Beyond the Monolith: The Expansive Essence of Black Identity

She ain’t black. That was a message I received on TikTok this week with a photo of Kamala Harris and her Southeast Asian family. Kamala’s mother is from India, and her father is from Jamaica. She and her sister proudly embrace their roots.

This sparked a question in me: Am I black enough? My cocoa-brown skin only tells part of my story. When you see me, you do not see the white blood that flows through me. You do not see that my great-great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side was a white man from Virginia. Or that, in my heart of hearts, I believe my dad’s mom was part white. With her very light skin, straight hair, and the fact that I never saw a photo of her parents. She never talked about growing up in Arkansas. I only knew that she fled with others and started a new life in Illinois, possibly as part of the Great Migration.

Does that white blood in me make me less black? Does Kamala’s Jamaican heritage make her non-black? And if you go back far enough, all roads across the world lead back to Africa. Prior to the formation of the United States, there were the British colonies. These colonies stretched across the eastern side of the Americas and included the Caribbean islands and parts of South America. Enslaved people arrived long before the United States became a country. Our lineage reaches beyond 1776, and our origins are the same. The free labor of the colonies funded the formation of this country.

As a girl, my stomping grounds included urban, suburban, and the small towns my parents were born in. Being a child born after the civil rights era, my parents moved to St. Louis and lived in what was called the suburbs, while my father’s business was in the city. I crossed between three cultures and did not think much about it until high school when people called me a white girl because of my proper dialect and interests. I loved musical theater and old movies, reading books, and hanging out at the library. Because of this, I was called Oreo, a white girl, and all sorts of names. But in my house, my mother made sure that I knew my Black girl story did not begin in slavery. She told me about the kings and queens of Africa. We read books about great Black Americans, including Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, and Paul Robeson. She instilled in me the story of her mentor and cousin Dr. Ralph J. Bunche and talked about her cousin Alice Windom, who lived in Ghana working with WEB Du Bois, Malcolm X, and the United Nations. She taught me that we came from greatness, not what they show on TV.

So when people say Kamala is not Black, I say Blackness is not a monolith. It is a lineage and heritage I fully understand. My roots travel back to many lands I’ve never visited because of my complexion. But that bloodline does not make me any less Black, and it is the culture I love and embrace.

As many people as y’all invite to the picnic, I really don’t understand the problem unless the real issue is not her bloodline but her power. Is the sudden concern with purity really to hide misogyny and sexism? Is the idea of a woman being in power the true problem? In this nation, we are at a crossroads that is real. We have a clear choice that will impact all of us. The question is, will we return to a monarchy or build a stronger democracy? I, for one, like my freedom. I love being a Black woman whose Blackness is expansive and vast. I love that I can walk anywhere on the planet and see the essence of who I am. I love being the child of small-town parents who taught me that I am part of a global majority rooted in America.

My concern is, does the person running this country give me the freedom to be all of who I am? A weird, fat, intelligent, sexy, complicated, arts-loving, world-traveling Black girl born in a small town with big dreams.

What does your Blackness look like?

Love and Light,

Monica Wisdom

Founder Black Women Amplified