What’s in a Name?

I am enjoying my watch of The 1619 Project, a documentary I have been excited to watch since I heard it was coming to television. Today however I was struck with the reality of how I fit as a Black woman in the 1619 story.

While watching episode two about the construct of race and the effects on Black women's bodies, I was fully prepared to be bombarded with horrific facts about how Black women and men were used in a sick and twisted way to make stronger stock, ensuring that America could become the superpower it is to this very day. The evil genius tried to use the same principles of animal husbandry to create a renewable workforce. Yes, just like dog breeders mix and match the traits we love in our four-legged friends, Black bodies were treated the same.

 I knew I would hear about how Black women are still dying at a higher rate during childbirth and that African Americans are still facing medical mistreatment due to antiquated views on how we are biologically different especially when it comes to how we feel pain.

I knew all this I was prepared for all of this until I heard my maiden name---King, Kourtney King. For 35 years I was Kourtney King. I loved the fact that not only did my first name, but my last name represented royalty. I mean I have a collection of crowns and tiaras.

I love that my grandfather chose to name his sons after kings and that my dad is named after Richard the Lionheart. And, even as annoying as it is, I love that people always assumed we were related to Martin Luther King, Jr. The one thing, though, I rarely thought about was how we got the last name King. Of course, I knew it came from slavery, but other than that, I gave it no thought.

In conversation with my dad earlier this week, I learned that my family had been sold to the Kings by a family named Stevens for whatever reason maybe to pay off a debt, or to make a profit I don't know. What I do know is we became Kings through a transactional exchange of property.

Episode two of The 1619 Project tells the story of a particularly heinous overseer named King who was known for his sexual assaults on Black female slaves and how he beat the ones who resisted. I instantly wondered if I could be related to this man. It is certainly possible. Am I alive because of something horrible this man named King did to a woman who looked like me?

And therein lies the complexity of the African American experience in America---out of horror, comes hope, out of destruction comes determination, out of ruin comes royalty.

Whether or not I am related to this monster of a man is a mystery. I probably will never solve it and don't want to. Yet, to the ancestors who suffered his cruelty, we honor your lives, and may we continue to be the manifestation of your wildest dreams