“How I Really Feel Is I’m American”
A most interesting story can be found on The San Francisco Chronicle’s SFGate.com. Within, witness a story in which a certain percentage of people prefer to call themselves black rather than African-American.
Two things. First, you should always be wary of stories like this. All it takes is for two or three people to say they prefer to speak Elizabethan English, and the media will run a story about the “growing number of Elizabethan English speakers.” This story makes no attempt to cover up that we do not know the percentages of blacks versus African-Americans; neither does it stipulate the number may be less than a dozen.
Second, the polls cited herein do not really give any indication of what blacks prefer to be called; to its credit, the story (originally by AP writer Jesse Washington) focuses on that aspect. So don’t read this thinking that the term “African-American” is actually on its way out.
But it should be. First, the term is meaningless. While not as bad as the racially offensive “people of color,” which sounds nice but actually has an insult built into it (given there are multiple meanings to color), African-American is a terribly exclusive term: many blacks are not African. Some blacks are neither African nor American. A Libyan who becomes an American citizen is an African-American, but is not black. And so on.
The linked story even mentions how many people reject the term, and attribute it to political correctness. Absolutely it is, because the more you think about things like in the preceding paragraph, the more you recognize one of the hallmarks of political correctness—choosing a word or phrase as a label that actually fails to provide correct denotation.
But the bigger problem with African-American is perfectly captured in a quote from Shawn Smith, an accountant from Houston, who said: “I prefer to be called black,…How I really feel is, I’m American.” Zing goes the Czar’s heart. Forget the black part—Smith nailed it when he said he is an American.
Most correct. Smith goes on to add that not a single one of his relatives has any connection to Africa; the family stories from mom and dad revolve around Macomb County, MS, and Shelby, NC—just as yours probably do. Is Smith any less an American than anyone else? Hell, no.
But then again, the report notes, the African-American buzzphrase was heavily promoted by Jesse Jackson, starting in 1988, as part of a “cultural offensive.” No surprise. Because if there is one thing we can say about Jackson, it’s that despite his close proximity to Martin Luther King, Jr., he never heard a single word the good reverend ever said. The phrase “African-American” would have been anathema to Dr. King, who like Smith would have identified himself solely as an American.
So what should blacks call themselves? Who cares—the entire notion is a waste of time. The Czar likes how his boys do it: they say things like “the man with the dark brown skin” or “the woman with the light brown skin.” Skin color is only an attribute, but never as important as whether the person is a Man or a Woman.
The Czar’s boys also have a collection of small flags from every country in which they carry blood: Ireland, Sweden, Germany, Poland, Ukraine, and so on. Guess which flag flies highest? And ask them what nationality they are? American.
If this culturally rich, genetically diverse, and widely differentiated community wants to call itself black, or something else if it’s so important, fine.
But please: call yourselves Americans. We all deserve it.
Божію Поспѣшествующею Милостію Мы, Дима Грозный Императоръ и Самодержецъ Всероссiйскiй, цѣсарь Московскiй. The Czar was born in the steppes of Russia in 1267, and was cheated out of total control of all Russia upon the death of Boris Mikhailovich, who replaced Alexander Yaroslav Nevsky in 1263. However, in 1283, our Czar was passed over due to a clerical error and the rule of all Russia went to his second cousin Daniil (Даниил Александрович), whom Czar still resents. As a half-hearted apology, the Czar was awarded control over Muscovy, inconveniently located 5,000 miles away just outside Chicago. He now spends his time seething about this and writing about other stuff that bothers him.