a person self-identified and/or self-described an African heritage as a primary and defining component of his or her ancestry or identity. In the words of an African American CWC leader, “Either you’re born African, or you are not.”3 Here the notion of “Blackness” was more than just phenotypical features, particularly skin color. “Blackness” also included a sense of cultural principles and memory which happened to be manifested, in part, through skin color. For example, Nefertiti, the African Soul Movement (dance) teacher, who was also a very active CWC participant, explained to me that “Africans in America were taken from the land. Continental Africans had the land taken from them. Until we can take the land back, our grounding as Africans is in our way of thinking, our history, our symbols, our principles. If we want to be whole, it can’t be about geography. Although I was not born there [in Africa], there are things that I do that are African and it has to be counted—I keep them through the vibrations of skin and memory.”4
For many African American CWC participants who defined themselves as “Africans born in America,” an African cultural memory was retained in the body through the skin. This sort of skin-absorbed, retained memory—not skin color alone—constituted “Blackness.”
The CWC had an ongoing class called Old Ways of Parenting for Young African American Parents. The class functioned like a support group and was facilitated by a key CWC “African born in America” leader. The topic for one session was a discussion and analysis of the ways that mothers, grandmothers, or other senior women in their families influenced the participants’ parenting styles. A friendly debate developed around whether certain parenting practices were “genetic” or “genealogical”—inherited through biology, or learned from observing the practices of one’s mothers and grandmothers. Someone in the class, a regular and active participant, mentioned that the discussion represented the classic nature/nurture debate. Several of the women maintained that most behavioral traits, including “memory, talent, mental/psychological disorders, spirit, attitude, stress, and mannerisms” were genetic—according to one participant—“inherited through the skin.”5
Despite the inclusion of “Blackness,” partially indicated by skin color, as a component of Africanness, the CWC leadership’s theory of African identity was not easily explained as exclusively biological or racial. In fact, several CWC “African born in America” participants were very adamant and vocal about their rejection of the term “black” as a racial category. For example, Sandra, an “African born in America” who was in her forties, explained it this way:
I’ve gotten to the point where I’m not offended by the term “Black.” I like Black, actually, because I went through this whole, “I’m Black and I’m proud” thing. So, I actually like Black, but I’m trying to teach my children “African” because there are so many negative things—even though their dad says “Black”—I just want them to know that there are so many negative things that are out there in the media connected with the word “Black,” that they hopefully don’t internalize the negative affects that come from that. I think those things were put there on purpose to denigrate us … I just think that the reality is, in a global sense, that Africans still refer to ourselves as being Black. So I think in that sense it’s OK … I view myself as Black. I’m not so sensitive about it. There was a time when I was kind of more with the African, but I’ve softened that more.6
Sandra was also a licensed social worker who worked in the Minneapolis public school system. Originally from Mississippi’s Delta area, she had lived in Minnesota for almost two decades. An impassioned community advocate, she had also lived for a time in Thailand. She was married to a man who was born in Somalia and had very interesting insights on intercultural issues in African American and African communities.
Sandra had also been involved in a grassroots Black study and community action group called Asili, which in Swahili means root or foundation. Founded in about 1987 and disbanded in 1992, the group explored participants’ African heritage. Although the group was open to both men and women, women seemed to be the most active of the almost one hundred participants. A respected African American university professor and community activist, whom Sandra described as their griot, mentored the group. Asili could be seen as a precursor to several of the African-centered nonprofits that emerged during the mid-1990s.
One technique I used to further elicit insider perspectives on African identity was to explicitly ask some key participants to review and comment on various versions of guides used to facilitate ethnographic and life history interviewing. Sandra, the same participant cited above, went through an early version of an interview guide and changed every lowercase “b” to an uppercase “B” in the term “black.” When I asked her why this was important to her, she said, “Black is more than skin color. It’s a group of people with a spiritual base.”7 Elaine, another CWC participant who described herself as African or African American, depending on the context, explained why she thought that skin color was not the primary indicator of who was “African”:
This country is still divided by skin color. And it’s not just White people. It’s affected us. My father—God rest his soul—was jet black—like Nat King Cole. My mother was light like a Lena Horne. Now my great-grandmother, who raised me, did not want my mother to marry my father because he was dark. We are divided along the color line. We are some of the worst offenders. So, some people say “black” and they say “ugly.” They say “black” and they say “stupid.” “Black” is always seen as denoting something negative. But when I say “Black,” I’m using it as a category for a group of people—not for skin color. Because you can have light skin and still be Black and African … Being African is about the way you think—not just about what you espouse but where you stand and what you do …
So, you know there are people who are mixed—they might have a Black mama and a White daddy but if they think like a African, they can be African; after all they need some way to define their identity. But to me they’re still African even if they don’t accept it … You know, even if they [White society] gives them probationary White status, it’s only for a while and they need to have some place where they are accepted.8
Elaine, who was in her fifties, was a prominent attorney and health care professional who was an executive at a public agency. She was also a leader in several professional African American women’s social clubs.
For Elaine, a person was also “African” by virtue of having African ancestors, not only because of having phenotypical characteristics that may be described as “Black.” According to CWC “African born in America” leadership, along with race, skin color, or bloodline, the second component of who was “African” at the CWC, as indicated above, was “an ancestry that takes you back to the continent of Africa.” In its simplest form, this ancestral theory of African identity maintained that a person was African if she or he had living relatives of African descent or could claim a more remote ancestor who was born in Africa. A person who had some African ancestors will also be thought to have some African blood. If one did not know one’s specific African ancestors, being Black was considered sufficient evidence of a primarily African ancestral origin. In this case, a person may be considered “African” by virtue of ancestry even if she or he did not self-identify as such.
However, it should be noted that from the perspective of the CWC’s key “African born in America” leadership, “if a person of African descent persistently denies or disowns it [his or her African ancestry], a person can lose all connection to her African heritage. So, yes, you can be black in terms of skin color and not be African … Africanness is primarily ancestry and spirituality—skin color is not as important.”9 So, a biracial person, if she or he continually rejected his or her African ancestry, may “become something else—not African.” Sara, who was a CWC African leader, described a counseling session with a very emotionally distressed “biracial” woman which illuminated these notions of embodied Africanness. Sara was a key participant in this study
