Today, in my Early African-American Writer's course, Professor Morrissette explained to the class how the great American writer Phillis Wheatley got her name - Phillis from the boat she was brought in on at the age of 6 or 7 and she was branded with Wheatley because of the man who purchased her body. This led me to ask "What is her real name?" Asking that led me to ask "What is my real name?"
I am Deryle and will always be Deryle. I will always be the proud descendant of the most strongest, smartest, most beautiful people in the world. I will always be the great-great grandson of slaves. But what meaning would my name have had if my people's cultures had never been erased from their memories? What if we had been allowed to at least keep our culture? Why force me to forget who I am? I want to know who I am and where I am from. We were not only robbed of our freedom, we were robbed of ourselves. That, my brothers and sisters, can never be replaced with reparations or apologies. It is something that we must search for.
To me, the worst part is that those persons who willingly migrated to this country know where they came from and take their names for granted. The Italians, Jews, Germans, Japanese, Africans, and Arabs who are have surnames like Russo, Goldstein, Suzuki, Guseh, and Ali. These names have meaning not only to these people, but to their ancestors as well. Would my name have any meaning to my ancestors 8 generations back? I think not. Outside of America, I have nothing. That just goes to say that, those of you who are able to trace your heritage back to a specific place, be thankful and be proud. I am proud, but my pride is in an entire continent, not in one village, nation, or even region.
Litera scripta manet. - Unknown
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