In the book Invisible Man, Ralph Ellison poignantly wrote, "I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination, indeed, everything and anything except me."
Research the term, "passing." This word for African Americans is a phrase that is ambiguous by negative or positive connotations. According to Randall Kennedy, "passing is a deception that enables a person to adopt certain roles or identities from which he would be barred from by prevailing social standards in the absence of misleading conduct" (2001)." A person who could "pass" for white was able to mingle and move between social groups without being detected. During the period of segregation, if a mother was of lighter complexion and able to pass through these circles she had access to places and things others of darker complexion may not have been privy too.
I find myself in a peculiar situation and context. At times I find myself being the invisible man in the room. At other times, I find that I am able to move through social circles that others may not have access to. Frequently, I find myself having to defend my blackness to Namibians or other Africans that I meet. In particular, I have to defend my African-American heritage. I am glad that I am able to educate the locals but it always puts me in an awkward space.
It is a little complicated. No, it's a lot complicated and multifaceted. I begin by explaining the Middle Passage, the Atlantic Slave Trade and the horrors of slavery. I tell people that my ancestors are traced back to slavery. Somewhere down the line someone decided to move to New York where majority of my family lives on my fathers side. My mother was born in Kingston, Jamaica and her mother was born in Jamaica. My great grandmother Nene Peart had the wisdom to send my grandmother and mother to America for a better life. The oral tradition of my mother's side traces our ancestry to West Africa, possibly Morocco. I have determined to test my DNA to find out my racial make up one day. At this point in my life race does not matter to me. I don't always see everything as racist. However, I am comfortable with the racial, cultural, and ethnic identity of African-American because that is who I am. I embrace my rich heritage while moving forward establishing my own legacy.
I speak English well so my accent tells people that I am not Namibian. I've been in spaces where people speak ill of other Namibians which highlights the effects of internal racism and tribalism. I have been in spaces where folks were down right rude to me. I have had stares from Afrikaners when I am in an establishment that is not frequented often by blacks. I have had stares by blacks when I began to speak proper English. I have had a few unpleasant encounters that I won't mention. After all of this, I've come to the conclusion that it is not "cool" that I can enter some spaces that my Black Namibian friends cannot or won't! I find myself being able to "pass" as an African American.
People become generally warmer and engaging when they find out that I am American. At times, I don't speak just to see how people interact with me. I am silent and invisible in a crooked room trying to carve out how I am perceived. Call it naturalistic observation and qualitative research. Sadly, I've experienced more racism and internal racism here in Africa than I expected. I no longer have the romanticized longing that a sophomore college student attending a Historically Black College/University feels in a Black Diaspora class. Although at times I sit back, reflect and become humbled at the beauty of Africa and the African people. Yet, racism is everywhere. No matter what body perpetuates it covertly or overtly. Racism and patriarchy is a disease that we must wake up and fight each day when we walk out the door. "We must fight it until hell freezes over and then fight on the ice!" - Vertner W. Tandy
As a result, I am not speaking of passing from the physical sense. I am brown skinned depending on the month of the year. I speak of passing from the existential sensibility. It is not that my physical body passes but the nature of my being passes through several spaces and lenses multiple times a day. This is what it feels like to be an African American in Africa. I am just "passing."
- Eugene Smith, M.A.
