The unrelenting debate surrounding presidential-hopeful Barack Obama’s race has annoyed me to the extent that I change channels, flip pages, and click the little “x” in the corner of my web browser whenever I even sense that a story is moving in that direction. I am annoyed because the very question of Sen. Obama’s “blackness” is encoded with a cultural milieu replete with a century of misinformation. I am disturbed because the very question negates the relevance of W.E.B. Du Bois’s legacy of pan-Africanism; he advocated that blacks on

The Continent and in the Diaspora share common historical and cultural bonds and socio-political objectives that can only be attained through unity. Thus, disqualifying Obama from “blackness” because his father is Kenyan and his mother is white goes directly against an ideology that was the precursor to the Civil Rights Movement. Moreover, I am furious that in the year 2007, we are still limiting our vision of ourselves, measuring ourselves against a mythological whiteness, and perpetuating stereotypes imposed upon us by a dominant, racist culture. In The Souls of Black Folk (1903), Du Bois astutely outlines the ways in which Black identity has been defined not by Blacks but by whites with an agenda. Why, then, do we continue to define ourselves using the limited terms of our oppressors?   .:read more:.

Historically, we have defined our African American community as those individuals who have a personal connection to the Atlantic slave trade and to the Jim Crow laws enforced in the U.S. circa 1876-1965. How many of us born after 1965 can honestly say that we feel personally connected to slavery and segregation? We participate in a collective consciousness that reminds us never to forget the past and the sacrifices of those who fought so that we might be free. We may recognize the residual effects of oppression; we may even suffer from the psychological aftermath of racism and poverty. Some of us embrace our African heritage through our attire and our names; even fewer of us study African history and culture. Yet, we believe that Africa is our birthright, and we call ourselves African although most of us have never been to Africa. I had to explain this practice to one of my students from Cameroon. I tried to explain to her the background and the symbolism of the name; however, I realized that I was misunderstanding the intent behind her question. What she wanted to know was what made us African? What characteristic made us authentically African? How could our Africanness be measured? My response to her was that I choose to connect to Africa and its cultures. I study Africa, I read Africa, and, in my heart, I am Africa. She was unconvinced and suggested that black Americans had no claim to Africa. Truth be told, I was threatened by this student’s boldness to challenge my Africanness. How can she deny me my claim to my heritage? I have been to Tanzania. I have studied Kiswahili and Yoruba. My children have African names. I had a traditional Yoruba wedding ceremony. I teach courses about Africa. I incorporate traditional spiritual beliefs into my own religious practices. Why can’t I claim Africa? Why can’t I claim my africanness? Finally, why would Africa reject me when I am such a willing daughter?

The exchange I had with my student echoes the discourse of the Obama debate and raises many questions to which I have no good answers. Who gets to be Black? Who is authentically Black, and who is pseudo-Black? Who gets to decide who is Black? How are we defining our blackness these days? If we define blackness as the degree to which an individual associates himself with the practices, customs, and institutions of Black culture, then surely Barack Obama is probably blacker than most of us. He knows the history of slavery and civil rights. He has worked for the causes of justice and racial equity. He attends a “good black” church. He married a “good black woman” from the South Side of Chicago. He claims kinship with and affinity for black culture. What more must he do? If living through Jim Crow, attending an HBCU, or growing up in poverty is the measure for blackness, then many of us have failed to meet the standard.

People imagine that Obama has led a life of privilege because they have heard he lived in Hawaii and attended Harvard. Surely, there’s no racism there, right? We doubt his authenticity because his mother is white. Surely, none of our leaders or heroes have been biracial or multiracial, right? We question his connection to the Black community because his father is Kenyan, not black American. Surely, a Kenyan could not understand or identify with oppression or disenfranchisement, right? Cultural critic and essayist Stanley Crouch is wrong when he writes that Obama is not “Black Like Me” (New York Daily News). Obama, like Crouch, chooses to associate himself with a black culture that has developed out of a blues tradition that makes a meaning out of meaningless suffering, that perpetually reinvents itself, and that prides itself on its history of inclusivity. Blackness is a choice: Sometimes we make the choice freely; other times, the choice is forced upon us. Moreover, Blackness is more of a cultural designation than a biological determinant. Being born with brown skin opens the door to this culture; however, we must all make conscious efforts to associate ourselves with the practices, customs, and institutions of Black culture. Before we pass judgment on Obama, we should make sure that our own blackness is in tact.

Dr. Seretha D. Williams

center stage magazine

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