Who Are You?
The Search for Our History May Determine Our Destiny
By Young Rebel

 
For marginalized groups growing up in what we refer to as the United States, there are many obstacles that stand in the way of development and prosperity. State sanctioned police repression, economic racial discrimination and low prospects of ownership are just a few that keep people subjugated and dependent on the system. Still, there's one problem paramount to all that are aforementioned: internal disunity.

We, as poor and oppressed people fight amongst ourselves, making the job much easier for our enemies to pass racist laws, violate those laws and incarcerate us for resisting the laws. For some reason, as a whole, we look at each other as enemies and view those who identify themselves as our enemies by their actions, as heroes. One possible explanation is that despite the fact we can identify what dress Paris Hilton wore to the VMA's or how much Kanye West sells in his first week, we can't identify who we are.

Who are you? Where did your grandparents come from? What was their positions there? How was the social structure set up where they came from? What language did they speak? Do they still speak it? Who am I?

These are the questions I have mulled over my entire life. As a youth, many were confused about who I was and where I came from, regardless of ethnic and economic background. The most disappointing thing was not that they didn't view me as one of “them,” but that I couldn't answer any of the questions they had. Was there something inherently wrong with me because I didn't share in all of the same activities, or talk the same as my peers.

I've identified myself as a stolen African in this land, but as I continue to grow, the realization that I still haven't fully captured my identity sets in. I start to get embarrassed and shameful whenever someone calls out my full name. I get nauseous when I read part of a book and then watch television. My identity, if judged by name and nothing else, is that of a European. But I am African. I learn of others close to me changing their names, but nothing comes to me that feels right. I shorten my last name to prevent the indignity of reminding myself and others that my ancestry were property just a couple of centuries before. Then, I look around and realize that with no land to provide myself with food and shelter, I am dependent on people who originally bear these last names. But it becomes motivation to completely liberate myself and assist others in their quest to do the same.

It keeps the stories of resistance, successful and failed, fresh in my mind. It encourages me to look towards my homeland for redemption, ascension and guidance. It makes me fight! As we move further into an age of microchip ID cards, government inflicted chemical, biological and technological war and mass incarceration of people and truth, one of the only advantages we have is our humanity. Our faith in one another. Our strength in numbers. Our potential unity. If we all remain unclear about who we are and what we are here for, we will remain unclear about who are enemies are and what they have planned for us. As Bob Marley once sang, “Every man's got the right to decide his own destiny,” every woman and man has the right to claim their identity.

Stay resilient, stay old in spirit and soul, stay young and rebel!
  
~YoungRebel