Making Your Ancestral Claim

Would you welcome one ancestor through your front door and ask another to come around the back?

Most of us would say no. Yet when we talk about our family roots, sometimes that is exactly what we do. We proudly name one part of our ancestry, whisper about another, and leave some relatives out of the story altogether.

Across the Americas and the Caribbean, many families have roots that connect Africa, Europe, and Indigenous peoples. Not every family has the same mixture. But our histories have crossed paths for generations—sometimes through love and marriage, sometimes through slavery, conquest, and force.

That brings me to a question that deserves an honest conversation: Why do some people proudly claim their European or Indigenous roots but hesitate to acknowledge their African ancestry?

Let’s be clear: plenty of Hispanic people celebrate their African roots. Being Hispanic and being Black can go together. Afro-Latino families and communities have been telling that story for generations. Pew Research Center estimated that about six million American adults identified as Afro-Latino in 2020. Their pride should not be overlooked.

But neither should the silence in other families.

Where does that silence come from? Why would someone welcome the possibility of a Spanish grandfather but become uncomfortable at the mention of an African grandmother?

We are not born knowing which ancestors society considers more desirable. We learn those lessons.

For generations, people across the Americas lived under systems that placed Europeans above Africans and Indigenous peoples. Lighter skin could open doors that darker skin could not. Some countries even promoted “whitening”—the idea that a population would somehow improve by becoming lighter. Those attitudes helped shape the prejudice we still see around skin color today.

Imagine growing up hearing that lighter skin is more beautiful, straighter hair is more acceptable, and European features give you a better chance in life. Nobody has to say, “Reject your African roots.” The message has already been delivered.

It can show up in a joke about someone’s hair. A warning about getting too dark in the sun. A relative’s excitement over a light-skinned baby. Small comments can teach a big lesson: some parts of you are worth more than others.

When those lessons pass from parents to children, prejudice can begin to sound like family wisdom.

Sometimes, the missing pieces come from the history people were taught. In Mexico, for example, the national story often emphasized European and Indigenous ancestry while pushing Black history aside. If you grow up hearing only two parts of a story, you may never think to ask about the third.

That is why we should not confuse a lack of knowledge with deliberate rejection. Some people have never been told their full family history.

We should also be careful about judging people by the labels they use. Someone who says, “I’m Puerto Rican,” “I’m Dominican,” or “I’m Colombian” may simply be telling you where home is. That answer alone does not mean they are denying Africa. Nobody should have an ancestry assigned to them because of their appearance.

But when African ancestry is known and still treated as something shameful, the question becomes harder to avoid:

What is it about that ancestor that makes you uncomfortable?

Many Black Americans have found strength in claiming their African roots. That claim can say: You may have taught us to look down on where we came from, but we refuse to carry that shame any further.

Still, Black Americans have difficult questions to face too. We also need to examine how we talk about skin color, hair, and family background. Pride in being Black does not automatically erase every prejudice learned along the way.

And when any of us claim Indigenous ancestry, we should approach it with care. A family story is a starting point for learning. It does not automatically establish membership in a particular Indigenous nation. Respecting those roots also means respecting the living people and communities connected to them.

This is not a contest to see who has the most interesting mixture. We do not need to collect ancestors like trophies. We need to understand the people whose lives made our lives possible.

Ask your older relatives questions. Listen to their stories. Look for records when you can. Be willing to discover something different from what you expected. If a piece of the story is uncertain, say so. There is dignity in searching honestly.

You can honor a European ancestor and an African ancestor in the same breath. You can value Indigenous roots without using them to cover up another part of your history. There is room to tell the whole story, including its painful parts.

And remember this: your African ancestors had lives beyond the suffering they endured. They had knowledge, skills, beliefs, families, and dreams. Slavery may be part of your family’s history, but it is not the full measure of who those people were.

So when you make your ancestral claim, ask yourself whether you are seeking the truth or simply choosing the parts that win approval.

Your family tree is not a guest list. You do not get to decide who belonged by deciding who makes you comfortable.

Open the front door. Let the whole story in.