02/19/2026
Black history is not a side note. It is the heartbeat of America—whether the nation has chosen to listen or not. Black History Month, observed every February, exists because too much of this country’s story has been told without the voices, faces, and truths of the people who helped build it. It is not simply a month of remembrance; it is a month of reckoning. A reminder that America has never been just one color, one narrative, or one experience—no matter how often history books have tried to make it so. To honor Black History Month is to acknowledge that the United States was shaped by African Americans whose labor, intellect, resistance, creativity, and courage carried this nation forward even when it refused to carry them. It forces us to confront an uncomfortable truth: American history is not clean, heroic, or “pretty.” It is filled with exploitation, violence, erasure, and broken promises—especially when it comes to Black lives. Ignoring that truth does not heal the country. Facing it does. The roots of Black History Month reach back to 1915, when Carter G. Woodson, a Harvard-trained historian, recognized how deliberately Black achievement had been excluded from mainstream education. He helped found an organization dedicated to researching, preserving, and teaching the history of African Americans and people of African descent. Woodson understood something still painfully relevant today: if a people’s history is erased, their humanity becomes easier to deny. When many people think of Black history, they immediately name Martin Luther King Jr.—and for good reason. King devoted his life to dismantling segregation and challenging America to live up to its own ideals. He preached justice rooted in love, yet that commitment cost him everything. His assassination is not just a tragedy; it is evidence of how threatening Black freedom has always been to systems of power. While we honor him with a national holiday, we too often soften his legacy—remembering his dreams while ignoring his radical demands for justice, economic equality, and an end to state violence. But Black history does not belong to one man or one movement. It lives in the courage of Harriet Tubman, who risked her life again and again to free others. It speaks through the fire of Malcolm X, who demanded dignity by any means necessary. It sits down quietly but defiantly with Rosa Parks, whose refusal was never accidental—it was strategic resistance. And yet, even as Black History Month has become more visible in schools and public spaces, it is often filtered through a lens that prioritizes white comfort. The stories we are taught frequently revolve around “peaceful progress” and “helpful allies,” while the full reality of Black resistance is minimized or erased. This selective storytelling feeds a white savior narrative that centers redemption for white America rather than truth for Black communities. A powerful example of this erasure can be seen in the history of the Stonewall Riots. The uprising that sparked the modern LGBTQ+ rights movement is often stripped of its Black leadership, particularly Marsha P. Johnson, a Black transgender woman whose courage and defiance helped ignite a global movement. Her story—and others like hers—was sidelined because it exposed the violence of the state and the discomfort of a society unwilling to see Black, q***r, and trans people as revolutionaries. This pattern did not end in the past. The murder of George Floyd and the global protests that followed were not isolated incidents—they were modern echoes of centuries-old injustice. They revealed to the world what Black communities have always known: that systems meant to protect have often been tools of harm. The pain poured into the streets because it had been ignored for too long. Black History Month matters because it demands memory, honesty, and accountability. It challenges schools to teach more than sanitized timelines. It asks Americans to see Black history not as a special topic, but as foundational knowledge. And it reminds us that celebrating Black history is not about looking backward—it is about understanding the present and shaping a more just future. To truly honor Black history is to keep learning beyond February. To listen to Black voices when they speak. To teach the full story, even when it is uncomfortable. And to recognize that America, as it exists today, is inseparable from the brilliance, struggle, resistance, and humanity of Black people. Black history is American history. And America cannot afford to forget it.
