I am Black, with a capital B. My identity has never been a mystery. Since my upbringing was rooted in pro-Blackness, it is how I identify. We know that my paternal grandmother’s biological father is a Native American man and we know that many of my family members paternally are listed in census records as mulatto. Maternally, it is likely my grandmother’s biological father is a Pacific Islander. Because my paternal great great grandfather was amongst the group of enslaved people freed in Galveston, Texas on Juneteenth 1865 I more clearly identify as ADOS or American Descendent of Slavery, regardless of the negative connotation this label carries. I have never identified as African American as I am not an African who has moved to America. I am native born to the United States of America, but don’t feel a true connection to the idea of the “White” thought of Americanism. But simply put, I am Black.
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