12:29 a.m. Saturday February 04/2012
I'm in favor of dropping the name "African American" for "Black American" or, perhaps, and even better, just "American."
I was never crazy about being called Black as a child. Why "Black" when I was quite obviously brown? And throughout my development into the beautiful Black American Spanish woman I am today, there has been the very condemning "You're not Black enough" comment and judgements from both Blacks and other races. I even had a Dutch-descendant South African tell me, jokingly, "I'm more African than you are." I'm not looking to be either.
There's African culture and heritage, which are completely absent from my life. I have a Black American cultural heritage and a desire for an older history and deeper tradition. Something lost in the various slaveries my forefathers experienced and something lost in the way my single-parent household was established. The continuing matricentric system of "independence" and "self-reliance" dipped in longing and steeped in "I blame your father."
So, with that, there are days I count myself Black and, recently, more days that I count myself as Latina (to the surprise and the chagrin of more obviously, outwardly and culturally Mexican, Salvadoran, Guatemalan friends). Yes, I am a Spanish and Mayan descendant. No, I don't need your approval to raise my hand as Latin. There are even days I refuse to identify.
I do know that I haven't any ties to Africa. No country or tribe or bread crumb trail. This is part of being a Black American.
