shade
An area or a space
partial darkness.
in obscurity.
Dark shadows gathering at dusk.
The abode of the dead;
the underworld.
Part of a picture
depicting darkness
a shadow.
The degree to which a color is mixed
with black
decreasingly illuminated;
gradation of darkness.
A slight difference
a nuance:
shades of meaning.
A small amount;
a trace
A disembodied spirit
a ghost.
(definition of “shade” from the Free Online Dictionary… slightly modified)
There is a saying that I have been thinking about lately: old sins cast long shadows. Old mistakes, events, crimes… even those not committed by us, have a way of leaving droppings along the way, which we sometimes stumble over later in life. Ill-begotten things, some of them – filled with the stench of past hatreds, gleaming wetly with avarice, or spread out wide, in the comfort of complacency.
None of us is exempt from this. As a society, we bear one another’s sins, and the burdens of our ancestors are on all of us, whether they were the criminal or those who had crimes committed against them. All is not dour, however… we bear one another’s triumphs as well.
All this, and the`accidental poem’ up above, comes from thinking a bit about history. There has been a lot of talk about that here, lately. If we could be born over and over again in the same time period, what would we choose and what history would we change. What history are we allowed to know. Where families were from, and how far you’ve been able to trace them back.
It’s the last that moved me from thinking about something, to writing about it, as a way of talking out an issue that has been at the back of my mind for a long time, in my own scattered way.
For many Black Americans, our history is only as old as the history of America is. The lucky ones can trace their families back at least that far, through census records and the bills of sale people made out to buy and sell human beings.
Others have no real interest in that. For a variety of reasons, no doubt. Sometimes it’s hard enough living the life you’ve got, without seeking out stories of the life you might have had, had you been born 200 years ago. And what’s there, anyway? Rarely stories of individuals, unless they are passed down from family to family. Not stories of who they loved, what songs they sang to their babies at night, what their family rituals were, their favorite colors, or how proud their daddy was of them. No, nothing like that.
But even for those who look, they can only go so far… and then they have to stop, at the water’s edge. Of all of the consequences of the sin of enslaving human beings, I think one of the ones that casts the longest shadow is that the door to the past was clanged shut.
Locked, bolted… erased.
“There was nothing there before we (Westerners) got there” was the most frequent answer given me as a child in school, when I asked about Africa… after I realized that some part of me had origins there. “No culture, no language… just grunts and hoots. And drums. How lucky they were that we came along and brought civilization.”
It’s possible that they too believed this, as pre-colonial history had been thoroughly scrubbed and made non-existent. Eventually, of course, there came those historians and researchers from all over the world, including African countries, who were unwilling to let the disappearance of a people stand, and who wrote of cultures and kingdoms, and universities and councils and so on that existed, pre-colonialism, attempting to correct the record. And now, even though African history is still not widely taught in US public schools, at least the young can usually get a better answer than, “There was nothing there.”
However, even with that, there is another problem with looking back. Where to look?
Africa. Big place. Many countries… many cultures and tribes and families within the countries. Many different traditions and languages and art and historical events. The vast majority of Black Americans couldn’t “go back where you came from’ – as racists suggest from time to time – if they wanted to… because they don’t know where that is. That, too, was erased… from records, and from memory.
Another crime, another long shadow.
I am not sure I can explain the feeling of the lack of historical anchoring, and its consequences. I am not even sure I know what they are, although I can look around me and speculate. You’ll have noticed that Americans of African descent in the US sometimes cobble together rituals and traditions from many African countries… harvest festivals and naming ceremonies and words here and there, in an attempt to fill that void that some are not even consciously aware of.
I think probably adopted children may come closest to knowing, because they too often wonder…”Who’s back there? What are they to me?” Even if the answers are not always good, some just have a need to know.
There are DNA tests now that people can take, which will tell them pretty much which part of Africa their ancestors were from and sometimes even which tribe. Syndicated columnist Leonard Pitts took one and found he was of the Songhay people in Niger. Oprah took one too and apparently announced, “I am Zulu!” I believe there are some who have been trying to cast a little doubt on Oprah’s new heritage, but in spite of all her millions (or maybe because of them) I dare anyone to successfully take her “I am Zulu!” away from her.
An anchor was discovered… it will not be let go.
The test costs over $300 for one line, maternal or paternal. That sets it right out of the ballpark for many just struggling to pay their monthly bills. Maybe one day.
Me… I’m lucky in that my father was an African national, and so even though he and my mom divorced when I was young, I knew where he was from. I didn’t want to know much more than that, though.
Now that I am older and finally past the “There was nothing there but grunts and drums” slander, I have been looking around various places, from time to time, for the history of what being of African descent actually means. Maybe one day I’ll find out. For now, though it is enough to know…
I am Yoruba.
Absolutely fascinating and wonderfully written, Nanette. Yoruba… I know nothing about them. But I’ll bet you’ve looked them up.
Thanks Susan! I’ve been trying to write about this for a while, and finally I just sat down and did it.
I don’t know much about the Yoruba either, although I am learning little bits here and there. Naming ceremonies and religions and traditions. There is a lot to learn, and so much of it is just…well… foreign to me ;). But still very interesting.
As is obvious to anyone who knows things about meters and timing and all that stuff I’ve forgotten, if I ever knew.
When attempting to format the definition of shade, though (I was looking to see make sure it did have a meaning of ghost, as I remembered) though, the words, placed in a certain manner, just seemed to describe perfectly what I wanted to convey. At least, it seemed to to me, but then I already knew what it was ;).
You have taken my breath away.
Pain expressed in a way that adds something so beautiful to this moment.
Thank you.
Thank you 🙂
Heritage. I’m not sure whether the Albanian-Greek or Scicilian or Irish-German makes up the bulk of the DNA I carry. Or like Walken said, maybe I’m part “eggplant”. But I’ve always known where to look, to trace back.
I’m glad you took the time to find out. John Hope Franklin’s From Slavery to Freedom was the first book I read describing African cultures that pre-dated Egypt. Stays with me after 35 years.
The “golden” people.
Funnily enough, I’ve never been one to feel that heritage mattered all that much… it’s what you do going forward that matters, not what or who came before.
But, like you said, at least you know where to look. I think knowing that frees one up from the sometimes need to look at all. Millions of people yearly are tracing their ancestry, out of curiousity or to keep a record or whatever… and that’s fine. I have an uncle that does that on my mother’s side, with CDs and charts and little historical notes and all that. I find it interesting, but in an especially compelling way.
I’m glad he’s doing it though.
Thanks for the link to Franklin and his book. I am not sure I’ve read that, although it seems to me I should have.
I think knowing that frees one up from the sometimes need to look at all.
Exactly. Our family researcher is an Aunt, with CDs etc. I only go back to my maternal grand parents (grew up close to them). Probably because they made the first steps on American soil. Difficult to reconcile the anger directed at the “white man” by a number of ethnic/racial groups, with the fact my family didn’t land here until 1917.
Sometimes I feel like yelling: “Everyone who’s family was here before 1887 RAISE YOUR HAND! Cool. You all go stand in a corner.”
[Somewhere around the 1880’s marked the end of the “Indian Wars”.]
I’m not too fond of the notions of collective guilt, and anger. I think both are rather unhelpful emotions, lots of times, leading to well meaning but sometimes ill-fated actions. I can, however, understand them. We do, as I’ve mentioned, bear the burdens of our collective histories.
I think a better thing is more of a… hmmm, Western awareness, I guess you would call it. There is little debate in the Western mind of the absolute right to take over other nations, impose governments, decide who can have which weapons, bring ‘democracy’ by subjugating people, and to siphon off resources to support the Western lifestyle. (This actually may be the view of many regions, but it’s just that the West is way better at it… I don’t know) Thus, the majority support for the Iraq and Afghanistan invasions (when they were going well)… support was less so among non white Americans, and Europeans, but still even among them it was there.
This is something I believe we all, who are raised in these sorts of nations, need to be aware of and to guard against, regardless of our ethnic origins. The past is past, even though it does reach out to the present… but our only real option is to concentrate on affecting the future.
but our only real option is to concentrate on affecting the future.
Agreed. The goal is to provide a world that is better for our children than it is (was) for us. Our “collective histories” in the American case run only 300 years – youngest among nations. We hold the largest populations outside of native countries of any nation on earth.
Here we have collective responsibility for the actions of our government. Here, we are the government.
Thank you for inspiring the meandering I’ve just done through Ife bronzes, stories of Yemoja, virtual visits to Ile-Ife and Oyo, and an accidental meeting with Jonathan Olufemi Soyombo and his family.
I can’t think of a more interesting way to have spent the last hour.
“Fún Ìlosíwájú Ilèe Wa” – generally defined as “For the unity and progress of our land/community.”
Thank you.
I’ll have to use it somewhere.
And thank you. I love wandering around and finding little tidbits here and there… art, poetry, authors and so on. It’s still a voyage of discovery for me, and probably always will be. More and more things are being put online now too, which makes things easier.
My family here is of course American, but I’d like to find some sort of old tradition that would fit into our Americanized lives that I can give to my daughter and her children, so that they too will have at least one part of a historical anchor. The rest they’ll have to find out on a journey of their own, should they wish to.