Photo by Nappy
I'm black. Though I never adopted the term African-American, I understand its progression. At one point, due to a set of human classifications [some still in practice by public health organizations (e.g. NCBI) or affiliate to researchers/ known as (Caucasoid, Mongoloid, and Negroid)] almost all people of color (i.e. colored folk) residing in the U.S. were classified by the term Negroid. I can remember my step-father showing me the classification on his paperwork from when he enlisted in the military.
The term “negro”— derived from Niger (/niːˈʒɛər/ or /ˈnaɪdʒər/ French: [niʒɛʁ]) meaning black—was the preferred term many black people related in addition to the term "colored" until both fell out of use during the Civil Rights Movement (mid-1950's to late-1960's), giving rise to the use of the identifier "black" and eventually African-American.
Surprisingly, it would seem that the term African American was coined some 53 years before its first reported use; but, that's academic, trivia really, when considering how many countries went through similar transitional periods in their history.
If you have never met a black man and the first one you came across, in your opinion, was the most ignorant person you had ever met, chances are high that all black men you come across may appear so in your eyes.
A recent trip vacationing made me think of this during a conversation with a very good gentleman, who really wanted to broaden his understanding on what it meant to be black. He wasn't asking me because he wanted to be rude or inconsiderate, he genuinely wanted to know the truth and have some real answers, and I enjoyed the dialogue.
Believe me I understand it because when you live as a black man in the U.S. we all have to take it in the neck for each others actions. Who likes paying for something that you really have no ownership over—and I'll throw in there I am not a fan of this reparations debate taking place. I promise, I want to stay away from politics, but how much did "affirmative action" really help? It's always nice having your competencies questioned before your work ethic has a chance to shine on its own.
It took a long time to be looked upon as accepted; of a surety it was not an instant deal. Once upon a time, walking along side hand and hand with the woman I care for—a mixture of Scottish, French, Dutch, and Indian; but don't let me say European descent, she's American alright—would not have been tolerated. Though there might be side glances every now and then (I wish I could say it was always because people saw a beautiful thing) it's accepted.
The type of change I may never see in my lifetime, but hope for, is to one day stand beside my countryman as a foreigner comes up and shakes his or her head saying "you Americans," after witnessing something silly we've done. And I will quickly reply "yeah that's us," with a smile. To be looked upon not as a black man or an African-American, but simply an American. That's the only identifier I want.