“If you don’t know who you are, anyone can name you. If anyone can name you, you will answer to anything.” -African proverb
Though names are a perceivably small aspect of oneself, their importance stretches far beyond the letters that make them up. Not only do names more broadly act as a core marker of identity that brings together history, family and sense of self, but in many African cultures, names have direct spiritual linkages to personhood, with the meanings behind names harbouring the ability to shape one’s entire future.
This section will examine absence, presence and emergence through three interconnected subcategories: ancestral naming practices, slave naming and contemporary naming challenges. It further looks at absence, presence and emergence relationally, exploring themes of intentional absence reflecting historical realities, presence misinterpreted as absence, and the differing perspectives engaged in deciding upon trajectories of emergence. Click below to expand the main subcategories and browse the associated images.
“The fathers may soar / And the children may know their names” -Toni Morrison, epigraph to Song of Solomon
"There is nothing that there is not; whatever we have a name for, that is" -Yoruba proverb"
Names: a cultural form that can be historicized but also, an everyday phenomenon. The name thus both sensuous & supersensible, having no materiality and yet structures daily life
This section will regard practices of naming not only as practices which reflect and designate identity, but will focus specifically on its reappropriative potential, by attending to various creative, post-slavery onomastic innovations. Naming thus figures, in this project, not only a form of address (and thus matters for those of us concerned with intersubjective ethics) but also an agential political act and a gesture with recuperative/reinventive/reappropriative potential.
Working in the background of my thinking: what might be called a sociolinguistic approach: “how [names] reflect power relations and express resistance” (160; "Who Named Slaves and Their Children?") Where we might depart from - the linguistic heritage of colonialism: slavery engaged in processes of unnaming and renaming
‘Recent research challenges the old idea that masters assigned names to slaves or that slaves imitated masters’ systems of naming’ (1993, 727) (161, “Who Named Slaves and Their children?”)
"...although slaves often seem to have been given European names by their owners, at least as indicated in the official records that were kept (‘the public transcript’), the owners of slaves were not always their name-givers. And even when slaves were given official names by their owners, different strategies of resisting these names were possible (‘the hidden transcript’), maybe as a result of the changes in how the enslaved populations valued and interpreted the world depending on the circumstances in which they lived. The case of the schoolchildren who did not know their official names reveals that slaves and their children might have used alternative (maybe African) names in their every- day life and that official names were not important to them." (168; "Who Named Slaves and their Children?")
Hidden names in other contexts: Muslim Hausaland ("Injurious Names: Naming, Disavowal, and Recuperation in Contexts of Slavery and Emancipation")
Trying to situate this phenomenon of "double naming" as a legitimate tradition -- here I am making the point that there is an immense continuity between these two instances of double naming....
Sokoto Caliphate (1900): hidden name whispered into the ear of the infant + public name given in ceremony (ranar suna)
children born after a series of miscarriages, still-births or children who did not survive early infancy, were often named in a way that sought to defend them against spiritual forces seeking to carry them off. [...] seek to “hide” the child behind a “worthless” name: Ajuji, on the dung-heap; Ayashe, let it be abandoned; Bawa, slave (182, "Injurious Names")
Historically, there has always been a strong African element in Afro-American names, adding support to the assertion that Blacks did not come to America "without culture (106) (Kerrigan Black, "Afro-American Personal Naming Traditions)
"day-naming" conventions in Jamaica (using Twi words, from the Asante people of Ghana) (now extinct as a practice, having become pejorative
West African day-names
situating this phenomenon historically: linguistic-onomastic event occurred not just alongside but was motivated by the political movement of pan-Africanism (Garvey, CLR James, Nkrumah, Senghor, Du Bois) and Black consciousness (1960s)
Solomon -> Attoh-Ahuma
Macaulay -> Ajasa
Adam L. Jacobs -> Adeoye Desalu
Thomas Williams Waters -> Kwamina (Waters) Ayensu
Isaac Augustus Johnson -> Algerine Kelfallah Sankoh
“The first chapter and the last in the book of your Living Days; it shall stay and remain as an unmovable stain” -Ayana Askew
Though settler colonials sought to destroy African cultures, knowledge about traditional naming practices survived, with numerous ancestral naming practices remaining in use to different extents today. This subcategory will focus on the naming practices of the Akan people, whose naming structure and traditions share many similarities with other African cultures. The Akan people are most concentrated in what is now Ghana and the Ivory Coast, but their cultural influence over naming has spread to various other parts of the Caribbean, North America and South America.
When Akan babies are born, it is believed that they are still tethered to the spirit world for seven days. It is only on the eighth day that babies are considered a part of the family and receive a name during a special outdooring or “din to” ceremony (Arko-Archemfuor, 2018; Adjah, 2011). Thus, names act as a symbol of humanness and identity.
Akan naming is complex and multifaceted, with individuals often possessing multiple names, all with different special meanings. Names were used as a source of information, both for expressing information about lineage and the conditions and wishes of the family, but also for expressing information about the traits and future of the individual. These names were typically chosen by the father and his family, but were largely dependent on the circumstance of the birth over any personal name preferences.
Akan names inherently represent presence in the information they contain, and given these stories, create dual absence when taken away not only through the stripping of identity, but also the stripping of history.
Day names, also known as kradin or “soul names” were names given to all Akan peoples. The soul was thought to purposefully choose the day it was born, and thus, Akan babies were named after said day. These names are attached to deities, who represent different virtues that the individual would then go on to represent (Adjah, 2011; Obeng, 2001; McCray, 1958). Anansi, for example, was the deity of Wednesday and represented wisdom and knowledge. Individuals could also have by-names, which elaborated on the traits thought to represent each day.
A baby’s birth order was also thought to be significant in Akan culture, resulting in positional names. Some of these names could be given at birth (ie “Maanu” for a second-born child), and others were given later in life (ie “Kaakyire” for the youngest child, usually given when the parents could no longer have more children) (McCray, 1958; Obeng, 2001). Special names were also given to twins and the children born after twins.
Various names based on the circumstances of the family or the baby at birth could be given to a child. These types of names could range from indicating the flora surrounding the area where the baby was born, to indicating if the baby was born in wartime/peacetime, to describing the relationship between the parents and the child, such as whether or not the father had claimed the child or if a parent was dead. These names could indicate some of the most important facts about an individual and their family that positional or day names otherwise could not capture (Obeng, 2001; Arko-Archemfuor, 2018).
Death prevention names were given to babies after the mother had experienced multiple miscarriages or infant mortalities. These names did not follow the same structure as typical Akan-given names and were typically regarded as funny or strange. Names included those of unsavoury animals (ie “Owo,” meaning snake), destructive or unclean things (ie “Sumina” or “Bonka,” meaning trash and gutter), or even full insults (ie “Obimpe,” meaning “no one likes that one”). They could also take the form of requests, such as “Onyinka,” meaning “this one should stay” (Obeng, 1998; Akpebu, 2011).
On a surface level, one could believe that parents who name their babies these ruder death prevention names do so out of hatred or a desire to get rid of them, but in actuality, these names demonstrate a parent’s love for their baby. Death prevention names were such because they were thought to both make the baby’s spirit too ashamed to return to the spirit world, and make those in the spirit world too embarrassed to take the baby back. Though babies with death prevention names usually possessed other given names, these names were hidden from others for fear that revealing them would unveil their true identity and put their lives at risk (Obeng, 1998).
Akan peoples did not have patronyms as are traditionally used in the West. Their family names, also known as formal names or “din pa,” were typically given to show respect for an extended family member or friend (Arko-Archemfuor, 2018). As such, different children in the same family could all have different family names.
Family names could either be female-only, male-only, or used for anyone. Though male babies rarely adopted female-only names, female babies were often given derivatives male-only family names, usually constructed with the addition of “ba/bea,” “wa,” “aa,” or “ma,” to the name (Admoako, 2017).
The Akan naming structure is very similar to many other groups, including the Yoruba and the Ewe peoples. African anthroponymy: an ethnopragmatic and morphophonological study of personal names in Akan and some African societies by Samuel Gyasi Obeng provides a detailed breakdown of African naming structures, including all of the discussed types of names for Akan peoples, as well as a significant amount of other information on other West African cultures.
Respect is highly important in Akan culture, and different individuals are referred to with different honorifics based on seniority. These often also had dual meanings. Below are some examples of basic honorifics:
Maame: one’s literal mother or an elderly woman around the age of one’s mother
Ɔpanin: elder
Agya: father
Ɛna: mother
Nana: literally means grandparent, but used to refer to higher status chiefs, queens, priests etc regardless of their age
(Agyekum, 2008)
Akan names also played a role in how greetings were responded to, particularly day names. As each day represented a deity, that deity was mentioned in the response to a greeting. For example, if a peer greeted someone born on a Sunday, their response to said greeting would be “Yaa (a generic kinship term used at the beginning of greeting responses) Awisi (the deity associated with Sunday) (Agyekum, 2008).
(A chart of Akan by-names and the qualities they represented.)
(Obeng, 2001)
(A chart of Akan day names and which deities they represented.)
(Adjah, 2011)
(A chart of some of the many Akan circumstantial names.)
(Obeng, 2001)
(A simplified table of Akan greeting responses based on day name. Greetings were often complex and based on many circumstances beyond names.)
(Agyekum, 2008)
(A map of the Akan people and some of the countries their naming practices have influenced.)
“All that a slave possesses belongs to his master; he possesses nothing of his own except his peculium, that is to say, the sum of money or moveable estate which his master chooses he should possess” -The Civil Code of Louisiana (1825)
Treated as chattel, African slaves were stripped of their identities and forced to adhere to the cultures of their colonizers. The naming (and often repeated renaming) of slaves was an integral early step in colonization. While this often involved brutal branding, deliberate disregard for the ancestral names of slaves, or a refusal to even refer to slaves with names at all, it is also important to highlight the ways slaves kept ancestral naming practices alive and adapted their original names to their circumstances, maintaining their presence in the colonial era in subtle ways often dismissed as absence.
Masters could choose the names of their slaves as they pleased, often choosing names on a whim. These were often traditionally English names, but could also be from numerous other sources, including:
Aptronyms: names indicating occupation (ie Mason or Driver)
Caconyms: names indicating physical attributes (ie Old Charles or Big Cafar)
Ethnonyms: names indicating where people were from/what language they spoke, typically based on where they had been shipped from or behavioural stereotypes as opposed to true ethnicity (ie Igbo or Congo)
Symbolic names: names associated with either good or badly perceived qualities of a slave (ie Patience or Cranky)
Names sourced from popular Literature, mythology or the bible
Baptismal names: names gained after converting to Catholicism, typically used in tandem with other given names
(West, 2017, 2021)
Some slaves were named after their masters/overseers. While in some cases, this could be an indication merely of the master not caring enough to give their slaves unique names, these names were also sometimes given to slaves who were favoured. In such cases, having the name of a master/overseer gave the slave more protection.
As slaves’ family structures and lineages were purposefully disregarded by slavers, the vast majority of slaves did not have assigned surnames. When slaves did have surnames, though, they were usually derogatory or objectifying. This could entail a negative symbolic name or a name related to their work position (ie a factory worker producing rum would be given the surname “Rum”) (West, 2021).
It was common for slaves to be renamed as they moved to different masters. This renaming could apply both to names given to them by their masters, or, if baptized multiple times across multiple different masters, could also apply to baptismal names. This has often made it extremely difficult for individuals in modern times to trace their ancestry.
Many slaves went unnamed, referred to with numbers, objectifying terms like “boy”/”slave” or slurs. These slaves could also be identified by a physical brand, a painful practice originating in Portugal in the 1440s that quickly spread (Fitzpatrick, 2012). Branding emblems/locations varied by area, with some slaves having to get branded multiple times (ie in Luanda, slaves were branded once to indicate their owners and a second time with the Royal Arms).
Not naming slaves was a deliberate act of dehumanization that could greatly damage their psyches. In such cases, the only way slaves could have a name recognized by their masters was through adopting a Baptismal name. Baptismal names, the names of saints, were gained by becoming Catholic. Although becoming Catholic meant gaining a proper title to be referred to as, it also meant denouncing any previous religious beliefs, making this a significant and difficult decision.
Many places in the Caribbean and America did not have explicit slave codes, but those that did, outlines and regulations regarding the naming/renaming of slaves went unmentioned. Though potentially seeming peculiar at first, this absence of naming within the broader context of slavery makes sense. Most slave codes describe slaves as chattel, objects or otherwise property, making the ability for masters to re and de-name their slaves a given. With the institution of slavery founded on the dehumanization and degradation of slaves, the ability to give and take away names, an integral part of this practice, did not need to be put explicitly into law to be understood as allowed.
See here for a broad documentation of American Slave codes, including countless instances of dehumanizing language. Similar patterns of not directly discussing the naming of slaves can be found in Caribbean legislation. See the Barbados Slave Code (1668) and the Jamaican Slave Code (1664) for more.
Given the crucial role names played in the maintaining and establishing of identity for many slaves, it was important for slaveowners to ensure slaves didn’t use their traditional names. A popular scene in the film Roots, while fictional, showcases the brutality slaves were faced with when attempting to keep their traditional names. Click here to watch the clip or scroll for an embedded version.
Despite the severe maltreatment slaves endured, they remained defiant and committed to preserving ancestral names. Slaves commonly continued to use African names around other slaves, only switching to their European names when around non-slaves. This included the continued usage of day names, and the bestowing of African names to children.
Honorifics and respect structures were also recreated among slaves. Though slaves did not have traditional titles like “sir” or “ma'am,” respect was often indicated by referring to fellow slaves as “brother” or “sister,” as well as referring to elders/respected figures as “Big Daddy” or “Big Mama” (Fitzpatrick, 2012) These practices, though forced to be used in secret, helped retain an individual’s previous cultures and pass on traditions to future generations. As found on the Papine and Mona plantations, typically those who possessed African/day names also remained unbaptized, indicating that the continued usage of traditional names and practices went beyond a preservation of these names and acted dually as a subtle way to rebel (West, 2017).
Not all slaves were forcefully given names by their masters. Some masters simply wrote down the traditional names of slaves in phonetics/spelling they could understand, resulting in Anglicized names, or accepted these pre-Anglicized names from slaves. This both avoided too many slaves having the same names, and entailed less work for the master.
Many traditionally European names could be reasonably derived from African names. Bem, Bena, Adeben, Benda, Beni and Beng, for example, all resemble the name Ben/Benn (Michael, Kay and Lee, 1995). Among fellow slaves, non-Anglicized versions of names would be used instead. While it is hard to find the true amount of European slave names that were actually derived from African names, this facet of name preservation undoubtedly means that there are more individuals who tried to maintain their African names than often assumed. Techniques such as this kept the presence of African influences and culture alive during the slavery era, even under the guise of perceived absence.
As the majority of slaves were not given last names, and African cultures also didn’t use surnames, emancipated slaves had to find unique sources for their last names. Although many assume that slaves took the surnames of their former masters, this wasn’t often the case. The following were common other sources for surnames:
Many emancipated slaves used their baptismal names as their last names, a practice which has resulted in many black individuals in the Caribbean/North America continuing to possess saints names as last names
Individuals could choose to take names from their African roots, often the name of a relative, and convert it to a more European translation
Many slaves chose the names of inspirational political/social figures, including “Washington” or “Douglas”
Highly symbolic names such as “Liberty” and “Freedman” were common, particularly among black soldiers
Many slaves simply chose names they found appealing
(Fitzpatrick, 2012) (de Verteuil, 1992)
The process of choosing a surname was not linear–there were many cases of slaves choosing one surname and quickly changing it to another. Similar to the renaming of slaves when moved to different masters, this has made tracing ancestry difficult for many individuals.
(The Louisiana Slave Database has one of the most robust online recordings of slave names, organized with information on the location of individuals and within what documents their names were found. See here for name lists and here for primary documents, including slave inventory sheets and runaway slave ads.)
(A slave inventory sheet from a ship from the Senegalese island of Goree, detailing the names of slaves and basic notes on some of their physical conditions. None of these slaves had surnames.)
(Afro-Louisiana History and Genealogy, n.d)
(A monument erected in 2007 of slaves on the Papine Estate [Jamaica] and an original slave record from the Estate.)
(West, 2017)
(An image of a slave being branded.)
(Annin, 1800s)
(Roots (2016) Clip.)
(A breakdown of the potential sources of slave names. Of these common Anglo-American names, many of these could have been Anglicized versions of African names.)
(Kay Marvin L. and Cary, 1995)
“When you restore the names of people, you are providing and you are saying that they are actually people.” -Dr. Kerri Greenidge
Throughout the 20th and 21st centuries, black individuals have continued to honour their pasts and unite as a community. This journey, though, had been far from easy, with conflicts emerging both from outside forces complicating the process of tracing/reclaiming ancestral names and inside the black community surrounding group naming. These conflicts posed a crucial question: emergence, but how?
From the 1960s to the 1980s, the group name for the black community was a much-debated topic. These debates were prominent in Afro-centric newspapers throughout the period, which are thus the focus of this section.
While some community members were against debates on group conflict altogether, believing it to be an insignificant issue within the broader context of the struggle for equality, many writers highlighted the biases present in group names and the cultural and historical significance that they held.
“White” is presented as a race without colour, with the designation of other racial groups as “people of colour” or “non-whites” assuming that white is the standard to white these other races, including black people, are to be judged in accordance to. White becomes pure and good, while black is evil and unclean (Smith, 1959).
Beyond being presented as nonstandard, historical black titles have also been cultureless and bound to specific histories. The original term for black people was “Negro,” from the Portuguese word for black. Not only does this term make no mention of African ancestry or wider culture, but in its existence stemming only from colonial settlers, it begins firmly in slavery, not acknowledging the rich history of black people that extends far beyond the colonial era (Olinga, 1982). Within this original designation, black people were inferior to whites. With the biases associated with titles able to carry tremendous weight for long periods of time, it was undeniable that establishing a new group title was of political and social significance.
With the need for a new group name cemented, focus then shifted to what exactly this new name should be. The first initial shift was from “Negro” to “Black,” sparking in 1969 with the emergence of the Black Power movement. Although the term black is broad, not referencing ancestry specifically like some other racial titles, this was an intentional move made to encompass the wide diversity of the black community. Most importantly in the American context, though, this was a positional title, juxtaposing “White America” (Dyer Jr., 1987).
Throughout the late 60s and into the 70s, prominent associations and organizations began changing their names to replace negro with black. Though usage of the term was adopted quicker by the broader public than by official institutions and leaders (including black leaders), in a matter of years it became the norm,
In later years, though, conversations shifted to the usage of the terms “Afro-American” and “African-American” to better connect the group’s title to their African ancestry. A smaller subsection of individuals pushed further to use the title “African,” completely dropping American. When debating between terms like black or African American versus African, Some argued that most black people in America were not born in Africa nor familiar with much of the culture, and despite the persistent problems with America, they were still American. Others scrutinized this assertion of Americanness, arguing that black people’s presence in America was not by choice, or pointed out that black people were never truly treated with the respect and dignity that “Americans” were supposedly meant to enjoy.
See the works cited section for a comprehensive list of newspaper articles on group naming to browse.
“Africans have done everything it could to be considered Americans, but they are the only group who, every couple of years, has to push a civil rights bill in order to enjoy the same ‘American’ freedoms and privileges of other groups.” - Brother Deke, Philadelphia resident
There have always been attempts made at tracing ancestry, but in recent years, these efforts have increased massively in scope and ability. Knowing the name of one’s ancestors not only provides information to an individual about their history and roots, but also thwarts colonial attempts at erasing these histories and expunging these acknowledgements of humanness. Although doing this tracing work can be extremely difficult, with slaves getting frequently renamed, owners recording slave names deep amidst livestock, crop or other property records, and no formal requirements for slaves to be in the United States census until 1850, recovering these stories is possible with dedication and care.
The 10 Million Names project has recovered and documented the names of millions of Africans, including stories of who these individuals were and what became of their lives. The site also boasts extensive resources for helping individuals trace their own genealogy, helping to increase the accessibility of these stories once thought to be unobtainable.
There has been a shift in the West towards readopting traditional African names, as well as honouring traditional practices such as namesaking. Beyond these traditional names, though, unique naming trends have emerged within black communities, with the invention of distinctly black, unique names gaining popularity in the 1960s and 1970s in tandem with the Black Power movement, potentially as a means of fostering a stronger sense of black community (Fryer Jr. and Levitt, 2003). This trend presents emergence not just as the re-emergence of a culture once taken away, but also as an emergence of new practices in tune with American politics, community and culture.
See the images below for graphs and charts relating to this trend.
(A Milwaukee Star newspaper segment from 1971–near the beginning of the boom in support of adopting a new group title–asking white Americans about their thoughts on the terms “Negro” and “Black.”)
(Milwaukee Star, 1971)
(A graph depicting the shift towards the term “Black.”)
(Jaye Bell, 2013)
(A graph of the predominancy of unique/distinctly black names, with this trend beginning its steady ascent in the 60s.)
(Fryer Jr. and Levitt, 2003)
(A list of the top female black (left) versus white (right) baby names of 2023 in Georgia, showcasing little overlap between the two.)
(Oasis, 2023)
What is remarkable about this posting: names are typically conferred or imposed, not disavowed
Malcolm X and the Absence of the Name
Our project is preoccupied with archival absences
The name, if it is thought in an existential register, involves already the notion of absence -- a name "functions in the absence of its bearer" (181, Derrida's The Animal That Therefore I Am)
part of the task: to disentangle names from a person - to free someone from the imposition and strictures of a single name
X as a holding place, a tactical absence
is not only meant to reflect a "lost" or disrupted history/genealogy but also 1) performs a refusal to go by the name that has been imposed on him and, more importantly, 2) expresses a forward-facing potential to become (the name cannot, then, accommodate this important political aim - to become)
in other words, the X (the void that a history of slavery has produced) is not an absence at all but a decision -- for Malcolm X it provides the conditions of possibility for a radically open and unknown ontology and politics
To learn more about nicknames, naming practices, and Jamaican patwa (patois) language rules, please visit the A Learner's Grammar of Jamaican: Part of the Open Grammar Project, deveoped by Dr. Annette Henry.
Adjah, Olive Akpebu. 2011. “What is in a name? Ghanaian Personal Names as Informational Sources.” Institute of African Studies Library. https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Olive-Akpebu-Adjah/publication/284183868_What_is_in_a_name_Ghanaian_Personal_Names_as_Information_Sources/links/564f12d508ae4988a7a7f79b/What-is-in-a-name-Ghanaian-Personal-Names-as-Information-Sources.pdf
Adomako, Kwasi. 2017. “Morphological Analysis of Akan Female Family-Name Formation. Ghana Journal of Linguistics VI, no. 3. http://dx.doi.org/10.4314/gjl.v6i3.1
Afro-Louisiana History and Genealogy, n.d. “Original Documents.” https://www.ibiblio.org/laslave/inventory.php
Agyekum, Kofi. 2008. “The pragmatics of Akan greetings.” Discourse Studies X, issue 4, (August). https://doi.org/10.1177/1461445608091884
Annin, Whitney. 1800s. “Branding a Negress.” http://myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/login?qurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.proquest.com%2Fartistic-aesthetic-works%2Fslave-branding-1800s%2Fdocview%2F2501754882%2Fse-2%3Faccountid%3D14771
Arko-Archemfuor, Akwasi. 2018. “Naming of Children and Meaning of Names Among the Akan of Ghana: Defining Identities?” Southern African Journal for Folklore Studies XXVIII, no. 1. https://doi.org/10.25159/1016-8427/4294
Benson, Susan. “Injurious Names: Naming, Disavowal, and Recuperation in Contexts of Slavery an Emancipation.” In An Anthropology of Names and Naming, edited by Gabriele vom Bruck and Barbara Bodenhorn, 177-199. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006.
Black, Kerrigan. “Afro-American Personal Naming Traditions.” In Names, by The American Name Society, 105-125. Potsdam, N.Y: Routledge, 1996.
Brudnoy, David. 1969. “Please don’t forget the word is ‘Black’ baby.” Soul City Times I, no. 32, (April). https://infoweb-newsbank-com.myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/apps/readex/doc?p=EANAAA&docref=image/v2%3A12928192D0D46AB0%40EANAAA-12BE2C41773AB3D0%402440324-12BE2C41B7985878%409-12BE2C4283E63AE0%40Please%2BDon%2527t%2BForget%2Bthe%2BWord%2Bis%2B%2527Black%2527%2BBaby%2Bby%2BDavid%2BBrudnoy.
Burnard, Trevor. “Slave Naming Patterns: Onomastics and the Taxonomy of Race in Eighteenth-Century Jamaica.” Journal of Interdisciplinary History 31, no. 3 (2001): 325-346.
Carter Smith, Leon. 1959. “Young Ideas….” Los Angeles Tribune 19, no. 38, (October). https://infoweb-newsbank-com.myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/apps/readex/doc?p=EANAAA&docref=image/v2%3A129280BA5DFE7A33%40EANAAA-12C5FE4B7A8BEA40%402436872-12C5FE4BDC4FC5B0%4016-12C5FE4D432E21F8%40Young%2BIdeas%2Bby%2BLeon%2BCarter%2BSmith.
Chambers, Douglas. 2013. “Jamaica (18th Century): 740 Advertisements; 4,150 Runaway Slaves. University of Southern Mississippi. https://ufdc.ufl.edu/aa00021144/00001.
De Verteuil, Anthony. 1992. Seven Slaves and Slavery Trinidad. S.n: 70-82. https://www.dloc.com/AA00062642/00001/images
Dryer Jr., Herbert. 1987. “Hey, brother, is it Black, Negro, Colored….?” Chicago Metro News XXI, no. 42, (August). https://infoweb-newsbank-com.myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/apps/readex/doc?p=EANAAA&docref=image/v2%3A12912DF42BF1884F%40EANAAA-12B88AFA079D66E0%402447030-12B88AFA41F042F8%408-12B88AFB6BF58658%40Hey%252C%2BBrother%252C%2Bis%2Bit%2BBlack%252C%2BNegro%252C%2BColored...%253F.
Fitzpatrick, Liseli. 2012. “African Names and Naming Practices: The Impact Slavery and European Domination had on the African Psyche, Identity and Protest.” The Ohio State University. https://etd.ohiolink.edu/acprod/odb_etd/ws/send_file/send?accession=osu1338404929&disposition=inlineFryer Jr., Roland and Levitt, Steven. August 2003. “The Causes and Consequences of Distinctively Black Names.” National Bureau of Economic Research. https://www.nber.org/system/files/working_papers/w9938/w9938.pdf
Jaye Bell, Zenobia Desha. 2013. “African-American Nomenclature: The Label Identity Shift from “Negro” to “Black” in the 1960s.” University of California. https://escholarship.org/uc/item/1j12q56x#main
Kay, Marvin L. Michael, and Lorin Lee Cary. 1995. Slavery in North Carolina, 1748-1775. University of North Carolina Press. https://heinonline-org.myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/HOL/P?h=hein.slavery/uncaacz0001&i=165.
López, Laura Álvarez. “Who named slaves and their children? Names and Naming Practices Among Enslaved Africans brought to the Americas and Their Descendants With a Focus on Brazil.” Journal of African Cultural Studies 27, no. 2 (2015): 159-171.
Mason, Winslow. 1993. "Solution to Identity Crisis: 'we are Africans. Period.'." Philadelphia Tribune, 3, (August). http://myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/login?qurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.proquest.com%2Fhistorical-newspapers%2Fsolution-identity-crisis-we-are-africans-period
McCray, George F. 1958. “Names Follow Custom, Tradition.” The Chicago Defender (National Edition) 11, (May). http://myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/login?qurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.proquest.com%2Fhistorical-newspapers%2Fnames-follow-custom-tradition%2Fdocview%2F492961137%2Fse-2%3Faccountid%3D14771
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