OUR STORY
Rooted in Identity
Our story begins with childhood memories, where the seeds of Black identity took root and shaped our perspectives. From shared experiences to personal journeys, Black America Is... is born out of a deep connection to the stories that define who we are. This is a project rooted in truth, resilience, and the richness of Black identity—stories told from the heart for the world to see.
I (Avril Speaks) was born in Queens, NY, raised by working-class, southern parents trying to make it in a big city. I spent the first few years of my life in a housing project which at the time was largely inhabited by Jewish families. By the time I grew up to be school-aged, my family moved to a suburb in New Jersey that had recently become predominantly Black, after an exodus that enabled white families to flee to neighboring towns. My parents wanted my sisters and I to have the best education so they sent us to Catholic school, while on weekends we drove or rode the train back and forth to NY to attend our progressive African Methodist Episcopal (AME) church.
My parents never talked about race or racism very much in our house, at least not blatantly. We lived in an enclave of Blackness that perhaps made them feel as though our Blackness was a lived experience, not one that we had to explain. Every now and then I would receive stern warnings about riding my bike to "certain" parts of town, about talking back to nuns in class, about why I shouldn't babysit a white family's kids, and once I started driving, about how to handle myself if I were ever stopped by the police. As much as my parents tried to give me a different life than what they experienced in the south, they knew the reality of what it means for any Black person to survive in America, no matter where they live.
Loria and I are prime examples of different experiences growing up Black in America.
My (Loria King’s) childhood was filled with trips from my hometown in Richmond, VA to Cheraw, South Carolina to visit my grandparents on their farm. My weekends were spent taking long walks with my grandfather and cousins in the woods, riding horses and picking blackberries. I listened to relatives share memories as they shelled peas on the porch while watching over the children in the front yard. Acceptance and community were prevalent inside my home in Richmond, Virginia.
However, once I stepped outside it was a completely different world. Always one of the only or among few Blacks in my neighborhood and in my school, I was confronted with a different world. One that was unsupportive, unfair and imposed negative stereotypes. My mother was an educator, and armed her children with many resources to resist any assaults on our identity. We had Black encyclopedias that chronicled the accomplishments of Blacks in the United States, bookshelves filled with black authors, in addition to subscriptions to Black magazines.
Both of our stories reflect a history of southern roots.
Yet, where our stories diverge is what shapes the varying ways in which Loria and I look at the world, the way we engage with others, and even the way we navigate racism in America. Our unique backgrounds often provide for rich discussions between us about how we self-define as Black Americans. It only made sense for us to become curious about Black Americans at large. Is there a cohesive self-identity that Blacks subscribe to in America? Is Blackness part of an identity limited by the experience of racial discrimination? How does internalized racism impact the community? These are some of the underlying themes addressed by this project.These are the questions we want to address and we believe that we are the ones to lead the charge.