29 Days of Black History
Ah yes, February. The awkward winter month before morale is restored. Does it have 28 or 29 days this year? It’s the month where you search for someone to keep you company so that you at least receive some sort of text on Valentine’s Day. February is also Black History Month, but of course I knew you knew that. I am not going to write an article about how Black History Month should not just be a “month,” it should be an “every day” thing. I am also not going to write an article about how American history is also Black history, and this “holiday” month feels like White guilt. I am especially not going to complain about how the holiday was given only 28 (or 29 depending on the year) days to celebrate Black people. That would be petty of me, but mostly it would be cliché. Instead, I am going to take a new stance on the topic of this holiday month.
As a child, I was mostly confused by the holiday month as a concept, to me it inherently did not make much sense. Whenever it was Black History Month, or any topic that had to do with slavery or the Civil Rights Movement, I would develop this pit in my stomach. Growing up in Florida, attending a predominantly white school, kids would turn to me and say “Oh my god, I am so sorry.” By the fifth year of this, I began to resent February because I knew the “I’m sorrys,” the uncomfortable looks, and that inevitable pit in my stomach were coming. We hit every major character in the book: Martin Luther King Jr., Federick Douglass, Harriet Tubman, sometimes Sojourner Truth if we were lucky, and never Malcolm X (we had to keep it somewhat PG). The adolescent version of myself wondered why there was only a month when we talked about Black people in this country as if they were a trending topic, and suddenly when it hit March 1st, it faded away, not to be discussed for another 336 days.
This feeling has always stuck with me, but recently I have come to a new conclusion. I am more bothered with how underpublicized the month truly is. I am not saying there should be a parade or a special documentary on every channel, but it should be a time when our country celebrates Black culture and how it has contributed to the building and creation of the United States. It’s understood by many that the story of Blacks in this country is one of hurt and oppression that has recently graduated into a story of a lack of appreciativeness. However, I don’t always see it that way, that is simply one part of the narrative. There are parts of Black culture that should be illuminated and are worth celebrating and having discussions about.
There is a great book that my father had me read when my family moved to Washington D.C., “Black Men Built the Capitol: Discovering African-American History In and Around Washington, D.C.” by Jesse Holland. It describes how Black slaves built the White House, the Capitol, and other important Washington structures. Such stories are incredibly important, but are never discussed or celebrated and often go on without recognition. A majority of the music we, especially millennials, listen to is an integral part of Black culture and has initiated a wide range of social conversations and discussions. Even the clothes we wear or the trends we try are a part of black culture in a way that is not always so obvious.
Black History Month should be a time when those that are usually afraid of expressing their “blackness” or afraid of celebrating their culture can, unapologetically. It should also be a time when we not only talk about the key figures in Black history, but we discuss those that have affected American history in a way that was not so obvious. George C. Wolfe said, “God created Black People and Black People created style.” So, if we celebrate anything in February, it should at least be that.
