The Art of Being: My Struggle with Defining Black Existence

I often feel I've been placed in (or maybe that I have placed myself in) somewhat of a precarious position when it comes to my racial identity. It's not that I'm unsure of who I am racially, don't know where my people come from, or don't find a profound sense of connection to the roots of both my maternal and paternal ancestors. On my father's side, I come from a rich history of Gĩkũyũ tradition and resistance against British rule in Kenya. My paternal grandfather was a member of the Mau Mau Resistance Movement, a critical movement on Kenya's path to independence from Great Britain. My mother, born in Oakland, California, home to the original Black Panther Party for Self-Defense, taught me everything I know about being Black in this country. On her side of the family, we come from a long line of resilient people—individuals who did not give up as they faced the horrors of slavery, Jim Crow segregation laws, lynchings, and other systems meant to keep them in both physical and mental bondage.

In recent years, I have been particularly interested in the intersection of Black identities among people across the African diaspora. I wrote an article a couple of years ago discussing the barriers between various cultural groups of African descent and practical ways to overcome those barriers and work towards becoming a united people. My focus has since shifted to conversations about what it means to present as a Black person within the context of American culture. What does it mean to "act" Black? What does it mean to "talk" Black? More personally, I have pondered the possibility that I may not fit into the widely accepted portrayal of a Black woman in America—a portrayal that, on many levels, I try to emulate. Black women have played a vital role in our community's advancement and upliftment. The grace and passion with which we have shaped American history is something I have always admired. In pondering, I realized how complex of a conversation this is; it has many layers. Two of the layers I have identified are: 1) The spaces we grow up in and the people we grow up with largely influence the way we present ourselves, and 2) there is a place for the uniqueness of individual identity within an understanding and acceptance of group identity.

I have been a student of Adventist education my entire life. Looking at the history of Adventism, we readily observe that it is generally presented from a Eurocentric perspective. I did, however, grow up in a predominantly Black church, and one could say that it contributed to my development as a Black girl. In school, however, where I spent most of my time, I was conditioned to act a certain way that often looked vastly different from what I perceived as being Black. An added layer is that, as a Kenyan-American, I spent a lot of my childhood around other Kenyan and African kids. I quickly realized that the differences between African-American culture and Kenyan culture would further place me in a delicate space. In addition to cultural differences, there often exists within immigrant communities a rejection of Black American culture—originating with inaccurate media portrayals of Black people in the U.S. As a result, Africans may not necessarily want their kids to behave in a way that would have them perceived as Black Americans.

Navigating the space between existing as a Black person but not necessarily emulating the characteristics that society often requires to beat "whitewashed" allegations is an interesting journey. While scrolling through the comment section of a YouTube short the other day, I found a comment that echoed a similar sentiment. @lovelylittlegirl3332 stated in response to a video explaining the 'Girl Code (but for black girls)':

I've often felt excluded despite being a literal dark skin black girl just because I don't fit into the stereotype of what people think African girls are like. Sigh. I grew up on Disney, it's not my fault I had little to no representation of people like me and hence never really learned how to interact with other people like myself. I've always had anxiety and was very protected from the public as a child because of my chronic illness. I stuck to what I knew and Disney, Winx Club, etc. were all I had.

Not feeling included in a group can diminish one's sense of self. There is group identity, and there's individual identity. Group identity is essential. To feel connected to who you are culturally is, on some level, to have a sense of self. Our ties with our group may define how we think, live, and view ourselves and those around us. However, we can get so involved in what we think it means to belong to a particular group that we forget we have the agency to create and live in the truth that is our own identity. There are so many iterations of what it means to be Black—so many beautiful interpretations. One could argue that it would diminish our Blackness to force us all into one box or way of being.

Regarding identity, two outside voices have confirmed my emphasis on individual identity. One speaks of spiritual identity, and the other speaks of a Black girl's lived experience. In her book “The Emancipated Gospel,” author Akila Karanja says, "Our spiritual identity becomes distinct within the space of self-identity, who we know ourselves to be. It is from within the self-identified self, not the others-identified self, that our connection with God is established" (96). I asked one of my friends here on campus, Malaika Ferguson (senior, nursing), what being a Black girl looks like to her. I asked if she had ever been told that she was whitewashed and if she feels that she is whitewashed. Here was her response: 

Being a Black girl means embracing and celebrating your unique identity as a girl with African heritage. It's also about recognizing the beauty and strength that comes with your background. I have been called whitewashed, but do not feel that I am. I don't think that there are specific guidelines to being a Black girl. I think that if you are proud of your Blackness and embrace it, that's what matters.

The struggle to define Black existence may continue, as the definition and definer are intricately nuanced. Yet, the path to discovering the art of being is established with introspection. Who I know myself to be, who I will become, and how I interact with the interwoven identities I contain are all a part of the journey.