“Social climbing is using your nationality, ethnicity or admixture to your advantage.” — Fifteen-year-old Allison Montague, April 21, 2018
[Introduction: The year is 2044 and the place is Darien, Connecticut. U.S. Senate candidate Allison Montague is huddled with her campaign staff in the living room of her colonial home. Fringe accusations that Allison is not a Foundational Black American (FBA) have entered the outer limits of the public discourse. Once upon a time, nuance and complexity were appreciated in the public square but no more. Monoculture is all the rage. Caricatures and stereotypes about Blackness are embedded in the culture. What is the ambitious Allison to do?]
“What is this picture,” asked campaign staffer Matt all of 22 years old and a volunteer out of Harvard Law School. “It says Morristown Normal College Class of 1919.”
“That’s the college class of my great great great aunt Daisy Kincaid. She’s in the middle of the bottom row.” Daisy Kincaid presented as a light-skinned black American woman.
“What’s her story?”
“She became a school teacher in Norfolk, Virginia during Jim Crow. She was also secretary of the local NAACP. Go Auntie!” Allison gave her distant Aunt a Black Power salute.
“And this distinguished gentleman by the foyer?”
“The Big Daddy ancestor. That’s U.S. Senator Blanche K. Bruce, the first black U.S. Senator,” answered Allison. No Black Power salute from Allison. “He was a conservative but my Dad loved the man, so it is what it is.”
U.S. Senator Blanche K. Bruce (1841 - 1898)
The campaign manager, Leo McKey, motioned for Matt to join the group huddled around the table. The fire was roaring in the fireplace.
“So, what’s the damage, Leo?” asked Allison.
“The latest polling shows you have dropped to a 52% lead in the polls. Connecticut is 10% black, so we can’t afford to lose that voting block.”
“I have to hold my temper. I’m insulted that anyone would question my Blackness. What the hell? My parents — both Black,” Allison shouted.
“Correction — Dad is retired from Blackness.”
“F—- Dad. He’s like a black Boris Pasternak living in the clouds. His sister was Black, ghetto she was. His parents, both Black, Jim Crow Blacks. On my mother’s side, all blacks going back to 1790. Why are we having this conversation, Leo?”
“We are having this conversation, because foundational Black Americans can turn on a suspect black candidate on a dime. In today’s climate, Susan’s podcast is killing us every day,” warned Leo. “They say you jump in and out of Blackness when it is convenient for you.”
“Black Americans don’t care about slave owners in the family tree. Every foundational Black American is in the same bloody heap I’m in. Blacks come in all skin colors because of non-consensual rapes, end of discussion!” Allison rolled her eyes out of contempt for Susan’s podcast.
“And I quote from your Dad’s memoir — My daughter may wish to deny them, but her ancestors in Virginia date back to Peter Montague in the year 1621. Montague owned slaves. Susan showed the slave ownership records on her podcast last week,” shared Matt.
“Matt, that was over 400 freaking years ago!” exclaimed Allison. “I don’t claim Peter. I disavow Peter the slave owner. I spit on his grave!”
“Allison, what is your family name?” asked Leo.
Silence. “I trust foundational Black Americans to get it. I bear a slave name. Do we really want to have a conversation about the lingering effects of slavery today in Connecticut? Do I need to go on television and have THE TALK?” Allison demanded to know.
“Susan says you talk up your black ancestry and erase your European ancestors. It goes towards your character,” added Matt.
“Let’s ignore this thing. We only have three weeks to go before the election. Susan is a fringe online personality,” Allison schemed.
“That was Day 1 of her podcast revelations. Day 2 was worst. On Day 2, Susan read chapter and verse about your free black slave owners over not 1, not 2, not 3 but 4 generations,” lamented Leo. “How many foundational Black Americans are going to think of you as family if those are your people, your black people? Matt, read from the memoir,” ordered Leo.
“One can be great and a slave owner. One status doesn’t cancel out the other,” read Matt.
“Let’s put my Dad in the witness protection program!” Allison declared to laughter in the room. “I am not Dad and that’s all that needs to be said.”
“We have to create a language to define your identity,” theorized Matt.
“How about this, Matt — I know who I am. I was raised by my Black American mother to be a strong black girl. Jack and Jill, the black sorority, the debutante cotillion, the African American House at Griswold College, the Black Lives Matter face mask — all part of me, part of my culture.”
“We can label the memoir as disinformation. We can say Blackness is part of your foundational Black American identity. Nothing Susan has exposed is part of your identity. Susan is questioning your Blackness which is the worst type of white supremacy. I like it — we label Susan as fringe, bring your Jack and Jill connections to vouch for you in opinion pieces, have your sorority sisters interviewed by a few major television stations and such. We can massage this identity problem,” strategized Leo.
“That is why I pay you the big bucks, Leo.”
“Where are my big bucks?” asked Matt.
“If I win, you will have a new home, Washington, D.C.”
“The key is not to be isolated from your Blackness,” summarized Leo. “This is not the time to have a fluid identity.”
After Leo and Matt left Allison’s home and the front door was closed shut, Allison hung back up the pictures of distant cousin George Washington at Valley Forge and distant ancestor Col. Richard Lee on the living room wall. Both Washington and Lee were slave owners.
“Mommy?” asked Shelby all of five years old. “Why did you take down the pictures? They look pretty.”
Allison sat Shelby down by the fire and told her daughter the facts of racial life in Connecticut in the year 2044. Shelby’s Dad was Jewish with no black ancestry or culture.
Col. Richard Lee (1618 - 1664)