The summer before my sixth-grade year, I received an enrollment card from my school. As we looked over the details, we noticed that the ethnicity/race box had been marked incorrectly. No big deal. We would just call to correct it. My grandmother called the registrar and explained that there was a mistake. The registrar apologized and asked what race I was. My grandmother calmly replied, “American Negro.” Grandma, what!?!
In all fairness to my granny, Negro was still listed as an option on the 2010 Census. While it was my first time hearing that specific term, I have since learned that these terms are generational, wildly debated and increasingly personal.
A word on terminology
The terminology used over the years when it comes to the Black diaspora has always been a topic of discussion. And to this day, you can still see the trail of self-determination. The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. United Negro College Fund. National Museum of African American History and Culture. Or most recently, Black Lives Matter. There is a correlation between the continued evolution of these terms and the historical timeline of Black America.
Prior to the Civil War, people of African descent were denoted by their status of either slave or free person. After the war, many terms rose to prominence that described the amount of Black blood: Black, generally; mulatto for someone who was mixed from the Spanish word for mule; quadroon and octoroon for those who had a White grandparent or great-grandparent. While Negro, the Spanish word for Black, has always been used, it fell in and out of usage until it completely fell out of favor after the Civil Rights Movement.
Shift to African American
African American, as a term, gained popularity in the 1980s as people sought to “shift the definition of the group from the racial description black to a cultural and ethnic identity that ties the group to its continent of origin and fosters dignity and self-esteem.”
I personally do not take offense to being called African American because the term connects us to the wider diaspora; a sort of grounding if you will. I have seen this specific conversation mirrored across many other ethnic communities — where we try to label and delineate what makes us the same and what makes us different. My 23andme DNA results have been the only, albeit limited, glance I have had into my African ancestry. The information the test provided was interesting as a point of curiosity, but it did not reveal much more than what I already knew about myself or my family.
Black or African American
So, what am I? How do I define myself? I am a Black American. There is no need to whisper Black like it’s a curse word. I take pride in my culture and my heritage. I am descended from an extensive line of Texas cowboys and Cajuns from the bayous of Louisiana. My Blackness is steeped in rich food traditions, a shared language, and family that left the south and has landed as far as Alaska.
I have chosen not to identify as African American because I made a personal choice to honor the 200 years of family history that connect me to my family’s troubled but triumphant story in America. We have been in this country as far back as any person can remember, and I recognize that every time I go to check that box on the form.
Top Picture: Kiara (far right) with her sister in Anchorage 1998 and Bottom Picture: Images of Kiara's Great Aunts in Anchorage 1998
This conversation has become more personal since I am now a mom to a first-generation Nigerian American. Despite her father and I being nearly identical in color, our cultural context has more differences than similarities. There are places where our Blackness links us and places where our countries of origin define our approach to the world. I am not sure how my daughter will choose to identify. I am not sure if it will be Black, African American, both, or if we will see new terminology rise into the cultural consciousness. What I do know is that our responsibility is to affirm her for being her beautiful self and remind her that there is beauty and richness in all aspects of her culture.
Image: Kiara with her husband, Kika (far left) and daughter (far right).
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About the Author
Kiara is the Director of Organizational Strategy, Initiatives, and Culture. She is a native Houstonian who made her way back to the city three years ago after living in Boston, Chicago, and most recently, Los Angeles. She previously worked for the Federal Reserve Bank of Boston, Boston Consulting Group, and the Alliance for College-Ready Public Schools. She is an alumna of Baylor University (Sic’ Em Bears) and the University of Chicago. She's married to a YES Prep teacher and a new mom.