CAUTION: Progressive Black thought entering... Olivia Pope's character promotes a continuation of the assumption that Black women serve no purpose in society, except for being the love interest to men. Don't believe me? Try to force yourself to see Olivia Pope and President Fitz's relationship outside of the context of the master/house slave love relationship after these next few sentences.
The role that Ms. Washington plays reveals the real issues in American Drama and Literature/ It reveals that not much has changed since the early 19th century in regards to race and gender relations. Women, especially Black women, don't get awarded unless they are degrading themselves. The only Best Actress Award given to a Black woman to date totes a full on naked appearance. We have just become glorified sex objects. Now, racist and sexist projections are slyly entered into culture, subliminally affecting how we see ourselves. So you see, the scandal in Scandal is that racist depictions of our culture have only been covered with accolades and fat payoffs. The scandal is that now we are allowing ourselves to play these role because they come with breakthrough time slots, Emmy nominations, and paychecks. I too was in the Scandal haze, until I had to chew on the nasty fatback of questioning the reality of myself having to be some White man's whore when I could afford a 401K. I was stuck at the fork in the road of whether to support this television show, which deserves an Emmy for it's drama. or boycott it for continuing the ideas that successful Black women cannot have families of their own. My final decision has been to stand outside of the masses who watch it, but join the ranks who read of the latest drama between Fitz an Olivia on Twitter. Hey, I'm an English Major. I do like good drama, just not at the expense of my own portrayal. Hope I didn't ruin your #ScandalThursday. I'm sure you'll still tune in at ten. |
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More About MkMk is 23 year old Chicagoan. She attended Howard University in Washington, D.C., studying English. Now back in Chicago, Mk has focused on writing her truths. Outside of ATS, she also writes on Youth Alert, a blog for young Christian believers. Mk is also a stylist at Akira Hyde Park. When she isn't working on the Mag, Youth Alert, or at Akira, Mk is with her family, she spends her time with a good book or cooking.
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