African Americans have always lived life in a partial public space–sharing our foods, music, language and style with the world through a popular culture that never really gets it right. That’s why I approached CNN’s Special Report on “Black in America” with some trepidation. Is CNN only airing a series like this because Sen. Barack Obama could be the nation’s next president? Is White America really that curious about what it is like to be Black in America? I mean, let’s be serious…this series is not designed to educate African Americans about our own experience. We know how rewarding our family reunions can be. We know hard it is to get a job. We know how hard it is to overcome exploitive images. So, of course I wondered, would CNN butcher our existence? Would they reduce our experiences to sound-bites and stereotypes? These questions, of course, are rhetorical, but honestly, I did fear the worst…and I thought I was right when I saw that an early segment was devoted to a “Baby Mama” discussion. But I kept watching…and I’m glad I did.

While no collective experience can be reduced to a few hours on television, I found the series to be interesting and a contemporary foundation for people who may have only “interacted” with African Americans at work or through old Motown songs. Were there places where the analysis was incomplete? Sure. For example, not every articulate Black child is said to “act White.” Does it happen? Yes. Is it usually more of a jab at that articulate child’s apparent lack of social skills? Yes. Let me tell you–everyone appreciates a person who can conjugate a verb. Still, despite a few shortcomings, CNN’s Special Report on Black in America is worth watching. You may not be surprised by what you see, but you’ll be reminded of how much the nation has ignored the continuing face of inequality. You’ll be reminded that we still have a lot of work to do before we truly have one America.

Copyright 2008 Monique W. Morris

Growing up in a family conscious of both its history and promise, I thought I knew what it meant to be a proud person of African descent. Like others who follow a journey of self-discovery, I went through my share of growing pains trying to understand my hyphenated experience in America and trying to make sense of my place as a part of the African Diaspora. But nothing has compared to the experience I just had in West Africa, where I was able to visit two historical slave trading ports, James Island in The Gambia and Goree Island in Senegal.

Visiting these slave trading ports was a rather cathartic experience. To witness the remains of an institution some argue has little long-term relevance to the experiences of the African Diaspora was like tearing open an infected sore and examining the puss so that we might all examine what caused the infection. Listening to songs and stories that told of African people, selected by slave traders for their strength, agility, and presupposed ability to bear children were sobering. Looking at open spaces that still held signs that read “Slave Yard” were shocking. Touching stone walls that oozed the destructive history of a “peculiar institution” that dehumanized people of African descent for the financial gain of European nations made my hands tremble. Listening to stories of crying children held captive in special cells was heartbreaking. Standing (or crouching) in dungeons and “holes” designed to “tame” Africans who rebelled against the inhumane trade was infuriating. Smelling the scent of sea water while standing in the “door of no return” imagining the fear of our ancestors who stepped through that threshold and onto ships surrounded by sharks was haunting. Still, there was a redeeming value to this experience because it reminded me that as the children of those who survived this experience, the people of the African Diaspora are a strong and special people.

I traveled to these slave trading ports with my family, including my small children, for whom I kept repeating, “Remember, our ancestors were the ones who survived this.” I repeated it for them, so that they would remember that however shocking and disgusting the images of African people in shackles might be, our ancestors lived through this experience and managed to empower themselves so that their children’s children’s children would know the importance of understanding the past, obtaining a knowledge of self, and connecting with their roots.

I am inspired by the strength of our African American ancestors–from those who fought vigilantly to end the institution of slavery and its legacy to those who taught their young children how to sing, dance and braid hair so that we would not lose all of our culture to the dehumanizing experience of being legally held in bondage–forced into unpaid labor, forbidden to read, sexually exploited and subjugated–for generations. I am so moved that for the next eight weeks, the Community Spotlight will highlight a number of African American heroes in order to share with others the lesson that I took from my trip to West Africa. Our ancestors were strong and special, and we should know not only their names, but also their stories so that we can learn from them and strengthen our resolve to challenge injustice in whatever form it takes. This is obviously a small gesture, as our history and leadership on the issue of human and civil rights is too vast to capture in just a few short weeks, but my hope is that it will inspire you to want to join me in celebrating the strength, focus, determination, pride and complexity of African American people.

Copyright 2008 Monique W. Morris