Millions of former slaves who had been brought to America from Africa adoted the surnames of their masters after Emancipation. I can happily report that I have finally given Mr. Bond back his name. But it was no small decision to legally change mine from Charles Bond to C.B. Hanif.
Some friends wonder why it took me so long. Indeed, for years I’ve told colleagues when the subject came up that I was long overdue. But I also wanted to be very deliberate.
So I’ve been observing the name-change scene with more interest than most. I know that former first lady Nancy Reagan, for instance, was born Anne Frances Robbins. That columnist Ann Landers’ real name is Esther Lederer. That actress Diahann Carroll’s original name was Carol Diahann Johnson, and singer Vic Damone’s was Vito Farinola. I know Allen Konigsberg is the real name of comic Woody Allen.
Some readers may remember when NBC sports commentator Ahmad Rashad was professional football player Bobby Moore. Others may recall that former presidential candidate Gary Hart shortened his surname from Hartpence. And these days, plenty of folks have some familiarity with Malcolm Little’s transition from Malcolm X to El Hajj Malik Shabazz.
My sojourn has parallels to Malcolm’s, but it started before I learned to understand and practice Islam. Thanks to Malcolm and other pioneers such as the Honorable Elijah Muhammad and my home-town (Baltimore) congressman, Kweisi Mfume, I knew years ago that I wanted to change.
But my wife and children and I wanted to be sure of what change we wanted. We had hoped to do an Alex Haley Roots-style genealogy search. Then we researched names from African and Arabic dialects. Eventually we chose “Hanif” (rhymes with “Ali”), a name associated with Abraham of the Bible and Ibrahim, revered in the book Muslims call the Quran. We discussed it often before we sought the legal change.
Our household’s sense of celebration is tempered by the recent passing of my father, one of the last of the original good guys. He succumbed to cancer and strokes, battling all the way. Though I always could count on his support of my efforts to strengthen our cultural roots, including this one, I would have traded it this time for him taking better care of his health. My grandad is a still-spry 84. Now friends and co-workers who have always found me quick with a smile may find me smiling less.
Not all black folks, of course, need make my family’s choice; it’s a personal decision. Many families bear their names proudly. And I’ll continue wearing green in solidarity with my Irish friends on St. Patrick’s Day. I have no difficulty appreciating others’ cultural roots.
But our society is still learning to appreciate the strengths inherent in our cultural differences. When an admittedly brash former heavyweight champ dropped Cassius Clay for Muhammad Ali, some sportswriters refused to acknowledge his choice. An opponent who likewise refused paid by getting knocked around the ring.
That’s not my style. I understand that folks at first may call me the old names. Just don’t be surprised if I don’t answer. Many friends already call me “C.B.” or “Hanif.” And this is different from saying “African-American” is preferred but “black” is OK.
To other friends and readers who are wondering, “Now why’d that nice fella go and do something like that?” perhaps this essay will answer the question. Many African-Americans are seeking stronger ties to that which generations ago was severed. My family’s external change reflects mental and spiritual growth happening internally. It’s a constant statement to ourselves who we are and what we should be doing to better ourselves and this world.
C.B. Hanif is an editorial writer for The Palm Beach Post.
