Grateful to Will
I want to begin by thanking Will Ingram for the time, dedication, and determination it took to research our family lines back to 1750 and discover that we are Black Indians. I cannot imagine the countless hours he spent searching records, connecting dots, and following trails that many people may have overlooked. Because of his work, many of us now have the opportunity to see ourselves in a way we never have before.
I am also grateful that Will allowed the Richmond County NC Historical Society to host his presentation. That means something to me. It showed that this discovery was not just about one person finding information. Everyone had a part in it. Families carried stories. Communities preserved records. Ancestors left clues. It feels as though many hands, both seen and unseen, helped bring this truth to light.
Since hearing Will’s presentation, I have found myself reflecting deeply on what it means to know that we are Black Indians.
Looking Back
When I look back, I no longer see only enslavement. For so much of my life, that seemed to be where the story began. Now, I can see beyond it. I can imagine a time when our ancestors were gathered with their families. I see them hunting, sharing meals, participating in ceremonies, listening to the wisdom of elders, teaching their children, and celebrating new life. I see people who knew who they were and where they belonged.
That vision has changed something inside of me.
It does not erase the pain of history. It does not erase enslavement, Jim Crow, discrimination, or the struggles that continue today. But it reminds me that our ancestors were more than the suffering they endured. They had lives, traditions, cultures, and identities long before others tried to define them.
I also believe that many of us carry wounds that run deeper than we realize. As descendants of enslaved people, we carry the effects of generations of trauma. We carry the pain of what was done to our ancestors. We carry the pain of what happened during Jim Crow. We carry the pain of what still happens in our own time. And many of us carry another wound that is harder to describe: the pain of not fully knowing who we are.
There is something deeply unsettling about being separated from your story.
For generations, many of us have been searching for pieces of ourselves without even realizing it. We have felt the absence without being able to name it.
As I learn more about our history, I feel something beginning to heal. Not because every question has been answered, but because I can finally see that our story is larger than the hardships we have endured. Still, I believe that true healing can only come through the grace of our Creator. Only through His grace can the conditions created by generations of trauma, loss, and separation begin to be healed.
Looking Forward
Looking forward, I imagine something that is difficult to put into words. I imagine those elders who spoke centuries ago. I imagine the generations that came after them. And somehow I feel as though they are inviting us back into the fold.
I know that may sound strange, but it is the best way I can describe it.
It feels as if they are calling us to remember.
To remember who they were.
To remember who we are.
To remember that despite everything that happened, the connection was never completely broken.
This discovery has given me a new vision. What once felt lost no longer feels entirely lost. What once felt distant now feels closer. I feel connected to something larger than myself, something that began long before enslavement and continues through each generation.
For that, I am grateful.
Why It Matters
History is not just about learning facts. Sometimes history helps us find ourselves.
That is what this moment feels like to me.
For much of my life, I inherited a story that seemed to begin with loss. Now I understand that our story began long before enslavement. It began with families, communities, traditions, and elders who knew who they were.
Knowing that does not erase the pain carried through generations. It does not erase the trauma of enslavement, the cruelty of Jim Crow, or the struggles that remain today. But it reminds me that our identity is greater than the wounds we have suffered.
For the first time, I feel as though I can see beyond what was taken from us and glimpse what has always belonged to us.
I feel the presence of those who came before us.
I hear the wisdom of the elders.
I see the families gathered together.
And somehow, across the centuries, I feel their invitation.
Come remember.
Come reconnect.
Come home.
Perhaps that is the true gift of this discovery. Not simply that we have learned something new about our ancestors, but that we have been given an opportunity to remember who we are.
And through the grace of our Creator, what has been broken can be healed, what has been forgotten can be remembered, and what has been separated can be brought together again.
For me, that is what it means to be invited back into the fold.
That is one of the most powerful things about family history. We can't change what happened to our ancestors, but sometimes the records allow us to see that their lives were so much more than the hardships they endured.