And Moses said unto God, Behold, when I come unto the children of Israel, and shall say unto them, The God of your fathers hath sent me unto you; and they shall say to me, what is his name? what shall I say unto them? And God said unto Moses, I AM THAT I AM: and he said, thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I AM hath sent me unto you. Exodus 3:13 – 14 KJV

I will soon be seventy years old, and in that span of time, my countrymen have called me by several names. I was called ‘Colored’ and ‘Negro’ growing up in the South. Later, I became ‘Black’ and finally ‘African American’ as I made my home in the North. Each name was set in an epoch denoted by cultural and political agendas not of my choice or making. However, the connotation of those names was stubbornly consistent. The connotation was embodied in a single curse, “Nigga.” Nigga conveyed my eternal American caste; I was useless and useful at the same time.

Each name was constructed to bind people like me to a place not fitted for me. America saw me as an exploitable and expendable product, and each iteration of those names reflected that fact. Those names were designed to conceal my personhood, not reveal it. To find who I was, I would have to search through mountainous tomes of lies and centuries of deceit, and that was just the outward struggle. The feelings of doubt and unworthiness embedded in my psyche and genes
shackled my reasoning of cause to effect, like threading a needle while wearing plastic work gloves. Nonetheless, the righteousness of my cause was worth the torture of the struggle.

Nor was I the only one searching for my identity. Some members of my ethnic stock took up last names, “X” to express their disdain for the country that made them cultural orphans. “The Talented Tenth,” and “The Five Percenters” were also attempts to claim personhood apart from the culture that oppressed us.

Much of that effort was years ago and the exigency to define ourselves has given way to adaptation in a hostile land. Many consider assimilation in enemy territory as a more practical survival strategy. Some might consider this a sign of acceptance; however, socio-economic statistics reveal the harsh reality that Black lives suffer more and matter little in America whatever strategy we adopt.

The names we call ourselves and that we respond to when others call us affect us in tangible ways. Names traditionally identify your circumstance or place of origin. It identifies one’s family and their status. A family name can create expectations because of its reputation. Finally, a name can also witness a person’s character, ability, and potential. Presently, in nearly every part of the world, those things hold true.

Think of any ethnic group; what image does your mind conjure? What words do you associate with that image? Do that same exercise with African Americans, and you will find a confusing and conflicting hodge-podge of pictorials. Ghetto gangster rappers, serial welfare moms, and drug-dealing mobsters contrast with billionaire media moguls, astronauts, and American presidents. The first three are the expected rules, and the latter are the exceptions, but even the exceptions must be careful outside their circles of notoriety. They still have their “place” and should remember to stay in it. They are tolerated and considered “good” only due to their affinity or proximity to “whiteness.” That is the unspoken and accepted rationale for Black excellence, i.e., the breaking of evolutionary natural law.

Those extremes and sentiments are routine in the United States of America. In America, the exceptional among us are considered unicorns and bastard children by many in the African, Caribbean, and European Black populations. We are admired and disparaged at once by many in those lands who share our phenotype but not the experience of our unique pain and suffering. Many of them consider our struggle burdensome and disavow our commonality. Many, like our countrymen, deem us both useless and useful, cursed by our collective misfortune. This pitiful circumstance makes us double victims and that of the worst kind, mongrels in a world that worships pedigree.

Collectively, our family names, place of origin, cultural roots, and status were all stripped away from us. That was an intentional act with the purpose of creating a people-society that is easily manipulated and controlled. Total control and manipulation were the only way that chattel slavery could thrive in a land where all men are created equal. It was a requisite evil in a country where all men are supposed to have inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Such prolific hypocrisy is without explanation in a Christian country unless that profession too is a lie.

There is no recourse to our dilemma and no discourse on that sad fact. So, where does that leave me, us, strangers in a foreign land with a forgotten homeland? To recover what was stolen, my search was both inward and upward. The inward search was rewarding in understanding the facts and events of my sad estate, but that information by itself was not transformative. The upward search, although much more painful and difficult, brought epiphany and transformation. Like an eagle freed from physical shackles, I wanted to fly as high as my wings would carry me! How can I convey my new mental liberty? Let me start with this.

A jail warden who lived a long time ago once asked two men, supernaturally freed from prison chains, “What must I do to be saved?” (Acts 16:30 KJV)

This may seem like an odd reference in my quest, yet it is the basis of this query. God’s Holy Spirit wind blows where it will. It scatters the debris in our lives to show us the clear path to absolution. We strain to understand the workings of divine intervention and rarely do, yet it prevails. The subtle hand of God, often vaguely felt as it moves upon our circumstances, is
misnamed, yet it leads us still. As with the jail warden, that is true here.

As I stated earlier, our name points to our origin. Too often, I have heard the words “original man” applied by African Americans with only a surface reflection of what those words mean. Beneath the vanity of those words, there is a profound reality. I take them to suggest that we, humankind, all have one origin—God!

God made man in His image and likeness. He made me, and all African Americans, with the same rights and privileges as every other person on His green Earth. God alone has the manifest authority to name me. No one else does. I need to answer to God alone, not my countrymen or well-meaning peers. God calls me by His name—son and heir. Those are the only names that matter to me and you. God’s names reveal my true character and future destiny.

That is what I learned when I looked upward. The understanding of God as the I Am of creation ended my search for who I am here on Earth. It decomposed ancient lies, disassembled modern myths, and granted me a freedom supreme above those pretensions written in declarations and constitutions on faded parchment. God’s decree is eternal and written in the blood ink of Calvary. That leads me to my summation.

“The time is coming when everything that is covered up will be revealed, and all that is secret will be made known to all. Whatever you have said in the dark will be heard in the light, and what you have whispered behind closed doors will be shouted from the housetops for all to hear! ” (Luke 12:2-3 NLT)

That time is here. That time is now. God is shining His healing light upon His children, kept in darkness without a name. “Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we’re free at last” were words spoken with passion and filled with pathos. Those words were not an empty hope; rather, they are words of prophecy and promise. The prophecy is fulfilling now, along with the promise of our redemption and atonement. Despite twenty generations of physical and mental enslavement, despite countless atrocities of physical and mental abuse, despite societal calumny and political negation, we know who we are and whose we are. That gives us the freedom to choose our own names. I know my name. I am the child of the I Am!