The past couple years have been both brutal and enlightening
regarding the race situation in the United States (and ultimately the world).
Outside of the discussions of police brutality, Rachel Dolezal, Ta-Nehisi
Coates’s theses statements, hidden racism against President Obama, and more,
there have also been poignant discussions about Zwarte Piet in the Netherlands,
France’s identity reversal problems in North Africa, even Lupita Nyong’o’s
Mexican-Kenyan identity. One of the first BIBA Blog Posts looked at Nokuthula Ngwenyama’s African-Jewish heritage through her father’s lineage! This reminds
me of the quote that my friend and colleague Ashe Gordon references often: "with 40 million African-Americans in this country, there are 40 million ways of being Black." (Henry Louis Gates
Jr.). Now re-envision that number to apply to all Black people in the world.
Growing up Black in the USA, I did not celebrate Kwanzaa. A
woman at my church held a Kwanzaa celebration, but not every year. It petered
out after a while, and I never questioned why because I never cared for
Kwanzaa. Children in my schools would talk about Kwanzaa. “It’s ridiculous!”
“It’s hilarious!” “It’s a made-up holiday.” (As if other holidays weren’t also
made-up!) And in talking about Kwanzaa, there was also a tinge of talking about
Africa and Africans. I witnessed a classmate with a very African name and two
African parents also talk about Kwanzaa in this way, and I wouldn’t be
surprised if I participated in the mocking of Kwanzaa just to fit in. How
tragic a commentary that a holiday created to help Black people in the United
States be a tighter community and remember their African heritage has become
the subject of such ridicule, especially amongst Black people!
But this status of Kwanzaa is a result of systemic racism –
a type of racism that is not overtly nefarious, but contributes to maintaining
the “inferior” status of anything that is not “typical American”. A good
example of a comment that embodies this systemic racism is “I want my country
back”, which is usually uttered by an older Republican woman who wants to
return to a time when gay people, immigrants, and Black people didn’t have that
much of a voice or a presence in the American political fabric, and you could
knock on your neighbor’s door to borrow sugar. It wasn’t until Castle of our
Skins started that I began to intimate the true spirit of being Black, and the
diverse ways to celebrate and own this identity. With that in mind, I am proud
to include Kwanzaa in this celebration. I do not have a kinara (the candle
holder). I do not know Kwanzaa songs. I have not memorized all of the Swahili
terms. However, the 7 principals that come from African harvest traditions are
available for me to reflect upon in the context of reflecting upon my Black
identity. Setting aside the end of the year to do this every year is symbolic
for me; a way for me to look back upon my identity that particular year, and to
remind me to always celebrate my identity in the coming year.
Habari gani? Umoja – Unity!