When I was thinking about writing this column, I thought of my days as a news reporter when I interviewed former Florida Gov. Claude Kirk.
The flamboyant one-term Republican Governor “Claudius Maximus,” was a phenom. He ran again as a Democrat with Mary Singleton, a beloved Black state House member from Jacksonville. Preparation for Kirk was impossible because he was so funny you could not stay focused. So, you just held on and tried to survive to deliver some news. Well, I almost made it, but when I asked why he changed parties to run, he gave me this puzzled look and asked, “What are you?” He asked again. I didn’t answer because he knew my father and grandfather, who were Black. He succeeded in deflecting by questioning my identity. Not my race. My identity.
And it was a constant question. Mom said, “Tell them you’re an American.” It’s the right answer but as a Native American, mom never lacked self-assurance or identity. My mother’s people used their identity to survive. They were encroached upon, but never moved off their land. Though forced to assimilate, they held fast to their identity and traditions. “All my relations on Turtle Island” is underscored by the ability to trace our lineage to the Sachem Massasoit in the 1600s.
Identity is important. Reaching into the past and finding people who are responsible for your being is emboldening. And many Black people want to know their ancestors. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult.
Tracing Dad’s lineage stops at the fourth generation. Despite the color spectrum of Black Americans, slavery is the impenetrable wall to anyone searching for their ancestors, of any race other than Black. It was the primary method of stripping away culture, heritage, and self-worth.
The records are bad enough, but “the rule” meant Black blood canceled any official record of other ethnicity. Color coding was prevalent, the use of first names, nicknames, and plantation owners was an absolute identity brand of human chattel. Until the end of the Civil War, Florida’s defiant Seminoles, Creeks, and Miccosukees who eluded the Trail of Tears, provided safe harbor to slaves, particularly along what is now Interstate 10.
Mixed offspring of those who remained in Native villages would take on the tribal identity. But out in the white world, you were Black only. So many people believe they have Native blood, and for many Black people, it’s probably true, just tough to prove. Talk about cancel culture. Louis Gates, where are you?
It’s not as though Black people are sitting around thinking about the horrors of enslaved ancestors. The thought is demoralizing and painful, but we know it’s inescapable. Also inescapable is the brutal political atmosphere enveloping the lives of Black Floridians today. It makes Emancipation Day seem ridiculous. The attempts to erase Black history which includes slavery’s heinous repercussions, is among the deluge of laws designed to please racist appetites. It is a blatant and unbridled assault on America’s quest to bring equality into the lives of people once enslaved and other minorities.
Voter suppression laws, killing efforts to build Diversity Equity, and Inclusion, the elimination of Black congressional districts, lax gun laws allowing open carry without permits, manipulating college curriculum, eliminating free speech, banning books, bullying school boards, and a long list of efforts to oppress a people who have achieved too much. Too much power with every generation.
But with every generation comes a new wave of serious challenges to freedom. The resistance to the constant battering has resulted in the evolution of a Black identity that has produced Barack Obama, Martin Luther King Jr., Kamala Harris, Lloyd Austin, scientists, doctors, lawyers, athletes, writers, Pulitzer Prize winners, actors, and regular folks.
Quite frankly the relevancy of our emancipation is that we celebrate it every day we remain free.
Gayle Andrews is a former member of the Florida Capitol Press Corps and is a corporate and political media consultant.
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