Celebrating African American Achievement
The Irony of Being “The First”
All my life, I’ve been hearing about an African American, man or woman, being the first in American history to hold a particular title or position. Be it the first Black senator, first Black quarterback, the first Black poet laureate, the first Black CEO, the first woman Vice President or the first Black president of the United States. As African Americans we revel in the achievement, we applaud the merit and we celebrate one of our own, as a member of our family tribe, finally having a seat at the elusive table of inclusion.
However, as I’ve gotten older, I’m beginning to ask myself, ‘why is that?’ Why are we still, to this day, having to “celebrate” and mark the achievements of competent, intelligent, experienced, degreed and more than able people of color who managed to matriculate to positions that have been available to white people only, since the beginning of American time?
As I ponder on this question, something begins to nudge me when I hear about another “first” to celebrate. In contrast, what is implied is that Black people have been and continue to be excluded from consideration in reaching levels of achievement reserved for white people. For me, it validates the truth about the themes that run throughout our society involving a ubiquitous inequity, driven by prejudice, privilege and systemic racism that cannot be ignored nor minimized when it comes to the progress of African Americans having access to esteemed positions of leadership and power.
“How do you celebrate being the “first” with the expectation of trouble because you are the one, the only, first hire of color? “ ~ Janis Leslie Evans
Back in 1981, I was a college student and State University of New York at Buffalo (back then, referred to as Buffalo State). I was in my junior year and got a job at a local grocery store in the deli section. I worked three counters, alternately, stretching across the back of the store which included deli meats and cheeses, hot snack foods and assorted baked goods. I applied for the job like any other college student, needing to make a little money for the basic expenses that come with college life. It was a part-time position, not far from college, easy to drive to after classes. I apparently impressed the interviewers and was hired, despite the color of my skin.
I was told I would be the first Black person, ever, to work in that deli. This grocery store was in an area of Buffalo populated by white residents, so it should not have been so surprising. But the fact that this was told to me, I now find interesting, as if I was given a warning as to what to expect from customers. How do you celebrate being the “first” with the expectation of trouble because you are the one, the only, first hire of color? As I look back, the irony is astounding. I ended up having to deal with the occasional white woman who would not allow me to wait on them. They did not want me, the Black girl, working on her psychology degree, to touch their food.
“I was the only Black person on the set. It was unusual for me to be in a circumstance in which every move I made was tantamount to representation of 18 million people.” ~ Sidney Poitier
I recently watched an excellent documentary on PBS’s “American Experience” about the life of the author and anthropologist, Zora Neale Hurston. She was hailed as the “It Girl” of American literature and Black culture in the mid-1920s, through the Great Depression and into the Harlem Renaissance. She gained that title of “first” for her anthropological research and writings about Black folklore. She was the first Black woman to attend Barnard College at Columbia University. Ms. Hurston was widely respected by scholars in her field and held in the highest esteem by her literary peers for writing critically acclaimed novels about Black culture of the South.
But in the end, never getting the support and recognition she deserved for her research and writing pursuits, Ms. Hurston died a sickly woman, with her brilliancy and work falling into obscurity. Her story made me sad but also proud as a Black woman and aspiring author. I mention this as an example of the irony of what it really means to be labeled “the first African American to . . .,” when it appears to come with curses and the underlying but resounding message that we STILL, must overcome, that we are not good enough in the eyes of a predominant society that views us through the tainted lens of inferiority and inequality.
In my opinion, to be called “the first,” particularly as an African American, is a bittersweet epithet. It comes with pressures and expectations to be in the spotlight and uphold that title, despite the difficulties encountered before, during and after the journey ends. Below is a list of names and achievements (in no particular order) of notable African Americans who, on their merit, persistence, drive, and preparation, rose to heights our ancestors could only have dreamed of for them. Conversely, as you read the names, think about the treatment they received on the road to their successes. Imagine the micro-aggressions they endured even after reaching the apex of their coveted careers. Recall how some of them, who reached that place of acceptance in white society, did not continue to receive the accolades and opportunities due them after the novelty wore off. All are not of celebrity status, some are everyday folk, and others received unexpected recognition for an extraordinary feat that impacted generations and beyond. Despite the odds against them, the hurdles of systemic racism, and the white supremacy that tried to destroy them, they made their marks on American history, reaching places where no other Black person had gone before.
19 African Americans Who Made History ~ 1870–2023
Barack Obama, US President (2008)
Hattie McDaniel, Oscar Winner, Best Supporting Actress (1939)
Linda Brown, 8-year-old plaintiff, Brown vs, Board of Education (1954)
Mae Jamison, Astronaut (1992)
Hiram Revels, US Senator (1870)
Halle Berry, Oscar Winner, Best Actress (2002)
Wes Moore, Governor of Maryland (2023)
Michael B. Curry, Presiding Bishop and Primate, The Episcopal Church (2015)
Rita Dove, US Poet Laureate (1993)
Claudine Gay, President, Harvard University (2023)
Sidney Poitier, Oscar Winner, Best Actor (1964)
Ketanji Brown Jackson, Supreme Court Justice (2022)
Misty Copeland, Principal Ballerina, American Ballet Theatre (2015)
Byron Brown, Mayor, Buffalo, New York (2006)
Herman Petty, McDonald’s Franchise Owner (1968)
McKinley Thompson, Jr., Car Designer, Ford Motor Company (1956)
Vanessa Williams, Miss America (1983)
Colin Powell, Secretary of State (2001)
Karine Jean-Pierre, White House Press Secretary (2022)
As proud as I am when I read these names and their exemplary achievements, it still irks me to think about all the other African Americans who could have been in some of those positions years prior had it not been for racism and inequity. I wonder how many other Black college students applied for part-time jobs in Buffalo, New York grocery stores as I did, but weren’t hired because of the color of their skin? I wonder how many other qualified African American men and women are still passed over for positions they are more than qualified to fill but for their African American heritage?” This is the conflicting part of those celebratory moments that cause mixed feelings to rise within me today as the sociopolitical atmosphere of our country denies this obvious truth of inequity, fueled by the manifestation of white supremacy. How can this truth be ignored or minimized when we are still celebrating the irony of being the first?
Healing Wounds with Celebratory Joy
I had planned to end this essay with the rhetorical question above, asking how we reconcile the irony and contradictions that come with celebrating our brothers and sisters being the first to reach a level of success. However, in writing this piece, I’ve come to realize that I was celebrating these African American firsts through the wounds of racial trauma. The last several years have presented with a rough period of social upheaval and racial unrest. With all that’s going on in our country and the world, it’s often hard to find moments of joy to hold and celebrate. In the African American experience, we are keenly aware that there have always been events resulting from racism, inequality, inequity, prejudice, bigotry and discrimination that play out in the foreground and backgrounds of our lives.
But through generations, we’ve learned to survive racism as we fought against it in protest, demanded for our civil rights to be upheld and claimed our place in American history. More importantly, amid the struggle, we always found ways to succeed in spite of, and embrace and express joy. Whether in song or dance, through praise and worship, the written or spoken word, or in sharing the soulful meal of a Sunday dinner, we’ve remained a people full of joy to balance the pain. So, I encourage myself and all who read this essay to alter the narrative in our heads, shift the focus from our history of woundedness and embrace the innate joy we embody as a resilient community, celebrating the accomplishments of each of us.
Peace.
