I am black … not African-American

Uh! With your bad self!

Say it loud: I'm black and I'm proud!

James Brown

"Say It Loud — I'm Black

and I'm Proud, Pt. 1"

Ahhh … words given to us by James Joseph Brown, the immortal Godfather of Soul. I think about that song very often — and since it is February, Black History Month, this is the most appropriate time to discuss why.

To put it bluntly: I'm not "African- American." I don't like or identify with that term. And I'm tired of it being forced on me by the modern overseers of political correctness.

With my bad self, I'm going to reiterate Brown: I'm black and I'm proud!

I am a black American. That is who and what I am. Packed in that term is the history of a people who were brought to North America and had to suffer pain, endure subjugation, build a new identity from scratch, react to hatred, and survive with uncommon perseverance that has not often been shown by many other communities of people. I am a black American man, and I am proud to be a black American man.

I absolutely and completely reject the term African-American because it obscures the collective North American self that generations of black Americans have built after having our former state of being ripped away centuries ago.

But that's too theoretical. There actually was a specific day and time I started to dismiss the term African-American as silly and misleading. It was after I heard Teresa Heinz refer to herself as an African American. Heinz, the wife of Massachusetts Sen. John Kerry, happens to be a Caucasian woman. But she also can credibly claim to be African-American: She was born and raised in Mozambique, a country in the southeast of Africa.

As a naturalized U.S. citizen from an African country, Heinz has every right occasionally to refer to herself as an African-American. But for that reason, I will not do the same as it relates to me. If a wealthy, white, Bostonian -- who shares little history or identity with me or people who look like me or from whom I am descended — can attached the appellation "African-American" to herself, I think American black people should lay the term off to the side and move on.

Instead, we should use a term that actually does call to mind our struggle, history, and current journey. Please allow my bad self again to quote James Brown: I'm black and I'm proud! (If you were listening to me, you would also note that I am saying it loud.)

* * * * *

I once brought a party in Richmond to a screeching halt when I confidently made the statement, "You know George Allen's mother is African-American!" Never had I seen such a collection of confused and shocked faces. It seemed that one jaw would never find its way up from the floor. Allen's mother — who, like Heinz, happens to be Caucasian — also, like Heinz, was born and raised in Africa. In Etty Allen's case, the country is Tunisia.

If American black people cannot own outright the term that describes us, we ought to turn down the time-share arrangement. "Black American," on the other hand, we can possess with unambiguous conviction and pride. It's ours, period.

Plus, I don't want anything coming between my identity and my American-ness. Other than our kindred spirits, Native Americans, who is more uniquely American than this country's black people? No one is. Our ancestors came to these shores with absolutely nothing — especially not a history book to reflect where we originated. We have had to create a story from little but the American dirt beneath the feet of those enslaved black people who were first brought to this country in 1619. And I'm proud to say that we did it.

Yes, my family did, in fact, come from people who were brought to North America as slaves from Africa. But that vague notion is all we know about our connection to Africa. And for me that is too amorphous. Ghanans aren't Ethiopians. The Senegalese aren't Kenyans. Nigerians aren't Namibians. The term "African-American" treats African peoples as if they were a monolith without a rich array of differing cultures and backgrounds. "African-American" also does the same to the separate and distinct culture that American black people have built during these past four centuries.

I don't know what African nation the members of my family came from before they were brought to the colonies as slaves. What I do know is that I am of people from Suffolk, Va., in the southeast of the United States. I am proud of that.

There are a lot of Americans who can trace their family histories to Ireland or Thailand or Italy or Russia or Palestine — and good for them. It adds to the foundation of U.S. history. But black Americans can't, and that shouldn't devastate us to the point that we pretend to be something we aren't. Why? Because we have America — and the rich diverse story we have made right here.

So I'm going to say it loud: I'm black and I'm proud!