Every year, since former President Gerald Ford urged Americans to "seize the opportunity to honor the too-often neglected accomplishments of black Americans in every area of endeavor throughout our history", the United States of America has the entire month of February to honoring, remembering, and celebrating the expansive history of its black habitats (both alive and deceased).
Every February, millions of Americans host or attend events that celebrate the beauty that is black culture, while also being further enlightened on the atrocities placed upon black Americans in the past.
Every February, American citizens silently remind themselves and those around them that black Americans were and still are a crucial (and necessary) part of the country's history and without them, life as we know it would be drastically different.
I wish I could say I always celebrated Black History Month with as much gusto and excitement as I have been this year, but that is simply not true.
Prior to coming to college, I simply only acknowledged the fact that it was occurring... I never attended parades, visited museums, or attended other events celebrating Black History, rather I took the easy way out and shouted out a quick "happy Black History Month" to my mom and grandma before moving on with my life.
Now, to anyone reading this, you may be thinking "ok and what's wrong with that, some people celebrate differently" or "it's not that big of a deal...", but to me, my lack of celebration is equivalent to denying my blackness. Even as I type "denying my blackness", my heart is filled with pain- how could I ever push such a big part of my identity to the side but then claim to be proud of it?
As with many other life crises, irony took hold of me; I claimed to be proud of my black roots, but I never outwardly expressed or celebrated it... and for what? To fit in with my (predominantly) white friends and schoolmates?
Or to bring less attention to myself when I already stuck out like a sore thumb? Whatever the reason, I quickly realized that by barely celebrating my culture, I was turning my back on those who came before me; those who faced grossly unjust treatment, those who fought to change it, and those who died trying to get the equality they rightly deserved.
To me, Black History Month means celebrating the great strides made by Black Americans from years of slavery to years of success and accomplishment. The accomplishments made by Black Americans are vast: from inventions, going to space, being elected President for two consecutive terms, to winning academy awards, Black Americans have proven time and time again that they are just as capable of success as their white counterparts.
The month of February allows us to celebrate these achievements because without them American history would be drastically different.
To me, Black History Month means remembering what my ancestors (and the ancestors of many others) experienced at the hands of so many racist institutions.
By fully understanding what millions of black individuals experienced in the past, we are able to truly understand how we can better ourselves so that similar events may never take place again, or at the very least that discrimination on any basis is abhorrent and should not be an ideal held by The Land of the Free.
To me, Black History Month means always being proud of my roots and never being ashamed of what makes me who I am. My blackness is a key component of my identity and I now take pride in my hazelnut hued skin, my kinky hair, my wide-set nose, and all the other characteristics put upon me due to my blackness.
Taking pride in my blackness means never feeling like I am in some way "less than" or "inferior" to non-people of color, and never feeling obligated to change who I am in order to fit in or be accepted.
To me, Black History Month means acknowledging that we still have so far to go in order for Black Americans to truly be equal to their non-black counterparts. I understand and recognize that are still inequalities and prejudice being placed upon the black citizens of the United States and the only way to fix them is to discuss them and be willing to let every voice be heard.
The only way to reach "liberty and justice for all" is to recognize the wrongdoings, systematic oppression, and hate that our country has continued to hold onto and to once and for all eliminate them from our culture.
There you have it, the many reasons for what Black History Month means to me and perhaps many other Black Americans all around the country, so now I leave you with my final words:
I am black and I am PROUD.
