I Am a Proud American

I am a proud American whose ancestry is African. Particularly, the majority of my ethnicity is Cameroon, Congo, and Southern Bantu peoples.

My ancestors were taken against their will, in part, because they were betrayed by their brothers. My ancestors did not jump ship during the middle passage. They endured the human degradation, immorality, and crime of human trafficking.

When they arrived to their new place to stay not where they would live and thrive, they were auctioned like cattle or swine and left to the devices of strangers whose language they did not speak. Once they arrived to their designated servitude assignments, they either sweated in the brutal heat from sun up to sun down or cleaned chamber pots in the big house or bedded down with the master when he said so.

Even during the pseudo freedom days of Reconstruction, my ancestors were given a chance to thrive, but soon there was the rise of the Ku Klux Klan, poll taxes, grandfather clauses, and literacy taxes. Slowly but surely, freedoms were eased into Jim Crow laws. Supposedly, separate but equal. Separate door entry, back of the bus, can’t eat a sandwich at the Woolworth counter, separate bathrooms, separate water fountains, separate schools. Just simple common activities made into the complex ratification of institutionalized racism.

Then, finally, another breakthrough — Brown vs. The Board of Education! Enter Ruby Bridges, Vivian Malone, James Hood, Harvey Gantt and more. Then, the Voting Rights Act of 1965. Once again, we were on our way. Affirmative Action and busing were attempts to balance the centuries of disadvantages. But as much as progress was trying to be made, white students in Boston on the CBS News with Walter Cronkite yelled, “Get these niggers out of our schools.”

“White flight” was in full effect.

Fast forward to 2008, the United States elects its first African-American President, Barack Hussein Obama. It was a beautiful, shining moment. Most, naively thought that racism died that election night. But little did we know, we were just entering another time warp that would harken back to bitter Dixieland lingo and ideology.

“Go back to where you come from.” “The Jews will not replace us.” “They’re taking our jobs.” “He’s a Muslim from Kenya.”

For all the hard work, progress, and sometimes mortal sacrifice from civil rights icons such as Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, Medgar Evers, the Freedom Riders, SNCC, Fannie Lou Hamer, and countless others, it seems to be going towards being in vain.

So, forgive the descendants of this version of Americans if we have generational PTSD. We’ve been jerked around a lot. Some people interpret it as a bad attitude or angry black man or angry black woman syndrome. But, to be fair, shouldn’t we be just a little mad? But, I digress.

After all of this, why in the world would I be a proud American? I am a proud American because I come from a people who helped make this nation the richest on Earth due to their free labor. They adapted to their new situation even though they had brutal beginnings. No matter what slings and arrows the law and the unlawful brought them, my ancestors could not be broken. They kept moving forward. They consistently had the faith and hope that one day they would be recognized as just people who wanted opportunity and a real playing field, not ruled by white privilege. They never gave up and neither will I.

So, those of you who claim you are woke, start by knowing who you are. Take pride in those ancestors who always had hope, faith, and belief that someday we’ll all be free. It is time to stand up. Stand up straight and take the power that was inadvertently given to us. You are proud. You are strong. You are unbreakable. You are American. Don’t forget to never forget.