Forgotten American

Halie Owens
Jun 29, 2017
2 min read

I’m not African, I’m not Caribbean, I’m just black. And while Africans and Caribbeans can also be black, my identity is not interchangeable. My international friends forget that I’m American, and my country does, too.

It feels wrong to label myself as an African American, because this identity is shared with those born in one of the many countries in Africa and are now American citizens. While my ancestors were indeed African, I am a full blooded American, and have no ties to them. Thanks to slave master Owens I do not know which part of Africa my bloodline resides. So no, I do not feel African American.

I just feel black.

I am just black, which means that for four hundred years (and counting), my people have suffered uniquely in this country I call home. A country that doesn’t consider me a first class citizen and a country that prefers my kind on the ground. They like to see me oppressed. Yet everything they are we have given them. The stronghold of our democracy was literally built on the backs of slaves. Even today, pop culture would be nothing without the reigns of hip hop and urban customs. This country would be nothing without us, but often times we get nothing to show for it. But all of this is textbook basics; the problem that I have is that we are not allowed to have our own culture, just for us.

Whenever we as black people try to celebrate ourselves, we have to share. Our culture is always brought to the forefront. We are not allowed to just have us, without another group getting mad or feeling left out. Like, let us have this one thing, okay?

Critics always wonder why there is a BET Awards and not a WET Awards. There are several. Or why there is a Black Girls Rock Program and not one to celebrate white girls when celebrating “Becky” is the standard. (Same goes for All Lives Matter or Blue Lives Matter advocates.)

I can’t say my black is beautiful without white girls stealing what was rightfully mine, then taking credit for it. I can’t speak life into my name without the man getting intimidated. I can’t love myself without the white world feeling threatened.

I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place; When my international friends complain about America, am I supposed to defend the country that doesn’t defend me? Or should I let them rant and pretend my birth certificate was marked in the motherland? Use lingo that is not native to me, but it’s okay, because my friends say it? Is that appropriating their culture?

All I want is to be recognized for all of the things that I am, which doesn’t have to be so black and white.