If a man will lie, he will steal, and if he will steal, he will kill.
Martin Luther King Jr.
In January 2021, one year after the COVID 19 virus proved beyond doubt that the world’s populous is indeed an interconnected mass, my colleagues and I were discussing the MLK holiday and how our mutual workspace could aptly acknowledge the day’s significance.
The day’s significance is that it honors the thoughts and deeds of a visionary far more advanced than the contra-powers of his time. It took 20+ years for congress to make the acknowledgement of his birthday the law of the land. Typically highlighted on the third Monday of January, are the notions of non-violence and civil rights as a pathway to social justice. Often organizations will focus on one of the more popular speeches of this masterful orator. So, we typically hear excerpts from the “I Have a Dream” speech delivered at the March on Washington [for Jobs and Freedom], August 28, 1963 and see the visionary at his podium.
As I studied the march and its organizers more than fifteen years ago, I learned about another leader, Bayard Rustin who was the chief organizer of the march. If you have not heard of Bayard, there is a reason. He did not receive adequate acknowledgement for his skills and contributions to the march or the movement because his persona as a gay man was deemed too controversial-perhaps even detrimental-to the cause. Each January, I spend time thinking of Dr. King’s legacy, but it’s not the only time I think of the magnitude of his impact on our nation.
It often strikes me when speaking to ordinary white Americans, how little they know about MLK beyond what is presented in history books. Do you know that Stevie Wonder wrote his version of the “Happy Birthday” song in honor of Dr. King’s birthday, which is actually January 15th? In my family, we sing this version on our birthdays! Or, that Wonder worked with Coretta Scott King to bring MLK Day to the masses? I also think about the humanness of Dr. King which was magnified a thousand-fold on April 4, 1968 the day of his assassination in Memphis, TN. I was seven years old; I saw my mother’s tears and my father’s anger and felt my own tender confusion.
Two months later, even at the age of seven, I like millions of Americans, expected Robert Kennedy to ascend to the Presidency of the United States and continue the fight for racial equality. My parents were talking and listening to news on the radio about the seeming heir to the White House. Then he, too, was murdered.
After Robert Kennedy’s assassination, I was on the schoolyard during recess. I stayed to myself since most of the other kids were not interested in playing with me. I was one of two black children in my elementary school. The other was my brother. My second-grade teacher was talking with another teacher about the terrible loss of a promising leader through such violent means. One remarked, “I can’t imagine who would want him dead. Everybody loved Bobby Kennedy.”
“Not everyone,” I responded, “cause somebody shot him.” I was listening intently; although my teacher experienced it as unacceptable eavesdropping. Needless to say, I was reprimanded and sent to the principal for punishment. But what I said was true and I knew it. So did the principal; he sent me back to class without incident.
In 1926, three years before MLK Jr. was born, “Negro History week” was established by Dr. Carter G. Woodson. One of the preeminent scholars of his day and the second African American to earn a doctorate from Harvard University, Dr. Woodson founded the Association for the Study of African American Life and History (ASALH) whose purpose was and still is to disseminate information about the black experience. It is this non-profit entity that sets the theme for Black History Month each year. The 2021 theme is the Black Family: Representation, Identity and Diversity. Next year, following two years of a national health crisis that clearly showed the deeply embedded health inequities within the United States health care system, the theme will aptly focus on black health and wellness.
In 1976, less than a decade before MLK’s birthday became a national holiday, Negro History week became Black History Month laying the groundwork for the segue from MLK Day in January to Black History Month in February. As a former educational professional, I was charged with elevating the understanding and awareness of Black History Month for our constituents. Through collaborations with students and faculty I was able to plan, support, coordinate, and offer events with little funding. I was directed by my white counterpart in the marketing and communications department to use “African American History Month” rather than “Black History Month” on promotional materials because it aligned with some professional guideline or format that the organization must adhere to. I had used the two terms interchangeably until the youth culture around me complained that African American History Month didn’t capture the diasporic nature of our history – a solid argument to say the least. So, I pushed back on the use of “African American History Month” and was overruled at the executive level, which at the time, was occupied exclusively by white people. Regrettably, I complied and changed the header on my marketing materials, but only after creating a footer with the youth-designed Black 365 tagline:
a reminder that you may call us “African American,” but we are black 365 days a year. Our identities may be usurped in February, but we live our truths every day.
I am often asked by white people how I celebrate Black History Month, or how they should celebrate it. As a long-time Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion professional, I understand the curiosity and have welcomed it. I like questions; they lead to answers. When my children were young, I discussed the significance of black history with them and addressed their questions. Why is Black History Month in February? They were teased by white students in their schools about being given the shortest month of the year in which to celebrate the accomplishments of their race. We did the research to learn that Dr. Woodson chose February as an homage to two extraordinary American leaders Abraham Lincoln and W.E.B Dubois whose birthdays are in the month – not because white supremacy would only “give” the month with the fewest days to host this honor.
For more than a decade, I honored the heritage of my own African roots by organizing and promoting various activities to inform my workplace and its surrounding community. There were black history trivia games, community service projects, lectures, performances, and delicious Jollof rice and Jerk chicken. In my professional life, I planned events for every week, sometimes every day of Black History Month.
Then in 2012 Trayvon Martin was murdered by a deluded vigilante on February 26th, three weeks after his seventeenth birthday. His death altered Black History Month for me – forever. The reality was (and still is) that despite all the celebrated history and accomplishments of black citizens in America, they could still be murdered without provocation or consequence. Black history is simply peripheral to American history in the minds of most. The month-long commemoration is valuable, I believe that, but it is not even close to being adequate. I try not to be angry about it. It was established for the world to know of the superior intellects, faiths, creativities, and strengths born of the black body.
After George Floyd’s public lynching in May 2020, I was sickened by a flood of emotions. The imagery was nearly unbearable – nearly but not completely. We have all become too accustomed to negative images of black folks – beaten, shot, hanged, naked, crammed in cargo holds, chased, arrested, selling drugs, impoverished, laboring in fields. In her book, Caste, Isabel Wilkerson writes about a well-known photograph of a lynching in the state of Florida:
The girl in the front is looking up at the dead black man with wonderment rather than horror… Lynching scenes became a burgeoning sub-department of the postcard industry.
Caste, Isabel Wilkerson
None of my white family members or friends reached out to me after Floyd’s murder until I called out their silence. Then the responses began. One wrote, “I’ve been thinking of you . . . what a time in history . . . Praying for better days ahead for the black community.”
I was not consoled. What this friend fails to understand, I understand all too well. We are all members of the community at large. It is our collective consciousness that needs “better days ahead” not solely the “black community.”
I have compassion for white folks whose ignorance grows generationally through the lies perpetrated in history books and taught to their children. This is what I think about in February. Children are a gift for the future. They are resilient; we can and should tell them the truth and show them how to love each other, not despite it – but because of it. As a young student, I withstood the lesson on black history; black people were slaves, (then came the slave ship picture) they toiled as laborers under harsh conditions and were freed by Abraham Lincoln. For quite a while I thought Jim Crow was a man. I sat conspicuously in my classroom learning that the part of history I occupied was barely worth study.
My first-grade teacher told me there were no such thing as black angels. I give thanks to my mother and father. They showed me that I am history in the making. My true relationship to American history came into focus at home – Crispus Attucks, Benjamin Banneker, Charles Drew, Sojourner Truth, Shirley Chisholm – these were the flash cards of my home schooling. Once the education became personal, I grasped it with both hands and have never let go. I am learning for life and black angels do exist.
The 1696 Historical Commission was signed into law on July 1, 2014 and was tasked with developing a comprehensive African American history curriculum for Rhode Island public schools from kindergarten through grade 12.
In my opinion, African American History is what happens when black people are vanished from American History. The strength and ingenuity of Africans and their descendants built this country. This is the only nation I have ever called home and I want it to be better. I want to be satisfied with America. Satisfaction will come for me when reparations are made for the damage done to the generations of black families who have been systematically traumatized by the atrocities of racism. If your thoughts are jumping to financial payments – okay, but reparation can come in many ways.
My youngest son revealed one way – compassion for children who, through no fault of their own, are systematically desensitized to the oppression (violent or otherwise) of others. My challenge to readers who are parenting or otherwise caretaking children, particularly white caretakers, is to actively think about black history beyond February. Ask yourselves:
Do you talk about the underlying relevance of racism and white supremacy to historical and/or current events?
Do you insist on curricula from pre-school through graduate study that is holistic and honest?
Do black lives matter?
Speak the truth to children they can handle it – probably better than you can. Please, let them know that race was constructed to justify the brutalization of human beings; black people directly contributed to the immense wealth of this nation; black people invented things they use every day; humanity originated in Africa.
Let us be dissatisfied until integration is not seen as a problem but as an opportunity to participate in the beauty of diversity.
Martin Luther King Jr.