“We have a wonderful history behind us… If you are unable to demonstrate to the world that you have this record, the world will say to you, ‘You are not worthy to enjoy the blessings of democracy or anything else’.”
—Carter G. Woodson, Father of Black History Month

When I was growing up in Buffalo, NY, my family’s life was ordered around certain milestones: Kwanzaa in December; MLK Day in January; Black History Month in February; Women’s History Month in March; Malcolm X’s birthday in May; Juneteenth; and Marcus Garvey Day, and Black August. These holidays and commemorations were anchors that reminded us of the richness of Black history and Black people’s long struggle for freedom and liberation.

The oldest of these, Black History Month, has a beautiful, amazing history. It comes from a deep culture of resistance. For centuries, the prevailing attitude in the U.S. among many was not only that people of African descent had never contributed anything to world history, but that we couldn’t. Black folks knew that this wasn’t true, and we knew that no one was going to teach our children the fullness and richness of our history except us.

Historian, journalist, educator, and scholar Carter G. Woodson established Negro History Week in 1926. Woodson intentionally chose February for the first “Negro History Week” and subsequent celebrations because of the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass, two people whose legacies he felt were critical to acknowledge due to their impact on Black life in the U. S. These celebrations started pre-segregation, in Black schools and churches, libraries and community spaces; Black educators and elders taught and shared our history through study groups, public programs, hosting speakers and giving educational presentations. We did it by and for ourselves, using our own resources to make an impact.

When (in 1976) Negro History Week became Black History Month, it was still something that Black folks did ourselves, for ourselves, on behalf of ourselves. We weren’t waiting on federal recognition or anyone else to tell the truth of who we are. For example, as a kid, no matter what project we got in school, I knew I’d cover something Black because my parents’ response always reinforced that Black people mattered and were always historically present and important.

“Mom, we’ve got to do a project on the War of 1812.” She’d say, Here’s a book on Black regiments.

“We’re covering the American Revolution.” Here’s a book on how Frederick Douglass helped conceptualize American notions of freedom, and here’s an essay about Crispus Attucks, the first person killed in the Boston Massacre in 1770.

As an adult, I now challenge myself to learn something new every Black History Month. For example, I don’t know much about sports, so a couple of years ago I learned about early Black hockey players and Nova Scotia’s Colored Hockey League, founded in 1895.

I do this because Black History Month was envisioned as something both backward-looking and forward-looking, prompting us to recognize that we’re all here today in the shadow of the greatness of Black people who came before. All of us benefit every day from their contributions, creativity, excellence, and sacrifice. Without acknowledging the impact and resonance of Black history, we cheat ourselves out of a robust vision for what our collective future can be.

Prayer

Let us learn Black history as a means to express our gratitude for the Black ancestors whose examples light our path during Black History Month and every day of the year. May it be so.