As the father of young children I consider this family history more these days. Like many parents I desire my offspring to know the story from which their lives extend. Yet, like many people whose foreparents experienced and endured enslavement, genocide and Holocaust, I wrestle with how to tell such a tragic tale. I am a descendant of Africans enslaved in this nation. This is part of my heritage. It is indeed my family history.
How do I discuss this nation’s horrific history of enslavement and segregation without making my kids already and always victims? And how do I pass on this knowledge of social injustice without contributing toward an inferiority complex, not to mention foster a sense of suspicion and distrust toward white brothers and sisters who comprise an intimate and loving part of our professional and personal lives? Well, I found some answers this past week while attending the annual Maafa Suite at the St. Paul Community Baptist Church in Brooklyn. (Yes, this is the same St. Paul chronicled by award-winning New York Times journalist Samuel Freedman in his book Upon This Rock: The Miracles of a Black Church)
Maafaor, derived from the Swahili word for disaster or great tragedy, refers to the African Horrorcaust of capture, the Middle Passage and captivity in the Americas. And for the past 15 years St. Paul has commemorated this period with a high quality theatre production celebrating African ancestry from the villages of the mother continent to the fight for freedom and equality in this country.
What these beautiful and talented actors (the vast majority youth and young adults from the surrounding community) helped me to understand is that its all about how one frames one’s narrative. Rather than pre-capitalist economies, European corporations or the white male planter class serving as the subjects while reducing black bodies to mere objects on the stages of history, the MAAFA production empowers. We witness Africans full of culture, self-awareness and faith who despite their enslavement refused to view themselves as anything less than passionately human. True they were victimized, but they were far from victims in any passive sense. This history is one chock-full of everyday people who loved themselves and even their nation enough to try to redeem it.
As we experience the tragedies of unemployment, poverty, and structural and physical violence in this nation, I was reminded (again) what it means to have hope in the midst of despair. It’s the rich legacy and tale of my ancestors, the gift of black folks to this nation, if you will. A legacy that I came home even more excited to share with my children!
Tags: genocide, healing, middle passage, slavery
Being unemployed myself I find that hope is the hardest thing to keep alive. Thanks for this post!
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