For a Black woman to forget her blackness is to deny a rich heritage that crosses the continent of Africa, moves in the waters of the Caribbean, touches the shores of South America, and is vibrant in the rhythms of Alice Coltrane, Miriam Make, Marian Anderson, and Sweet Honey in the Rock. She loses part of her very soul if she turns away from Zora Neale Hurston, Alice Walker, or Phillis Wheatley.
I will interpret this via applying it to some of my own experience. My lineage spans from my great grandmother who came to the US from Catalonia, a region in Spain, and my great grandfather who had family that resided in Leon, Spain. My grandparents are from Mexico and so are my parents. Thus, I grew up with that heritage, that culture. Yet, growing up in the US, I think I began to lose connection with my roots. In a sense, by losing touch, I was denying who I was without even knowing. But I have made efforts to re immerse myself, by studying my culture and re leaning the languages I grew up speaking (Spanish, Portuguese, and Catalan).